#we are all entitled to free therapy i think

[lordoflightning]

what if, hypothetically, i couldn’t take it anymore?

[littleshysheep-at-da]

I’ve come to the conclusion I really don’t like Harem Series, but I don’t think there’s anything inherently wrong with them. If you enjoy Blandy McBlanderson having Women fall over him for literally no reason at all live your bliss as long as you don’t think it’s translates to real life and believe you should be getting women for doing nothing when you have the personality of moldy cardboard. Also I HAVE to know upfront it’s a Harem I hate when there’s a really good Shounen Premise and then it becomes a Harem… I think what turns me off from Harems is especially when there is like a clear winner, so why is everyone trying to get something that’s taken??? I’m not even a fan or Reverse Harems honestly, I’m okay with a Love Triangle because it’s small enough to be reasonable but I really prefer Polyamory over either.

HOWEVER, there are 3 Harem Series I actually really like and I wanna talk about why. Quintessential Quintuplets, Bakarina (Full Title is My Next Life as a Villainess all Routes lead to Doom! But I ain’t typing that every time), and Nu: Carnival.

[Warning for poor wording here I’m just trying to get my thoughts out]. For Quint Quint: First of all it actually feels like each girl has a chance so it actually could go any which way. The Second thing is he actually has to earn their trust they don’t immediately fall over him and he doesn’t immediately like them either. We see both sides grow into better people as they get closer. Also Third the situation that forces them to hang out doesn’t feel creepy? I’ve seen a few too many Slave Harems and I like that Quint Quint has a situation where if it really came to it they could back out but there benefits for both sides so they begrudgingly stay. For Bakarina and NuKani: the Protagonist is actually REALLY likable and has a winning personality (also both these Series feel like they could have some Poly so I am very game). Katarina and Eiden out here giving free therapy to their Harems ngl. I also feel that Bakarina does a good job of exploring why the Harem Members actaully like the Protag. And NuKani has a lot of talk of that sort of thing as well where Eiden doesn’t seem to want to push anybody into anything and values their boundaries.

Update/Edit: [Also maybe poor wording just realized I missed a massive point]. I will say my biggest concern with Harem Protags with zero personality getting all the girls despite doing nothing is it may feed into the Entitlement a loooot of men have towards women’s bodies. Also I just find Harem Protags having no personality boring in term of being a Character 🤷‍♀️

[granulesofsand]

You're seriously complaining about a free bagel and coffee and about how you had to make "those staff people" look for your phone? It comes off as extremely entitled tbh. And if you made your roommates feel unsafe (which is entirely reasonable if you're saying that you could "potentially" be violent towards them) then the dean was right to say what she said. You might have a mental illness but your actions still affect the people around you.

🗝️🏷️ vent, trauma, trafficking, familial abuse

Please note that the mentioned post was marked ‘vent’. I am upset, and so I am crying out. I did try to make it avoidable to those who did not want to see. This is similar. The middle is context, the last two bits are my response.

Yes, I am complaining about the free bagel and coffee. They were delicious, and the people were lovely and went out of their way because we couldn’t with our disabilities. It was a hard day.

Our university lets you use your ID in exchange for meals on campus, which is included with the dorm room. There are limits to what counts as an exchange and when, but it’s still a benefit.

I don’t think I was rude to the people at the food place or the building they were in. I said “what?” probably three times for every sentence they said to me and I lost my personal items on their grounds, but neither were something I could control.

I walk with a cane if I walk at all, and I only asked them which rooms it could be in because I had a tracking map. I couldn’t get to therapy on time and search the whole building, so I did approach the front desk. I do feel guilty that I needed help, but I wouldn’t have found it on my own.

I don’t know what else to call them, they were working in the part of the building that did not have food, but there were many roles that they fulfill. I don’t know enough words to describe what they were to me, but two spent ten minutes searching for my benefit and one stayed with me.

The dean threatened to fire me from school because we had stalkers. The police had told her what I had said and left out that my family were a danger to me and others. I had to talk to her to learn this, but she again mentioned speaking to them after I said this.

I am a danger if my traffickers are here, if they are within range to see and hear, and if they decide to use a particular cue that tells one of us to do whatever we can to avoid interrogation.

After receiving this cue, we would first try to leave with the traffickers, then to be killed ourselves however possible. If someone holds us down or blocks an exit, we are to first find another escape, then attempt to move them. It would be after non-violence in this situation fails that violence would be the alternative.

I don’t understand how this makes it safe for the dean to call my family, who knew about the trafficking and participated in it, to tell them everything I said here. Knowing what you know, although she did not have all of this typed out before her, I do believe it is irresponsible to involve these people.

I left the room with the people who were uncomfortable, because I was given the choice and I did not want to cause further discomfort. It was difficult, I was in pain and alone.

My family came that week, and I did my best to keep them away from the school. They are also dissociative systems, and I used some of their triggers and cues to keep everyone safe enough.

It is unfortunate that complete safety is not possible for me or around me, but I am taking every step I am able to maintain ‘safe enough’. I do feel entitled, I don’t understand why even the most helpful people can’t solve my problems.

I am well aware my mannerisms are strange and improper, but it is safe enough for now. I can tolerate sounding stuck up about it so long as I haven’t hurt anyone involved; physically, mentally or otherwise.

I’m angry because my caregivers were inadequate and I have to deal with the consequences. I don’t know why you are angry, but emotions cannot be wrong.

Often, feelings of the past come back to me. I understand that I am not unique, but my situation is often considered ‘too much’. I feel stranded, so I cry out. It’s how mammals work, and I can honor that without causing harm. I thought I had, but I pulled you in anyway.

I don’t know how to repair this. I will try to find better language. I’m uncertain whether that kind of post is allowed. I do want to be a mammal and still be safe enough. I would appreciate if you have an answer, though more I just needed to talk.

[incarnateirony]

Wow you are real crazy!!!! Someone sent me a screenshot of you from another blog with your handle on the fbbc stuff which is why I chimed in. But yes here we go: because I do in fact, know what I’m talking about, I know you don’t, so I’m not sure why you’re trying to scare me. And you project this being about Jensen? What he told his employees is exactly nothing. He has nothing to do with any of them on a day to day basis. Not about that. It’s about you lying about people losing their jobs

Breaking news, entitled part time employees expected to maintain part time employee jobs forever and think jensen needs to call her for his business decision while she does her nails. What part of everyone that MATTERS being told missed you? Are you just refusing to onboard this very important qualifier? Everyone that matters knows what's going on, and the employees that lacked the skills for the expansion or needed better coverage were released, and no, your boss doesn't send you long notice on why.

Scare you? Sis if you're that fuckin brittle, get therapy. opencounseling.com it's free, you've got no excuse. Reality should not scare you, your fanfiction bubbles being abrupted should not scare you. Perhaps your inability to understand basic business decisions and methods should, in fact, scare you.

Get. Fucking. Therapy.

You're not the brewer--who was released for machine limits and knowledge limits to be replaced by greater. You're not the owners, you're wailing about them. You're not the food guys, they know what's going on. All I can literally fathom whatever position you're inflating being at being like some 15 hour a week server I don't even have on my radar. I don't even know who you think you can pretend to be that has deserved important information, rather than at BEST being a salty employee hoping a boss fails and at WORST the compulsive rumor mill nobody working on everyone else's poor perspective rumor mills, working off of screenshot rumor mills to spread their rumor mill opinions because they don't like what they read.

jesus fuckin. r u ok

[bamababygirl7]

You going a long way to prove you aren't Stupid... flaunting how great of a person you are. Typical privileged white people bs

Kind of narcissistic dontcha think? You ain't even hot. Plus all that kid vibe you putting on out there is weird. Are you a pedophile? You kind of look like one from where I'm sitting.

🥰💞 Awww Nonny, wrong again because I don’t feel the need to prove anything to anyone. I was not flaunting anything, but instead just responding to your hateful ask calling me stupid by stating facts about my education which btw has nothing to do with white privelege (not even sure what type of person feels the need to make everything about race furthering the racial divide unnecessarily 🙄🙄🙄) I financed and am paying for every bit of my school on my own (my mom cut me off financially when I became pregnant even though I was a teenager which was totally fine because it wasn’t her responsibility to take care of my child) which is why I ended up owing like $70,000 in student loans after compounding interest.

Responding to hateful anon asks by stating facts and being kind is definitely not narcissistic in my opinion, but you are entitled to your own opinion. Just as you are entitled to your opinion that I’m not hot which is a completely valid opinion for you to have as beauty is in the eyes of the beholder and is subjective. Also, I don’t want to be thought of as hot. My physical appearance is the least important thing to me. I don’t try to put out a kid vibe. I’m just me and I am always going to be myself and encourage others to do the same because only when we are free to be completely ourselves without worrying about the opinions of others can we truly be happy. Maybe you need to look up the definition of a pedophile which is an adult who is sexually attracted to a minor. That is the most disgusting thing ever in my opinion. Anybody who truly knows me knows that I will do whatever it takes to protect not only my own child but any minor that I can from becoming the victim of a pedophile. DDlg has nothing to do with pedophilia and is a dynamic consented to among adults which I have made many posts about so I don’t feel the need to go into it in this response.

Therapy and healing are awesome Nonny. I highly recommend them ❣️

[thomas-and-the-chocolate-factory]

Thomas and the Chocolate Factory - Chapter 6

A Sanders Sides / Charlie and the Chocolate Factory Fanfiction

Summary: Remus Duke is the greatest chocolatier of all time, and after living the past few years a recluse, he decides to finally open his factory once again. And it's young orphan Thomas Sanders' dream to win a ticket and get to go! Will he win a ticket? And if he does, will he make it out alive?

