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jflemings · 2 months

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— party of two

pairing: ucla!jessie fleming x ucla!reader

synopsis: jessie saves you during a frat party, forcing the two of you to confront your feelings head on

warnings: angst lol, unwanted male attention, mild homophobia, jealous!jessie, insecure jessie if you squint, the downstairs bathroom is a character of its own

a/n: i love teags and jess 🫶🏼 my bruins girls 🫶🏼 (this took an angsty turn whoops)

the stale smell of alcohol and sweat invades your senses as you shoulder through the crowded living room of the frat house. you smile politely at the people you know, squeezing past a guy you know from you psych class. his name — brendan or braeden, or something — escapes you as he turns around. the two of you are chest to chest and right in eachother’s personal space, allowing him to easily grip your shoulder and lean right down in your ear, basically leaning his cheek on your own.

his hot breath fans over the shell of your ear “i didn’t know you were coming” he shouts over the loud music, putting his hand on your shoulder as a means to get closer.

you shrug in an attempt to rid your shoulder of him “it was a last minute thing” you yell back before trying to step away from him.

he pulls away from you momentarily and smiles whilst nodding his head, allowing you to smell the vodka on his breath. his tanned hand rubs your shoulder in what you’re sure he thinks in an affectionate manner. you make the attempt to step around him to no avail and your face drops seeing that more people have managed to pack themselves into the already crowded space.

“i was thinking” he begins to say, squeezing your shoulder so you look at him. he’s not ugly, per say, and he seemed like a relatively nice guy everytime you did speak to him but you were into women. women who had freckled cheeks and curly brown hair and who got pissy everytime you scribbled on the corner of her page aimlessly.

before he can speak again he’s shoved from behind and because of his tipsy state, he doesn’t have the reflexes to stop the jungle juice in his cup from spilling all down your chest and top.

you grimace at the sticky feeling and begin to regret wearing such a revealing shirt. you can feel the alcohol drip down you collarbones and the valley of your breasts, furrowing your brows at the sticky feeling and the smell you know is going to linger for the rest of the night.

he shoves his friends blindly “i am so sorry, let me help you clean that up”

“no i’ve got it. i was just heading to the bathroom anyway” you shoot him a tight lipped smile and begin to go in the direction of the only downstairs bathroom.

he follows closely behind and pushes the bathroom door open for you quickly, watching you turn the tap on and reach for a towel. his eyebrows shoot up “let me go get you some paper towel” he says before scampering off, finally leaving you alone.

you don’t bother waiting for him and instead use the last of the toilet paper to clean yourself off. you run it under the tap and pat your chest, trying to rid your skin of the sticky feeling. you can definitely still smell it on your shirt but you’re more worried about getting away from this guy rather than what you smell like so you quickly turn on your heel and walk out of the bathroom.

“y/n!” he yells over the music, a few paper towels fluttering in his hands “did you clean up alright?”

“yeah! yeah, i’m good” you say tight lipped before jerking a thumb behind you “i’m just gonna find my friends”

he once again reaches for your shoulder “hey, y’know i was just wondering if maybe you’d let me take you on a date?” he slurs slightly, his green eyes boring into you “you’re like hot, and smart and stuff. i just wanna get to know you better” he shamelessly checks you out, his eyes hungrily taking over your form.

he’s had a fair bit to drink, that’s obvious, but you don’t even get the chance to say no before he’s talking again “people say that you like girls but, honestly, are you sure? if you’ve never been with a guy how can you be sure?”

you make a point of rolling your eyes before shrugging him off and looking around. it’s only when one of his buddies loudly catches his attention does he tear his eyes away from you, yelling back at his friend.

you beeline for the back door once his back is turned, desperate to find someone you know so that you can shake him. you search every face you pass but come up disappointed each time, sighing deeply at the thought of having to hide in a different bathroom just to get this guy to leave you alone.

the cool air hits your sweaty skin as you step outside. you sneak a glance behind you and see him pushing past a girl he seems to know so he can follow you outside and you huff. can’t he take a fucking hint?

it’s only when you hear teagan micah’s familiar boisterous laugh do you relax a little. you can clearly see the back of her head as she animatedly speaks to some people next to the bonfire, allowing you make your way to her easily.

you appear next to her silently, almost huddling next to the australian in an attempt to hide yourself. she stops mid sentence when she notices you and grins “y/n!” she yells, throwing an arm around you “i’ve been wondering where you were”

you give her a tight lipped smile and duck your head, her arm a welcomed security blanket. when you don’t answer right away she notices the almost distraught look on your face and pulls you into her side.

