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anexperimentallife · 11 days

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So you want leftist candidates? Here's how you get them:

First off, you have to understand that the far right didn't just wake up one day and say, "We should fuck up the country!" They have been OPENLY working for decades to fill literally every elected or appointed government position they could with Christian Dominionists and other right-wingers, and these folks show up to the polls EVERY SINGLE TIME.

When I was a kid in a far right church in the 1960s, they openly discussed how important is was to get their people into office who would help pass legislation to persecute/imprison/kill anyone who didn't follow their religion. If there's no one sufficiently right-wing running, they'll vote for whomever is closest, even if it gags them. And I cannot emphasize enough that they have long term goals that they are willing to take--and HAVE taken--generations to achieve.

The overturning of Roe v. Wade, for example, is a DIRECT RESULT of the decades-long effort by the far right to boost the most far-right-leaning candidates they could find. They've been talking for decades SPECIFICALLY about getting enough far right judges in SCOTUS to overturn Roe v. Wade. And these SCOTUS appointments are for LIFE, so these judges get to set policy for your GRANDCHILDREN.

So yes, the overturning of Roe v. Wade was only made possible because Trump was able to appoint three SCOTUS judges, in addition to all the other federal judges he appointed. Amd they're talking about going after same-sex marriage, minority rights, etc.

(Hell, the judge in charge of his secret documents case is one that he appointed--she has indefinitely postponed that case,by the way.)

And you don't think local school board elections are important? Have you not seen the news about all the anti-queer policies, and all the book-bannings? This, also, has a generational effect.

Meanwhile the left refuses to turn up to the polls because none of the candidates are pure enough. So guess why things are getting worse?

If the Left turned out for the most left-leaning candidate at EVERY SINGLE ELECTION, whether local or state or whatever, including primaries, we'd start seeing more leftist candidates. Yes, that means that if there's a choice between two extreme right wing candidates, you vote for the least extreme one.

I know I keep emphasizing that this is not just about POTUS, but POTUS does figure in, of course (among other things, who do you think appoints judges for congress to approve?).

So swallow this pill: Anything shitty Biden is doing, the shitgibbon will do MORE of.

"Not gonna vote Biden because he supports genocide, so I'd rather the guy win who ALSO supports genocide, wants Russia to invade more countries, thinks it's fine if China retakes Taiwan, wants a nationwide abortion ban, removal of civil rights for minorities, wants to overturn same-sex marriage (which the right-leaning majority in SCOTUS are already talking about), to cut back the role of congress in checking executive actions (including workarounds to avoid the need for congressional confirmation for presidential appointees), to remove federal employee protections so federal personnel can be replaced with Trump loyalists, and so on! That'll teach those Dems a lesson! THEN they'll be sorry. And fuck everyone the bad guys hurt, because I'll still be PURE. So what if top GOP officials want to actually NUKE Gaza?"

That's fucking kindergartner thinking.

Yes, Biden is a piece of shit, but I am not waxing at all hyperbolic when I say that a second orange shitgibbon term, with a far-right-majority SCOTUS--especially if the GOP manages majorities in both houses of congress--may be the end of what little is left of Democracy in the US. Not gonna argue about it, because I don't waste my time with petulant children.

Look at the GOP's plans for a Republican administration, and tell me you think it sounds better than another term of Biden. Hell, they've even set up online trainings and loyalty tests to narrow down potential federal hires to those who will commit to follow Trump without question.

I repeat: If you want more leftist candidates, if you want more worker power, if you want billionaires taxed, if you want to protect minorities and the queer community, you have to adopt the strategy that the right has used, educate yourself about what candidates stand for, and show up EVERY SINGLE TIME. Again, that includes primaries.

So many of us on the left would rather sit in the basement dreaming of some magical revolution that's going to fix everything, giving ourselves and others purity tests, and proudly announcing that we're... boycotting democracy by not voting(?), "because none of the candidates are a good choice."

Yeah, the left refusing to vote--or only voting in presidential elections--while the right turns up every time is exactly how we got here.

And you have to support the most left-leaning candidate even if it makes you gag, and even if "most left-leaning" means "not as openly fascist." This is the ONLY way you can be assured of candidates getting further to the left in the future. (Note that this means learning about your local candidates.)

"But voting won't fix--" I never said it was going to fix everything. There's no rule that if you vote, you can't volunteer with Food Not Bombs, or run for school board, or demonstrate, or circulate petitions. It takes more than voting, but voting has to be PART of our strategy.

You also have to accept that it may take decades to change course, and that you're not going to like every candidate you have to vote for.

The right didn't just magically get the orange shitgibbon into office overnight. It took decades of work. And if we want decent human beings in charge, we have to be willing to do the same.

#rob gets political

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gemstarstarlight · 1 month

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IDK if you've seen Crown of Candy yet, but it's treatment of Not-Christianity is much better even if ultimately still negatively-oriented. It's more centered around the historical institution with Not-God being more of a force than a sapient being, and the pagan representation turns out to be sinister so it's consistent in not endorsing any strain of divinity in particular. Ravening War likewise does some interesting stuff with church-drama that doesn't cast genuine faith in a bad light.

I have watched both of those and I agree with you! It’s definitely a bit better because of all of that. It’s also more my genre anyway, which made it more fun.

It’s so tricky because there’s truth in both Comida and Fantasy High’s depiction of religion. I’ve met the Bobby Dawns and read up on the Belisabeth Brassicas. I understand that God can feel distant, like a force and nothing more. I am so angry and grieved at the damage the church has done to people. Any time there is a grasp for power or a putting down of others or another goddamned cult I want to just cry because this isn’t what it’s supposed to be and it’s horrible to just watch. Also I do believe that as much as possible there shouldn’t be an endorsement of one religion over another in entertainment, so not endorsing any particular religion in Dimension 20 is good.

But I feel such a connection with characters like Sir Morris Brie. Because I’m a Bible-believing Bulbian. I’ve studied my god and I’ve also met him. And he’s not like Helio at all. He loves me. Has always loved me. Has always wanted what was best for me. Has grieved with me when I’ve lost everything in little ways over and over again. Has been my father and friend when I haven’t been able to trust one and didn’t know how to have the other. And I’ve been able to trust the Bible over and over again even if I haven’t always agreed or understood.

And it’s just never represented. D&D has always felt like the closest thing to representation for me, as a Bible-believing queer person. And Dimension 20 (again, understandably, it sounds like Ally’s experience was awful and part of healing has been leaving) rarely if ever portrays someone with genuine faith in a Christian-esque god. Or if they do, it’s portrayed as toxic or ill-informed. And that sucks, frankly.

I get it, I truly do. No one gets more irritated than I do at bigoted ignorant Christians and I will fully doxx myself by saying I have been to the American South and I would NEVER live there willingly because of the culture.

But I tend to listen to the more neutral Dimension 20 campaigns. It took me so long to try A Crown of Candy. Because I don’t just respect my religion; I love my God. And I hate to see the slander, especially because some of it is true and even more especially because some of it is not.

#thanks for the ask op sorry for the vent #maybe that wasn’t what you were expecting but it did make me think #tbh a big part of biting the bullet was realizing some of the best D&D play comes from ACOC #yes I keep watching clips of fhjy every time there’s a cool game mechanic thing done #yes I cackled and said “got him” along with Lou when Zac did Mindless Rage and Brennan realized he was got good #and I may have actually watched the latest episode because it’s all high level combat and I’d like to get better as a player myself #and because watching it fucking rules #but at the end of the day #I wish Christians weren’t afraid to create content that explores their own religion more #(in a narrative way rather than a teaching way)#and I wish non-Christians could see more of the good of the God I know #christianity #dimension 20

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hello-nichya-here · 1 year

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Daemon did NOT “groom Rhaenyra into liking incest”

I understand people not liking the ship, or Daemon as a character, and even saying he groomed her since they were clearly already flirting and eye-fucking each other when she was a teenager and still a minor (by our standards), but I cannot fucking believe the amount of times I read people trying to claim that Rhaenyra would have NEVER been okay with incest if it wasn’t for Daemon.

She’s a Targaryen. Her family tree is a damn circle. Incestuous marriages were a tradition of her house before they even thought of going to Westeros, and pretty much every important Valiryan house did it too.

Aegon the conqueror - ya know, the guy her brother is named after - married his TWO sisters, one out of duty/tradition and the other just because he could and wanted to. Her grandparents were not only siblings, but they also eloped to get married, because the “church” was telling the Targaryens to stop with all the freaking incest already, and they just went “NOPE”. They prefered to deal with the possibility of a war than to stop keeping it in the family.

Rhaenyra, being raised as the princess, obviously knew of all of this. She likely grew up believing that, if her mom were to have a son, she could end up being expected to marry him once they were of age. Hell, the idea of her marrying Aegon was suggested to her father as a way to avoid a political crisis over who was the true heir of king Viserys. And when Alicent confronted her on whether or not she had really lost her virginity to Daemon, she brought up the fact that “Targaryens have queer custumes” - aka, if given the chance, they’ll fuck anything that breathes, has a pulse, and is related to them.

She married a not-so-distant cousin (I think... I don’t remember how exactly she is related to Laenor, but I do know they ARE related). Yes, the dude was gay, but their original plan was to “do their duty”, aka have a few kids together, while secretly having an open marriage so they could be with the people they were actually attracted to.

She tried to have her sons marry their first cousins, and when that didn’t work out, she had them get engaged to their step-sisters (who would have also been their first cousins if the boy’s had been truly Laenor’s sons). No one is shocked at this arrengement she came up with because no kind of incest fazes a Targaryen.

It’s okay to be weirded out or straight up disgusted by her relationship with Daemon, or to say that he is bad for her (hell, I adore the ship and even I know the guy can be a monster when he wants to), but to pretend that Rhaenyra would be horrified at the very thought of incest if her uncle had not been in her life is to blatantly ignore very explicit canon just so you don’t have to deal with the fact that a fictional character you like has zero problems with something find morally reprehensive. You people sound like the delusional GOT fans that swore Jaime Lannister only ever fucked Cersei because she was “manipulating” him, while neglecting to mention that the things she always used to manipulate him were his unashamed love and lust for her.

EVEN THE “GOOD” TARGARYENS SAY INCEST IS GREAT, AND YOU CAN’T DO SHIT ABOUT IT!

#daemyra #daenyra #rhaenyra targaryen is incestuous #deal with it #shipcest

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henry-fox-biggest-stan · 1 month

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Just watched Belle Époque and I recommend everyone to watch it

This is a movie made in 1992, set in 1931’s Spain, and it follows the story of Fernando, a young man who’s deserted from the army who ends up on the middle of the countryside with no place to stay, so he’s taken in by man (because they share similar political ideologies and he’s a good cook) and his four daughters. It doesn’t sound like much but god is it good.

-The characters are so funny, like the father of the sisters talks about how he hates than he was baptized as a kid because he hates the church, how he hates than he couldn’t join the army because of his bad feet, not because he wanted to join, but because then the choice to reject the offer and piss them off was no longer on the table, and how he hates than he can’t get it up unless with his wife, which means than no matter how much he wants to cheat, he can’t.

-The four sisters: One who’s a widow, one’s who’s in a relationship with a guy but does with him whatever she wants (first rejects him, then flirts, then rejects him again, etc), the younger who’s a virgin and who wants to date Fernando, and one who’s more masculine and super queer coded

-Seriously like, Violeta is so gay. She dresses in drag for a party (goes as a man) and then dresses Fernando in drag too (as a woman), then she kisses him but only when he’s dressed as a woman and refers to him in feminine terms (like she said “pero que guapa estas” [“you look so pretty”] and she used guapa [feminine] instead of guapo [masculine]) she also has a scene with her mother where her mother says she’s not fit for marriage, than what she needs is to find a girl who’ll love her and understand her and who’ll help her with the house.

-Also during the party mentioned above, a guy is flirting with Fernando (thinking he’s a girl) so she grabs a bottle and breaks it on his head. After this he tells her “you behaved like a real man” and she said “that’s because I am”. Then there’s a scene of her very sensually helping him put on one of his high heels he misplaced while running away from the whole conflict, and then kissing again and she touched his fake breasts then they slept together and it was possibly the gayest straight scene ever, they were still in drag and she kept on referring to him in feminine terms. This is her in drag vs her usually

-After their kiss he claims he’s in love and when he told her father he was like “oh I knew it which of the sisters is it?” and when he said Violeta everyone was SO SHOCKED because wdym Violeta?? The father tells him than that’s an impossible love, but he doesn’t elaborate, he just asks if he told her because he just can’t believe it, then Fernando talks about what happened the day before and his father at hearing than they slept together just goes around screaming “Miracle! This is a miracle!” because Violeta sleeping with a man??? That must be a miracle for sure. Then she rejects Roberto because what happened the other day happened no thinking about it and he complains than he wants to marry (damn boy calm down) and her father just looks at him and asks “how are you going to marry a man?” Like Violeta being referred as a man is a common occurrence, she calls herself “brother in law” etc. She also handles a rifle at one point.

-The whole movie is good but just for Violeta it’s enough to watch it

-It takes place before the republic, so they are in this ‘will the republic win’ ‘won’t it’ mentality

-Their mother is a singer and has an affair with her manager or smth and the father knows and couldn’t care less

-Everyone wants to fuck Fernando. And each time he sleeps with anyone he claims to be in love with them

-The boyfriend of one of the sisters wants to marry her but she rejects him first and he really wants to marry mostly to escape his overbearing mother. He tries everything, he tries turning his back to the church so his mom will disown him, he tries becoming republican (as in, in favor of the republic) because his gf says so, he’s just trying so hard.

-The set, like the places they used to film the movie are so pretty and realistic to the time.