Masterpost

----------

Thomas… to put it simply, wasn’t doing too great.

He felt bad for feeling this way. He knew he wasn’t entitled to win a ticket. There were billions of children who were just as desperate as he was - many in even worse positions than him. And yet he just couldn’t move on from the disappointment.

He sighed, kicking his feet as he fiddled with his fork, poking at the small slice of leftover birthday cake on his plate. That was what he and most of the children had been eating recently, trying to make it last as long as possible.

By this point, everyone in the orphanage knew it wouldn’t be long. Whether it would be the town council ruling the orphanage as unfit to stay open, or Dot and Larry throwing in the towel when funds start to get too low, the children knew it wouldn’t be long until they’d be rehomed. Moved away to another city that put more funding into their local orphanages. While it sounded nice to live in better conditions, the idea of leaving the town they’d grown up in and losing the two closest people they had to parental figures was daunting for the children.

It was daunting also for Dot and Larry, who sighed as they sat in their therapist’s office, waiting patiently for her to arrive. Usually they’d be talking to each other as they waited. But today, instead, an uncomfortable silence hung over them.

“Da! Da da dadada! Da de da de de da- Oh, it’s you two!” Dr Emily Picani chuckled to herself as she stepped into the office, cutting off their own dramatic entrance. “Sorry, my brain’s a bit frazzled recently, got my schedule mixed up in my head. I guess that’s what good news does to you, huh?” They sat in their chair, sighing… before her face fell a bit as she registered the quiet and morose atmosphere. “Though I sense that I’m about to get some bad news to balance that out…”

“We do have bad news, I'm afraid, Doctor…” Dot sighed. “This is going to be our last session.”

Emily blinked. “Huh? But we’ve still got so much more ground we haven’t covered! So many cartoons that could be useful to discuss and-”

“We just can’t afford it anymore,” Larry shrugged. “Therapy sessions aren’t cheap, and we really need to put the money towards the kids. They have to be our priority.”

Emily sighed. “I understand… but hey, if circumstances ever change, know my door is always open. And if there are any emergencies, I’m willing to hold some free one-off sessions for you.”

“Thank you, Dr Picani, thank you so much,” Dot smiled. “You really have done so much for us. I don’t think we could have kept getting through all this stress without your help.”

“Oh, it’s been no trouble,” Emily shrugged, smiling. “Just doing my job! Now, if this is going to be our last session together, let’s make the most of it!” She flipped open her notepad and clicked her pen.

The session went by mostly as usual, though Emily did seem to be rushing a little more, cutting their cartoon rambles short when they veered into irrelevant territory. However, eventually, she sighed, looking up at the clock. “Well, that’s our time up… You’re both sure you want to stop renewing your sessions now?”

Dot and Larry both nodded, starting to gather their things. “Again, thank you for everything, Doctor. I’m sure we’ll be back when we’re in a more financially stable position.”

“More like if.”

“Larry!”

“I’ll be looking forward to then.” Emily stood up, going to step over to the door to open it for their clients.

“Can I ask, what was the good news you mentioned earlier?” Dot asked. “I know as your clients we probably aren’t allowed to inquire about your personal life, but I’d be nice to hear something positive. It seems like we only ever get bad news these days…”

“Oh, um… Well, you’re right I’m generally not allowed to. But I guess you two aren’t my clients anymore, and it’s not exactly sensitive information. So, what the hell! I’ll tell you. I found out last night on the news that my nephew won a golden ticket!”

“That was your nephew? Oh, that’s wonderful!” Dot smiled. “It must be exciting to know you’ll get to hear all about the factory from him.”

Emily’s face fell a little. “Yeah… Anyway, um, I should be going. Gotta get my coffee break in before my next client arrives. See you both around, fingers crossed you’ll be able to book another session soon!” With that, they hurried from the room.

Dot blinked a little, before looking up at Larry. “Was it something I said?”

“Probably not, the thought of having to talk to her nephew probably just freaked her out. You saw the news last night, that kid seemed like a big-headed jerk-”

“Larry!!!”

-

Thomas felt his eyelids drooping as he sat in class. He didn’t have the energy to stay awake and focus on what his teacher was saying about whatever they were learning in Math. He didn’t even know what they were studying right now. Calculus? Algebra? Statistics? Trigonometry? The numbers written on the board just blended together into a fuzzy mess…

“Hey.”

He felt a poke against his shoulder. He blinked tiredly, trying to refocus his eyes as he turned to face the student sitting at the desk beside his. It was a boy, and he was holding something out to Thomas. “I heard your stomach growling pretty loudly, and figured you could use this. Quick, before Mr Barnes turns around and sees.”

Thomas hesitantly took the item from the boy’s hand, looking down at it. It was a chocolate flavoured energy bar - Duke brand, of course. He looked back up at the boy, smiling a little. “Thanks.”

“No problem!” the boy smiled, before turning back to face the front of the class, continuing to write notes.

Thomas opened up the energy bar, and didn’t waste any time in digging into it. Right now, it felt like the most satisfying thing he’d ever eaten. After finishing it, the math on the board didn’t seem quite as difficult to understand.

When the lesson finished, and the bell rang signalling the end of the school day, everyone began to pack up all their things. Thomas looked back to the boy that had given him the food. “Thanks again. I really needed that.”

“It’s nothing, really. My mom always makes me bring them just in case I need more energy, but I never really do,” the boy shrugged. “I may as well give them to people who do. I’m Nico, by the way.”

“I’m Thomas.”

“Well, it was nice to meet you, Thomas. Guess I’ll see you tomo-”

Nico was interrupted by a loud yell out in the corridor. “The fourth golden ticket’s been found! There’s only one left!”

Chatter immediately filled the classroom, students pulling out their phones to check if it was true. Thomas felt a bit awkward as he saw everyone else reading about the ticket winner, but was unable to do so himself. He tried to catch a few of the words they were saying, but it was hard to pay attention through all the conversations, and noise out in the hall.

“Here.” Nico was holding out one of his earbuds to Thomas. “You can watch the report on my phone.”

“Thanks,” Thomas smiled softly, shuffling closer to Nico so the cord of the earbuds would actually reach his ears, looking down at the phone screen. Nico then pressed play on the video.

Remy Sleep was sitting in a living room. It was very homely, filled with bright and colourful furniture and decor. They were sitting on the couch with two people. First was a woman, wearing a white and yellow floral dress with long black hair. Sat between her and Remy was a boy who seemed to contrast the rest of the atmosphere in the room. He had black hair dyed purple, bangs hanging and covering one of his eyes. He was wearing black ripped jeans, a long sleeved purple shirt, and a black t-shirt over the top of it. He had black eyeshadow under his eyes, which were glued to the screen of the Nintendo Switch in his hands.

“I’m here with the fourth ticket winner of Remus Duke’s competition: Virgil Teevee! Why don’t you tell us a little about yourself, Virgil?”

The boy refused to look up from his video game, and he didn’t say a word. The woman beside him, presumably his mother, sighed a little, before speaking for him. “Well, as you can probably tell, he’s very passionate about his games. He spends almost all day on some kind of device, to be honest.” She chuckled a bit. “He’s a very good kid, though, he never really gets into trouble at home. He’s able to keep himself busy, and I honestly thank his games for that.” She ruffled Virgil’s hair, finally getting him to look up from his game.

“Moooom…” he grumbled quietly.

“Ah, so he does talk!” Remy joked, though Virgil clearly didn’t appreciate the comment, huffing and turning back to his game. “So, Virgil, you mind telling us all how you won your ticket.”

Virgil blinked, seeming almost frightened for a second, fingers pausing their tapping. It was only for a moment, though, before he turned back to his game, concentrating on it. “Fine… I, um… I’d decided to look for a ticket because my friends suggested it. I don’t even like chocolate that much…”

-

Virgil held his headphones against his ears tightly, I’m Not Okay (I Promise) by My Chemical Romance blasting into his ears. Maybe if he played it loud enough, it’d be enough to drown out the terrible thoughts.

Another test back from school. Another F.

Having the most awkward interaction of his life with the cashier at the store when buying Duke bars. And on the way out, he’d tripped and dropped all the candy bars all over the floor. Everyone around was staring at him, people had laughed…

And now he’d come home only to be told by his mom that, once again, his dad had cancelled. He still wasn’t good enough, wasn’t worth anything to his dad. No, movie festivals were more important than Virgil was…

He needed more of a distraction, the music wasn’t enough. He opened up discord on his phone.

Verge: @everyone you guys able to vc?

Andy: yea sure

Missy: i’ll be on in just a minute ^^

Virgil sighed in relief as he hopped onto the voice channel. Soon he’d have chat with his friends and a video game to keep him distracted…

There were two pings as Andy and Missy both joined the call.

“So, doing our chocolate opening a little early today, I guess?”

And Virgil’s stomach immediately dropped at Andy’s words. He’d forgotten about this stupid contest…

Honestly, with every ticket found, he’d become more and more nervous, wanting to win less and less. Before he’d only been worried about his friends meeting him in real life, but now it was impossible for all three of them to go on this tour, and extremely unlikely even two of them would. If Virgil did win a ticket, he’d be stuck on a tour all day with strangers. People he’d never met meeting him, judging him. Not to mention, all the media attention. What if he was edited to look bad? Heck, what if he didn’t need to be edited, and he just came across really badly? The whole world would be judging him, including Andy and Missy. He’d lose their friendship, and never be able to make any new friends because everyone in the world would hate him-

“Verge? Hello? You got a bar ready to open?”

