#tw SA

[randomalistic]

Just made a fucking awesome picture

[fictional-sa-survivorsx]

Natalie from Yellowjackets

Headcanon CSA and sexual assault survivor

Submitted by @starflesh-archive Submitter was tagged at their request

[killer-queen-k]

I love the evolution of the seriousness of the suitors intent towards Penelope. Tw: SA

So in "Legendary" it begins with Telemachus saying the suitors are "they're trying to win the heart of my mom." This is framed as a naive boys version of the situation. He doesn't understand the severity situation regarding his mother. He knows the situation is bad but he doesn't recognise how bad it is.

But that instantly changes when the suitors first speak. Antinous makes a joke of it saying "Open her room and we can have fun with her." It's framed as more of a lewd joke with the intent of provoking Telemachus rather than a direct threat of rape.

Then we get to Hold them Down. The threat has turned from a disgusting joke to a real plan. The song does everything but say the word "Rape." It uses a strong innuendos to convey what it needs to.

It isn't until "Odysseus" that their plan is called out for what it is. The suitors wanted to rape her. End of story. And it's said with all the vitriol and hate it deserves and it's paid back tenfold by The King of Ithaca.

[learn-how-to-love]

I don’t even know where to begin with this. This is such a disgusting thing to say it’s hard to believe that anyone could post this and have people agree with it uncritically. What does acknowledging that transmascs don’t hold systemic privilege over transfems have ANYTHING to do with excusing SA. Fucking ghoulish attempts to rapejacket trans people you don’t like

[tawked]

New Mutants Classic vol. 4

emma frost they could never make me hate you queen

lobotomize this creep

[hyeriyearner]

odysseus actually saying the word rape in the song freed me of all the discomfort hold them down made me feel

idk why but it's just so. sexual assault has always been something that should have clear boundaries - and instead, you see the people in power, people who should punish and uphold the law, shift around definitions and wordplay.

as if it isn't a disgusting violation of a person, of their life, of their trust.

metaphors are beautiful, they're my favourite figure of speech. but metaphors, skirting around the topic, when it comes to rape, is what, to me, truly makes that feeling of disgust and discomfort, and yes, even panic, rise.

because the truth is? i know there are people who can excuse and disregard "taking her love and more". not consider it rape. not consider it assault. there are, unfortunately, people who can disregard a metaphor this clear. justify it, even.

but most of those people can't justify the word rape.

I dont know if this makes sense. forgive me if it doesn't. but to me, the intense nausea that hold them down brought about was erased and hell, even comforted, by the rage and protectiveness and bluntness of that one line in odysseus.

jay did a fucking fantastic job.

[all-for-the-game-confessions]

tw: sexual assault mention

I actually think that not enough Andreil fans think about how non-traditional their intimate life would be—well past the end of the first trilogy. I don’t see Andrew’s issues with physical touch going anywhere, and Neil would be indulging him in very physically distant intimacy for probably most of their lives. And I think that’s so sweet, and so interesting to think about! From a fanfic perspective, I would be utterly fascinated if someone explored them engaging in mutual masturbation more often than traditional sex! Or that kissing and touching is nowhere near as meaningful to Andrew as when Neil notices he’s out of something and buys it for him without even mentioning it. Or when Neil submits himself to being touched without touching, being directed in all physical intimacy, because any intimacy with Andrew is a radical act of trust and Neil revels in anything he’s given, and never asks for more. I find all that soooooo much more interesting than the “anyway Andrew gets better and they have normal sex!” that I see pretty often (in fanart at least)

.

[herewithinthevoid]

my rapist died happy pride month to me

[orellazalonia]

Hey :)

I love your writing!!! It comforts me and I often find myself re reading your stories, they're so frickin good <3 (Clementine made me almost cry; if you could write more for that au that would be so awesome of you because I really wanna hear more about Bucky and the reader as well as their daughter and Clementine. I haven't been able to find any other bull rider au!)

I have a fanfic request for a Bucky Barnes x reader fic for a reader with SA! PTSD who either has a flashback and helps comfort the reader through it

or who sees her/his/their (your choice of pronouns) attacker in public and protects them when their attacker tries to talk to them???

Thank you, you're beautiful and one of the best writers ever, and better than most authors of books you see on the shelves at ya local barnes n noble.

Hello there, dear. I’m afraid you’ve sent the ask to the wrong author as I’ve never written anything described in your side note there. However, do be sure to send your love to the person you intended this for!

I did like the request though and ended up fulfilling it. Have a lovely day and Happy reading!