I watched it in soap2day and while the audio is in Spanish, there do are English subtitles

#ay violeta #watch it it’s so funny #Fernando also falls into a lake once and almost dies #belle epoque #movie #films #lgbt

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a-moth-to-the-light · 2 years

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My Delightful Little Agnostic Life: Good Omens on Christianity and Life's Meaning and Stuff

I finished Good Omens (the show!) yesterday, and here's a little bit from my journal entry on it that I thought would be fun to post because I like how it turned out! Spoilers for the whole thing. I need to get my hands on the book as soon as possible because I fell in love with the show right from the opening monologue, and I can only imagine that the book's narration includes even more tongue-in-cheek humor from God! I'm really excited :)

"[Adam] couldn't see why people made such a fuss about people eating their apples. But life would be a lot less fun if they didn't. And there never was an apple, in Adam's opinion, that wasn't worth the trouble you got into for eating it" (episode six). The ideas in this quote, strewn throughout all six episodes, are what I love most about Good Omens. It looks Christianity in the eye, creates a world where traditionalist Christianity is right about all* the things the religious and secular sectors have been fighting over for years (is God real? was the Earth created by the divine? do demons actually exist?), but then it just looks at all of it and says, "Meh". Like yeah, in Good Omens God has rules and there's hell and all that, but life isn't so bad, even if you just do whatever you want--the comparison between sin in general and Adam stealing apples from his neighbor's garden sets a lighthearted, sunlit tone to what Christianity considers wrongdoing, a far cry from "for the wages of sin is death" (Romans 6:23. Hell, I'm glad to know the verses church burned into my mind have some use!). One of our protagonists, Aziraphale, decides he likes sushi more than heaven, and our last sight of him is talking animatedly with Crowley while eating at the Ritz--he snubs God and still finds happiness, maybe not divine but certainly worthwhile (food is good! I would have chosen it, too!).

In the same vein, it's established by Gabriel in episode 6 that "the entire reason for the creation of the Earth" was to stage an all-out war between heaven and hell. It drives me absolutely wild that, canonically, Adam says no to 6,000 years of divine planning and THE ENTIRE MEANING OF LIFE because he kinda wants to go home and play with his friends. I relate to that so much: as a lesbian who grew up Christian, I've heard all that stuff about how I'm going to "miss out on God's plan for me" by wanting to be with women, and those comments really did send me into spirals of confusion at first. But now, I feel a lot more like Adam and Aziraphale--God's plan doesn't sound that fun anyway, and I like what I have going on here already much better.

As you've probably guessed, I'm an ex-Christian, and Good Omens' "whatever" in the face of God is a statement of faith (well, the lack thereof, I suppose) that I couldn't agree with more. I left my faith not because I was convinced that God isn't real, but because I enjoy a godless life far more than I enjoyed my former life as a closeted, constantly conflicted lesbian in the church. Sure, maybe God is real and maybe she hates queer people like me, but I just kind of stopped caring about that kind of thing. Creator or no, I'm happy without her. I like sushi (especially California rolls!), and that fills me with joy and sense of personhood that divine ordinances never did. At the end of the season, Aziraphale and Crowley are just hoping they can keep their supernatural brethren away from them for a while, have a bit of peace before the next disaster. And that's how I feel. I doubt I can kill God, can decidedly prove to myself that there is no divine, but I don't really mind. I don't plan to waste time trying, that's for sure. If I can just contrive to keep God away for a while, to say "no" and put Christianity out of my mind, to find a pocket of peace and live my delightful little agnostic life, I think I'll be just fine.

*Well, almost all. I love love love the inclusion of queer and queer-coded divine characters in both heaven and hell, and I'm glad they left queerphobia out of this one! I think it's important to talk about the damage traditional Christian values do to queer people, especially to queer children, but it can be quite nice to get a break and just giggle with some fun queer characters for a bit! I feeI similarly about Adventures of God, a Webtoon I haven't caught up with in a while but that I absolutely adore :)

#welcome to cottagecore agnosticism? idk what else to call it so :)#comic sans #good omens spoilers #good omens tv #good omens

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nothorses · 3 years

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Interview With An Ex-Radfem

exradfem is an anonymous Tumblr user who identifies as transmasculine, and previously spent time in radical feminist communities. They have offered their insight into those communities using their own experiences and memories as a firsthand resource.

Background

I was raised in an incredibly fundamentalist religion, and so was predisposed to falling for cult rhetoric. Naturally, I was kicked out for being a lesbian. I was taken in by the queer community, particularly the trans community, and I got back on my feet- somehow. I had a large group of queer friends, and loved it. I fully went in on being the Best Trans Ally Possible, and constantly tried to be a part of activism and discourse.

Unfortunately, I was undersocialized, undereducated, and overenthusiastic. I didn't fully understand queer or gender theory. In my world, when my parents told me my sexuality was a choice and I wasn't born that way, they were absolutely being homophobic. I understood that no one should care if it's a choice or not, but it was still incredibly, vitally important to me that I was born that way.

On top of that, I already had an intense distrust of men bred by a lot of trauma. That distrust bred a lot of gender essentialism that I couldn't pull out of the gender binary. I felt like it was fundamentally true that men were the problem, and that women were inherently more trustworthy. And I really didn't know where nonbinary people fit in.

Then I got sucked down the ace exclusionist pipeline; the way the arguments were framed made sense to my really surface-level, liberal view of politics. This had me primed to exclude people –– to feel like only those that had been oppressed exactly like me were my community.

Then I realized I was attracted to my nonbinary friend. I immediately felt super guilty that I was seeing them as a woman. I started doing some googling (helped along by ace exclusionists on Tumblr) and found the lesfem community, which is basically radfem “lite”: lesbians who are "only same sex attracted". This made sense to me, and it made me feel so much less guilty for being attracted to my friend; it was packaged as "this is just our inherent, biological desire that is completely uncontrollable". It didn't challenge my status quo, it made me feel less guilty about being a lesbian, and it allowed me to have a "biological" reason for rejecting men.

I don't know how much dysphoria was playing into this, and it's something I will probably never know; all of this is just piecing together jumbled memories and trying to connect dots. I know at the time I couldn't connect to this trans narrative of "feeling like a woman". I couldn't understand what trans women were feeling. This briefly made me question whether I was nonbinary, but radfem ideas had already started seeping into my head and I'm sure I was using them to repress that dysphoria. That's all I can remember.

The lesfem community seeded gender critical ideas and larger radfem princples, including gender socialization, gender as completely meaningless, oppression as based on sex, and lesbian separatism. It made so much innate sense to me, and I didn't realize that was because I was conditioned by the far right from the moment of my birth. Of course women were just a biological class obligated to raise children: that is how I always saw myself, and I always wanted to escape it.

I tried to stay in the realms of TIRF (Trans-Inclusive Radical Feminist) and "gender critical" spaces, because I couldn't take the vitriol on so many TERF blogs. It took so long for me to get to the point where I began seeing open and unveiled transphobia, and I had already read so much and bought into so much of it that I thought that I could just ignore those parts.

In that sense, it was absolutely a pipeline for me. I thought I could find a "middle ground", where I could "center women" without being transphobic.

Slowly, I realized that the transphobia was just more and more disgustingly pervasive. Some of the trans men and butch women I looked up to left the groups, and it was mostly just a bunch of nasty people left. So I left.

After two years offline, I started to recognize I was never going to be a healthy person without dealing with my dysphoria, and I made my way back onto Tumblr over the pandemic. I have realized I'm trans, and so much of this makes so much more sense now. I now see how I was basically using gender essentialism to repress my identity and keep myself in the closet, how it was genuinely weaponized by TERFs to keep me there, and how the ace exclusionist movement primed me into accepting lesbian separatism- and, finally, radical feminism.

The Interview

You mentioned the lesfem community, gender criticals, and TIRFs, which I haven't heard about before- would you mind elaborating on what those are, and what kinds of beliefs they hold?

I think the lesfem community is recruitment for lesbians into the TERF community. Everything is very sanitized and "reasonable", and there's an effort not to say anything bad about trans women. The main focus was that lesbian = homosexual female, and you can't be attracted to gender, because you can't know someone's gender before knowing them; only their sex.

It seemed logical at the time, thinking about sex as something impermeable and gender as internal identity. The most talk about trans women I saw initially was just in reference to the cotton ceiling, how sexual orientation is a permanent and unchangeable reality. Otherwise, the focus was homophobia. This appealed to me, as I was really clinging to the "born this way" narrative.

This ended up being a gateway to two split camps - TIRFs and gender crits.

I definitely liked to read TIRF stuff, mostly because I didn't like the idea of radical feminism having to be transphobic. But TIRFs think that misogyny is all down to hatred of femininity, and they use that as a basis to be able to say trans women are "just as" oppressed.

Gender criticals really fought out against this, and pushed the idea that gender is fake, and misogyny is just sex-based oppression based on reproductive issues. They believe that the source of misogyny is the "male need to control the source of reproduction"- which is what finally made me think I had found the "source" of my confusion. That's why I ended up in gender critical circles instead of TIRF circles.

I'm glad, honestly, because the mask-off transphobia is what made me finally see the light. I wouldn't have seen that in TIRF communities.

I believed this in-between idea, that misogyny was "sex-based oppression" and that transphobia was also real and horrible, but only based on transition, and therefore a completely different thing. I felt that this was the "nuanced" position to take.

The lesfem community also used the fact that a lot of lesbians have partners who transition, still stay with their lesbian partners, and see themselves as lesbian- and that a lot of trans men still see themselves as lesbians. That idea is very taboo and talked down in liberal queer spaces, and I had some vague feelings about it that made me angry, too. I really appreciated the frank talk of what I felt were my own taboo experiences.

I think gender critical ideology also really exploited my own dysphoria. There was a lot of talk about how "almost all butches have dysphoria and just don't talk about it", and that made me feel so much less alone and was, genuinely, a big relief to me that I "didn't have to be trans".

Lesfeminism is essentially lesbian separatism dressed up as sex education. Lesfems believe that genitals exist in two separate categories, and that not being attracted to penises is what defines lesbians. This is used to tell cis lesbians, "dont feel bad as a lesbian if you're attracted to trans men", and that they shouldn’t feel "guilty" for not being attracted to trans women. They believe that lesbianism is not defined as being attracted to women, it is defined as not being attracted to men; which is a root idea in lesbian separatism as well.

Lesfems also believe that attraction to anything other than explicit genitals is a fetish: if you're attracted to flat chests, facial hair, low voices, etc., but don't care if that person has a penis or not, you're bisexual with a fetish for masculine attributes. Essentially, they believe the “-sexual” suffix refers to the “sex” that you are assigned at birth, rather than your attraction: “homosexual” refers to two people of the same sex, etc. This was part of their pushback to the ace community, too.

I think they exploited the issues of trans men and actively ignored trans women intentionally, as a way of avoiding the “TERF” label. Pronouns were respected, and they espoused a constant stream of "trans women are women, trans men are men (but biology still exists and dictates sexual orientation)" to maintain face.

They would only be openly transmisogynistic in more private, radfem-only spaces.

For a while, I didn’t think that TERFs were real. I had read and agreed with the ideology of these "reasonable" people who others labeled as TERFs, so I felt like maybe it really was a strawman that didn't exist. I think that really helped suck me in.

It sounds from what you said like radical feminism works as a kind of funnel system, with "lesfem" being one gateway leading in, and "TIRF" and "gender crit" being branches that lesfem specifically funnels into- with TERFs at the end of the funnel. Does that sound accurate?

I think that's a great description actually!

When I was growing up, I had to go to meetings to learn how to "best spread the word of god". It was brainwashing 101: start off by building a relationship, find a common ground. Do not tell them what you really believe. Use confusing language and cute innuendos to "draw them in". Prey on their emotions by having long exhausting sermons, using music and peer pressure to manipulate them into making a commitment to the church, then BAM- hit them with the weird shit.

Obviously I am paraphrasing, but this was framed as a necessary evil to not "freak out" the outsiders.

I started to see that same talk in gender critical circles: I remember seeing something to the effect of, "lesfem and gender crit spaces exist to cleanse you of the gender ideology so you can later understand the 'real' danger of it", which really freaked me out; I realized I was in a cult again.

I definitely think it's intentional. I think they got these ideas from evangelical Christianity, and they actively use it to spread it online and target young lesbians and transmascs. And I think gender critical butch spaces are there to draw in young transmascs who hate everything about femininity and womanhood, and lesfem spaces are there to spread the idea that trans women exist as a threat to lesbianism.

Do you know if they view TIRFs a similar way- as essentially prepping people for TERF indoctrination?

Yes and no.

I've seen lots of in-fighting about TIRFs; most TERFs see them as a detriment, worse than the "TRAs" themselves. I've also definitely seen it posed as "baby's first radfeminism". A lot of TIRFs are trans women, at least from what I've seen on Tumblr, and therefore are not accepted or liked by radfems. To be completely honest, I don't think they're liked by anyone. They just hate men.

TIRFs are almost another breed altogether; I don't know if they have ties to lesfems at all, but I do think they might've spearheaded the online ace exclusionist discourse. I think a lot of them also swallowed radfem ideology without knowing what it was, and parrot it without thinking too hard about how it contradicts with other ideas they have.

The difference is TIRFs exist. They're real people with a bizarre, contradictory ideology. The lesfem community, on the other hand, is a completely manufactured "community" of crypto-terfs designed specifically to indoctrinate people into TERF ideology.

Part of my interest in TIRFs here is that they seem to have a heavy hand in the way transmascs are treated by the trans community, and if you're right that they were a big part of ace exclusionism too they've had a huge impact on queer discourse as a whole for some time. It seems likely that Baeddels came out of that movement too.

Yes, there’s a lot of overlap. The more digging I did, the more I found that it's a smaller circle running the show than it seems. TIRFs really do a lot of legwork in peddling the ideology to outer queer community, who tend to see it as generic feminism.

TERFs joke a lot about how non-radfems will repost or reblog from TERFs, adding "op is a TERF”. They're very gleeful when people accept their ideology with the mask on. They think it means these people are close to fully learning the "truth", and they see it as further evidence they have the truth the world is hiding. I think it's important to speak out against radical feminism in general, because they’re right; their ideology does seep out into the queer community.

Do you think there's any "good" radical feminism?