Virgil was startled back to reality. “I-I, uh… J-just a second…” He leaned over the side of his bed, dragging out the bag of unopened chocolate bars from beneath it. He picked up a bar, taking a deep breath. Come on, Virgil, billions of people in the world, and only five tickets. No way you’ll win one. “O-okay, um, I’m ready…”

“Okay! Open on three. One… two… three!”

Virgil ripped open the chocolate bar as he heard the other two doing the same, rips echoing through their microphones. 

“Darn, nothing…” Andy huffed.

“Me neither…” Missy sighed. “How’d you do, Verge?”

Virgil felt like his heart had stopped. His hands were shaking so badly he was close to dropping the chocolate bar in his hands.

The chocolate bar and the golden ticket on top of it.

“Virgil?”

His heart started going again, now at a rapid pace, the noise banging in his head. He felt like he could barely breathe, gasping for air which refused to stay in his lungs. Tears pricked in the corner of his eyes.

“Virgil, are you okay? What happen-”

Virgil practically slammed the off button of his laptop, cutting off Missy’s question. He couldn’t let them hear him like this.

He pulled his sheets over his head, and he held his fist over his mouth, biting down on his knuckles, to muffle his gasps and sobs. He didn’t want his mother to hear. He’d gone so long without an ‘episode’, she thought he was getting better, he didn’t want to disappoint her.

Later he’d throw the golden ticket in the bin.

Unfortunately, Linda would find it, assume he’d thrown it away by accident, and rescue it.

-

“Wow, you definitely got lucky!” Remy whistled. “To think you were so close to accidentally throwing away the opportunity of a lifetime. You’re lucky your mom noticed. So, anything you’re particularly looking forward to about the tour?”

Virgil shrugged. “I mean, not really… As I said, I don’t even really like chocolate…”

“Okay… What about the other tour members? You looking forward to making new friends?”

Virgil just shrugged again.

“... Alright, well, that was the interview with the fourth Duke ticket winner, Virgil Teevee! Only one ticket remains, so good luck!”

The video ended, and Thomas took out the earbud, looking up at Nico. “Thanks for letting me borrow that.”

“It’s nothing,” Nico shrugged, before sighing a bit. “Well, one ticket left… I guess I’ll have to start buying a lot more chocolate if I want to get one.”

“Good luck,” Thomas replied, picking up his school bag. “I hope you find it.”

Nico smiled. “Good luck to you too.”

“Oh, ah… not much point in that, I can’t buy any more bars…”

Nico shrugged again. “So? I’m still gonna wish you good luck. Who knows what could happen? Anyway, I’ll see you tomorrow, Thomas!” He waved, before leaving the room.

Thomas smiled a little as he watched him go. Even if he knew it was basically impossible, Nico’s words inspired a little bit of hope in him that he hadn’t felt since his birthday.

Who knows? Maybe fate would lead him down a path that ended with a ticket in his hands? If anything, it was at least a pleasant thought.

[ce534worldtraveler]

Visiting The Aliveness Project

I chose to visit The Aliveness Project www.aliveness.org in south Minneapolis.  The Aliveness Project links people living with HIV to resources for leading healthy, self-directed lives. Their goal is to end HIV in Minnesota by 2035 and they encourage people to donate to the cause, which is simple to do on the www.aliveness.org website.  The Aliveness Project is housed in a brick and mortar building at 3808 Nicollet Ave. S. and offers community members resources like: a food shelf, hot meals on site, case management services and integrative therapies. Established in 1985, The Aliveness Project has evolved over the years to meet the needs for people living with HIV and those that are most at risk of being diagnosed with HIV in their lifetimes.

The PrEP Clinic began in 2021 and has been funded primarily by private donations and grants. All HIV prevention services: HIV testing, PrEP (pre-exposure prophylaxis), STI testing and treatment, syringe service program, PEP (post-exposure prophylaxis) and other community health supports, are available at no cost to anyone living with HIV.  Dylan Boyer, Director of Development at the Aliveness Project stated that “racial disparities in who contracts HIV persist at alarming percentage rates. What we are doing – the idea to provide free healthcare to somebody is pretty radical. What we are doing in providing free PrEP is an anti-racist effort.” According to information found on www.reachtwincities.org, “daily PrEP use can reduce the risk of acquiring HIV from sex by more than 99%. Among people who inject drugs, PrEP reduces the risk of acquiring HIV by more than 74%.”

The clinic services in combination with a community-based approach is unique to The Aliveness Project, which is run by and exists for people living with HIV who take a “for us, by us” approach to community care.  This is important because of the shared experience and deep sense of kinship that exists between folks living with HIV, allowing members to not only get the care that they need but also allows them access to the fellowship that comes with supporting each other.

A hot meal is served, every day between 12-3 pm to Minnesotan’s living with HIV.  The food is all made in-house and served by volunteers, who are welcome to eat with the community.  I visited The Aliveness Project on a Friday afternoon as part of an assignment for my Multicultural Counseling class at Winona State University. My intention was to eat a free lunch and, I’ll admit, I was very uncomfortable as I approached the entrance.  When I stepped inside, I was surprised by all the activity; people were waiting to be seen at the Thrive clinic and others were exiting from what might have been a group session.  There was a front desk that I skirted past, as I really felt out of place and was hoping I could become invisible.  I headed to where the meals were being served and discovered a well-stocked food shelf, situated in the dining room.  The procedure was simple; grab a tray, walk past the food line and point to what you want to eat.  When it was my turn to approach the line, a volunteer operating the register asked me for my number.  I could feel my face turn red and I whispered: “I don’t have one.” Looking a bit confused, she directed me to get registered at the front desk, so I stepped out of line, put my tray back and left the building.

As I walked back to my car, I felt relieved, but also frustrated that I entered the building under the guise of needing a free meal and left feeling like I had been denied access to a meal because I didn’t have a number.  I thought to myself, “what’s the point of the number? Why would a hungry person need a number to get a hot meal? It was hard enough to humble myself to line up for a free meal, why didn’t I stay humble and ask questions at the front desk?” I began to feel entitled and put out, thinking: “I took time out of my day to come here, and things didn’t go as I planned.  I didn’t need a free meal anyway, I just wanted to experience what it’s like to be needy for a minute.  I didn’t feel welcome and or like I belonged there.  I felt like everyone knew I was a fraud.”  Which brings me back to feeling relieved, because I didn’t belong there, I didn’t need the services available through The Aliveness Project, but I didn’t know that when I was sitting in my car on that Friday afternoon. 

See, my entitlement as a middle class, white, able-bodied woman allowed me to walk into The Aliveness Project without any knowledge of who they serve, what they do or what their mission is.  My privilege allows me to walk through my south Minneapolis community and expect that all doors will always be open to me, even those that I don’t need to walk through.  It wasn’t until I sat down to blog about my experience and started researching The Aliveness Project, that I learned The Aliveness Project serves the people of Minnesota living with HIV.  Having HIV makes a person eligible for access to all services and resources available through the Aliveness Project and all that’s required is to show proof of an HIV diagnosis and a Minnesota ID. 

So, in the end, I didn’t sit down for a free meal at The Aliveness Project, but I did walk away with increased self-awareness and knowledge.  My experience aligns with the pre-exposure and exposure stages of Ponterotto’s model of cultural identity development. I also learned that my life experience excludes me from being part of the HIV community and I’m able to accept and honor that boundary.  Learning about The Aliveness Project inspires me to be a stronger advocate for the LGBTQI community by being more open to talking about sexual healthcare needs in therapy sessions and spreading the word about the good work being done by The Aliveness Project.

[virtualduckbrigade]

i think the thing that gets me the most about stupid ass internet discourse about the moral purity of using the objects that are fictional characters as meabs and modes of sexual pleasure is that the excuses that people who are against it and think thought crimes are a thing are so *fucking ablist about it*. Like let me be clear, a solid 95% of people who are into that kind of shit are trauma survivors/victims. We get into it sexually as a way for our brains to cope with the traumatic events that happened to us. To make things that WERE and ARE *fucking terrifying*, things that keep us up at night in fear, not only palpitable, but pleasurable. AND SINCE ITS ALL FICTIONAL-- no one is actually getting hurt!!!! we can recontextualize our feelings in a way that is safe to LITERALLY everyone! and guess what! as long as you can still enjoy sex without the need to think about your fucked up kink, youre actually fine!! in fact, youre normal and healthy!!

Now, dont get me wrong. I DO think that if you make art about it, it needs to be tagged and posted places where minors cant get at it, because some people do get into certain things because of a minor(as in small and not underage) trauma around having unsupervised internet access too early minor(as in underage and not small), and thats what we're starting to see pop up around now with a lot of folks; but either way, if it is tagged and filterable, YOU, yes you, are the one responsible for curating your internet experience and if you dont know how to, frankly you shouldnt be anywhere outside of a search engine online. digressing from that too, if you filter out the things that you dont want to see and are triggering to you because you healed in a different way, you are 100% valid in doing so, so long as youre not screaming at the people who are healing in other ways that theyre "doing it wrong" because then, really what that says is that youre NOT healed. Because if you were healed, you wouldnt care what other people do if no real living person/animal was getting hurt.

You are not entitled to anyone elses personal information, when you go online. Some people might even be doing things to make it look like whatever is wrong with them ISNT wrong with them. You saying "anyone who does this is a freak and a pervert and a pedo who needs to be shunned from society" isnt helpful. it doesnt stop it. The only thing youve done is assert that "hello. i am an ablist and absolutely NOT a safe space for ANYONE who has any desire to heal from their trauma-related disorder. In fact I hope you die instead. You should be absolutely nothing but ashamed of what happened to you and the well-documented psychological responses it left your developing brain with". Like i get it, its fun to shit on Freud because 95% of the time the things coming out of his mouth were batshit. But Freud Was Right about A Lot Of Things. Specifically about Developmental Trauma and things people find uncontrolably sexually arousing down the road. AND AS LONG AS YOU CAN RECONTEXTUALIZE THAT AROUSAL TO *ONLY FICTION*, YOU ACTUALLY HELP *SOLVE THE PROBLEM*!!

and dont even get me STARTED on people with OCD who LITERALLY cannot move on from fucked up intrusive thoughts after they have them, or after someone makes a comment like, say, this post. All youve done is make them feel horrible too, over things that arent true and arent hurting them. Or the folk who suffer from delusions, who will believe more people are out to get them than the amount they thought prior.

