#and he's not even a homophobic tool using slurs or outing anyone

[chuplayswithfire]

this thought just hit me but it's got me in my chest, its really got me here, but i don't think edward is actually a violent person at all. violence is a tool of the trade and a means to an end and he's absolutely aggressive as a front, but we don't really actually see ed being physically violent when its not for a job until the very end of the season, and i don't think that's a mistake.

ed's primary response to feeling humiliated or threatened is to threaten others, but he doesn't actually attack them. think about the french captain - when that man uses a slur against him, he gets up, he yells, he raises his voice, but the man is on the ground in front of him in a heap, perfectly vulnerable, and ed never once touches him when he's screaming and yelling, even when it might be easy and expected for him to kick him around.

he orders fang to kill the man, and in an exceedingly horrible fashion, absolutely, and its an expression of his anger, but its also about setting an example and reputation. you use racial slurs against blackbeard? you insult blackbeard? you die screaming horribly.

and ed doesn't watch. ed doesn't have it happen in front of him. ed doesn't even seem to enjoy it so much as he's fucking furious and setting an example, but he never gets his own hands dirty with it.

in the same way, when he threatens someone for the loot - its the clearest example of him turning aggression on like a switch, stabbing a knife, threatening violence, but never actually USING violence.

on the party boat, in that horrible moment at the party? his response is to get up and make himself bigger and louder and threaten but again, he doesn't try to hurt anyone. we see that he HAD his weapon, and there were plenty of knives at that table, and blackbeard could absolutely take down a bunch of snobby, snotty, rich punks. but he DOESN'T. he flees, and only thinks about actually engaging in violence when he's too far away to do it. and he lets himself be talked down in seconds.

when we actually see ed commit some physical violence for the first time, its against his abusive father, in what appears to be at least a slightly premeditated kill to remove his father from his and his mother's life. we see that ed's father smacked his mother around, that he threw plates, that he was a drunk and expressed his frustrations with violence - and killing him would appear to be the last time ed struck out at a PERSON in violence that wasn't about the job

(person because he did kill that snake viciously and with prejudice, though i think thats reasonable tbh. reminds me of myself with the broom every time i see a bug in my house -)

even with calico jack, ed's violence is all games and fun - shooting bottles, shooting drawers, getting whipped, staging a turtle vs crab fight, throwing coconuts at each other - and the only time he gets physical otherwise is when he snaps jack's oar over his leg and dives off the boat. even though finding out your friends have been sold out by one of your oldest buddies is absolutely the time most people would throw a punch, ed doesn't.

the first time we see him be violent towards a person in the present is with izzy when he punches him in the face directly after being released into his care and being told stede's going to die now, because of izzy. stede, who ed loves and who izzy KNOWS ed loves and who ed knows izzy knows ed loves, just to make that sentence more confusing. it's the first time we see ed react with violence and its equal parts to get away and defend stede as it is because of the emotional upheaval.

the next time we see ed lash out with violence is after he endures a truly terrible amount of homophobic aggression from izzy. it's emotional and verbal abuse, but its also just, such utter homophobic aggression, and this might be controversial but i think its perfectly RIGHT that ed strike izzy in that moment. when someone tells a queer person that their affection, their love, their mourning, their grief and loss for their partner makes them a THING that should have been killed, that doesn't deserve to live, that they would be better off dead than being openly affectionately mourningly queer? that person actually does deserve to face some physical violence!

fuck that shit!

izzy absolutely deserved to get the shit KICKED out of him in that moment, but its not about what izzy deserves, its about what ed needs, and what ed did not need was to be kicked at his lowest with every sore spot to goad him into violence (reasonable, understandable, VALID violence) that absolutely seemed to take him right back to his father, to that abuse. there's a reason ed didn't just become blackbeard again, but the kraken, who was born in ed's survival instinct but also his need to escape an abusive situation. ed becomes the kraken again because he is horrified at himself and terrified of himself and what he's become, if he can be like his father and lash out with violence when he's angry, and because izzy *validates* that and tells him that this thing he hates is all he can be.

but ed isn't naturally inclined to violence, its not his natural state, its a defense mechanism that kicks in when all else is lost. we KNOW its not just because of disrespect because izzy?

izzy is utterly disrespectful to edward at various points in the show. izzy calls him a twat to his face. izzy questions him. izzy insults him and yells at him and edward laughs it off and shrugs it away and changes the conversation and leaves the conversation. izzy initiates violence at every turn with so many characters, and ed doesn't step up to the plate to dish any out until the very end, when he's hurt and vulnerable and doesn't think he can get away from this. i DON'T think that ed has been violent with izzy this whole time, in their history. it doesn't fit with ed's behavior. it doesn't fit with izzys - izzy would have called ed out on it, if ed normally punched or slapped or choked izzy for insubordination, because its clearly part of their regular routine.

this is why it means so much that ed shoves lucius over, barely seeming to be present, fully emotionally distanced, that he cuts izzy's toe off in the dark and makes him eat it in a show of calculated violence without much emotion at all, has the crew marooned with utter calm, and then has a sobbing breakdown the second he's behind closed doors. violence has been part of his life as part of the job, not as an emotional outlet, and its killing him to make it one.

#ofmd #our flag means death #ofmd meta #edward teach #izzy hands #ofmd spoilers #domestic violence #for the stuff about mom teach and dad teach

[angelhummel]

ahhhhh as usual everyone is entitled to their own opinions and headcanons and whatever the fuck but every time i see a post about finn being not straight i just

like this man is out here using homophobic slurs and outing someone against their will just for you to see him standing next to another dude and be like “bi disaster” “haha gay panic” “bisexual himbo king” like ok

#glee #lol glee #anti finn hudson #lol finn hudson #ignore me im mad lol #oh finn instantly regretted using slurs! he knew he messed up! #also ignore the next time he used slurs bc he also knew he messed up and was so so sowwy uwu #oh he didnt meeeaan to publicly out santana #yes it happened in a populated school hallway in the middle of the day and plenty of people were around #but he was only looking at her and talking to her so its like he didnt even notice #obviously he didnt want other people to hear #bc he existed in a fucking vacuum with santana in that moment obviously #how was he supposed to know people would hear him??? beyond me #also only semi related but i swear to god half the fandom talk about finn like he's just sam lmao #like sam is right there #sam also makes mistakes he has to learn from #and he's not even a homophobic tool using slurs or outing anyone #crazy how he could just not do that wow #me and my sister watched a video that was like the whole glee club being not straight #and it had finn and something about *gay panic* and i was like oh puh leeeeze #and my sister was like 'no finn just saw a gay person and started panicking' like yeah that seems more likely

[aphroditeslesbian]

I posted 4,283 times in 2021

71 posts created (2%)

4212 posts reblogged (98%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 59.3 posts.

I added 160 tags in 2021

#august rants - 116 posts

#ask games - 7 posts

#supernatural - 6 posts

#spn - 6 posts

#destiel - 5 posts

#anti religion - 5 posts

#q slur - 5 posts

#don't reblog - 4 posts

#books - 3 posts

#to read - 3 posts

Longest Tag: 132 characters

#reblogging this bc u were just so gosh darn sweet to take the time to rec all these!!! all of these are going in my country playlist

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

I'm just gonna say it once... Lil Nas X's video is not good for the fight for homosexual rights. It paints gay men as overly sexual, wearing make up and heels as if those are good, freeing things. He is also "reclaiming" the connection between being gay and being satanic/evil/sinful which... Are we really up for that, especially in a "serious"/unironic context? I sure am not willing to have my homosexuality connected with antigod/sinful shit, bc I don't even believe in god, let alone this Christian god... And this is still very much used against us (homosexuals), as we are seen as evil, sexually perverse, sinful.

I also follow mostly supposed radfems or gender critical feminists or lesbian feminists... And it's tiresome to only see uncritical praise. This video was not good for women, it was not good for lesbians, like I said it isn't even good for gay men... So I don't understand.

Men trivializing make up and heels, tools which are used against women, to keep us uncomfortable within ourselves, is not a service, even if it were a fully positive message in the gay rights front (which, as established, it isn't).

I think it's amazing that Lil Nas X is open and outspoken about being gay, that is clearly awesome, especially since there's not nearly enough out black gay men in the public light.

That being said not every action he takes, no matter how he himself perceives it, is politically positive to gay people (let alone to women, though I understand that only matters to feminists, and is a separate issue from gay rights). Take off your rose colored glasses. If you are a feminist you should be analysing this from a different perspective. I'm not saying cancel him, I'm just saying he is not exempt from criticism. Or at least he shouldn't be. My dash lately has been disappointingly blind to the negative connotations of this video.

49 notes • Posted 2021-04-01 14:58:46 GMT

#4

I imagine that pride month and rainbow flags were meant to be fun. I will never know that experience. We were supposed to be allowed to enjoy bright colors and celebrations of our lives as same sex attracted individuals.

Capitalism and post modernism have made the world such a shit pile that to me rainbows are literally symbols of the homophobic heterosexuals who go around telling lesbians they should be available to date men. They've twisted the actual concept of oppression and homophobia to such an extent they literally are able to overlay other flags over the rainbow flag and call that progress. They erase the lesbian flag (and by that I mean the labrys flag), and call it a "TERF" flag.

I'm honestly just tired of seeing homophobes and misogynists being centered during "pride". Pride month and pride parades have no meaning anymore, and I know too many lesbians who don't feel welcome or happy during these times that were supposed to be about community and joy among other same sex attracted individuals, among homosexual people.

Pride is now a celebration of heterosexuality, of medically abusing children, of fetishes, and of males in power. Words mean nothing among self-proclaimed qu**r people (aka heterosexuals with a desire to be special) and at the end of the day pride was coopted as no more than a marketing strategy centered on upkeeping the status quo.

65 notes • Posted 2021-06-10 00:51:20 GMT

#3

Random request..... Is there anyone out here who listens to country music and could make some recs? Looking for female artists only

177 notes • Posted 2021-07-08 03:16:28 GMT

#2

Let's take feminist action. This video is about a project to get cloth pads to teen girls in Eastern Kenema Sierra Leone. You can help by creating a Hygiene Kit yourself and shipping it by September 1st 2021 (more info on the video), or by donating [here]. Their goal is £5k, and they are at only 39% of that goal as of right now (June 8th 2021).

251 notes • Posted 2021-06-08 09:29:08 GMT

#1

Hi! I saw your comment about “new radfems” not reading radfem theory and I was wondering if you could list some resources or tell me where to find some? I’ve only recently started to read radfem blogs and I really want to get into it more, and not just read posts about it. Thank you so much, I appreciate your blog!

Hey! I'm really glad you want to do your research, it is heartwarming to know the newbies out there actually want to study the theory.

I think The Second Sex by Simone de Beauvoir is probably one of the most important and complete books in the path to understanding Radical Feminism. It is also super long and daunting, so while I do think it should be a read-in-progress for all of us, I think it's important to have more "beginner friendly" books, in order to avoid burn out. [link to pdf]

I've been into radical feminism since 2017 now, and I'm not a great reader, so for those of us who find it hard to focus for too long, I think Andrea Dworkin is also a good place to start. Her books are filled with rage – and important analysis. I find her language easier to keep up with, more approachable if you will. Woman Hating was my first [pdf]. You can find all of her other works [here] as well.

The book that made me want to really read more and get educated is honestly A Politically Incorrect Feminist: Creating a Movement with Bitches, Lunatics, Dykes, Prodigies, Warriors, and Wonder Women, by Phyllis Chesler. It's an autobiography, and gives some great insight on what it was like to be involved directly in the Second Wave, and also why sisterhood is powerful and needed, but also not easy to achieve. It gave me hope, and helped me to see radical feminism in a new refreshed light. You can get the audiobook for free as an [Audible trial].

[Radfem.org] has some other books handy as well

And [here] is a post with some other feminist books.

My current to-read list, as offered by a dear friend who's been involved with radical feminism for the past 10+ years, is as follows:

> The Second Sex - Simone de Beauvoir (a current read-in-progress for me)

> Lesbian Nation - Jill Johnston [borrow]

> For Lesbians Only: A Separatist Anthology - Sarah Lucia Hoagland, Julia Penelope [borrow]

> Sappho was a Right-on Woman: A Liberated View of Lesbianism [borrow]

> The Lesbian Revolution: Lesbian Feminism in the UK 1970-1990 - Sheila Jeffreys

> The Wanderground - Sally Miller Gearhart [borrow]

> Woman Hating - Andrea Dworkin

> Intercourse - Andrea Dworkin [pdf]

> SCUM Manifesto - Valerie Solanas [pdf]

> Lesbian origins - Susan Cavin [borrow]

> Sisterhood is Powerful - Robin Morgan [pdf]

> Like There's No Tomorrow - Carolyn Cage [pdf]

> The Lesbian Heresy: A Feminist Perspective on the Lesbian Sexual Revolution - Sheila Jeffrey [pdf]

> Gyn/Ecology - Mary Daly [pdf]

Okay so now I flooded you with reading material... What next? How do you even get started, how do you tackle this?

I think first of all it's really important to find community. There are discord servers out there for radical feminists and gender critical women, communities which are open to you, and were made for women just like you. Surround yourself with women, build yourself up with them. Don't just say your politics are woman centric, but actually make your life woman centric. And read up. Study. Trade notes, ask questions, question... Everything. Be critical. Not just of your past beliefs, but of this new information. Where is it coming from? Who wrote it? What do they gain from it? Who loses if they win?

Be aware that radical feminism is a political movement. It can be heavy. Unfortunately, we deal with the knowledge that the world is ugly, especially ugly towards women. Part of radical feminism is addressing borrow such as human trafficking, pedophilia, incest, and the likes. Have positive things to balance this out, take breaks, take your time. Work against overwhelming yourself. You can do this.

Apply the same kindness you'd offer other women to yourself, and treat yourself with respect. Reach out! To me, to others. We're here for you. We have space for you. We'll make time, we'll try our best. I just spent an hour finding these links for you. Not because you owe me anything, or vice versa. But because I care that you have a good experience of it. We are stronger together.

Anyway, take care. Good luck!

2776 notes • Posted 2021-02-12 01:58:10 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

[harringrovetrashrat]

#41 and #11 but they are playing straight in front of the other guests (?)

I… don’t know what happened here, but this got away from me.  I was originally gonna do something cute and tongue in cheek and Billy and Steve getting it on in a closet and then pretending they didn’t just suck face, and then the angst came a knocking and took over.  And this all just kinda happened.

I hope you enjoy, anon!  (And no worries, I still plan to write the other one ;) )

TW for homophobic language (the f slur)

#41 SPIN THE BOTTLE and #11 “YOU CALL THAT A KISS?”

Steve was on the couch, watching the party around him as he nursed his drink.  It was almost spring break now, and he had started to go back to parties.  Mostly because Billy still loved parties and since Steve and Billy were friends, Steve went.  Wasn’t harassed by Tommy with Billy there.  Well, not as much.  He was still sour over the fact that Steve had dumped him and Carol, been easy pickings, and then suddenly usurped Tommy’s role as Billy’s right hand man.  And he made sure Steve knew it.

But free booze and drugs were free booze and drugs, and Steve was still stressed from last fall.  Stressed about school.  Stressed about Billy.

He and Billy had been fooling around for a few months now.  It had started around Christmas when they both found themselves at the Quarry.  They’d been on better terms since the tunnels, forming a sort of friendship, and then that night, after drinking whiskey to keep warm, Billy had kissed him.  Steve hadn’t known until it happened how much he had been wanting it to happen.  Hadn’t realized that that was what those feelings were.  Had kissed back ferociously and sloppily, until they had parted, panting and red lipped.  Since then, they’d continued, unable to keep their hands off each other for too long.

It was hard though, of course.  School was easier with them being friends now, but even so, Billy had never been overly affectionate with anyone, and it would have been noticeable if he’d been different with Steve.  So they were careful.  And the ways it could go wrong, especially for Billy, made Steve worry.

He was lost in thought when there was some shouting from the den.  Steve stood, pushing through the slightly smaller crowd, to find a circle of teens with a bottle in the middle.  He snorted, rolling his eyes a little.  He thought this game had stopped being cool, but there was no limit to what drunks found entertaining.  Steve spotted Billy, being forced into the circle by Krissy, and it made him prickle with jealousy.  He sat between Tammy and Lucy, not about to idly watch Billy kiss girls.  They met eyes across the circle and Billy raised a brow.  Steve just shrugged, but Billy knew him too well, and he got that smug smirk he always got when Steve made it apparent how clingy he was.  Billy was into it, luckily enough.

“I’ll start!” Carol called, spinning the empty beer bottle.  It landed on some dude from the football team, and Tommy frowned when they kissed.  The game continued, boring and kind of annoying, until Tammy landed on Nicole and all the guys cheered, chanting for them to kiss.  The girls played it up, using obvious tongue and moaning obnoxiously.  Steve thought he would have been into it, probably would have been before Nancy and everything, but they were so obnoxious, it made his insides squirm in a bad way.  Billy just looked bored.

After that, the game carried on simply enough until Steve, who had gotten a simple peck from Stacey, spun the bottle, and it landed on Billy.  The room quieted, many sets of eyes darting between the two.  They met eyes across the circle, Billy’s smirk growing, and Steve turned bright red.

“Come on!” Tammy called.  “We did it!”

“Yeah!” Nicole agreed.  “Do it!  Do it!” The boys in the room looked decidedly uncomfortable, but they were playing it by ear.  If Billy didn’t care, they wouldn’t care.  At least outwardly.  Billy cracked his neck and leered at Steve.

“Well, well King Steve,” he said, tongue flicking across his top teeth as his eyes glinted dangerously.  Steve tried to subtly adjust himself.  “We gonna give the ladies what they ask for?  Or are you chicken?” Steve rolled his eyes, but smirked before he leaned across the circle and pecked Billy on the lips.  There was a tittering from the crowd and Tammy yelled,

“You seriously call that a kiss?” Steve locked eyes with Billy again, a fire churning low in his gut.  It wasn’t that he didn’t wanna kiss Billy; of fucking course he did.  He just wasn’t sure he wanted to do it right here right now.  Especially when Billy was looking at him like that.

Billy gave him a quirk of the brow, one Steve had come to recognize as Do you trust me?  And Steve did.  So he let Billy yank him in, smile wide and devious, before shoving his tongue into Steve’s mouth.  He bit back a moan, doing his best to make it look like he was only pretending to enjoy threading his fingers in Billy’s hair.  The noise around them stuttered to a stop, silence sweeping in until they pulled apart, panting and red lipped.  There was a beat before Steve gave a small quirk of the lips, and held out his hand.

“Not bad, Hargrove,” he said, letting the cockiness King Steve had worn as his crown out just a bit.  Billy’s eyes flashed and he licked his lips obscenely.

“Next time tug on my hair a little harder,” he replied with a wink.  The room erupted into noise.  The girls were staring, eyes wide, smiles big, obviously pleased with the show they got.  The boys were trying to act like they didn’t care, but were obviously not expecting either of them to have gone through with it.  But no one wanted to look lame in front of Mr. California.

Billy settled back and rested his hand on Krissy’s knee.  It helped Steve’s chub go down, but it also made his stomach twist.  It’s what needed to happen.  Rationally, he knew that.  But fuck.  Fuck he wanted to fucking shove his tongue down Billy’s throat without anyone making a fuss.  Without fucking fear.  Without having to make it a fucking joke.

“I mean, it’s a little gay though, dude,” Steve heard Mark say.  “Like, kissing another guy?”

“Get your panties untwisted,” Billy grumbled around the cigarette he was lighting.  “Shit only means shit if you want it to.  You really think each hooker is into the guy she’s fucking?  Nah man.” He exhaled the smoke into Mark’s face, making him cough.  “They go where the money is.”

“Yeah but you didn’t get paid to do that,” Tommy said, sneering just a little.  He’d never been the most open minded, and even Billy’s status couldn’t keep him from opening his fat mouth.

“Lemme give you some education, amigo,” Billy said, voice sharp, eyes even sharper.  “Chicks dig confidence.  They dig you showing off how comfortable you are with yourself, yeah?” He leaned forward, the cherry of his cigarette getting dangerously close to Tommy’s face.  “You get paid in pussy for shit like that, Hagan.” His eyes glinted and Tommy flinched back, just the slightest.  The rest of the guys seemed to mull this over, not wanting to argue with someone who was known to violently burst.  Especially when drunk.

“It’s still gross,” Tommy mumbled, not meeting Billy’s eye.  Billy rolled his eyes and pulled back, exhaling the smoke as he pinched the cigarette between his thumb and middle finger.

“Hagan, I have seen you eat out of the trash,” he droned, smirking more when Tommy went red and the girls around laughed at him.  “And you didn’t get paid.”

“Whatever,” Tommy grumbled, anger pouring off of him.  Krissy seemed to get tired of the conversation.