Quiet in the Storm

Summary: After experiencing a sudden flashback, you spiral into panic. However, Bucky stays calm and gently grounds you, reminding you that you're safe. He offers comfort without pressure, reassuring you that you're not broken and never have to face things alone. (Bucky Barnes x reader)

Disclaimer: Alludes to SA and PTSD, Panic Attack, Angst, Hurt/Comfort. You are responsible for the media you consume. Do take care of yourselves.

Word Count: 1.5k+

Main Masterlist

You didn’t talk about it, not directly, not often. It hung in the air sometimes, between the clatter of dishes or the silence of late-night TV. It showed itself in the way your shoulders tensed when a man’s voice rose too loud or how your eyes darted around a crowded street. But mostly, you kept it tucked away like something broken on a high shelf. If you didn’t touch it, maybe it wouldn’t fall.

Bucky never asked for more than you were ready to give. He never pried. He never pushed. But he saw the little things. How you sat with your back to the wall in restaurants, how you flinched when someone walked too close behind you. The first time you told him, it wasn’t with words. It was in a look. A quiet panic behind your eyes one night when he reached for your wrist too quickly. He’d stopped immediately, palms up, and soft as rain.

“I’m here. I won’t ever hurt you.”

And you believed him. Most of the time. But trauma doesn’t follow a schedule. It doesn’t wait for safe spaces or daylight. And tonight, it came when you least expected it.

The movie was some harmless rom-com. You weren’t even paying attention to it. You were curled up on the couch beside Bucky, his arm around your shoulder, the other hand gently stroking your thigh through the blanket. You trusted that touch. You knew it. But something shifted when a scene came on. Some stupid, throwaway moment with a drunk character and a joke that hit too close to the bone.

You didn’t realize you were slipping until Bucky said your name.

“Hey. Hey, sweetheart.”

You blinked, breath caught in your chest. The blanket suddenly felt too tight. His hand, warm and grounding, was on your thigh, but now it felt like a chain. You were underwater. Sinking. The room had changed, morphed, turned into something else. Somewhere else.

His voice called your name, his tone calm and steady. “Look at me. You’re safe.”

But your body didn’t believe him.

You flinched hard, pushing yourself away from him and curling into the corner of the couch, heart pounding like it would break through your ribs. The panic was everywhere, sinking underneath your skin. You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t stop shaking.

Bucky didn’t come closer. He stayed exactly where he was. That was a first mercy.

“I’m not touching you,” He said softly, his voice barely more than a breath. “You’re okay. You’re here, with me. No one’s gonna hurt you.”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. The flashback had you caught like a snare around your throat. Your hands were clenched into fists in your lap, nails digging into your palms.

“Can you hear my voice?” He asked. “Can you nod for me?”

It took effort, like dragging yourself through quicksand, but you nodded once.

“That’s good. That’s so good, doll. You’re doing great.”

Tears ran hot down your cheeks, and you weren’t even sure when they’d started. Your throat hurt from how tightly you were holding everything in. But still, he didn’t come closer. He waited.

“You��re not there anymore,” Bucky said gently. “You’re safe. You’re not alone.”

He slowly shifted onto the floor closer to you, sitting cross-legged near the couch but not touching it. Not crowding you. Just… there.

“Can I tell you where you are?” He asked. “Just so you can hold onto it?”

You nodded again.

“You’re in our apartment. Brooklyn. Your favorite blanket’s on the couch. The one with the little blue stars. There’s a candle burning, lavender scented. You made me light it earlier ‘cause I forgot to do laundry.” He smiled softly. “You’re with me. Just me. I’ve got you.”

His voice was steady. Not too soft, not too firm. Just right like a tether in the dark.

You started breathing again. Taking shaky, shallow breaths at first, then a little deeper. Your fists unclenched as the room slowly came back into focus, one detail at a time. The glow of the TV. The warmth of the blanket. The safe weight of Bucky’s presence just a few feet away.

“I’m sorry,” You whispered hoarsely. “I didn’t mean-“

“No.” His voice was quiet but firm. “Don’t you dare apologize.”

You looked at him then. His blue eyes were steady, kind. Yet fierce in the way someone could be when they cared too much and didn’t know how to fix what hurt.

“It’s not your fault,” He said. “None of it.”

You nodded again, even though your throat ached.

“Can I come closer?” He asked gently. “Only if you want me to.”

It took a long moment before you whispered, “Please.”

He moved slowly, carefully. Not reaching out until you did first. And when you did, your fingers brushing against his, he wrapped your hand in both of his like it was the most precious thing in the world. He kissed your knuckles, one by one, and rested his forehead lightly against yours.

“I’m proud of you,” He murmured. “For staying. For letting me in.”

