#real world men are put on a pedestal when in the barbie world women are put on a pedestal and seen better then the kens like how is that not

[l0v3c0r3e]

i need opinions on the barbie movie from the ppl who have seen it as i really want to love and understand this movie more but i can't

[ifyouknowmenoyoudontbitch]

So I watched Barbie.

Barbie (2023) was a movie that attempted to discuss the intricate and complex issues that come with womanhood.

The way they tried to do this was show the patriarchy through the lens of a matriarchy, misandry instead of misogyny

Except it didn’t.

Women in a patriarchy are oppressed by the society simply for existing, if we aren’t straight up paid less we’re taxed for simply being a woman, like having to take maternity leave, or having to buy feminine products for a body function we have zero control over.

Not to mention the societal oppression via beauty and emotional standards. Women need to be beautiful and they need to be emotionally mature to “balance” the immature men. Our lives revolve around the idea of serving men if not physically then emotionally.

In Barbie the Kens aren’t oppressed, they’re forgotten about. The Barbie’s could not give less of a shit about the Ken’s

This is an idealized world for some women. Women are in power and not made to feel like they need to apologize for taking up space, this is framed as a good thing, because it is. For the Barbies.

Meanwhile the Kens are forgotten, the movie doesn’t say or do anything about this fact.

The Kens as a collective don’t do anything until Beach Ken gets upset because Barbie keeps rejecting him.

We don’t see Ken’s feelings at all past a single line where he moodily mocks Barbie where he imagines Barbie finally saying yes to his advances and he gets to fantasize about rejecting her.

As far as a society goes this still isn’t the greatest, a whole section of the population is made to feel lesser

In a good movie we would see what happens with the Kens, maybe they’re all sleeping on the ground outside or in cars or whatever. Because then we’d understand the unfairness that the Kens feel in this world since this is supposed to be a reverse image of our world. Or at least it’s supposed to be a women oriented idealized version of our world, where men aren’t exactly oppressed but they don’t matter at all to women.

Anyway that doesnt happen but Barbie gets fucked up and has to go to the real world, Ken comes along because he’s such a desperate Manlet for Barbies attention

This is where the movie starts trying to have a message.

Barbie goes to the real world and starts getting objectified for the first time, this makes her feel bad however Ken feels great at the attention.

All the movie does with Barbies objectification is put it on a pedestal and point to it, it doesn’t say anything we just get this feeling of uncomfortableness at Barbie getting her ass slapped and cat called.

This isn’t inherently bad, putting something on a pedestal and pointing could be good, but this is a movie. It’s supposed to do something; say something, and it didn’t.

We move on from her objectification pretty quickly, it’s there and then it’s gone again never to be spoken of.

There’s One really good scene.

When Barbie is sitting on the bench she has yet to know the societal expectations of women, she’s still living in Barbieland.

So when she sees an old woman for the first time and calls her beautiful it’s a lovely poignant scene because she doesn’t know that women who are old are no longer desirable. Barbie never cared about being desired so she’s able to see this woman as she is and not as who she is “expected” to be. She’s Beautiful.

And then she goes to the school and we have the scene where Sasha calls Barbie out on “putting back feminism” because of beauty standards and what not. This is a great scene that should set up a conversation about the double standard Barbie sets for girls.

She’s Barbie, she can be a doctor, or an astronaut, or the President. But she’ll always be beautiful, she’ll always be skinny, she’ll always have perfect hair and makeup.

They did not talk about this at all.

It was framed as Sasha being a bitchy teen and we then move into Barbie meeting Mattel.

The entire Mattel plot line made so little sense, maybe it was a metaphor for something but idk so I’m just gonna move past it. All it did was give us two chase scenes back to back and introduce us better to Sasha’s mother who I don’t remember the name of.

So Barbie and Mom and Sasha go back to Barbieland cause…idk? It’s not made clear but they go back because society is so hard and when they get back to Barbieland and see that it’s now Like Society they’re devastated, as they should be, their “perfect” society is ruined.

So this is where the movie tries to talk about the patriarchy.

They don’t.

The patriarchy is the Kens being stereotypical men and the women being servants.

The movie does not discuss the implications of this, it doesn’t talk about why women needed to serve men throughout history.

Because historically women had to serve men because otherwise they’d be destitute, homeless, beaten, or killed.

Barbie does not comment on this, it just goes “this is bad” and moves on, again putting what we women already know and telling us in extremely simplistic terms.

People keep saying it’s a critique on what the patriarchy does to men, and I suppose in a very very very simple way it does. When the Kens are singing to their Barbies and the Barbies make them jealous by talking to other Kens at the same time.

Even though this isn’t really a critique on how the patriarchy makes men worse, it’s a vague critique on jealousy and relationships, it could’ve gone deeper into how the patriarchy sets a standard for men’s behavior, act like this, don’t show this emotion, look like this, but it doesn’t.

The Barbies are able to be de-programmed from the Kendom by getting tiktok ranted to by Sasha’s Mom about the double standard women go through

We weren’t shown this double standard we were told, over and over again

In an extremely anticlimactic scene the Barbies are able to take over Barbieland again, the Ken’s are right back to where they started and barely anything changed except now they like, sort of acknowledge the Ken’s deserve better than being ignored.

Once the “patriarchy” is disabled the Ken’s don’t show anger or resentment, they just miss their Barbie and want to be friends again.

Even Ken himself didn’t want to be a patriarchal leader, he just wanted Barbie to notice and acknowledge him. He makes a comical comment about “it was hard Barbie”

How Ken, how was it hard? Was it hard because the patriarchy makes men disillusioned with their emotions, making their mental health worse because they refuse to seek help due to perceived weakness?

The plot of the movie is about Barbie and her human counterpart being connected, but even after find out Barbie is connected to Sasha’s mom and not Sasha we never get any scenes about that connection

Why was Mom sad? Why was she having existential thoughts about death? Why was she worried about cellulite? We don’t get that

We don’t get any scenes with Barbie coming to terms with “being a woman” she just cries

The movie ends with her becoming human but she doesn’t do anything meaningful.

The issue is also that this is only a single niche womens experience. This doesn’t talk about PoC women, or queer women.

The issue with trying to make a movie about girl-womanhood is that not even women truly know what that means.

How do you explain womanhood? Does being a woman mean you get catcalled? Does it mean periods? Does it mean feeling unsafe to walk down the street?

Is being a woman just to live in fear?

I feel like that’s an awful definition of womanhood, but I don’t think womanhood can be defined by a single experience. Being a woman is just being a woman. What that means is up to you.

That’s the message Barbie should’ve given us but it didn’t. It played the safe card to appease Hollywood and it marketed the hell out of it to make bank.

To be so clear. I do not give a fuck if you liked this movie. Some people like stupid things cause it’s cute or campy or easy. That’s fine. Barbie is fine. But it’s not the ultra feminist movie of the century.

I think you do yourself a disservice as a woman to think that a movie needs to be about feminist to be feminist. A movie shouldn’t have to tell you it’s message, it should be able to show you. And Barbie didn’t show me anything I didn’t already know.