“what’s up?” she asks thickly

“there’s just this guy from one of my classes— he won’t leave me alone”

teagan’s face hardens and she looks over her shoulder quickly. she looks like she’s about to turn around and mouth off to the next guy that gets in her way when jessie slides up next to the two of you, her hand finding the small of your back easily.

the goalie notices the new presence and in her drunken state, doesn’t immediately see that it’s her teammate. she whips her head around, her mouth open to hand out a snarky comment, before she sees the canadian’s freckled face. “oh!” she says delighted “it’s all good, jessie’s here! that guy should leave you alone now”

she rubs your shoulder affectionately before dropping her arm. she still looks around — in a way that you’re sure she thinks is subtle — before scowling and focusing her attention back to the conversation. jessie on the other hand, is wearing a look of concern as she sits down on the dingy day bed that’s been dragged onto the lawn. her hand stays on the small of your back as she sits “what guy?” she questions quietly.

you chew on your bottom lip for a moment and she drums her fingers on your back “just this guy from one of my classes. he’s kinda been following me around”

jessie can see that you’re clearly uncomfortable and her face softens slightly. she hooks a finger in the belt loop on the back of your jeans and begins to pull you towards her “come ‘ere” she urges whilst spreading her legs.

you let her pull you into her space until you’re standing in between her legs. she keeps an arm around your hips and you place both of your hands onto her shoulders “are you okay? did he touch you?” she says as quietly as she can so she doesn’t draw unwanted attention from her teammates around you.

you shake your head and she immediately lets out a sigh, running her hand across your lower back comfortingly. just the feeling of her arm around you is enough to calm your nerves and you squeeze her shoulders in appreciation.

“sit” she says whilst guiding you into her lap.

you do as she says and settle on her thigh, tossing one leg over the other as you get comfortable. her hand doesn’t leave your waist as you wriggle slightly on her lap, looping both arms around her shoulders gently. the midfielder traces shapes on your body as she takes a sip from her solo cup, making sure to hold eye contact with you through her lashes.

jessie wasn’t an intimidating person by any means but the stare she was pinning you with now definitely made you feel the need to turn away from her. it was the type of look that made you want to do something stupid like kiss her on the mouth.

she slides her hand up your spine and holds the back of your neck whilst ducking her head in an attempt to get you to look into her eyes. “you’re awfully quiet” she teases lightly, squeezing your neck once to get your attention “got something on your mind, pretty girl?”

in an attempt to hide the blush forming on your face you lean your chin on your right arm that’s around the back of jessie’s shoulders. “no” you almost whisper. if your face wasn’t so close to jessie’s ear she probably wouldn’t have heard it which means you wouldn’t have egged her on even more.

“no?” she questions amused “you sure?” she tucks her face into the crook of your neck and breathes in deeply, making your skin prickle. she removes her face from your neck and adjusts her thigh, jolting you in a way that she knows will get your attention. when you tighten your hold around her shoulders and level her with a scowl she smiles and hums, resting her face on just below your collarbone.

she must notice the lingering smell on your chest because her brows are furrowed when she looks at you questioningly. “jungle juice” you say shortly “he spilt it on me when he was trying to make a move”

the canadian rolls her eyes “asshole” she mutters before taking another swig of her drink. she drags her hand back down the length of your back slowly and settling it on the waistband of your jeans. “who is this guy anyway. do i know him?”

you play with her baby hairs at the base of her skull absentmindedly “brendan, or braeden, i don’t know”

“mustn’t be that memorable then” jessie hums, leaning back into your hand and closing her eyes. you smirk at her reaction and tug the hair experimentally making her eyes snap back open. jessie pulls you impossibly closer to her, dragging you up her lap until your thigh is pressed against her abdomen. she looks like she’s decidedly wether or not to kiss you for a moment before ultimately making her decision and craning her neck. you thread your fingers in her hair and move just as slow towards her, wanting nothing more that to kiss her stupid.

“y/n!”

you shut your eyes tightly and sigh at the sound of your name before turning and looking over your shoulder. braeden— or brendan, you still don’t know— smiles and inserts himself into the group. jessie leans back against the thin pillows lining the back of the day bed and frowns. he can’t be fucking blind can he?