The flashback was over, but the ache lingered. It always did. But with Bucky there, his arms wrapped gently around you, his heartbeat steady against your back, it felt a little easier to bear.

And for now, that was enough.

Later that night, he stayed up with you. The TV was on but muted, casting a soft flicker over both of you. Your head rested against his chest, and his hand ran through your hair in slow, rhythmic motions, grounding you with every pass. Every time you closed your eyes, some phantom image tried to drag you back but his voice was there, low and constant, murmuring things like, “You’re here with me. You’re safe.”

At some point, you fell asleep against him, your fingers twisted in his shirt like you were afraid he’d vanish if you let go.

-

The morning came slow and strange.

You felt heavy. Not physically, but inwardly. In the way that made you feel like you were made of soaked cloth. But the room was filled with sunlight creating a warm atmosphere. Bucky was already in the kitchen, moving with that careful quiet of someone who knew what it meant to be haunted.

He didn’t look at you with pity. He looked at you like you were brave.

“Mornin’, sweetheart,” He said gently, when you padded barefoot into the room. “Didn’t want to wake you, so I made you tea. It’s that kind you like, the fancy one with the rose petals you keep calling ‘expensive leaf water.’”

You almost smiled. He placed the mug on the counter without handing it to you. You’d told him, once, that sometimes you didn’t like being handed things first thing in the morning. And he remembered, like always.

You took the mug in both hands and stared at the steam.

“I had a flashback yesterday,” You murmured. Your voice was soft, but not shaking this time. “You probably figured that out.”

Bucky nodded once. “Yeah.”

You looked up. “Did I scare you?”

His eyes softened, brows pulling together like the question pained him. “No. You didn’t scare me. I was scared for you, but not of you. Never of you.”

You took a breath. “I hate that it still happens. It’s been… years.”

He came to lean beside you on the counter, keeping just a little distance between you in case you needed space. “I know. But it doesn’t mean you’re weak. Having flashblacks doesn’t mean you’re broken. They mean you survived something you weren’t supposed to. It’s just… your brain’s still learning how to feel safe again.”

His words hit something raw in you.

You looked down at the tea, at your fingers wrapped around the warm ceramic, and whispered, “Sometimes I think I’m too much. Too damaged. Like… I’m always going to be that scared girl again, no matter how much time passes.”

Bucky didn’t interrupt. He waited until the silence had run its course before saying, “You’re not too much. And you’re not that girl anymore. You’re someone who went through hell and still wakes up every day and tries to live. That’s not damage, that’s strength.”

He paused, watching your fingers twitch against the mug. Then added, softer, “You don’t have to carry it alone, not anymore.”

Your eyes burned again but this time, the tears weren’t panic. They weren’t terror clawing at the walls of your mind. They were grief, yes. But also relief. And maybe even hope. You set the mug down and stepped toward him, slow and steady, until you were close enough to bury your face in his chest. He didn’t hesitate. His arms wrapped around you instantly, secure and careful all at once.

“I’m right here,” He whispered. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

You swallowed. “Thank you… for being so patient.”

He leaned in, forehead pressed gently to yours. “There’s no clock on healing, doll. I’m in this with you. However long it takes.”

And you knew, right then, that maybe healing wasn’t about forgetting. Maybe it was about having someone who stayed when it was hard. Someone who didn’t try to fix you, but just loved you no matter what.

Even when the storm came. Especially when the storm came.

[fictional-sa-survivorsx]

Dick Grayson/Nightwing from DC

Canon sexual assault survivor

Submitted anonymously

[ghostboyravenight]

”trans men are the weakest links of the trans community” my trans male friends and I have lived a lifetime of having our bodily autonomy stripped away to the point of sexual harassment. people talk about our bodies like everyone except us owns them because no one can handle the idea of precious female bodies being “mutilated” by gender affirming care. we are treated like traitors by women and as confused, silly girls by men. we have no spaces in which we belong because even the queer community tries to control our bodies. if we pass as men then we get ousted from queer-friendly spaces, and if we don’t pass as men we’re treated like cringe, theyfab trenders. everything we love is considered annoying. we’re called ugly and sad and “what a shame you guys are men haha”. We have to watch as society uses us as an excuse to ban gender affirming care for young people because our bodies belong to the government, because our bodies belong to our mothers, and because our anatomy is the only thing they see us as. And then we have to sit back as the trans community blames us for these bans. “All of these fake transtrenders are the reason they all hate us” when we’re busy having the women in our lives scrutinise our bodies to make sure we’re not being “infected” by the trans contagion. There’s no space we can belong in. No space that tries to make us feel welcome because either they treat us like women or they treat us like dangerous, cis men.

