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oneoftheprettynerds · 3 years

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Just My Type: Dark!Steve x Reader (Mob AU)

Chapter 2 in the Lipstick and Crayons Series.

Chapter 1: Welcome to the Darkside

Main Masterlist

A/N: This chapter is 2K words more than the last chapter and I’ve second guessed every single line in this one. This story is getting a lot of traction guys and I’m equal parts happy and scared. Thank you for the nice comments, they do encourage me. Also I’m just ranting feel free to skip this note haha. Your support in any form: like, comment or reblog is appreciated greatly. Also you can dm if you want to be friends, God knows I need those. Hopefully, this chap was worth the wait. Also, I made a poster for this on the main masterlist so check that out, it might be foreshadowing dome plot.

Warning: Eventual Non-Con, Sickening Threats, Mob Themes, Violence, Death, Manipulation, a mild mental breakdown, Cheap Tricks later.

Genres + Characters: Mob AU, Single Parents AU, Steve Rogers x Reader.

Summary: Steve can't ever repay you for what you did. After meeting you, Steve believes his broken family is the missing piece in the puzzle of your own wrecked one. Indebting the crime lord to you has been the biggest mistake of your life, cause now you can't get rid of him, no matter what. Loyalty and favours go a long way in the mob.

Chapter 2: Just My Type

It had almost been a week since the incident and you had barely gotten a wink of sleep. When you drove back to your house that night, Steve surprisingly didn’t argue as you had expected. After that friend of his whispered something in his ears, you only assumed he was needed elsewhere and you couldn’t be more thankful for that. They escorted you to your car and Steve thanked you with a strained smile, words genuine but eyes calculating. You didn’t even wonder what went inside his head. You were thankful for the peace and quiet of your own car, content to just get out of the area and into your humble abode.

After you put the already asleep Grace to bed, you couldn’t bring yourself to get out of her room. You just sat on the floor beside the bed, hand intertwined with hers as you rested your head beside her tummy on the mattress.

Your adrenaline wore off and your limbs ached as your thoughts finally settled into place, the gravity of the catastrophe a few hours prior hitting you. Tears made their way down your cheeks as you realized that you both could have very well died tonight.

One bullet could have sealed each of your lives and you were basically defenseless had Steve not saved you against the creeping assaulter. You couldn’t commend yourself for even defending yourself against one attacker, the guilt of killing someone harboring in your tired head. Your quiet whimpers eventually wore you out, while Grace’s shallow breaths lulled you to sleep.

You didn’t manage to sleep for long though, every time your eyes closed, horrific images flashed in your mind. A blood curdling scream here, heaps of dead bodies there, with distant exploding sounds all around. You could see men clad in black holding guns to Grace’s head and whensoever you woke up, you just wondered how much more creative your mind could get, making these visuals so realistic.

When 8 AM rolled in, you didn’t wake Grace up even though it was Monday and you had work. You got up, changed into a long tee after a shower and called your office and then her daycare. You knew you would have a hard time going back to your normal life, to become trusting enough to leave her alone.

Your assumption about yourself was right. You took almost the entire week off, which your boss generously allowed you to after hearing your traumatic experience, which soon made the city news headlines. All your colleagues checked on you, almost once in the five day break you took, and sweetly enough offered to bring you anything you needed.

It was kind of them, but none of them could bring you what your heart genuinely craved: peace and assurance that you and Grace would be safe.

Even though Saturdays were off, you did go to work to see what you missed and where to start on again. You went in because you knew that the random spurt of resolution you got in the bathroom to collect your life, wouldn’t last.

To ease back into your normal life, you gathered your guts, called a babysitter and left home. You couldn’t bring yourself to leave Grace at the daycare just yet. One of your good friends offered to come in to the office and help you, even on the weekend and you were quite grateful to him.

When you both decided to take lunch in the nearby dining place, you both got to talking, the conversation obviously originating from ‘How have you been?’ and ‘Is Grace okay?’. You reminisced about how you used a photobooth to hide, grotesquely and uncomfortably chuckling when you remembered Sarah calling you her mom and how her dad saved you all.

You deliberately left the part where you killed someone and Steve shot someone too. You hadn’t come to terms with it yet and you stiffly restricted your mind whenever it tried to go down that lane.

He sensed how the conversation was becoming tense and distressing for you and briskly redirected the topic.

“I hope the dad was hot though?” He wiggled his eyes creepily and you snorted at his vulgarity, light for the first time in days.

“He was easy on the eyes; I will admit that.” You played along, recalling your girlfriends and how you used to ogle people.

“Don’t be a homewrecker though, I don’t support cheating.” He said nonchalantly, checking his phone as a notification bell rang off.

“He’s a widower.”

His eyes snapped up and met yours as his head tilted in confusion. “That’s a strange fact to know about someone you met for a few minutes.”

Steve’s even stranger comment about his dead wife popped in your mind and before you could stop yourself, you blurted that out as well.

“He even said and I quote, ‘She deserved what she got.’” He put his phone down, weirdly amused.

“Ooh Creepy! Do you think he is one of those husbands who kill their wives and bury them in the backyard? The podcasts always say that the psychopaths are visually handsome and charming. And his statement was quite vague and spooky.” He continued munching, and you felt that now Aiden was really paying attention unlike before.

“Steve did have a gun while searching for Sarah, come to think of it.” You drank your tea and awaited his response. What you did not expect was his eyes to widen and worry to cloud his features.

“Um Widower Steve with a toddler Sarah? At the place where The Vices attacked?” He mumbled, grabbing his phone and doing God knows what on it. Your eyebrows furrowed and before you could ask him what was up with his antics, he resumed.

“This is a long shot but I really hope your Steve didn’t look like this.” He positioned the phone in your vision, and you could already tell it was Steve by the sapphire blue of his eyes piercing through the screen into your soul. The picture was a month or two old, his hair was much longer when you met him than in the photo.

“This is him.” Your eyes met Aiden’s and worry visibly took over his features as his forehead creased and jaw tense.

He looked around the restaurant, finding it empty in the afternoon. He leaned and whispered, “This Steve of yours is dangerous.”

You interrupted Aiden, even though you already knew Steve was, the sight of his armed men still fresh in your head, and inquired, “Why do you say so?”

“It’s just like the fictional stories we hear from our parents, except here, in this city of ours, every myth holds true. There are really powerful men, untouchable by law, who reign the city silently and live luxuriously. Every shady, under the table deal you’ve heard of, transpires. Illegal trades, fraud schemes and bounty hunters are not fictional, they exist here. These men kill whatever hinders them and trust me, you don’t want to be the deer caught in their Jaguar’s headlights.”

Ice froze in your veins again, resembling the fear you felt that night but now because of your deemed ‘savior’. You convinced yourself that you had not wronged him in any way, instead had saved his daughter’s life.

“Are you in contact with him? If you are, distance yourself cleverly, don't block him immediately.”

“No, we just parted ways near my car, he thanked me for Sarah and was called away. It’s almost been a week and he hasn’t reached out if that’s what you mean. We didn’t exchange contacts and I don’t think I even told him my full name.” You explained yourself as if you were on the witness stand in court, trying to convince yourself more than Aiden.

