true crime community -- quick, off the top of your head, how many famous killers can you name?
I can name 68. I can tell you their names, their childhoods, their murders, their trials, their deaths.
Now, let me ask you something else: How many of their victims can you name?
I can name 0.
None. I’m wracking my brain, just trying to think of one number. I have been trying for 20 minutes. Nothing.
I can tell you how they died, in every horrific detail. I can’t tell you their names.
I can tell you the names of victims wer don’t know the killers of. The Black Dahlia. Elisa Lam. JonBenet Ramsey. I can tell you their names because we refer to their cases as “The ___ Murder”. If we knew their killers, we wouldn’t know their names.
So, let me ask you something – who were these people who were killed? And why can I tell you everything about the killer’s lives and nothing about the victims. Why do we just say “______ killed _ people”, instead of “(the victim) was killed by _____”. Why do we make them just a number in the body count.
It’s totally okay to be interested in true crime (I have a special interest), but I feel like so often we lose track of the fact these victims were real people. Real people died in horrible, horrible ways, and all too often we just say “Oh, that’s weird!” and “Woah, how wild!” and move on, without thinking about the fact that these people were real.
So many people in the TCC community romanticize, glorifying, fetishize, and excuse killers. I see aesthetic blogs devoted to Adam Lanza, where people post pastel pictures of Dylann Roof and call him “daddy”. I see people who think that serial killers are made from a lack of love,like they’re children who misbehave and break a plate – not grown-ass men who murder because of misogyny, racism, albeism, and hate. People with no understanding of mental illness saying they’re “psychos” who are in love with real killers and rapists.
Toxic Masculinity causes these crimes, and when you romanticize these killers, you are adding fuel to the fire.
Remember the victims, not the killers. Learn about their lives. Seek justice for them, and understand why they died, and work to make sure it never happens again.
Dylann Roof is getting what he deserves. His victims are getting justice, and that is what they deserve.
TLDR: Don’t glorify serial killers, respect and remember victims.
Thaaaaank you @alwaysfangirly!! 💖 And omg, you’re so kind! And so patient! Because this took me forever and you were so sweet about it!
I hope you like what I did with it! (Even though it might be kinda messy and confusing…) Oh, and I also posted it on AO3, because… well, once more, it turned out longer than I intended…
“Pansy, where was I yesterday?”
“What was I doing? Did you see me talking to anyone?”
Draco paced the length of the eighth year common room, feeling Pansy’s intent stare on him.
“Those are really odd questions to ask. Have you lost your mind?”
“In a manner of speaking,” Draco muttered, stopping in front of the fireplace. “I think someone obliviated me. No, I am sure someone obliviated me.”
He heard Pansy get off the armchair and walk over to him.
“Are you sure? Why would someone do that to you?”
“That’s what I’d like to know,” Draco growled.
“But how can you be sure you’ve been obliviated? I mean, isn’t the point of obliviating someone that they… well, forget?”
Draco scratched the back of his neck, nodding absentmindedly.
“Something just felt off when I woke up this morning. I was sure it was Wednesday but then I saw the Daily Prophet and realised it was already Thursday. I remember everything until Tuesday night and waking up today. But if I try to think about what happened yesterday, my mind just goes blank. I’ve been racking my brain all day long. It’s the only explanation, Pansy. I-”
Draco stopped in his tracks when he saw Potter enter the common room. Something was… weird about him today. He didn’t look at Draco. He hadn’t looked at Draco all day. He always looked at Draco. He probably thought it went unnoticed but, of course, Draco noticed. He always stared right back whenever Potter briefly averted his eyes. Always. But why was Potter avoiding his gaze today?
“Potter!” Without a moment’s hesitation, he strode over to the Gryffindor.
“Hey Malfoy,” he mumbled, his eyes on the carpet.
“Potter, is there something you want to tell me?” Draco inquired, lowering his head to catch the other boy’s eye.
“No?” the Gryffindor said, his voice slightly shaking.
“I think there is. Out with it, Potter! Something happened yesterday, I know it.”
