Sexual Harassment - Tumblr Posts

On antisemitism, christian supremacy, sexism and some very personal events of my life as a traumatized teen mexican jew back in junior high (14yo).

Lyrics are from “Movie (Never Made)” by Silver Mt. Zion. Couldn’t get any more Jewish than that.

This makes me think of something that happened earlier this year in my country, and all the ways antis would either be in danger or mess things up if they’d been in the same situation.

TW: Mentions of child molestation

A 13-yo boy who had hurt his foot was approached by a 66-yo man he knew. This man was well-loved in their neighbourhood because he was always kind and friendly,  would do things like grill hot dogs for everyone, and could calm down even the rowdiest kid with just a whisper. The parents praised him for being good with children, especially the younger ones who’d flock to him. Some even considered him a family member.

However, the teen had noticed that the man acted strange around kids, and that some of the kids acted strange after being alone with him. So when the man offered him money to be allowed to massage his foot in his apartment, he firmly told him to never ask him again before going to his mom for advise.

His mom, a therapist who had had her own suspicions about the man, advised her son to talk to the other kids. Slowly, bits and pieces, they opened up to him. The man would buy them clothes, fix their bikes, give them lemonade and sweets and candy, let them play video games at his apartment, give them massages... One of them finally told him everything, including that he hadn’t dared to tell his parents because he’d been threatened by the man.

The mother tried to convince the parents of the victims to call the cops, then did it herself when they wouldn’t believe her. The cops arrested him that afternoon. He confessed. There were photos and movies, and rigged cameras by his bed. He had been doing this for 20-30 years.

Later more victims and parents came forward, with several thanking the mom for making sure none of the parents ended up in jail for murder. Because unlike what antis seem to think, “I murdered a child molester” isn’t a “get out of jail”-card, and having a parent in jail would be yet another traumatizing thing for the children.

Would the minor in the screenshot gone with the man to “get him”? Would they’ve even picked up on the signs in the first place? The more you think about it the more terrifying it becomes.

Sure love that anti culture is now encouraging minors to talk to people they believe are pedophiles/child predators in the name of baiting them for online vigilantism. Because that's definitely protecting minors and keeping fandom safe.

I imagine the responses to this would have been at least somewhat more simliar had Roy Moore not been dominating the news, and someone like Bill Clinton, or an Al Franken without the apology, had been instead.

Let’s stop being so sure that our people vote based on Principles and Justice based on a poll that came out during a cultural moment when nationally, the most prominent politicians accused of the most sexual harrassment are Republicans. It’s easier for Democrats (in general) to give this answer right now. But remember that so many of the liberal party rallied behind someone who had an affair with his intern when he was the most powerful politician on the planet. And for similar reasons of feeling under seige by the other party who hated the candidate and would have done anything to get him out of power.

Would you still consider voting for a candidate accused of sexual harassment by multiple women?

Honestly? I think that's the reason I always hated the idea that if a man expresses his romantic interest in a woman in an extremely creepy way, that must mean he just wants her to touch his dick.

You don't have to shove harmful romantic expressions into a sexual box in order to explain how they could cause harm, and the fact that you feel a need to is reductive to our understanding of human interactions. Stop it.

here's a thing i haven't seen people talk about for whatever reason. romance can be a form of abuse. romance can be traumatizing. romance can be upsetting to experience. having romance forced upon you is a form of harassment. having someone repeatedly express romantic interest in you despite you rejecting them is awful and uncomfortable and violating.

something doesn't have to be sexual in nature or intent in order to be a form of harassment. romantic harassment is a real thing. the only reason nobody talks about that is because everyone is just too attached to the idea of romance as an inherent positive to realize that it can and has been used to hurt people.

Bury Me After I Fall

A suicidal person dangles their feet over a rooftop in the rain. They don't know if they jumped or not.

Liminal Space: occupying a position, or on both sides of, on the threshold of in between.

Purgatory: a place or state of suffering inhabited by the souls of sinners who are expiating their sins before going to heaven.

Chapter inspired by "i used to have nothing and then" by dirgewithoutmusic

"This wasn't real. They were either falling, or fallen. They weren't in heaven, or hell, but a space in between. When they hit the ground (had they hit the ground?) they knew what it would cost."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You didn't know what was going on.