“hey…” you trail off awkwardly “what’s up?”

“you ran off, i couldn’t find you!” he answers enthusiastically, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. he must really be gone because he seems to be completely oblivious to the looks that teagan and jessie are levelling him with.

you feel jessie’s hand thats on your back travel down and rest on your bum, her other hand sliding along the denim of your thigh. “brandon” she says unamused and your eyebrows raise.

“you know him?”

brandon looks over your shoulder and seemingly sees jessie for the first time. his eyes rake over your body and linger on the position of her hand “fleming” he greets politely before turning to you “soccer. we train together sometimes” he explains as if it’s that simple, getting caught up in jessie’s stare before he looks away “sorry, i didn’t know you two were…”

“together. dating. girlfriends.” she finishes curtly for him before patting your thigh for emphasis “but now you do so it’s all good” she shrugs and smiles sweetly. you see teagan stifle a laugh behind her cup, raising her eyebrows at you suggestively once you catch her eye.

apparently brandon wasn’t the only one who didn’t know you and jessie were dating because up until now, neither of you had confronted your feelings head on let alone put a label on your situation.

brandon gives you an apologetic smile and a nod before scurrying away with his tail between his legs. jessie remains sat back and continues to stroke your thigh whilst you refuse to look at her. confusion and embarrassment bubble in your stomach and you suddenly have the urge to get off jessie’s lap and get away from her.

you pull your arms off her “i’m gonna go to the toilet” you say whilst standing “i’ll be five minutes”

the canadian immediately sits up straight and grabs your hand “you okay?” she asks you, the concern evident on her face.

“yep, just really need to pee” your response is uneasy and you shoot her a tight lipped smile before making your way back to the house. you resist the urge to look back at your apparent girlfriend, choosing to pick your nails to keep you distracted instead.

you find yourself weaving through bodies once again and breathe a sigh of relief when you see the bathroom you were in before unoccupied. you brace yourself against the counter and press a hand to your chest before turning on the tap. the water runs over your warm hands soothingly and you place a palm to your heated cheek.

you can’t recall a time when you’d seen jessie get so outwardly jealous. her naturally timid nature just didn’t allow her to be so quick to voice her distain in a situation off a soccer field. it was undeniably hot but it also left you feeling like you had been kept out of the loop. it was obvious to everyone around you that the pair of you weren’t just friends. you had bering toeing the line between friends and something more for far too long now but not once had you or jessie ever verbalised your feelings, leaving them locked up safely.

but you didn’t need verbal confirmation. you knew how jessie felt about you and she knew how you felt about her.

three knocks to the door interrupt your blurred train of thought, making you jump out of your skin “occupied!” you practically shout

“it’s me” says the voice beyond the door, the unmistakable canadian accent making your skin prickle “i just wanna talk”

stepping away from the mirror, you quickly unlock the door and go back to leaning against the counter. you close your eyes just as you hear the door open and close softly, jessie’s presence almost suffocating you in the small room.

“i shouldn’t have said that” she begins, her hand hovering over your back like she’s unsure if she can touch you. she decides against it “that wasn’t fair on you and in all honesty, i don’t really know why i said it. i think i was just so frustrated that it came out but that isn’t an excuse”

“jess” you sigh heavily, opening your eyes so you can look at her through the mirror “you know that there’s nothing to be jealous about”

jessie’s cheeks burn as she leans on the opposite wall and tucks her hands behind her back. she quickly looks down at her old worn nikes that are scuffing against the tile. “yeah” she weakly says “hey, well, i just wanted to come find you and apologise so i’ll get out of your hair”

sudden anger overtakes you. first she was going to announce in front of all your friends that the two of you were dating and now she won’t even stay and give you a proper explanation?. you shake your head and spin around quickly “jessie don’t you dare” you say sternly, making her stop in her tracks “i deserve an explanation, a real one, not some half-assed apology that you can’t even look me in the eye for”

the canadian’s shoulders sag as she turns to look at you with her hands tucked in her pockets. she looks up to the ceiling and lets out a shaky breath before looking at you “brandon and i have had issues before. about you.”

the confession shocks you. you had barely spoken to brandon besides a few short conversations and note sharing, but beyond that you didn’t know a thing about him. “about me?”