[lioriel]

The Barbie Movie isn't Anti-men

Yesterday I finally got to see the Barbie movie. Over the past month I’d heard so many contradictory opinions on the piece but figured I had a fairly good idea of what I was getting myself into.

I wasn't wrong.

Before we get started you should know a few things about me. I’m 36 years old. I’m a stay-at-home mom. A libertarian. As a libertarian I am sick of the political nonsense coming from every side. Right-wingers are jerks. Leftists are jerks. Heck, libertarians are jerks. People are just… ugh. And politics make monsters of us all.

Over the past month I've watched many reviews bashing the piece for being anti-men and promoting a matriarchy instead of a balanced approach. They claim the “Real World” in the movie was a patriarchy that made all men look stupid. … Yet in the same breath claim the women of Barbie Land were shallow as well. So… yes? Pretty much everyone is stupid in the movie? What’s your point?

Because the point I took from this is that sometimes we all just go with the flow. Maybe we ALL need to think about our own lives and question ourselves. Do we think we’re smarter than we really are? That we’re more morally correct than everyone else?

I ask this with love to all people across all political spectrums. I say that to remind myself that it’s important to revaluate my thoughts and actions. The Barbie movie ends with Barbie Land reclaiming their rights as a matriarchal society. They make changes to allow men some small piece of the pie. But that doesn’t mean the movie promotes this. Anyone who claims the movie was anti-men was not paying attention. Let’s review the basics of Ken’s plot as far as the Patriarchy goes:

(spoilers and continued rambling below)

At the beginning of the story Ken was marginalized. He felt like he only existed for Barbie. He was an accessory. Then he discovered the patriarchy. He felt seen. He felt heard. He felt important. Ken went on to push this agenda on Barbie Land. The world around him quickly caved to this pressure and put the Kens on a pedestal. When Barbie fought back her voice became marginalized and she finally felt what it was like to be in Ken’s previous position. She reached out to other Barbies and formed a plan to make the Kens fight amongst themselves – until they themselves snapped out of it and realized that it’s better to work together. But it’s too late by then and the Barbies have taken back over. The Barbies, however, have learned from their mistakes and hand over a sliver of their power to the Kens.

What do we learn from this? That men are stupid? That the Matriarchy is better than the Patriarchy? That men deserve to lose power? Or… Is Ken’s story not an allegory for women’s rights? Let’s go back and make some changes to my summary that flips it to be about women. *ahem* In the beginning, women were marginalized. They were expected to only exist for their husbands. Then they discovered feminism. They felt seen. They felt heard. They felt important. Women went on to push feminism on the world. The world caved to this pressure and put women on a pedestal. When Men fought back their voices became marginalized and they finally felt what it was like to be in the position women had been in. They reached out to each other and formed a plan to make the women fight amongst themselves – until the they snapped out of it and realized it’s better to work together. But it was too late by then and the men had taken back over. Then men, however, learned from their mistakes and gave women a sliver of their power.

Um. While not all of that paragraph is necessary 100% true it sounds awfully familiar. You know what? Both stories suck. Because both the patriarchy and the matriarchy suck. Because ultra-feminism sucks. Because men thinking they can treat women like objects sucks. Because women thinking they should be put on a pedestal sucks. Anyone thinking anyone is better than someone else just plain sucks. Barbie movie knows that. The writers know that. It was one of the main messages of the movie. The message that we can’t take things too far. That we need to be considerate of each other as human beings. That NO ONE should exist solely to elevate someone else. That we should live for ourselves- but also elevate others. No matter our gender.

The movie also clearly states that we should all be able to do anything. So, yes. Ken shouldn’t only have to “Beach” just as Barbie should be able to choose to be who she wants to be.  Women can be presidents, astronauts, teachers… or mothers. Mothers who do these amazing things. Mothers who choose only to be just that… mothers. And that there’s NOTHING WRONG with either choice. (The same goes for men, of course, but the movie’s focus is on women so naturally there’s more to say here on them.) It shows that Barbie as a feminist icon is flawed. That while Barbie promotes women being whoever they want to be… that it may have been a mistake to make the Barbie ideal an idol. It shows that we shouldn’t worship this fantasy that anyone can be anything to the point that we feel bad about ourselves for not being this perfect woman.

I walked away from the film thinking this was obvious, but so many others… didn’t. Why? Likely a combination of factors. Maybe these messages were too deep for them to grasp. Maybe the film should have made it more obvious? Maybe the world is so fractured by politics that we’re prone to jump to conclusions and assume the worst of everyone else?

Or maybe I was just reading too much between the lines and made it all up.

[howbarbiediditright]

How Barbie Accurately Represents Girlhood 

Throughout the Barbie movie, Barbie is put on a pedestal and for once, women are the ones being admired.  While living in Barbie Land it is claimed that “All problems of feminism and equal rights have been solved.” As in this society, the Barbies own the dream houses and have sleepovers every night.  What makes this movie unique is how it showcases perfect vs. Imperfect.  For example when Barbie goes from having her perfect morning routine, to the next day having bad breath and developing flat feet which is her biggest fear as she always stands on her heels.  Following this, Barbie then develops cellulite and thoughts of death which are real life problems that you wouldn’t expect to see in Barbie Land.  Although becoming imperfect was challenging for stereotypical Barbie, it was ultimately a learning experience as she loses her sense of identity and relies on the girls around her, to help rebuild confidence, and help her realize how beautiful she truly is.  In an article by The Crusader it states “Specifically, in the movie, Barbie is encouraged to forgive herself for her imperfections and mistakes which represents “all the impossible expectations placed on modern women.” which was done solely through women coming together to support one another and showcases that women are often overly pressured by society, especially by men.  This realization only occurred though, because Barbie was faced with the reality of the real world and how harsh it can be sometimes as she was cat called and even smacked on the ass while roller skating which made her see that in the real world, women are degraded and seen as an object.  Besides this, Barbie experiences her first emotions of crying, sadness and doubt which were never present in Barbie Land, but is important for a woman as that is how they express themselves and shouldn’t be ashamed of that, which Barbie later learns herself.  The biggest shapeshifting moment for Barbie is when she makes the decision to not live in Barbie Land anymore, showing how much she has grown, transitioning from a doll to a person, accepting of imperfections and ready for the challenges and a new chapter in the real world.  Overall, Barbie is showing these young girls that perfection isn’t a thing and sometimes we may not feel confident or good enough, but that’s only temporary because you will eventually find your purpose.

[does-it-really-matter]

Demonising Femininity

🤍 Disclaimer- In this article, we are mostly talking about femininity in the aspect of make-up, fashion, etc. Stereotypically feminine and masculine things are a social construct, and it is okay for anyone of any gender to engage in their preferred form of expression.

“You run like a girl.”

“Man up.”

These two sentences both talk about behaving like a certain gender, yet one is uplifting, while the other is an insult. It’s not hard to guess which is which.

We know that misogyny exists, and being a woman in itself comes with a lot of challenges. But it’s even worse when one is traditionally feminine.

So, what is femininity?