“Billy,” she cooed into his ear, hand rubbing up his thigh.  Steve clenched his fists and tried to will that angry little green monster away.  Those were his thighs too feel up, his chest to admire, and his lips to kiss.  “The game’s a bust.  Maybe we should just say that your spin landed on me?” Steve stood up abruptly and headed for the kitchen.  The sounds of the group in the next room were quieter and he took some calming breaths.  He grabbed an open bottle of tequila and poured himself a shot, tossing it back easily.

“Got what you wanted, huh?” Tommy’s voice cut through the quiet in the kitchen like a knife.  Steve turned, frowning.  He hadn’t even noticed Tommy had followed him.

“What?” Steve replied, because he was jealous, tired, and needed a fucking drink if he had to watch Krissy Simpson suck face with his boyfriend all night.  Well, kind of boyfriend.  They hadn’t really made it a thing, not out loud, but Steve could think about it however he wanted.  And boy, did he want Billy to be his boyfriend.  It was a vaguely sobering thought.

“I see the way you look at him,” Tommy sneered, voice low.  It made Steve’s hands clammy but he rolled his eyes.

“Are you fucking kidding me man?” Steve asked.  “Look at him like what?  Like he’s an obnoxious tool that happens to be my friend?”

“You look at him like you looked at Wheeler.” It was like Steve had been drenched in ice water.  He couldn’t help the way his breath stuttered and his eyes widened.  Tommy grabbed a beer from the ice tub, eyes never leaving Steve.  “So,” he repeated, words slow, calculated, and cruel, “Did you,” he popped the tab, “Get what,” he moved closer to Steve, who found he couldn’t breathe, “You wanted?”

“Fuck off, Tommy,” Steve bit out, trying to ignore the wiggling in his stomach.  The nerves that threatened to burst.  Tommy slammed the beer on the counter and shoved Steve up against the fridge, magnets clattering to the ground as Steve let out a whoosh of air.

“I’m not stupid,” he hissed.  “You look at him all the fucking time.  Bet you were just praying that the bottle would land on him.  Fucking disgusting.” Steve turned red in embarrassment and anger, shoving Tommy back, despite the fact that his nerves were making him feel like throwing up.

“I said fuck off,” he repeated through gritted teeth.  “You’d don’t know shit.”  Tommy shoved him in retaliation and Steve cursed when the corner of the counter jabbed into his back.

“I’ve known you since we were kids,” Tommy said, an old hurt laced in his voice.  “I know plenty.  Like how you were the one who said we should practice kissing, you were the one who always wanted to fucking holds hands, you were the one who–”

“Shut up!” Steve yelled, shoving Tommy back again.  This gathered some attention from the other room, finally, and people crept in the doorway, ready to watch a fight.  “You think you know me, but you don’t know fucking anything,” he spat out.  He was shaking, angry and scared, and his hands curled into fists at his sides.  Tommy didn’t bother acknowledging the crowd, but his mean grin meant he knew they were there.

“Does he know?” He asked, taking a step forward.  “Is that how you climbed back up the ladder?  King Steve, down on his knees, just fucking begging to su–” Steve punched Tommy in the jaw, fury boiling over, heated by fear.  The crowd ‘ooh’d.  Tommy stumbled back, but recovered quickly enough and tackled Steve to the floor.  They grappled, cheers from the group egging them on.

Tommy got the upper hand, as he usually did, and punched Steve so hard his head spun.  He spit some blood on the floor next to him and bucked, trying to dislodge the other boy.  Tommy just sneered and reared back to punch him again when he was being hauled off.  Billy pulled him by his collar, making him choke ever so slightly.  His eyes were dark and furious, teeth bared and glinting as he pushed Tommy against the counter until he hissed.

“You’re really pushing your limits tonight, Hagan,” he said, voice low and dangerous.  The room buzzed with energy, tense and excited.  Tommy bristled, but didn’t shove Billy, though he was clearly itching to.  Billy leaned closer and tilted his head.  “Well?  You gonna tell me why you were beating up on Harrington?”

“‘Cause he’s a fucking–”

“Just leave it, Billy,” Steve said, finally getting up.  The alcohol and fight had made his legs wobbly.  Billy turned to look at him, earring glinting in the light as it swung.  “It’s nothing.”

“Didn’t look like nothing.”

“Tommy’s being a fucking douche, what’s new.” Billy snorted and Tommy surged forward again, pressed back into the counter with a hiss by Billy’s arm.  “Fuck this,” he said, giving Tommy the finger.  “I’m fucking leaving, alright?” He was so goddamn tired of this evening.

“It’s ‘cause I’m right, isn’t it,” Tommy sneered.  Steve just shook his head and pushed through the crowd, ignoring the way everyone stared at him.

“Right about what?” He heard Billy ask.  And Steve froze a little, because Tommy running his mouth to Steve was one thing, but running it to Billy?  It wasn’t like Billy didn’t know, obviously, but he didn’t want to have to hear this.  Have to hear Billy tearing him down because kissing for a joke was one thing, but someone actually being gay?  That wasn’t going to fly, even if Billy tried to play it off.  Steve looked back and wished he hadn’t because Tommy looked fucking gleeful.  Like Steve had given him a fucking present.

“That Steve wants to suck your dick,” he said conversationally.  The room quieted and Steve heard the feet of the people next to him shuffling away.  Felt the panic creeping up on him.  Felt like he was definitely going to throw up.  Billy took a step back from Tommy, not expecting that to come out of his mouth.  Steve just shook his head and let out a shaky laugh.

“You’re delusional, Hagan.  No need to project your feelings onto me.” He was glad his voice didn’t waver.  Tommy snarled and jerked forward to go at Steve again, but Carol’s hand on his arm stopped him.

“Fuck you,” he seethed, arms trembling from holding himself back.  “You disgusting fucking faggot.” Steve didn’t let his reaction show, just stared Tommy down, wishing he hadn’t come to this stupid fucking party.  Billy was just staring, eyes wide, like he didn’t know how to proceed.  How to say anything to Tommy that didn’t incriminate them both.  And Steve– Steve suddenly didn’t care.  They had just over 2 months of school left and it wasn’t like Steve cared about any of these people.  They’d dropped him the minute he wasn’t in and had only accepted him back because Billy willed it.

“And what if I am,” he said, surprised at how even his voice was.  He could hear the ripple through the crowd, could see the way Billy tensed up.  “What if I am a fucking faggot?” He walked towards Tommy, who seemed surprised at Steve’s sudden turn.  “At least I’m not a fucking piece of shit like you.  At least I don’t suck dick and kiss ass for power in a fucking high school.” Tommy went red, baring his teeth.  Steve sneered.  “At least I’m not a fucking coward.” Tommy swung again, but this time Steve was ready.  Knew it was coming.  So he used Tommy’s weight to pull on his arm and flip him over onto the ground.  He slammed into the cupboards under the counter and some cups of unfinished punch tipped over and dripped down on him.  Steve turned and high tailed it without stopping to look at Billy.  Wasn’t sure he could.  People parted like the red sea for him, eyes wide.

When he finally got to his car, Steve’s hands were shaking.  He fumbled with his keys, panic starting to set in.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he hissed, throwing his keys to the ground.  He pressed the meat of his palms to his eyes until he saw stars, trying to will away the tears threatening to leak out.  What a fucking shit show.  He took a few shaky breaths before crouching, turning to lean his back against his car.  “I’m such a fucking idiot…” After a few calming breaths Steve grabbed his keys from the asphalt, got in his car, and drove away.  He wished Billy had followed him out.  He wished a lot of things.

Steve didn’t bother to take off his shoes when he got home, heading straight for his father’s study.  His whiskey was off limits, but Steve didn’t give a shit anymore.  Wanted to fucking blackout and forget the night ever happened.  Forget the cold shoulder he’d certainly be getting come Monday morning.  He didn’t bother with a glass, just drank straight out of the decanter as he went to the living room, collapsing onto the couch.  The whiskey burned in the right way and Steve reveled in the feeling as he wallowed.

“Good going, Stevie,” he mumbled to himself.  “Ruin the one good thing you had going for ya.” He took another gulp of whiskey, already starting to feel more pleasantly warm again.  “Just, just had to prove a point… Just had to get one over Tommy.” He blinked through the tears that had started to fall.  “Had to prove a point.” He curled in on himself, whimpering.  “You fucking dumbass.” The decanter slipped from his fingers and thudded to the floor, the whiskey dribbling out.  Steve didn’t move to pick it up or clean it.  Just sat there, curled in on himself, until he fell asleep.

He woke up to something banging on the glass doors of the living room.  Everything was blurry with sleep and he groaned as he sat up.  It was still dark out, so it couldn’t have been long.  He rubbed at his eyes and turned to look, jumping when he saw the shadowy figure.

“Harrington!” Steve tensed up at Billy’s voice.  Found he wanted to get up but couldn’t move.  “Harrington for fuck’s sake, lemme in!” Steve got up and stumbled to the back door, fumbling with the lock.  Billy ripped it open the moment he could and he surged forward.  Steve flailed and moved backwards, running into the coffee table and falling on his ass with a thud.  He looked up at Billy, eyes wide with panic, and felt his lungs starting to get tight.  Billy looked down at him, his face unreadable.  Or Steve was just really, really fucking drunk.  Probably both.  Neither of them spoke, the only sound in the room Steve’s quick breathing.

“W-What do you want, Hargrove,” Steve said, unable to take the waiting.  Figured he’d prompt the fight that was bound to happen, since they’d talked a lot about secrecy and how Neil couldn’t know.  Billy’s jaw twitched.

“What the fuck was that?” Steve swallowed and looked away.

“I know,” Steve whispered.  “He was just– He fucking– Fuck!” Steve buried his face in his hands again.  “Tommy just gets under my fucking skin and he figured it out anyway and I just– I’m so tired of hanging out with people who pretend to give a shit only when it benefits them.  I’m tired of pretending like I care about any of this, this bullshit.  I just–” He deflated a little, hands still covering his face.  “I’m sorry,” he whimpered.  “I’m sorry.” Steve jerked when he felt a hand on his shoulder, pushing himself back along the coffee table.  He hyperventilated, panic seizing him, and when he looked at Billy, he seemed shocked.

“I–” Billy stammered, thrown.  “I’m not gonna hurt you.” Steve swallowed with difficulty and let Billy touch his shoulder again.  The blonde’s brow furrowed and he crouched so he was eye level with Steve.  “What did he even say to you?”

“Why?” Steve asked.  “Why does it matter?  We can’t– I mean– Why are you here?” Billy licked his lips and looked down nervously.  He bit his lip, weighing his options as Steve watched him, wary.

“It’s– I’m–” He let out a harsh breath through his nose.  “I was worried,” he mumbled.  Steve blinked.

“What.” Billy blushed and grit his teeth, still looking away.

“I was worried.  Because you were fucking drunk and still drove home.” He licked his lips again and looked at Steve.

“So… You’re not here to fight me?” Billy let out a strangled sound and ducked his head.

“Oh my god,” he muttered under his breath.  “No, I’m not here to fight you.”

“But aren’t you mad?  I mean, I fucked everything up.” Billy watched, face carefully blank.  “And honestly I– I can’t do this.” Billy’s face crumpled and he stood.

“Oh.” Steve could see his hands clenching and unclenching.  “I guess I’ll just leave then.” He moved for the door and Steve’s still very drunk brain worked in overdrive to figure out what the fuck was happening.

“Wait, Billy–” He stood and the room started to spin, making him trip himself up and he fell to the floor with a hard thump.  He groaned and wished that he could wake up from whatever fucking nightmare the world had cursed him with.  Calloused hands gripped his arms and hauled him up, Billy’s frowning face suddenly right in front of his.  Steve couldn’t help himself.  He kissed him.  When Billy pulled back Steve winced.  “Sorry, I know you don’t want me to–”

“What?” Billy furrowed his brow.  “What do you mean I don’t want you to?”

“‘Cause I outed myself.  So you don’t wanna see me anymore.  ‘Cause your dad’s a dillhole.” Billy’s mouth opened slightly and he blinked away his confusion before ducking his head again.

“Oh my god, I’m a fucking idiot, of course you–” He sighed and looked up, shaking his head as he hauled Steve to his feet.  “Come on, pretty boy,” he grunted as he heaved all of Steve’s weight up and onto the couch.  Steve let him, turning his head to press a kiss to Billy’s hand when he pulled away.  He made a face.

“Sorry, I just–”

“Stop apologizing.” Steve snapped his mouth shut and looked away.  Then Billy was turning his head back, making him look him in the eye.  Steve felt his heart speed up.  Billy’s gaze was intense and searching.  “What did Hagan say to you?”

“He just– He just implied some shit about me sucking your dick that’s it.” Steve licked his lips.

“You’re lying.”

“No, I’m just not telling you everything.”

“That’s lying by omission, baby,” Billy replied with a fond smirk.  Steve let out a heartfelt sigh, unable to stop himself.

“I love it when you call me pet names,” he mumbled into Billy’s palm.  He could feel that his face was flushed, but whether it was because of what he admitted or the alcohol, he wasn’t sure.  When he looked at Billy from under his lashes, his ears were pink and there was a flush spreading down his neck.

“Yeah?” He whispered.  Steve nodded and looked away again.

“Tommy–  Tommy knows a lot about me,” he said, voice soft.  “Fuck, he was my first kiss, not that he’d ever admit it.” Steve could feel the way Billy tensed and he smiled a little to himself.  “So he knows when I’m in love.  Knows what it looks like.” There was a sharp intake of breath from Billy, but Steve couldn’t look.  He couldn’t.  “He said that I look at you like I looked at Nancy.  That’s how he knew.” Billy was quiet except for some ragged breathing, but he hadn’t pulled away.  Steve turned to look and, oh.  Billy was staring at him, eyes dragging slowly over his face.  Face flushed and mouth slightly open as his thumb made small circles on Steve’s cheek.

“You look at me like you looked at Wheeler?” His voice was hushed, full of wonder.  Steve’s breath hitched and his eyes darted to Billy’s lips.  He nodded dumbly.

“I can’t do this,” he said, speaking quickly so Billy wouldn’t run, “Because if you hated me, if you didn’t want this as much as I do, I– I couldn’t– I can’t pretend like I don’t love you.” Billy kissed him then, soft and sweet and nothing like the kisses they usually shared.  He pulled back enough so he could speak.

“We’re gonna figure this out, okay?  But it’s not gonna be easy– If my dad–”

“I’ve got a bat with nails in it and I’m friends with the police chief,” Steve said, bratty and so full of emotion he wasn’t sure what to do with it all.  “I’d like to see him try.” Billy smiled against his lips.

“And Hagan?”

“Tommy’s never scared me.” He paused.  “Carol scares me though.”

“Yeah, she was out for your balls after you left,” Billy chuckled.  His face dropped a little and he pulled back.  “I couldn’t– I didn’t know what to say after–”

“Honestly,” Steve mumbled into Billy’s palm, which still hadn’t left his face, “I don’t give a shit.  And I’m too drunk to care about it right now.” Billy’s smiling lips pressed against his again.  “Also, I don’t think I can get upstairs,” he mumbled.

“Lucky for us you’re a rich bitch who has a huge couch.” Steve snorted but his eyes were closing.

“Get up here and fucking cuddle me, you dickhead.” He fell asleep to the sound of Billy’s laughter.

#billy hargrove #steve harrington #harringrove #tommy hagan #angst with a hopeful ending #homophobic language #anon #prompt fic #ask

[spaceskam]

this will be the last time.

my friend @theyismyfamily-blog sent me this writing prompt at like midnight and who am i to say no to a challenge

Summary: alex gets a second chance warning: fuck ton of violence, a homophobic slur 

"Did you eat breakfast?”

“Should I have?”

Irritated eyes turned Alex’s way, zeroing in on him as if he was an active target. Sometimes he thought that’s exactly what he was.

“You’ll have to walk to school, your brother isn’t here to take you and you’ve missed the bus. I’m assuming that alarm clock we got you isn’t functioning, is it?” his dad said. Alex gave a tight smile and wordlessly grabbed his bag, heading out the front door.

The walk to school wasn’t a bad one, but it sure as hell wasn’t one he wanted to make. The entire twenty-minute walk was spent debating if he should even go at all. What was the point? It was hell at school, hell at home, hell almost anywhere in between. Sometimes he considered hopping on a bus and just disappearing. No one would miss him.

Actually, maybe Kyle would. Who else would he call names and shove into lockers? Surely that would put a dent in his day.

He was almost angry with himself when he did indeed see the school come into view.  It had already started a few minutes prior, so maybe he’d be able to sneak in without having to face anyone who hated him.  Except everyone did, so maybe he wouldn’t be so lucky.

Alex couldn’t exactly pinpoint a day that everything went to shit. He recalled being a relatively happy kid. But then his brothers hit him. And then his dad joined in. And then kids at school started being mean. And then his mom left. And then his only friend joined the mean kids.  He knew it had to have happened over the course of at least a year, but, still, it felt like he blinked and everything had turned against him.

He’d tried being nice, but that didn’t help. He’d tried fighting back, but that just made them laugh. He tried making himself look scary so they’d back off‒that just made them laugh even more.  So, now, he just turned his brain off. If he turned his brain off for long enough, he could make it home and he could sneak out to the tool shed where he could have a moment of peace.  That’s what he lived for, that small moment of peace.

Only, today, he wasn’t sure he would get that moment.

“Hey, Manes!”

Cue High School Cliche #1. What was the point in giving them real names? The fact that they used his was a novelty and borderline comical. The fact that they could all casually alternate between ‘hey, fag’ and ‘hey, Alex’ so simply felt like a bad joke where he missed the punchline.

Alex kept walking. Brain off.

“I’m talking to you!”

Do I still remember all the lyrics to La Vie en rose?

“You listen when I talk to you!”

Des yeux qui font baisser les miens…

A large hand grabbed his shoulder, whipping his body around and slamming him into the lockers beside the boy’s bathroom. High School Cliche #1 looked really irritated. Alex stared back blankly.

Un rire qui se perd sur sa bouche…

“It’s pretty gay to be dragging me into a bathroom,” Alex said mindlessly, almost smiling when he watched his face get beet red. Almost.

Voilà le portrait sans retouches…

“I am going to kick your ass.”

De l’homme auquel j’appartiens…

“Do it.  I dare you.”

Quand il me prend dans ses bras…

Alex was thrown against the sink as if he was a ragdoll, a sharp pain shooting up his spine and weakening his legs. He didn’t give a reaction. High School Cliche #1 sent punch after punch after punch to his face, kick after kick after kick to whatever he could. Alex ended up on his knees, the taste of blood in his mouth.

Il me parle tout bas…

“That’s it?” Alex dared. Maybe he shouldn’t have. High School Cliche #1, whose name suddenly became in focus with ‘LONG’ written on his Letterman Jacket, grabbed Alex by the hair. Apparently, simple instigation meant brutal violence.  His head was slammed against the sink once, twice, three times before he landed on the floor with a thud and his own blood quickly pooling around him.

Je vois la vie en rose.

“Oh. Oh, fuck.” Long seemed to very suddenly understand what he’d done after he’d done it.  Alex could barely focus long enough to see him flee.

As his world started to blur and the pain began to fade, Alex really couldn’t even be angry. A large part of him hoped this was it. If he died now, he wouldn’t have to deal with anything anymore. That sounded good. That sounded really good.

He let his eyes close, let his consciousness start to fade.

Except, before it could, he was overcome with the feeling that he wasn’t alone.

Not just not alone in the room, not alone in his head. For the first time in a long time, panic started to rise in him and he didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to die with someone else there. He wanted peace. How could he have peace with someone else in his head? Could he not even get that in his final moments? Why was everything so unfair?

“Alex,” the voice was in his head, but a blurry vision started to appear when he forced his eyes open. A girl was there, a girl who looked way too fucking familiar, but not familiar enough to be haunting his almost-dead state.  Isobel motherfucking Evans. Why the fuck was she here?  “Alex,” she repeated, worry on her face. She was glowing, hazy lights surrounding her and making her look ethereal and otherworldly and perfect.

“What the fuck?” he asked. Or, intended to ask. His speech wasn’t exactly intact.

She didn’t say anything, but she knelt down before him.  Her hands placed carefully on his head and his body was suddenly thrown into a state of shock.  Bolts of electricity racked through him and all he could do was stare and gasp and try to rationalize what the fuck was going on.

But then it stopped. And nothing hurt. And he sat up and he wasn’t bleeding.  There was still blood‒but his wounds were closed.

The ethereal vision of a woman that shouldn’t be there leaned her forehead against his, cupping his face in her palms. He felt stupid and weak, but it was the nicest way anyone had touched him in years and he leaned into it instead of being scared anymore.

One last word in her deep voice echoed in his mind: “Karma’s your bitch.”  And then she was gone.

Alex blinked a few times, the haziness in his head clearing up each time.  Once it was gone, he managed to pull himself to his feet.  He looked in the mirror, checking his face and his head.  Any sign of a bruise or an open wound was gone, but the blood from it all was still there. It made him a little sick and a little confused and a little insane.

But one thing was certain: he’d been given a second chance.  He didn’t have to die today.  In fact, he could do so much better.  He could live.  He could enjoy living.