You didn't feel themselves hit the ground — but all of the sudden, you were standing in an empty banquet hall with a mile-long oakwood table in the center, golden light glinting off the surface. There wasn't any sound except for your harsh breathing — residue from the adrenaline.

"Why are you here?"

The voice echoed from all around them. You turned, but didn't see anyone.

"Who's there?" You called. You spun again. "What's going on?" You blinked, breath faltering. "I — I died. I'm supposed to be dead." You blinked rapidly. "Why am I not dead?"

"Why are you here?" 

"I wanted to die," You said, simply.

"Why?"

"Why do you want to know?" You asked. "Are you God? Is this some sort of ... test?" You gazed at the hall. It seemed endless, stretching along towards the end of the horizon as strange gold light bounced off the banquet table.

"Why now?" 

"Because I wanted to."

The voice considered them. "Everything comes at a cost," it said. "But you already know that, don't you?"

You backed away as you were quickly swallowed by the plummeting darkness.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You were born once, from a sixteen year old girl who committed an act she thought she was ready for. You were born in a cold hospital room, six pounds and eight ounces of screaming, quickly swaddled. Your mother wasn't ready, but she loved you even as she gave you up to the two husbands' in the room. The two men cried as they cradled their new child. They weren't blood, but they loved you. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You hit the ground, knees slamming on the cement. "Fuck."

Harsh sunlight beat down you as you took note of your surroundings. You were on a playground, with plastic slides and metal monkey bars and creaky swings. A huge tree stretched to the sky a little ways away.

You slowly rose to their feet, joints creaking. "What am I doing here again?" You asked.

Again. You knew this place. You’ve been here before. You grew up here.

You walked past the playground and made your way to the tree, touching the bark. The summer sun dripped through the shaded branches.

"A cost," the voice hissed. "A life." 

You startled as a dull thud came from the other side of the tree. A boy, not older than eleven, gripped strands of hair from a kid as he slammed their head into the tree. A sneer twisted his face as the kid trembled beneath him.

"A cost," you watched in horrified fascination as the voice pulled at the boy's mouth. "A life."

You stepped back out of range of the boy, feeling sick. "What are you doing?" You asked. "Stop it."

The boy took a step forward and you flinched back, instinctively. He stopped and stared at you with an unreadable gaze. "You're still running away?" He said. "Even when you're older and stronger than me?"

"Shut up." You snapped. "What is this? A test? A riddle?" You glanced down at your own frozen face, your younger self unaware of the conversation as your eyes burned holes into the ground.

The bully perked up. "You were always better at tests, weren't you?" He said. "That's why I was always so mad at you."

"Oh yeah?" You asked sarcastically, hurt and rageful as you stared at the bully that took up so many years and thoughts and days. The bully stared back at you, the pimples dotting his forehead shiny and raised. He seemed so small for someone who had such a huge impact on your life.

"I'm sorry."

"No you're not."

"I am. I cried when I found out."

"Found out?" You repeated. Your heart pounded. How could your heart pound? You were dead. You weren't in heaven, or hell, but a space in between. You were either falling, or fallen.

This wasn't real.

The bully stared at you, and you stared back. Taking a step back, a tendril of darkness snaked around your ankle and yanked you down.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You were raised once, from two loving fathers who would take you in their arms and smother you with scratchy kisses. From lazy Sundays with buttery sunlight creeping through the window's blinds. With pancakes and orange juice while watching bad cartoons dance on the TV. From crushing hugs and you being tossed in the air as gravity took over and you landed in their arms. 

Your dads always caught you. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You slammed back into you body as you gasped, kneeling on all fours. Trembling, you scanned the room, the itchy red carpet underneath you biting into your palms and knees.

You looked down. A flimsy drawing looked back, waxy colors scrawled all over the paper as crayons littered the floor. You knew this drawing. You knew this room, this carpet, this house.

You knew what would happen.

Arms wrapped around your torso, and you resisted the urge to scream as an overwhelming perfume made you choke from behind. "A cost," your neighbor hissed. "A life." 