The concept of femininity varies across cultures, but it is generally the various characteristics and traits that are attributed to women. However, as these are personality traits, they can be exhibited by anybody regardless of gender. According to popular belief, it includes sensitivity, tenderness, kindness, passiveness, etc. In the modern world, it is also equated with the combination of wearing make-up, being concerned about their physical appearance, and ambition. But there isn’t a real definition of femininity as it is pretty much a spectrum encompassing certain traits. These certain personality traits and characteristics got gendered because society had a specific role for each gender, and they evolved these traits to better adapt to those particular roles. While both masculine and feminine traits can be found in everyone in various combinations, society expects men to show more masculinity, and women to show more femininity.

When and how did it get demonised?

Misogyny can be traced all the way back to ancient Greece, with the myth of Pandora’s box, where Pandora opened the box and unleashed misery upon mankind. Therefore the blame for all of man’s problems was placed upon the shoulders of a woman, and it all went downhill from there. As the original colonizers, the Greek spread this tale into the places they conquered, and misogyny took root in all the cultures around. This idea of women being inferior was also propagated by the tale of Adam and Eve in the Old Testament, where Eve made Adam eat the forbidden apple, which led to the downfall of man.

In the 1950s in the USA, women who had taken up civilian jobs during world war 2, were now expected to go back to being housewives, or taking up more ‘feminine’ jobs which would ultimately pay less. Due to this, in the second wave of feminism that started in the early 1960s, women rioted and started dressing and acting more ‘masculine’ in the hopes of being taken seriously by their male counterparts, and getting the jobs they needed. This meant that they denounced make-up and high heels and other such ‘feminine’ things.

So presenting as more masculine in that era was unfortunately required for women to empower themselves. But why do we still look down on those who present themselves in a feminine fashion today? We see it everyday; women who wear more make-up are considered shallow, women who like to dress in pink and have blonde hair are considered to be stupid and childish, and those who conform to this kind of femininity and are ambitious are chalked up to be mean and selfish, especially in the media.

In common teenage coming-of-age movies, and young adult fiction, the antagonist is generally a stereotypically feminine and preppy girl, while the protagonist is more of a tomboy and an outcast. The antagonist is made to be a villain with only their own motives in mind, with no other personality traits whatsoever. Though this does not embody what femininity means, it still depicts the appearance of hyper femininity as something that should be shunned. This is common even in movies targeted towards other audiences, such as Dreamworks' 'Shark Tale', where one female fish is strongly ambitious, while being concerned about her physical appearance. However, she is given the role of the villain, while the female love interest is, to be frank, bland and more passive, with her whole personality being just the love interest.

This kind of stereotyping women into two very strict boxes damages us more than we think. People knowingly or unknowingly absorb a lot of concepts from the media, and when we are presented with the idea that being ambitious and rocking a pink outfit = bad, while being passive and dressing down makes them more interesting, we apply this in our day to day life as well. But this narrative is absolutely wrong, because women cannot be pushed into such strong stereotypes. People are complex beings, and with each person's personality being so drastically different, it goes without saying that the same applies to women.

Studies have found that women who wear more make-up in their workplace are less likely to be given a promotion, solely because of their make-up. It is commonly viewed that women who wear heavy make-up are considered to be less competent than the other female workers. But this is a misconception, as the productivity of a person is in no way related to the amount of make-up they wear, or the way they choose to dress.

Another way this is expressed is that parents allow their daughters to play with ‘boy’s’ toys and games, but the same is not applicable the other way around. Sons are rarely given dolls and Barbies to play with, for the reason that it will somehow make them less masculine. What scares people so much about femininity?

Demonising femininity affects the mentality of almost everyone. It pits women against women, and pushes back the feminism movement as well. In the end, only the patriarchy benefits from this. Femininity being labelled as something that is evil has given rise to the ‘not like other girls’ and ‘pick-me girls’ trope.

The ‘not like other girls’ trope is basically when a girl, typically a pre-teen or teenager, believes that she is different from other girls because she is not into mainstream pop music, or doesn’t wear make-up and dresses.

Okay, she believes that she’s different. What’s wrong with that?

The problem is that when this phrase is used, it’s usually in the context that the girl being referred to is better than other girls just because she doesn’t wear make-up. The phrase puts down the entire gender, while trying to compliment one girl in a back-handed way. Dressing in a different way isn’t a reason to put a person on a pedestal, and it builds up a superiority complex for something that is pretty much inane. The phrase doesn’t even bring into consideration the personality of the girl in question as well as the personalities of the other girls.

This also results in internalised misogyny, since the girl believes she is better than other girls because she is being as masculine as possible, hence leading to the conclusion that being a girl in itself is bad. Internalised sexism, according to Wikipedia, is when an individual enacts sexist actions and attitudes towards themselves and people of their own sex. They further propagate the ideals and behaviour imposed upon them by their oppressors. This causes a bigger divide within women, as they subconsciously put down other women who do not conform to the patriarchy, and they tend to believe gender biases in favour of men.

This kind of mentality is hard to shake out, and it is damaging in both the short and the long run. Embracing your ‘feminine’ side is something that’s not only fun to do, but it also makes us human. Being feminine is not something to be ashamed of, or something to be demonized. The whole idea plays into the patriarchy. The ideology of ‘live and let live’ is very important in this aspect. We shouldn’t put down women just because of the way they dress. Many aspects of femininity help make us better people, and that is something we should celebrate.

We should no longer have to be apologetic or embarrassed for our femininity. We deserve to be respected for all our femaleness.

[good-rwbyaus]

AU where the entire war between Ozma and Salem is just one big chess game with the Huntsmen and the Grimm/Inner Circle as pieces. Bonus points if this is a RWBY Chibi skit. Even more bonus points if there are 20-sided dice rolls to simulate unpredictable elements.

#The Vytal Campaign - RWBY as a DnD Campaign - mod lilac [ Beginning: Ruby Rose]  [ Spot Check: Jaune ] [ Critifail ] [ Reveal of the Mysterious Narrator ]

Salem and Ozpin play out an abbreviated version of the Lost Fable. 

Salem and the Gods - Before the Vytal Campaign

An Ultraman figure, covered in a blanket, laid in a makeshift bed. Beside it, a blonde barbie doll knelt beside him, hands tied together in prayer. On the edges of the table are multiple chess pieces, mostly pawns and bishops, and some other dolls and action figures.

Salem: Oh gods. I pray to thee for Divine Intervention to save my Ozma.

Ozpin, amused: I’m pretty sure you don’t ask for Divine Intervention like that.

Salem, snappily: Hey. I wasn’t the one who wanted to spice things up by getting sick and ended up rolling two 1′s in a row when he tried to get better. Only you can make your character die in the epilogue of all things: now do you want Ozma to survive or not?

Ozpin held up his hands in surrender.

Ozpin: Yeesh, alright, you’re more invested in my characters than I am. Okay so Salem - also still don’t get why you insist on using real names or variants of.- beseeches the gods. Which of the gods do you want to ask? 

Salem, pursing her lips:  Guess God of Light first, I mean Ozma was a Paladin, right? He’s gotta favor you.

Ozpin: Let’s see what the dice say.