His hands were still shaking as he exited the bathroom, his bag in tow and covered in as much blood as he was.  Instead of going to class, he made his way to the gym.  A few of the first period PE students glanced at him, but, for the most part, no one gave him the time of day.

He slipped into the locker room and went towards the shower. He didn’t stay long, only spending a few minutes to clear all the obvious blood out of his hair and his face and hoping his clothes didn’t look too wet and/or bloody.  It was a step.

When Alex finished and turned around, he found himself face to face with High School Cliche #1, Long.  The guy, as big and as scary as he had seemed, looked scared shitless at this moment.  He was looking at Alex with all the fear in the world as he tried to piece together how the boy he’d left bleeding out on the floor was now perfectly fine.

Alex stepped close, Isobel’s words vivid in his mind.  The thing about karma was that you get what you put out.  Alex may not have been putting out enough to get beaten, but he wasn’t exactly putting out anything good.  But the vision had solidified something in his head.  Everyone who did him wrong would get what was coming.

And, if he changed, he would too.

“Don’t worry, I forgive you,” Alex said, patting him on the shoulder. He flinched so hard that Alex had to hold back a laugh.  “But I would tell your friends if I were you.”

He stepped out of the locker room with a skip in his step.

#if you have any suggestions on tags that i missed please let me know #roswell new mexico #roswell new mexico fic #rnm #rnm fic #alex manes #alex manes fic #isobel evans #isobel evans fic #prompt #literally no one asked for this #1.5k word #alexs pov

[apositivelifeaffirmingway]

Holding On and Letting Go

Alex Manes Appreciation Week:    Day 5: what-if (with tiny a side of AU thrown in)  [Mature/Explicit]

What if, when Jesse Manes burst in on Alex and Michael in the tool shed, he'd smashed Alex's hand instead? What if, instead of Alex, it was Michael who enlisted in the Air Force?

 ( AO3 link )

"Alex."

Alex froze, his hands hovering over the ‘artifacts’ he was in the process of rearranging, attempting to make room for some new thing Grant had found on the dark web that he wanted to add to the display.

That voice. His voice; it sent an electric energy traveling up the length of him - from the tips of his toes to the tips of his fingers and back again. Alex had forgotten how much he'd missed it. Both the voice and the feeling it elicited; he'd forgotten how much he’d suppressed the loss, how well he’d been able to ignore the giant hole in his chest that had appeared when Michael had left.

Alex turned, slowly, preparing himself to set eyes on him again, the first time in almost four months.

“You’re back.”

He must have come straight from the airport, because he was dressed in fatigues, a giant duffel and an overstuffed camo print backpack both lying discarded at his feet. His hair was cut short, what used to be a wild mess of curls now tamed and combed back from his face. Alex involuntarily flexed his right hand, the memory of the feel of Michael's curls in his fingers overwhelming him.

"I'm back," Michael echoed, his expression slightly clouded, his brow slightly furrowed, his tone cautious.

Alex felt a pang of guilt, though he wasn’t sure why. He wasn’t the one who’d run away… Still, he took a step toward Michael, pulling the visor off his head and tossing it to the ground as he flashed back to their first kiss. It wasn't lost on him that they were in the same section of the museum, the same cheesy displays surrounding them. Really the only thing different now was them.

"How are you?" Michael's eyes flickered from Alex's face to his hand and back again.

Alex, who had only just had the cast removed from his hand a week prior, raised his left hand up and slowly flexed his fingers, internalizing the dull, lingering ache, ignoring the tightness in the tendons from the permanent scar tissue that would prevent him from ever pursuing a career in music...

The surgeon had only been able to do so much...the damage had been extensive.

"I'm okay," he replied, dropping his hand and meeting Michael’s gaze.

It wasn't a lie, not really. He was okay. He was managing, anyway. His father was locked up and his brothers were coming around, being semi-supportive and growing more so as time passed. Alex was surviving, moving past the trauma. He certainly didn't intend to work at the UFO Emporium the rest of his life...he still had plans and dreams and they didn't seem as impossible anymore, even if he had to adjust his expectations to fit his new reality.

"I tried to write you," Michael said, dropping his shoulders and jamming his hands into his pockets before looking away, "so many times. But I didn't know what to say. I feel like that -," he turned his head back and nodded at Alex's injured hand, "- was entirely my fault. I shouldn't have ever stayed in that tool shed."

Michael’s hunched posture was in direct conflict with the authority and respect his uniform demanded and Alex, who had grown up surrounded by military and the supposed steely strength it implied, felt a pang of sadness.

Taking another small step towards Michael, lessening the distance between them, Alex shook his head, the sting of tears behind his eyes.

"This,” Alex lifted his scarred hand into the space between them, “wasn’t your fault. My dad is a homophobic monster. It was his fault. Only his fault," Alex's voice rose slightly, hoping Michael would understand...hoping Michael would know that he didn't blame him for what Jesse had done that day.

Michael nodded, but he looked unconvinced and that broke Alex's heart. It wasn’t fair, the amount of damage and destruction his dad had caused the last few months. It made Alex seethe with anger, and also regret.

Alex had spent weeks blaming himself after Michael left Roswell. He was convinced he was the reason –even after everything they went through after the day Jesse had found them – that Michael was just too traumatized to even look at Alex let alone be in the same town and so he bailed. It took Alex a long time, and the support of friends, to get over what his dad had done to him. Even if those friends still didn’t know who it was that had been with Alex the day Jesse barged in on them…

When Michael had left Roswell it had been sudden and unexpected, at least for Alex. After Jesse had attacked them in the shed, shattering Alex's hand with the hammer, they'd not seen each other for nearly a week. Alex had literally been in lock-down (recovering from surgery and downing painkillers). Even when he was finally lucid enough to go anywhere he wasn’t allowed out of the house. Jesse wouldn't let him leave and expressed to him, more than once, using all sorts of colorful and cruel slurs, that Alex was to keep his '%*#^ mouth shut' about what had happened. Not that anyone would believe it if Alex told. Jesse Manes was a pillar in the community. A respected military man who was third generation Roswell-ian.  

Alex knew the implied threat was real; the tone in his father’s voice more than enough to deter him from attempting to sneak out. Even when his father would pass out from drinking too much, Alex didn’t dare try to leave. His father had never hurt him so badly before, the majority of the violence at home prior to that day mostly verbal, with the occasional hard shove against a wall, or a direct punch to the gut; bruises that were easily hidden by clothes and always assumed to be the result of the occasional bullying he experienced at school. Alex had seen his dad mad before, but never as full of blinding rage as when he’d bust through the tool shed door. Alex attributed the excessive drinking, which was also new, to the violence of that day. He found himself hoping, as messed up as he knew it was, that his dad felt guilty for what he’d done.

Alex knew he’d never really know. Their relationship was too fractured; there was too great a power imbalance and too much disappointment directed towards Alex. His father would never deign to lower himself to admit any regret or shameful feelings regarding his behavior, and the fact Alex even wanted him too was his own burden to bear.

Then, about a week later and after one too many glasses of whisky at the Wild Pony, Jesse chose to drive the handful of miles home from the bar, causing an accident that killed three teenage girls, one of which was Rosa Ortecho.

Alex was finally free.

Alex left the house for the first time in a week on a mission to seek Michael out, and he found him at Sanders Auto. He’d just started working there right before the tool shed incident. Michael’s face, upon seeing Alex, was full of concern and relief and sadness and joy. Alex could read it all, because he felt all the same things. They’d embraced, holding each other for a long time. The news about Jesse was all over town, Alex didn’t doubt Michael knew. They didn’t talk much that day, which suited Alex fine. He wasn’t ready to face what had happened in the tool shed, or what his father had just been responsible for; he was fine with ignoring all of it for one blissful moment.

Things progressed rather quickly after that. Jesse was charged with three counts of vehicular homicide, pleading guilty (he had no other choice – there were multiple witnesses to his presence at the bar and Mimi DeLuca expressing gleefully all over town, to anyone who’d listen, how she’d happily testify to how many drinks Jesse consumed that night; not to mention, his blood alcohol level was well over the legal limit). The judge sentenced him three days after the accident; twenty years with an opportunity for parole after ten.

It was outrageous, the sentence he’d been handed down. He’d cost three young women their lives, and it seemed that wasn’t worth more than a guarantee of ten years prison time. Alex had gladly joined Liz and Arturo and the families of the other girls in protesting the sentence. But their protests didn't matter. The judge’s decision was final as he stated he’d taken into account the 'upstanding nature' of Jesse's life in Roswell (up to that point), as well as his 'outstanding service to this country' (even though he was shortly thereafter dishonorably discharged).

After the sentencing Alex had felt a deep pang of guilt for having never reported his abuse. His father might have been sent away for much longer if there’d been record of his cruelty; if everyone knew how disturbed and violent and homophobic he really was.

Alex also avoided the Crashdown after that, ashamed of his connection to the man who’d killed Liz’s sister. Even after he learned Liz had left town, deciding to skip graduation, he couldn’t bring himself to face Arturo. At least not yet.

Alex was 18 when his father was sent to prison - an adult by legal definition - so he was allowed to continue to live in the house where he'd grown up. His first night there without Jesse, he'd packed up all the photos and awards and ribbons and medals; everything military or Air Force related went into boxes and into the tool shed. Alex wouldn’t be returning there for escape; the tool shed was tainted with the violence of that day, and Alex’s reason for needing a place to escape was locked away. It was freeing, erasing his father from the house.

It was only a few days later, after Jesse's sentencing, that Alex asked Michael if he wanted to stay at the house, too. He didn't use the words 'move in', he just mentioned that there were a lot of empty bedrooms. Plenty of room for him to stay if he didn’t want to sleep in the back of his truck anymore.

Michael accepted Alex’s invitation, though hesitantly, making it very clear to Alex he was just crashing, and might decide to leave at any moment. That was fine for Alex; all he wanted was to know Michael was safe and had a place to go that wasn't the back of his truck.

They didn't kiss, or embrace, or even touch each other in any way for almost a month. In fact they didn’t even see each other all that much. Michael worked early shifts at Sanders, and Alex worked late shifts at the museum. When they did see each other it was usually just to sit in a comfortable silence, sometimes filled with idle chit chat, sometimes more meaningful words exchanged – though that was far more rare. Sometimes Alex would find Michael staring at his cast with a pained look on his face. Alex wanted to say something in those moments to alleviate what he assumed was Michael’s guilt, but Michael would quickly look away when he noticed Alex watching him, and Alex never could quite figure out the right words to say, anyway.

Some nights Michael wouldn’t come back to Alex’s at all. The first time Michael didn’t come back, Alex felt in a panic, imagining some Air Force pal of his dad’s having done something to him – even though Alex had no reason to think that. All the airmen that knew Jesse had been nothing but supportive of Alex, a few of their wives even bringing him some frozen meals.

As it turned out, Michael had gone to the Evans’ and so from that night forward, if Michael ever didn’t come back to the house, Alex had to assume he was with Max and Isobel.

It was hard, though. Being so near Michael but not touching him or kissing him. Even after the traumatic end to their first time, Alex wanted nothing more than to rekindle some of the innocent joy they’d had in their connection. Alex had never felt anything more powerful or more right than that day with Michael. It was a feeling Alex supposed he might end up chasing forever and he could only hope he would find it again, or more specifically, that he would find it again with Michael.

But Michael kept his distance, and Alex didn't push, even though it was all he thought about. Even though late at night, alone in his bedroom, he would touch himself, letting his good hand wander all over his body while the memory of he and Michael played over and over in his head. Knowing Michael was on the other side of his bedroom wall made the want all the more powerful.

It was the Fourth of July holiday when things changed, when they finally came back together. They'd spent the day at the Evans'; Max and Isobel had hosted a barbeque and most of their graduating class was there. Alex hung out with Maria and they talked about the postcards they'd each received from Liz as she’d road tripped across the country (Liz also sending Alex a very nice letter telling him she didn’t blame him for his father’s actions, and saying she hoped they would see each other more when she returned. Alex felt somewhat healed after that letter). Michael, Alex quietly noted, spent most of the day huddled with a depressed looking Max.

When it had come out, after the accident, that Rosa had been Jim Valenti's daughter and not Arturo's, Liz had rescinded her invitation for Max to road trip with her and instead she'd taken Kyle. It’d seemed odd to everyone, but she'd insisted to Maria that it wasn't romantic, that she didn't think she could ever be with Kyle like that again, not after finding out the truth about Rosa. But Liz didn't talk about Kyle in her postcards, which made Alex doubt her resolve with regards to Kyle had held out. Maria had more faith in her, and teasingly chastised Alex for not thinking better of their friend. In any case, Max was a depressed mess over it all, and Michael was seemingly his emotional crutch.

It warmed Alex's heart to see Michael be there for his friend. Michael had a big heart and a caring nature and it was one of the things Alex liked best (loved) about him. Even if he wished Michael were at his side instead of Max’s. But no one knew about them (and they weren’t even officially a ‘them’; they’d just had one magical, momentous night. It wasn’t Michael’s fault that it was all Alex could think about). It never seemed to be the right time to talk about it or confess it, either. So Alex held it in, trying not to stare too much or too long. Trying not to attract the attention of Maria, or Max, or Isobel. Trying not to let on he had fallen hard for Michael Guerin.

Alex sometimes thought Maria knew, just by the way she'd look at him, but she never asked. So 'museum guy' remained a mystery to her, and Alex continued to keep the more intimate details of that day to himself.

Things were noticeably different with Michael when they'd returned from the barbeque. Rather than retreat to the room he’d been sleeping in as he usually did, Michael followed Alex to his bedroom. Alex let him, curious and hopeful about what it meant, and when he turned to ask what was going on, Michael was on him, hands grabbing and pulling, lips hot and wet and hard and desperate and Alex let his question die on his lips as he eagerly accepted Michael's advances, his own hands grabbing and pulling until he had Michael held so close he could feel his pounding heartbeat against his own chest.

The clothes quickly come off, both Michael and Alex pulling and tugging and kissing every newly revealed patch of bare skin until they were both naked and hard and rubbing against each other and when Michael pulled back slightly to grip both he and Alex in his fist, pumping them together as he pressed heated kisses to Alex's neck and collarbone. Alex gasped, sparks of white spotting his vision.

Somehow they made it to the bed, Michael on top of Alex, his hips pressing and grinding and Alex felt like he might pass out because of how good it felt. It was good. So, so good. His memory of being with Michael nowhere near this level of intensity. His skin was on fire, his senses heightened so that every brush of lips on skin left a blazing trail of white hot nerves that sung out with pleasure. Alex let Michael take control of it all, happy and willing to be an instrument in his hands.

Alex hummed with pleasure as Michael’s touch traveled his body; he felt like he was floating in the clouds while simultaneously drowning in a vast sea of pleasure. When Michael stopped and pulled back, his face slick with a sheen of sweat and his pupil’s exploded wide with desire. Alex swore he could see straight into Michael’s soul. Alex felt himself lose his breath. The man was a vision and Alex wanted him always and forever.

"Are you okay?" Michael asked, his voice husky and thick.

"Don't stop," Alex nodded as he reached his good hand to cradle the back of Michael's head, threading his fingers into the thick mass of curls and pulling him down into a deep kiss. His injured hand was mostly forgotten, Michael's touch more of an effective painkiller than any pill could be.

When asked, Alex directed Michael to the bedside table for condoms and lube.

Michael moved to put the condom on Alex, a reversal from their first time. Alex grabbed his wrist to stop him, silently questioning if he was sure. Michael just grinned and winked, gently pulling his wrist from Alex’s grip and sliding the condom on before moving a loosely held fist up and down him a few times to tighten the condom. Alex closed his eyes while a soft moan escaped his lips; the sudden shock of cold startled him and when he opened his eyes he saw Michael squeezing ample amounts of lube on him, spreading it up and down his shaft before putting more on his fingers and applying it to himself. Alex wanted to ask him again if he was sure, if he was ready, but Michael moved too quickly, straddling Alex’s hips and lowering himself onto and then all unspoken words faded from Alex’s lips as he succumbed to the ecstasy of the feel of Michael all around him. Alex elicited a long, deep moan; Michael was so tight and felt so good.

When Michael’s weight had settled Alex opened his eyes and the expression he saw on Michael's face, the way his damp curls framed his face and stuck to his forehead almost brought Alex to tears. He was so beautiful, so open, so giving. His expression one of....love? Dare Alex even think it possible? They barely knew each other, could they even be in love already?

Michael’s features, soft and relaxed, tightened slightly when Alex shifted beneath him. But then Michael was the one moving, his hips rolling and his hands splayed out on Alex’s abdomen as they both moved with soft, breathy moans escaping both their mouths.

Alex felt it all, every slight shift and move. When Michael tightened around him he gasped loudly before sitting up and with his good hand he gently but urgently pushed Michael to the side, flipping him to his back so Alex was now on top.

They settled and Alex pulled back slightly before pressing in again. The soft moan that came out of Michael's mouth nearly sending Alex over the edge. He was so close already, he knew he had to go slower or he'd come before he’d even given Michael the chance to get there.

Alex laid down fully on top of Michael, pressing their bodies together as he let his good hand thread into Michael's hair. He rolled his hips, slowly moving in and out, pressing in as deep as he could, bolstered by the guttural pant of breath that came from Michael each time he did.

The very definition of heaven was how Alex felt at that precise moment.

Michael's legs shifted and he wrapped them around Alex, Michael’s hands lighting at Alex’s waist, then his ass, massaging and gripping and pulling Alex even closer - as if it were possible for them to be any closer.

"Harder," Michael groaned breathlessly, and Alex buried his head into the crook of Michael's neck with a grin, moving harder and faster.

Last time, their first time, had been sweet if not a little bit awkward and a little bit clumsy. That was okay, though. Neither of them had known exactly what they were doing and it took a little time for them to really figure out each other’s bodies.

But this time was NOT like last time. This time was pure desire unleashed; no awkwardness, no hesitation, no clumsiness. Michael knew all the right places to touch, and his boldness led Alex to respond in kind. But there was something more to it, too, and Alex could feel it. Michael was holding nothing back, and not just his sexual desires but his emotional desires, too. That was what made the look on his face so scary and exhilarating; in that moment Alex saw what he meant to him. He could read it in Michael’s eyes, in his smile, in his touch. Michael loved him - there was no doubt of it.

Alex's pace quickened, fueled by a young love that still contained all possibilities. An unwritten future stretched out in front of them.

Alex bit softly at Michael’s neck, his jaw, before capturing his mouth with a kiss he hoped conveyed the intensity of his emotions. He was so close, and even though he wanted to slow down to make sure Michael was with him, he couldn't. He needed to get there and the fact that Michael's voice was murmuring in his ear, encouraging him with soft punctuated groans to go harder, go faster, wasn’t helping.

Panting and moaning together, Alex thought maybe they could actually come together but then he felt it building, cresting, he so moved to pull out but Michael held on to him, wrapping his legs tighter and gripping his ass harder. Alex had no time beyond that because then he was coming, groaning Michael's name and biting his neck and pumping his hips while the waves of orgasm washed over him. It was nearly more than he could take and he wondered if he'd pass out it felt so good...

It was over quickly, yet also seemed to go on endlessly. Slowly regaining his senses, he felt Michael, still hard, between them and even though he never wanted to separate their bodies again, even though he never wanted to remove himself from Michael’s embrace, he slowly pulled back, watching Michael's face and feeling oddly happy as Michael's expression clouded when Alex pulled out of him.

Pulling off the condom, Alex tied it off and tossed it to the floor before sitting back on his heels. He was still between his legs, Michael’s knees wide apart to accommodate Alex. Michael was hard, so hard, and Alex stared happily at the naked, open visage of Michael for a long moment before reaching out and griping him tight. Michael's reaction was instant as he sucked in a breath, his hips thrusting up and down and then he was fucking Alex's hand. Alex let him thrust, varying the pressure of his hand ever so slightly as Michael chewed on his lip and elicited soft, breathy moans.

They watched each other, eyes locked, Michael lifting his hips to push in and out of Alex's fist. It was almost more intimate than what just happened. When Alex relaxed his hand, releasing him, Michael stilled. Not speaking, they just stare.

Leaning down slowly, Alex pressed a kiss to the head of Michael’s cock and Michael sucked in sharply. Smiling, Alex took all of Michael into his mouth.

"Oh, fu-," Michael gasped, his hands flying to thread into Alex's hair and he was gripping and pressing and Alex was letting him fuck his mouth.

Alex worked his mouth on Michael, responding to the gasps and moans and the tightening grip of his hair. It didn’t take long before Michael loudly groaned, pushing Alex off him and coming, his chest now slick with more than sweat.

Michael’s eyelids were heavy as he slowly blinked; Alex watched him flutter them a few times before his eyes shifted and he peered up at Alex through his eyelashes. They looked at each other, their breathing slowing and evening out, matching. It wasn’t awkward, or embarrassing. It was comfortable, and felt…well, to Alex it felt like home.  