“he just… he was just being disrespectful one afternoon and we got into it, okay!?” she exclaims defensively “and he was just saying shit about you and me, and how you would never date a girl anyway so i should just leave it alone” she shrugs, casting her eyes back down to her feet “when he came over i felt like i had something to prove but i made you uncomfortable in the process. i’m so sorry”

your eyes soften and you tilt your head. tenderly you reach for her hands and pull them out of her pockets and hold them in yours “why didn’t you tell me about this?”

“because it’s embarrassing!” she stresses, looking at you with glassy eyes “the fact that i let some guy get me worked up over practically nothing is embarrassing, y/n. half of the boy’s soccer team thinks that i’m just the little gay lost puppy following a straight girl around begging for a chance.”

jessie screws her eyes shut and takes her hands out of your own “i really am sorry for telling him that we’re dating without talking to you about it. that was wrong, and i know that”

you brush a few of jessie’s stray baby hairs back and let her calm down, having worked herself up again. she blinks back tears and you take her face in your hands “i really would’ve preferred you talk to me about this jess, i had no idea that they were giving you a hard time about me”

she she begins to shake her head you hold her head more firmly “they don’t know anything, okay? they. don’t. know. anything. they have no idea how i feel about you” you assure softly, making sure to keep eye contact with her “i know we don’t say it, or hardly acknowledge it, but i really, really like you”

“i really really like you too” she all but whispers to you “i’m sorry i didn’t talk to you about it”

“make it up to me?”

jessie’s pupils blow out wide and she quickly looks between your lips and eyes, her hands finding your hips and hooking her thumbs into your belt loops. she licks her lips and swallows thickly before smashing her lips into yours.

your hands wrap around her shoulders and pull her into you even further, allowing you to walk back until you hit the counter. jessie leans into you, your mouths slotting together perfectly, and she plants her hands on either side of you body on the bathroom counter.

you can’t help but smirk and swipe your tongue along jessie’s bottom lip slowly. she parts her lips and allows you to slide your tongue into her mouth just as you wrap one of your hands in her ponytail. she hums into your mouth when she feels your hand in her hair and knocks her knee in between your thighs, separating them slightly and gaining the upper hand.

the midfielder crawls a hand up the length of your spine and hold the back of your neck whilst pressing herself impossibly closer to you.

a loud knock on the door leaves the two of you jumping out of your skins. jessie’s knee hits the cabinet below you loudly and she groans in pain “fuck”

“hurry the fuck up!” a booming voice comes from outside the door, whoever is on the other side clearly not happy with how long the only clean bathroom in the house has been occupied for.

“this bathroom is too clean to be used” jessie mumbles against you, rolling her head along your collarbone and shoulder as she straightens out her leg.

you mourn the loss off the warmth between your thighs as you let go of the girl’s ponytail “someone’s poor girlfriend is cleaning this bathroom” you grimace “she must really like him”

she lifts her head off you and your eyes are immediately drawn to her slightly swollen lips. you half smirk and run a thumb over them, collecting lip gloss that had been transferred and wiping it on your jeans “you don’t make your girlfriend clean your dirty bathroom” jessie says as she rolls her eyes “that’s just being lazy”

“so you wouldn’t make me clean your bathroom?” you ask innocently, folding your hands in front of you.

jessie’s eyebrows raise “my bathroom is already clean, thank you very much” she pointedly says “you’ve seen it, you should know”

“jessie”

“what?”

you toss your arms out beside you and give her a look of disbelief “i just gave you the perfect opportunity to ask me to be your girlfriend and you’re telling me how clean your bathroom is”

jessie opens and closes her mouth “you want to be my girlfriend?” she asks “are you sure?”

“of course i’m sure” you say softly “i thought that was obvious”

she grins wide and holds her hand out for you to take, which you do immediately, before leading you out of the bathroom and through the crowd of students. you think she’s taking you back out to the bonfire and your friends before she heads for the front door of the frat house, her grip tightening on your hand as you pass brandon and his group of friends.

you can’t help but cheekily wag your fingers at him as you pass before pressing your body right against jessie’s and wrapping a hand around her arm “where are we going?” you ask loudly into her ear

she looks at you over her shoulder with a sly smile on her face “my place. i’ve still gotta make it up to you”

#jessie fleming #jessie fleming x reader #jessie fleming imagine #jessie fleming fic #woso #woso x reader #woso fic #woso imagine #jflemings woso #jflemings writes