Salem tosses the dice. Clatter clatter.

Salem: ...

Ozpin: ...You rolle-

Salem, growling: Shut it.  

The twenty-sided die Salem rolled proudly displayed a 1.

Ozpin: The God of Light doesn’t even bother descending in person. His voice just apologetically echoes. “I understand your pain, but you demand of me that which I cannot make so. Life and death are part of a delicate bal-”

Salem: Screw it. I pray to the God of Fucking Darkness. -tosses the die.-

Ozpin: I’m pretty sure you don’t want to do th-

Clatter clatter.

Salem: Ha. I rolled a sixteen! 

Ozpin eyes the poor Ultraman figure on the table before dismantling it joint from joint. He then starts putting the legs where the shoulders go.

Salem: What are you doing?! 

Ozpin, sardonically: You prayed to the god of destruction for my revival. Of course I come back wrong. 

Salem, flustered. : Well. Well. I-I TELL HIM TO STOP. In fact, I insist! I roll to cast Greater Suggestion.

Salem tosses the dice. Her eyes bug out at the result.

Salem: Are these dice rigged or something? This is the fourth 1 we’ve rolled this session.

Ozpin: No rigged dice here. That’s just how they fall. -sigh.- Well, I guess the God of Darkness gets pissed o- No, you know what. Just to celebrate our 4th critical failure in the past thirty minutes. 

Salem: Oz. No.

Ozpin, grandly: The God of Light is affronted by your attempt to influence his brother. He too appears in person. As his brother shakes off your Suggestion, he helpfully tells his brother that Salem went to him first. Cause he’s helpful like that. Out of jealousy, the God of Darkness roars and waves a hand at the poor, sad abomination he created. Salem catches a glimpse of Ozma turning his head 360 degrees to her, eyes wide and saying “My wi-” before disintegrating into nothingness.

....

Salem, glaring: Why do you insist on your characters dying pathetically sad deaths?

Ozpin shrugs and sips his hot cocoa.

Salem: You know what. This game’s gone FUBAR at this point. 

Salem, dramatically: I swear vengeance against the gods. I swear to drag you all out of your stupid little pedestals and make you taste the cold hard ground.

Ozpin, affronted: Are you seriously pulling a Raven? 

Salem, yelling: - smacks the table.- I tell the God of Light he fights like a dairy farmer and the God of Darkness that he fights like a cow! 

Ozpin, amused: They’re gods. They’re perturbed by your insults but overall they don’t think much about your angry rant.

Salem: Uh huh, so you’re really saying that you made the god of Darkness go out of character then.

Ozpin: Well no. He’s just a bit of a special case. In the lore, he has an inferiority complex when it comes to his brother.

Salem, smiling: ...Really now?

Ozpin opens his mouth to speak.

Salem: Hey! God of Darkness, how does it feel being second best to your brother all the time? I mean, he created all the humans and animals and stuff, and what do you make? Some shitty ass Grimm. I guess it’s kinda fitting, given the rest of humanity thinks of you as a pathetic shadow of your brother. 

Salem, whiningly: Oh look at me. I’m God of Darkness. Even my name makes me feel like I’M CRAWLING IN MY SKIN. I’m so hideous that my own brother locks me in a tiny little continent inside Remnant. At least I have a tiny pool of death and destruction where I can do unspeakable things to the bestial creatures I make.  

Ozpin pauses in shock. 

Oscar: ...Was that really neces-

Salem: You know what the rest of humanity thinks of you as? Your brother’s whipping boy. Always second best. The Luigi to a Mario. A Shadow the Hedgehog to a Sonic. A limp dick who can’t put one foot out of line in fear of his older brother. Because you don’t have the guts. For a God of Destruction, you sure are pathetically meek. When humanity finally rises up, your ass will be the first to get beat. 

Salem tosses the dice.

Salem: HA! I rolled a 20! 

Ozpin: ...Epic levels in Speechcraft, right?

Salem, proudly: Yeah. You know, the same epic skill that made my father, the King, trap me in that stupid fairytale tower - and I still managed to get all those heroes to kill themselves trying to save me. 

Ozpin sighs before folding up his world-building notes. He then dramatically sweeps all the toys and chess pieces onto the floor. 

Salem, confused: Oz! What are y-

Ozpin, loudly: The God of Light, seeing his brother quiver in anger, only has a chance to give out a dismayed yell before the God of Darkness screams in rage.

Ozpin, suddenly: ARGGGGGGGH!

Salem jumps at Ozpin’s sudden scream before glaring.

Ozpin: A shockwave of purple magic detonates around the God of Darkness. The hut they were in collapses. The pulse of magic extends past the forests, past the mountains, past the seas, and into the cities. It spares the stone and mortar but for the men and women it touched, it renders them into dust. 

Salem stiffens, eyes wide.

Ozpin: The forest critters, dust. The sea creatures, dust. All that lives which touch the Cursed Wave, dust. Before long, the only living things on Remnant are two Gods and a human named Salem. 

Salem, jaw slackening: Did I just cau- Wait, isn’t that a bit extre-

Ozpin, smirking: Nope. The God of Darkness has always been able to casually wipe out life on Remnant. Congratulations, you’ve pissed off a god so much that he wiped out Humanity and everything else.

....

Salem: ...We never tell Raven about this. 

[tara-palmer]

man’s world - self para

She’s twelve when she first sees herself through a man’s eyes.