“You do?” Potter said in astonishment, finally looking up. His eyes were full of wonder and… apprehension. “But you shouldn’t-” He broke off, pressing his mouth into a thin line.
“I shouldn’t what?” Draco said, stepping closer and narrowing his eyes. “Remember? You did it, didn’t you? You were the one who obliviated me.”
Potter was trying very hard to keep a straight face, but Draco saw right through him.
“The question is,” he said slowly, lowering his voice, “why did you do it?”
Potter closed his eyes and let out a sigh.
“I’ve been feeling guilty about that all day. I shouldn’t have done it.”
“Then why did you?” Draco asked.
“I panicked, okay? I didn’t do it on purpose. It was like a reflex.”
Now Draco simply had to know what had happened the day before. This sounded serious.
“Show me,” he said, grabbing Potter by the wrist.
“There’s got to be a Pensieve around here somewhere,” Draco muttered, already dragging Potter out of the common room.
“There is, actually,” Potter mumbled behind him.
Draco looked around the memory he and Potter had just dived into. They were in the dungeons and class had just started.
“Professor, why are you showing us Amortentia again?” one of the students asked, sounding more eager than annoyed.
“Because,” Professor Slughorn said with a smile, “I want you to brew an antidote today. So everyone take a quick sniff to get in the right mood and get started.”
Draco frowned as he watched himself go into the storage room, apparently ignoring Slughorn’s instructions. His eyes then fell on Potter, Pensieve-Potter to be precise, who stood in front of the cauldron full of Amortentia. Granger and the Weasel were standing beside him, grinning at each other. It was disgusting.
“What do you smell, Harry?” the Weasel asked. Potter blinked.
“Come on, we’re your friends. You can tell us,” the Weasel insisted, elbowing him.
“No, Ron, I literally smell nothing,” Potter muttered, sounding genuinely surprised.
“That’s strange,” Granger chimed in.
“Yeah.” Potter creased his eyebrows. “I would have thought-” He stopped abruptly as Draco, well, Pensieve-Draco, came into view again, locking eyes with him.
“Professor, have you ever heard of anyone who doesn’t smell anything? In regards to Amortentia, I mean.”
“Hermione,” Potter growled through gritted teeth.
“What, she didn’t say it was you,” the Weasel shrugged. Potter slapped a hand to his forehead and Draco saw himself smirk.
“You don’t smell anything, Potter? That’s pretty pathetic.” When Pensieve-Draco simply strutted back to his desk and began chopping his ingredients, the real Draco frowned.
“So that’s the big secret? This is why you obliviated me?” he asked.
“Wait for it,” Potter mumbled. Was Draco imagining it or were Potter’s cheeks turning a bit rosy? He was biting the inside of his cheek, too, and constantly shifting his weight. He was nervous.
Intrigued, Draco watched as the class proceeded without significant interruptions.
When Slughorn dismissed them and students started hurrying out of the classroom, Draco tapped his foot impatiently. He paused when he saw his past self purposely bump into Potter, causing the Gryffindor to drop all his books.
Smirking to himself, Pensieve-Draco bent down to help Pensieve-Potter pick up his things, quickly scanning the room. They were the only ones left.
“So, you really didn’t smell anything?” Draco heard himself ask. Pensieve-Potter just scowled at him. Draco could see what Pensieve-Potter obviously didn’t; Pensieve-Draco was disappointed. “Nothing at all?”
Getting up, Pensieve-Potter slammed down his books on the desk nearest to him.
“Not that it’s any of your business, but I used to smell… something. So you can save your taunts about-”
“What is that?” Pensieve-Draco suddenly asked. Potter had been draping his Gryffindor scarf around his neck but had halted at the Slytherin’s outburst. The real Draco watched closely as his past self stretched out a hand and examined the scarf.
“What is it now?” Pensieve-Potter said, sounding irritated but also slightly nervous. “It’s my scarf.”
Pensieve-Draco slowly shook his head as he drew out his wand.
“No, something is off.” He pointed his wand at the scarf and before Potter could protest or interfere, he had mumbled, “Revelio.”