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dinasangel · 3 months

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IF YOU WANT .

cowgirl!abby x reader

summary ; after having seemingly nothing ahead of you for what felt like years but was really just months, your mother finds a new opportunity for you, a new purpose to linger in your life, but is it made for you?

cw ; switch!abby, switch!reader, slow burn, southern au, eventual smut, abby denying her feelings for the longest time ever, hair braiding!! , catching butterflies, will-they-won't-they, arguments but coming from a nice place , closeted/unsure!abby, sharing a bed, slight homophobia, teaching abby how to play a piano, cuddling on accident and on purpose, slight praise kink from both sides, abby teaches you how to ride a horse , dancing!!, baking, injury , reader is scared of dogs ok , NO use of y/n , rrrrrr idk this will probs be added to

a/n ; is it ok that i added stuff to the content warning that'll be in future chapters just not this one and isn't all smutty stuff or is that not ok????? also sorry the caps are ugly i feel improper without them.

A slick heat beat down on your hair, snuffing any previously made attempts at improving it's state, and the journey you had just taken had worn you of any care for it by this point. Growing up in England only made matters worse, severely unpreparing you for this sort of weather, and you dreaded the fact that this was all you'd be feeling for who knows how long. Suitcases were hauled from your mother's car , safely situated at your side before she brought you into a crushing hug, one that had you groaning at the pressure.

"Make sure you write, you know how worried me and your father'll be." She said sternly, hands holding your shoulders.

"Yeah, I know. I will." You replied just as adamantly.

"Okay, good. You make sure you have fun now, okay? Oh , and remember-" your mother rambled on , which you were sure was just her way of keeping you back longer.

"Remember my manners, yeah, I got it." You interrupted. You truly were going to miss her and your father, but you were sure if she was here any longer she might just cave and stay eith you, which you did not want. A warm smile curled against her lips, crows feet appearing at the corners of her eyes.

"Look at you, my sweet girl, all grown up." She sighed dreamily and you couldn't help but grin, eyes rolling lightheartedly.

"Yeah, yeah." You dismissed, bringing her into one last crushing hug before exchanging small 'goodbyes' and 'i love you's' before she reluctantly got back into her car and headed off, leaving you to sit on a bench, awaiting your ride.

Your mother had been friends with a man called Jerry Anderson for longer than you could recall, and after one of their most recent catchups, the topic of you had eventually been picked up. You had always been a good student, exceptional grades whilst maintaining a stable social life and everyone had always expected big things from you, only once you had graduated university, your whole life had come to a standstill and it was starting to look like you'd be living at home forever. That was until Jerry brought up the fact his daughter, Abby, could use some tutoring, and it was settled before you'd even known ; you were going to tutor his daughter.

You didn't know why, nor did you even care really. As long as it gave you something to do with your life , you would do it. Being a picture perfect role model and ending up this way was no short of humiliating , and no amount of concealing it from everyone else could hide the truth from yourself.

"Tsch, what the fuck is this signal?" You groan quietly as you attempt to do anything with your phone to distract you from the boredom looming over your body and the nervousness pooling in your stomach, filling the gaps between you organs in a sickly warm way. Thankfully for you, a truck pulls up , usefully arriving at the exact time discussed. This never would've happened back home. You hate the fact you feel homesick already.

A door opens and you stand up, shaking the hand of the man in front of you. He's taller by a few inches, maybe 3 or 4, hair which is seemingly quite long done up in a neat ponytail and you're almost jealous of the way it sticks better than your hair, messily braided by yourself, a skill you've never mastered. You're sure you could, but between studies and friends and family, you'd never had the time.

"So you're the one who's gonna be putting up with Abs, huh?" He teases playfully with an accent you weren't expecting, sounding far more Spanish than Southern, pulling his hand away to grab your suitcases, an act of chivalry you're not too acquainted with.

"Abs?" You questioned.

"Oh, Abby." He corrected. You nodded in recognition, slightly humiliated you didn't link the two.

"Yeah, I guess." You say, climbing into the passenger seat of his burgundy truck. The seats are slightly worn, objects strewn across here and there, but nothing grotesque. He gets in and starts the engine up before beginning to drive. A heavy silence hangs in the air, once he seems to be a lot more comfortable with in comparison to your agitated state.