It’s her fourth year in foster care, fourth home, only her third school. She gets up at the breakfast! that somehow reaches her upstairs bedroom, having set an alarm for twenty minutes ago-- she likes to be able to just lie there, staring at the ceiling of the gradually lightening room as the rest of the world comes alive. She grabs a new white turtleneck, denim jacket, jeans with flannel stitched into the rips to comply with the school’s dress code. She blinks her way through a coat of mascara and finds a tinted chapstick before grabbing her backpack off the bedpost and thundering downstairs in her socks. “Morning,” She greets the small family: substitute mom and dad, older boy, younger girl-- their real kids. They respond in a chorus, save for the boy, who typically doesn’t utter a word until the sun’s been up for a few hours, unless it’s something negative. It’s a good family, though, not too exclusive, not unkind, but not falsely affectionate, either. The siblings always make room on the couch for her, even if the boy grumbles for a moment or two, and the girl seems delighted to have her around, always begging her to play with her Barbies and showing her off when her friends come over-- not because it’s weird to have a random girl in her house, but because she genuinely likes her. It’s nice to be on someone’s pedestal, even if it’s a seven-year old’s. When they’re rinsing their plates, the girl-- Isabella-- grabs her hand and starts asking her mom if she can show Tara what the Barbies are wearing today. “Three minutes,” she responds simply, taking Tara’s plate to let her go. She follows obediently, making sure to react appropriately when Isabella opens her bedroom door and makes a sweeping gesture toward the dolls, all-- surprisingly-- decked out in winter gear. Just the day before, they’d been in tight colorful dresses, and Tara had thought it was funny, given the season. “Look, now they’re not cold anymore, remember, you said they were probably cold before!” She nods with a grin, giving her a thumbs-up. “Yeah, they look awesome. And super warm. I’m sure they’re silently thanking you.” Isabella beams, apparently satisfied with her review. “Will you play with me after school? We can go outside with them so they can see the snow now that they’re warm!” In this moment, all she’s looking forward to doing after school is taking a nap, but she can’t say no. “Yeah, of course. If mom’s okay with it.” As if on cue, the same voice from the breakfast summons rings out again: “Tara, bus!” Isabella looks disappointed, and Tara pulls her into a half-hug before heading for the front door, shrugging her way into her coat and barely tying the high top Converse on the shoe rack. She follows Michael, the boy, outside and crunches down the path to the bus, hands in her pockets: it’s a trade off, because it pulls the coat and jacket down, separating the middle part and leaving her chest covered only by her turtleneck, but she can’t stand cold hands. As she boards the bus, she notices the driver eyeing her-- it’s not a familiar look, but she knows she doesn’t like it. Michael’s friend isn’t on the bus, so he lets Tara sit with him (to her relief.) She discards the coat for the time being, letting her jacket remain open-- it’s about a 30 minute route, and they’re right by a heating vent. Still, every time the doors open, she finds herself cold again. At one stop, an eighth grader gets on and as he passes, his expression seems to go from a reflection of the bus driver’s to a weird, crude smirk. She’s wondering if she has mascara smeared on her eyelid or jelly on her lip when she sees Michael roll his eyes and stare out the window, away from her. She checks her face in her little compact mirror, but can’t find an issue, so she just crosses her arms, slumps slightly in the seat, and waits for the ride to be over. --- She’s been at school for three hours, occasionally receiving long glances, odd winks and smirks from boys, and a couple flat out, wide-eyed stares, when the principal walks into her classroom. He’s there for a teacher evaluation, just watching to see how Ms. Jacobs is doing. After a few minutes, Tara gets up to sharpen her pencil and that’s when it all goes downhill-- no, falls straight off a cliff. She’d discarded her jacket a few minutes after sitting down, but as she stands up and heads to the pencil sharpener, a few snickers start up. The principal takes note and looks for the source-- when he finds her, white turtleneck, nervously cranking the sharpener, knowing they’re looking at her, he sputters for a moment before a real word comes out. “What are you wearing?” She feels like she’s going to pee, oh god, she never gets in trouble-- she looks around the room, hoping he meant to ask someone else and just happened to glare at her as he did so. “I-- what-- the pants? We-- we put some flannel in to make it in dress code, I thought--” “Don’t play dumb, you know it’s not the pants!” She feels like the whole world has shrunk to this classroom, like the fate of her whole universe depends on this. “I-- I don’t know--” “You think you can come in here with your boobs hanging out? What, is it not written in the dress code that we shouldn’t be able to see your entire--” Ms. Jacobs cuts him off there: “Principal Hanson-- please-- don’t embarrass her.” The class is on the verge of losing it and Tara can’t hear anything but their choked snorts and her own heart pounding. “She should be embarrassed!” He interrupts her heartbeat quickly, standing up. “There are boys and men in this school, and she’s strutting around like some kind of Playmate--” “Stop it! You can’t say that to a child!” He finds Tara again, pencil abandoned in the sharpener, collar of her turtleneck sporting black stains from the mascara that’s already run that far. He points to her, glaring at Ms. Jacobs. “She’s coming to the office. Now. We need to call her mother, she can’t walk around here like that.” She’s never been to the office except to take the roll sheets and on the first day when she signed in to meet her counselor. She’s vaguely aware of her own sniffling, but luckily, her classmates aren’t laughing anymore. One of the girls, Anna, gets up and delivers her denim jacket and a handful of tissues. Tara is focusing too hard on controlling her quivering lungs and lips to say much, and Ms. Jacobs thanks her in her place. “Let me talk to her first, then I’ll walk her down and we can call together. Sir, this isn’t a big deal unless you make it one.” “You don’t know what’s a big deal to a man,” He takes a moment to straighten himself up, then announces, “I’m expecting her in the next half hour,” before walking out. The classroom is silent except for Tara struggling to contain the squeaky inhales from her strained lungs, desperate to release a sob. She’s not even completely sure what she did wrong, but she’s so embarrassed she’s pretty sure she just wants to die. “Come on, Tara, let’s go talk outside,” Ms. Jacobs is nodding her head toward the doorway, and she follows numbly. Once the door is closed, she expects to hear an eruption of laughter from inside, but it’s just a sudden flow of low whispers. “Are you okay?” She shrugs, squeaking one final time before the built-up sob comes out, which earns a hug from her teacher. “He shouldn’t have said all that. He shouldn’t have embarrassed you in front of them. He only did that because he was embarrassed.” “--But-- why? Embarrassed of-- of-- wha--t?” Ms. Jacobs pulls back to look at her. “Tara...” When she can’t do anything but stare blankly, still blinking away tears, she lets out a sigh. “You really don’t get it?” “I-- I guess it was my-- boobs? But I-- didn’t know anything looked bad, I-- didn’t do anything different, I-- didn’t even think I had boobs.” Ms. Jacobs is quiet for a moment. “Do you have any bras?” “No-- I never-- I’ve never bought any...” “Your mom’s never gotten you any? She’s never talked to you about this?” Tara doesn’t want to say that her ‘mom’ isn’t her real one, that she hasn’t seen the real one since she was eight, that she’s never had this kind of conversation with anyone. She just shakes her head. The woman sighs again. “Looks like she’ll have to today. I’m sorry it had to happen like this. Come on, let’s get it over with.” Tara pulls her jacket on as she follows her down the hall, jamming tissues into her eyes and avoiding the stares of everyone they pass. --- When she’s in her substitute mom’s car, picked up after the uncomfortable phone call, heading for the store, she gets another earful. “What the hell were you thinking? A white shirt without a bra?” “I don’t have--” “I don’t care, you’re not blind! You should’ve seen a problem when you looked in the damn mirror! You can’t show up in public looking like a cheap slut!” Tara presses her knuckles into her lips into her teeth as she stares out the window. “I didn’t know I had to spell everything out for you, you’re twelve years old. You should know women-- self-respecting women-- don’t walk around looking like that.” Tears are rolling again, but the mascara’s just about gone, so it doesn’t really matter. “Do you have any idea what kind of example that sets for Isabella? She looks up to you! Next thing you know, those damn Barbies are gonna be walking around with their tits out! It’s probably gonna take a while for your principal to get that image out of his head.” She wants to open the car door, tumble down the sloping grass on the side of the freeway, curl up in a drainage ditch, and die there-- hopefully, whoever found her body would be able to call the police without getting all flustered about her cold, dead boobs. “Are you listening to me?” She flinches when the woman reaches across the glovebox and grabs her arm, nodding quickly, more tears squeezing out against her will. She quickly lets go, places her hand on the back of her head more gently. “I’m sorry-- I’m sorry. That was too much. I’m not mad at you, I’m just embarrassed. And concerned. You don’t wanna end up like your mom, do you?”

It doesn’t take her long to figure out that she’s gay. 