After a few minutes, Alex moved to get up, his shifting weight causing Michael to sit up and grab his arm.

"Don't go.”

"I'll be right back," Alex smiled, pulling away and heading to the bathroom, returning with a hot, wet washcloth.

Michael was lying back, but he sat up when Alex walked back into the room. Sitting on the edge of his bed, Alex gently pressed Michael back down onto his back before proceeding to wipe him clean with the cloth. Michael's hand was on Alex’s arm the whole time, feeling up and down and around, massaging his muscles, working around his shoulder and upper back. His hand wandered as far as it could reach, all while Alex gently cleaned him up.

It was a level of intimacy Alex didn’t think he'd ever get to experience, and certainly not with Michael. Their first time had been special, up to the end anyway, but for Alex their second time would be the one against which all other times would be measured. Alex knew that without a doubt. And he wondered if it would always feel so magical (Ethereal? Cosmic?) when he and Michael were together. He hoped so...

"Thank you," Michael said, after Alex had cleaned him up.

They were lying together in bed, still naked, legs intertwined. Alex's head was resting on Michael’s chest, his left arm draped across Michael’s body. The weight of the cast on his hand pulling slightly and sending a dull ache up his arm, but it was nowhere near uncomfortable enough for Alex to relinquish the moment. He could live like this forever, safe in Michael’s embrace.

"It's no big deal," Alex responded sleepily, with a quiet yawn that elicited a soft, light laugh from Michael.

"I didn't mean about just now," Michael said softly after a stretch of silence, and from his position Alex could hear his heart rate quicken.

Alex nodded, squeezing Michael with his left arm and with a small smile he pressed a series of soft kisses to his chest.

"I'll treasure this night," Michael added, his hold in Alex tightening as a he pressed a kiss to the crown of his head.

"Me too," Alex replied, closing his eyes against Michael’s soft touch, his hand lightly tracing lines up and down Alex's back and he can’t remember, when he falls asleep, if he said the words out loud or just thought them; ‘this was the best night of my lift’.

There's bright morning sunlight streaming through the window when Alex wakes.

He feels satiated. Satisfied. A little sore in his legs. Stretching, he reaches out but finds the bed beside him cold and empty. Sitting up he listens but hears nothing other than the creaky quiet of the house around him. His bedroom door is ajar, and looking around his room Alex can’t see any of Michael's clothes. Alex climbed out of bed, pulling on a pair of shorts and hurrying to the room where Michael had been sleeping only to find all his things are gone.

Alex was confused. Hurt. Did he do something wrong? Walking back through the house, he found no trace that Michael had ever even been there. Returning to his bedroom he stood in the doorway looking around his room. That was when he finally noticed the note; the white paper blending in with the white pillowcase.

Walking slowly towards the bed, Alex felt apprehension start to creep in, unsure if he wanted to know what the note said or not.

He was scared to know.

But he has to know.

Alex,

I meant what I said last night. I'll treasure our night together. But I have to go. I'm enlisting in the Air Force and ship out to boot camp today. I didn't want to tell you because I knew you'd try to talk me out of it and I really don’t think I could ever say no to you. Please take care of yourself. I will see you again.

Michael

And that was the end of it. Until now.

They were standing roughly an arm’s length from each other, their positions reminiscent of their first kiss. Alex was having a hard time separating the memory of that day six months ago from the present. He felt like he should be saying to Michael ‘Okay, talk’.

"Why'd you do it? Why'd you enlist?" Alex asked instead, not bothering to try and hide his hurt and confusion.

Michael's expression shifted, and he cast his eyes down. Alex hoped he felt guilty, at least a little.

Alex had spent days after Michael had left feeling angry. He felt lied to, and used. And he didn’t even have anyone he could talk to. He didn’t know what Max or Isobel knew; Liz was gone, but he couldn’t talk to her, or Maria, anyway because he’d never told them about Michael to begin with. He wouldn’t out Michael just because he’d been left feeling like a jilted lover. They weren’t boyfriends, they’d made no promises…but none of that was of any comfort to Alex, who still felt abandoned.

It had taken Alex a bit of time to move on; knowing Michael would be back, knowing without a doubt he’d see him again and have the chance to confront him about the way he left; that was what gave him the strength to move past the hurt. Or at least he’d thought he’d moved past it.

"I joined up to protect myself," Michael responded, looking up again and Alex could see pleading in his expression, he could see a yearning from Michael for him to understand.

But Alex didn't understand; this was all seemingly out of the blue. Michael had never spoken positively of the military, in fact he'd outwardly criticized it many, many times.

"To protect yourself from what?" Alex asked, apprehensively.

"I found something, when I was staying at your house," Michael paused, "In the tool shed. In your dad's stuff. A folder of old photographs from 1947. From the crash. The UFO crash. Photos of your grandfather."

"What?” Alex leveled an incredulous look, a smile playing on his lips because...this was a joke, right?

But Michael’s expression never wavered, and Alex felt the absurdity he felt about what Michael was saying fade. He was being serious, and Alex didn’t know what to make of that.

“Michael-," Alex arched his brow and sighed before looking down and shaking his head. Why would Michael go back to that shed? And why search through his dad’s stuff? And…UFO’s?

Alex felt a seed of anger start to blossom in his gut. If Michael couldn't even be honest with him...

"Alex," Michael took another step closer, his hand lifting Alex's chin so they were looking each other in the eye, "I'm serious."

And for whatever reason, Alex’s doubt began to fade and he started to believe him. He wasn't sure he believed the UFO part (though his granddad had been stationed in Roswell in the late 40s…), but he believed Michael's motivation; he believed Michael believed it and for the moment that was enough.

“Fine,” Alex sighed and Michael dropped his hand, “So? What does a UFO crash have to do with you, or joining the military? Do you actually believe in that stuff?”

Alex sensed he’d said the wrong thing as soon as the words were out of his mouth. There was a shift in Michael’s expression, microscopic though it was, and Alex saw it. His guard went up; not completely, but it was there. Alex could see hesitation in Michael’s expression.

“Sorry, I-,” Alex started but was cut off.

"I'm an alien, Alex. And if your dad ever gets out of prison, I'll be in a position to protect of us from him and anyone else who might want to hurt us."

“You’re…what? Us? Who is us?" Alex stumbled, choosing to ignore for the moment the giant bombshell Michael just dropped on him.

"Me. Max. Isobel," Michael said, slowly, and Alex stared, the realization all this was really happening starting to sink in, things beginning to make sense to him.

“We found out your dad was part of a secret military project studying the crash and when he got sent to prison it was the perfect opportunity to try and find out more,” Michael said, slowly, and Alex felt his heart sink.

Not because of the alien stuff – which to be honest was still too absurd to even wrap his head around – no, it was because that meant…

“Did you only stay with me so you could snoop through my dad’s stuff?” Alex took a step back, his resolve crumbling as his heart started to crack. He’d been invested, he’d had real, true feelings for Michael and if it turned out they weren’t really reciprocated…well Alex wasn’t sure he could handle that.

“No. No!” Michael started to shuffle closer, but stopped when Alex held up his hands.

“No. I didn’t,” Michael clenched his jaw.

“Okay, maybe at first that was the plan, but I stayed because I wanted to. I found that stuff the first night I was there. I could have left right then, but I stayed. I stayed. For you.”

Alex crossed his arms and leveled a hard stare at Michael, trying to make sense of the changes in him. The Michael standing before him had gone through basic training; had been brainwashed by the US military complex. Alex might not be in, but he knew how it went. His dad was in (or had been), his brothers were all in. He’d seen firsthand how they’d each been changed after going through basic.

But Michael…the longer Alex stared the more he saw the same Michael he knew four months ago; the one he’d always known. The one he’d had the greatest night of his life with.

"I’ll always stay for you. And come back for you. And protect you," Michael added, "I'll always be here to protect you from him or anyone else. I refuse to ever let anything like that,” Michael indicated to Alex’s hand, “happen again."

"Alien?" Alex questioned, trying to hide the ridiculousness he felt in saying the word; seeing Michael stiffen slightly before he nodded, never breaking eye contact with Alex.

"I’ll tell you everything I know," Michael said softly, arm reaching out to gently grip Alex's bicep, and when Alex didn’t pull away he smiled.

Aliens. An alien. Michael.

Alex softened, relaxing his posture and arching his brow slightly.

The one thing Alex knew beyond a shadow of a doubt was he didn't want Michael to leave again. He didn't want Michael to walk away, or look away, or stop touching him. Alien or not, it was Michael, and that trumped everything else.

Michael let go of Alex's arm and Alex immediately reached out to grasp Michael's hand in his, rubbing his thumb over the soft skin on the back of his hand. Alex looked at their hands, Alex’s showing the visible scars of the physical damage from their first time together, Michael’s showing the undetectable scars of a possible coming war, the potential scars of the unknown future that lay ahead of them.

"Okay," Alex breathed, looking up to meet Michael's gaze again.

Alex was nervous, and curious. He was scared. Not of Michael (or the others) but of the unspoken intention behind Michael being in the Air Force and what that might mean. Alex was scared for Michael. And he hoped he was making the right decision; he hoped they both were making the right decision.

And even if they still barely knew each other, Alex knew enough (Michael was an alien! That was huge!). Alex knew he was safe with Michael and that Michael would never hurt him or allow him to be hurt; Alex knew Michael was safe with him, and apparently Michael knew that too. It made Alex feel so incredibly happy to know Michael trusted him enough to reveal such a big secret to him.

"Okay?"

Alex nodded, a small smile playing on his lips as he watched Michael's eyes move down to his mouth then back again.

"I love you, Alex," Michael murmured softly, invading Alex's personal space as he wrapped his arms around him and kissed him softly, tenderly.

Alex wanted to say it back, but thought he'd just enjoy the kiss first. There'd be time to say it back after.

AO3 link

#Roswell New Mexico #Alex Manes #Michael Guerin #Malex #alexmanesweek2019 #rnm #roswell nm #rnm: mine #mine #mine fic #this is like 6300 words just fyi. #scheduled post

[freifraufischer]

Bethesda has banned a group of high level Fallout 76 players for life as a result of their homophobic attack on others in the game. As reported by Eurogamer, the trouble began when a player by the name of NathanTheHicc asked a trio of other players for a Disease Cure item; when one of them said he had a cute outfit, NathanTheHicc responded with, "I don't fuck with that homo shit," left, and then came back several minutes later with friends and attacked them while hurling slurs over voice chat.

Fallout 76 reduces PvP damage inflicted on players who choose not to fight back as a way of discouraging griefing, and so AJ, one of the victims, told the site that they tried to wait it out in hopes that the attackers would get bored and give up. It didn't happen. "They stuck with it and even joked about how 'this is the strongest queer I've ever seen'," AJ said.

AJ and his friends moved to a different server once they respawned, but because there are no in-game reporting tools in Fallout 76—an absolutely astonishing oversight for a game built around PvP-enabled multiplayer—they were forced to report the matter via Twitter. They eventually connected with community managers who were "very kind and helpful," but the support page they were directed to didn't work properly.  

"The site asked for a video file of the incident but the accepted file types weren't video files. So we couldn't send one," AJ said. "For me, the page would not even load. It seems very difficult to report players."

Eventually Bethesda got the full story, possibly because NathanTheHicc actually uploaded a video of the incident from his perspective, titled 'Cleansing of the queers', to his YouTube channel. He admitted to Eurogamer that AJ's claims about the attack are accurate, although he claimed that he doesn't actually hate gay people.

"It was just a late night of having fun and after the first encounter (seen on my channel) we felt it would be fun to offend them somehow. You can call that evil but I think it's just playful immaturity," he said. "I do not regret the incident. I will not apologize, given the opportunity. I don't plan on doing anything like this in the future but to be fair I didn't plan the initial incident, I just found them and decided to go through with it."

He may feel differently about that now, however. After initially slapping him with a three-day suspension, Bethesda made the ban permanent after reviewing the matter. As for AJ, they said the incident was "draining" but expressed greater concern for how that kind of behavior could impact other players who aren't equipped to handle it.

"What if they targeted a kid playing that was struggling with their identity? What if they said all those things to someone that was playing solo and didn't have anyone to talk to? That can really mess someone up. Playing a game to escape reality and then that happens," they said. And while Fallout 76 players can permanently block others, AJ said that's not good enough.

"Simply blocking someone from a session is only temporarily protecting yourself, but not stopping anything from happening again or to other people. For 76 specifically, non-PvP servers would be great. Maybe things would have been different if they were not able to kill us. Despite all the bugs and glitches, the game is fun when you're with friends and can casually explore and play."

PvE and roleplaying servers are two fixes our our Fallout 76 reviewer Chris Livingston called for.

[dailyfeitan]

Favourite interrogation tool? (aside from psychological weapons and your bare hands, of course.)

Channel Lock pliers.  very versatile.

(The following is not a vignette but part of a WIP.  It’s a crossover, so i hope I don’t offend anyone with my and Blue’s OTP: Feitan x Levi (AOT) but it kinda matched this ask!  The work will include folks from both universes (Erwin, Jean, Hange, Chrollo, Phinks.)  Warnings for implied m/m incest and one homophobic slur - Mod: Clea)

“The Ackerman gang.”

“So … are they … brothers?”

“No one knows.  Some say they’re brothers, some say they’re lovers.” Erwin took a slow sip of his whisky.  “Some say they’re both …”

---

It was sweltering in the warehouse.  Both Levi and Feitan had shed their coats.  While levi threatened and coaxed the man tied up in the chair, Feitan watched like a cat watches a mouse trapped and running around in the bottom of a trash bin.

The talking quickly devolved into fists as Levi repeatedly beat the man unconscious then threw water on him to wake him, then beat him again.

“You don’t want me to let my brother have you,” Levi hissed at last.

He was angry, Feitan could see it, and he’d be wrapping his brother’s bloody knuckles later on.

The man - impressively - refused to budge.  Levi finally conceded the field to Feitan.

Both brothers shed their starched dress shirts simultaneously.  Levi’s was white and sticking to him with sweat making it almost transparent. The lower left hand sleeve was dripping red. Feitan’s was black and his tank style undershirt was as well.  Levi had on a plain white undershirt.

Feitan advanced on the prisoner, idly looking him over like a man staring at a dessert tray trying to decide what to eat first.

The removal of their shirts showed that both brothers were heavily tattooed.  Levi had the classic Japanese Yakuza ink: cherry blossoms and Koi, Lotus and chrysanthemums from his left wrist on up and spreading over his left side, front and back.

Feitan had a traditional Chinese tattoo of a dragon over his entire back.

It made the small men look dangerous, deadly even - until they were covered up.  Then the two were innocuous.  

A scorpion is plain and little but some can kill you nonetheless.

Feitan, deceptively small and very pretty, who's back tattoo you couldn’t see from the front, lifted one of the man’s hands - his left - and held it gently in his own small one.  The man smirked at him, clearly convinced that if Levi couldn’t get him to talk, this little faggot with his steel grey eyes under ludicrously long lashes wouldn’t have a chance.

“We gonna hold hands all night?”  the man sneered from swollen lips, “Or just go ahead and fuck?’

“Depends,” Feitan said reasonably, “You tell us where books are?”  He carefully covered the man’s hand with his other one.

The guy looked around, feigning boredom,

“I dunno.  Dont think so,” He leered suddenly up at Feitan, “Not unless I can get that purty mouth on my co--”

Feitan broke one finger, then two, then three.  He smiled benevolently as the man screamed and attempted to retrieve his mangled hand.  

Feitan, deceptively small and very pretty, was also crazy strong.  He had no trouble hanging on to the the struggling man’s appendage.

“We do other hand?”  He asked pleasantly as the man thrashed wildly, “Or switch to toes?”  He contemplated the ceiling for a second “... Maybe teeth?”

“You can’t break teeth you fucking crazy cunt!”

As if by magic, a pair of 12 inch channel lock pliers appeared in Feitan’s hand.

“I try …” he said hopefully.  Behind him his brother blew out a cloud of smoke and grinned.

[junker-town]

Kwame Brown is blasting everyone in sight for joking about his NBA career

What is even happening here?

It’s totally understandable if you’d moved the name “Kwame Brown” to the archival part of your memory along with your college address, the zip code of your parents’ house, or the old door code of a building you long since moved from. I had as well, until this week, and I promise you that you’re not ready for what’s going on.

Brown, now 39-years-old and almost a decade removed from playing in the NBA, is back in the headlines again after a beef started from a podcast. It’s led to people unpacking Brown’s online life, which is full of old stories and conspiracy theories.

It all kicked off because of a podcast.

The “All The Smoke” podcast is a long-running show hosted by former NBA players Matt Barnes and Stephen Jackson. Last week Gilbert Arenas was on the show on as a guest, and he began sharing stories from his time as the star of the Wizards in the early 2000s.

Brown’s name came up during a section discussing how Arenas helped turn the woeful early ‘00s Wizards into a contender. Now, to be fair, Arenas began by seeming extremely sympathetic to Brown’s entry into the NBA, highlighting how difficult it was to be entering the league as a teenager, being drafted by Michael Jordan who had unrealistic demands of Brown as a rookie, even bullying him in front of teammates, and pointing out that Brown had the tools to be great, even comparing him to Anthony Davis — but circumstance got in the way.

However, in making his point, Arenas used two phrases that served as a flash point for this beef. He called Brown a “man child,” as well as a “show pony.” Two terms that were innocuous enough considering the conversation, but seemed extremely disrespectful considering the conversation launched off with Stephen Jackson clowning on Brown, mockingly saying he was “the best No. 1 pick of all time,” then immediately laughing at his own statement.

Then Brown responded ...

A few days later Brown listened to the podcast, and he exploded. Taking to his Instagram account to drop a tirade aimed not only at Arenas, but Jackson too. The two minute clip was full of insults hurled at the two, but also a promise: That he would take the time to set the record straight.

Brown did just that on YouTube, and the world was not ready. Much of his ire wasn’t directed at Arenas, but rather Jackson — who seemed to be poking fun at him the most on the podcast. The video, which was over an hour, unloaded.

“It’s okay to have an opinion, but it’s another thing to do what you guys are doing and then be in my face. Stephen Jackson — we was teammates and I seen you crying every time Charles Oakley ‘bout to slap the s*** out you, so I know you.”

He went on to call Jackson an embarrassment, and said that he “quit on the team” when Jackson and Brown were playing together in Charlotte. Brown also took exception to Arenas, not so much the direct phrases he used this time, but rather the softness of tone, and acting like he defended Brown when they were teammates on the Wizards.

“[Gilbert] he’s a little boy on the inside. He ain’t no man. He was at a draft camp, he was in our pre-draft camp and they asked him “What are your goals after basketball?” and he said “I wanna be a motherf***** pimp.” This boy had a child’s mind. So that’s why the guns, and all the dumb s***. He’d been doing dumb s*** the entire time.”

Brown also went in on Barnes for goading Jackson into talking trash using some pretty off-color racial remarks about him “not being black enough to hang with the black folks, but too dark to kick it with the whites.”

Whether or not the trio from the podcast deserved the response from Brown, he took offense at them talking about him at all, and had enough.

Brown’s history with the NBA is complicated

Perhaps the most interesting footnote of Brown’s response came early, when he rejected the widely-held assertion that he was drafted to be the face of the Wizards, and move the team on from the Michael Jordan era. On the contrary, Brown asserts that Washington had a trade in place on draft night to trade Brown to the Chicago Bulls for Elton Brand.

At the time Brand was becoming a true superstar. A double-double forward averaging over 20 points, but woefully unhappy in Chicago. Brown says that Brand was viewed by Jordan as the missing piece in No. 23 getting one final playoff run, but the deal was nixed at the last second by then-owner Abe Pollin, who was concerned the team was making too many trades, and was reluctant to send away Kwame Brown. The Bulls would later go on to trade Brand to the Los Angeles Clippers for No. 2 overall pick Tyson Chandler.

This revelation, if true, casts Brown’s arrival in Washington in a very different light. Instead of simply not living up to Jordan’s impossible expectations of becoming the face of the franchise, Brown was a scapegoat for the legend’s frustrations with the organization.

Over the years there have been claims, and counter claims about Jordan’s actions towards Brown. Some ex-Wizards players say that nothing happened between the two other than Brown being unable to live up to Jordan’s goals for the young player. Others detail ridicule and humiliation bordering on abuse, with Jordan routinely inviting players over to his house only to mock Brown in front of his team, break down his confidence, and even use homophobic slurs to berate Brown.

Whatever the result, there remain people on both sides of the fence who believe Brown just never had it, and those who think he had the potential to be a transcendent player, but was destroyed by Jordan’s actions.

To his credit, Brown went on to have a long NBA career. Whether it was a case of his youth, or just team, after team thinking they could finally unlock the potential he flashed in high school, Brown would go on to play 12 years in the NBA for various teams, often serving as a rotational center.

Brown is living his life, but it’s a little odd

Through all this we learned a lot more about Kwame Brown. At 39-years-old he’s taken his NBA money, channeled it into various businesses, and seems to be doing well for himself. Really, retiring in your early 30s a multi-millionaire is the American Dream, and aside from constantly being made fun of for being a NBA Draft bust, in general Brown seems happy.