"So...what's she like?" You ask reluctantly, unsure on whether making conversation is a food idea. You don't even know him, and you're not sure he's worth getting to know.

"Abby? She's smart, really, just not got the right knowledge to get outta this place. Listens real well too, always got an eye for seeing things about people. She's nice to be around, awkward if you don't know her though. Real funny too, but don't tell her I said that." He explains. His carefree attitude irritates you slightly. This is all business to you.

"Why's she want to leave?" You ask, testing the waters, unsure od where the boundaries lie. Manny shrugs his shoulders.

"I never really asked. Why'd you leave?" He counters, confusing you.

"Huh?"

"I mean, you had this whole life n now you're here, what's up with that?" He explains himself, eyes flicking to you slightly before returning to the road.

You shrug slowly, staring down at the objects you can see here and there.

"Dunno. Just...not much left for me back there, or something." You say vaguely. He doesn't pry, which you like.

"So, what's England like?" He asks.

You find yourself settling into a comfortable conversation with him, the soft sound of music playing on the radio as a mere background noise. You find you don't dislike him as much anymore.

The town is small, definitely smaller than anything you've ever seen, and it's equally shocking how friendly everybody is. Every person you pass says hey or at least waves. It should decrease your nerves and allow you to relax a little, but it has you even more jittery. You're noticing how much you stand out even more as things go on. Most people are dressed in shorts , dresses, tank tops, skirts, anything that let's what little cool breeze circulate their body and suddenly you wish you'd acquired more taste in clothes that go beyond your usual jeans , long or occasionally short sleeved shirt and converse combo. You make sure to make a mental note to go shopping as Manny continues to drive.

A wooden, clearly old house (though better described as a cottage) slowly emerged into view. The paint was cracked in some areas, however other parts looked freshly applied, so, putting two and two together, you assumed there was renovations being done.

"So...how many people, y'know...fit in that?" You asked Manny, unsure there was going to be enough space for everything.

"Oh well, Abby has her own place not too far from here so it's actually just been her dad." He explained as they pulled up into the dirt driveway before getting out. You went for your suitcases, slightly protective over them in such a unfamiliar setting, but Manny was quick to wave you off, getting them out himself. You followed awkwardly behind, unsure of yourself ; wondered if it was too late to turn back now.

"Manny, hey!" Jerry called out, leaving his position on the couch to wrap Manny up in a hug before holding his hand out to you.

"Hey, it's so good to see you." Jerry greeted politely. You have a slight smille, your mother's words lingering in the back of your mind.

"You too."

"I'll go check on your room. D'you want a drink or anything?" He asked to which you shook your head.

"No thank you."

"Alright." He said before heading upstairs, leaving your eyes to scan the house. The place was well painted, a stark contrast to the outside of the house. Lace curtains adorned almost every window, walls covered in random paintings, some hand drawn personally, some purchased from nearby stores. A few coffee mugs lay out, a couple records here and there. It was warm, obviously lived in and taken care of. The wooden floorboards creaked slightly as you slowly moved along, trying to remain inconspicuous and subtle in your curiousness which felt lot like snooping to you. Your fingers reached out to run along the record player held on a tidy shelf, only filled otherwise with a plant and some cds for the car before you heard scrambling paws on wood and, before you could even move, a dog jumping up at you.

Your first instinct was to instantly recoil, retracting your hand back as you stepped back unsteadily. You did not like dogs. Small ones were tolerable at the most, but big ones were crossing the line by a mile, and this was a big dog. In all reality it just wanted to play and was excited by the presence of somebody new, but you couldn't consider that right now.

"Hey, Alice, c'mon, get down." A soft , almost silky smooth voice laughed awkwardly, a voice you were not yet familiar with. The dog - Alice - retreated, allowing you to look up qt the woman who had just entered. Dirty blonde hair, probably considerably long however the proper length went undetermined due to it being tied up in a tight braid. She was a little like an ox ; viisibly muscular, slightly taller by 3 inches , yet her demeanour was anything but. Her hand reached out to yours. You stared at it, unmoving.

"Hey, s' good to see you. I'm Abby." She greeted as warmly as she could. Abby. The girl you were tutoring. Your lack of movement and response caused her to pull her hand back awkwardly.

"Not much of a hand shaker?" She asked, clearly desperate to fill the silence hanging in the air like thick fog, threatening to suffocate the two of you.