Youre not "proctecting kids" or whatever the fuck, because if you WERE, you'd be lobbying for not only more therapy and better sex ed, but also better control over our collective internet experiences including advertising-free safe spaces for kids, and more massive archives of free well-tagged and correctly-tagged sometimes pornographic art something similar to ao3! but youre NOT. Youre projecting a belief not dissimilar to the religous trauma some people experience growing up that is only going to serve to blow up the issue and get more people to look at more fucked up shit online, earlier.

Youre not "taking a stance and stopping pedos", youre in the denial stage of your own minor(as in small) traumas because theres no safe spaces on the internet anymore since social media and capitalism fucked all of us, and the people with Major traumas dont have anywhere else to recontextualize that shit in a safe way anymore.

[resmarted]

haven't been on psych meds all week due to liver failure and emergency intervention to reverse the effects of the damage from trying to replace covid meds with tylenol (even those also give you liver damage apparently and my tylenol levels didn't even appear to be that high in the end? tf?)

have already been on the brink of tears a few times, namely when chris didn't pull my show and said he knew my ability to bounce back in time. i can't even talk about it i will start sobbing it's like the most moving thing anyone has said to me in so long.

was also considering going down on these meds already and wanted to taper off to see how i manage. i have been on a steady combo of anxiety and depression meds since i was 22. i was very exhausted from being the funny girl in every setting to the point where every coworker at whole foods would want to know what was wrong the second i stopped smiling or goofing off. the expectation of me and the sad jester complex that came along with it for years got to be too much. i also felt like i had turned it into a full time job making everyone else around me comfortable which somehow evolved into being an emotional dumping ground for everyone to lay their own issues out onto, whether we knew each other or not. i genuinely care for people but there is a fine line between being nonconsensually assigned at random to become someone's free therapist and being this hardened bitch for setting boundaries and not engaging in the people-pleasing techniques of culturally fetishized support group mentality. or something idk how to explain it but i decided at some point it was much safer to just be seen as a bitch than a free vent box for other people who refuse to get on their own meds or proper treatment plans with licensed professionals etc. people tend to see that you have been through a lot and therefore you have all the answers to get them through their stuff, but it took a lot or work and therapy and is an ongoing process. it's actually really insulting and extremely lacking in self-awareness to make your problems everyone else's around you and being the only somewhat healed person in a room makes you a magnet to people who want to feel better too without doing the work. people don't deserve to be victim to your emotional outbursts or of your vampiric tendencies.

that being said, not to be anye-kay but i was a much more prolific writer and a lot of my best art has been created from the depths of hellish experiences and times in my life. suppressing my feelings about the world and not pouring it into my art is not very cash money of me. also tho the best art is made during the winter and the worst time to go off meds is also during this time, generally for the same reasons. also i think it's generally a lame excuse to say you can't make art with or without drugs. it may be easier one way or the other, but it's likely a discipline or skill issue. like maybe you're just a shitty artist and drugs is an easy way to avoid taking that accountability.

the mental health system is so fucked the regular health system is so fucked the living wage is fucked all of our money is being funneled directly into war and genocide and i just feel like numbing myself any further in this moment of revolutionary history is not the way to exist right now.

THAT being said i fucking HATE how people act off their meds, how they unleash their shit onto you with such audacious entitlement, and ultimately this world is designed to make you feel crazy, so if you can control your emotions in an act of survival then why wouldn't you? but also i am an artist, doggg.

i know how i get when i go off them for too long, how unsavory comments become, even when they are people i know disguising themselves as randos, and fortunately i have had enough experience to know how cruel and demented people get in groups on line (or in general) and have learned to genuinely not go looking for it after years or exposure tharapy alone. the second i get the slightest inkling we are not on the same team, you're out. no questions asked. like i could truly give a fuck what your excuse for your behavior you will or won't admit to, i have enough weirdo fucking stalkers online as it is and have for decades now. if you even have one of those people within six degrees or your social circle you're already on thin ice to begin with. i did not spend nearly forty years surviving this insane fucking life to go backwards. i don't attach myself to people with shitty karma, even if it's just by proxy of their friends of friends. if you want to survive cut-throat environments, you have to be willing to be called the bitch and the crazy one and whatever else will be thrown at you for refusing to adhere to a mold of low vibe mediocrity. you have to treat your social circle like an ongoing audition process that is never fully locked into place and be totally fine with whether or not people will get it (they won't, esp as a woman you will get thrown all those demonic labels and then some) it feels weird in the early days but eventually living in truth and integrity becomes second nature, and the revolving door of people who do and do not make it back for the following seasons of both your community environment of choice or your life in its most personal form always speaks for itself.

people play with fire expecting not to get burnt, play stupid games to win stupid prizes, despite how it ends the same each time etc etc etc.

say it with me: slow and steady wins the race. that falls on deaf ears attached to people trying to be the loudest in the room, but people only like fast food for so long and everyone agrees what quality is at the end of the day. you don't just get that overnight through overexertion and speed racing your way into a burnout. not everyone is meant to play this game according to the arbitrary set of rules on a constantly evolving and everchanging landscape.

this post was mostly for me btw. everything i do in this world is generally just for me. another great example of gaining a following by going against all the made up rules to a made up game that we are all just making up as we go along. [fiona apple 1997 vma voice] this world is bullshit just go with yourself

[chaoscoffeeandbaddays]

I haven't forgotten. Since my last post, my sister boxed up all my stuff from my parents house so she can move in there, and under the cover of night without a word to me, dumped 5, yes FIVE, SUV carloads of my stuff in my driveway. And when I called her out on how shit that was to do without texting me, she sends this whole effing diatribe on how me being on a single income isnt her fault, me being a hoarder isnt her fault, me being LAZY isnt her fault. Apparently, leaving my stuff there when I was forced to move into a TENT was TAKING ADVANTAGE of my parents. I started moving stuff into a storage unit and even though Dad told me not to and that it could stay, I still did move out what I could fit in the storage unit. I continued paying board for MONTHS after I left because my stuff was still there, until Mum DEMANDED I stop. But yes, I'm 'taking advantage'. She decided she wanted to move in by the end of July but renovate first and I told her straight up that I had my first house inspection June 28th and couldnt move anything before then, I was still unpacking and cleaning my new house right up until the moment the agent arrived for the inspection. I even called in sick the night before and worked through the night to have it ready. My fibro and arthritis make me epically slow. I try my best but I cant just try the pain away.

Anyway, she 'gets' that I have pain but that doesnt excuse me 'making other people wait until I can be bothered'. I dont have a problem with her boxing up my stuff. So its out of her way. I dont have a problem with her bringing it over. I have a big problem with her not saying a word and sneaking over in the middle of the night to leave it all in my driveway. The driveway of my rental, on a main street where my landlord could drive past at any time. Just a simple text it would have been fine and she could have saved both our backs by not bringing the stuff that was to go in the trailer for the tip ( a trailer I couldnt fill with my stuff myself because it was still full of HER stuff).

Mum and Dad are putting the house in mine and my sister's names with a granny-flatting clause, so we can inherit the house while they are alive, not have stamp duty or capital gains tax on it, but we have to keep a roof over their heads the rest of their lives. It doesnt have to be THAT roof, we just have to house them. It surprised me when my sister said she wanted to buy ME out because she had always been clear that she didnt want it. But I'm glad because I could no longer live with Dad and wasnt in a position to buy her out. She asked if she could not pay me out until next year when she came back from Japan and I was like "hey thats fine" she was putting a lot of money to the renovations before moving in so why not have her being able to live rent free for a few months to save up for a nice holiday before having to buckle down under a mortgage. See, once the house is in joint names, if one of us is living there, the other is entitled to their half of the rental value. But she's my sister, I wasn't going to ask her to pay rent to me just because my name is on the title. Besides, I knew it would take me a long time to finish getting my stuff out. I even offered to leave the bed, TV, and a couple of cabinets, so my old room would already be set up as a guest bedroom. She never said no thanks, she actually said "ok, cool." Then, when she dumped everything here, it included those things, things she KNEW were never coming here. But I digress. Half rent for my parents' place would be about what I'm paying for rent in the tiny house I'm in now. It would make my life so much easier. I would be able to afford the physical therapies that I haven't been able to in a long time. It would do wonders for my life and my health. But it was money I wouldn't have had anyway, so I could wait another year to get my health back on track, if it made it easier for her. My only sister.

She doesnt think she's done anything wrong. And is now saying she doesnt want to move in there and she'll tell our narcissistic father that I'm coming back. I dont think that apple fell far from the tree. I cant get it through her head that ALL SHE HAD TO DO WAS TEXT ME TO ASK WHAT TO BRING AND WHAT TO PUT IN THE TRAILER INSTEAD OF SNEAKING AROUND. Now, according to my father and her partner, I'm the one in the wrong. Because I said that's shit and disrespectful behaviour and if she doesnt have enough respect for me to send me a simple text message, why should I give up a year of rental income that's almost as much as I earn in a year. Oh that's right, because it's not HER fault I'm poor.

[traumasurvivorshelpingsurvivors]

You don't have to answer, just want to vent.