That said, this whole fiasco took people deep down the rabbit hole of Brown’s YouTube channel.

Before the 2020 election he defended Donald Trump, saying black people were “brainwashed,” while admitting he’d never met the then-President.

He made his own toilet paper out of t-shirts.

He went on a near two hour rant about his perceptions of media propaganda.

And said the Black Lives Matter movement was “playing the race card” in a drawn out video in which he also defended police, saying that black people were “already on guard when the police come” because of the media.

The beef is still going

Barnes and Jackson, hosts of the “All The Smoke” podcast have tried to make amends. Jackson released his own video, saying he has “nothing but love” for Brown, while Barnes denies any wrongdoing.

That hasn’t been enough to squash it. Brown is still releasing more YouTube videos, still directed at the players who dissed him, and expanding to media personalities, NBA writers, and anyone who’s discussed this latest situation.

Nobody has any idea when this will all end, but at the very least Brown picked up a few thousand more YouTube subscribers — and maybe that was the goal of this all along.

[clevernewdimension]

Exhaulted Part Twenty-One

Parts: Prologue, One, Two, Three (M), Four, Five, Six (M), Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen, Fourteen, Fifteen, Sixteen, Seventeen, Eighteen, Nineteen (M), Twenty, Twenty-One, Twenty-Two (M) (Coming Soon!)

Genre: Drama, Romance, Violence, etc.

Pairing: SehunxReaderxMinseok (Xiuhun too!)

Word Count: 6K

A/N: WATCH YIXING’S NEW VIDEO! Seriously, it’s amazing and so sweet!

Lina smiles as she finishes adding color to my lips. “Alright,” She says, handing me a mirror. I look at what she did, shocked. Stylists were all around doing my hair, but she insisted to be the one to do my makeup. It was a simple look, with a tiny hint of purple for my eyes to stand out more. The lips were nude, a bit of a light pink and looked almost like I wasn’t wearing anything on them. My hair was down, though with some of it pinned back. We are all ready soon, making me nervous. I wish I could have just stayed with Lina.

When we got to the palace, reporters were lined up and taking pictures of us nonstop. “Stand straight, smile, and look like you’re excited to be here even if you’d rather watch paint dry,” Lina says as she and I stand together. People calling out our names, wanting us to stop. Thankfully security wouldn’t let that happened. I walked in and my legs already felt like jelly. Once inside, Lina hugged me tightly, “I’ll see you later. Calm down, it’ll be ok. They’ll love you.”

“Not the real me,” I mutter, my hands shaking a little.

“No,” She says, “But the real you would be loved by people who are not rich and important. People like Cera, My aunt, the rest of the staff here at the castle. They do, for who you are. They are who matters, not any of us.” She says, smiling and giving me another hug. “I love you. You’re the sister I never had, you know that, right?”

I smile, nodding at her words, “You know I feel the same.”

Lina nods, before bowing slightly at me with a smirk, “See you later, your Highness!”

Everything was blowing by as I took my place by the door in order to greet guests. Lina arrived early with me, before everyone else, so technically she was the first guest to arrive.

“Hold on,” My father says, reaching back and producing a tiara. It was glittering with gems, the diamonds all shining perfectly. He placed it on my hair, looking at me. He smiled, “You look… like someone else.”

“I feel that way,” I mutter, letting out a long-held breath. The little tiara felt heavier than it should have been. It made me feel small and insignificant, even though it was just a small object. The weight of the responsibility, I suppose. “Just a little bit more and I can go back to sweatpants.”

I smile and shake so many hands, watch as people do a little bow at me. To my left was my father. Before him was Junmyeon. To my right were Yixing and Sehun. They all looked amazing in their suits, and all of them, like me, wearing some sort of Royal Purple. I took some time to look over my father and the three princes. My father was in a black suit with a white shirt and purple bowtie. Thankfully, Junmyeon got in touch with me earlier and asked the color of my dress and they all planned accordingly. We all looked like we coordinated, but not too much to not be individuals. Dolls to collect. Both Yixing and Junmyeon wore black suits and white shirts, though they wore ties. Sehun was the only one who was different, going for a dark gray color, like charcoal. They looked stunning. Their crowns resting on their perfectly made hair, glittering as they moved their heads. Junmyeon’s was the only one that was yellow gold, the other two white gold.

It was exhausting, greeting all 200 plus people who attended, but it must be done, apparently. I just wanted to hide away and not have to do this, but I can’t. After the last person arrives, Kyungsoo and his father, we move on to our dinner.

Thankfully I was seated by people whom I already know. It was like I was on autopilot, sitting correctly, eating and listening to people talk. When brought up how little I was speaking, Junmyeon swooped in and mentioned that it was just a combination of my introvert nature and nerves. Even more than before I admired how great he was at reading a situation and removing tension. I’ll have to remember to thank him later.

The food, though I’m sure it was fine and tasted ok, just honestly felt like I was chewing on sawdust. It was just my nervousness, I’m sure. I was just trying to get through this night alive. Junmyeon reminded me slyly about my posture, but overall I think it went well.

After dinner, it was just dessert in the style of hors d’oeurves and drinks. I had a glass of champagne in my hand, listening to women around me talk about things I didn’t get. I had to go around and mingle, unfortunately. They all wore dresses that cost more than a year of my rent and the jewelry alone in this room could go to help students who have a lot of loans and debt because of college. Not that many people here cared.

Some people talk about poor people like we’re exotic animals and they’re constantly on a safari. People from the East are generally more open and thoughtful but are still ignorant about what it’s like to not have money to make every problem go away. Northerners are stiff and strict, openly confrontational. Kyungsoo was a lot different than his father, I’ll give him that. The Northern Duke and General of the army was openly making jokes at the expense of others, calling them slurs. I’ve learned about him, like how he’s homophobic and honestly, a dimwitted tool that the Southern royalties and governing body use as a pawn. He was shorter than most men but certainly was fit and stronger than them all.

His wife was timid. I know that she’s his second wife, the first one died. The official report calls it an accident but everyone in the country has gathered that it was suicide. His new wife was young. A bit younger than me, and honestly, it grossed me out. He was a man in his late fifties and she was barely twenty. Kyungsoo was older than his stepmother, which is just plain weird. She looked scared of her husband, and I could tell without asking why. Kyungsoo not leaving her side right now made it all the more clear, honestly. I’ve heard whispers as I’ve walked along about how he was an angry drunk. A hateful man who’s drunk off his ass will always resort to violence.

Duke Park was, in all honesty, like his son. Bright and happy, making jokes and people laugh all around him, and not by making jokes that harm others. He was a kind soul, and part of me wanted to just stay there and talk with him more and not have to meet anyone else. He was tall, his hair starting to gray. His laugh was boisterous and loud, but it was comforting at the same time. Unlike his son, though, he was thin. He looked like a long string bean who loved to laugh and dance… badly.

His wife was stunning. She wore no jewelry other than the wedding band and engagement ring on her finger. She hugged me instantly and smelled like freshly baked strawberry muffins. She made you feel warm and happy, genuinely showing interest in wanting to get to know me. She told me how Chanyeol talked about me and how happy she was to meet me. I could tell Chanyeol gets his gentle, kind nature from her. As well as her passion for music.

Duke Byun, however, was the oddest. His hair was the brightest yellow I’ve ever seen. His suit was white, though there are patterns stitched of flowers all over it. All the colors of the rainbow. He had a few tattoos on his hands, though that was all that was visible. Baekhyun looked a bit normal compared to him. Though when they started talking, it was clear they shared the same quick wit and clever words. Duke Byun was smaller, probably the shortest of the dukes. He just exuded an air of confidence, knowing exactly who he is as a person.

Baekhyun told me a while ago that his mother died, and his father never remarried. Too heartbroken. Made me sad to hear, since Duke Byun would, I’m sure, be a wonderful husband if he decided to marry again. After a bit and meeting all the dukes, I started on the wives and women of all the other important people.

They clearly didn’t understand personal space. One of them touched my hair, making a passing comment about how lovely it was. I’d thank them, return the compliment and after a few minutes, excuse myself and move on to the next people. Over and over and over. They were just… so naive. They didn’t know anything about suffering or working hard. It was just… what car should I have next, what man should I try to marry, gossip about their fathers banging their secretaries, who should I cheat on my husband with, should I try to seduce the pool boy, and more of that kind of shit. But they just kept touching my hair. It was like all anyone cared about. ‘Oh your hair’, ‘It’s so soft’, ‘I want hair just like yours’! It was maddening.

Finally, after talking to all the ladies, I had to introduce myself properly to the men. Holy hell they are just… sexist and awful. Many of them offering up their sons to be my future husband, or even themselves, saying they could divorce their wives. The ones that weren’t hitting on me were treating me like I was three.

I had enough.

“Minimal colors used in Gregor’s ‘Hell’s Rebuke’ honestly just shows how the man had nothing left,” Sir Kreburn says, looking at the other men, not even wondering my opinion. He looked like a late 40’s stick with graying brown hair and an awful mustache. “Wouldn’t a fiery hell look more intimidating in full color? It’s a shame he couldn’t afford more colors.”

I smiled, trying to keep myself from getting mean. “Gregor used minimal colors in order to make hell seem like what his worst nightmare was. A vast, emotionless place to be damned for eternity,” I say, “You see, he actually was discovered to have had thousands in his estate, which in modern times would make him a multimillionaire. He simply chose to make hell a darker, emptier place.

Sir Kreburn gives me a look as if trying to belittle me. “Excuse me, your highness? I’m sorry, I don’t mean to sound rude, but would you know about Gregor?”

“She’s right,” Sir Vaylor, Lina’s father says, smiling at me. He places a hand on my upper back, and I smile back at him. “You see, Y/N has been studying painting at college, and often she would be at the museum. Years ago, she would come and learn about paintings and their artists. She was quite fond of Gregor and his work. And you do sound rude.”

Sir Kreburn smiles at him, “Ah, you taught her that, hm? Makes sense. My daughter only knows things if I teach them to her, too. She’s quite airheaded, hope it didn’t take as long to teach her as it has my daughter!”

My anger rose as I took a sip from my glass.

“Actually, I read it from a book that Sir Vaylor let me borrow,” I smile, “Dusty old thing, looks like it wasn’t touched in ages.”

Sir Vaylor grins, “Well, when Sir Kreburn interned with my father, he didn’t care much about reading the books. He’s rather read articles discussing them in magazines and not the explanations written by the artist themselves.”

The group laughed and, as I excuse myself, I could see Sir Kreburn seething at being shown up.

I walk to Lina, though on the way I was stopped a lot, my groups of men and women, flirting with me and touching me. I politely made my way over. Handing her my glass, “If I drink any more of this right now, I’ll develop a drinking problem.”

“That bad, huh,” She asks, smiling and placing her empty glass on a passing tray and taking mine with ease.

“I just… they’re all so… vapid. They’re so airheaded about the things most everyone else is going through,” I say, shaking my head. “How in the fuck, Lin?”

“I know. Trust me, I know,” She says, patting my back. She looks over my shoulder, her face going from a small smile to a look of confusion, then anger. “What the fuck? How?!”

I turn, gasping as I see Hyeon smiling as he was speaking. I could vaguely hear him say something like ‘sorry for being late’.  I turn, taking a deep breath as I looked around the room. My eyes land on Minseok who was speaking to Junmyeon and a few more people. I turn to Lina, telling her what I was going to do. I walked, trying to not appear scared or alarmed. I felt a hand grab me and I turned, and I see a woman whose name I couldn’t remember smiling as she uses her other hand to gesture to Hyeon. He smirks as she speaks.

“Oh, Your Highness! Meet my nephew, Hyeon,” She says, smiling, “His parents are going to suggest to your father about a possible engagement!”

He grins, taking my hand from her and bringing it to his lips, kissing it. “It’s nice to meet you, Y/N.”

I try to keep up appearances, “Yes, l-likewise. I’m sorry, I was supposed to speak to Junmyeon and Minseok something tonight to go over some legal business.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she says.

Hyeon pulled me to him, his other hand reaching out and pushing back some of my hair back behind my ear. “You have such lovely hair, Y/N.”

“Thank you,” I mutter as he lets me go and I quickly excuse myself, my heart beating faster and faster. AS I turned, I tried to walk away calmly. Suddenly I had tunnel vision, trying to find someone I could be around and feel at least a little safe. I got there just as the people they were talking to were leaving. Minseok glances up, noticing immediately my terrified look.

“What’s wrong,” he asks, taking a step to me. He rests his hand on my shoulder, not caring if people were looking over at the gesture. I didn’t have to answer him as he looked over my shoulder, seeing Hyeon. The hand that wasn’t on my shoulder turns into a fist as he glares at the man subtly.

Junmyeon noticed too, “I’ll tell Yixing and Sehun to make sure one of us is with her at all times. He doesn’t want to come near us with the whole corruption purge going on.”

He walked away and Minseok just takes my hand as we get closer to the wall, out of the limelight. “The night is almost over, Y.N. Are you ok?”

I just nod, not wanting to speak. I just watch him, making sure I don’t lose sight of him. If he starts coming closer, Minseok and I walk away. As Minseok had to leave to talk more business, Jongin took his place. He tried to get me to eat desserts in order to take my mind off things, but I just stood there, starting, not taking any of his food.

As the night ended, we had to personally thank people for coming. As Hyeon and his aunt come, she brings up the match to my father, who just politely says he’ll think about it. Hyeon smiles, coming in and hugging me. I was stiff as a board, but I knew I had to at least appear to hug him back or else.

“Purple is pretty on you,” He mutters in my ear, “But it would be prettier on your skin.” He pulls away, smiling, once again touching my hair like all the other people.

After it was done, the doors close and everyone else but the Royal’s, Lina and my father there. I immediately take off my shoes and start to pull pins out of my hair. I grab Lina, not even bothering to excuse myself as we go down the halls. “I need you to help me get this damn dress off so I can shower.” I stop at a huge vase at the hallway. I pull out a bag of clothes and things I asked Junmyeon to hide there for me.

Lina nods, “I saw him hug you, I don’t blame you. Sehun’s room is the closest and I’ve used his shower before. Been drunk a bit too many times here, honestly.”

“I wish I was, honestly,” I mutter as she opens Sehun’s room door. “I was I was so drunk I couldn’t remember what happened tonight. I never want to see him again.” The white and gray room was comforting as I practically stomped my way to the bathroom.

She unclasps the little hook and pulls down the zipper for me. “Do you want me to stay?”

I shake my head, “No. It’s fine. I’ll meet you guys later.”

Apprehensively, Lina nods. “We’re all going to me at the tree house. So, meet us there.”

I nod, before shutting the door after her. Showering and getting dressed was all a blur as my mind focused on the look Hyeon gave me. I looked at myself in the mirror, my hair dripping. I could feel his hands. All their hands tonight. I opened a drawer, looking for something. I didn’t realize what I was doing until I was doing it.

A long pair of scissors in my hand. I take some of my hair in my hands, cutting it off. It was so easy.Hearing them all talk about my hair, how long and pretty it was, I just cut it again and again. My hair reached my mid-back and I just kept cutting off an inch at a time. Tears fell down my face, a small smile on my face. They wanted it long and pretty, fuck them. It’s my goddamn hair.

Watching some fall and feeling it being cut made me feel better than I have all day. It was like I was in control of my life again. The sounds of cutting my long hair shorter and shorter just made me feel like I wasn’t just going through the motions of the day.

I could hear someone knock on the door, but I just ignored it as I cut again.

“Y/N, I’m coming in,” I hear the voice say. The door opened and they gasp. I felt the scissors pulled out of my grasp as I lunged for them.

“No! Give them back,” I say, reaching as much as I could.

Sehun stood there, holding the scissors out of my reach. “What are you doing, Y/N?!”

“They all touched my hair. Always my hair, acting like it was just theirs to touch if they wanted. Hyeon did it, they all fucking did it and said how pretty and long it is! The men there treated me like just some good looking doll. Acting like I was just pretty hair and a good body and not a person with an actual mind!” I reach up, only for him to still hold them out of my reach. Tears fell from my eyes as the stress I’ve been feeling finally got to me. “I don’t want them to touch it anymore! I don’t want it long or pretty or soft or blonde anymore! It’s mine! It’s my life, Sehun, and they treat me like a puppet! I’m just some fucking doll they can touch and use however they want!”

Sehun set’s the scissors down, pulling me into a hug. “You’re not their doll, Y/N. And you don’t have to be.”

I cried, holding him, “But I do! Jihae won’t tell Minseok all the names unless I have the countries goddamn doll! Unless I act the way a princess should, like a bargaining chip! Marry me off to the highest bidder and watch as I rot away!” I said as I shake my head.

Sehun hugged me, “Song wouldn’t do that to you, Y/N. He can act heartless sometimes, but he would never do that to you.” He pulled me away so he could look into my eyes, his hands holding my face. “If you want to keep cutting your hair like this, fine. Or you can go with me tomorrow and we can have someone else fix how uneven you cut it. You can even get it dyed, but doing this isn’t going to fix the actual problem.” He shakes his head, giving my forehead a kiss. “Changing your hair isn’t going to fix the bigger issue. It’ll help, but what you really need is to just… be yourself again.”

I pull away, going to the door of the bathroom, “No, I can’t-”

“Yes, you can,” Sehun says, keeping his voice even and calm. “Fuck acting like a perfect princess! I’ve never been the perfect prince, but it doesn’t change the fact that I am one!” He says, gesturing to himself. “You’re a princess, but first and foremost you have to be YOU!” He says, tapping the tips of my nose.

“You make it sound so easy,” I mutter, looking to the floor. I could see a lot of wet piece of blonde hair on the ground, littered around.

“It can be if you just do it,” He says, pulling me into a hug, “Y/N, it’s still your life. If you want to stop this, I’m sure Minseok could get someone else to list off more and more people. It doesn’t have to be Jihae.”

As he pulls away, he reaches on the counter, grabbing and handing my hair ties. “If you want, we can go fix your hair now. You can choose how you want it and whatever, but one side is shorter than the other and it looks like a lawnmower got to half of it if I’m honest.”

“Did I ruin it,” I ask, wiping away tears.

“No, it can be fixed, It’s a hell of a lot shorter, though.” He takes my hand, “Come on. Thankfully, I didn’t drink anything. You and I are going to go get this sorted.”

“It’s ten in the evening, Sehun,” I mutter as I let him pull me along. “Can this wait?”

“We can to that, or you can let me at least make it as even as I can,” He says, looking at me, “your choice.”

Half an hour later, I was sitting in a salon chair. It was late, and all the other lights in the building were off except where we are and the path to the exit. Yessica ran her fingers through it after asking me if it was ok, looking at it.

“You did quite a number on it,” She says, smiling, “But I can fix it. Just the cut?”

“Can we dye it too,” I ask, quietly.

Sehun was sitting in the chair next to me, looking through a magazine. “Bleach it,” He asks me, looking up.

I nod.

Jessica smiles, “Alright, let me get it all, and you show me the color you want.”

I pull out my phone, bringing up a picture of a painting by K.A.C. No one knew who they are, but their paintings are always gorgeous and full of color. I zoom in on this picture she painted until I find the color.

“Here,” I point, “This purplish-red. It’s lovely, can you do it?”

Yessica looked over as she mixes the bleach, “Oh yeah, totally. Most people go for more purple, so it’ll be nice to see. It’s really pretty, too!”

I smile at her. She was wearing her uniform, a black tee and black jeans with an apron that had the places name on it. Her hair was candy cane colored, some places the red and white twisted to look like the sweet. She wore little makeup, though the piercings on her face made her look like a total badass.

“Bleach is going to burn a bit,” Sehun says, flipping a page in the magazine he was looking at, “And this will take literally hours. Get ready for a long night!” Yessica laughed, “You’re just lucky I’m off tomorrow, so I can sleep in!”

“Yessica is the only one I trust touching my hair,” Sehun says, smiling. “Even got the rest of the guys seeing her too. You’re welcome for that, by the way.”

“Bitch, they stayed as my clients because I’m amazing, not because of your recommendation,” She says, “Alright, we’re ready to go!”

The bleach did hurt. And it was hours. I didn’t look until it was all done, though I could see the color here and there. Yessica was finally fixing what I did to it, “Long hair is pretty on you, but I think you’ll like how short it is now. You can still put it up, though. Easily manageable and easy to style.”

“She literally never takes it out of a bun,” Sehun says, scrolling through some kind of social media.

“I could tell,” She says, “You didn’t cut bangs, which is really good. Those would have been harder to fix if you cut as much off of them as you did the rest.”

She blow dried it, kicking at Sehun as he flicked some small rubber bands at her. She set down blow dryer, smiling. “There’s a bit more purple at the bottom, but I think it’s really pretty.” She places a hand on my shoulder, “Are you ready?”