You wrenched yourself out of the neighbor's arms, stomach turning. Your dads' were on date night, and decided to drop you off at their neighbor's place. The husbands' didn't notice how the neighbor's smile turned sharp and her eyes landed on you. Goosebumps had exploded throughout your skin.

"You know what it feels like to be taken apart," said the voice. "You know what it feels like to become unmade." 

Your neighbor's eyes blazed with sinful intentions as she took a step forward, a saccharine smile on her lips as she —

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The sky opened up as they dangled their feet over the roof of a building, rain pouring in sheets as it soaked their clothes. 

You hit the ground, and you were watching little kids running around, shrieking with joy as they ran over the place you were beat up yesterday —

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You hit the ground, and were immediately slammed into a brick wall by your classmates —

You hit — your grades were dropping, and anxiety tightened your heart as the teacher held you back after class —

Again — your dads' were disappointed, one angry, one worried, as they took away your belongings after dinner —

You hit the ground — it was a cycle, wasn't it? Kids laughed at you when you did good in school, beat you up, you dropped your grades, your dads' got disappointed, and then the sweet neighbor offered to give you tutoring lessons while your dads' had date night and —

"Why are you showing me this?!" You screamed as bloody spittle flew from your mouth after all the times you hit the ground. "My life was shitty, I know! I don't need to see it again, I know! Stop showing me this!" 

The voice paused, considered. Then darkness grabbed hold of your ankles and dragged you down.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You were born once, from the first time when you visited the relatives of your dads. Grandma kissed, cousins waved, and aunts and uncles hugged. 

Your dads laughed as you squirmed away and dashed off to play with the other children.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Everything comes at a cost. You know what it feels like to be taken apart. You know what it feels like to become unmade."

"Why are you here?"

"Why now?"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You hit the ground, this time in soft green grass. It was early dawn, the sky opening a purplish-blue as the pale sun peeked over the horizon.

You turned to look at the house, and in the shadows of the porch, you could see your dads' lean in for a long kiss as they basked in the quiet.

You let your head tilt back for a moment, breathing.

This wasn't real. You were either falling, or fallen. You weren't in heaven, or hell, but a space in between. When you hit the ground (had they hit the ground?) you wouldn't land in a warm afterlife. These worlds God kept throwing you into were just painful memories that only solidified your reason for death.

Footsteps rustled through the grass behind you but you didn't move — just breathed in the sweet smell of wind and closed your eyes.

"Hey, kiddo," your dad said, sitting down beside you. Your other dad sat opposite of you.

Your throat suddenly clenched, burned. Your eyes stung. "Hey, dads'," You croaked. "I — hey."

"So ... what happened?" He asked after a beat of silence. You suddenly remembered his laughs, the way it would sneak past your bedroom door as you laid with closed eyes and bruised ribs, wondering if it would get better, wondering if you were ever going to be as happy as your parents.

"I couldn't do it anymore, dad," you choked. "I — I'm sorry. At school I could barely hide the bruises from you, and the neighbor — she just wouldn't stop, and I couldn't tell you because you were so happy. And I messed up your lives from coming home drunk and taking pills and doing cigarettes and —" I couldn't do it anymore. 

Your other dad looked at you sadly, an old look that you knew well. It was one of sorrow, of exhaustion and pain that weighed him deep in his bones as he looked at you when you came stumbling home after a night of shame.

"Why didn't you tell us?" He asked. "We could have talked about it ... given you therapy, meds. We could have talked to the teachers, and the parents of the kids, and had that neighbor arrested. We — we blame ourselves."

Your eyes blurred and you blinked rapidly as your dad's face swam into view. His broken look, his tearstained lashes, his red eyes. Grief was written on both your fathers' faces as he placed a hand on your shoulder.

Suddenly, your father's face shifted. "Everything comes at a cost," he said. "But you already knew that, didn't you?"

His palm suddenly felt heavy on your shoulder as you whipped around to look at your other dad.

"A life," your other dad rasped.

"No," you jerked back away from your dads', suddenly angry. "No. You don't get to use them. You don't ever get to use them. Don't ever touch them."

Your fathers' faces twisted into confusion, frustration. "I — I am trying. To ask. Why are you here?" 