One of the seniors in her debate class sophomore year, Emily, takes the way men look at her and bends it into something softer, kinder, rooted in more than her body. She tells her as she’s walking to her next class one day that she’s ‘cool for an underclassman’ and should hang out with her and her friends some time. And apparently, the invitation is sincere, because she’s at Emily’s house that Friday night-- having told her latest set of parents that she’s spending the night with a girl they’ve seen around the church a few times. She’s surprised to see they have alcohol ( maybe she should’ve expected it from a bunch of rich teenagers in a boring town, but none of the kids she’s hung out with have ever done that. ) She hasn’t been around alcohol-- at least this kind-- in years, distinctly able to remember how her dad smelled when he fell asleep in his big chair and she climbed up in it with him when her mom wasn’t home and she didn’t want to have to put herself to bed. Blushing, she admits she doesn’t really drink-- but quickly adds “so I should probably start with wine, right?” when everyone groans. Emily flashes a smile and hands her a bottle of white and a solo cup. “Smart girl,” she murmurs, and the curl of her lips when she says it makes Tara glow just a little. The other kids start snickering when she fills the cup almost to the top-- shit, was it too much? But Emily just takes the bottle back and pours one to match. “She’s got it, chill out. Right, babe?” She pretends it’s the first swallow of wine that turns her cheeks red, and nods. Emily is giving her That Look, the better version of a man’s, like she’s seeing her through appreciative eyes, like she wants her for more than the shape of her chest, waist, hips. She’s pretty sure she’s-- flirting-- and if that’s true, she’s also pretty sure she wants to do it back. Halfway through the cup, she’s giggling at everything Emily says, even letting out a snort at one point. When they’re both done with their oversized portions, Emily holds up a finger and fills about a quarter of their cups with something stronger. Tara tries not to make a face when she tastes it, because everyone is watching and she’s the youngest one and-- she swallows with just an audible exhale, and there’s a collective noise of approval: a couple cheers, a couple okay!s, one damn, the baby can hang. Emily takes a sip and leans over and her lips are so close and Tara can feel her heartbeat across every inch of her skin and she closes the distance, shocked when Emily’s mouthful of alcohol finds her tongue-- she nearly spits it out, nearly chokes, but manages to get it down, pushing her back playfully afterwards. “Are you trying to kill me?” Emily wipes her mouth on the back of her hand, eyes glinting. “Nah. Just making sure you were into it.” At four that morning, after they’ve spent two hours making out and drinking and occasionally stumbling out into the snow to look at the sky and the stars, coming back in to snuggle up by the fireplace, Emily snakes her arm around Tara’s waist. “So you’re my girlfriend now, right?” Tara glances over to make sure she’s not kidding. It’s not like they know each other super well, but even with her brain half-jumbled, it makes a strange sort of sense. And someone is picking her-- how can she say no? “Mmm-hmm,” she hums, surprised by the contentment that washes over her, and parts her lips slightly as Emily leans back in for more. 

Unfortunately, even when her gayness becomes visible to other people, there’s still no lack of interested men. And Emily’s even less happy about that than Tara is.

They’re standing in the hallway in front of Tara’s English class during a passing period when one of the guys in her class stops in front of them. He seems to struggle to find a good reason to say something for a moment, but finally asks if she did the essay that’s due in class. She nods, a little awkwardly. “Uh-- yeah,” She lets out a quiet fraction of a laugh. “Didn’t want to uh, fail.” He nods quickly, reaching up to scratch at the back of his neck. “Yeah-- me too. Did you think the book was sad?” Emily moves closer, arm circling Tara’s waist, sending a message. “Yeah-- obviously. I don’t know anyone who doesn’t think so-- I guess it was pretty good, though.” He nods again. “Yeah, cool, uh-- see you in there,” and with that, he ducks into the classroom. Emily rolls her eyes and Tara glances at her arm. “You didn’t have to do that-- he’s annoying, but harmless.” “Oh, come on-- didn’t you see him? He was taking your shirt off with his eyes!” “I don’t think--” “Trust me, babe, he was. He was staring.” Tara sighs with a shrug. “Alright. Like I said, annoying but harmless. He wouldn’t do anything.” “So? I don’t like guys looking at you like that. You’re my baby, not theirs.” Any doubt or annoyance melts at that-- being protected, valued-- that’s worth something. “Yeah, I-- only like for you to take my shirt off with your eyes.” “Good,” Emily grins and squeezes her waist lightly. “--Have you worn that one before?” Tara glances down at the varsity-striped sweater, loose, V-necked. “I just got it the other day.” Emily is quiet for a moment, hand still lightly rubbing Tara’s side. “It’s cute. I like it on you. But maybe you could just wear it around me. So guys like him won’t get any ideas.” “--Seriously?” Emily looks vaguely hurt, glances away for a moment. “Maybe I’m just stupid and insecure--” Tara almost physically jumps. “No! No, you-- you’re not. You’re right. This one’s just for you. --I’m just for you.” Emily brightens again at that, pulls her into a tighter hug, kissing the side of her head. “You’re the best. I’m so lucky you’re all mine. You’re meeting me in the parking lot after fourth, right?” Tara nods minimally, not wanting to disrupt the embrace. “Yeah. Your house, right?” Emily still doesn’t know her parents are fakes. And they don’t know their fake daughter is gay. And if she can help it, neither party is going to find out. “Yep.” When the warning bell starts up, she dives for Tara’s collarbone, eliciting a yelp when she bites down, sucking hard for a moment before she pulls away. A teacher comes down the hall just in time to miss it. Tara looks down at the light mark, then at the older girl with wide eyes. “What the hell was that?” “That was to remind that dumb boy you’re spoken for-- and to get you excited for this afternoon.” She can only imagine what the second part means, so she ignores the first and shakes her head with an exhale of a laugh. “Whatever, I’ll see you at three.” --- They’re on one of Emily’s expensive couches, making out, when Tara’s phone vibrates in her pocket. Tara wants to ignore it, placing a hand on the side of her girlfriend’s face to keep her in the moment-- but after the second notification, Emily is already reaching for it, slipping it out to look at it. “Em,” She complains, trying to pull her lips back to her own. “If you’re not gonna look, I will. What if your mom’s trying to tell you something?” Tara rolls her eyes: “Well, is it her?” Emily shakes her head with a scoff and holds it up. “Highly doubt it.” It’s from an unsaved number, but there are a couple earlier texts-- clearly, it’s someone she knows but doesn’t like enough to make them a contact. The newest text reads ‘hey Tara. its me Josh from english. just wondering if you would want to hang out some time. i know ur doing some kind of lesbian thing right now and that’s cool and hot and all but maybe i’m your type of dude and you don’t know yet. if not i get it and it’s fine. also do you sell any kind of pics?’ Tara can’t do anything but laugh, so forceful it’s almost a cough. “Aw man, Em, you were right. Looks like he had some trouble mentally getting my tits all the way out, though. He needs some help with the visuals.” Emily isn’t laughing. She’s typing. Tara quickly regains her composure to watch. “You don’t have to...” She trails off as she follows her fingers pounding the mini keyboard. ‘hey, jagoff, this is tara’s girlfriend. she’s not *doing some kind of lesbian thing* she’s fucking gay and she doesn’t want to hang out with your lame ass. and no, she doesn’t sell pictures. just go look at pornhub like every other pathetic loser man who can’t get ass. leave her alone, lose her number, fuck off.’ Tara doesn’t have to ask again to get that kiss once the text is sent, pushed back onto the couch, lips reconnecting almost immediately. She’s dying to breathe when Emily finally lets up ( for some reason, she never breathes through her nose while they’re kissing, like all the air gets sucked out of her before it can enter, overpowered by a more dominating force. ) “You’re mine, right?” Tara nods: “You know that.” “I just-- don’t wanna lose you. You’re the best thing I’ve ever had.” Tara finds both her hands and laces their fingers together. “You’re not gonna lose me. I won’t leave you.” ( It’s usually the other way around. ) Emily gets up at that, pulls on Tara’s hands to lead her into her bedroom, shuts and locks the door before pushing her up against it and diving into another kiss, harder, a little surprising. Then they find the bed. The varsity sweater comes off. Tara’s cold at first, but the kisses that start trailing down her neck resolve that. She doesn’t stop her until all their clothes are piled on the floor, and she suddenly realizes she doesn’t know what’s coming next. “Wait, what-- what are we--” Emily touches the light purple spot near her clavicle. “I’m gonna worship you. If you want me to.” Tara’s never been worshipped. Catcalled, yes, ogled, yes, inserted in a weird fantasy, probably yes, but never worshipped. She decides-- after a few more kisses-- that’s something she wants.