I nod, readily. When she spun the chair around, I had a hard time believing it was me. My hair was shorter now. Going barely past my shoulders when it’s straight like it was. I reached up, running my hands through it, smiling. “It’s great,” I mutter, trying to let tears get to me.

I cut out everything as I just looked at me. It was weird, but it felt right. I never understood why people would change their hair so drastically all the time, like Lina or even Sehun. I always thought it was just hair. But it wasn’t, it’s more than that. It felt like this was a new point in my life, where I get back to the basics.

Back to who I was before all this.

Sehun and I left after thanking and paying Yessica. She was lovely, hugging me and telling me how nice it was to meet me. The clock tower on the other side of the city chiming twice. Two in the morning.

“The others are still at the treehouse,” Sehun says, looking at me. “Though I have the feeling you’ll want to go home.”

I smile, “How did you know?”

“Well, you didn’t have any dessert at the party, so you’re probably going to raid your stash, obviously.” He says, smiling. “You’ve had to deal with a lot, so home is probably the best place to relax. Everyone was really wanting you to come to the treehouse for your first afterparty of the dinner party.”

“But I’ve been to one,” I mutter, walking down the road. It was just a few blocks to my apartment building.

“Different after the stress of a dinner like that,” He mutters, kicking a small pebble that was on the sidewalk. “You’ll be happy to know Lina and I are fine.”

I nodded, smiling, “That’s great. I knew you wouldn’t hold it against her, but I know how Lin is…”

“Took forever to talk those stupid thoughts from her thick head,” He scoffs, pretending to be more upset than he is.

“As stubborn as a mule,” I say with a laugh.

The walk was nice and slow, going up the floors to my place. I unlocked the door, offering Sehun something if he wanted it.

A bottle of water later, he’s looking at his phone, “I should get back. Can’t wait to show them how you look now.”

I pull him into a hug, “Thank you. It’s always you I end up with when I need someone the most. Who knows what would have happened without you.”

His embrace is warm, like always. A hint of his cologne was in the air as I pulled away. My eyes glued to his.

Sehun smiles, “Likewise.”

Without thinking, I stand on the tips of my toes, pulling him to me. My lips connected with his. He kisses back, pulling me closer to him, his hands wrapping around me. It was hot and fast, not taking a moment to appreciate it or go slow. I’ve wanted to kiss him like this for a while, and now that I’ve done it, it was exactly like I wanted it to be. I felt safe with him, I felt like he just gets me.

My back met the wall, and I groaned as his tongue swiped against mine. My hands grab at his hair as he picks me up. I wrap my legs around him, moaning at the feeling of this. We parted for a moment, gasping for air. His eyes looked at me, full of such a sea of emotions. His lips meet mine again, and this time it is slow. My heart racing as this kiss was different than the last. I tighten my legs around him, moaning at this.

Sehun pulls away, smiling as he rested his forehead against mine. When they open, his lips spoke words that I wasn’t expecting.

“Not now,” He mutters.

“But.. why,” I ask, looking him in the eyes.

“I don’t want this to happen just like this,” He says, “As a distraction from what you’ve been through.”

I open my mouth, “You’re not-”

“I know,” He says, smiling, “Trust me, I know you aren’t just using me. But this? I want this to be special. I want you to be fine and ok. I’m not about to do this after the state you were in a few hours ago, Y/N. I’d hate myself if I did. I won’t use you like that.” His hands hold my face as he stared directly into my eyes. “If you want to call someone else for this, that’s fine. Hell, I did that with Jongin… sometimes still do.”

I frown, “But Minseok-”

“Knows,” He says with a smile, “Our relationship isn’t exactly normal, Y/N. It’s very open. All he asks is if I do, to tell him and not hide it, and I ask the same too. That’s how I knew he and you had sex. When he came to my place, he told me. I mean I could tell he fucked someone because there were marks all over, but you get the point.”

I look down, feeling small. I bite my lip, nodding. “Oh, ok.”

“But I’m not saying I don’t want to,” He says quickly as his hands squish my face a little. I could see him panicking. “I do, Y/N. I do so badly that it’s literally taking everything I have to wait.” He looked nervous, “I mean if you’d even… I mean I don’t want you to have to feel like you have to or anything.” Sehun lowers his head, some of his hair falling in front of his eyes. His hands tighten a little more, making my lips scrunch together. I could barely hear him mutter to himself, “God, Sehun, you’re such an idiot.”

“Sehun,” I mutter through my squished lips, causing him to look back at me. He looks up, seeing my squished face, pausing a moment.

Then he bursts into laughter, giggling and playfully squishing and squishing my face. “Y/N, you’re so cute right now,” He says between giggles, smiling so brightly he’d fit in with the stars. It still amazes me how he could look so stunning all the goddamn time.

“Thank you,” I mutter again, making him laugh some more. He was always beautiful, but happy and laughing looked best on him.

He lets my face go and down from his embrace, “Sorry.”

I nod, signing, “Well, I’ll… let you get back to everyone else, then.”

“If you need anything,” Sehun says, looking serious.

“Just some fudge, hot chocolate and the feeling of being supremely full of unbridled stupidity to go away,” I say, shrugging.

Sehun shakes his head, “you’re not stupid, Y/N. This isn’t rejection, this is… a, um…”

I shake my head, shoving his shoulder, “Go on, you have people to get back to and I have an entire bottle of salted caramel sauce to drown myself in. Metaphorically.”

“I’m serious,” Sehun says, holding my shoulder softly. “I just want you to focus on yourself and get yourself back to a better place, is all.”

I lean forward on my tiptoes, giving him a kiss on his cheek, “I know, but it still stings a bit. That’s just how the heart works. I understand, I really do.”

He nods, hugging me tightly for a moment. “If you need anything at all, call someone. It doesn’t have to be me, but make sure someone is there for you.”

I nod, “I will if I need to, I promise.”

Watching him walk away stung a lot more than it should have, honestly. I locked the door after him, hearing his footsteps slowly disappear as he walks to the elevator. I shake that feeling from me, spending the rest of the time I’m awake having a few sweets and trying to relax. It was just so hard for me to calm down, anymore. It didn’t help to know that sooner or later, I was going to be facing Daejung, either, but I knew Minseok wouldn’t let the room get out of hand.

Hyeon, though, had me worried. He was back here, and I knew he wouldn’t leave me alone. Thankfully, Kyungsoo has been teaching me how to defend myself, just in case something would happen. I’ll have to thank him because I certainly feel more alert than scared. I had the confidence that I could at the very least put up a fight.

Sleeping was hard. It came in waves. I’d be asleep for a few an hour or so, and then up a few. It was just nerves and stress. When I wasn’t sleeping, I was relaxing and trying to at least rest. I didn’t have anything to do later, so if I needed to, I could sleep in. And yet still, I couldn’t sleep. Now, there was no sleeping. After about three hours of sleep total, my body just wouldn’t anymore. I was still exhausted, but no matter how much I wished, I couldn’t sleep. I groaned, rolling in bed and to the bathroom. After a bath, that was warm and relaxing, I still couldn’t sleep. It was now noon. I cursed, picking up my phone and dialing. Perhaps I could do with a distraction after all.

I texted many people, asking to see what they’re doing. Many had family things to do. Kyungsoo had to go up North for the rest of the week, Baekhyun and Chanyeol off with their families on a vacation, Jongdae and Jongin both back to the South. I couldn’t exactly call on Sehun or Minseok for this since they’ve made it clear they want me to think about it all first. That just left two princes to see if they’re down to come over.

When my phone dinged, I smiled. Finally, someone was available for exactly what I wanted. I made sure to be perfectly clear in what I was talking about. Making sure that he wasn’t going to feel used in any way. I made sure I was as blunt as possible.

He just sent me a message saying, ‘I’ll be there in fifteen’.

#exo scenarios #exo fanfiction #exo imagine #exo fanfic

[mormonmonastery]

can you give advice/thoughts on supporting lgbtq+ rights after that byu teacher was fired for posting about it? i didn't look into it too much because it frightened me and i'm afraid that even supporting my friends is frowned upon by the church. i don't understand it very well because it feels to me like giving people agency is more in line with the plan of happiness than trying to force everyone to live within christian standards...

first of all, Christian Standards? loving one another is a Christian Standard. giving your money to the poor is a Christian Standard. turning the other cheek is a Christian Standard. being a jerk to gay people and excluding them from your faith community because of a selective interpretation of scripture that hyper-focuses on three or four verses taken out of their larger historical context, while ignoring how a constant element of Jesus’ ministry was reaching out to the marginalized and excluded while tearing down overly rigid and dehumanizing performances of religion, is simply being a jerk. I agree that our commitment to agency stemming from our understanding of the plan of happiness should see us veer away from forcing others’ adherence to Christian Standards, but homophobia isn’t a Christian Standard! in fact, I would argue that there are a few things more anti-Christ and anti-Christian than religiously-motivated homophobia!

I think that the case you’re alluding to will worry you less when you hear it happened at BYU-Idaho, which has a reputation of being even more conservative and reactionary than its parent university, and that it involved two of the professor’s Facebook friends snitching to the university about a private post. That’s a storm of a situation which, I dare say, will not be easy to replicate. If you’re a student and/or faculty at a BYU, I can see how this would be more concerning to you–I purposefully never applied to BYU-Provo because I knew I would have reacted to the performative aspect of religious adherence that’s codified there like oil & water, so I’m not the best person to speak on what you can and can’t get away with on those campuses. 

What I do know is that supporting your friends isn’t frowned upon by the Church: as Elder Christofferson said after in interviews after the passage of Utah’s 2015 nondiscrimination legislation, “there hasn’t been any litmus test or standard imposed that you couldn’t support [marriage equality] if you want to support it, if that’s your belief and you think it’s right.“ The support or affiliate question in the temple recommend interview was written in relation to groups who tear down or oppose the Church in a negative sense–most significantly, polygamist sects who attempted to poach members or gain access to temple ordinances–and has no relation to a positive and individual commitment to supporting the LGBTQ+ community. A recent PR statement communicated a desire on the Church’s part to “fostera community of inclusion in which no one is mistreated because of who they are or what they believe.” If anyone in your local leadership or any of your LDS friends are giving you are hard time about being an ally, you have a surprising amount of authoritative statements to fall back on. Use that, as far as it goes, to your advantage. 

The other thing is that you being an ally doesn’t need to be a public or overt thing, as long as you’re doing what’s important: supporting a marginalized community when it needs support. Obviously being open and zealous about that support with facebook posts, sunday school comments, and awkward corrections over the family dinner table is great so long as you can do it in a way that’s comfortable and healthy for you; as the scripture says, “it is not requisite that a man should run faster than he has strength” (Mosiah 4:27). If you’re scared about being a public ally in the Church right now, maybe you need to build up your strength by starting small and moving up from there; after all, “thy Father which seeth in secret himself shall reward thee openly” (Matthew 6:4). Being a listening ear for your LGBTQ friends when they have problems or reaching out to them with a text or message if they sound like they’re feeling down is being an ally. Donating a couple dollars towards LGBTQ charities and resources like Encircle, Affirmation, and The Trevor Project  (to name just a few) is being an ally. Saying “I don’t like jokes that makes fun of other people” when someone tries to get away with a homophobic joke or slur is being an ally. You don’t have to be wearing a badge everywhere that says “HEY, I’M A GAY ALLY,” or do some inspirational Mother Teresa-level work of allyship to be an ally. You just need to step up to support God’s children when you can and when it counts.

Something else that I think is important to remember as an ally is that It’s Not About You. What you’re doing as an ally is great, but that’s really only because it’s what you should be doing already to be a good Christ-like person and being a good Christ-like person is great. You need to be taking cues from the LGBTQ people you know and want to serve about what will help them and what you can do to be part of that instead of just doing whatever--that’s part of listening with empathy. Maybe you’ll make some mistakes at first or find out there are some behaviors of your own that you need to change and as long as you listen and try to improve that’s totally okay--because It’s Not About You, it’s not a judgement on you! Instead, it’s about making sure you are prepared to serve your fellow beings in the way they need to be served here and now. You’re really just a tool in the hands of God, a messenger, an angel--an ego has no place here. Don’t let it get in the way of you doing the Lord��s work!

Those are really the two main gems that I can give you: do what you can & listen to the people you serve and adjust accordingly. That last one should be enough to carry you over the finish line as long as you follow it. I’m proud of your desire to do good and to love others and I’m excited to see what a force for good you can be as you choose to manifest God’s love in your own life!         

#anon #tumblrstake #queerstake #@my lgbtq friends: feel free to add on to this if you have more good advices! you're better experts at this than I am!

[azkaabanter]

We are Animals

5k of SMUT AND ACTUAL PLOT… but mostly smut. I upload from my phone so I can’t italicize anything. If you want to see the version with italics, I’ll send you a link to where I posted the story. ANYWAAAAAYYYYY … I also apologize, but I don't know how to enable the 'read more' feature on my phone. I know it's annoying but unfortunately I can't do anything about it.

AU STORY!!

-

This is a Drarry fic based on a video on YouTube of the same title. Kind of post apocolyose/ homophobe universe. Hardcore smut so… yeah

-

“Men. The only animals in the world to fear” - D.H. Lawrence

-

“Findings from the National Center of Disease control released the results of a study which shows that the lifestyle of some homosexuals has triggered an epidemic…” The garbled voice of a newscaster comes out of the radio, along with small blasts of static. I walk down a dirt road in the middle of nowhere, my shoes covered in red dust and the sun beating down on my shoulders, heating my brown leather jacket. I keep my hands in the pockets to keep them from shaking as the small radio I keep in the lining spits out more information.

“The ‘Gay Plague’ is the center of a political storm- the Moral Majority claiming that AIDS is God’s punishment for the gay lifestyle.” I close my eyes hard and use my shoulder to wipe the sweat out of them, and my messy black hair sticks to my forehead. In a hidden part of the thick jacket I can just hear the minute clinking of small pink pills that I live on in a small prescription jar. The pills in that jar, though, are anything but legal. The announcer continues.

“This isn’t just a disease we’re talking about here! These people are capable of murdering other humans when they-” The voice becomes inaudible from all of the static emitting from the cheap radio, so I take it out and hit it against my jean-clad leg until the voice is understandable again.

“C'mon…” I huff to myself, hitting the small box once again when it continues to cut out, until it finally continues.

“-and 50% of U.K citizens are favoring quarantine. We’re putting them in a nice, comfortable place-” The voice of the announcer is cut off suddenly by another person shouting into the microphone.

“Just isolate them!” The newcomer says, and I continue to listen, though it hurts. Looking up, I see the outline of a tall brick enclosure in the distance as my radio spouts more slurs. I would switch to another station, but these news reports are all that are broadcasted anymore. The second voice continues, though in a calmer tone than the one previously used. “We have received proof that the free world is, once again, in danger.

The radical group of homosexuals, known otherwise as the Death Eaters, have rallied together, more determined than ever to destroy the means put in place by our scientific and medical communities that keep us all safe, and healthy. Although we have created a protective quarantine, no one is truly safe.” I turn off the radio, no longer able to listen.

I can hear my mother’s voice in my head, pressing the bottle of pink pills into my hand. ‘Hide, Harry. Hide in plain sight, be a nurse, do whatever you can. Just don’t let anyone know who you really are.’ So here I am, in the middle of a field on a dirt road in August.

Eventually reaching the gate of an eight foot tall barbed wire fence, I look up and sigh, pushing it open and walking inside the quarantine zone.

The road is deserted, with various posters blowing about in the street, and the rusted shells of forgotten cars lining the outsides of empty buildings. My green eyes scan the chain link, looking at the various posters tacked up.

Seeing some of them closer, they look to all have some extent of coverage from green or black paint. I can even see a poster of the Queen with a large green skull with a serpent tongue covering her face. I reach out to touch the poster, but in pulling my hand back, the tips of my fingers come away glistening with green liquid. I then take a step back, look around, and continue on my way, eyes trained on the ground in front of me, and hands stuffed in my pockets, with the muffled sound of men’s screams permeating my ears.

I continue walking through the desolate streets until I reach a heavy metal door with the words “Caution: Quarantine inside. Enter at your own risk.” I don’t think twice before pressing my shoulder against the door to open it.

Inside, the sounds of suffering are clearer, but I continue on my way. Close by, I can hear someone with a hacking cough, a side effect of the numbing agent.

“Hey-” A hoarse voice calls out, and I look up in surprise. “you’ll help me…” An unkempt man sitting in a pile of trash lunges at me, trying to grab my ankle, though I manage to jump out of the way. “Help me!” He screams at my back as I walk away. “You selfish pig! You’re just like the rest of us!”

“L-leave me alone.” I say quietly, continuing, albeit at a quicker pace, towards my destination while the man screams behind me.

“You’ll get yours one day kid! You just… you fucking wait…” Is what I hear before he breaks down crying, and I keep going out of fear.

I turn a corner a small ways from the man to the front of an unassuming building, manned by two armed guards wearing respirators over their mouths and noses. The man on the left looks me up and down, before stiffly asking- “Identification?” I take out my security pass and he runs it under a machine, which beeps to signal my clearance. “Put out your arms.” He says, taking out a metal detector and waving it over my whole body.

As it runs over my side, I pray with every ounce of my sinning soul that the pills won’t be detected, even though they never have been before.

“He’s clean.” The guard says once the detector has run over me multiple times. He gives me a look of sadness, and motions to his partner to open the door. “Good luck in there, Potter.” I nod in response and walk through the door into the cool, dark building.

My whole body shakes as I walk to the bathroom, the intercom of the building playing more messages like the one I heard on my way to work. “Several members of the Death Eaters have been arrested for vandalizing property, writing messages that spread their hate and lies…” I listen intently at the door to the restroom to make sure that it’s deserted, before entering and locking the door behind me. “The authorities have transferred the detainees to a nearby clinic for immediate neutralization.”

I walk to the sink, not bothering to look in the mirror because I know what I would see; the tired eyes of a liar, and the messy hair and smile-less lips of a sinner. I take the plastic container out of my pocket and crack it open, depositing the pills into my hands, looking at them with distain and distaste, before I hear a creak behind me. I look up and turn to the side, the sudden appearance of a heavily freckled red-haired man taking me by surprise, causing me to drop the container of pills and drop to my knees, scrambling to pick them all up.

“I-it’s not what it looks like-” I stutter, fear taking over my whole being, because if he knows what these pills do-

I look back at him after all the pills are put away, and I see a sad smile on his face.

“I should have known you were on Celibron-” he says, his accent thick. I narrow my eyes at him before looking away, my heart beating a million miles and hour. “I know exactly what you’re going through. You’re doing a really good thing-” I look back up at the man, who looks hardly older than I. How could he possibly know what I'n going through?

I narrow my eyes again, and stand up straight, slipping the bottle into my pocket. “I can’t eat… I can’t sleep… these- these things are fucking poisoning me-”

“These things saved my life.” The other man says calmly, resting his hand on my arm, which I immediately pull away. I turn my back, and put my hand on the doorknob, figuring I can just take the pills somewhere else. “Do you want to get better?” He asks, and my grip falters, before steadying again.

“There’s nothing wrong with me.” I say. “It’s just a precaution.” And I walk out of the room, leaving the red haired man alone, once again.

About an hour later, I’ve nearly forgotten the experience. My mind is numbed by the Celibron coursing through my system, and my shoes loudly hit the ground in the quiet hallway leading up to my patient’s room.

I’ve traded my leather jacket and jeans for dark red scrubs, and my hands are unable to stop fidgeting as I walk up to the one-way glass that shows me my patient.

I look in and see him sitting on a table, wearing nothing but white shorts, and I swallow thickly, before mentally berating myself for it. He has neat bleach blonde hair and wears a look that would seem horrible on anyone except for him. His lean arms are pale and his stomach is toned and blemishless. When he looks up I can see stormy grey eyes and a strong chin. I open the door and walk into the room, trying to avoid eye contact with the beautiful man.

I go to the cart positioned directly next to the man, whose feet are bound to his padded medical chair. I pick up his file and graze my eyes over it, before having them rest on his name. 'Draco Malfoy’ I glance at him and look back at the chart blankly when I find that he’s looking back at me.

I walk around the back of him, glancing at his forearm and seeing a tattoo of a green skull and serpent right beneath the hinge of his elbow. His voice takes me out of my stupor.

“So… what’s it like?” I return to his side and look him in the eyes, before glancing away again. “When they cut it off?” Draco asks me morbidly.

“You’ll be anesthetized-” I reply quickly.

“Mm-mm. No, I want to feel everything-” my neck heats as I feel him look me up and down. “even pain.” He says everything with a confidence that I don’t understand. I don’t understand how he could be confident and level headed in the situation that he is in.

“We can’t do that. That’s… inhumane.” I tell him, still keeping my eyes on the tools that I’m fiddling with for no reason other than to distract myself from the strength of his gaze. He thinks for a moment before replying.

“Since when did that stop anyone?” I pause for a moment before continuing my distraction.

“I-I’m sorry. The government requires that every patient be numb from the waist down for this procedure…” His eyes burn into the back of my neck and I can feel the pills working against the feelings rising up inside of me. He smirks.