I might have to tell my parents about it this week and there's a good chance they won't believe me. And if they don't believe me I'll have to move out. Which is fine, I have money saved up and a friend I can crash with, but I'm having a hard time getting a job so.... yknow. My therapist and my friend both assure me that my parents will believe me but the thing is that I have no fucking proof. I don't have details. For the first time in a while I'm wondering if I made it all up, and if I can't even trust I'm telling the truth then why should anyone else?

I hate that I have to take myself seriously. For so many years it's been a stupid fucked up story or a joke in my head but now I have to talk about it like it's real. I have to try to convince someone to believe me which I don't think I can do. I don't think anyone should believe me. I lie a lot.

I was watching Succession the other day and there was a joke where someone made up an accusation to cause drama in family therapy and no one took him seriously. And the thing made an accusation about was the thing that happened to me. And I was watching it with my mom. And I just thought "if I tell her she's gonna think about this episode."

It's all a joke. 99% of the time I hear this kind of shit mentioned it's a joke. Even when I talk about it with my friend I end up making it into a joke. Why would anyone believe me?

Hi anon,

I'm so sorry about what you've been through and are going through. It's understandable as a survivor to worry that people won't believe you, especially if you don't have "evidence". It's something I and many other survivors grapple with, so please know that you're not alone.

I tend to think that someone who makes it up knows they've made it up without a question, and would likely have a clearer story since details wouldn't be lost to repression or dissociation (though having a clear story isn't necessarily a sign of faking either since not everyone represses or dissociates).

I wrote an expose and would like to share a quote on page 330: "As much as I have told it, you are not entitled to my story. I shouldn’t need to write this for you to believe me. I shouldn’t have to hand you my story like it’s my license and registration. But I will, because in this society, I will not be taken seriously if I don’t. I will not be taken seriously if I don’t memorize my story, and I will not be taken seriously if I admit that I memorize my story. I may not be taken seriously no matter what I do." It's important to remember that not every survivor has evidence and you shouldn't need to prove your story to be believed or supported. Even people who lie a lot deserve support and understanding, since lying doesn't mean you can't be a survivor either.

I can understand not wanting to fully acknowledge the gravity of your experiences, as it can be hard to face all the implications of what happened and how people may react. But many survivors find that getting it off your chest and being believed is a necessary step towards healing. And sometimes merely recognizing the full gravity of your trauma within yourself can allow you to process it more comprehensively.

I'm glad to hear that you have a therapist. I hope that they can help you in navigating your feelings around this in the future.

If it's any comfort, please know that we believe you. You are not alone. If you need anything please feel free to send us another ask.

-Bun

[railroadasbestos]

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Do I Have to Have Cancer for Compensation?

You do not have to have a cancer diagnosis in order to qualify for compensation. Asbestosis is a non-cancerous, chronic condition that affects the lungs and qualifies individuals for compensation.

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Breathing in asbestos fibers may eventually scar the lungs of some people, which can lead to a number of symptoms, including: shortness of breath – this may only occur after physical activity at first, but it can eventually become a more constant problem a persistent cough wheezing fatigue (extreme tiredness) chest pain in more advanced cases, clubbed (swollen) fingertips Nowadays, most people who are diagnosed with asbestosis were exposed many years ago, before there were effective controls on exposure to asbestos fibers in the workplace. See your GP if you have the above symptoms and you think you may have been exposed to asbestos in the past.

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[collymore]

William won't ever be King as Charles will outlive him precisely like whoring Camilla murderously outlived Diana!

By Stanley Collymore   Ah yes, the Windsors! The   unelected and distinctly   rather unaccountable,   totally hypocritical free loaders.   Basically, likewise incestuously   inbred and serial adulturously   inured cunts, with their daftly   made up titles; and idiotic toy   boxes distinctly amply full of   actually unearned, uniforms   and multiple diverse medals in the bargain. Furthermore   a plethora of very luxurious   residences, aptly comprised   very lavishly of palaces and   castles, to aptly luxuriously,   and routinely stay in at will   everyday and each night of   the year, all attendant with   gullible, fully brainwashed,   so intellectually challenged   quite blatantly sycophantic   assholes, effectively falling   over each other 24/7 to tell   them undoubtedly, exactly   what they're keen to hear!   And actually compounded   with all this a plethora of   offshore bank accounts   quite literally, overflowing with   taxpayers money and similarly   additionally a multitudinously   inherited, odiously vile rather   massive familial secreted and   collectively, acquired trillions   of Pounds - plus distinctively,   with no inheritance tax, ever   paid! Wealth, quite distinctly   rather barbarically acquired   from the ownership and too,   the very dominant proceeds   of the noxious Transatlantic   Slave Trade itself conjoined   with other and still ongoing   Global South countries also   toxically vile evil genocidal   exploitation, plus incessant   usurpation clearly into this   the 21st Century, we are in.   And don't you sick, fawning,   odious and toxically vile,   monarchical mother   fuckers and the verminously   endemically, so conditioned   serfs: a pretty sorry state of   affairs that you're delirious   in extremis, so exuberantly   proud of your quite risibly,   very asininely subservient   societal standing positions   as they quite crucially are,   fucking well tell me to get   my facts right please save   and literally too, basically   spare me your evil, inane   vitriol, as it will certainly   have no effect because in   the most unrelenting and   also unapologetic reposte   from me it'll be distinctly   useless and likewise very   unquestionably futile - as   I crucially know the facts   and will fawn to nobody!   Rich, dirt poor or anyone   idiotically thinking, their   mum's fanny, and sperm   from their dad distinctly   make them quite unique.   (C) Stanley V. Collymore   8 January 2023.   Author's Remarks:   William Windsor needs serious therapy, and as a trained NHS psychiatric nurse who previously minutely cared for and nursed multiple sectioned patients, it's my honest and professional belief that William is undoubtedly, as far as I can realistically judge, an inured sociopathic psychopath and instinctive bully with a stark and deeply entrenched, discernibly white supremacist and too malevolently egregious tendency.   You cannot or shouldn't realistically be allowed to arbitrarily attack anyone: whether family member or a member of the public, because you disagree with them; a state of affairs entrenched in this case by William because of his vile, inane, insane and intense jealousy that are themselves consolidated by his evil sense of unchallenged entitlement!   Neither did he have any right then, now or at anytime to ever dictate who Harry should marry, and specifically so as the lady in question is an African American; yet too fucking stupid himself is the said William to see even now that Kate and her likeminded social climbing mother played him for the kiss me ass sucker that he, William self-evidently is, by categorically and successfully staking him, just like Camilla did with Charles to get where they both are now. But that's white supremacist cunts for you, eh Mr white British KKK aficionado; thick as pig shit! And if you or Charles think that you are both happy: Camilla not living with him and Kate about to do the same in the near future with you; then quite self evidently to those clearly furnished with functioning brains in their heads and that also know how to use them, both of you evidently are dupes who like controlling trollops to boost your distictly rampant insecurity as so-called desirable men!   Never mind; there's a God I do believe and no matter how invincible you think you are, you clearly are. Previously, I didn't give a fuck before Liz kicked the bucket how long Charles "ruled" for as I don't give a lavatory bowl of verminous turds about any of you. But I've done my homework and would you believe it Mr White Supremacist William Windsor, the odds are that Charles WILL outlive you. So much then for your quite obsessive monarchical aspirations. And so clearly confident am I of that, that I've already written your obituary. So Rule On Charles! Never thought that I would ever be saying that. And evidently in accordance with your Saxe-Coburg-Gothe-Mountbatten-Windsor heritage - Auf Wiedersehen Wilhelm; und schmoren in der Hölle!

[kafkaesque-philocalist]

Confessions in April

I can still remember the knee jerk reaction I’d had when a man named Daniel texted me if I wanted to hangout that Saturday. I’d just broken up with my previous boyfriend turned missionary the week before and thought why not date around, it’s not serious or anything, right? Daniel was good looking and we’d had the same interests so it couldn’t hurt; besides he was my exes’ brother’s friend so I should be able to trust him. Even with the knot forming in my gut, I said yes. It was every single day he’d bring me to his house and try to convince me have sex. I was so naive as an 18 year old, I honestly believed that when you say no it meant no. How foolish of me! 

Staring at the stormy carpet in the low lit office of my therapist, I told her about a writing challenge I thought would help me come to terms with that day in November. She said she loved that idea, it’d allow me a good space to finally see where I was with everything. She also wanted to see what I wrote to make sure I didn’t ruminate too much. We both didn’t want a repeat of what happened when hypnosis came up a couple weeks prior.

Like all good things in this modern era, I’d found BookLeaf Publishing’s Write Your Heart Out challenge on Instagram among the selfies and Elf makeup ads. For it, participants had to write a poem each day for 20 days which they would then publish, specifying that they would need a payment of $50 beforehand. Days earlier I’d put in my 2 weeks at FedEx without a backup job in the works at the advice of my family and therapist, and would very soon not have an income. Sitting in the four grey corners of my room on the white island of my bed I thought. My mental health had taken a turn for the worst after a date at a guy's house months prior. With my limited money, was it worth spending that much on such a luxury? Was the thought of showing the world my story worth possibly getting scammed?

Yes.

The last day to register was May 12, 2021 giving me breathing room between my last day and the start of the challenge to think. Days felt like years during that period, forcing my mind to relive the moments I’d blocked off for months for the artistic cause of writing my pain. I thought a lot about the times I told him no and that I didn’t want to the entire week prior to the event. Much like when I’d gotten into therapy earlier that year, I self-isolated. And yet writing during the competition was so much worse psychologically.