No. It sees women as the ultimate victim, rather than seeing gender as a tool to oppress different people differently. Radical feminism will always see men as the problem, and it is always going to do harm to men of color, gay men, trans men, disabled men, etc.

Women aren't a coherent class, and radfems are very panicked about that fact; they think it's going to be the end of us all. But what's wrong with that? That's like freaking out that white isn't a coherent group. It reveals more about you.

It's kind of the root of all exclusionism, the more I think about it, isn't it? Just freaking out that some group isn't going to be exclusive anymore.

Radical feminists believe that women are inherently better than men.

For TIRFs, it's gender essentialism. For TERFs, its bio essentialism. Both systems are fundamentally broken, and will always hurt the groups most at risk. Centering women and misogyny above all else erases the root causes of bigotry and oppression, and it erases the intersections of race and class. The idea that women are always fundamentally less threatening is very white and privileged.

It also ignores how cis women benefit from gender norms just as cis men do, and how cis men suffer from gender roles as well. It’s a system of control where gender non-conformity is a punishable offense.

#transgender #transphobia #trans #transmisogyny #radical feminism #radfem #feminism #transandrophobia #terfs #tirfs #gender critical #nothorses #cult mention #long post

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nerdygaymormon · 2 years

Text

SOME families are forever

The thing that bothers me most in how Elder Oaks’ speaks about LGBTQ people is how casually he throws away queer people. Several times he has spoken of queer people being consigned to lower kingdoms of heaven, unable to qualify for exaltation and he does so joyfully. Queer people are automatically excluded from the Celestial Kingdom and it’s gonna be great for them.

Elder Oaks also says the Church is here for people to become exalted. In other words, queer people can’t be exalted so the Church isn’t so concerned about us and isn’t here for us. Really? A church that claims to be God’s true church is designed to exclude whole segments of God’s children?

The other thing that bothers me is when I point this out, most members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints basically shrug. They got theirs and don’t want to rock the boat and possibly wind up with us in the lower kingdoms. How does this fit with the parable of the shepherd who left the 99 to rescue the 1?

This has always been jarring to me, the idea that the Heavenly Parents who made me gay also didn’t make an accommodation for me to return to them. How is this loving or fair or hopeful? That doesn’t sound like the God I know.

According to church doctrine, the gay or trans person you love is separated from you, not for 100 years, not for 1000 years, not even for a million years, but for forever. Does this punishment really fit the crime (if it even be a crime to be queer)?

For the parents and family of LGBTQIA+ individuals, they’re okay being separated forever from these people they love? Why is it they aren’t saying, “well if that’s the case, I guess we’re all going to a lower kingdom.”

It seems most Mormons don’t have a lot of sympathy for people not included under the umbrella of eternal sealings. Too bad most queer people can’t be exalted, but it’s an acceptable cost so that others can be.

We speak as though most people, or at least most people in church, are going to be exalted and live with God in the highest levels of the Celestial Kingdom. However, that’s not true, not even for your ward. To be exalted requires a marriage of 2 people sealed together who are living up to all their covenants.

What if one spouse stops believing? Not only do they drop out from Celestial glory, but they also pull their spouse out with them. I know parents who put a lot of pressure on their children who are making choices that rob the parents of their eternal family—no empty chairs. No matter how faithful we are, how many covenants we make and keep, our salvation and eternal family is dependent on others who may let us down.

We teach, “Families are Forever,” but what we really mean is “Some Families are Forever…and it may not be yours because life is long and things happen.” We’re all on the verge of ‘not togetherness’

We use the “ideal family” as the measuring stick and if you’re family isn’t “ideal,” then you won’t be saved in the Celestial Kingdom. As long as your family fits the ideal, this seems hopeful and good. What of the convert who is the only members of their family? What of people whose children have left the church? What of those who are divorced or never married? What of people with an abusive spouse or parent?

I appreciate Chieko Okazaki’s words from her book, “Turning Hearts to the Family.”

A divorced family is not a broken family. It’s a family with a particular set of circumstances that it needs to work with. A family with a gay child is not a failed family. It’s a family with a member who needs special love and understanding and who has love and understanding to give back. A family with a pregnant teenager is not a dysfunctional family. It’s a family with a complex set of decisions to make. I don’t think I’m going very far on a limb to say that I know that you either have someone in your family with at least some of these problems or this is what real families deal with the real world and they don’t stop being families

Instead of preaching the ideal family, wouldn’t it be better to talk about family ideals? Things like love, compassion, trust, responsibility, forgiveness, honesty, integrity, service, kindness, loyalty.

Families can look like a lot of things, there’s not just one configuration of people who qualify as a family. Let’s honor all families as holy, let’s recognize the good and beauty families add to the world and to the lives of those who exist within them.

Love the people in your family, have joy with them, maintain good relationships with them, that’s how we honor our family.

#queerstake #tumblrstake #long post

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10yrsyart · 3 years

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I'm sorry to kind of drop this in your inbox, but you're one of the only queer Christians I know who hasn't distanced themself from the faith. maybe that'll help you understand me, idk.

I don't know how to reconcile my Catholicism with the rest of me, so I'm not sure anymore whether or not that faith does have a place in me. the legacy of the religion is awful in many places; my own people were tricked into it long ago, and the large influence of the church in my country means that same-sex marriage and the legality of abortion will be debates for years to come. I don't want to seek comfort in salvation after death when it means being part of something that takes such a malicious shape in so many lives.

i was never raised Catholic, so i can’t help you with that specific experience. however, if you judge the goodness of God by what flawed human beings are doing, you don’t understand the goodness of God. this whole world is full of sin: hatred, pain, violence, death.. and those things can’t be in God’s home, because He IS perfect and just. thats the whole reason Jesus came to pay for our sins; so that if we believe He did, then we are made clean and can live with Him forever. bad things don’t exist in Heaven. /malicious/ things don’t exist in Heaven.

if you’re looking for perfection in this world, you’re not gonna find it. Satan has power on earth, and he’s more than happy to bring all the destruction he possibly can and blame it on God. Christians aren’t immune to him either, we make mistakes the same as everyone else.

there are inclusive churches around, but it sounds more like you’re trying to make a decision on your faith itself. the ultimate question is do you trust that God is greater than the people you have met? is He the definition of Love? Mercy? Kindness? Justice? do you trust Him when He says, “For I know the plans I have for you… They are plans for good and not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope.” (Jeremiah 29:11)?

forget the people, ignore organized religion. this life is a blip in eternity. do you trust them or Him? that’s where your faith lies. i didn’t find spiritual peace in the church, i found it in seeking Jesus. i encourage you to do the same, and i pray you find peace in your ultimate decision. :)

#10 asks #anonymous #christianity #faithstuff #jesus christ #religion #faith #bible verse #long post.

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blessedarethebinarybreakers · 3 years

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Sorry to ask, but if you could answer ASAP I’d really appreciate it. I was raised Christian but my family doesn’t heavily practice it, and I consider myself sort of agnostic? I honestly don’t know where I fall, but I lean between that and believing in God sometimes. This is sort of a two part question and kind of messy, sorry. I feel like my belief in God is mostly out of fear rather than faith, like if I stop believing in Them I’m damned or something, especially as a queer person. (1/2)

cw sex mention

(2/2) My other concern is my high sex drive. I know it sounds silly to be mostly agnostic but worried about God judging me for having urges, but it feels like a profound fear just pounded into me, despite not having been raised by homophobic parents/church/etc at all. Sorry for the TMI, but I’ve never even had sex, just masturbate often and write/draw erotica because it helps me cope with my real life sex repulsion. IDK, can I get some assurance on this that God has no issue with it? Thank you.

____________

So. Okay. This probably isn't what you need at all but. when i first joined tumblr, ach. however many years ago......i remember seeing this one post and feeling all offended / scared about it -- but now? it kind of checks out:

Here's the post. It shows the solar system growing into the wider galaxy and universe aka how HUGE the cosmos is -- and it ends with a big blown-up image of White Jesus™ standing over that HUGE cosmos and all he's saying is "don't masturbate"

and i think back then i was offended because i was like "hey...Jesus does care deeply about the small things as well as the huge things."

But nowadays i'm like "yeah that post checks out" because when it comes to things that are ultimately harmless, like masturbation?? which when done right hurts no one?? and indeed can be helpful for an individual exploring their own sexuality and boundaries and the like (or, as you say for yourself, helps with coping with sex repulsion / exploring sexuality in a way that feels good instead of bad)??

why on earth would God be so obsessed with that over all the genuinely harmful things happening in Their universe?

It's very telling that the kinds of Christians who focus on things that don't bear bad fruit (and indeed, often bear good fruit) like sexuality are also the kinds of Christians who enable the status quo that oppresses so many people!! Like come on y'all, let's deal with white supremacy and ableism maybe? instead of harassing people for scrambling for what agency they can grasp in these oppressive systems and for enjoying their own physicality -- physicality that was gifted to them by God and called good??

_________

Whew uh. Sorry i started with the sex thing first. this is why i take forever to respond to most asks lmao -- they end up Like This. i'm so sorry.

i just want you to know that the fear you're experiencing about your high sex drive is super normal -- which sucks, but yeah. you are not alone. even without having had purity culture drilled into you in any specific way, it pervades our whole society -- you, and i, and everyone have been steeping in it whether we've realized it or not, and that's really hard to shake off. And if you wander through that purity culture tag i just linked, you'll find posts talking about how God does not will the horrible fear and shame this world forces on us when it comes to healthy expressions of sexuality.

anyway, to respond to the first half of your ask:

_________

People make jokes about agnosticism but honestly? i'm a big fan of it. Being open to possibilities even while not resonating with and/or being actively involved in the possibilities you're currently aware of makes sense to me.

I'm also a big advocate of going where you are most nourished. If Christianity isn't that for you, then that probably means it's time to venture outward. Doesn't mean you'll never come back, but if you find your spiritual nourishment and life fulfillment in a different religion, philosophy, or in a non-religious way of life, that's cool!

(I have a leaving Christianity tag with my responses to others who, like you, are considering leaving / have already left Christianity)

God does not will any of us to live choked by fear. If fear is the only reason you're still here -- move beyond that fear into flourishing. And know it's okay if that takes time.

Even as you journey elsewhere, it's probable you'll still have some lingering worries. I have a #fear of hell tag that might help you as you work through that fear.

Let me know if I forgot to address part of your ask, or if you have more questions! And best of luck to you on this journey towards what truly fuels you to thrive and bring thriving to others.

#sex tag #leaving christianity

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buildingrelationshipsinanarchy · 4 years

Text

A New Intimacy Model

So what spurred this project is a culmination of a few things. Namely, frustration with the imprecise and incomprehensible words, Platonic, Romantic, and Sexual. The English language hasn’t been great at adapting the words for personal relationships as our times and values change.

I fell into Anarchism only very recently, stumbling into the language of ‘relationship anarchy’ through the internet in discussion with forms of polyamory years ago when I started this blog. Over the last year, I’ve been getting into radical politics and finding how my un-politicized opinions were validated, and then stretched the more I learned and studied up. While I’m still learning more about Radical politics, Anarchism, Marxism, Queer and Feminist theory specifically, the more I wanted to link some of my perspectives on intimate relationships with these political and theoretical texts.

“The Personal is Political.” - Carol Hanisch, Feminist Author.

@mythr1der wrote a post detailing a bit of the frustration I also share in regards to how the Dichotomy between Platonic and Sexual (which almost all definitions of Romance boil back into), leave much to be desired when discussing attraction, desire, intimacy and relationships in general. I believe that this very simple dichotomy reflects, oddly enough, capitalism and the history of the role of state power in culture. I rant a little bit about it as a response to @mythr1der‘s post here.

It’s long, and incomplete, but I proposed an idea of just building entirely new words, so we can build an entirely new map for talking about love, desire, attraction, and relationships that actually discuss what its like to be next to someone you like to be next to!

What is intimacy? It’s closeness right? To be near some ‘intimate’ part of another person, or them near something meaningful about why you’re you. I wanted to start this series by talking about what it means to be close to someone. If you remember my birthday without Facebook, that might make me feel a bit special. But if you remember how badly I was abused by an old friend, its because I trusted you enough to share some of the sadness that I’m not as loud about.

Intimacy isn’t always trauma, sometimes its tears of joy hearing that your cousin is out of prison, or the laughter of your friends. Being close to each other in a hyper-digitized age is a bit tricky, but phone calls, facetime, snapchat are only some of the tools we use to keep each other updating on what we’re feeling. Whether its about our love life, sex life, work life, or home life, just sharing that information can be real special, and bonding.

When we say that we have friends or that we are [Queer] Platonic Partners, does that mean we’ve decided how often we’re gonna talk or what we’re gonna talk about? What if we just send each other memes or rant about politics? Am I supposed to devalue those interactions because they aren’t the person I’m crying on the phone with?

Intimacy can be as deep as childhood scars and as simple as surprising me with my favorite snack. It all just means you know who I am, what I like, and what I care about. I want to intentionally forge those connections. And this why I set these definitions first.

Other Words:

A Daekkon (n.) would be person/partner whom you’ve developed intentionally this kind of relationship with.

If you desired this kind of relationship with a certain person, you’d be feeling Daekeen (adj.) for/about that person.

People who are desiring or actively doing these activities together are Daekkoning (v.).

This would be understood as Daekkonic (adj.) behavior; as in, “My roomate isn’t super talkative with me, but is deakkonic (adj.) with Sandra from the Mosque.”

“Tom is going through it, he’s felt deakkonically (adv.) deprived since the move.”

________________________________________________________________

In our sex-negative, ironically repressed culture, we seem to think that if you’re touching your bodies together at all, it means *something*. I want to remove that idea. I want to reclaim physical affection. I want to be touch and be touched by others. I don’t want my afab friends who have experienced some sort of sexual violence in their lives, to ever feel weary about the fact that I’m physically affectionate. It’s been my #1 Love Language for the last 10 years.