"I just told you — told them. I couldn't do it anymore."

"Why now?"

You didn't have an answer.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The rain pours on the rooftop, dripping down the buildings as it washes into the sewers. They are coming apart at the seams, the stitches have been tearing for years. They know what it feels like to be taken apart. They know what it feels like to become unmade. 

You hit the ground, and the stinging alcohol sliding down your throat as buzzing lights danced under your closed eyelids. You wanted to forget, you wanted to be ok, you wanted — your locked eyes with a stranger across the room. You smiled.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You hit the ground, and you took the first drag of smoke, ash staining your mouth as you used one stick, then another, then another, until the whole pack was finished in a day. You wanted to die.

You hit — you swallowed pill after pill like it was candy behind your locked door, and when the capsule was empty you curled under the covers and waited as a sickening weight built up in your chest —

You hit the ground, and you slammed against the banquet table, gasping as vertigo made your head spin. Your limbs felt cold as the lead in your chest built up —

"You have done terrible things to yourself. You can never repent."

"They did this to me, they did it first," you gasped. You were drowning as your lungs filled with water. Images in their brain filled up — good times and bad.

Early in the morning, you sat with your dads as you watched the sunrise. Later that day, you were slammed into the playground tree for being better than their peers. Later in life, you popped your first pill, lit your first smoke, drank your first shot.

Your grandma gave you kisses on cheeks, your cousins still waved, aunts and uncles still hugged you. Your neighbor slid her hands along your body just like that stranger did. Sunday mornings with orange juice and pancakes and cartoons were replaced with hangovers as you stared at the top of a building and pretended to see the curve of the horizon.

"They hurt me first."

"They don't cancel each other out. Souls are never scrubbed clean, but can be overgrown."

"What are you trying to say?" You spat. "That I should've lived? That I should've dealt with it? It's too late, it was too late, it has been too late! I wanted to die, so I killed myself. I don't regret it, I'm just sorry for my parents." You clenched your fists. All you could feel is the cold in the warmly-lit room.

"You want time," said the voice. "You want to see your parents again."

"Of course I want to see my parents again." You said. "I love them. But —"

Instead of falling, images rose above you like smoke.

Your dads' pulled each other in for a kiss, murmuring about how much they loved each other. Your dads' woke you up at the crack of dawn to watch the sun rising for the first time, and it was one of the most favorite memories they had. Your dads' tossed you up, and you soared, before gravity quickly took over and your dads' caught you in their arms. Your dads' introduced you to grandma, to cousins and aunts and uncles. Sunday light crept through the windows and you toasted your orange juice to your dads' coffee.

"You will never get them back," said the voice. "But isn't that what you want? I will show you time." 

Your dads' pulled each other in for a kiss, murmuring about how much they loved each other in the early dawn.

Your dads' fell to your knees in grief and shock and horror, sobbing as men painted in red and blue lights wordlessly spoke of a suicide. Early sunrises were replaced with broken twilights as your dads found the pills, the bottles and the words on pages.

A man opened the news one day and recognized a classmate who killed themself. Horrified guilt made him weep tears of shame as he remembered how he slammed them into a tree for being better than him.

A neighborhood woman opened her door and was met with charges piled higher than her taxes as the police handcuffed her and dragged her to jail after years of freedom.

Your dads' walked up to a woman, a broken look in their eyes as they exchanged words and handed her a picture. The woman covered her mouth, stared at it blankly. You can only assume that this is the birth mother who was never a part of your life. Funny, you didn't even look like her. You must get you looks from your birth father.

Decades later, you watched as your dads' forgave themselves a little as they placed a white rose next to a wilted black one.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The rain washes the world clean. The showering pellets will wash the blood clean, pooling it into the gutters from when they jump. 

"Everything comes at a cost." Said the voice, but this time it sounded kind. "You know what it feels like to be taken apart. You know what it feels like to become unmade."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"What does this matter?" You said dully. "This isn't real. I'm already dead. I'm falling, or fallen. I'm not in heaven, or hell. I'm in something in-between."

"Do you want to die?" 

"Yes," You said. "But if I lived a different life, then no."

The voice paused, considered.