That competition was the first time in all my years of writing that I did not want to face my agony. The faces of my cousins saying their last goodbyes to their brother after he’d shot himself, my struggles with self harm, watching my sister’s battle depression, I wrote all of it with a fire only those truly alive have. It wasn’t fiery or venomous; instead it was days of locking doors and abrupt panic attacks. Every time I tried to write it head on, I managed to find myself in the bathtub trying to shut every little thought off.

It was after having a friend of mine review some of them that I really put into perspective what I wanted. For months I’d lived in the shadow of the assault, so scared of this new title I’d now have to adorn. I remember him messaging me, telling me that just because I’d finally opened up this wound doesn’t mean the world was entitled to it, especially if it triggered me to the point of sickness. I knew he was right. With his suggestion I focused on looser and free floating topics. The expression of my mental health as a young adult, pressure to go on and marry, failed relationships, and agency. 

After I’d written and submitted 21 poems, BookLeaf compiled all of them digitally, then asked me what I wanted the cover art to look like and the title. The amount of pacing I did that entire day, I’m surprised I didn’t burn down the house from the friction. Much like the text message, the title suddenly popped into my head: my birthday. April was my birthday month and coincidentally the same month I started therapy that eventually led to me writing the poetry book. 19 was also the age I turned that year, marking yet another chapter in my young adult life; it was perfect. 19 in April became a symbol of my metamorphosis from blind youth to somewhat of an emotionally stable adult. What happened didn’t have to define me, no one thing had to define me in fact; I was free in that moment. 

I like to think that I’ve grown out of my edginess, that I’ve learned how to deal with some of the worst tragedies an individual can in their lifetime. Reading 19 in April even today I can still trace my fingers against each poem and find some semblance of understanding. Every word, every phrase no matter how amateur and flimsy was a testament to a girl finding herself in the wreckage of her life once again. I felt pain, betrayal, a loss of identity and still chose to express it through writing and eventually turn it into peace. I never made money from it- I didn’t expect to in the first place- finally having everything out in the open and bare for the world to see was the best feeling I’ve ever had. If writing has taught me anything, it’s that life is a constant bittersweet symphony of events. When I imagine a stormy carpet, I no longer shed a tear.

[thewildmoonchildco]

Home Run, Kudos Netflix: #metoo

I just watched Luckiest Girl Alive, and wow…. Just wow.

Truly hit home.

One of the biggest quotes that I heavily relate to in my own assault story was:

“Moving on doesn’t mean you don’t talk about it. Or hurt about it. It’s always going to hurt.”

The way you will always think about the day in time when somebody snatched up a part of innocence without your permission, and you’ll probably cringe and shed a few tears, but over time you won’t feel as vulnerable to the memories I suppose.

The vindication I felt for a fictional character and the strength she embodies were some of my favorite parts of the movie.

More so though… the vindication.

Watching her reclaim her power and telling the red headed naysayer at the end to “go fuck herself” is a power move we all wish we had the opportunity to take.

Countless people who victim blame, and shame.

And whilst listening to their shallow arguments of why the accused couldn’t have done what, we in fact know they did.

Justifying any little bit of their heinous actions, in an attempt to be righteous.

I think as a sexual assault warrior (I don’t like victim or survivor, neither are a word capable of capturing what happens to get passed a sexual assault trauma) we are so brought to our knees to feel guilty, and shameful, and at fault that it’s easier to take the road already paved and lie down to those societal stigmas than to fight and reclaim what was taken from us.

To call out our attackers and hold people like that accountable…. The accountability for these people are never anywhere to be found.

I loved everything about this movie, 1 hour and 55minutes of capturing what it means to go through sexual assault and how some of us fall into this life of being so worried about being heard and redeemed that we lose ourselves in the process… we lose our truth… we become such a robot who has mastered the art of people pleasing that we don’t even hold our own identity in our hands anymore.

We are just fragments of other peoples wants, needs, demands and personalities…

And I am so beyond guilty of this.

Being quiet, and staying quiet in moments where my voice should shake mountains, in moments where my voice should echo throughout nations without reserve or fear, or anxiety.

I hated while growing up my voice quivered when I spoke… it became lumpy and disembodied, it swelled with tears and fear of judgement when I tried to draw boundaries.

OH, and my voice box also lacked certain vocabulary, like “no” or “what do you mean by that?” My voice box was uncertain of how to hold others accountable, because when I was 8 I tried and was silenced.

So silence equates to safety, and after feeling unsafe for most of my life, I sought out safety in uncomfortable situations. My sexual assault taught me that silence …. Silence was golden.

It lied.

There wasn’t anything golden about silence, in the movie Mila Kunis who plays “Ani” says to her rapist.

“Do you know the difference between me and someone like you dean?… I was angry too… so fucking angry you wouldn’t believe it BUT my anger is like carbon monoxide…it’s odorless, tasteless, colorless and completely toxic… but only to ME. You see, I don’t take my anger out on anyone other than my fucking self…. You see I was a Victim too…but no one ever treated me like one.”

Thats the thing with sexual assault, most of the time the assaulted go unnoticed.. unheard, the only way out is “through” and how we get “through” is between us and god.

Our predators continue to live untouched lives, free of consequence. They don’t flinch when in an intimate situation, they don’t wanna smash every mirror they look into, they don’t develop eating disorders or feelings of unworthiness, they don’t try to end their lives or enter therapy for years and years trying to make sense of an absolutely heinous act of entitlement, an act of evil. An absolute crime that they shouldn’t have to “make sense of”

No, our predators don’t have to work at healing everyday, at least most don’t. They may climb a corporate ladder to success, or do it to another 5-10 men or women with pleasure, or even better they sleep tightly tucked into their Egyptian cotton sheets with their dignity, and self esteem intact. No fear of safety, or nightmares of forced intimacy.

Kudos to Mila Kunis for embodying such a bold story based off of Jessica Knolls real life trauma she endured and doing it justice for the big screen.

And thank you Jessica for sharing your story through your powerful talent of literature.

The ending scene is what touched me the most, a true story of what redemption means for us warriors.

Go watch when you have a chance.

[dycefic]

Have An Evil Day

No prompt this time, just a sequel to ‘Welcome To Evil-Mart’

Working at Evil-Mart is usually… well, it’s retail. It’s physically exhausting, you have to deal with a lot of idiots without being overtly rude, and your feet hurt. Even though the hours and pay are very good, the benefits are great, and our bosses treat us well compared to most retail employees, it’s still not what I’d call a fun job.

But it’s not what I’d call dull, either. Especially not on days like today.

I was promoted to supervisor after the Food Poisoning Incident, so I have a little more authority and a little less obligation to be pleasant and I got issued a weighted cosh because sometimes Evil-Mart customers get… feisty. I’d never had to use it, though, because those who hadn’t seen what I did to Majority Rules, either in person or on one of the cell-phone videos that circulated afterwards, had at least heard about it.  They didn’t give me any trouble.

I was halfway through my shift, and the worst things that’d happened had been running out of croissants and a machine oil spill in Aisle Seven, when our greeter pressed the alarm button, which sent an alert to my handset. As front-end supervisor, that meant me, so I went over. Sam, who is unusual in the henching community for having actually aged out rather than ‘being retired’ jerked his chin in the direction of a tall, swaggering figure. “He just came in,” he whispered.

I did a full double-take before I took it in. Superdyne. Fucking Superdyne.

We’d all heard about his dramatic heel-turn a couple of months ago. The whole world had heard about it. Superdyne, who’d skated closer and closer to the line for years, had decided to cross it in a blaze of bloodshed. He was a villain now, he said. There’d been a whole speech about how ingratitude had driven him to it blah blah blah.

I work at Evil-Mart. I’m from a hench family. If someone becomes a supervillain because they hate Mondays or want to turn us all into dinosaurs or whatever, I don’t judge. I will sell depth-charges and laser guns to anyone who can prove they’re over eighteen without hesitation. But even we get kind of grossed out by the ‘I am forced to turn evil because I haven’t been given enough love’ thing. People who are actually so fucked up by emotional abuse or neglect or some superhero killing their family, we’re fine with them. But they don’t say that’s why they do it, and most of them need a lot of therapy to even realize it. People who actually say that’s why are entitled dickwads.

And now the dickwad had walked into Evil-Mart like he was entitled. Like he thought he was one of us.

“Lockdown protocols,” I told Sam quietly. “On my authorisation.” That takes a minute or two, though, so I went over to talk to Superdyne. “Sir, I have to ask how you even knew where to find this place.”

He smirked at me. “I have my ways,” he said smugly. He’d either bribed or beaten someone, that was my guess. “So this is where the villains shop? We all thought you went to Wal-Mart.” He laughed, like he thought it was clever.

“Yes, so you all say,” I said dryly. I didn’t feel like pretending he was the first person to make the bad joke. “My next question, sir, is what made you think it was a good idea to come in here.”

He spread his hands. “I’m one of you now!” he said happily. “I’m a bad guy! So now I guess I shop where the bad guys shop!” He looked around, frowning a little. “Although I was expecting more weapons and explosives. A… more villainous atmosphere. I didn’t know Evil-Mart had fresh produce.”

“I don’t advise buying herbs here unless you’re a magical practitioner. Some of them have… unusual effects.” A lot of our produce is normal stuff, but some of it not only isn’t legal, it doesn’t exist anywhere else.

“Oh. Well, that makes sense. But the bright lights and the bakery?”