“Pray that he doesn’t remember you more than that, if at all. I’m being totally honest here in telling you this, I’m genuinely worried for you and Grace. You are smart but he is powerful. He has unimaginable resources and if you become more than a speck of dust on his windshield, you are screwed. There is no exaggeration here.” You took his words to your heart and swore to be careful, if not for yourself then for Grace.

The rest of the day went by and you found yourself dwelling on and worrying about Aiden’s words. At least he put it out there as it was. Heeding his advice, you did google Steve on your phone, finally finding him in the topmost news headline when you added ‘Buck’ in the search bar as well.

‘With 38 lawsuits pending against businessman Steve Rogers, the filers have lost all hope in prosecuting him. All cases are being drawn out for indefinite periods of time by the Chief Justice Bruce……’

Aiden was right.

Businessmen was code for illegal mob heads. Cases being stretched on meant he was, in fact, invincible, at least to the common man’s fists.

You flickered through several titles, each one more surprising than the last. He was believed to be involved in the carnival attack, alleged for three hit and run cases that he didn’t lose but the witnesses swore they saw him driving and was also rumored to have brought in quintals of drugs just last week, but the packets just evaporated into thin air and there was no proof of their existence in the first place even on incessant searching.

Every crime of his made you shudder and you mentally thanked Aiden for pulling you out of your oblivion. Your mind raced and heart palpated and you cursed yourself for being so drastically unaware even after living here for almost four years. Technically speaking, Steve and you were even, him saving your life and you saving his daughter’s. No logical reason came to your mind for him contacting you ever.

You wished as Aiden said and assured yourself that your paths would never cross again, Steve not having reached out in a week, so hopefully never again.

That thought went out the window when you reached home to find a box awaiting you. Hannah, the babysitter you had called, informed you it came around 5 in the evening and was exclusively to be opened by you today.

Your mind raced as you paid the babysitter, your hands sweaty as you tried not to think about the gift and its sender. There was an apparently clear answer to who mailed it but you refused to accept that, courtesy of Aiden.

The box was of the height of Grace, it was black with red hearts painted across it; some red roses also sparingly adorned it. You opened the lid and found tons of red tissues and a multi-flower bouquet adorned with mostly red roses and a few purple and pink flowers.

Because of your frequent gardening in your backyard, you knew all the flowers’ meanings. To sum it all up, red flowers, especially roses were used for courting someone. Pink meant admiration, purple for beauty and you knew the ‘violet’ flowers were for loyalty.

As your nerves increased tenfold, you willed yourself to get it over with and empty out the box first, ignoring the little card in your bouquet, saving the ‘best’ for last. You find a mini bouquet inside but unlike yours, it had chocolates of every kind. You did read its card and cringed when it was for Grace, bothered not by the deed but by the doer.

Further inside were some animal plushies, face masks, perfumes, scented body lotions and shampoos. Your head hurt thinking about the ‘single mother care package’ delivered to you by someone you refused to acknowledge.

As Grace sat in her playpen occupied, you dared to pick your card and read its message, your heart beating unrealistically fast for someone who refused to accept the cruciality of her situation.

I can’t thank you enough in this lifetime for saving my little princess. The gift of your help is more than anything money could ever buy for me. Please accept this invitation of mine for dinner tomorrow night, 7PM at La Bonne Nuit, as a symbol of my sincere gratitude for everything you’ve done. I’ll gets the kids covered and pick you up, you just be ready and look as amazing you always do. Sincerely, Steve Rogers

You stilled as you read it over and over again.

An invitation, your ass. Even in writing his authority portrayed, there was no question and hope for you coming, he just stated that you’d come. Looking pretty as always? You just met him once, in the middle of a calamity, covered in dirt and blood.

All the red roses and gifts screamed his romantic interest but you illusioned yourself into thinking they meant gratitude. You wouldn’t be able to digest it all otherwise.

Knowing what you knew now about Steve, you understood there was no denying the dinner tomorrow. You had to get out of his clutches and distance yourself, but as Aiden had so rightfully said, cleverly.

That night you laid in bed mulling over your next course of actions. You had called the gift shop to return the unwarranted presents you received but they said it was non refundable and anonymous to trace. You bitterly snorted in their face, they put a card with Steve’s name on it for heaven’s sake!

You didn’t flinch even when you realized you never gave Steve your address, neither for mailing stuff nor for picking you up. There was no number given to call him and thank or to call him and deny. The bastard had planned it all out, and you felt like you were driving in a one way lane, going deeper into the tunnel. Somewhere among your all-relentless fretting, you managed to finally sleep.

When the doorbell rang, your eyebrows furrowed. It was just 6 PM and you weren’t expecting anybody else except for Steve. You had already begun getting ready, having developed a habit of keeping an extra margin of time now having a toddler. You still had to assemble Grace’s essential backpack, fill it with her meds and bottles.

While still putting on your diamond earring, you made your way to the door, unlocking it to find a redhead grinning at you. Before you could interact with her, a small body clung to your legs and you looked down to find the azure eyed kid that put you in this mess, Sarah, smiling up at you.

“Mama! You look pwetty!” She looked up in awe and now aware that she didn’t have a mother, you were even more so coerced into accepting this title rather than telling the kid that 'you are semi orphaned'.

“I’m Wanda, Sarah’s nanny. Mr. Rogers told me to pick her friend, Grace, up for the night?” So, this was what Steve meant. Bringing Sarah was proof enough of her legitimacy, but behind her you saw ‘Buck’ salute you from the driver’s seat of the black car. One of these days, you needed to learn his real name.

You invited Wanda inside and Sarah ran to Grace immediately, grabbing and whining while asking Grace to give her some popcorn she was munching on, her fist generously full.

In your open plan kitchen, you grabbed two plastic bowls, filled them with each with the tub of popcorn that sat in the microwave and handed each toddler one, fortunately quietening Sarah. Sarah obeyed Grace, in first thanking you, their ‘mama’ and then following her to her open playpen.

You faced Wanda again who sat on a barstool and kept on beaming. If your annoyance at her amusement showed, she sure didn’t let it falter the smile.

“Mr. Rogers told me you’d worry about your daughter, but I assure you she’d be in more than capable hands.” All you could focus on was how self-reassured she was. “I’ve served him for almost two years, the last family I served, I was there for 8 years and before them, I was employed for 3. I know the general bedtime and snacks, all I need from you is information about her allergies.”

You nodded and told her about Grace, her meds and what all you packed. When you got to know that her family owned the daycare Grace went to, you were finally somewhat convinced. After seeing them off, it was about fifteen minutes later, that the devil disguised in Prada showed up at your door.

You grabbed your purse and your keys. Wiping your sweaty palms on your dress, you opened the door. Steve stood there, a smirk lodging on his handsome face. His blue, three-piece suit perfectly paired with his cerulean eyes was impressive to say the least.

He was dressed to kill, and it appeared as if you were his first victim.

As your eyes took him in from top to bottom, his did the same lazily, taking their time, resting at certain places for longer period than others.

“You look stunning.”

You knew you did. You wore one of your more expensive dresses when you found out La Bonne Nuit to be one of the few seven-star hotels in the country. In hindsight, if you’d have dressed worse, maybe he’d have left you alone.

“Thank you.”