Every trans man I know has been sexually assaulted. Every trans man I know has been brought to suicide attempts, either due to their families or due to people online bullying them to death. Our struggles are constantly diminished and yet behind the scenes we’re fucking exhausted from fighting attacks from every single goddamn side. How fucking dare you call us weak. We’re going through fucking hell like every other goddamn trans person out there and our bodies are being abused and controlled and scrutinised every day of our fucking lives. Have you seen how TERFs talk about our bodies? How they lament us “mutilating” our breasts, our fertility, our anatomy, all in the name of feminism. That’s sexual fucking harassment, and it’s disgusting. But that’s all they fucking see us as. We’re not human, we’re just defected specimens. Cis women give themselves free passes to harass our bodies because they see us as “one of them”. One of them, but wrong. One of them, but need to be fixed. My mother regularly checks my chest to make sure I’m not trying to flatten it, and she can get away with it because “that’s what mothers do to their daughters.” Even when I’m not her daughter. Even when I’m screaming at the top of my lungs wanting to die because my body doesn’t belong to me. My body stopped belonging to me as soon as I came out as trans, because female empowerment doesn’t apply to me anymore. Female empowerment is now about “correcting” me, to restore my body back to its former glory, because only then was I worth something.

We are not weak. We are strong as fuck for dealing with the shit we have to deal with. And the worst part is, so much of the bullying comes from other trans men. We’ve been taught to hate ourselves so much that the only way to get ahead is to put down our own brothers and treat them in the way we’ve been treated.

There is no weak link of the community because we’re all dealing with absolute shit from all sides, but don’t you ever suggest that trans men are somehow the whiny babies who have nothing to complain about when we’re constantly holding back from screaming our guts out because there’s nothing else we can do.

[dazaiimi]

I’m so fucking pethetic I can’t go to beans I hate everything im so useless I can’t even do this?

[duckysprouts]

ares slays his daughter’s rapist

[fellshish]

The different and sometimes tiring types of reactions to the neil gaiman allegations

- ‘neil didn’t write good omens’ (he did and we simply have to learn to separate art from artist)

- ‘how dare you think about anything else but the victims’ (people can care about multiple things at once + these allegations have been known for months and months?? some of us have processed this)

- ‘how do david/michael/etc feel about this’ (it’s none of our business)

- ‘donate to victims of sa’ (sure if you can)

- ‘bdsm is fine WITH consent’ (it is)

- ‘everyone is innocent until proven guilty and i refuse to condemn him’ (go read the article / enjoy being blocked by me)

- ‘his writing was always Problematic’ (learn to separate art from real life victims of sexual abuse please)

- ‘his writing can still mean a lot to you without you being a bad person’ (yes. just try to avoid giving him money maybe)

- ‘it’s just terf propaganda’ (it really really isn’t. and fuck terfs)

- ‘reminder to prioritise your own mental health, step away from online spaces if you need to, and: you have no obligation to read the entire article if it’s too triggering’ (true. you’re still a good person i promise)

[wilwheaton]

[nob0dyz-fwl]

There are a few CSA allegory’s in wills story I feel. I wouldn’t say vecna did SA Will, but the way especially the way he handled things in S3 felt like an SA allegory, especially with Billy. “Don’t cry, try not to move or make a sound. It will all be over soon.” A common thing predators say to their victims is, “if you stop struggling it will make things easier.” Will got violated by a shadow things and completely altered his personality. He thought it was a monster turned out to be a grown man. As an CSA survivor that’s how I felt about what happened to me. He got a tentical thing shoved down his throat and threw up a baby demogorgon. 001 with eleven in S4 in the lab felt kind of weird as well. He was exploiting her abilities for his own gain and he manipulates her into getting what he wants. She obviously doesn’t comply which is good.

Again, not saying he did those things.. it’s just an allegory or something with a potential deeper meaning. A lot of horror elements have SA allegory’s such as the movie “Alien” it’s obviously an interpretation and not necessarily a bad one.

What do you think about the Will being sa’d theory?

Its implied I guess bit I really dont like it. Will is traumatized enough :|

But like, what else is the “I can still feel it, everywhere” line supposed to mean? Idk

honestly i don't really see it. however--if people who have been sa'd head canon or believe in the theory, i don't mind, especially if it helps them cope.

it's been revealed that vecna has been behind everything since the beginning, &, in saying that, i really don't think vecna is the type to sa a child. i don't really see anything sexually charged behind his intentions, i think he's evil but he's not that kind of evil. as for the "i can still feel it, everywhere", i think it's just referring to the fact that will went through a full body possession in season 2. by the end, he didn't have control of any part of his body, so feeling it "everywhere" makes sense to me, but i think most interpretations are valid.