“What do you feel down there, nurse boy? I could smell you a mile away. Your body’s strong… it’s resisting those pills-” I turn to face him, an easygoing smile decorating his features, and anger boils up inside of me.

“How did you know that?” I ask with a mixture of anger, fear, and curiosity. His blonde hair flops into his eyes and he brushes the strands away with gentle fingers.

“Did you ever break sodomy law?” I stop again, the heat from my neck spreading to my cheeks.

“T-the what?” I stutter, trying to play innocent as I lean back against the wall. He just smiles and shakes his head, as if he can’t believe my ineducation on the subject.

“Sodomy, sweetie. Mmm, sodomy.” The blonde nearly hums the words, before turning back to me with an amused expression. “C'mon, everyone knows that the clinic staff are all a bunch of gays…” He looks me up and down hungrily, and says more quietly, “my nose never fails.” And my anger boils over. I slam the supplies on the cart, push off the wall, and walk right up to Malfoy. “Look, I don’t know what shit you heard, but it’s wrong. I’m straight.” I tell him matter-of-factly, walking to the other side of the room to pick up the sphygmomanometer. He clicks his tongue.

“Yeah, so is spaghetti 'till you get it wet…” He pauses before continuing at a whisper. “and hot…” His eyes are filled with lust, and it’s getting harder and harder to keep my composure under his grey gaze.

“I-I need to t-take your blood pressure-” I keep my eyes trained on the ground as I walk the few steps over to him, my fingers brushing his warm skin while I strap the contraption to his right bicep. He breathes in deeply,the muscles in his chest rising and falling as he chuckles and softly says

“You’re strapping it to the wrong limb-” I cut him off.

“You’re about to be castrated. Doesn’t that bother you?” I ask him irritably, giving in to my want for just a moment to rake my eyes up his body. He still acts indifferent, and I can’t tell if he’s really courageous or really stupid.

“Hell no.” He says, and I begin pumping up the pressure in the arm band of the sphygmomanometer. He throws his head back and then looks at me with a grin. “Turns me on, what can I say?” I rip the Velcro and take the band off of him, throwing it to the side in anger.

“This isn’t a game! People are dying because of this!” I exclaim, running my hand through my already disastrous black locks, and he suddenly turns serious.

“I live out there…” He looks down at his bound feet for a moment, before bringing his eyes up to mine once again. “I know what it’s like.”

“You’re a freak.” I say, going around to the other side of the chair back to the cart, my anger boiling over. I look at him again and his sarcastic smile is back.

“Might be hard- er, difficult- to do the procedure, if I’m… y'know.” He says, and I look up. He flicks his eyes downward, and I notice the bulge in the thin cotton pants.

“Oh… yeah…” I say.

Suddenly, Draco’s lunged out and grabbed my hand, pulling me to the side of his chair on my knees, putting my hand over his growing hard on, pressing it down, and moving it so that I’m cupping him. He’s strong; even as I’m struggling against him, I can’t get my hand away from it’s place against his cock.

“How does that feel?” I can hear the smirk in his voice. “Yeah, just squeeze right there-” he exclaims to me when I inadvertently clench my fist around him. I can’t say that I’m not enjoying feeling what must be a rather large cock through those thin pants, though I know it’s so fucking wrong.

I stop struggling, and look away guiltily as I squeeze down his cock, though not bare I can feel its’ heat, and I have Draco writhing in his chair. I can tell that his moans are hardly contained and I have to thank god for these scrubs hiding the bit of hardness that I’ve acquired despite the pills.

“Fuck-” he moans quietly, more like a gasp when I flick my wrist hard. His hand is gripping my wrist as I go faster and faster; my panting becoming audible. It’s so…

wrong.

But…

It’s also… so

right.

“Fuckfuckfuck…” Curses spill from his lips as I take my hand off of him just to put it down the waistband of his pants and actually touch him. He’s heavy and throbbing and I have the sudden urge to put my mouth on him, but banish it from my head immediately.

'This is plenty wrong enough…’ The thought crosses my brain when I swipe my thumb over the head of his dripping cock, lubricating my hand in his precum as I continue to jack him off.

His other hand is pulling on my hair as moans continue to fall from his mouth.

“Tell me your name. Tell me your name so I can shout it when I come.” He gasps to words, and his cock twitches in my hand.

“Potter.” I say, and he’s already started his orgasm.

His hand grips my hair roughly and he arches his back. I bring my eyes to his face; grey eyes closed, and biting his lip in ecstasy.

“Fuck Potter!” He gasps and I can feel his come on my hand as he pants and moans and curses, finally collapsing in the chair, his chest rising and falling quickly. “You… you’re good at that-” he says as I stand up not a moment before the door opens behind me, causing me to run into the cart in surprise.

The surgeon walks in, completely indifferent to my reaction, and walks over to the cart, turning to me. My white covered hand is hidden behind my back.

“Where’s the scalpel?” He asks me, and I look over at Draco with wide eyes, who smirks, winks, and lunges at the surgeon, putting the blade in his neck and pulling it back out when the man has fallen to the floor.

He then takes my wrist in an iron grip and pulls me out the door and through several hallways.

“C'mon c'mon!” He says back at me, before throwing me against the wall near a guarded door. He attacks the guard, taking him down by brute force, punching him several times, then coming over to me, hauling me up, and dragging me over to the door.

“Open the door.” He says into my ear, raising hairs over my entire body, but I still struggle against him, until I feel cool metal against my throat. “Open. the door.” He repeats, pressing the scalpel in more, until I relent and put the code into the door.

Once unlocked, people come rushing out of the armored room in hysterics. All homosexuals. All people like Harry. I turn to run, but he’s come up behind me.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He asks me, picking me up.

A sudden hit on the the back of the head has me out cold, and I can vaguely feel myself being thrown over a shoulder and carried…

-t.s-

“Ow…” I say when I awaken with a pounding headache, rubbing my forehead. I look around, and my heart rate rises when I see that I am no longer in the clinic.

I’m in a cloth tent, alone.

I scramble to the door, ignoring my headache and climb out into the light of a setting sun. Music, laughter and yelling reach my ears from somewhere nearby, and I decide to investigate. I know that I’m getting close, as I can hear Draco’s voice:

“Yes! My fellow Death Eaters! I promise you that we will stab at the opposition! We will be treated as people in this cruel world! We. Will. Be. Victorious!” He screams, the voice of the man permeating my ears. An excited scream rises from the other people in the group. “Stripped of our dignity, under the guise of a disease, an epidemic, that has nearly wiped us out. And now we appear! Without out meds! Because we won’t hide anymore. This is OUR freedom!” His speech hits a crescendo when I round the corner of the rocky path, and crouch behind some bushes.

In the clearing I can see Draco, standing on a rock next to a blazing fire, and a rather large group of cheering followers who are dancing and talking. Among them I swear I can see the red haired man from the bathroom.

I crouch lower behind the bush when I see Draco looking around the edges of the clearing, praying that he won’t see me. But he does. His eyes lock onto mine and I swear I see him lick his lips, before I back up, trip a bit, and then run as fast as I can in the other direction, thoughts racing through my mind.

'I’m not one of them. I’m straight, I’m normal. I won’t be killed and there’s nothing wrong with me.’ Desperate thoughts fill my head as I run, and I can hear him perusing me.

“You can’t go back! You have nowhere to go-” he yells after me, but I just keep going, my chest heaving and my legs burning, yet I still run with tears in my eyes.

I run until I trip, falling to the ground on my back, and within thirty seconds Draco’s reached me.

He kneels behind me and pulls me up onto my knees, one hand on my throat and holding my ear to his mouth, and his other arm around my stomach holding me in place as I struggle against him.

“You can’t go back. The government’s declared you a renegade-” He says into my ear, his fingers and thumb digging into my cheeks and squishing my mouth.

“I-I can’t be a part of this-” I say, and he stretches my head back so that my neck is completely exposed, and puts his lips next to my ear.

“You’re here, just do it.” He says, and pushes me down so that I’m flat on my back, his knees on either side of my hips and his hands on either side of my head. I stare into his eyes, which have a softness that I didn’t see in the clinic.

“You felt something didn’t you?” He asks with a smile, stony eyes gleaming. I swallow thickly and try to ignore the pangs of want throbbing in my chest. “That’s the pills wearing off.”

Our breathing heavy and deep, it’s my turn to talk. “Was that your plan? To hold me hostage until the pills wore off?” I challenge him, and he smirks at me, his lips now mere inches above mine.

“A man’s not a man until his pills wear off…” He looks at me thoughtfully. “I’m doing you a favor.” He licks his lips, and takes the hem of my shirt in his fist, ripping it over my head, leaving my tanned chest gleaming in the darkening sky. His eyes look at me hungrily.

“What are you doing?” I ask, though all logical thought is being clouded with lust.

“Freeing the dragon.” He smirks, and all thought goes out the window. With a surge of strength, I push Draco off of me onto his back, and reassume his old position on top. The man beneath me looks vaguely surprised, but he doesn’t have long to retain the face because I’ve started attacking his lips.

I kiss him with a passion I’ve never felt before. His lips are soft and supple, and when his tongue snakes into my mouth it feels like it was made to be there. I bite his bottom lip hard in ecstasy, and when I grind my hips down into his for a split second, he groans into my mouth.

I rip his shirt off of him, running my hands over ever inch of uncovered pale skin all the way up his arms to his wrists, which I pin over his head while I start attacking his neck with hard bites and kisses, all the way to his collar bone. We’re both panting like animals at this point, but I couldn’t possibly care less.

“Shit-” he gasps, pressing his hips into mine, presenting me his already throbbing cock through yet another pair of thin pants. I take my hands off his wrists and he immediately puts one in my hair, and the other is running down my back, pushing me onto him.

He grabs me by the sides, hauling me into a sitting position without ever taking his lips off of mine.

Draco licks all the way down my neck and onto my collar bone, his cock pressing into me and mine prodding him in the stomach. I grind into him and he throws his head back in a loud moan, thrusting his hips up against me.

“Fuck…” I sigh, because it seems to be the only word in my vocabulary right now.

Within seconds of my moan he has his fingers in the waistband of my pants and is almost ripping them off, leaving me bare in his lap. I immediately climb off of him and pull his pants off of him, but the second they’re off he’s got me back on top of him, assaulting my lips and squeezing my ass.

My thighs are wrapped around his waist and every time I move my cock rubs against his stomach until I can’t take it anymore.

“I-I need you-” I gasp in his ear, and his mouth is immediately off of mine.

“If you want me, you’re going to need some preparation.” He whispers in my ear, not taking any more time and putting me down on my stomach, spreading me, and putting his tongue in my hole.

“Goddamn, Draco!” I gasp as he puts it as deep as it can go, working me loose. My hands pull at his once neat blonde hair, and he works his tongue in me until he has me writhing. But he doesn’t stop there. He puts two fingers in his mouth, covering them with saliva, and puts them in in place of his tongue. I moan, and he starts to talk.

“You’re going to look so fucking gorgeous with my cock inside you.” He pumps his fingers faster, earning himself a strangled gasp. He takes my head and turns it so that my eyes are on him while he finger fucks me. “You’ll be taking all eight inches whether you like it or not, baby.” I throw my head back in reply because he’s started curling his fingers and I can’t comprehend anything but the feeling. He smirks, grey eyes crinkling. “Good.” He says, taking his fingers out and leaving me with an empty feeling. “I need you to lube me.” I quirk an eyebrow, and he chuckles. “Suck me a bit. Just a little. I don’t know how long I would last in that mouth.” I blush but bring my mouth down to meet his glistening head all the same.

His cock is warm and full in my mouth and I try to take it as deep as it can go, getting it as wet as possible. All too soon he’s pulling it out.

“I-I can’t…” He pulls me on top of him again, but doesn’t have me sit. He looks me dead in the eye. “After I’m done with you, you’re not going to be able to sit comfortably for a week.” He growls the words into my ear and I moan. He takes that as the signal to start lowering me onto him.

Inch by inch he fills me, and it burns and hurts but it hurts so good that I don’t know whether to scream or moan. His girth is stretching me and I wrap my legs around his waist. After a bit of adjusting, Draco is in me all the way to the hilt, his tip brushing lightly against my prostate every time he moves. He puts his forehead against mine and kisses me when he starts thrusting; slowly at first. In the beginning it hurts, and he swallows my cries. But then it starts feeling good… suddenly, he isn’t going fast enough.

“Faster.” I gasp into his ear, and he has no problem fulfilling my request. My cock rubs against Draco’s stomach with every thrust, giving me more pleasure than I know what to do with. My nails scratch at his back roughy, surely leaving dozens of marks.

“Faster.” I say again, because I want more. So much more. “Harder.” And he goes harder, but still not hard enough. I pull his face down to meet mine, and look into his darkened stormy eyes. “Fuck me ask hard and fast as you can.” I say to him, and he grins.

“As you wish, Mr. Potter.” He says, before pulling out, putting me on my hands and knees, going back in, and fucking me so hard that he hits my prostate with every thrust.

“Draco!” I scream, his hips slapping my ass where they meet, and his hands pulling me by the hips to meet his frantic thrusts. I take myself in hand and jack myself off harder and faster than ever before because I’m so painfully hard that I don’t know what to do with myself. Soon, I can feel the coil tightening inside of me. “I-I’m going to-” is all I get out before I come the hardest I ever have, and he’s still fucking me as hard as ever.

Draco pulls me up so my back is against his chest and he takes my now soft cock in hand, moving his hand in time with his thrusts until I’m amazingly hard again, and he himself is grunting. But his orgasm comes with dirty talk.

“I’m so glad I got to fuck you open. I want to split you down the middle with my cock, and never stop fucking you. I got you hard again so I could suck you, feel all 7 inches of you, Harry. Fuck… Fuck!” He screams, riding out his orgasm inside me. The second he stops coming, he pulls out, moves down and gives me the most aggressive blowjob ever, which ends with my come all over his face.

“Scared, Potter?” He asks me, panting.

I give him a wry grin.

“You wish.”

-

“And so, in response to this new aggression, we are launching a new effort…”

#drarry squad #drarry #drarry fic recs #drarry fanfic #drarry smut #harry x draco #harry potter #draco malfoy #hp #smut #fanfic #otp

[elljayvee]

Severus, Harry, Albus, & Tom

(This post is based on some thoughts I spewed all over Twitter a bit ago.) 

I was thinking about the final duel in Deathly Hallows, which first of all has Albus Dumbledore’s fingerprints all over it -- Harry calling Tom “Tom”, lots of talking intended both to drive Tom right up a wall & to reach for his humanity.  There’s a lot of talk of love in it, which is something Harry understands and Tom doesn’t. (Has Tom ever loved anyone?) 

Tom understands sexual desire, and knows that sexual desire is not love -- but he doesn’t understand that Snape loved Lily. As far as he is concerned, there was only desire there, and he clearly perceives desire as fairly shallow. He says that Snape agreed that there were more worthy women: basically that Snape just wanted to fuck Lily. 

Harry understands love a lot better. (He’s been protected by love all his life. There were limits and flaws in that protection, but it was still there.) Harry knows that Snape could both desire his mother, & love her in other ways as well: for their shared past, for his childhood friendship. (I mean I'm not denying that Snape was kind of a creep, here, because there's all kinds of ways in which he was.) But I am saying that Tom only understood "Snape wants to fuck this lady" & not "Snape has a complicated emotional relationship with this woman that includes sexual desire." 

Also, re-reading that scene after reading Cursed Child puts a new complexion on Tom's knowledge of sexual desire. 

The whole duel works its way through two of the major triads in the series: Tom-Snape-Harry and Tom-Dumbledore-Harry. (Rowling uses triads & 3-vs-1 setups a lot, which I love. They’re very appealing. One of the notable things about the Horcruxes is that they aren’t triadic; they are unbalanced and scattered, symptoms of Tom’s broken and irredeemable soul.) 

The Tom-Dumbledore-Harry setup is about their relationships to love and power. They're all extremely powerful wizards who have very different approaches to both love and power. 

Harry cares much more about love than he does about power. There’s a deep satisfaction, for me, in seeing Dumbledore's infuriating dueling style used against Tom by Harry, a wizard whose strength lies in his ability to love. Harry understands love AS a force, as a power in its own right, but a power that lies in being given away. In open-heartedness. This makes Harry naming his second son after Snape more understandable: he understands love's complexity & has a generous heart himself. It also makes his complicated relationship with Albus Severus in Cursed Child more understandable: Albus Severus sees that same openness as nonspecific and uncaring. 

Dumbledore craves power & only resists it out of love, & only after tragedy. He is never again open-hearted as he was with Grindelwald, because for him love has been complicated by fear, pain, resentment, manipulation. He does love -- it seems to me that he loves both Snape and Harry -- but his love is always at a remove, never letting anyone too close. Dumbledore, at the liminal King's Cross, tells Harry that going to Hogwarts was resisting power; that’s either a bit self-deluding or he’s straight-up lying. There's a lot of power in controlling the education of generations of children, Albus. People make fun of the Slug Club, but at least Slughorn is open about what he's doing. Dumbledore cultivated people, too, and he used Hogwarts to do that cultivation -- which included recruiting children to war under his command. Dumbledore knows he has a lust for power, & maybe he honestly tried to avoid power, but he failed. I mean: "You will find that I will only truly have left this school when none here are loyal to me." Come on, Albus. I think he's VERY clear that he wants power too much & shouldn't have it, but NOT clear with himself on how much power he has via Hogwarts.

Tom loves only power and nothing else. It’s not clear to me that Tom has ever loved another person. 

Albus Dumbledore is very present in that duel, and so is another: Severus Snape. Harry, in talking to Tom, in centering a narrative of love, protection, and remorse, talks a fair bit about his mother, & about Snape, & he does it in front of EVERYONE. Snape spent his time living "no one must know"; Harry, by contrast, is about emotional accessibility. Everyone must know. It is all right to love people and not to hide it. 

The Tom-Snape-Harry triad is one of the most interesting in the series. It is formed by similar heritage, early lives, their relationships to Hogwarts, to Albus, to power, and to love. There are so many ways in which they are three men who could have been similar, but their choices define them. (Love. Choices. Respect. Names. These are some of the recurring themes of the series.) They’re all abused/neglected halfblood wizards who found their first real home at Hogwarts. Tom & Snape both loathe their Muggle fathers, & let that lead them to a very nasty belief system. In Tom’s case, he picked up his belief system at Hogwarts. We don’t know exactly how but there are implications that it was at least in part through a fascination with Salazar Slytherin -- his ancestor and fellow Parselmouth. In Snape’s case we know he probably didn’t start out with those beliefs, and also adopted them to a certain extent at Hogwarts. He tells Lily, before they go to Hogwarts, that birth doesn’t matter. He apparently doesn’t start using the word “Mudblood” until sometime after that. He leaves the Death Eaters and began to distance himself from their views for love, & renounced them entirely in at least two timelines (in Deathly Hallows, he tells Phineas Nigellus not to use the word "Mudblood", and in Cursed Child he says that he came to believe as Lily did). Harry...did not learn to hate Muggles or Muggleborns at Hogwarts. He had as much reason to hate his Muggle relatives as Snape or Tom, and he DID, but unlike them he didn’t generalize.

Tom, Snape, and Harry also all had relationships with Dumbledore beyond usual teacher-student relationships.

Of the three of them, the one whose relationship with Albus is the most obscured is Tom’s -- partly because so much of it was so far in the past, but partly because Tom doesn’t have normal human feelings. Albus knows a lot about him, and Tom hates that. (If you were trying to be a powerful Dark Lord, would you like it if your old teacher kept reminding you of when you were a young, vulnerable student? If you were trying to be more than human, would you like it if someone kept pointing out how human you still were?)

Severus Snape might have the most complicated relationship of all of them with Albus, and we see a lot of that in his memories in Deathly Hallows: there’s genuine dislike and disgust, there’s friendship, protection, sacrifice. How much Albus saw Severus as a tool to be used vs how much he cared is, I think, something of an open question. But I do think he did care, and that Severus cared for him -- Severus’s reaction to Albus putting on the Gaunt ring, for example, shows that. (Sidenote: given Albus’s issues with power, you’d think he’d be more understanding of Severus’s cravings for it. Shut up, Albus.)

Harry is very clear that he is “Dumbledore’s man”, despite a fraught relationship at times. He knows that Albus is manipulating things, and he isn’t exactly pleased about that, but he is also very clear that he knows which side is which and on whose side he stands. Even when he’s angry or frustrated with Dumbledore, he is still loyal to him. (As a sidenote, I think it’s clear in-universe that Dumbledore’s sexuality was either not secret or an open secret, at least among the adults. The Daily Prophet article by Rita Skeeter says Albus had an “unnatural interest” in Harry. “Unnatural interest” is a specific anti-gay term used to indicate sexual abuse of male children by gay men. Skeeter is using a homophobic slur towards Dumbledore. The Prophet article is written to imply to adult wizards that Albus had been AT LEAST magically & sexually grooming Harry, if not molesting him. It’s meant to cast aspersions on Dumbledore and on Harry’s emotional stability. Given how Rowling uses the Prophet and Skeeter throughout the series, I suppose one could say that readers were not intended to see any truth in that article -- but what always made Skeeter’s work effective was that there was just ENOUGH truth in it to build belief on.) 