"I didn't want any of those shitty things to happen to me. I didn't want to get bullied, or touched, or hurt, or drugged, or anything. But what the hell does that matter? I'm already falling, or fallen. I'm already dead, or dying. I didn't want any of those shitty things to happen to me, but they did."

"It matters," whispers the voice. "That's what makes this a sacrifice." 

"I'm angry," you whispered. "No one should go through what I did. No one should feel what I felt. My parents —" you trembled.

"Be angry," said the voice. "I am."

That gives you more comfort than you thought it would. Your eyes stung with fury and hurt and sadness as your throat grew tight and your hands started shaking. "I didn't want to die," your voice broke. "I don't want to die. I just —" you sobbed, an ugly sound. "I just wanted it to stop."

The voice pauses, considering.

You don't fall, and the images don't rise, but suddenly your whole world went dark and you woke up in soft green grass as the early dawn opened the sky a purplish-blue as the pale sun peeked over the horizon.

You let your head tilt back for a moment, breathing, tears drying.

This wasn't real. You were either falling, or fallen. You weren't in heaven, or hell, but a space in between. When you hit the ground (had you hit the ground?) you knew what it would cost.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The sky opened up as you dangled your feet over the roof of a building, rain pouring in sheets as it soaked your clothes. The rain pours on the rooftop, dripping down the buildings as it washes into the sewers. You are coming apart at the seams, the stitches have been tearing for years. You know what it feels like to be taken apart. You know what it feels like to become unmade. The rain washes the world clean. The showering pellets will wash the blood clean, pooling it into the gutters from when you jump. You gazed along the length of the building you had chosen, heart heavy as you hope that your dads' love you enough to forgive you.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Tips For Improving Street Harassment

Continuation of this Drabble

Blades sat in the transport with tears of fear running down his cheeks.

Venting heavily he wiped them away with his wrist. There was others around him not scared in anyway. So why should he be?

Was he here because he fell short on his quota? He was sure that wasn't it, the mines had a three stike rule. Three times without their quota finishedb they would automatically get taken away. But if you just missed it once or twice you would, well you'd be serverely beaten. Most likely sent to the medibay.

But like he thought, he had only failed once. He shivered as he remembered the rain of fists and kicks on his plating.

Bowing his helm, Blades rolled his thumbs together waiting in silence for the ride to end, for the ship to land, and his future showed to him. He had a feeling it would involve pain... Or maybe even death. The haunting stare of the CLE came back to him and he knew he wouldn't die. At least not right away as he thought some of the old mechs on the transport would.

The moment he had been dreading happened whilst he was deep in thought, the jostling of the ship landing maming him jump and stare at the cargo door that opened into a ramp.

The two guards in the cargo hold with the mechs taken off the mining operation yelled for everyone to stand up and face the wall, servos behidn their backs. Blades did as he was told, in a fumbling manner, his frame shaking with nerves.

He glanced to his side watching the mech next to him get cuffed and pushed away from the wall and to the ramp. Blades bit the inside of his cheek as he felt a presence behind him, his frame's weight shifted in worry. He squeaked when the larger, stronger frame behind him pressed up against his back.

"Nice to see you made the flight alright, Sweetspark." The dark purring rumble came against Blades' audial fin. Blades glanced out of the corner of his optic at the ebony law enforcer, as he felt a pair of servos rest on his upper hips. Blades gulped audibly as Barricade pressed the smaller helicopter into the wall, Blade's frame shaking in fright.

"You look so beautiful when you're scared." He mumbled against his jaw before licking it, servos trailing down to his outer thighs seductively slow. Blades whimpered as tears sprang to his optics. "Please, n-no.." Blades whispered, voice ragged and rough.

Barricade chuckle and brought his servos up and around to Blade's lower back where his servos were laced together. The larger mech snapped a pair of cuffs on his wrists and tugged the white and orange mech away from the wall.

Blades yipped and jerked forwards as Barricade's servo slapped his upper thigh. "There will be time for begging later. Now you remain quiet."

And quiet Blades was, whether that was because Barrjcade kept a servo on his hip at all times or because he was about to watch a public massacre happen.

Men know what sexual harassment is and they don’t care.

