I AM EMPOWERED, pt. 27: The YEAR ONE prose experiment concludes! (Patreon)

You can check out I Am Empowered's previous installment here, or check out the entire archive of this defunct project here.

In case you'd forgotten, or are a semi-recent Patron and haven't had the time nor the inclination to look back though this site's sprawling archive, I Am Empowered was a short-lived prose project in which I tried to flesh out aspects of Emp's story not fully addressed in the comic proper. I wrote Emp's first-person narration in (old) Twitter-based 140-character format, with the time-jumping narrative taking place roughly around the beginning of Empowered vol.1.

We've hit the point in this loose jumble of episodes that no remaining chapter is complete; all the remaining material from this abortive project is a series of fragmentary sketches that wheeze to a halt in an inconclusive manner.

We're down to the final remaining incomplete chapter, which I've split into two concluding Patreon posts; here's the second part.

DISTRESSING DAMSELHOOD, OR DAMSELING DISTRESSHOOD (pt. 2)

[Part 1 of this chapter ended with Emp recollecting getting slapped on the behind after getting captured by a supervillain, with said slap caught on video and posted online.] 

(Later on, I make the rookie mistake of glancing at the clip's YouTube comments. Afterward, I'm unable to get out of bed for two full days.)

Barely a few minutes after the video's uploaded, some moron's already made a strangely hypnotic GIF of my poor, slapped behind's jiggling.

For months thereafter, seemingly every idiot male in the caped community, hero or villain, will say to me, "Hey, I saw that GIF of yours…"

Not helping matters? The tragic reality that my supersuit's molecule-thin hypermembrane displays my bottom with cruelly merciless clarity.

Not a single superheroine in my field wears a more rear-end-revealing costume than my crappy suit's sparkly, body-paint-like embarrassment.

Everyone remembers my stupid, undulating backside, but no one remembers the Emp-positive aftermath of that mortifying incident, of course.

I rather badassedly chewed through the seaweed stuffed in my mouth, gnawed my way free of the kelp binding me, and suckerpunched Kelp King.

I clubbed that doofus douchecape unconscious with his own big, heavy, goofily ornate crown. (Come to think of it, I literally crowned him.)

The King's camera was lost in the ensuing lair collapse, so all footage of my badassery is gone forever. Footage of my ass? Online, forever.

Note: After being muzzled for hours by a mouthful of salty kelp, I lost my taste for sushi's seaweed wrapping. I'm a sashimi-only girl, now.

Here's the deal: I guarantee you that Kelp King would never have buttslapped an A-List superheroine, for fear of Unwritten Rule retaliation.

Oh, but when a C-List—or D-List, to be truly honest—superheroine like dumb ol' me gets humiliated in a semi-sexualized manner? No Biggeh.

Worst part about that video? I suspect that, unofficially, it's turned slapping my particular behind into, well, a "gluteonormative" act.

Ever since the Kelp King clip, a distressing number of bad guys now seem to feel rather free to give me a quick buttslap after capturing me.

"She's tied up good, boss." SMAK "Better luck next time, huh?" SMAK "Sucks to be you, superchica." SMAK "That GIF was awesome, girl." SMAK.

And since I'm invariably trussed up and gagged when they slap me, I can only writhe and wriggle and sheep-bleat "Mmph!" in impotent protest.

No doubt supervillains always wanted to buttslap an uppity superheroine—or ANY uppity girl, maybe—and now they see me as fair game.

They're never dumb enough to cross the line by, say, giving my vulnerable bottom a firm squeeze, which would put 'em in verboten territory.

Instead, a quick swat on the butt gives the bad guys plausible deniability. Why, they'd do that to ANY cape! (Except they only do it to me.)

Every doofus villain probably watches closely to see if my backside still jiggles post-slap, just like in that stupid GIF. (Yes, it does.)

Nowadays, even my fellow superheroes seem to be maddeningly, make-me-grind-my-teeth-ily casual about inappropriately touching my behind.

One of the senior—and more imposing—SuperHomeys, the legendary hero Phallik, has become fond of slapping my backside with his magic spear.

He claims "spearslapping" is merely a sign of comradely enthusiasm and teamsmanship, an innocent gesture "just like pro athletes always do."

He declared—a little too heartily—that I could slap HIS behind in companionable reciprocation, an offer which I respectfully declined.

The truth is, I'm too intimidated by Phallik's power and status to protest his buttslapping bonhomie with the proper degree of forcefulness.

As a founding member of the team, he can easily have my (lowly) Associate Membership suspended at any time, which he's kinda hinted at.

"You DO wanna fit in around here, don't you, rookie? We don't need any new recruits with poor team spirit on the Superhomeys, you know."

TRANSLATION: "You WILL let me smack your big, superheroic booty with my scary ol' spear whenever I want, or you're off the team, honey."

I'm know that I'm barely clinging to a minor role, here. If I screw this up, I'm certain I'll never get another chance to join a superteam.

I don't really want to rock the superboat by accusing him of sexual harassment, or claiming the HomeyCrib constitutes a hostile workplace.

I'm painfully aware that A Real Superheroine—which, obvsly, I am not—would tell this hulking dumbass to keep his fucking spear to himself.

I can't discuss this with the other superheroines on the team, given that Sistah Spooky's organized them into the We Srsly Hate Emp Club.

The testosterone-drunk boys' club of male Superhomeys wouldn't be any more sympathetic to my bitching and moaning, I think it's safe to say.

[Fragmentary line re: Capitan Rivet, omitted]

Adding another level of creepiness: Supposedly, Phallik's famous Phallospear is somehow a part of him, thanks to icky magical shenanigans.

In effect, that means that he might as well be slapping me with his dick. (Then again, his supranym's "Phallik", so maybe he really is.)

THE END (of part 2)

Aaaaaand that's pretty much it for I Am Empowered, dear Patrons.

This was an interesting and useful experiment, and one that I enjoyed quite a bit while working on it; fascinating, must admit, that working in old-school, 140-character Twitter format allowed me to overcome my customary aversion to writing prose. (Srsly, I have no interest whatsoever in writing anything in prose form.)

Alas, I'm not likely to revisit this project, as I honestly find writing early-era, hyper-insecure, paralyzed-by-self-doubt Emp to be a bit unpleasant nowadays. After 18-odd years (ouch!) of developing the character to her contemporary, comparatively confident, "actual-badass-if-still-distress-prone" status, reverting Emp to her original iteration isn't an avenue I find fulfilling to explore (again).

As we almost certainly wrap this feature up for good, lemme know what you thought of the I Am Empowered experiment, okay?

NEXT TIME ON THIS HERE PATREON: Not sure at the moment, but as I'm rolling with every-weekday posting to close out the month of July, you should see something tomorrow.