“We have excellent gluten-free breads. In many ways, Superdyne, this is just another store. We have sales, we mark down the breads in the afternoon, we even have a PA system.” I pulled out my handset, and thumbed the button that tied it to the PA. “Attention, shoppers,” I said in my most soothing Customer Service voice, which made him grin. “Evil-Mart wishes to inform you – “ The countdown on my handset reached zero, and I turned to look at the entrance as a huge blast door thudded down. That was the last part of the sequence – staff outside the area were already in lockdown and security were on their way. I smiled, and continued almost without a pause. “- That we are in lockdown at this time, due to the presence of Superdyne in the store. Please remain calm, and be advised that security are on their way to deal with the problem. If you have a personal grudge that you wish to address with Superdyne at this time, he is standing near Register Six with a stupid expression on his face.”

He was staring at me, stunned. “But… but…” he stammered, and damned if he didn’t look puzzled. “But I’m one of you now!”

“No,” I said flatly. “You were always evil, that’s true, but you’ll never be one of us. And for the record, I’m one of the people with a personal grudge. All those henchmen you’ve killed and maimed had families, asshole… and they all shop here.”

He swung at me, then, but I spent years in hench training. Even someone super-strong can be dodged, and once I slammed my cosh into his groin a few times his punches got a lot more aimless. Around then, Tiger Ty came over the register, claws out and snarling, and I figured I should stand out of the way.

About ten minutes later, I turned on the PA again. “Clean-up to Register Six,” I called, in the same special voice. “Category 7, class three. Shoppers, please be advised that lockdown is now lifted but Register Six will be closed until clean-up is completed.”

Hunter, who’d been working Register Six, came out from underneath it. He looked a little green. Well, he was still in his teens, this was probably his first fatal mobbing. “What’s Category 7?” he asked in a shaky voice. “I haven’t heard that before.”

“Biohazard.”

“Oh. Class three?”

“Send three people. He was a juicy one.” I stepped away from a spreading puddle of blood. “Run and get a couple of caution signs we can put around this mess.” I eyed it measuringly. “And one of those fifteen-gallon plastic tubs with a lid, I’ll damage it out.”

He eyed the mess. “Are you sure that’s big enough?”

“Yeah, the average human is only about seventeen gallons by volume, and I’m not going to put all the blood and mush in there, just the big pieces.”

He gulped. “Ah. Yes, ma’am.”

I called after him when he ran off. “One of the black tubs, not a clear one!” Which honestly should only be common sense, but you can’t count on a flustered teenager to have common sense.

We frown on killing customers at Evil-Mart, up to a point… but when a particularly murderous super-hero walks into our store, well, that’s something else. I’d have to fill out a ton of paperwork, though.

I had to chase off one of Doctor Malign’s minons and two members of the Genetic Reign before the clean-up crew arrived, both of whom urgently wanted samples. In the end I scraped a few pieces of liver and unidentified organ into two of the bags we use for possibly-contaminated money just to make them go away. (They’re good customers, and it was just going to go in the trash anyway.)

By the time the clean-up was done, all the big pieces were boxed up, and I’d finished the paperwork, my shift had been over for twenty minutes, and I’d been asked to come up to the boss’s office.

“Listen, I have no issues with how you handled the situation, I want you to know that.” Mr Trent leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingertips together. “It was quick, it was efficient, and… given your personal history with Superdyne, not to mention mine and that of half of our customer base… richly deserved.”

“Yes, sir,” I said. It came out too meek, and I cleared my throat and straightened up. It’s hard not to be intimidated by Mr Trent, when you’re in the same room with him. It’s not his fault, and he does his best, but even under the strictest control his fear-inducing powers tend to unsettle anyone who gets too close. We all know he’s not doing it on purpose and we try not to show our reactions. “Do you have any orders regarding the remains?”

“Doctor Order wants them.” He rubbed his chin. “Get someone from the pharmacy to prepare samples for him, please, including brain tissue. He’s our primary supplier, and we can’t offend him. As for the rest… as you know, I’m retired, and I don’t usually participate in the Endless War.” One of his hands dropped to his left thigh. His prosthetic leg is some of Doctor Order’s best work, but the injury that led to his retirement had been brutal even by our standards. “But this is different. Superdyne came here. To our place of safety. We need to make sure that doesn’t happen again.”

I nodded. “Do you want the remains dumped somewhere public? Some kind of dramatic display?”

“No. Something more direct.” He rubbed his chin again, then tapped the intercom on his desk. “Iris, please send up Miss Fedorova from Marketing and Mr Levy from the warehouse.”

“Yes, sir,” Iris responded, and he clicked off the intercom again.

“The three of you worked together very well, during the food poisoning incident,” he explained. “And I believe they can assist us in a satisfactory conclusion.” He hesitated, then smiled ruefully. “Perhaps you should wait outside until they get here. I can tell I’m unsettling you.”

“Sir, I know you’re not – “

“Not doing it on purpose.” He sighed. “I do appreciate how hard you all work to make me feel… accepted, I really do. But I’m very annoyed right now, which makes control more difficult for me, so I think we’d both be more relaxed if you waited outside while I do my meditation exercises.”

I waited outside. When the three of us went into his office again, the miasma of low-level fear was definitely a bit lighter, and he smiled. “All right. Now, this conversation is going to be very confidential, and I will remind you all of the agreements you signed when you were employed.” We all chorused agreement, and he nodded. “Good. Now, this is very much a secret, even among Evil-Mart staff, but we do have a few online clients who are… ah… on the other side of the fence.”

Ms Fedorova blinked. “What?”

Knuckles sighed. “We ship to a few heroes,” he explained. “The ones who are… less homo than sapiens, if you get my drift.”

I didn’t, and from her expression Ms Fedorova didn’t either. Mr Trent spread his hands, drawing our eyes to his fingers. Which as a rule nobody looks at, because there’s fourteen of them, with four joints in each finger, and we know he’s self-conscious about it. “The less… purely human ones,” he said quietly. “One of the reasons I created Evil-Mart was to give those who can’t pass for human, like me, a place to be… people. To have dignity. So that the obligate carnivores weren’t reduced to living on pet-food or scavenging for scraps, so that those with complex metabolisms could get the supplements they need so that people who are still people, for all their outward differences, could shop in safety. There are a great many more monsters, demigods, abominations of science and other non-standard persons among our set than among the heroes, and I wanted to meet their needs, as well as selling weapons and Lair-away-from-home sets and so on.”

“And there are a few heroes who order from us for that reason,” Knuckles added. “The ones who can’t get medications to suit their metabolism, or need to eat things that you can’t get easily anywhere else.”

I nodded, because that much I understood. We have some very esoteric ‘dietary supplies’ that start with fresh, healthy, well-treated and disease-free prey animals frozen whole (from mouse up to calf and goat kept in stock, larger sizes by pre-order, halal and kosher certified where possible) and end with human blood (rejected blood bank stock mostly, we have an arrangement), and human flesh and organs (sourced from hospitals, morgues and crematoriums, guaranteed no murder, at least not by us). “Well, I suppose that makes sense. I’m surprised we ship to them, though.”

“Oh, they don’t know we know. It’s all assumed names and secret bank accounts.” Knuckles grinned. “But Mr Trent has all our online customers identified before we ship. And for the ones who don’t have any other options, well… we let it slide.”

“I can see why you don’t want that to get out.” Ms Fedorova tapped her chin. “What does this have to do with disposing of the body? I was planning to set up a really ghoulish display in a public place somewhere, I already have some sketches.” Marketing for Evil-Mart is… well, it includes more than designing our sale flyers.

“No. We’re going to deliver them to a hero… one of the ones who owes us… and make it very clear that just because someone decides to admit he’s a villain, that doesn’t make him one of us and it doesn’t entitle him to union services,” Mr Trent said flatly. “I want to make it crystal clear to all of them that a heel turn does not mean their sins are forgiven, or that we will accept them as anything other than a very brief amusement.”

Late that night – we were all on overtime, but it couldn’t be done in daylight – we wheeled a cart down the run-down hallway of a shoddy apartment building. “This is a terrible address for a hero,” Ms Fedorova muttered. “Are we sure he lives here?”

“I deliver here a couple of times a month.” Knuckles was pushing the cart. “I’m sure.”

“Okay.” Ms Fedorova cleared her throat, coughed once or twice, and suddenly her voice was deeper and her very faint Russian accent was as thick as pea soup. “This is intimidation tactic,” she said, grinning toothily. “Do not act surprised.”

I knocked on the door, but let Knuckles do the talking. “Delivery, Mr West,” he called, using the fake name the guy had been giving.

It worked… the door was unlocked and opened almost immediately. “I scheduled the order for next – “ the mark said, and then we were pushing inside, slamming the door behind us.

“Do not be alarmed, Mr… Dinoid, is it?” Ms Fedorova said, folding her arms. “Evil-Mart is knowing all along your real identity. But you are needing to eat, and we are not turning down regular business, so we make no trouble.”

Knuckles rolled his eyes behind her back at how much she was hamming it up, but I waved a hand. Let her have her fun. So Knuckles started unloading the boxes onto the table while she talked. “First, your Budget Bunny Box. Your favourite, da?” The next box, smaller, plunked down. “Two fresh chickens, halal certified, healthy and having lived good life, gift for good customer.” Knuckles dumped the plastic tub on the floor. “And mortal remains of Superdyne, with note.”

Dinoid was staring at us, but that made him shift into a combat stance, his long claws spread. “The… Superdyne’s dead? And in there?”

“Well. Most of him. The big pieces.” Ms Fedorova shrugged an impressively Russian shrug. I hadn’t even known that was a thing, but when she did it, it was obvious. “You must understand, when a mob tears a man apart, it is hard to find every little piece.”

“I’m pretty sure Doctor Malign and the Genetic Reign took off with doggy bags,” I said, as if I hadn’t handed them over myself. “And Doctor Order probably has some of him too, by now. So looking out for clones would be a good idea, I don’t know if that’s in the note.”