“Shall we?” He offered you his hand and you obliged with your palm in his. Your other hand pulled the doorknob while you stepped out, all alarms already set-in place. He waited while you locked and put the keys in and when you were done, with a soft kiss along your knuckles, he pulled you along.

The act surprised you, your stomach turning and your gut wrenching and you wondered if you’d be able to process the food after all, with your upset digestive system.

Like a proper gentleman, he opened the door for you and when you settled, he took his position at the driver’s seat. The silence was painful for you, your overthinking finally filling ideas in your head that you avoided contemplating about all day, focusing on Grace.

He was relaxed though; his humming was proof enough.

Mid way through, your thoughts were rudely interrupted when a hand housed itself on your knee. You glanced to find Steve’s palm slightly rubbing your knee. If it was meant to be assuring, you certainly didn’t feel like it.

You frowned and looked up to Steve who still had the arrogant smirk on his face, eyes straight ahead on the road, giving no indication of his inappropriate touching.

You wanted to swat his hand away but a brainwave dashed through your head and a disturbing thought made you halt, that whether he carried guns to restaurants as well, since carnivals were no big deal.

You ignored his hand and continued looking outside, pretending to ignore it as well as he did. Your scowl was a huge giveaway though.

You didn’t know that, but when your eyes found their way out, his finally rested on your face, the smirk growing even more.

Thankfully, apart from the incongruous touching, the dinner went okay-ish. The food and wine were impeccable, perfect even, the restaurant on the hotel’s top floors was so picturesque. You tried to savor your one-time experience there, knowing you’d no way be able to come back there.

Well, you tried to relish as much as you could while your mind still sat there, wary of the human in front of you. If you’d ignore your journey here, Steve was nothing short of a true gentleman, often making you wonder if you had imagined his hand on you.

This ‘friendly’ date you were having was probably one of the best you have had, he had left no expenses. He appeared to be interested in your work, about your childhood and about Grace’s but you swiftly avoided his questions about her father. He was growing a tad bit too comfortable for your liking and you still refused to entertain the idea that this was a ‘date’ date.

When you were finally onto dessert, the last course of your meal, your table was shadowed by the broad frame of a brunette and his date. He clapped Steve’s shoulder and Steve rose to hug him, you awkwardly smiled.

“It’s been far too long since you’ve been here, Cap. Why don’t you and your gorgeous date stop by my penthouse for a bit? We could finally go over the papers you sent me, in person?” He winked, they discussed something more and then went away, his date bowing and trailing after him as well.

Steve claimed his seat again, and finally told you about the interrupter. “That was my good friend, Tony Stark, always in a hurry. I’ll introduce you to him when we meet him later.”

“I think I’ll be heading home; you need not worry about my introduction, I hardly think we’ll ever run into each other again.” His eyes narrowed and you clarified, “Me and Mr. Stark, I meant.”

That’s good, don’t associate yourself with more of his kind.

“He was so kind in inviting you though, it would be rude to refuse.”

“It’s already late, Steve. And I’ve never left Grace alone for a night yet. What if she’s antsy? What if she is bothered? What if she feels unsafe? She's only used to very few people, and after last week, I-” You had started the sentence hoping to use Grace as an excuse but every word of yours succeeded in making you more apprehensive.

The carnival night flashed in your mind, along with the nightmares and you started panicking even more. Your hands clammy, your dessert spoon fell in your lap as sought your phone in your purse, hoping to call Wanda for an update. You felt like a terrible mother, who left her child with a stranger, only a week after she suffered trauma, just to go on a date with a mobster.

Steve reached across the table and grabbed your fidgety hands and as you wriggled to get your hands free, he softly called your name. Voice stern but vocals gentle. Your blurry eyes snapped to meet his while he guided you to breathe deeply, in and out.

His firm hold convinced you to listen to him, you’d never free yourself of them otherwise.

When you had calmed a bit, he withdrew his hands and fetched his phone. Your thoughts slowed down, and you wondered if anyone here was judging you. Your little scene, mercifully, went unnoticed by the other affluent people dining here.

Steve handed you his phone where four colored frames rested, the screen showing you Grace and Sarah cuddled in a frilly, pink four poster where Wanda sat too, her lips moving.

The feed was live and the screen muted, both the toddlers’ eyes fluttering close slowly, on the bridge of sleep.

You handed the phone back to Steve and drank your water while he rubbed circles on the back of one of your hands. You never freaked out like you did right now, always collected and never giving into anxiety. What had happened to you?

Well, In your defense, you had never experienced a disaster either.

“The kids are safe; I’m never putting either of them in harm’s way ever again.”

Your mind did catch the plural in his statement but you promised yourself you would not let it get that far and continued drinking your water, emptying the entire glass.

“The HD image you just saw was by cameras Tony recently developed. His technology is amazing, I’ll take you to his lab sometime.” You appreciated his attempt to redirect the topic but you also focused on how tech-savvy his friends were as well.

You hummed and agreed, trying to be ambiguous with your answer.

When you finished your dessert, you hoped he’d forget about his ‘friend’ Tony but to no avail.

“His penthouse is two floors above. He owns this hotel as well in case you didn’t notice.” He led you to the elevator as you recalled the Starks Group logo you saw earlier sometime.

Some AI named Jarvis opened the elevator doors for you in the living room of Tony’s penthouse. It was even more magnificent than the restaurant earlier, the place illuminated by several hues of different colours. Steve chuckled and strung you along, introducing you to a ginger-head named Pepper, who was Tony’s date earlier and went to search for his acquaintance.

She offered you wine but you politely declined, opting for water instead. She brought your glass to you from the extravagant kitchen and you both sat on the barstool there instead of the living room. Too anxious to say the wrong thing, you stayed quiet until her voice filled the deafening silence.

“So, Steve almost never brings dates around. You two serious?” She questioned, leaning towards you, waiting for some gossip, no doubt.

“Oh no! We aren’t dating. He just invited me for a friendly dinner. We merely met the other week.” You deliberately left out the part where there was bombing by crime families and attack on the common man.

“Honey, in the mob life, you don’t just introduce random people to the fam.”

Oh, she wasn’t being shy about the whole mob ordeal. It seemed weird to hear it from her, since you and Steve hadn’t used the word yet. Maybe he figured you already knew considering the circumstances you met in or how famous he was.

“We really aren’t romantically involved. This dinner was just a gesture of gratitude if I’m being truthful.”

She chuckled, as if you were a kid making stories and quizzed, “Gratitude for what?”

You trapped yourself into that one. You didn’t know how to answer her and your brain downright blanked. Surprisingly,, Steve came to your rescue and two voices interposed your conversation.

Steve called your name and as you turned to the men, he continued, “She’s the one who saved Sarah the other night. You know the story, Wilson probably got it printed.”

“Impressive, really. Hey, I’m Tony and I see you’ve already met Pepper, my fiancée.” He shook your hand and kissed your knuckles, much like Steve did earlier in the day. You bowed, smiled and mumbled a ‘nice to meet you as well’. They escorted you to the elevator and Tony continued.

“Well, it’s not everyday Steve brings brave and extraordinarily attractive women around. Welcome to the family, sweetie. She’s a keeper, Cap.” He winked while saying the last sentence and before you could correct him, Steve ushered you inside the elevator, bro-hugging him. As the doors closed, Pepper winked at you from behind Tony and a shudder ran through you.