As Christmas approaches, Tara starts to worry about how she’s supposed to pay off what she owes Emily for loving her. 

She’s not about to ask her fake parents for money-- not that they have as much as Em’s family in the first place. She’s never had her own money, or when she did, it was in small installments, given to her by guardians over the years when she went to the mall with groups of girls who decided they could absorb her. She certainly doesn’t have any saved ( though some of the seventeen-year olds do, and occasionally, when she’s not with a family, they remind her of that fact. What’s she going to do when she’s eighteen? ) and she isn’t sure how she’s supposed to get it. Even if she managed to find a job, she probably wouldn’t get paid in time for Christmas-- and if she did, it wouldn’t be enough for Emily’s rich ass. A part-time minimum wage check wouldn’t even cover one of the outfits she wears to school. She starts trying to figure out what she wants-- maybe she can find some kind of modification, like-- trying to recreate a sweater she wants by hand from Youtube tutorials-- or something. She’ll have to think on it for a while. “You know, most girlfriends drop hints about what they want to their significant other. Sadly, I can’t read your mind.” “I do drop hints. They’re just subtle. And you know what I like. If you read my mind, you’d just be seeing a lot of yourself.” Tara can’t help but grin at that-- but it doesn’t do much for her restless thoughts. She does know what she likes. Nice shoes, overpriced clothes, expensive jewelry. Would she let it slide if she got her something small and pathetic? Probably. But would she feel like shit for months? Definitely. Maybe she can catch one of the subtle hints and it’ll be smaller than she’s expecting, dropped with an unemployed high school student’s budget in mind. But sure enough, every lead over the span of a week is dead-ended at fucking expensive-- she must think her fake parents-- which she thinks are her real ones-- have more money than they do, and by extension, that Tara has more money than she does. She’s just about decided she’ll have to search for some really cool things at a thrift store and alter them so they’re custom-- maybe she can even put in a tag saying it’s from her and that she loves her-- when a thought sneaks in as she’s going to sleep the night before the last week of the fall semester. It’s not a good thought, even to her half-awake brain, but it’s a thought, which she’s been lacking in. It comes in the form of a poorly written text: ‘also do you sell any kind of pics?’ and she almost writes herself off as an idiot for even considering for half a second. She hates knowing men want that from her, that they see her like that, like a walking pair of boobs ( haven’t they, since she was twelve and didn’t even know she had any? ) She hates being an object, probably even more than she hates feeling invisible. Being noticed but not valued is worse than never being noticed at all. But they do it anyway, mentally-- or in reality, if she’s wearing a skirt and they can find the right angle at the bottom of a staircase. Why shouldn’t she use that to her advantage, in this case, to get the one person who does value her something nice? She’s motionless for a few moments, staring into the darkness of the room before she finally grabs her phone and scrolls until she finds that unsaved number, still in the text history. ‘hey’ - ‘this is random but did you still want to buy pictures from me?’ There’s no response for a few minutes, and she assumes he’s asleep-- but as she’s putting her phone back on the nightstand, it vibrates. ‘for real?’ - ‘this isn’t emily is it? i’m not looking for trouble ma’am’ - ‘lol’ - ‘it’s really tara?’ She rolls her eyes at his stupid joking, regrets the whole thing for a second, but pushes that down. ‘yes it’s really me. i need some money and if you’re still interested just tell me what you want to see and i’ll tell you if i can make it happen.’ She’s setting boundaries in her head: what she’ll show, what she won’t, what this desperate, horny boy is allowed to see when he responds again. ‘hell yeah!!!! see i knew you were cool. your girl has a stick up her butt haha no offense’ - ‘boobs is great’ - ‘but like with your face too cuz your hot’ ( she cringes at the your-- and just about everything else he says. ) - ‘maybe ass too?’ When he’s silent for a while, she assumes he’s done making requests. ‘okay. boobs and face $10 each, ass $6 each.’ - ‘you have any friends who would want some too? please don’t send them to whoever wants them, let me do it so i get paid okay?’ - ‘i’m kind of trusting you here.’ Her heart is pounding and she’s considering the hundreds of ways this could go bad. Especially since it’s not even fucking legal. Shit shit shit-- ‘deal’ - ‘how bout 3 boobs and face and 2 ass’ - ‘and duh i know people who would want them. don’t worry i’ll give them your number not your pics ;)’ She wants to gag, but-- in a way, she’s relieved. ‘perfect thank you’ - ‘i’ll send them tomorrow evening probably, i’ll work on taking them after school.’ - ‘going to bed now though. glad we worked this out.’ He sends a ‘goodnight ;)’ but she leaves it unopened until she sends the pictures the next day. Within the week, she’s made $120 off of stupid sophomore boys who have too much money for their own good. --- At Emily’s house a few days before Christmas, she has a silver Pandora ring and earrings to match in her bag, planning to pull them out after they’ve fucked, which is clearly part of Emily’s plan based on the silk sheets on the bed and candles burning nearby. She pours up some cinnamon vanilla Bailey’s first, applies a coat of lipstick to match her red off-the-shoulder sweater ( also reserved for Em. ) As she steps into the bedroom, it’s clear something’s off. Way off. Emily’s shoulders are tense and her face is hard. For a moment, Tara thinks she doesn’t see her there-- but when her head snaps up, eyes blazing, she knows she’s wrong, way wrong, shit, fuck, what the fuck-- she’s holding her phone. Her heart drops so fast and hard it makes her step back, she nearly drops the drinks, she thinks she might throw up. “Em--” “You know what I found.” “I--” “You know. Don’t fucking look at me like that, you know. You know!” She’s suddenly eating all her new lipstick off, stomach twisting, eyes filling. “What the hell!” The outburst makes her jump so hard a little of the Bailey’s splashes on her hand, drips on the carpet. “What the fuck are you doing, sending this shit to random guys at-- midnight, 1 am, whatever, four days ago? What, you need their attention, too? You want them, too? You’re not even a real lesbian, are you?” Tara can’t find any words, can’t move, lips pressed together so hard they’re tingling. “Say something!” She shakes her head, wants to disappear. “Say something, you fucking liar! What’s your excuse? Give me a fucking excuse!” She can’t tell her it was for her. That’s some kind of fucked up, right, to put it back on her? To say she had to do it to make her happy? “Stop shaking your head and say! Words!” “I--” Emily is quiet for a moment, just fuming, waiting for more. “I’m-- sorry.” That wasn’t what she wanted. She gets up off the bed, storms over, holds the phone up to her face-- it’s a $10 picture, one of the more recent ones. “What the fuck! What the fuck!” Tara is about ninety-nine percent sure she’s going to vomit when a slap knocks it right back down her throat-- and the drinks out of her hands-- and her whole body backwards, stumbling, almost landing on her ass. A word is ringing in her ear, barely audible over the deafening, repeating clapping sound: whore, she thinks it is. Emily confirms when she lets it slip again: “fake lesbian whore.” She’s still holding her phone, scrolling. “God, how many fucking people knew you’d show your tits to literally anyone? Looks like the whole damn school, except for me. How about your mom, did she know? Did your little Christian mom and dad know you were letting me and the whole JV football team fuck you?” “I wasn’t--” “I don’t care! I told you I wanted you to myself! What’s your mom’s name, Julie, right? Julie... here she is, ‘hi, I’m going to a friend’s house for a Christmas party today but I’ll be home by nine if that’s okay. Have fun at your work party!’ At least I know I’m not the only one who’s been lied to.” It takes a moment before her tapping on the screen sinks in, the waves of pain in her cheek distracting her. “Wait-- what are you--” “Sent.” “No-- no-- what’s sent-- what-- what did you do?” “Nothing you wouldn’t. Just sent a few pictures.” “No-- no, fuck--” She sinks to her knees, drops her head in her hands, too overwhelmed to do much else. Does she cry, vomit, scream? All three? “Aw, babe, do you feel pretty fucking stupid? Yeah, me too. Get out of my fucking house.” She glances up for a moment, maybe just to see if this is really happening, if that’s really Emily talking, and immediately ducks again when the phone sails straight toward her. “Please...” Her face is crumpling, lungs contracting, heart aching. “Please what? What do you fucking want from me?” “I wasn’t-- I wasn’t cheating on you, I-- I needed money--” “For what? You have me, I can always spot you, you know that! When have I not been there for you?” Tara still can’t find the words to say it was all for her-- it feels wrong, and-- she wants it to not be true, she wants to be able to buy her favorite person in the fucking world a Christmas gift without selling fucking nudes. “I’m sorry. I’m just-- sorry, I-- don’t know what else to say. I love you, I only love you, I only care about you. Look, I didn’t even say anything to these guys, all I sent was the pictures, I-- only love you. I’m sorry.” Emily rubs her temples like she has a headache, like she’s the one whose entire fucking home life ( if it can be called that ) is about to explode, whose cheek is throbbing, whose dignity is destroyed. “Can you-- please forgive me, please, please, i just need another chance, please, I-- I’m begging.” “The begging’s only cute when you’re naked,” She snaps. “Maybe you’re only cute when you’re naked. This is just pathetic. Get out of my house, I’m not telling you again.” It takes her over a minute just to stand up, like a physical weight is pushing her down, and even then it takes a while longer to grab her phone and bag and head back down the stairs. She stops in the kitchen and grabs the rest of the Bailey’s and a bottle of rum ( even though the taste of both will make her think of Em, ) to shove in her bag, figuring she’s going to need it. After the fight, the conversation with her fake parents seems tame, manageable. They’re willing to accept the blackmail from a ‘friend’ story, but the rest is stumping them. “Why would you take pictures like this-- and send them to boys?” “...I dunno, I-- needed some money.” “You know, there are jobs out there. Real, honest jobs. For girls who respect themselves. This is so disappointing, Tara.” “...I know. I’m disappointed, too.” The fake mom actually wilts for a moment and reaches across the table to hold her hand then. It’s a fraction of a moment of comfort, and she tries to store it. But as she’s heading to her bedroom, she catches a remnant of the conversation that’s continuing without her: “You were pretty easy on her.” “Girls don’t sell pictures like that unless they already feel pretty bad about themselves, Harry. And you know what her mother was doing when she first went into the system.” “Mmm.” “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