"Not really." You lied, knowing full well you could still feel the texture of everyone's hands you had shaken on your skin (yes, everyone was two people). Today seemed to be going your way for a split second as Jerry came in, however all hope was quickly disintegrated.

"So uh, bad news. There's been a leakage in one of the pipes , the one right above your room and I wouldn't wanna make you stay in that." He explains, features and tone nothing but apologetic.

"Oh." You say. If a long journey with an over-emotional mother and heat that had your clothes sticking to you in the mosf uncomfortable ways humanely possible wasn't bad enough, this was the final tipping point.

"We can pay for you to stay at a motel for you for now but-"

"She can stay with me?" Abby interrupts, quick to add onto her words for a reason you can't quite place your finger on.

"Cause, y'know, she's my tutor and all so it's just easier than going back and forth to different houses and I can take the couch." She explains, rambling on and on incessantly, hands moving and curving. It'd be annoying if you weren't so exhausted.

"Okay yeah, if that's okay with you?" Jerry asked you to which you shrugged absentmindedly.

"Sure." You agreed.

If you thought the silence in the house around two other people was bad, you were infinitely wrong. Being sat next to someone you barely know in dead silence, only provided the whirring of the car to fuel your thoughts, was a nightmare. You could briefly notice her opening her mouth every so often , and you assumed that she was going to ask why you were here and for some reason couldn't. Her eyes constantly flicked to you, desperate you would say something first to do you both a favour. You didn't.

"So uh, why'd you-" she began.

"Hey, Abby? I really don't want to be rude but, I'm exhausted." You interrupted, pleading with everything in you that she would take the hint and be quiet, which thankfully, she did. You almost felt bad. Almost.

The rest of the car journey was done in silence, and you didn't even bother looking at her house nor examining the contents of it as though you were doing a quick in-and-out shopping trip, walking in and being lead up to her room , suitcases placed down before she rambled on about something you couldn't even grasp the concept of the second she opened her lips to speak.

"Um, anyways, g'night." She murmured, awkwardly going to leave the room. Watching her walk out of the door like a dog with it's tail between it's legs was enough for you to give in and soothe her nerves slightly with an exaggerated sigh.

"Hey Abby?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

It was the first time you'd seen her smile or look even slightly relaxed all day.

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qveerthe0ry · 2 months

Text

Truth or Consequences

Summary: You know deep down the hatred is only for himself and the turmoil he’s got boiling inside of him. Why else would he be paying to see you every week? Word Count: 3,442 Pairing: Ted Garcia x ftm! reader Rating: 18+ Explicit Warnings: 18+ mdni, dom/sub dynamic, mild humiliation/degredation, (LOTS of) dirty talk, internalized homophobia, reader uses the f slur and t slur to refer to himself, sucking the strap, rough oral sex, deepthroating, coming untouched, paying for sex, reader has top surgery scars but no other physical descriptions, no use of y/n, Ted Garcia is a republican A/N: I literally could not have done this without @for-a-longlongtime hyping me up and giving me motivation. Thank you bby <3

It’s late. It always is. You’ve been holed up in this hotel room for the last hour and a half. Waiting.

You don’t like when he makes you wait. He knows this, and perhaps it’s why he’s never shown up on time.

At least there’s Coke Zero in the minibar, and enough cable channels to keep you entertained.

But you click the TV off when you hear the familiar “knock-knockknock-knock” on the hotel room door.

You take your time straightening yourself up in the mirror, knowing he’s sweating it out in the hallway, where anyone could see.

It’s a small town.

You cut off his second attempt at the secret knock and tug him in by the collar of his tacky leather vest.

His eyes grow wide and he flinches when the heavy door slams shut behind him.

It’s cute, how he always seems so frightened.

“Took your sweet time tonight.”

He clears his throat and blinks hard before his pretty lips part.

“Secretary lost part of my speech— ”

His sentence cuts off with a high-pitched whine when you grab his jaw to manually shut his mouth. You click your tongue at him and feel his Adam's apple bob against your wrist.

“Try again.”

You notice his chest heaving, and you feel his jaw work under your fingertips.

“I— I’m sorry.”

Fuck, he looks so good like this, scared shitless and tenting his faded Wrangler blue jeans.

You release his jaw, but grab onto the curls at the nape of his neck and tug.

“Not quite.”

He curses, eyes shut tight.

“I’m sorry, sir.”