Okay you had to make it clear, get on the same page.

As the elevator music filled the silence, you started, “Steve, look we aren’t-”, “I served in the army, that’s why Tony calls me Cap, short for captain.” And crudely got interrupted.

“I never wanted to get into the army, I thought people were fools to sacrifice the one life they got. But I went to make my mother’s dream a reality, I really loved her, you know? Sarah is named after her, my mother.”

His voice broke at the end and as much as you wanted to redirect onto your former topic, you couldn’t. This amiability of yours would be the death of you.

“She died alone in her bed; I was dispatched too far away to even make it back for her funeral.” He mumbled but you heard him clear as a sunny day, and he leaned back onto the wall for support while you awkwardly rubbed his shoulder to return the support he provided earlier during your mental breakdown.

He closed his eyes and gathered himself, taking deep breaths. As the elevator dinged, his eyes opened and he gave you a strained smile.

The car ride to his mansion was painfully silent, his mind too sidetracked to focus on harassing you again. With all that you went through today, you almost forgot about that.

His mansion was enormous, twenty guards stood outside and even more patrolled the lawn. He took you inside his house, the interior even more detailed and scenic than Tony’s temporary residence.

You just concentrated on swiftly getting Grace and Uber-ing back. As Steve showed you earlier, Grace and Sarah hugged and slept and it was a meticulous task to untangle their limbs without waking either of them up andnd get Grace with her back-pack. You thanked Wanda on the way out, hoping to avoid Steve but somehow he stood outside before you, leaning on his sleek black car. He opened the door for you before you could refuse the ride. You settled with Grace in the backseat itself, trying to be smart.

He just summoned one of his guards to drive and sat alongside you in the back. You didn’t let the annoyance at his clinginess show though. You just focused on Grace who drooled over your shoulder.

Hopefully, there won’t be any point of exposure to him ever again, your circles didn’t match, both social and professional. Your Venn diagrams didn’t overlap anywhere. This should be reason enough to avoid meeting ever again.

He didn’t try anything even this ride around. You doubted it was hardly because of the toddler or because of the driver. He did as he pleased, if he wanted to he could very well grope you. Luckily, he wasn't in the mood.

When you reached your dwelling, you stepped out hastily, thanking him in a whisper. You fumbled to get your keys out, but since everything you held slowed you down, he caught up with you without even trying.

He took and held Grace’s bag while you drew the keys out, Grace still on your hip. He handed you the bag back, “So this is it, I guess?”

“Yeah, tonight was a total delight. Thanks for the dinner and everything, really.” You put up your best façade, hoping to convince him.

“It was, thanks to you. The company matters the most.”

You awkwardly chuckled and you sensed him leaning in, his eyes flickering shut. Your eyes closed as you turned your head to avoid him, so that his lips would peck your cheek.

They never came.

Your eyes opened to find his and he chuckled, leaning in once again swiftly, catching you off guard this time. He didn’t meet your lips though, he kissed the corner of your mouth, lips overlapping for a fraction of skin.

“In due time, baby.” He stepped back and strolled to his car leisurely, content in his own world.

You opened your door and slammed it shut, the peck feeling wrong on so many levels. It felt more sensual than a lover’s kiss, leaving room for intimacy and longing.

Your thoughts ran a hundred kilometers an hour, the most absurd but nauseatingly true being, this was a date and it was not your last encounter.

Steve smirked outside in his car, the dinner an absolute success in his opinion. Tonight just made him feel that you both were more than compatible for each other. You needing him during your mental breakdown, him relaxing under your shy touch, Tony’s approval, not that important though, and your anxiety for Grace was the best part, because he, more often than he’d like to admit, fussed about Sarah the same way, agonizing and fretting her well being.

A text lit up his black screen and his grin widened even more if possible.

‘The Stark cameras are up and working, Sir.’

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bubblegumstardust · 3 years

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Okay but seriously, what the FUCK does a girl gotta do to get random dudes to leave me alone when I post a selfie?

I explicitly state somewhere every time that I don't want men I don't know interacting with me or the post and that I'm here for the gay girls only (I am bi but I literally can't with the random guys and bots in my dms so I have a blanket ban). Literally just don't press or type anything, it's 100x easier to just fucking not than openly disrespect someone's wishes and make them uncomfortable for no goddamn reason. I'm sick of it tbh. I rarely post selfies and stuff because of it but sometimes I feel cute and for me that's a rarity so I like to hop on the self love train for a minute and post one but someone always comes along in my dms and ruins it 😠

#amy's inane ramblings #sorry for ranting but it's fucking annoying

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cowboyjen68 · 4 years

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Hey Jen, having the advice from an older lesbian is very comforting to me, so off the bat thanks. You're butch, so I feel you'd understand what I'm about to say/ask. I am a lesbian, and i love wearing mens clothes. I don't feel like a man, I feel like a woman who is being herself. I feel like in the LGBT community right now, there is the expectation that perhaps i am a trans man or non-binary. I get mistaken for a man by strangers sometimes and whenever i do it wears me down. 1/2

2/2 I feel like MORE of a woman when i dress this way. If i were in a relationship with a femme woman, i wouldn’t see myself as “the man” or want to be seen that way. I want to dress androgynous, feminine, or masculine and still be ME, a woman who is attracted to women. I’m tired of rules and roles.

Your observations are correct. As an older butch I don’t get asked if I am trans much, although it does happen. I am also a pretty out going person and so the community knows who I am and that I am firmly in the butch lesbian camp and happy to do so. I do get a lot of DMs and have many private conversations in my community from young lesbians, often butches, who are asked if they are transitioning or not.

As a butch I fought for many years, both internally and with the world, to be seen as a female who is more masculine. I had to deal with feeling like I was predatory if I liked women because it was not the norm. I was especially terrified to find more feminine women attractive because that would “make me the man” and also.. creepy. It took me meeting someone who assured me that she was wearing make up and dressing nice for ME and not for men. That it was the female part of me that she found most attractive and my masculinity just complimented that. MIND BLOWN when she told me that.

Part of why I have this blog is so others know they are not alone. Butch lesbians exist, lesbians and women who don’t conform to the standards the society assigns to our sex exist and we are all perfect just the way we are. We can be any myriad of personalities, breast sizes and body shapes but how we are, butch or femme or neither is our nature and we should be allowed to be recognized in that state as normal. One we can be proud of. One that brings us community and connection with other lesbians and bi women.

I know that exhaustion of which you write. It gets tiring to constantly be perceived as something you fell no connection to. In my case it was men.. in many cases now, it is trans or non binary. I try to keep in mind that people are just attempting to be kind and to signal that they are okay with you. In modern society.. butch lesbians are often equated with only the older generation. I am not sure why that is but much of the “straight” world seems to forget that older butches start as younger or baby butches. We aren’t born being 50 and we do exist at many ages. And I see a constant need, even in our community to define ourselves to the Nth degree. Butch, femme, top,bottom and on and one. The fact is, most lesbians I know ( and I know A LOT) don’t adhere to any particular set of descriptors. “Lesbian” is good enough for them.

Also.. there is no obligation to use butch to describe yourself. Not all masculine or masculine dressing women have an attachment to butch or the butch/femme dynamic. You get to just be you.. no more descriptors required.