Insofar as that reptilian face could show readable expressions, he looked shocked. “Why on earth would… why? He changed sides? And why did you bring him to me?”

“We know your address, we know you don’t want to turn us in because we’re the only ones who can supply your meals, and our boss wanted us to make this very clear.” I indicated the note. Since Ms Fedorova was hamming up her Sexy Russian Supervillain act, and Knuckles was very obvious Muscle, I figured it was on me to be the Reasonable One. “He might have stopped being a hero, but that didn’t make him one of us. That didn’t make him acceptable to us. Our boss wants it made very clear that your failures shouldn’t expect to be accepted by us… or even spared by us.”

He shifted slowly, the tip of his tail twitching. “I… see. I understand why you would reject Superdyne. He was notorious for killing and maiming people on… your side. But I know other defectors have been accepted. Philomel, for example.”

“Philomel was child of villains. She is young, she is rebellious, she sides with heroes for a while.” Ms Fedorova shrugged. “Is understandable, da? The young do foolish things. She comes home, all is forgiven.”

He nodded slowly. “Tenebrous?”

“That story I don’t know.” Ms Fedorova glanced at me.

I nodded. “Tenebrous was just a kid. He was twelve when Varide recruited him. Nineteen when he broke with the guy. Varide put a kid into combat, left him with massive PTSD, then ditched him when he had a breakdown and went too far. Mx Frantique at least made sure he had a safe place to stay and some therapy.”

“It’s happened a few times.” Knuckles rested his elbows on the cart’s handles, his inhumanly big, strong hands dangling. “But there’s a process. A system. If someone’s sponsored by a villain in good standing, like Frantique sponsoring Tenbrous, they can be accepted. Nobody gets to just choose to join. Especially not a smug, entitled prick like Superdyne.”

Ms Fedorova suddenly leaned forward, scowling. “And why are you called Dinoid? You are not dinosaur. You are clearly monitor lizard. Golden monitor, I think.” She reached out and prodded his arm. “And not healthy, either. Look at colouration! You do not keep environment humid enough. Are having trouble with shedding, da?”

Now we were all staring at her. “You’re a lizard expert now?” Knuckles asked.

She shrugged. “What? Is hobby. Mamma’s little Varanus Acanthurus are pride and joy. Sadly, cannot keep larger monitors in city. Is unkind.”

Dinoid ran a hand over his head slowly. “Not many people realize,” he said slowly. “That’s why I order from you guys. I used to get frozen… food… from a pet supplier, but then I got contacted by someone who told me there was another option.”

“Is good thing. Those pet suppliers, they are rogues. They do not keep animals healthy, can get diseases or mites from those things.” Ms Fedorova sniffed. “I would never buy from them. My babies would get sick.”

He actually chuckled, then, seeming to relax a bit. “You’re not wrong. After… this happened… I got really sick a couple of times before I figured out what to eat, and where to get it. And even the reputable suppliers don’t always have the healthiest stock.” He opened his mouth wide, making a gagging noise. “You have no idea how bad that ‘reptile food’ is. Eating whole animals may be a little disgusting, but it’s nothing to some of that stuff.”

“I believe it,” I said emphatically. “There’s a reason Evil-Mart has such an extensive pet-food line. The horror stories we hear from some of our customers… well, you’d believe it, I bet, but most humans just look confused.”

Knuckles nodded, and spread his hands. “People who can’t pass for regular humans… or even for people, the way most normies see it… are a lot more common on our side of the fence than yours. That’s why we delivered to you. We figured you really needed it.”

“Does he order from the pharmacy?” Ms Fedorova was around behind him now, examining his back. “He is having calcium deficiency, am betting. He needs nutritional supplement.”

“I take a nutritional supplement,” he said defensively.

“The one for normal-sized lizards is not enough for man-sized monitor/human hybrid,” she said firmly. “Check pharmacy section next time. We are having excellent selection of supplements for hybrids, and chart to tell you how much to take for body-mass.”

He looked back and forth between the three of us. “You people are… not what I would have expected from an evil supermarket.”

“We may be… morally challenged,” I said, shrugging, “but we’re not heartless.” I looked around his tiny, shabby apartment. “Unlike some of your lot. I thought you were on a team. Why are you living here?”

He ducked his head. “I couldn’t live at the base,” he said, his tail drooping. “My… I made people uncomfortable. And the stipend isn’t much.”

“Isn’t much? With the merchandising deals they have?” Ms Fedorova sounded shocked, and the accent had dropped back a lot. “I know for a fact that if the accountants ever got hold of their books they’d owe more in back taxes than… well, than Evil-Mart would if our illegal product arm ever got discovered. And we pay our taxes on the legitimate stuff scrupulously.”

Dinoid blinked rapidly, though I couldn’t tell whether he was more surprised by her suddenly dropping her act or the idea that Evil-Mart pays taxes. “You do?”

“Of course. Not under that name, of course, there’s a shell company.” She sniffed. “All villains do. Al Capone, you know. We’re not getting caught that way again.”

Knuckles and I both nodded when he looked at us, and he shook his head. “Huh. Makes sense, I guess.”

“It does.” I looked around again. The place really was crappy. “I know it’s a personal question, Mr… West, but under the circumstances I’d like to know… how much is that stipend?”

He looked down at the floor for a while, then cleared his throat. “Uh. $1100 a month.”

We all stared at him. Ms Fedorova’s mouth fell open. Knuckles looked shocked, and I was horrified. “$1100 a month?!” I asked, my voice coming out louder than I’d intended. “For risking your life on a superhero team?! I have teenaged cashiers working part-time who make more than that!”

He looked almost as startled as we did. “For working a cash register?!”

“Evil-Mart pays pretty good.” Knuckles shrugged. “But that stipend is disgusting.”

“You are being exploited,” Ms Fedorova said, sounding really aghast. “That is terrible. Why, baseline henchman pay is twice that, and there are danger bonuses and…” Her voice dropped suddenly. “You don’t have a union, do you?”

“A union? Of course we don’t have a…” He trailed off. “You mean you do?”

“Of course we do. An extremely well-armed one.” Ms Fedorova folded her arms. “Henchmen And Allied Industries has represented us for generations. The last time a supervillain executed a union henchman for failure, he was boiled in oil… literally. On camera. Oh, of course some of the less reputable villains just pick up small-time trash from the streets, untrained rabble from the gangs and so on, so they can treat them as disposable, but we union members are skilled workers, with rights and protections. I bet you don’t even get overtime.”

“Of course not. Crime happens when it happens, and we have to…” He trailed off. “You guys get overtime?”

“We’re getting double time and a half for this conversation. And an extra day off.”

His eyes widened again. “Really? Wow, that’s… even when I was working a regular job, before this, I didn’t get pay like that.” He looked down at his hands and bared his teeth in what looked like an unhappy expression. “And now I can’t work anything but this kind of job. People don’t like having a scary dinosaur in their restaurant.”

There was a long pause.

“You can cook?” Ms Fedorova asked carefully.

“Yeah. I worked in my parents’ restaurant before… this.” He gestured at himself. “They were killed when we were attacked, and I was… changed.”

We all looked at each other. “After you’ve returned Superdyne’s remains to whoever you consider appropriate,” I said, grabbing a notepad and scribbling down my number, “I’d like you to give me a call. Evil-Mart is always hiring in the bakery and deli, and I mean always. Most bad guys aren’t great cooks. We don’t know why, it just seems to be one of those things.”

“You want me to join the bad guys?”

“I want you to work in a bakery. Villains and henchmen need to eat, and so do their families. Nobody’s going to ask you to rip superheroes in half, just maybe make a sandwich that won’t give anyone food poisoning.”

“That’s a regular concern?”

“Six months ago the three of us ran Evil-Mart’s physical store completely unassisted for most of a day because the only people who weren’t down with food poisoning were the ones who’d had the vegetarian and kosher meals.” I shuddered at the recollection. “Trust me. Someone who can cater staff functions without a major disaster would never have to live in an apartment like this working for us.”

“And we get full benefits, including dental.” Knuckles was shaking his head. “I bet you don’t even get hospital.”

“What hospital would take me? I always figured I’d go to the zoo and talk to the vet if – “

Ms Fedorova actually put her arms around him. “You,” she told him firmly, “are going to resign your terrible exploitative job, and then I will personally sponsor you to the union immediately. I have a spare room. You will like it. Humidity and temperature can be set just how you like, and Mamma Yelena will take you to real doctor expert in health of hybrids.”

“Those exist?” he asked, sounding a bit overwhelmed.

“Yeah, the Genetic Reign has like three of them,” I said sympathetically. “Listen, you can take some time to think it over, but you don’t have to put up with this kind of exploitation just because you don’t look human. Nearly a third of Evil-Mart’s staff can’t pass, and they’re treated just like everyone else.”

Superdyne’s dramatic demise got a lot of news coverage. Apparently it came as a real shock to the ‘good guys’ that there were some monsters even the superest villains wouldn’t embrace.

Dinoid no longer exists. Ismail Jameel works at Evil-Mart, and has expanded our fresh food lines a lot already. He’s a nice guy, and after Ms Fedorova told everyone how disgustingly he’d been exploited by those so-called ‘heroes’, he was welcomed with open arms. Literally, in at least one case – he’s dating someone from the warehouse, I’ve heard, though I don’t know who. He says we should rename the store, because we suck at being evil.

But evil is a really relative term. It can mean the blackest depravity, or a moment of viciousness, or even just ‘people on the other side’. Evil-Mart is called that because everyone, at least everyone on our side, is welcome. Plus, we all think it’s funny that the least-evil megacorporation is called ‘Evil-Mart’. What can we say? Bad guys have a sense of humour too.

Have an evil day!