All of Tom, Severus, & Harry have a lot of anger (& a lot of JUSTIFIED anger) but how they direct it is very different & it comes down to love.

Tom doesn’t love. He thinks of love as silly; he tells Harry that love didn’t save Dumbledore or his mother, after all. He mocks Lucius Malfoy for caring about Draco; he treats Bellatrix callously when she shows him affection (because I do think Bellatrix loved him, in her way). Tom only cares about power: the power of his weaponry, of his army. 

Severus comes to understand the power that love can have but he remains always twisted up about it, ashamed & secretive. That’s real tragedy of his life, I think. If he could have learned some openness he probably would have been happier. Moved on from Lily, at any rate. He did care for Albus, who up until very late rather thought that Severus HAD moved on from Lily -- I think, to an extent, Dumbledore also felt that Severus’s love was mostly desire-based, and so was surprised that almost two decades later it was still strong. 

And then there’s Harry. When thinking about choices, and about love, and about anger, Harry has at least as much reason as Ariana Dumbledore or Credence Barebone to become an Obscurial & doesn’t. He has at least as much reason as Tom Riddle or Severus Snape to hate Muggles, and doesn’t. Rowling implies that a lot of that has to do with Lily’s sacrifice, with her love protecting her child. It also has to do with Harry himself, though, and his choices: his choice of Ron over Draco, his choice to go after Ginny in the Chamber, his choice to be offended on Luna’s behalf when he sees she is being bullied, his choice to love Sirius, to share victory with Cedric, to trust Albus Dumbledore, to free Dobby, to bury Dobby. Not all of his choices work out for the best, and his anger at Snape (which is largely justified because Snape really is a jagoff to him) clouds his judgment at times. But largely, he is making choices that show him to be a caring and loving person -- when, like Tom and Severus, he has plenty of reasons not to be that kind of a person. 

#harry potter #severus snape #tom riddle #albus dumbledore #chamber of secrets #cursed child #deathly hallows

[solacekames]

What does gender nonconforming mean?

So here are my definition(s) of “gender nonconforming.” I typed up something yesterday and had a lot of convos based on it, so I thought I’d type it up again in a more organized way.

These definitions of “gender nonconforming” I’m talking about originate from the LGBTQ+ community but don’t stay there: they were specifically designed to apply also to people outside the community. I’m not a member of the community, and that’s important to state only because I don’t want this post to be taken as prescribing anything back into the community. I don’t think there’s widespread agreement as to how to use the word, so I’m going to talk about how I see it now in descriptive terms, not prescriptive terms.  

I first started seeing the word in a really tragic context: news about young children who killed themselves because of homophobic/transphobic bullying. That young, the abuse isn’t very differentiated—it’s all a kind of vicious, amorphous gender policing. These children might have known they were gay or trans. They might have known they were bi. They might have known they were straight. They might have not known what they were at all! It didn’t matter to their tormentors.

I realized that the activists talking about these deaths wanted to respect these children and were therefore including “gender nonconforming” as a neutral umbrella phrase. I’m not an expert on this but I also noticed that more PoC LGBTQ+ activists were using the phrase. My gut feeling is that these activists understood more than white activists that many physically violent forms of oppression are not based primarily on internal identity, but rather on external conformity.

So my personal definition of gender nonconforming became, “anyone especially vulnerable to gender policing for any reason, voluntary or involuntary.” It’s an especially useful term for cis het people, because we can talk about not fitting gender roles without appropriating stuff that belongs in the LGBTQ+ community (for example, words like “butch” or “femme”). GNC isn’t an identity or community. It’s impossible to appropriate GNC because there’s no real positive value to being GNC: all it means is that you have a greater than average chance of getting your ass kicked.

Here are some factors that go into GNC in my context, in my country (the US):

Age. Really important. Young people, especially adolescents, are policed more than older people. Also, a lot of people who were gender policed when younger “learned their lesson” and figured out how to conform and were able to move out of the risk category.

Racial/phenotypical minority. Certain racial groupings are feminized/masculinized in different ways. E/SE Asian men and women are policed for sexual characteristics judged as “too small.” Groups where women have more facial hair are policed more. Anti-blackness and colorism have huge impacts, and so on.

Ethnic/religious minority. For example, religious practices that forbid hair removal for women, or mandate certain forms of dress that appear feminized for men, will make people more vulnerable to gender policing. On the most basic level, just the simple status of “looking different” or “talking different” makes people more vulnerable.

All intersex conditions.

Genetic/congenital conditions not necessarily classified as intersex. Gynecomastia for men, hirsutism for women, and so on.

Disability. People might not understand how to conform to gender, or be unable to conform because of physical disability.

Weird random things that don’t make sense because gender doesn’t make sense. Very tall women. Very short men. Women with square jaws. Men with high voices. 

Voluntary factors. People who choose to present androgynously for any reason. 

Class. Properly conforming to gender if you don’t have “the right body” can be expensive, especially for women. 

I’m sure there are many more not listed.

The thorny question is, what about the LGBTQ+ community? Are they all GNC, only some GNC, or not GNC because the one label excludes the other? I can’t answer that question because it’s not for me to answer. And also because it depends on how you define gender policing and gender conforming. Because there are sensory rules of gender (does the person look male or female, do they sound male or female, etcetera) and there are many deeper more abstract rules. For example, a gender rule is that women are supposed to get married to men. By that rule, any bi, pan or lesbian woman is automatically GNC. Another gender rule is that “you have to be a man or a woman.” If you’re nonbinary or other gender or have no gender, you’d be automatically GNC.

It’s going to be interesting to see how the phrase evolves, and whether it stays as an umbrella term or becomes more mutually exclusive. Whatever happens, I think its greatest political use is to show that gender policing hurts more people than we realize. That might sound like a selfish, asshole thing to say, but bear with me for a second:

A lot of people who grow up gender policed react by becoming police themselves, and especially targeting the LGBTQ+ community. For example, let’s say there’s a cis het man who grows up with a high voice that never dropped that much after puberty. In most places in the country he’d grow up bullied and abused all over the place. He’d grow up with other kids and some adults telling him he doesn’t sound like a man, he’s got to be *insert slur for gay*, etcetera. When he gets older there’s a range of possible effects on his life. The most positive is that he gets annoyed at the whole system of gender rules and passively or actively fights against it. That doesn’t mean he’s going to become a “perfect ally” or anything, or free of homophobia/transphobia, but he’ll probably have more compassion. The most negative possibility is that he grows up overcompensating for a perceived lack of masculinity. He needs to prove that he’s a “real man,” and takes it out on women and LGBTQ+ people. His gender presentation gets wrapped up in an “I’m not one of those” complex. I mean, I used a high voice as an example, but we already have “short man complex” in our cultural vocabulary.

A highly vulnerable person like a trans woman already knows aaaaaaall about gender policing, because it intersects with transmisogyny and their very life might depend on it. But the cis het man I’m talking about above might never get a good understanding of it, even though they’re subject to it to a lesser degree. 

One example of a natural, organic allegiance between cis GNC people and the trans community is developing in reactions to the ridiculous “bathroom bills”. Everyone harassed over being in “the wrong bathroom” so far have been… cis GNC women! So I think it’s increasing our awareness that we need to stand with trans women without speaking over them.

So whatever happens, I think growing usage of the term is a positive thing that will make more people think about gender. And when they get gender policed, they’ll have more tools to deal with it, fight back against it, and not turn into bigots, thus helping everyone.

In summary:

if you think you’re GNC, you probably are. Gender rules are complex, confusing, culturally and historically fluid, and you probably know what rules you’re subject to way better than I do.

As far as I’m aware, GNC is not an identity or community, and attempting to appropriate it or defending it from appropriation strike me as pointless (not to say I see people doing either yet)

GNC is a state that’s permanent for some people, temporary for others.

GNC depends on time and place. It’s easy to know what’s gender nonconforming in Topeka Kansas, probably a lot harder in Berkeley California. 

GNC is limited but potentially politically useful, especially in places like Topeka Kansas.

#gender nonconforming #gnc #suicide tw #gender non-conforming

[kelvintimeline]

what's "the sam" you mentioned in that ace tumblr post

It’s the “Split Attraction Model” which, imo, is a very harmful tool some aces use to split up “romantic and sexual attraction.”

So you have like a bisexual aromantic or a heteroromantic asexual. Or in nastier cases, a bisexual heteromantic or homoromantic heterosexual.

I’m not gonna discourse about this because I don’t feel like arguing right now and I doubt I even will get a response on this because ace tumblr is currently doing some “no platforming” campaign on the discourse but I will list why I think the SAM is a very, very nasty thing.

It relies on the usage of “homosexual” which is in fact an anti-gay slur, so you have cis straight people casually saying shit like “oh, he’s a homosexual aromantic” or “she’s a demi homosexual” and that just makes my stomach turn.

It’s biphobic, especially when applied to non aces. Ace tumblr really believes you can be a “homosexual heteroromantic” (so someone sexually attracted to one gender but romantically attracted to another). That’s literally just being bisexual with a preference. Or potentially dealing with internalized homophobia. Like if you’re only willing to fuck the same gender but can’t envision a romantic relationship where you value them… there’s a problem there??

Terms like “homosexual heteroromantic” straight up erase nonbinary people lmao

Very, very western/white concepts. The idea that you can separate romantic and sexual love is very, very western

It’s used to pretend like certain straight people don’t have straight privilege. “You have to be heterosexual AND heteroromantic to have straight privilege/be called straight” is the most ahistorical bogus ass shit I have ever seen.

It’s bad for a lot of survivors? Like, some survivors may actually experience attraction to multiple genders but, because of their trauma, not feel comfortable identifying as attracted to the identity of their abuser because they’ll probably never act on it. The Split Attraction Model, if it became mainstream, would coerce surviors to disclose the “split” in their attractions. Like, a lesbian who may still feel innate sexual attraction to men but feels repulsed by the idea of actual sex with them would still have to identify as  “bisexual homoromantic” which is… appalling and terrible

In general, it encourages internalized homophobia and makes it harder for people struggling with compulsory hetorosexuality to figure themselves out.

It encourages the use of micro-identities. Which is a more vague and abstract complaint I have but I stick by it.

It’s also homophobic/biphobic?? Pretending bisexual specifically means “sexually attracted to multiple genders” rather than “generally attracted to multiple genders” sexualizes bisexuality. When you pretend ___sexual labels JUST means sexual and doesn’t mean romantic, emotional, and/or romantic attraction, you are sexualizing LGBT identities and that’s homophobic/biphobic. That is reiterating pre-existing homophobic/biphobic rhetoric. When LGBT people come out with their sexualities, tehy’re not just announcing who they want to fuck or who makes their loins quiver or whatever the fuck. Bisexual means being attracted to people in any sense that applies to that bisexual person. Bisexual and biromantic should not be two separate concepts.

There’s probably more?? BUt like… again… I’m not here to argue with anyone. just listing everything off the cuff as to why you should literally never use the Split Attraction Model, especially for other people, even if they’re fictional characters.

#h slur // #ace discourse #yikes #split attraction model #this POST GOT LONG FUCK #homophobia // #biphobia // #Anonymous #didn't want to get into this on my main blog but whatevs #i fele like y'all understand my stance on most things at this point #it's also biphobic bceause it erases the fact that a lot of bi people just.. have preferences?? #like you can be bisexual but prefer dating women #that's fine #that's not like... a separate fucking identity??

[shaddxo]

Personal research.

The effect of insensitive language on Instagram.

Group dynamics in real life.

Language and communication is a big aspect on the social media platform Instagram. There is a lot of controversy with regards to control. Many hateful comments slip through but there is also difficulty with expressing yourself. Since the social media platform is so big, there is a bigger area to reach. Most people do not think about this when they are posting something. Especially for celebrities and A-listers, the comments under a picture can be extreme. Many people respond to not only the picture but also comments that other people have made, often resulting in hateful or insensitive language. Some people say that everyone is too sensitive and can’t handle a joke or that women should accept jokes and not be so feminist.

A group may disagree within itself as to what is acceptable and what is not. Many seemingly inoffensive terms develop negative meanings over time and become dated or go out of style as awareness changes. A "within the group" rule often applies, which allows a member of a group to use terms freely that would be considered offensive if used by a non-member of the group.

What is considered acceptable shifts constantly as people become more aware of language and its power. The rapid changes of the last few decades have left many people puzzled and afraid of unintentionally insulting someone. At the same time, these changes have angered others, who criticize what they see as extremes of ‘political correctness’ in rules that alter language to the point of confusing, even destroying, its meaning. The neglect of traditional usages has also upset many people. It is true that some are more extreme attempts to avoid offending language. It is also true that heightened sensitivity in language is a statement of respect, implies accuracy of thought, and is a positive move toward correcting the unequal social status between one group and another.

What are examples of insensitive language on Instagram?

Sexism

Sexism is the most difficult subject to avoid, in part because of the agreement of using man or men and he or his to refer to people of either sex. Other, more disrespectful principles include giving descriptions of women in terms of age and appearance while describing men in terms of accomplishment.

Sexual Orientation

The term homosexual to describe a man or woman is increasingly replaced by the terms gay for men and lesbian for women. Homosexual as a noun is sometimes used only in reference to a male. Among homosexuals, certain terms (such as queer and dyke) that are usually considered offensive have been gaining currency in recent years. However, it is still prudent to avoid these terms in standard contexts.

Avoiding Depersonalization of Persons with Disabilities or Illnesses Terminology that emphasizes the person rather than the disability is generally preferred. Handicap is used to refer to the environmental barrier that affects the person. (Stairs handicap a person who uses a wheelchair.) While words such as crazy, demented, and insane are used in facetious or informal contexts, these terms are not used to describe people with clinical diagnoses of mental illness. The synonyms argued, differently abled, and special are preferred by some people, but are often ridiculed and are best avoided.

What is insensitive language?

Language isn’t correct or incorrect, it’s a range from violent to freedom. Language is not about being correct or avoiding offense. It’s about creating the opportunity for perspectives that have historically been silenced to shine. It’s about empowerment, and agency, and collective care. It’s about liberation.

The idea that avoiding “offending” people is the primary goal of sensitive language is inherently minimizing—it automatically calls up the idea that being offended is a result of being either overcritical or oversensitive, nothing more. It also squarely puts the burden of how language is experienced on the people who are hearing or reading it. It says that if you are offended by particular language, it’s your fault, not the speaker or author’s.

Focusing on offense does not allow for the possibility that a person could be negatively impacted by careless or hostile language. The worst thing they can experience is being offended. Everything about this line of reasoning is rude in nature. The solution for “being offended” is not for responsibility to be taken by the person who caused the offense, it’s for the listening or reader to simply stop being offended: “toughen up,” recognize that no offense was intended, “grow up.” Whenever someone is called out for using sexist language, the first line of defense is always “but it was just a joke”.

So if someone asks two women, “So, who’s the man in your relationship?” those words build on a century of oppressive language that has kept non-heterosexual people downgraded. The two women might react with anger, frustration, tears or silence. Are they offended? Sure, but that’s not the point. The point is they’ve been hurt, and their pain has deep roots.

Perhaps the person didn’t mean to hurt anyone. After all, many people who ask that question are trying to be insulting, but many others are genuinely curious and have no idea how gender roles play out in same-sex relationships.

With regards to insensitive language, I have had many experiences. I often feel offended myself, I am a very sensitive person and can be offended really easily. Not with regards to sexism but mostly with the way that a person talks to me. Their words or sentences may not be meant insensitive but to me it can sound harsh or direct. If someone answers my question in a harsh matter, I can wonder about this all day and try to figure out the reason for this. With this being said, I am also a person that regularly makes mistakes and usually accidently hurt someone with my remarks. If I make a joke that is not suitable or a question that is misplaces, I definitely get a offended reaction back. This is why I know that I think faster than that I speak. My mind has already made a remark and said it while afterwards I am shocked myself.

Why are these comments even made?

Given so many people loudly object to offensive language, why do people continue to speak this way?

There is a research a women undertook with her colleague: 

’’In a study I undertook with a colleague, we asked men to select a joke from a series of pairs that included a clearly sexist joke (such as, “What is the difference between a battery and a woman? A battery has a positive side”) and a joke that was not specifically offensive to women (such as, “Why don’t oysters give to charity? Because they’re shellfish”).

The male participants believe they were interacting over a computer with two other students, one male and one female. In reality, the students they were interacting with were computer-generated, and we altered the reactions these fake peers had to the sexist jokes to see if this influenced how many sexist jokes the participants would choose to send.

The male participants were not influenced by whether or not a woman objected to sexist jokes. They were, however, highly sensitive to how they thought another man would react to them, reducing their use of sexist jokes if they thought a man would be object.

What these results show is these jokes appear to have a “male bonding” function – that, primarily, men make such jokes typically to impress other men. Other research has suggested a similar function for homophobic slurs.

Most likely, making jokes about women or using homophobic slurs work to enhance (straight) male bonding because women and gay men represent the “other”; they are what social psychologists refer to as “out-groups” relative to a heterosexual male “in-group”.’’

Result:

These results surprised me very much actually. I did think that people are ‘followers’ and tend to follow up on someone’s opinion even when they think differently, but I did not think of insensitive language as a bonding tool. I usually think of insensitive language as a way of seeking attention. This research defines my opinion even more.

 The effect of insensitive language on Instagram.

 Photo-based activity on Instagram has been found as contributing to body image concerns. There are many studies that investigate the effect of number of likes accompanying Instagram images on women's own body dissatisfaction.

’’Participants in a recent studies were 220 female undergraduate students who were randomly assigned to view a set of the thin ideal or average images paired with a low or high number of likes presented in an Instagram frame. Results showed that exposure to thin-ideal images led to greater body and facial dissatisfaction than average images. While the number of likes had no effect on body dissatisfaction or appearance comparison, it had a positive effect on facial dissatisfaction. These effects were not moderated by Instagram’s involvement, but greater investment in Instagram’s likes was associated with more appearance comparison and facial dissatisfaction. The results demonstrate how the outstandingly social aspects of social media such as likes can affect someone’s body image.’’

Among young people, the rates of anxiety and depression have escalated rapidly over the past 25 years, increasing by 70 percent. Researchers have reason to believe social media has played a part in this increase. Heavy social media users have been found to report poor mental health. While all social networks appear to have a negative impact on users’ body image, body image issues are particularly frequent on Instagram, which is said to be used mainly by women and has a younger age demographic, 90 percent of Instagram users are under 35. Photos uploaded to Instagram present an unrealistic perfect image, as countless photos are thoroughly chosen and photoshopped to hide any flaws.

This is not only with regards to only likes or only women. Positive appearance comments on Instagram photos lead to greater body dissatisfaction. These comments can negatively impact body image and sleep, increases bullying, “FOMO” (fear of missing out), and leads to greater feelings of anxiety, depression, and loneliness. The positive effects of Instagram can be self-expression, self-identity, community building, and emotional support. Although many people love the app and see no harm. There is a very big hidden world. Celebrities or influencers are sharing their opinion more then ever. Many feel depressed, lonely or insecure. Their life is not as picture perfect as it seems to be. They feel left out (FOMO) when they cannot attend a party and many teenagers relate to this. Though there's nothing essentially dangerous about Instagram, the main scares are mean behavior among peers, inappropriate photos or videos that can hurt a teen's reputation or attract the wrong kind of attention, overuse, and of course, privacy.

I notice this behavior and actually relate to it myself. I, fortunately, do not receive rude or insensitive comments but I do feel miserable or lonely more often when I use Instagram.

Thankfully now Instagram users can control who can comment on their photos and videos. They can choose to: allow comments from everyone, people they follow and those people’s followers, just the people they follow, or their followers. Instagram users can also remove comments entirely from their posts. Instagram also has controls that help you manage the content you see and determine when comments are offensive or intended to bully or harass. There are filters that automatically remove offensive words and phrases and bullying comments.

Sources:

https://www.semanticscholar.org/paper/The-Effect-of-Instagram-on-Self-Esteem-and-Life-Dion/5b94ce76bd38768e5d406faca4c16ae34ab5dd49

 https://www.hffmcsd.org/site/handlers/filedownload.ashx?moduleinstanceid=211&dataid=868&FileName=avoiding%20insensitive%20and%20offensive%20language1.pdf

 https://radicalcopyeditor.com/2016/10/24/part-5-put-political-correctness-back-where-it-belongs/

 https://theconversation.com/its-just-a-joke-the-subtle-effects-of-offensive-language-62440

 https://www.researchgate.net/publication/326580674_The_effect_of_Instagram_likes_on_women's_social_comparison_and_body_dissatisfaction

 https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/abs/pii/S1740144518301360

 https://www.psychalive.org/worst-mental-health-instagram-facebook-youtube/