September 10th, 2015: her birthday gift is an increase in her hours at the diner. 

No longer in the system, she drops out of high school, notifies her boss so she might make enough money to keep her above water. She has a thousand saved from the last year and a half of work and selling back Emily’s unworn jewelry, and she thinks her $5 an hour plus tips paychecks might pull her through if there are enough $5 hours, enough tipping customers. She starts out in a tiny apartment with a couple of roommates, other girls from the system, but one moves out with a boyfriend within two weeks and the other completely skips town, leaving her to pay the full $400 on her own. And she’s already paid $300 for a burn on her hand from a skillet-- not covered by the diner, since she refused the health insurance she couldn’t afford. Suddenly, the facts that she 1) isn’t good at anything, 2) doesn’t have a diploma, and 3) doesn’t know anyone consistent to help her, support her, love her, catch up to her-- all at once. She has the apartment for the month, but where she goes after that, she has no fucking clue. She stays up until three every night calculating and recalculating to figure out how much she needs to earn to stay somewhere after every unexpected expense: a pack of sinus medicine is an extra $12, a bottle of shitty vodka to put her to sleep from a third party is $14, a new tube of silver sulfadiazine when she re-burns her hand is $8, and by October, she can’t make the payment, and has to relocate to a park bench. She tries a women’s shelter, but they don’t let her bring in alcohol-- and as much as she hates it, that’s a deal-breaker. After a week of sleeping outside, showering at the diner, and trying not to cry the whole fucking shift, the boss says he has to let her go. She tells him she doesn’t have an address to send the final check to, and he avoids her eyes when he says she can come in to pick it up the next Friday. She needs something new, and fast. She’s already beyond tired of not knowing who’s walking past the bench, if they have a gun, if she’s gonna wake up drugged in someone’s van-- so tired, in fact, that she goes back to the women’s shelter, deciding she can drink when she’s not there. She texts another girl from the system one night and sends another message her stomach twists in response to. ‘hey, it’s tara. i hope this text sends okay, my service is probably going to stop any day now. what did you say your boss’s name was? and where can i find him? i think i need a job.’ This affirmative response is even more of a horrific relief than the last: life-saving, but soul-crushing. She meets the pimp two days later, and checks into a motel the night after. She falls into the squeaky bed each morning and passes out before she can even think of the shame that builds with every night.