Fighting r*pe culture is a full-time fight, but I think adding a word, and therefore an idea[l], can be useful in reclaiming safety, and boundaries regarding bodily autonomy, for all of us. Clear communication and respected boundaries and asking consent for everything are the bedrock we need to continually practice. And as trust builds, I believe this could be very useful theoretically tool for improving the quality of our relationships and help create clearer discussion about our individual boundaries, needs, and desires. I feel like this leads me to a relevant question. What activities are inherently platonic, romantic or sexual? Is holding hands inherently romantic when almost all of us have done it with a friend? What about those of us who are religious or spiritual and have held hands with members of church, mosque or synagogue; do you think we’re out here non-stop blushing at the Pastor? Or when we held hands with family members? Doesn’t sound like it holds up, huh?

What about snuggling a roommate? Holding a teammate while celebrating a victory? The kiss my bestfriend gave me on our shared birthday dinner? Are we left to through our Aro and Ace friends’ out of the discussion, just because our culture has bad takes on sex and romance as the only forms possible of significant physical touch? Physical touch is such an important way to communicate love and affection, as well as care, concern, and comfort. They don’t get to cast their shadow on this space anymore!

Other Words:

If you had this desire for someone, or wanted to approach cultivating these forms of affection in a relationship, you could say you’re feeling Phaddish (adj.) for that person.

.Participating or initiating acts of a non-sexual physical intimacy Phadronic (adj.) quality are said to be phade-ing/phading (v.).

A Phadrone (n.) could be the name of a person/partner you share this kind of relationship with.

Phadroning (v.) would the act of cultivating this kind of intimacy with another person.

Phadronically (adv.) could describe a certain level of intimacy implicit in a physical touch between to particular people.

________________________________________________________________

Now lets talk about Sex. That’s the thing the everyone’s mind always gravitates to when discuss words like, intimacy, attraction, desire. It’s the thing we want to stay away from when you use the Platonic or Friendly. But, lets be real. Haven’t many of us had sex with people didn’t even consider friends? Or people who became our “Strictly Platonic” friends after we may have had sex, once or several times, with them?

People who gravitate toward polyamory or non-monogamy tend have had a “hoe-phase.” The boundary between friend and lover, or partner and fuckbuddy have been blurred in a good chunk of people’s lives. Non-monogamous or not, I think it’s useful to talk directly about our sexual experiences, desires, fantasies, and how different it can be with different people, or in different stages of our lives. But what makes an experience sexual? Maybe that sounds redundant or obvious; I mean, it’s got the word SEX in it, maybe that’s got something to do with it? But maybe not...

Lets ask an odd question. Is sex inherently sexual? Who wouldn’t assume the answer is automatically yes? Well, my first thought is to talk to those in the Adult Entertainment industry or friends of ours who are sex-workers, in whatever capacity. Is every client sexy or shoot erotic? Those of us who have sex, have we never been doing it and been bored through most of at least one experience?

If sex is inherently sexual, why do we have so many Sexual Health Educators, Marriage Counselors, Pornstars, Yoga Teachers, Personal trainers and Writers telling us how to have sexy sex? Dating Coaches and Websites, telling us how we are getting something that’s supposed to sound so easy wrong.

I’ve come to the opinion that sex isn’t about body parts, genitalia, certain body motions, or even clothing [or lack thereof]. I believe that sex, or eroticism, is all about the context and the people involved. There’s nothing inherently sexy about fruit, or food in general, but if woman eats a banana in public, there are at least several men in area thinking of something than her healthy food choices.

This is why talking about sex directly is good. And understanding it as an energy that you imbue to any activity or circumstance, could help have better sex; and and on the flip-side, show us how we may need to more aware of how we may take up space with our body language. I do also feel, that in part, some of our Ace friends (those who aren’t sex repulsed), may be able to find some resonance with this model; sex doesn’t have to feel passionate or any particular way at all (other than good?), because sex isn’t about sexiness, but about human connection and pleasure.

Other Words:

Serotic (adj.) activities include any activity that is engaged due to, or is infused with, sexual desire and/or erotic intention. It also describes the type of desire you’re feeling for another person.

A Serato (n.) is any person you engage in serotic activities or feelings with.

An activity that was originally un-serotic (adj.), but became sexually or erotically charged, we could described as having become Serotically (adv.) charged.

When you are cultivating or charging an act with serotic energy, you are Seroticizing (v.) that activity

________________________________________________________________

Lately, especially since diving into Radical Politics, I find less and less desire in defining Who I Am as a part of a relationship unit. It’s an overlay from monogamy, The Couple being the only social unit that is recognized, as it’s necessary to the Nuclear Family; a super important thing for Capitalism to sustain itself. The relationships I cultivate with others, with whatever forms of intimacy or interactions therein, cant be understood by that model. I am more than my interactions with a handful of people; I am a human person, and my engagement with the world isn’t actually reducible to whether or not I’m having sex with someone or not.

We’ve talked about multiple forms of intimacy, and some of the desires or interests associated with them. Have you noticed that in the desire, or need, to discuss relationships on a basis of, ‘sex: yes or no?’, that we haven’t talked about the webs that form because we are all reliant on each other to survive? Not everyone in your community or workplace or online spaces, you’ll get to know or talk to. Do they, as people, matter less because they aren’t in your contacts list or your DM’s?

This is a space where not a lot of us to tend think or engage as much. An easy word to discuss this space is community. But is a community the people or the place you spend your time, whether online or off? Is the community the place you live and your neighbors? Is it the people who may share some of your identifiers or face similar forms of oppression, despite living in a different city, state, country?

We are multi-dimensional beings, and with the use of technology, there are so many ways to form relationships, and share resources. I think the ‘community’ is any space you find yourself in, which means that mutual aid is something you are always able to engage in. Whether it’s feeding the homeless guys who hang out by the intersection, or dropping a few bucks in a trans kid’s venmo, mutual aid is so much easier.

But what if that feels so inconsequential? It’s not! But it does, from time to time, feel like the problems of the world are so big, and that you and so many you know are suffering in ways you wish you could help. Well, community organizing is always happening somewhere, online and off. It becomes important to join up with others in order feel like we can actually make a positive impact on the lives of others. We don’t have to wait on a government who’s interest isn’t ours, don’t have to wait for some politician to fail on a promise to Make Things Better.

We have each other, and we are all we really have. At the end of the day, all of our concepts are man-made. COVID-19 showed us how drastically things could be different if the people in power made decisions that actually benefited us. A lot of us understand the need to do something. Capitalism says that competition is what drove human kind into evolution, the fight for survival in a meaningless, terrifying world. Anarchism, as I’m learning, throws the whole idea in the trash where it belongs.

Peter Kropotkin, whose been called both the Godfather and Santa Claus of Anarchism, penned in Mutual Aid: A Factor of Evolution (1902), “under any circumstances sociability is the greatest advantage in the struggle for life.”

We are better off together. Capitalism and the property relationships in our compulsively monogamous society try to tell us other wise. We don’t have to follow that model.

Other Words:

To Mudshop (v.) is to build a mudship with a particular person, organinzation, or community; Mud-shopping (v.).

A Mudshipper (n.) is an individual in a mudship of any scale.

I’ve said a lot. I hope this reads as accessible to as many people as it can be. I built this because I want to tell the people in my life why I love them as dearly as I do. And that I’d love to build relationships with as many awesome, lovely people as I can.

If you try to use the words Romantic and Platonic while you look at this post, and find it almost impossible, I’ve done my job.

I hope those words die along with oppressive ideas they uphold.

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themollyjay · 3 years

Text

On Representation In Writing

When I was fourteen years old, a book saved my life. That may sound dramatic, but I’ll be honest, it was a dramatic story. You see, I’ve suffered from depression since I was six years old, and I never felt comfortable in my own skin. Like a lot of transgender kids, I loved things that didn’t match up to the gender I was assigned at birth. I liked He-Man, but I loved She-Ra. I liked Superman, but I loved Supergirl. When it came to GI Joe, I had a ton of figures, but I only ever really played with Scarlet, Lady Jay and Covergirl. I had a BMX Dirt Bike with faux snakeskin pads on it that looked really cool, but I preferred to rid my neighbors pink and purple bike. I thought look was cool, but my Leia action figures always stole his lightsaber.

I hid those things because I knew they were ‘wrong’. I got dragged to church three times a week, and it was a Southern Speaking In Tongues Pentecostal Church. The kind that policed gender presentation and sexuality with militant fervor. So, I grew up not really understanding what it meant to be gay, or transgender (transexual was the term at the time), or lesbian, or queer. I only knew they were bad and meant you were going to hell. My only real exposure to those concepts outside of the fire and brimstone sermons were as the but of jokes on TV, or as a point of horror in movies like ‘Dressed To Kill’ (I’d say look it up, but honestly, don’t, because it’s horrible).

I was seven or eight years old when the AIDS crisis really hit big, and I got an education on what it meant to be gay or lesbian, and I started to understand that maybe, possibly, those weren’t horrible things to be. I never said that, because hell was still a big and scary thing, but I kind of wondered if I might be gay. Being assigned male at birth, and loving all sorts of ‘girl stuff’, that’s where my mind went, because I didn’t understand what was wrong with me. I just understood that I was miserable and I felt trapped in my own skin.

When I was fourteen, I went to Dallas for the summer to dog sit for my aunt for a couple of weeks. Not really a big deal, but at the time, I was a voracious reader, and I burned through the stack of books I had brought with me in about three days. My aunt had mentioned to me that there was a small bookstore a few blocks away, so one day in the middle of July, in Dallas Texas, in hundred plus degree heat, I walked I think six or seven blocks to get to the bookstore.

It was a terrible bookstore. At least, to my mind. I stayed there for a couple of hours, wandering around, waiting for the sun to go down a bit and for it to cool off before I went home, but the store didn’t even have a science fiction section. Just romance, mystery, and a bunch of self-help crap, and a whole ton of stuff about how aliens were among us and Elvis was still alive and other crap.

Somewhere around my sixth circuit of the store, when I was seriously starting to eye the bodice rippers out of sheer desperation, I found something that didn’t belong there. Tucked in between the bodice rippers and the murder mysteries was a name that was familiar, and a title that wasn’t. I found a copy of a book by Robert A. Heinlein called I Will Fear No Evil.

For those of you who have never heard of the book, it’s about a Billionaire named Johann Sebastian Bach Smith whose brain is healthy, but whose body is falling apart. He pays for an experimental procedure, a brain transplant, and wakes up in the body of a women, Eunice Branca, who is young, beautiful, and happens to have been Johann’s secretary.

I Will Fear No Evil is widely regarded as one of Heinlein’s worst works. People call it sexist, and fetishistic and all sorts of other things. I don’t care. It was the first time in my life that I saw a sex change presented as something other than the butt of a joke. It was the first time in my life where I saw a story about someone who started out as male and ended up as female and was happy for the change, who lived a happier life after the change, who loved and was loved in return after the charge.

I’m not sure how many times I read that novel in the week and a half or so I had left in Texas, but at least four times. I got a little obsessed with the idea, and by the time I went home, I understood myself in a way I never had before. I wanted to be a woman. I wanted it more than anything else in the world.

It didn’t change my life overnight. It didn’t make me not depressed. It didn’t make everything okay, suddenly. But it did help me understand myself. It did show me that people like me didn’t have to live miserable, unloved lives. It did show me that being the way I am wasn’t a one-way ticket to hell. It made things better, seeing myself reflected in a story like that.

Knowing myself, understanding myself, it helped stop a downward spiral that would have ended in a very bad place. It gave me something to hang on to for a long time. It took a long time after I found that novel for me to come out and transition, but finding that book, a twenty-year-old science fiction novel in a bookstore that didn’t even have a science fiction section, still feels like the closest thing I’ve ever seen to divine intervention. It was the light that started me on my journey to becoming myself.

That’s something I think about a lot I sit down and start writing. If that book hadn’t shown me a reflection of myself, I would have spiraled down into self-destruction. That book saved my life. Representation saved my life. And that’s something I want to give back in my own stories.

#writing #original fiction #self promotion #representation #queer fiction

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fictionadventurer · 3 years

Text

Father Brown Reread: The Absence of Mr. Glass

The consulting-rooms of Dr Orion Hood, the eminent criminologist and specialist in certain moral disorders, lay along the sea-front at Scarborough, in a series of very large and well-lighted french windows, which showed the North Sea like one endless outer wall of blue-green marble.

I like how the first and second collections both start with a story focusing on a professional detective who’s not Father Brown.

True to form, we’ve got a color word in the first sentence. And not only that--a hypenated color word! You don’t get much more Chesterton than that.

Everything about him and his room indicated something at once rigid and restless, like that great northern sea by which (on pure principles of hygiene) he had built his home. Fate, being in a funny mood, pushed the door open and introduced into those long, strict, sea-flanked apartments one who was perhaps the most startling opposite of them and their master.

Highlighting this because “Fate, being in a funny mood” is a great phrase.

But also because I love when the stories contrast Father Brown’s clumsy, homely shabbiness with characters who look more distinguished and accomplished.

"My name is Brown. Pray excuse me. I've come about that business of the MacNabs. I have heard, you often help people out of such troubles. Pray excuse me if I am wrong."

It’s odd that Father Brown is consulting another detective on this. He doesn’t seem the sort to seek out other help. He usually just winds up on the scene of the crime by accident.

It seems like he should have the confidence to solve the mystery himself.

It seems like the more natural way to bring Hood into the story would be to have the girl approach Dr. Hood and Father Brown just to be at the house for priest reasons before figuring out the mystery.

But maybe Father Brown’s stumped from lack of evidence and doesn’t have the time for an investigation. (Actually paying attention to his priestly duties for once?)

After all, it’s only luck that the crisis that gives them an excuse to investigate the apartment happens two minutes later.

And of course, the whole point of the story is getting this Holmes detective to the same crime scene as Father Brown to contrast their methods, so it doesn’t much matter how he gets there.

And there is a lot of fun in seeing shabby little Father Brown in this professional detective’s immaculate study.