I don’t answer babymen dripping with fake sincerity asking “what is sexual harassment though?” because they know what it is. If they would touch a woman that way and not a man, it’s sexual harassment. If they would make the comment about a woman and not a man, it’s sexual harassment.

Men don’t want to admit they know what sexual harassment means so they can continue to feign innocence and outrage when presented with the idea that they shouldn’t be able to accost any passing woman in the hopes that her vagina will magically fall on his penis and she’ll call him the best lover she ever had.

Sexual harassment serves three purposes: exerting power to make women uncomfortable, a one-sided mating ritual with the goal of sexual gratification, or bonding with male peers over the shared objectification of women. It’s always one of the three or a combination.

Anytime some heterosexual male pretends he doesn’t understand sexual harassment, tell him to picture what he said or did being directed at him from a larger gay man, and if it’s at work, picture that gay man having influence over your advancement prospects. He can’t feign ignorance after that.

Edit

Obviously this quick blurb lacks nuance and ignores the larger conversation of male victims, race as it factors into subjugation, gender & sexuality, and social status. But for the basic conversation we have yet to even begin to address, sexual harassment is very simple. Start there.

SOMEONE will advocate for you

Tw: Mentions of COCSA, Sexual harassment, groomers, and similar things

Cw: vent/rant

It's strange how things that you felt just a little weird about when it happened turn out to be more serious than you thought once you get older. I'm not nearly as scarred as some of the people who went through similar things, but it's weird... I always thought I was one of the few exceptions.

Majority of afabs have been through sexual harassment and/or assault at some point. not me though.. not until I actually thought about it from a sensible point of view.

I wasn't aware that my classmates mocking me the way that did could be sexual harassment, despite how explicit it was.

I didn't understand that the "game" I had been peer pressured into playing as a 6-8 year old could be considered assault. We were both kids and my clothes were never breached but that doesn't make it any less disgusting or distressing. He's in prison now for other things. He has to serve multiple sentences in various prisons, all for unrelated things, but his odd behavior didn't stop at me. It didn't stop when we were kids. He tried to hook up with a 13 year old. The three of us are cousins. The two of us were 18-19. I almost had an incident before him, but I wasn't at the age that I would be afraid of losing a friend, so I told on the kid before it happened.

I had multiple run-ins with groomers online, and the only things stopping me from getting sucked further in were a deep hatred of my body, fear of being a registered sex offender if I ever sent them pictures, and a general fear of the pictures being leaked or my parents finding out and beating my ass. Once they figured out I wouldn't give them what they wanted, they usually left.

Even before I understood pedophilia, my parents allegedly noticed various times when random men on the street would approach me or look at me with a hunger in their eyes or just generally act suspicious near me.

And even outside of harassment and assault, there was still sex in my life far before it needed to be. My parents shouldn't have left their porn in the DVD player when they sent us to watch a movie in their room. They shouldn't have put the porn right next to the normal DVDs. Their 2-3 year old shouldn't have been able to terrorize his older siblings by playing porn when we were supposed to be watching a silly little fish movie.

I hate how normalized some of these things are. We need better education about these subjects. No one likes having suppressed memories and trauma. No one likes having these things happen to them. No one likes not being able to articulate their feelings to speak out about it. No one likes finally being hit with the fact that they probably have some sexual trauma at 2 am in their 20s. It shouldn't be hard to go through life without some fucking freak tainting my brain.

the fact that nearly every girl i know and follow on insta is currently posting abt the sexual harassment that women face but only a handful of guys is doing the same is both not surprising yet also still disappointing

Straight dudes are their own worst enemies when it comes to getting laid.

When you're accused of something you haven't done you normally respond with "I don't know what they're talking about, I haven't done anything".

Not "I don't know what they're talking about but if I've done something I want to fix it".

Thirsty bitch is transparent.

He's a vile human being who's been using art as an excuse to exploit women for years.

He can go sit on a spiked dildo tbh.

Constance Wu is laying her career on the line to remind you that the Oscars have rewarded Casey Affleck for abusive behavior toward women

Casey Affleck’s breakout performance in Manchester by the Sea has drawn attention back to the pair of sexual harassment lawsuits he settled out of court just a few years ago.

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