I get called “sir” daily. It no longer even registers half the time. I know me and who I am and random strangers using a quick visual judgement does not bother me. When people I meet and must deal with, for example in my doctors office, insist, every time,on asking me my pronouns and running down a list of options for gender I do get flustered. “Dude!! I have been coming here for 15 years.. same.. all still she her.. all still a woman.. all still not pregnant from sexual intercourse”. They are just trying to make sure everyone feels comfortable but in the meantime they make me feel uncomfortable. Like coming out yet again.. something that I thought I was done with years ago. So I take a deep breath and check off what I am.

You are not alone in feeling that you are finally good with who you are but the world is back to being unsure about you.

My advice.. built your own lesbian friendship circle. Find others and make connections. Being around others who are lesbians (or bi) can ease some of that burden and give you a place of respite when the world is pushing all kinds of ideals at you.

#butch #lesbian #androgynous

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crwndsprkzy · 4 years

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Damon Hugh’s Diary

30/1/2021 9:30 pm

I’m Damon Hugh. I’m 16 and am in year 10 in high school. I am a boy who likes to draw, paint and listen to MCR and P!ATD. My favourite colour is dark purple. I’m an absolute loner: no friends, no life, ignored by everyone unless they’re bullying me.

At least this diary I got (stole) from my (someone else’s) school supplies will listen to me.

15/2/2021 10:30 am

I’ve been at school for less than two hours now (I arrived late). It’s a normal school day so far, regular boring classes, all that jazz. But I can’t help but feel like someone is watching me, like intensely. Meh, not likely though, I’m really uninteresting. I mean, yeah sure, I “befriended” that popular Mia Talune, but I’m not liked by anyone. Oh well, at least science is finishing soon.

15/2/2021 11:03 am

Not a normal day any more. That Heath Forest guy who bullies me? I found him dead outside the main building. Stabbed in the chest and abdomen. Yeah no, first on the scene on accident equals not fun! So I called the police then rushed to find a teacher. It wasn’t that hard (the main building, duh). But now people think that I killed him! Which I definitely did not! As if the bullying about the heterochromia, me being ace, my height, the fact that I’m a guy who’s artsy and having anxiety wasn’t enough.

Whatever. But still, now I’m wondering who killed Heath? I’m not torn up about it since I don’t like anyone here, I just want to know why someone actually had something against him. He was only mean to me after all...

15/2/2021 2:30 pm

Yeah no, I’m getting weird vibes from this girl in my class. She keeps staring at me with this glazed look. Her name is Bianca Cornwel (only found that out through the roll) and to be honest, that last name is atrocious.

There’s been questioning taking place all day because of the cops, and my class has been talking non-stop about it. I have noticed whenever anyone brings up that it was me, the class prez, Rory Dee, gets very defensive and brings up that it couldn’t be me (a few points he made were hurtful: “He’s too weak to do something like this”). He also seems to turn his head from his front seat and glare at Bianca.

15/2/2021 10:37 pm

A quick sum-up of today:

-woke up

-went to school late

-had to sit through science

-found the dead body of a regular bully

-got accused all day (for the murder)

-was stared at by a girl (every lesson)

-was defended by the class president (why?)

-was questioned twice by the police

-went home

-wrote this instead of sleeping

16/2/2021 2:48 am

I was woken up by my phone. It’s a news story. I only really get notifications from the news (I’m a loner) so this is regular.

So I had a look at it and the headline reads: “16-year old’s body found dumped in a sewer”. Ew.

Oh. The murdered teen was Tanisha Andre, a girl in my class.

Something’s up.

16/2/2021 8:55 am

I got to school on time. My problem now is that I don’t have an alibi as I did for Heath. Hopefully Class Presi-Dump has something to defend me with. Clearly he will. I mean, he’s perfect in every way! He’s good at everything, popular, a high achiever, kind blue eyes, lightly tanned skin, fluffy looking golden blonde hair, cute little freckles around his nose and cheeks, his pearly white smile, his smooth voice that’s perfect for singing, the fact that he smiles softly at the people who he passes, his laugh; he’s just perfect. I mean, prince charming 2.0 much.

But still, why is he defending me of all people? We’re polar opposites! He’s tall, I’m short. He's popular, I'm a loner. He's class president, I'm assumed to be a murderer. He's brave and strong, I'm shy and weak. He listens to pop music, I listen to emo music.

It is a bit refreshing now that Bianca isn’t staring at me, but now Palace Tucker (one of the chicks that hang around The Mythic B***h Mia) has been glaring at me ever since I arrived today.

I wonder if there’ll be questioning today following Tanisha’s death?

16/2/2021 12:30 pm

President Perfect did defend me, as I expected.

I have noticed that after Palace left Maths class, Bianca followed after her. So far Bianca has come back, but Palace has not.

Yeah, I don’t trust Bianca. I mean, that’s a given considering she’s always watching me. I’m in the middle of the class and she’s at the back, so she can stare at me without suspicion. Which is REALLY uncomfortable! But I’m not going to tell the teacher, duh, debilitating social anxiety.

16/2/2021 1:35 pm

I found a hall-pass on the ground. It's one for Bianca and Palace. It says “mental health break”. I did see them both wandering the edge of the oval when I was in class. It’s a regular route for me at break time, so I’ll see if Palace is out there.

16/2/2021 1:38 pm

I definitely found Palace. Just drenched in… blood. And stab wounds through her head and her eyes gouged out. That too.

The song I’m listening to (Teenagers-MCR) ABSOLUTELY describes my realisation. My realisation being: Bianca is the killer and because I’m weak, I’m probably next.

And because of Tanisha's death being out of school, I can't hide at home. Hell, since I walk home, practically everyone knows where I live. I would know, a ton of them egg and t-p the house.

What if I encourage dad to get us moved to a city further away? What if we got out of the country? What if I learn how to fly planes and land on a deserted island? What if I went back in time and posed as an artist who sculpted attractive men for the church? What if I got astronaut training early and flew to Pluto?

I don’t know, but my anxiety is worsening just thinking about it. I'm just going to run and scream.

Hopefully they don’t think it was me.

16/2/2021 2:45 pm

The cops are back and that’s not helping my anxiety. If anyone talks about it again or to me, I'm gonna break down.

16/2/2021 2:57 pm

The police questioned me alright. But I couldn’t answer any of their questions; non-verbal panic attack. It wasn’t helped by intrusive thoughts about me getting framed, getting killed and being called a liar.

Bianca watched me on the way out and on the way back into the classroom. But so did Rory. He also looked at Bianca.

Has he realised? He's smart, he probably has.

Guess I’ll have fun for the last bit of class by listening to bands.

16/2/2021 3:51 pm

So Class King didn’t know anything about it. Then what does he have against Bianca? He can’t be glaring for no reason.

I did overhear Callum Jones talking to Bianca about how he's “going to a totally rad party with lots of babes tonight”. Bianca just told him to “stop lying” and that “everyone knows you're going to go home and DM Mia with your 5 different insta accounts”. Oof. There was nothing saying he was lying though. How did she know?

Oh yeah, Callum was definitely offended by that and took a swing at Bianca, but she was already gone.