"Oh, this is of the greatest importance," broke in the little man called Brown. "Why, her mother won't let them get engaged." And he leaned back in his chair in radiant rationality.

It’s not a full-fledged Father Brown story unless the mystery is centered on a romance, is it?

A stock Chesterton exchange: foolish-looking character says simple, silly-sounding statement as if it’s the most sensible thing in the world, before being forced to elaborate by a confused listener.

This story gives us Father Brown at his most silly-seeming. Here he’s not just unassuming and sheltered; he seems like one of Chesterton’s holy fools. He hasn’t looked this simple-minded since “The Blue Cross”

"Mr Brown," he said gravely, "it is quite fourteen and a half years since I was personally asked to test a personal problem: then it was the case of an attempt to poison the French President at a Lord Mayor's Banquet. It is now, I understand, a question of whether some friend of yours called Maggie is a suitable fiancee for some friend of hers called Todhunter. Well, Mr Brown, I am a sportsman. I will take it on. I will give the MacNab family my best advice, as good as I gave the French Republic and the King of England--no, better: fourteen years better. I have nothing else to do this afternoon. Tell me your story."

Sure, he’s a condescending ass, but I can’t help liking this guy. He’s got a good heart and a good sense of humor.

I kind of wish he’d have showed up in at least one or two other stories (preferably with a better end than Valentine).

The little clergyman called Brown thanked him with unquestionable warmth, but still with a queer kind of simplicity. It was rather as if he were thanking a stranger in a smoking-room for some trouble in passing the matches, than as if he were (as he was) practically thanking the Curator of Kew Gardens for coming with him into a field to find a four-leaved clover.

I like this metaphor very much.

Brown is still very, very much the simple little curate of “The Blue Cross”. But with the bumpkin traits turned up to eleven.

I’m very curious about Dr. Hood’s past cases, and how he achieved such renown.

"I told you my name was Brown; well, that's the fact, and I'm the priest of the little Catholic Church I dare say you've seen beyond those straggly streets, where the town ends towards the north.

Yet another parish! How many is this? This seems like the most distant, rural parish that Father Brown has yet had.

And Father Brown’s actually doing some work at it!

He seems to have quite a pocketful of money, but nobody knows what his trade is. Mrs MacNab, therefore (being of a pessimistic turn), is quite sure it is something dreadful, and probably connected with dynamite. The dynamite must be of a shy and noiseless sort, for the poor fellow only shuts himself up for several hours of the day and studies something behind a locked door. He declares his privacy is temporary and justified, and promises to explain before the wedding.

Doesn’t the landlady have a key to the door of her own lodger? Can’t she just demand to look?

British people, I tell you.

Unless the daughter is preventing her from looking, out of respect for her beloved.

And, you know, he does promise to explain, so it’d be rude to just barge in.

So why bother consulting the great detective in the first place? If Todhunter’s really on the up-and-up, he’ll explain eventually, they’ll get engaged, and all will be well.

he is tirelessly kind with the younger children, and can keep them amused for a day on end

Given Todhunter’s chosen profession, this makes perfect sense.

You see, therefore, how this sealed door of Todhunter's is treated as the gate of all the fancies and monstrosities of the 'Thousand and One Nights'.

Another Father Brown mystery built upon a fairy tale atmosphere.

To the scientific eye all human history is a series of collective movements, destructions or migrations, like the massacre of flies in winter or the return of birds in spring. Now the root fact in all history is Race. Race produces religion; Race produces legal and ethical wars. There is no stronger case than that of the wild, unworldly and perishing stock which we commonly call the Celts, of whom your friends the MacNabs are specimens. Small, swarthy, and of this dreamy and drifting blood, they accept easily the superstitious explanation of any incidents, just as they still accept (you will excuse me for saying) that superstitious explanation of all incidents which you and your Church represent.

A lot of the most racist characters in Chesterton are the most educated, scientific and progressive.

Granted, Chesterton does a lot of stereotyping along national lines himself. But usually it’s not with the idea that these differences are bad things. And certainly not with the idea that race is the cause of all war.

the door opened on a young girl, decently dressed but disordered and red-hot with haste. She had sea-blown blonde hair,

Is this the first blonde female love interest in these stories?

They were quarrelling—about money, I think—for I heard James say again and again, 'That's right, Mr Glass,' or 'No, Mr Glass,' and then, 'Two or three, Mr Glass.'

Given the eventual explanation of what’s really happening here, wouldn’t she have heard some other noises (possibly crashing noises?) alongside this?

"I do not think this young lady is so Celtic as I had supposed. As I have nothing else to do, I will put on my hat and stroll down town with you."

Wow, you were really just going to disbelieve her because of her nationality, weren’t you?

Playing-cards lay littered across the table or fluttered about the floor as if a game had been interrupted. Two wine glasses stood ready for wine on a side-table, but a third lay smashed in a star of crystal upon the carpet. A few feet from it lay what looked like a long knife or short sword, straight, but with an ornamental and pictured handle, its dull blade just caught a grey glint from the dreary window behind, which showed the black trees against the leaden level of the sea. Towards the opposite corner of the room was rolled a gentleman's silk top hat, as if it had just been knocked off his head; so much so, indeed, that one almost looked to see it still rolling. And in the corner behind it, thrown like a sack of potatoes, but corded like a railway trunk, lay Mr James Todhunter, with a scarf across his mouth, and six or seven ropes knotted round his elbows and ankles. His brown eyes were alive and shifted alertly.

The clues are laid out very nicely here.

This is one of the most Romantic (in the literary sense of the term) crime scenes in all of fiction. Every clue is as picturesque as possible.

"How to explain the absence of Mr Glass and the presence of Mr Glass's hat? For Mr Glass is not a careless man with his clothes. That hat is of a stylish shape and systematically brushed and burnished, though not very new. An old dandy, I should think." "But, good heavens!" called out Miss MacNab, "aren't you going to untie the man first?"

This entire segment is so funny. I laugh every time one of his long-winded deductions is interrupted by the common-sense demand to untie the man.

Now, surely it is obvious that there are the three chief marks of the kind of man who is blackmailed. And surely it is equally obvious that the faded finery, the profligate habits, and the shrill irritation of Mr Glass are the unmistakable marks of the kind of man who blackmails him. We have the two typical figures of a tragedy of hush money:

So much of the Holmesian deduction process relies on stereotypes, doesn’t it? Sure, Holmes doesn’t label people in “types” quite this way, but it relies on using the evidence to reach the most stereotypical conclusion without factoring in the random possibilities of life. (The suspect might have ink on his hands, but it doesn’t mean he’s a clerk). It’s fun that this story calls out that conceit.

"No; I think these ropes will do very well till your friends the police bring the handcuffs."

Okay, so there’s a sensible explanation for why Hood ignores their cries to untie Todhunter. But it doesn’t make the previous exchanges any less funny to read.

"But the ropes?" inquired the priest, whose eyes had remained open with a rather vacant admiration.

It’s interesting that Father Brown’s actually buying into this. My memory had him being more skeptical of the deductions, but he’s admiring the chain of logic being built here.

It’s kind of a nice change from the usual Chesterton tack of the mouthpiece character disdaining every scientific explanation.

It was not the blank curiosity of his first innocence. It was rather that creative curiosity which comes when a man has the beginnings of an idea. "Say it again, please," he said in a simple, bothered manner; "do you mean that Todhunter can tie himself up all alone and untie himself all alone?" "That is what I mean," said the doctor. "Jerusalem!" ejaculated Brown suddenly, "I wonder if it could possibly be that!"

And we’re off! I always love the moment when Father Brown puts everything together, and it’s especially satisfying here, after he’s spent the whole story sitting back and letting another man do all the detective work.

"His eyes do look queer," cried the young woman, strongly moved. "You brutes; I believe it's hurting him!" "Not that, I think," said Dr Hood; "the eyes have certainly a singular expression. But I should interpret those transverse wrinkles as expressing rather such slight psychological abnormality—" "Oh, bosh!" cried Father Brown: "can't you see he's laughing?"

Each sentence gives a vivid picture of the three different personalities here. The tender-hearted young woman. The too-practical man of science. And the brash common sense of Father Brown.

He shuffled about the room, looking at one object after another with what seemed to be a vacant stare, and then invariably bursting into an equally vacant laugh, a highly irritating process for those who had to watch it.

Irritating to watch, I’m sure, but very amusing to imagine.

"But a hatter," protested Hood, "can get money out of his stock of new hats. What could Todhunter get out of this one old hat?" "Rabbits," replied Father Brown promptly.

I love the hat conversation and these lines in particular.

He was also practising the trick of a release from ropes, like the Davenport Brothers

According to Wikipedia, the Davenport Brothers were an American magician act that toured England in the 1860s. They built on the Spiritualism craze and claimed all their tricks were done by spirit power. There isn’t much about what their tricks wer, (besides a couple of escape tricks and spirit cabinet things). Most of the Wikipedia article is about the many times their tricks were debunked. (Naturally, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle refused to believe they were frauds).

But the mere fact of an idler in a top hat having once looked in at his back window, and been driven away by him with great indignation, was enough to set us all on a wrong track of romance, and make us imagine his whole life overshadowed by the silk-hatted spectre of Mr Glass."

This isn’t so much a debunking of the Holmesian deduction methods as a case study proving why logical deductions have to be built upon sound premises. One mistake at the beginning can send you in a completely false direction.

"You are certainly a very ingenious person," he said; "it could not have been done better in a book.

I love when the characters get meta.

This is a very snide remark in context, but of course Father Brown proves himself.

Mr Brown broke into a rather childish giggle. "Well, that," he said, "that's the silliest part of the whole silly story. When our juggling friend here threw up the three glasses in turn, he counted them aloud as he caught them, and also commented aloud when he failed to catch them. What he really said was: 'One, two and three—missed a glass one, two—missed a glass.' And so on."

I can’t explain how deeply I love that the entire mystery is built on a pun. This one section is the reason this is one of my favorite Father Brown stories.

This drives home the idea that mysteries and jokes are the same types of story. They both require laying out information that’s put together into a surprising conclusion.

There was a second of stillness in the room, and then everyone with one accord burst out laughing. As they did so the figure in the corner complacently uncoiled all the ropes and let them fall with a flourish. Then, advancing into the middle of the room with a bow, he produced from his pocket a big bill printed in blue and red, which announced that ZALADIN, the World's Greatest Conjurer, Contortionist, Ventriloquist and Human Kangaroo would be ready with an entirely new series of Tricks at the Empire Pavilion, Scarborough, on Monday next at eight o'clock precisely.

I grew up on cheesy sitcoms. I’m a sucker for the “everyone laughs” ending.

If Todhunter’s willing to admit the truth here, he could have saved himself a lot of trouble by just admitting the truth right away. (I don’t buy the “he keeps it secret to keep his tricks secret” explanation. You can tell people you’d a magician without giving away everything about your act).

Does Mrs. MacNab let them get married? Now she knows he has a harmless vocation, but it’s not exactly a stable one. Would she let her daughter marry a guy so flighty that he can’t even settle on a coherent focus for his own stage show?

Given that the story ends here, we’re supposed to assume that she does. I guess he must be a successful performer--part of her mistrust came from the fact that he had too much money. So he and Maggie should have a comfortable life together.

I’m glad. He seems like a nice young man.

#lb this is all your fault #father brown reread #father brown #g.k. chesterton #the wisdom of father brown #the absence of mr. glass #i remember why i stopped doing these things #they take forever #'but they wouldn't take forever if you didn't comment on every second sentence'#'be quiet logical brain'#this one feels very subpar but i'm out of practice

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rae-is-typing · 4 years

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kicked out

Description: You’re a part of the LGBTQ+ community, but your mother is a part of a religion that hates the LGBTQ+ community. You come out and she kicks you out. Tony helps.

Characters: reader, reader’s mother, Tony Stark, mention of Peter Parker

Reader is gender neutral!

Warnings: homophobia, transphobia, general hate towards those in the LGBTQ+ community, intense bigotry, being kicked out, anxiety attack

Disclaimers: This one shot is not meant to be one about hating religion. This piece was loosely based on my own internal struggle with myself and the religion I was raised in. I’ve also never dealt with direct backlash because of my identity. I’m not out yet and I have no desire to be out yet. This is the worst case scenario I would be facing if I did come out.

I tried to make the religion and the identity as ambiguous as possible to make it a little more universal, but this one shot definitely points to the identity being gay, queer, bi, or pan, so I’m sorry I didn’t make it anymore neutral.

If you have a problem with this fic or the way it was written, I urge you to message me. We can have a conversation about where I went wrong and how I can learn from the experience and do better in the future.

Word count: 2k

The Avengers love you, plain and simple. How could they not grow to love the adorable teen they let into their unconventional family? (If Tony had his way, he would legally adopt you in a heartbeat.) Unfortunately for Tony, you had a mom. She was a pretty good one, she fed you, clothed you and supported you in most things you did. You moved to New York together when your father died. Your mother was also very religious. You were born and raised in the church your mother and father were raised in. You never had a problem with it; the people were amazing, the community was like a big family, you grew up with all the youth, and, most importantly, felt loved and safe. You rallied together against what they claimed to be of the devil. That included people in the LGBT+ community. When you grew up, you realized how you truly feel about people of your sex, and how you feel about people of the same sex. It started slowly. You began to accept that part of yourself when you met someone like you. He was nice, compassionate, accepting of others and helped everyone he could. He was one of the best people you’ve ever met. He was nothing like what you’re mother and religion told you LGBTQ+ people were like. What had really convinced you that the LGBTQ+ are real people was when one of your closest friends came out. You accepted them, they were not only in the same boat as you (not that you were ready to tell anyone), they were one of you. But not everyone thought so. You saw it whenever you went to church and they were at the meetings. It didn’t make sense to you. They were one of you, right? So they got a pass. Apparently not. You knew through the disappointed and judgemental eyes burning with disgust. It made you sick and only further solidified your resolve to stay in the closet. You soon learned it was easier said than done. Whenever you wanted to avoid the rallies, you chickened out and went, too afraid to disappoint your friends and mother. You always stuck to the standards and tried to be the perfect child your mother always wanted. It was exhausting. Admittedly, you saw the difference between your congregation, and the Avengers when you first met them. They were the first people you could truly be yourself with. As cheesy as it sounds, it was evident. They encouraged your individuality and loved you because of your personality and your abilities.

