I am not writing any of the Tudors OT3 Universe Shakespeare Works for the obvious reasons but know they exist. Also they are even gayer - a fact that I did not think was possible. Actually it’s probably interesting as Shakespeare (born earlier) is in a poly v with the Duke of York. (By which I mean Shakespeare is dating the Duke and is BFFs with the Duchess. They know about each other).
Also I was rereading @findingfeather meta on Romeo & Juliet and I really feel like Shakespeare in this universe has A Lot To Say Times A Billion about the idea of “younger than she are happy mother’s made” because he really knows the reality of it and there was someone at least romanticising Pippa and Lionel.
Imo a big issue in discourse on this issue is that some have a main perspective of "I've seen people shipping dudes in their 20s and dudes in their 40s called pedos and harassed over this for nothing" and others have the perspective of "I can't click two links on twitter without being taken to a 1000+ followers art blog filled with 14 year old boys fetting raped and everyone appears to think this is harmless fun even tho ppl are getting groomed w this stuff" (1/2)
(2/2) and like. both of those things ARE happening, neither of those people are liars. but both those people can TRY and converse but the starting point is v sensitive on both sides and when Johnny "um the age of consent in japan" is lurking about ready to derail everything too NOTHING gets done
Yeah, that’s the problem with a lot of these things. You can’t define yourself as “anti” or “anti anti” without taking on unwanted implications and terrible allies on either side. And if you talk about the issue but don’t explicitly take a side you just get everyone sniffing to figure out what side you really mean.
Once a battlefield gets defined and polarized the way this one has, it’s hard as hell to talk about.
(Though tbh I haven’t really run into a lot of your second scenario there. Not saying it doesn’t happen, we’ve all got our bubbles, but I haven’t encountered a real plague of that kind of thing. And honestly it seems like some antis actually go easier on serious offenders because they’re more scared of them than they are of 16-year-old girls writing Reylo fluff.)
Sammy Jones seemed to be a normal, four-year-old boy. He was a bit shy and didn’t have many friends, but there were Micha and Nimy with whom he often played at Kindergarten. He liked hide-and-seek best. Sammy always found the most obscure hiding-places and was good at keeping still so that he wasn’t easily found.
He was smart and well-behaved, his parents were proud of him. But sometimes they wee worried, too. It started when they found torn, mutilated toys and stuffed animals beneath his cupboard. He said he didn’t know who had broken them or why they were hidden. In fact, Sammy seemed sincerely shocked and bewildered when they showed him the toys. His blue eyes went wide and for a moment it looked as though he might start to cry. But he didn’t. Sammy hardly ever cried.
From now on, his parents paid attention to little signs that might show what was wrong with their boy. He seemed even more quiet and withdrawn than ever. He was paler than usual. He had trouble sleeping. They caught him staring blankly into space.
“Sammy, is everything alright with you?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure? You remember what we talked about?”
Pause.
“About you talking about things that bother you?”
“Yes. There is nothing I need to tell you.”
Pause.
“I promise.”
“OK, then. Just remember: We’re always here to watch over you.”
And that, too, Sammy knew, was a promise.
About three weeks after this conversation, Sammy’s parents noticed a disturbing change in his behavior. Sammy started to be cold, resentful, even aggressive towards them. He had never been like that before. Mr. and Mrs. Jones decided to talk to him again.
Tonight they were going to find out what had happened. It was also going to be their last night.
“I will end this now.”
It was a simple statement. Sammy’s voice and gaze were both steady and deeper than that of a four-year-old. His mother shivered. His father took half a step back. Then he noticed.
“Sammy! Your eyes! They’re green!”
“No”, said the boy quietly, “I am not Sammy. I am the spirit of a Serpent who–“
Sammy’s mother gasped, “What?”
“Sammy is here, too, and he can see and hear and smell everything I do. But he can’t stop me.”
“Now, look here”, began Sammy’s father, trying to hide his growing fear, “You can’t just take our little boy–“
“Your boy?!”, spat the snake, “You’re talking as though he were your property!”
There was a moment of heavy silence. No-one moved. The green eyes that stared out of Sammy’s face fixated both parents.
Then, Mr. Jones whispered, “So that’s what this is about.”
There was no answer.
Finally, Mrs. Jones rounded on her husband, “I told you we should be more careful–“
“You told me? You were the one who couldn’t get enough–“
“Silence!”, hissed the snake, “This is enough. How dare you! How dare you argue over who’s fault this is! I will not tolerate this anymore! You will never do it again!”
“Oh yes, we will!” Sammy’s father lunged forwards, grabbing his son’s shoulders, pushing him to the ground. He lay on top of the little boy, his red face just an inch from Sammy’s pale one.
“You’re going to regret this”, he grunted.
Sammy, and the Snake that possessed him, felt his father’s breath on his cheeks, on his neck. Suddenly timid, the child asked, “What are you going to do?”
His mother gave a short, cruel shriek of laughter, “Ha! Not so cocky anymore, are you?”
His father repeated, “You’re going to regret this”, a whisper, his lips brushing Sammy’s ear. His hands fumbled with the boys pajamas, grabbing his skin.
Suddenly, with far greater strength than any four-year-old should have, Sammy – the snake – pushed his father off himself. He stood up.
“Get out! Get out of my life!”
Mr. and Mrs. Jones obeyed, scared. They backed through the door and nearly fell over one another on their way out of the house.
In the front yard, a foot stumbled onto a hidden viper…
I need to actually write this and not feel guilty about it and also wow purity culture across the political spectrum does a really good job of making me feel tainted
we have to learn to be able to get places early. as in, pack 30 minutes extra time! or more, possibly. because lately storms make us be late and miss half our therapy sessions - this happened 3 or 4 times already this year! and autumn is just beginning! anyway, we found out why this is so hard for us and it’s not a fun reason :/
cn for csa under the cut
so apparently the people who hurt us, parents and some teachers, would use the extra time to molest us, even if it was just a couple of minutes, but worse if there was more time. so if we were ready to go to school but there was still time, our “father” would use that time, only letting us go at the last minute (I think?? i’m not very clear on this), but if we were early in school there were teachers who’d abuse us as well.
it was much safer to arrive just in time or a couple of minutes late.
and apparently several of the children who had to endure this still don’t know it’s over :’( they just make sure that we don’t get anywhere early and usually are a bit late, to be safe.