17/2/2021 12:30 pm

I'm not dead yet, but I am going to be soon. I decided to, for whatever reason, talk to Rory about the murders. I could not stop stammering or going quiet for extended periods of time, but when I was talking I asked royal Rory what he thinks of Bianca. I haven’t got a response but I'm slowly dying…

Nobody has died yet today, but I'm absolutely paranoid. I just keep thinking I'm next or that I'm going to be confronted by the football team and they’ll punch me to death. Whenever I think these things, I can practically SMELL the blood. Even when I'm not imagining them I can smell blood.

Wait, what are those red stains on Jules Elvis’ yellow cardigan?

That’s what I've been smelling! Wait, was I wrong about Bianca then? Was it really this eager to please girl who did this?

No, if she was a murderer, she would know how to dissolve blood, or at least know not to wear the clothing worn while committing the crime.

But nobody is noticing Bianca.

17/2/2021 2:30 pm

The teacher has announced that there has been another body found- Felicity Forest, Heath’s younger sister. They showed a fairly censored version of the security tape to us. It showed a tall girl with brown hair, pale skin and a yellow cardigan on.

Guess who fits that description perfectly? Jules. The blood-stain on the yellow cardigan was pretty telling. Felicity was also Jules’ best friend, so the connection was there.

But Bianca has the exact same cardigan, I've seen her wear it. The tape was early, so she could have easily framed Jules. She was also asking our health teacher how healthy it is to be awake all night.

When the police came in for Jules, she was violently sobbing. She was saying stuff like “I would never!” “I didn’t do it!” “But… I was going to ask her today to be my girlfriend” “I LOVED HER!” “Our friendship bracelets said ‘together forever’!” and more.

I don’t think it was Jules at all. I know it wasn't Jules.

But I couldn’t speak up, the words got caught in my throat as if a dagger had cut them off.

Sorry Jules…

tags- @fallenfromforgotten @random-artsy-stuf @flowersanddinosaurs (you can request to be added at any time!)

#writing #damon hughs diary #narrative #diary #remi's writing #death tw #tw murder #tw police #tw blood #tw body gore #tw panic attack #tw paranoia #tw stab wound #tw stab mention #tw intrusive thoughts

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theintrinsicwarrior · 4 years

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The ‘Illusion’ of Hot Women

Yes, you read the title right. I believe that hot women are an illusion. You either have a curiosity about this opinion or a resistance to it. "Aden, what type of drugs are you on right now!? In what world do hot girls not exist? Maybe you’re spending too much time on Oxford street on a Saturday night!” I can imagine these are the thoughts of a guy reading this. I get it. Before I get into this, I just want to say that some of the things I say in this post may cause you to feel uncomfortable due to the way guys are wired to think in society today. It will probably challenge your perception of how attractive women appear in your reality. It might take the fun out of ‘hot girls' for you, and if thats something you don’t want, I’d advise you to stop reading now. If you’re a guy who goes around rating women on a scale of 1-10 and you’re not willing to be a little open minded to different view on that, same thing, stop reading. If you’re open minded and are genuinely curious about what I have to say about this, let’s go!

What’s your definition of a 'hot girl’? If I go and ask some random guy on the street this, he will probably tell me something like ‘are you serious? a girl who is sexy, of course!’ Or ‘a girl who is super glammed up, takes care of her appearance’ Basically he’s going to give a very vague answer that is probably subjective to his personal tastes. He might give me references of celebrities he finds attractive, or an ex girlfriend or current girlfriend. We don’t think about (or maybe I do, clearly!) what it is that really makes a girl ‘hot’. My argument here is that, what if beauty is contextual? What if that ‘hot girl’ you see walking in a bikini down Bondi beach is your own perception based on the circumstances, behaviour and several other factors? Picture this scene (trust me, you’ll like it if you’re a guy!): A young, blonde girl, maybe around age 21 walks up to you while you’re at a table in a restaurant with your friends. She’s wearing a low cut top on with tight jean shorts. Make up is done perfectly. Smells like every perfect smell to ever exist and has an adorable, polish accent. Her hair is shiny and straight as can be, ending at her lower back. She sits next to you, introduces herself and starts flirting with you. Her facial expressions are seductive. The way she touches your arm as she laughs at something you said in your story is equivalent to everything good in life. The way her eyes light up when you tell her that you’re into surfing or basketball or any sport you like. Got the picture? Of course you do! Obviously, you as a man are going to be like "am I dreaming right now? Why is this happening?” But let me flip it. Imagine that same girl, but this time her hair is all frizzy and clearly not washed and she has no make up on. Her breath reeks and her B.O is assaulting your nostrils like no tomorrow. She’s wearing an oversized hoodie with long baggy pants. She introduces herself but doesn’t say anything after that and sit’s next to you awkwardly, while you look at your buddies awkwardly, with you decaying in the uncomfortableness of it all. So I ask you, is that second girl still hot? It’s the same girl! Are all the thoughts you had about the first version of that girl going to be the same with the second version? Think about that. You see, we don’t take into account the different things that go into a ‘hot girl’. Yeah, its abit of a bummer isn’t it? Let’s use porn stars as another example. (Disclaimer: If you love porn and don’t want to think about what goes into it all, or want it to be ruined for you, once again, stop here). Besides cringe worthy acting, what you’re seeing in those videos is the result of quality lighting, precise make up work, a ‘porn star persona', different angle shots, different takes, exaggerated sex sounds, the ‘bow-chicka bow-wow’ music, and video filters. Editing! Thats what your seeing! If you see those women in a different context, without those things, ‘hot’ probably won’t be the word you’ll be using. ‘Good looking?' Yeah, maybe. ‘Attractive?’ Maybe. It’s going to be a noticeable difference, thats for sure. This applies to instagram models, magazine models, movie stars etc. you get the idea. “Geez! Thanks for being a downer, Aden! Why can’t you be normal, not overthink this and just be a freaking guy!” Yes, I know you might be thinking something along those lines. Allow me to break it down. A common thing I see in young men and in myself when I was younger, is a natural tendency to put women who are ‘hot’ on a pedestal. The psychological pedestal where, because a girl has a 'banging body’, is ’fine as a dime’ or some other cringe expression for a physically appealing girl, she is worshipped. She is the equivalent to that of a celebrity, even if she isn’t one. She is the ticket to your clout boost or status upgrade if you can ‘get her’. You’ll be swimming in the validation of everybody within eye distance of you and her together. Why? Because she looks a certain way in a certain CONTEXT. She’s that girl who every guy is shooting his shot with at the night club. The famous insta-model (who probably uses facetune) posting ass shots everyday and has pathetic men frothing in her comment sections and DM’s. The ‘hottest girl’ in your year 12 class, or maybe even the school. Are you starting to see it? If you don’t, its so simple: Stop acting like women who you ‘perceive’ as hot as being celebrities and trophies to obtain, knowing that ‘hotness’ is all in your mind! It’s subjective. It’s contextual. It’s an Illusion.