You could talk to them, and you did. You told Peter first. He hugged you and told you that he’s bisexual and hasn’t come out to May yet.

You told Tony about yourself a week later. He smiled at you, wrapped an arm around you and told you he was proud of you for discovering yourself and beginning to accept that part of you. It was something you didn’t expect, not that it wasn’t welcome. You were on top of the world for a couple weeks, thankful that some of the most important people in your life loved you still. But as of late, your thoughts about yourself have been killing your spirit. You were so tired of pretending. The toll it took on you was obvious to everyone that didn’t know you as the perfect sheep. The people that were worried the most were the Avengers. You were at the tower a lot more than usual, not that they were complaining. It was just odd. You hesitated when they asked you simple questions, spaced out a lot more, ate less and claimed you felt sick almost every other day. They’d share concerned glances and tried to talk with you, but you’d brush it off and used school, drama or headaches to excuse your strange behaviour. It worked- for a while. Then you stopped going to the tower completely. It wasn’t your fault. Your mother heard you say one positive thing about the LGBTQ+ community and freaked out. She went off saying that it was the Avengers corrupting you and that she never should have let you take the Stark internship in the first place, and so much more. You had never heard her yell so much in your life, it was terrifying. She stopped letting you go out, you were only allowed to go to School and Church, took away all forms of technology and outside communication.

You were going crazy, there was no way you could keep living like this. So, you told her. You finally told her what you are, how you felt and why she shouldn’t make decisions for you when you were perfectly capable of making them yourself. You had waited a couple weeks, so you thought she’d be more level headed. But, you were wrong. She freaked out more than before.

You knew for a fact that it was worse than before because she kicked you out.

You were shocked, confused and most of all hurt. You’re a part of the LGBTQ+ community, but she was still your mother.

“What?” You asked, confusion lacing you voice.

“You heard me, get out. Get out of my house.” Your mom stated firmly, disgust obvious in her voice.

“You can’t do this, I’m your child!”

“Not anymore. You have until I get back, get you stuff and get out!” She shouted, walking out and slamming the door.

You sat on the couch until her words sank in. Your mother is kicking you out.

I’m homeless now. Where am I going to go? What am I going to tell my friends, what am I going to tell Peter? What am I going to tell Tony? What am I going to do? I can’t do it on my own. I can’t do it. I can’t…

Your breathing sped up, your heart races, and waves of nausea hit you hard.

Nevertheless, you got up and searched for your phone. As soon as you found it, you eagerly dialled in his personal number and called. He didn’t answer. You wanted to cry, you tried again with no answer. You plugged in your phone, put your head in your hands and sobbed.

Moments later, your phone rang. It was Tony.

“Tony,” You breathed out.

“Y/N! Where’ve you been, kid? It’s not as fun here without you.” His tone was light and relieved now that he could talk to you and make sure you’re okay.

“Tony, my mom, she- I- I wouldn’t have called if I had another option, I’m sorry, it’s just-”

“Whoa, hey, slow down and take a deep breath, Y/N.” His tone changed from fun to concerned in an instant. “What happened with your mom?”

“I-I told- I told her about me and that- that I- and she- Tony I can’t- she- I don’t-” You’re crying hard, unable to form coherent sentences and unable to breathe properly.

“Y/N, where are you?” Tony asked.

“H-home.”

“I’m coming over, stay on the line with me sweetheart, can you do that?”

“Ye-eah.”

As promised, you didn’t hang up until Tony was standing in front of you- Iron Man suit and all. He immediately pulled you in his arms when he got the suit off and began to calm you down.

“Can you tell me what happened now, kid?”

“She kicked me out.” You spoke into his chest.

“She what?” Tony growled. How could a mother be so cruel? Anger flooded his veins, how could someone turn away from their child for simply being honest with themselves?

“I’m sorry, I wouldn’t have called you if I had any other option. Please don’t be mad, I’m so sorry.” You bury your face in his chest, wanting this day to be a bad dream.

“It’s good you called me, Y/N. I’m not mad, not at you.” Tony held you in his arms, cradling your head against his chest and rubbing an arm up and down your back. There’s no hesitation, he knows that he needs to be there for you. “You’re staying with me.”

“W-what?”

“My dear, you are coming back to the tower. You will be sleeping, eating, doing your homework, socializing, and living with me and the rest of us at my tower. Okay?”

You can only nod, too overwhelmed to speak while clutching the back of Tony’s shirt like it was the only thing that was keeping you alive. He kept rubbing your back and letting you cry into his chest. Right now, his comfort doesn’t matter to him, not when his kid is crying in his arms.

It seems, though, that he’s the only one that heard the door begin to open.

Tony grips your forearm and steps in front of you. Your mother opens the door with puffy red eyes and dried tears on her face. She looks genuinely sad for what she had to do, but that look of sadness dissipates when she sees Tony and you standing in her living room.

“What are you doing here?” She hisses. “What is that doing here?"

"Y/N, go to your room and pack what you want to take.” Tony’s voice is even and strong. You hesitate, tears still streaming down your face, fingers still clutching Tony’s clothes like you were a toddler hiding from another adult. “Y/N, now.”

You turn briskly, running down the small hallway and into your room. You lock the door, rip your suitcase from your closet and stuff all of your sentimental items first before your favorite clothes.

Their voices are easily heard through the thin apartment walls. You hear Tony defending you and your mom berating you.

“That thing is not my child. I did not raise a sinner!”

“Y/N is a human being with a name that you gave them. You are their mother, mothers are supposed to love their children, not throw them out like yesterday’s garbage.”

You’ve never heard Tony this angry.

I shouldn’t have called him, he’s mad, she’s mad, I made her mad, she hates me she hates she hates me she hates me

You grabbed a pillow and cried in earnest into it, managing to cover your ears as well as your mouth to muffle your sobs and the voices coming through the walls.

A knock at your door makes you jump and hold your breath.

“Y/N, it’s me. Are you ready to go?” Tony says. You can hear the anger that was in his voice, even if he’s trying to stay as calm as he can for you.

“Yeah,” you croak, wiping your face. You grab the bag and open the door. Tony is shaking with fury, but he wraps an arm around you and walks you to the living room. Your mother says nothing to you as she sits on the couch with a prideful look on her face. “We’re flying back to the tower so I need you to hold on tightly and do not let go under any circumstances.”

You nod at the instructions and Tony suits up. The quiet mechanical sounds are music to your ears. He places an arm on the middle of your back and hooks one under your knees. He hoists you up easily, the bag resting your chest and held tightly by you.

Tony flies slower and lower than usual, keeping you in mind. You have one arm around his neck and the other holding the bag to your chest. He lands on a balcony to one of the top floors and carries you inside. Placing you on the ground with care, he holds your shoulders and assures himself you’re stable. He takes off the suit and walks you to a room.

“You can stay here for now. I’ll talk with Pepper and the team about what happened. I’ll only tell them that you’re staying for awhile. You can tell them the other news when you’re ready.”

You nod. He closes the door and you sit on the bed, staring at the wall.

A feeling of deep longing grows in your chest, along with feelings of rejection and pain. Your head drops to your hands and all you can do is cry.

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not-safeforsanders · 4 years

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Be My Baby / Devil Like You

This fic is based on Bea Miller’s Be My Baby, and Gareth Dunlop’s Devil Like You. Yeah I know, that’s a bit of a whiplash between two songs.

Fic Synopsis: Roman knows how to dance, Patton knows how to pray, Remus knows how to use his mouth and Logan knows how to shut it. Meanwhile, Virgil and Janus think they’re all idiots and are begging for some healthy communication. (University!AU)

Warnings: It’s not really unsympathetic Patton, because he’s not a villain, he is dealing with internalised homophobia, however, so some homophobia in this fic, alcohol is drank in this fic, mention of past drug use for recreational use, not specified which drugs though and is mentioned as a flippant thing rather than drug addiction. There’s mention of more serious homophobia in a discussion of Remus/Roman’s home town, but it’s one sentance.

Ships: Intrulogical, Royality, Anxceit.

Word Count: 4859

Chapter One/?

Week One: Logan has never fit in anywhere and now he can fit perfectly in Remus’ hands.

The first week of university is always rather hectic for anyone, hectic except for Logan who is lying on his own bed pushing granola around a bowl. The nervousness of a new chapter of his life has the brunet struggling to digest his food; ‘which is ridiculous,’ he notes to himself, because he needs the energy of food to accomplish the tasks in which he is nervous about in the first place.

Still, his stomach wasn’t having it, hence the half-empty bowl of granola in yoghurt that hasn’t been touched for twenty minutes. Logan is not really used to feeling this nervous, he knows for sure that feeling uneasy is a definite response to uprooting your entire life a state over, yet he’s so used to feeling emotions like this on a small scale, one that he finds it easy to reason with.

His internal monologue is suspended by a knock on his door, he sits up in his bed as he calls for whoever may be on the other side to enter, one hand steadying the bowl with his movements. A man his own age stands on the other side, his blackened hair mussed and falling into and around his bright green eyes. He glances at the bowl in Logan’s lap and raises his eyebrows. “That is one sad-looking bowl of granola,” the tone of his voice is humorous and the brunet can’t help but smile sheepishly as he places the bowl on his bedside table. “We’re having a little bit of a quiet get together right now, just as a way to get to know each other, we were wondering if you’ll be joining us; there’s snacks, alcoholic beverages, non-alcoholic beverages, and an alarming amount of fruit because my brother has just decided he wants to be more healthy, whatever the fuck that means,”

Logan hesitates a little, drinking with strangers is always a bad idea, but he gets a distinct feeling that normal students would jump at the opportunity. “Do I need to get changed or is this a pyjama party?”

“Pyjama party, I’m Remus by the way,”

The living room doubles as a kitchen, there’s a table and a couch which is cramming three bodies whilst a fourth sits on the floor with a coffee cup full of a glittery pink liquid, his dark purple hair not quite matching the beverage. “He’s alive!” One of the bodies on the couch cheers, he has the same face as Remus but his hair is an in-ignorable bright red, and he doesn’t seem to have the same capacity for facial hair as his lookalike. The others look up at him too, a blonde curled up in the corner of the couch like he’s desperate to be as far away from everyone else as possible on one side of the redhead; whilst on the other side there’s a man with close-cropped curls and wide-rimmed glasses.

Logan waves awkwardly and Remus snorts beside him, patting him on the back before taking his seat on the floor, leaving the newcomer to trail after him and sit at the remaining spot beside the coffee table. “Alright, so we’re starting with never have I ever because we’re all literal children,” the blonde comments, his voice dry but with a tinge of amusement as he reaches for the bottle of the pink liquid on the desk “I’m Janus by the way, the loudmouth ginger is Roman, next to him is Patton, and that…” He gestures to the purple-haired man who looks unimpressed to be pointed at “...is Virgil.”

“Logan,” he offers a nervous smile before his eyes go back to the bottle that is looking more and more inviting the more he looks at it. He picks up a cup and pours a little bit of it into a cup, after understanding that is in fact, gin, he looks up as he reaches for the lemonade.

“I’ll go first,” Roman grins, “Never have I ever got into a fight.” Remus makes a small noise of protest beside Logan, squinting up at (who Logan assumes is) his brother.

“Targeting is illegal,” the dark-haired man groans before taking a mouthful out of his drink “no more targeting or I’ll lose the game in seconds.” Laughter runs through the group, except for Patton, the curly-haired one who sits with his knees drawn to his chest and a cup of what looks like warm tea balancing between the palms of his hands. He just looks uncomfortable, unnerved by the whole situation. Logan catches his eyes and offers him a sympathetic smile, he’s also a little bit out of his depth in social gatherings. “Patton, your turn!”

“Oh, uh, how does the game work again? I say something I haven’t done?” There are various mumbles of agreements, and Roman offers him an encouraging grin. The small man takes a deep breath in “Never have I ever...drank alcohol?” There’s a few blinks of confusion as everyone but Patton drinks.

“Never?” The blonde asks, ‘Janus’ Logan’s mind provides helpfully, after a few seconds of trying to recover the little detail.

“No, I think the Church wine is non-alcoholic, which would make sense for people who don’t drink for religious reasons and also the fact that children drink the wine.” Remus snorts a little beside Logan, and Patton’s cheeks heat as he looks down at his hands. “Sorry, I don’t think I should play this game, isn’t it sort of cheating if you’ve never done anything?”

“I’ve not had that much of an interesting life either,” The brunet can’t help but interject, he feels a slow and pitiful sort of sympathy for the way the already very small man is drawing in on himself. “Honestly I’ve only drank alcohol maybe four times in my life and I’ve never been drunk, and every time was with my parents.” He shrugs “I suppose it just means we’ve got a lot to experience in the future, not everyone can have the fast-paced teenage years full of drinking and parties.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Janus mutters, taking a mouthful “Logan, your turn before Patton runs away from all the scrutiny on him.”

“Never have I ever…” What is something common for teenagers to have experienced that he hasn’t? “...done any sort of drugs, bar say, aspirin.” Remus takes a mouthful out of his drink again, clearly in a hurry to drink as much as possible, Roman also drinks and Janus takes a reasonable sip from his own. Virgil squints at the ceiling for a second like he’s trying to remember, before he shrugs and drinks.

“Took you a minute,” Janus snorts, looking over at his friend. “Remus?”

“Never have I ever had sex for money.”

“You didn’t even think about that,” Roman mutters, “I thought we agreed no targeted attacks?” He throws back a mouthful of his drink, Patton is staring at him with something between nervousness and reserved horror. The look is impressive, Logan notes to himself, mainly because Patton’s general horror is amusing.

“Payback,” Remus shrugs simply “Now no targeted attacks...Virgil?”

��Never have I ever found these games remotely fun,” the violet-haired man grumbles, staring at the surface of his pink drink “It’s just an excuse to expose the worst of your friends to strangers in attempt of humiliating them.” Logan does not drink, it’s the first time he’s played this game in a long, long time and honestly he hasn’t exactly missed it. But mostly he keeps side-eying how uncomfortable Patton looks amongst all of this.

“Plus sex, drugs and prostitution may be funny, don’t get me wrong, so glad I learned that about you, Roman...Logan and Patton look like they’ve just stepped into alien territory and everyone is speaking a different language, no offence guys.” Janus gestures loosely in the direction of the people he discusses as he agrees with Virgil. “I think we should just talk like human beings and see which of us hates the other by the end of the night.”

“I like that idea,” Logan adds because he does. Patton nods with a small smile, sipping his tea.

So they drink and talk, and Patton tells them about his life and ends up being the only “straight” present, which he looks uncomfortable about to some degree. Logan admits he’s never given his sexuality much thought, he’s been too buried under books to really pay much attention to things like sex or romance or both. The other’s are very open about their sexuality, Virgil even has a little rainbow tattoo behind his ear, which he has to pull his hair back to show.

Patton goes to bed first, after everyone started to dawn on the fact that he’s uncomfortable just by being there around people that he doesn’t really know, and a group that he is unfamiliar with. “Well that was tense,” Virgil muttered, “trust a bible basher to get stuck with a fuck ton of queers and whatever Logan is.” Logan, a little drunk, laughs quietly in response, leaning his head on the table and staring at the mostly empty glitter-gin as the edible glitter swirls around the pink liquid. If he stares for too long he thinks it looks like it’s glowing. “At least now he knows what being drunk is like lads.”

“It’s very dizzy,” The brunet replies, gaze not living the bottle, “The whole room is dizzy.”

“Spinning,” Janus supplies helpfully, but all he gets in response is a quiet hum of agreement. “Next step is getting him stoned, you totally don’t look like you need it or anything, Logan.” Again, there’s only a low sound of agreement as the man stares, hypnotised by the way the glitter swirls in the glass bottle. Remus chuckles beside him. “Well, I’m off to sleep, Virgil are you in my room or your own tonight?”

“I’ll pile in yours tonight if that’s alright?” The blond smiles and Logan finally looks up as Janus helps his friend (partner?) up from the ground, their fingertips almost automatically intertwining. It’s sweet, but the glass bottle, once again, takes much more interest for Logan. Roman makes a gagging noise, accompanied by some rather vulgar hand gestures, before standing himself.

“I need some sleep, will you two be okay?” Logan doesn’t really know if he’s the one actually being asked until he looks up and finds the redhead staring right at him. He stiffens a little, before looking around the room and nodding, unsure why he was being given such an intense gaze. “All right, well, if he tries anything, just shout.” The blue-eyed man does not know what that means, but Roman is gone before he can ask.

“He’s joking,” Remus uttered from beside him, stirring gin around his cup with what looks like a straw (’where did that come from?’ he thinks silently to himself). “Well, mostly, I think, I’ve never actually hurt someone like that, I think he’s just used to me being aggressive.” It’s an honest admittance, not the sort of honesty from a game, but a genuine vulnerability that shows on the ebony-haired man’s face, he looks somewhat upset in one way or another. “I used to get in a lot of fights in high school, Roman says it’s because I’m not mature enough to handle bullshit but I just don’t like it when people call my brother a fag.” Logan sits up a little straighter then, eyes wide. “I mean, we’re from that sort of place so...shit happens you know? And if a lad turns up in a ditch and he was gay that was just how things worked in our town, and I wanted it to be very clear there was no way anyone was hurting him.”

“What about you? Did no-one…”

“I’m not Roman,” Remus shrugs, “People think I’m weird, they think I’m crazy or delusional and at some point that became a protective cover for me, I’d get into fights and I wouldn’t stop until their faces were just...fucked,” He shrugs “I didn’t care, I was protecting myself and my family, but Roman doesn’t see it like that...he’s like woefully pacifistic and thinks I’m like...an animal or something.”

“It sounds like you took necessary measures to protect your family,” Logan glances at Remus’ knuckles, there is a slight discolouration to them, like healed scars. “But you’re safer here and can learn how to control your anger, especially now,” He glances back out the closed door to the hallway “I get the feeling you and Patton may find yourself in a verbal altercation at some point, he seems to lack any sort of education on the matter of sexuality, and his ignorance may cause friction.”

“You talk like you swallowed a textbook even when you’re drunk,” Logan smiles in response and nods slightly. “You are pretty though, I’ll give you that,” the smile slips at the seemingly sudden confession and his cheeks heat as he looks away from Remus. “Shit, sorry, did I misread a situation again, Roman says I’m too forward.”

“No,” Logan replies tersely, looking back up at Remus. Perhaps it’s the alcohol but a sharp realisation simply overwhelms him, and now there’s a lump in his throat “I just don’t think anyone has ever said I’m aesthetically pleasing in any fashion before, and the alcohol is making me far more emotional than I’m used to digesting at any one time.” The other man stares at him, first with confusion and then with empathy.

“If it makes you feel any better, I don’t think anyone has ever had a nice thing to say about me, I’m used to being told I’m hot or fuckable and shit, but pretty? No that’s just not me.”

“You are pretty,” it slips out before he can really stop it, and he surprises himself, which displays all over his face as Remus chuckles at the torn horror as the words fall from his lips. “I mean, I think you are, I-I haven’t had much experience in such things, but aesthetically you are...nice?” His voice gets higher the more he panics and Remus shakes his head with a small smile.

“Logan, you’re very clever, I’m sure, but terrible at backtracking.”

There’s a second where the man smiles weakly at the words, staring into Remus’ green eyes before a warm sense creeps up his neck. He’s seen that sort of look in movies before, but he’s never experienced it; after all, he’s never really had a group of friends or, for that matter, anyone who has ever been interested in him. Which is what he thought was supposed to happen, but he’s known this wild-eyed man a few hours and for the first time in his life, he understands the meaning of romance movies and sexual attraction.

So he kisses Remus, he doesn’t even think about it, one second he’s in one place and the next his lips are pressing to the taller’s. He parts his lips, because he’s sure that’s how that goes, but Remus sets the pace from there, his hands cupping Logan’s cheeks; he can feel the cool metal of the other man’s rings on his skin, and it’s strangely reassuring. He takes a deep breath between kisses because for a long few minutes he doesn’t want this feeling, heart hammering in his chest and the rushing of his blood making him feel hot all over, to ever end.

“You know as much as I’d love to just, fuck around whilst we’re both drunk.” Remus pulled away “I’m just not that person anymore, and you’re way drunker than I am,” Even though Remus had definitely drunk so much more. “I’d rather not have any more disappointed looks in my life,” Logan nods, breathing much deeper than he probably should be. “But we can totally keep making out if we move to the couch, 'cause my ass has gone numb as fuck.”

He’s a little dazed as he follows Remus, his hand warm in the other’s, it takes him a moment to even realise what’s happening if he’s honest, but it’s not a bad feeling. There’s a sheer euphoria in the knowledge he just had his first kiss, and it feels so much better than it looks on TV. So he lies on the couch with Remus and presses their lips together again.

He wakes up the next morning lying on top of Remus like he was terrified of falling off in his sleep. His eyes are a little bleary and his glasses were on the floor, his head on Remus’ chest. The flat is warm, at least, but his back is in six different types of pain (and he’d hate to be the man lying underneath him), and cracks as he sits up slowly. The ebony-haired man stays asleep, and Logan feels a little bad for leaving him but the growl of his stomach dictates he should probably eat, so he stands.

“He’s only cute when he’s asleep, but when he’s awake he’s a menace.” Logan curses under his breath as he jumps in surprise, head whipping up to face the kitchen. Roman is sat on (not at, on) the breakfast bar with a bowl of cereal and a mischievous grin. “Sorry, didn’t mean to disturb you sleeping with...on my brother.” The brunet sighs and grabs his glasses off the floor, sliding them onto his face and moving towards the kitchen area to make his own breakfast. “So, I didn’t hear any obnoxious sex noises last night, so I’m under the assumption he did not ruin your virtue?”

“No, he did not.”

“But by the way you were clinging to him, I’d say you’d like that?” Logan glares at the redhead, whose grin only widens “Oh this is gold, he’s been here a day and he’s already dragging people into his bed.” He snorts and shakes his head, spooning cereal into his mouth as the other opens the cupboard. “Alright, you’re already blushing like a tomato, I’ll cease the bullying.”

The brunet quirks something of a smile though, he can’t help it; he hadn’t expected to feel so excited over his first kiss; he’s always looked to sex and romance as objective things, things he’d never experienced. Things he hadn’t entirely expected to experience if he’s honest. But he can still remember the taste of alcohol on Remus’ lips and the scratch of his beard and the way his hands felt on his cheeks and hips and...he flushes a little red, trying to divert his train of thought away from the way his body had felt like fire from the smallest of touches. “It’s not something I think about often enough to tell you whether or not I’d like that,” Logan lies through his teeth, Roman makes an ‘uh-huh’ noise, followed by the crunch of cereal. The blue-eyed boy realises he’s been stood in front of the open cabinet for a minute, lost in his train of thought.

The quiet is interrupted by the low thud of Remus rolling off the couch, which has his brother grinning again as he peers over. “Good morning, brother dearest, couldn’t keep your mouth to yourself for one night?” The darker-haired twin sits up from the floor with a confused expression, then his gaze drifts to Logan, who gives something of a small wave and a tight smile.

“Go away Roman,” The younger twin grumbles, dragging himself to his feet and rubbing his forehead to try and restrain the headache “go, shoo, away heathen,” he gestures with his hands until the other jumps down off the counter, throwing Logan a wink before the door shuts behind him. “Was he being embarrassing? I keep telling him to keep his nose to himself but I suppose his romantic life is just enough of a train wreck to start meddling in mine.”

“A little,” Logan admits “But nothing quite too intense, it felt weird though, like he was your dad or something.”

“Practically,” Remus hums, “Mind if I have a small repeat of last night?” Logan’s cheeks heat again, he’s getting very tired of blushing, but he nods anyway, looking up at the other and accepting a small, slow kiss from him.

It was supposed to be a small, slow kiss anyway, until he finds himself sat on the kitchen counter with Remus’ hands on his thighs. He gasps lightly into the kiss as the other’s fingertips squeeze at his thighs, finding the way they tighten around the other man’s waist almost fascinating. He wasn’t even thinking really, his body just seems to know what he wants. But again, Remus pulls back. He looks at Logan, whose shoulders are shaking from his deep breaths like he’s on the edge of a panic attack but instead of panic it’s an incessant need to have those hands move upwards a little. He appears to just look straight into him for a moment, before he smiles impishly and kisses him again, so hard that Logan can feel their teeth clash for a second, but for whatever reason he doesn’t really feel the pain. He shuffles closer to the edge, Remus pressing against him, one hand on Logan’s thigh and the other on his hip; the other man doesn’t know what to do with his hands so he cups Remus’ cheeks with slightly shaky hands.

He can feel a pressure running from his abdomen right to his crotch, which is not a feeling he’s unfamiliar with, but the circumstances are certainly not typical for him. He loses himself in the feeling of Remus’ lips, and hands, and tongue and occasionally a little teeth; and he isn’t really sure when he started rocking his hips against the other’s body until he feels a sudden jolt of pleasure that has him moaning into the other’s mouth. The taller man chuckles a little, his lips leaving Logan’s, the other makes a small noise of complaint but then there are lips on his neck and he can’t really restrain the soft noise of surprise that accompanies the ticklish sensation of lips, then tongue on his neck. He definitely jolts a little when Remus starts sucking a bruise into his skin.

There’s a second where he can’t even identify how overwhelmed with the sensation he feels, and then Remus presses the palm of his hand to Logan’s aching cock through his sweatpants. The feeling is strange, having anyone else touch him at all is, but not foreign in any measure; it does, however, surprise him enough that he grinds into the pressure without really contemplating it, and then he can’t really stop. He just rocks his hips into the touch whilst one hand supports his weight and the other grips the back of Remus’ head. He can feel the heat build more and more, his head going foggy.

Until the kitchen door opens and his eyes dart open. He almost feels little sorry for Patton, whose eyes go very wide and his skin very pale upon entering the kitchen to this. Remus leans up and turns his head back enough to see the intrusion, offering an almost sorry smile. The newcomer makes some sort of squeak of apology, and then he’s leaving the kitchen in a quick hurry. Logan bites his lip, looking down at Remus, for a moment neither of them knows what to do until the taller man snorts, burying his face in Logan’s neck to stifle the giggles pouring out of his lips. The other laughs too, he can’t help it, just the breathy sound of the other’s laughter setting him straight off. He covers his mouth to try and stop the sound bubbling out too loudly.

“He’s probably going to go and pray over that,” Remus mutters when he finally stops laughing, before pressing soft kisses to the others’ neck. “It probably got him a little hot and bothered, let’s be honest, especially with you all flushed and pretty.” Logan chokes on his laughter then, smiling as he leans his head to the side. “I suppose we’re not learning from mistakes today?” He asks, his hand squeezing Logan’s thigh.

“Maybe we should move from the kitchen.” The brunet suggests quietly, not really wanting to move at all. Still, he would really like to not have an audience more than of that that is required, at least it was just Patton, he’d have been mortified if it had been Roman.

Yet, on the list of people he’d like to have walk-in on him getting a hand job from another man, perhaps one that wears a crucifix everywhere would not have been in the top five, or ten, or hundred.

He shuffles off the counter, wincing a little as he adjusts himself in his boxers before Remus is dragging him along to his room. His skin feels flushed and his body feels a little weak, not in an alarming way, just in a very relaxed sort, he knows he’s shaking a little and that might be a lot to do with the fact he hadn’t eaten in a while and now he has so much adrenaline coursing through him he doesn’t really know what to do with.