Another thing I want to speak on, and I’ve done it myself, is this universal rating system from 1-10 guys use to ‘rate’ a girl. “The girl I went on date with the other day? She was a 6.5. She’s alright, but I’d kill for that 9.4 who works in marketing, I heard she’s single!” Yeah… Hearing that in person you’d swear you’re in a maths class for crying out loud!. The issue I have with this is literally the same thing as the whole ‘hotness’ thing I was talking about in the previous paragraph: Pedestals and this unconscious desire to acquire these ‘hot’ women for some external validation. As you can imagine, a ‘7.4’ gets treated and viewed differently to a ‘4.3’ (obviously!) And the ultra rare ’10’? Shiiiiiiiiiet! You better be coming with that 1988, Michael Jordan-type game to get her, my guy! This is also where the whole notion of ‘leagues’ comes in: “I like Anna, but she’s a straight 9 and I’m only a 6. I can’t do it. She’s out of my league bro!” Listen to that life-changing confidence! Like, what makes a ’10’ any different to a ‘5’? Are they a different species? Do they have different operating manuals? Don’t get me wrong. I’m not judging here. As I said before, I used to behave like this. In fact, I used to be worse than this! I had my own ‘special’ rating system that was based off video resolutions. That’s right, I used to walk around, look at girls and say “she’s a 1080p!” Or “She’s only 720p, but has potential to be 8k” and had the nerve to call myself a human being! So besides the pedestals and objectifying of women, this behaviour also leads to men having near impossible standards for their dating lives. So you can believe that my standards were all kinds of stupid, having a stupid ass rating system. You can believe that I was never satisfied and blew so many great opportunities, all because of this ridiculous mindset. So that ‘5’ you went on a date with, you thought was ‘alright', could honestly have a personality that you can actually vibe with if you just looked past that massive 5 you put where her face is. You can actually be happier, more satisfied and content with women when you remove these dumb ass rating systems and select women based off a ‘yes’ or ’no’ approach. This how it works: You see a girl and if you’d like to get to know her, feel attracted, be with her or whatever, then she’s a ‘yes’. If not, she’s a ’no’. Simple. She gets viewed as a person who may or may not be into you as well, as opposed to a ‘rating’. This ‘yes’ or ’no’ system has done wonders for me personally: A guy who was rating women as video resolutions at one point! I now am able to look past a woman’s appearance, attempt to connect with her on a genuine level and not get caught up in looks! And not have it be life or death for my ego! Howbowdeh! You know what else is great? When you genuinely connect with a girl over conversation and get to know her, no matter what her appearance, she has the potential to become 'better looking’. It’s this strange phenomenon I’ve recently found since adopting the ‘yes/no’ system. I call it the ’Shallow Hal effect’. If you don’t know that reference, watch the movie Shallow Hal, trust me, you’ll love it! The main character in the movie, Hal, is literally the personification of the modern day, Instagram-model worshipping, sad-case, no self worth, thirsty man. Before he gets hypnotised by Tony Robbins to see the inner beauty of every girl, he’s exactly like the men I described above: Chasing the ‘hot girls’ because how a girl looks is a reflection of his own need for validation. So to sum up this post: What you perceive as ‘hot’ is all contextual and based off your personal rating system, which is likely to make you put women on a pedestal and limit your potential to have decent interactions, relationships and sincere joy with them. Before I finish this post, please don’t think I’m some sort of asexual weirdo who has a problem with good looking women and think they’re overrated. Don’t think I was rejected by countless hot girls and now I’m bitter and resentful because of it. Believe me, I absolutely love women and how they look. In fact, I think looks do sincerely matter and should be appreciated; Just not to the point where you put a girl on pedestal, temporarily change your personality in her presence and treat her like a celebrity just because she has a nice dress on, perfect make up and puts on a ‘sexy girl’ persona. In saying that (and quoting Drake): “Know yourself, know your worth”

‘Your impressions of a woman’s beauty do not define who she is, they define who you are’ -Unknown

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lillikat · 6 years

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Dear Pervert – An Open Letter.

*Names will not be mentioned so as to protect the guilty. This letter may contain issues which could trigger those with a past history of sexual abuse or harassment - ie: most women*

Dear Pervert,

So we’ve been acquaintances on Twitter for what must be now 6 years or so. You followed me, and I reciprocated. I remember as I don’t find and follow many over there, only the truly fascinating, which you did not come under.

You whore your watercolour paintings on Twitter, occasionally asking for feedback and often not actually wanting it. Just trying to “engage your audience” I suppose. I gave feedback on works I liked and on aspects that you openly asked for. Very occasionally you replied to me. Nice, but busy and possibly rather self involved was my diagnosis of you from these interactions.

I believe you once sent me a spam message, whining about how you wanted me to promote you or join you on Facebook. I ignored the crap out of that. Perhaps there was more to that message, now I think about the way you treated me yesterday.

Your watercolours are supposedly amongst the best in the UK with your distinct style which you have given a unique name to (yes bitch, I did look you up and did some light internet homework after our interaction yesterday. Some of these details were most unflattering, very eye-opening and brought some light to our interaction). I was happy to retweet on my own terms, as I liked your use of light, perhaps even considered buying one at some point when I actually had money, obviously not now. I wouldn’t want anything your fuckboy hands have been involved in anywhere near me now.

So despite our complete lack of personal interaction, really getting chatting to each other, you decided to push yourself on me yesterday. Not the first, nor shall you be the last to demand my attention by DMing me out of nowhere, relying upon the fact I have manners and humanity, knowing that I would not outright ignore a simple greeting. However, I smelt fuckery straight away. You see a LOT of men seem to think I am here for their amusement, be that sexual or otherwise.

**Look boys, if your mum didn’t breast feed you enough or hug you, that is not my problem. If you want me to be your therapist, I require payment and for you, “Dear Pervert” that price is tripled. **

So regardless of my thinking “oh shit, another man looking for a mother or slut and I can’t be titted being either.” I responded to your ill conceived, terribly spelt attempt at communication. Perhaps I was wrong, after all, you try to sell work through this Twitter account, by DM nevertheless, there’s just no way you’d risk your professional reputation by being a creepy man on this account, would you?

Yet you did exactly that. 7 messages, that’s what it took you. No romance, no wooing, no paying attention to social cues like me telling you I am busy working, hinting (so clearly that a dog would have picked up my not so subtleties) that I wanted to be left alone and had no interest in you whatsoever. You just kept going didn’t you? Did not give one fuck that you might be making me uncomfortable, annoyed and deeply nauseous. No, because your dick was in control. You pathetic sack of crap, you let your base animal instincts override any sense of socially acceptable behaviour that you might have had.

7 messages of me saying I am working and you sending badly spelt trash, bibbling on about how your in bed and so tired. “Go to sleep then you absolute fanny and stop bothering me I have work to do” was what I was thinking but instead I stated “I am working, I have a lot to do so it will be many hours before I can similarly relax like you are doing.”

You piled on ambiguous emojis like a schoolgirl who’s just got their first smartphone. “Here check this shit out” I called to my husband as I stated I thought I had yet another live one on DM. That was on your second message - the third in our entire interaction. Then you witter on about distracting me from work. ”Dear Pervert”, you really should've bowed out but oh no, not you. You felt entitled didn't you? You then had me reaffirm my I AM BUSY statement and then sent me a shot of your erection barely clothed by grotty hospital style pyjamas.

What in the name of anything sacred or sane were you thinking? At no point did I state any interest in your grotty ass. Not one smidgeon. Not one cell of my being asked for your vague innuendo then shot of your erection. Bam! Rank pyjamas and that, in my face.

Thank you, “Dear Pervert”. Thank you for not reading my timeline or taking any blind bit of notice that I am part of the #metoo movement, part of the #SexAbuseChat survivors. Only recently found my voice. Only started to barely grace the depths of my survival and story. Barely trusting, yet finding strength in the shared stories of my sisters of the internet, stronger perhaps than I can ever be, who have managed to out their pain sooner. More succinctly than I.

Do you want to know my first thought “Dear Pervert”? You made me flashback to the time when I was on holiday with my natural father in a Bulgaria. The last time he forced me to share a room with him. You made me recall those 2 weeks in all their glory. Buckle up buttercup, because this is what you had me relive and refeel in all it's hideous detail. Part one. The Flasher. Not my first, by now I am in my early teens. I have faced emotional, physical, psychological and sexual abuse for many years. That was my secret. I became good at keeping secrets. But that’s a whole set of tales for another time, “Dear Pervert”.

Back to the flasher. My second by this point. I am waiting to get breakfast, it’s a raised static trailer, I am short and have to tiptoe to see over the counter edge. I place my order, the man says just a minute and exits. I step back and wait for what must be 5-10 minutes. I am looking at my shoes, bored and bewildered, when out of my peripheral vision I see the cook come back in, with his dick in his hand, masturbating furiously. By now, I know what to do. I am a child and already had faced so much worse. "Reaction, this shitbag wants me to give anything" was my first thought. Now my first flasher I shot down in flames by pointing at his penis and in my loudest, best stage laugh proclaimed if that’s all he had he’d better see a surgeon. This one deserved more and less. I immediately looked down at my watch swore about this guy being a lazy so and so, then walked off in the opposite direction to the nearest busy shop. I was shaking, I thought I was going to pass out or throw up. I walked slowly so he wouldn’t know I saw him, then sped up gradually, afraid this man was going to chase after me.

Part two. Daddy Dearest. I got back to the hotel room I shared with my father, telling him about the incident in full detail, as soon as he arrived. Surely he will do something or know who to tell, was my logic. No, in my natural father’s true style, he decided this would be the perfect occasion to show me his throbbing penis. Again for no reason. We were both reading later, after dinner. Father was in his underpants & t-shirt, which until then never bothered me. He then yelled jovially “hey what do you think of this?” and as I looked over at his bed he whipped down his underwear to reveal my second unwanted erection of the day. Again “Dear Pervert” I cannot underline, that even at this tender age, I was not a person to be reckoned with.

Let me break this down for those who have never experienced true fear. Seconds, feel like hours. Your heart races, you feel giddy, throat goes dry you swallow - it’s sand, you feel the shaking start, the adrenaline has kicked it now you have an eternity in this moment of horror. Sadly, I had lived here before. Many times. Fortunately, I have learned how to construct complex battle plans in those uncomfortable moments. A few seconds was all I needed.

I took one look at my natural father’s erection, raised an eyebrow and told him he should take that shit on children’s TV as a puppet act. Perhaps the broom cupboard on CBBC would take his act? I then went back to reading my book. I knew if I had reacted in any other way, we would have issues. Joke it off, brush it off as just a bit of fun then jam in the fact YOU ARE A CHILD in large letters, in hopes he will see. From that moment on, things between my father and I got worse. The brutal reality I had to face was that my father wanted me. Completely, in every sense of the word. My everything. I had to run. I had to survive, again. This had become my normality. I could never let him know that I had been here before. I knew even then, he would see that information as some sort of gateway for him to start full on abuse mode. I was not about to let that happen.

So to put it succinctly “Dear Pervert” you triggered memories of my father. For that I hate you.

In your scale of thinking it’s nothing, your junk was technically covered. No, no and NO. No means no, by the way. Drinking is not an excuse ever (looks like this excuse might be a habit for you “Dear Pervert”, again you made me look you up).

As for having a bad week, which was the main crux of your excuse. A bad week? Try having a hellish couple of years in which you almost lose every damn thing including your sanity and will to live. I’ve had that and not once sent pics of my flaps to random internet men. I think I might be able to speak on behalf of most women and say none of us would do that shit ever. I mean genitals are not attractive.

You don’t even remotely tickle my turnip “Dear Pervert” so why in god’s name would you think “oooh my barely covered erection is just what this conversation needs”?

You sir are a fuckwit. A massive gaping, diseased one at that. I have spent a day and a half by now (yeah writing this much vitriol takes time, it’s a craft) hating you “Dear Pervert” for the following reasons.

1: You hold a position of power. Lots of followers on Twitter, prolific artist, seemingly professional. I am an artist, just starting out, being sneered at for my style by the likes of bigwigs such as you. That is why I spoke to you on DM, that is why I gave you the time of day. I thought we shared a common passion, that you might be wanting to talk shop or art. You entered into a contract of trust and you pissed all over it. That’s what you’re doing when you randomly seek attention from a woman on the internet by the way. If they give you the time of day back, count your blessings behave like a gentleman and keep your dick where it belongs. Off my DMs and not in my face. You abused your position of power. For shame!

2: Right at the exact time your fuckery started my dog decided to start violently throwing up. Yet I had to take time out to yell at you & report you. So I’m just blaming you for my dog being sick, because I think she saw your pathetic wang and it made her chuck. That’s what I’m telling myself anyway. It pleases me to do so.

3: I have had panic attacks, stomach aches & headaches since, thanks to the constant supply of panic adrenaline that my body seems to use as some form of defence. My heart has been racing, I can’t sleep & can’t eat. So thank you for that trauma.

4: You didn’t even care when I yelled at you and told you that I am not here to be an object of sexual gratification nor amusement to internet randoms, that I was a human with actual real feeligns attached to them. I also informed you that I am married, and again I didn’t want your pervy nonsense. Now every letter is riddled with hidden intent and double entendre. Every character takes on new meaning in light of your behaviour. You gave me eye rolled emoji like a fucking child. You make me sick.

5: I now worry about the safety of other women on the internet. Oh but fear not “Dear Pervert” the whisper network is in effect. I can’t out you here, but I absolutely can tell my loved ones to avoid you like a dose of virulent crabs. They have been told you are not professional and you are not a safe person. I think we can both agree on those very simple facts. My ladies will give you wide berth, they will tell other women who will tell other women who will tell other women. So in short if you’ve done this before (which I have to believe you have & much worse) it will come out eventually. If you really were just showing your dick to me and I was your special first, note if you do this again, the network will get stronger. Why? Because we are looking out for one another in trying times, as only real, actual humans do.

With that “Dear Pervert” I sign off.

Know the pain you have caused me and know you just pushed me to out pain and truth that I have never done before. You broke me, now there might be a landslide of cathartic outings here.

Sisters of the internet! You are not alone, together we are stronger. You there reading this, yes you. You are a Goddess. No you are, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

Men, treat every woman as the Goddess she is. After all women have paid homage to your masculinity for aeons. Return the favour.

If we all treat each other as Gods & Goddesses, with the full respect that holds, perhaps there might be less of this infestation of men believing they have privilege over woman’s domain. Because random internet boys, we owe you nothing not one thing, therefore you have no right to demand anything from us ever.

We are not your sex toys.

We have feelings.

Yours Blistering with Rage

#metoo #onlinepervert #abuse #personal

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