Logan might remember lying down on Remus’ bed for the rest of his life, might remember the way the other leans over him and kisses him hard and fast, or his hand slipping into his pants and wrapping around his hard cock. He might remember the noises that he hadn’t learned how to restrain coming from his mouth or the look that’s just short of arousal-induced adoration on his partner’s face. He’ll definitely remember the first time he had an orgasm that intense though. His whole body seemed to tense up with anticipation, and he gasps out Remus’ name, loud and clear and it amuses the other as he spills over his hand. It felt like it lasted for whole minutes, the way the seconds of pleasure dragged until he’s wincing from overstimulation; then he had to lie very still because the whole room was spinning and his body feels like jelly.

“Good?” Remus asked, a tint of amusement in his tone as he licks cum off his hand like it’s nothing.

“I can’t see straight.” Logan admits, followed by a short laugh of disbelief “Holy shit, Remus,” The bearded man laughs again, and flops down beside the other man “Do you want me to…?”

“Na, the look on your face will serve me for a good few months.” And once again, Logan blushes.

The rest of the week goes by without much hassle, except of course the various teases pertaining to Logan’s inability to keep his mouth shut, and some vaguely embarrassing replications of said sounds from Janus and Roman, who are equally amused by the whole ordeal. Logan wonders if Roman finds it uncomfortable but he just shrugs when asked “I lived with Remus my entire life, I’m far too used to this, besides it’s just another thing I can bully him about, and by proxy, you,” the redhead grins at the other man “I used to find it awkward, ‘cause like, he’s my brother, you know? But I’m so desensitised to worst shit than sex noises I feel like this isn’t even something worth complaining about anymore.”

Patton still refuses to look either of them in the eye, and he seems to tense anytime anyone comes near him like he’s afraid of being touched by any of them. Logan isn’t used to that sort of feeling, he’s hardly used to being gay, if that’s what he is, so at first the clear rejection had him feeling sort of...angry, and upset. But then Remus would squeeze his shoulder or Roman would attempt to do something ridiculous, or Janus would bluntly ask if everything’s okay and the feeling would slip.

Is this what having friends feels like? He asks himself, feeling protected? He’s not known them more than a week but, they are pretty much all he’s seen and heard from in a week so it feels like longer, somehow. It’s a nice feeling, he decides, and he isn’t sure why he never tried this before. Yes, he’s never had the time, but he also never had the want or need for it, either. Perhaps because he already knew somewhere, deep down, that he was different from the rich kids at his school, flirting with girls and spending all of their parent’s money. Perhaps he just wasn’t in a situation he could accept that.

He remembers the first night, them all drinking, a sense of relief that accompanied their open expressions of their sexuality. Logan had, for the first time in his life, felt comfortable in a room of strangers and by the end of the week, they were the only friends that he had.

Then, he supposes, that’s just what university is like.

#not safe for sanders #bmbdly

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sanderssidesfanfiction · 3 years

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If There’s a Place I Could Be - Chapter Forty Four

If There’s a Place I Could Be Tag

April 3rd, 1986 “Hey, stupid! The teacher asked you to read!” the girl next to him hissed at Emile.

Emile squirmed in his seat. He was staring at the page, trying to pick out any words he recognized, but he had no idea what he was looking at. He knew it was spring, he knew he was supposed to read at least a little by now, but he still couldn’t.

Everyone was staring at him expectantly, and he just mumbled, “Can I, uh...pass?”

The girl snickered. “You’re so stupid,” she said. “I bet you can’t even spell your own name, can you?”

Tears were trying to force their way out, but Emile refused to cry. He wouldn’t give anyone the satisfaction.

His teacher sighed and gestured for the next kid to read his sentence. Emile rested his head on his arms. School was bad enough without the bullies around him.

September 30th, 2001

“Hey, Remy, I have a question for you,” Emile said.

Remy looked over from their recently acquired couch and turned off the TV that was sitting on their recently acquired TV stand. “What’s up?” he asked.

“I know this is super early, and you don’t have to give me an answer right away, but would you like to come over to my parents’ place for Thanksgiving, and my grandfather’s for Christmas? No one has to know you’re gay if you’re uncomfortable with it, I can just say you don’t have a family to celebrate with so I’m bringing you to celebrate with mine,” Emile offered.

Remy gave him a confused look. “You’d want that?” he asked.

“Well, yeah, just a little bit,” Emile said. “You make everything a little more fun, and I don’t want to leave you on your own for Thanksgiving and Christmas.”

Remy looked even more lost, and Emile felt his heart ache and his stomach sink. He really didn’t want Remy to say no, and he also wished that Remy could understand why he might be wanted. But it looked like the first was a distinct possibility, and the second wasn’t. “Why? I mean, I had a bit of a hard time last year—”

“—And I don’t want you to have another one,” Emile said. “Like, I can say that you’re not Catholic and no one will drag you to Mass. You can hang out with me and my family, and if you start feeling bad you can let me know and we can sneak away to make out, or whatever.” Remy smiled at that. “You can say no, Rem, but I need you to know it’s okay to say yes, too.”

Remy stared at Emile for a long time, eyes searching Emile’s face. Emile met his gaze, putting down the pencil he was using for copying his notes. “And we’d just have to keep PDA to a minimum and that’s it?”

“That’s it,” Emile confirmed. “No strings attached, and holidays with people who will love you almost instantly.”

“As opposed to my family?” Remy asked suspiciously.

“As opposed to spending Thanksgiving and Christmas alone,” Emile said with a shrug.

“I mean, I guess I could come,” Remy said. “Your parents would probably be all, ‘It’s nice to have your boyfriend here to help out’ at least when your grandfather isn’t around.” A beat. “What would we say if someone said that when your grandfather was around?”

“I have...no remote clue,” Emile said. “With any luck, though, that won’t be an issue.”

“And we shouldn’t worry too much anyway, right? After all, you’re an actor now, Mister,” Remy teased.

“Remy, I’m an understudy for a minor part in the local play. I went to support a friend in their audition and got roped into one myself. I’d hardly call myself proficient in acting, and anyway, while there may be overlap between acting and lying, you said yourself that I have a terrible poker face.” Emile shook his head. “I appreciate your confidence, but sadly, it’s misplaced.”

Remy pouted. “You’re sucking the fun out of this, Emile. And sapping my confidence in the situation.”

“All right, all right, sorry,” Emile said. “I’m trying to be honest, but if that doesn’t help I’ll stop.”

Remy shrugged. “Honestly, I do want to go, I just don’t want to get you in trouble with anyone.”

“You won’t,” Emile promised. “Together we can get through it. You’re not likely to mess up, I definitely won’t mess up, since I’ve had practice, and if we don’t tell any of my extended family the truth, then they can’t mess up either.”

“You’re trying really hard to reassure me,” Remy noted.

“Yeah,” Emile said. “Because I really want you to come with me. Even if we can’t spill the beans about our relationship yet. I want you to be there.”

Remy considered. “How likely is it Bernie will say we owe him if we go out of town?”

“In a serious way? Not at all. Joking? Eh, depends on the day,” Emile said with a shrug.

Remy went quiet again, before nodding. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Emile asked.

“Okay. I’ll come with you,” Remy said. “If you want me there, then I’ll be there for you. I’m not sure how I feel about the whole ‘early morning Mass’ thing you’ve talked about but...”

Emile laughed. “Don’t worry, I definitely can convince my parents to convince my grandfather to not force you to Mass on Christmas.”

“Oh.” A beat. “You’d do that for me?”

“Well, yeah. I get that church can make you uncomfortable; I’m not devout enough to go to Mass that early voluntarily. You won’t have to go unless my grandfather decides to be stubborn for no reason, and he’s rarely stubborn for no reason,” Emile said. “He doesn’t understand things like the LGBT community, but he does understand that religion can make some people uncomfortable, and he does his best to respect that.”

“He sounds like a good guy, mostly,” Remy said.

“He is, mostly,” Emile agreed. “He’s...he’s backwards in some areas, but he tries. And to me, all that matters is that he tries.”

“You could ask for more from him, you know,” Remy pointed out.

“But I doubt I would get it,” Emile sighed. “Listen, Rem, with my grandfather, I’ll take what I can get. It may hurt sometimes, but I try to be happy with what I can have, instead of letting myself down by expecting more.”

Remy grew quiet. “Why would you do that with your family but not allow me to do it with mine?”

“You hope for basic human decency,” Emile said. “Not just in the queer department, but in every department. My grandfather lets me have my autonomy at the end of the day. Your parents don’t.”

Remy sighed and rested his head on his hand, propped up by the arm rest. “I honestly don’t see why how many different places you’re asking for basic human decency would affect exactly how good it is to expect that from those people.”

“The more places you have to ask, the more places that it isn’t freely given, the less likely you are to have the autonomy that every person deserves,” Emile said with a shrug. “Like. It’s okay to have beliefs, but not to universalize them. Right?”

“Right...?” Remy agreed, tilting his head to the side.

“Well, the more you have to ask for your own autonomy, that means you’re dealing with more universalized beliefs. Like, your parents can go to church but you might not want to go. If you say you don’t want to go and they respect that, they’re not universalizing their beliefs. They’re giving you your autonomy. Which is your right, as a human individual, to have. That’s what they should do. But your parents don’t.”

“I still don’t understand,” Remy said, voice strained.

“Look. My grandfather doesn’t like gay people. He just doesn’t. But if I want to marry a man, he won’t forbid me from doing it. He has his beliefs, and he will speak up about his beliefs, but he won’t try to universalize them and make it so that I can’t marry a man. So when I’m asking for basic human decency, I’m asking that he doesn’t say he hates gay people around me. When you ask for basic human decency, you’re asking that people don’t universalize their beliefs so that you can make your own choices. And both of those things are basic human decency, but the morality of one versus the other has a significant imbalance. It’s worse to have to ask for autonomy than it is to ask for less hate speech. At least, that’s how I see it.”

Remy hummed. “I guess I understand. While both fall under the same category, one is more extreme than the other.”

“Exactly,” Emile said. “That’s where the difference is. I’m...I know that extremes can be up for interpretation, but the reason why I don’t want you to place hope on your parents is because what you’re asking for is a far more extreme change than they seem to be willing to give. I don’t...I don’t want you to be hurt when they say no. Because sooner or later, they will say no.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Remy sighed. “I guess that’s why you’ll take what you can get from your gramps?”

“Yeah,” Emile agreed, picking up his pencil and going back to studying. He had so much to do, and so little time. “I hope he gets better, but I’m not holding my breath.”

Remy stood and walked over, putting a hand on Emile’s shoulder. “How are you doing?” he asked.

Emile furrowed his brows. “I’m fine,” he said. “Why?”

“I know school’s been taking a toll on you,” Remy sighed. “And it’s a Sunday, meaning you have to go back tomorrow.”

The way Emile flinched minutely at that made Remy look concerned. Great. This was the last thing that Emile needed. Remy being worried for him over nothing would just make them both be stressed out. “I promise it’s nothing, sweetheart,” Emile said. “I’m just tired.”

“Yeah, no,” Remy said, pulling a chair back and sitting down next to Emile. “What’s going on? You handled everything easily last year, even with the job. I know what you’re like when you’re tired, Emile, and this isn’t it. You’re not tired. You’re...afraid.”

Emile sighed. “Afraid isn’t the right word,” he sighed. “It’s more like dread, if it’s anything at all.”

“Why are you dreading school? You enjoy college and getting to learn new things,” Remy said.

“Rem, it’s fine, I can handle this on my own,” Emile insisted.

“Will you at least tell me what ‘this’ is?” Remy asked softly.

Emile sighed. He didn’t want to say anything. He could handle this on his own, he didn’t want Remy stressing. It was a little thing, anyway. “There’s this guy in one of my classes,” Emile sighed. “We’re both fulfilling gym requirements. He found out I was bi from eavesdropping on a conversation I was having with one of the girls that we were playing volleyball with, and ever since he’s been antagonizing me, demanding I don’t look at him when we’re changing clothes, that sort of thing.”

“Ew,” Remy said, wrinkling his nose. “And you put up with him?”

“Well, I get the feeling that the gym coach really won’t want to hear that I’m bi,” Emile sighed. “He’s...well, let’s just say that sports at college are very hyper-masculine. He already doesn’t like me. Ratting out Dick would just make them both hate me.”

Remy shook his head. “Want me to talk to this...is his name really Dick?”

“Yep,” Emile laughed. “And he lives up to the title.”

“Clearly,” Remy said drily. “Want me to talk to him?”

“No,” Emile sighed. “Because that will just make everything worse.”

“You don’t know that for a fact,” Remy said. “And besides, wouldn’t it be nice if he actually listened and left you alone?”

“I don’t want you banned from the campus, Remy,” Emile laughed. “And you’d go ballistic on him. He’s one of those types, except you have no obligation to shut up and listen to him, unlike the unfortunate students in his classes. Besides...”

“Besides?” Remy prodded.

Emile sighed. “You don’t want to know, Remy.” He really, really hoped that there wouldn’t be a homicide if he admitted what Dick had told him.

“Maybe not, but any information is good information when you need to knock someone’s teeth in,” Remy said with a smirk.

Emile took a breath, hands balling into fists. “He said if I told anyone, he’d out me to the more...violent homophobes on campus.”

“He...he...I... what,” Remy growled. “I will kill him!”

“Remy, that’s not going to get us anywhere!” Emile insisted. “Except you banned from campus and possibly arrested!”

“It would be worth it if it meant you felt safe in your gym class,” Remy brushed off.

Emile shook his head. “I’m not going to get you to let this go, am I?”

“Not really!” Remy chirped.

Emile sighed. “Just...don’t french dip me in front of him, sound good?”

“He doesn’t deserve to see us be loving,” Remy said. “I’ll teach him a thing or two but he won’t be seeing us together, not if I have a say in it. He never has to know you told me. I’d never snitch on you.”

Emile laughed at that. “Thanks.”

#if there's a place i could be #sanders sides fanfiction #remile #emile picani #ts sleep

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