You chuckle and watch as the noise goes straight to his cock.

“That’s it, there he is. You have to mind your manners, Mr.Mayor. Don’t you wanna get re-elected?”

He whimpers and nods his head, and your fingers tighten their grip in his hair.

“Yes sir, I do.”

You hum as you let your free hand find those curls at the nape of his neck, too. You thread your fingers together at the back of his head and watch his tense expression melt into something more relieved.

“Tell me your safe word.”

With a shuddered breath, he speaks.

“Insurrection.”

“And if your pretty mouth is full?”

His hand finds your waist, tapping three times in a row.

“Good boy,” you mumble, ruffling his hair.

You watch as his skin flushes, trickling from under his collar to spread across his face.

His hand is still on your waist. You grab it slowly, then all at once torque on his arm so he twists away from you with a yelp. You crowd him from behind, get your other hand around his elbow, and kick the back of his knee.

He collapses onto the gaudy carpet with a groan, arching his back to relieve the tension in his shoulders where you’ve still got his arms in a death grip behind him.

You love to watch him squirm around.

“You know the drill, Mayor.”

You release your hold on him and watch some of the tension melt away. He digs around in his pocket and comes up with his phone, as always, letting his face unlock it for you. He sets it down on the bed in front of him, then holds his hands behind his back with amusing obedience.

“Pretty quiet tonight. Nervous?”

He shakes his head immediately, a knee-jerk reaction. You’re behind him, so you can’t see his face, but you know his eyebrows are all pinched up. You know he’s lying.

You weave your fingers through his curls once more and tug so he’s looking up at you.

“Why are you lying to me?”

His lips part, pretty pink tongue peeking out to wet them.

“I’m sorry, sir. I am nervous. Big day tomorrow.”

You’re well aware of the events to take place over the next 24 hours. His last big speech before the town either votes him out or keeps him around. You don’t dwell over politics, especially not now, but you’re well aware that the polls are leaning toward the former rather than the latter.

“Poor baby,” you coo, “I can’t imagine why you’d be nervous.”

Your fingers twist a cruel motion in his hair and he whines, tries to worm his way out of your grip.

“You’re just the best little Mayor there ever was, aren’t you? Pouring more funding into the corrupt police department…”

You stroke his face with your free hand, and though it’s tender, he flinches at first contact.

“Tweeting about the evil gay agenda…”

Your thumb finds his chin, then his plush bottom lip, and you hold his mouth open as he squeezes his eyes shut.

“How about that secretary of yours? The one who’s salary doubled in your four years in office, huh? Does she know you come to see me every week?”

He doesn’t respond, just makes a pathetic little noise in the back of his throat. You pull his hair again.

“Answer me.”

“No! No, sir, she doesn’t.”

His words come out a little garbled where you’re holding his bottom lip. You hook your thumb behind his front teeth and slowly drag down, until his mouth is wide open. His eyelids flutter, just in time to watch you spit into his gaping mouth, stray droplets landing on his nose and cheeks and chin.

“You don’t tell her about us, Mr.Mayor? Are you ashamed of me?”

He curses, struggles in your hold, and you let him go. Though he keeps his hands together behind his back, he tilts his head forward, presents the back of his neck to you. It’s flushed, in this twisted mix of shame and arousal that always gets him off.

“Yes sir, I am.”

You huff, tut at him and kick at the sole of one of his Lucchese cowboy boots.

“Well that’s not very nice.”

He makes to lift his head up and look at you, but you shove his head back down.

“Why don’t you just sit here for a minute and think about how you can make it up to me, huh?”

“Yes sir,” he nods.

You let out a satisfied hum and grab your bag from the foot of the bed. Closing the bathroom door behind you, you get to work suiting up for the occasion. This is your favorite part, taking your time and letting him anticipate. You know he’s on-edge out there, waiting for you, wondering how you’re going to punish him this time.

You’ve railed him within an inch of his life, sat on his face until he’s nearly blue, edged him for so long you almost made him late for an early morning meeting. But tonight, you’ve got just the thing, know exactly what to do to make sure he’s thinking about it until the next time he comes to see you.

You look in the mirror when you’re ready, jeans pulled back up so only your largest, most obscene strap-on is hanging out of your fly. Your flannel shirt hangs open, top surgery scars on full display. You know he likes them, and you know he hates that.

You slowly and quietly open the bathroom door. A smirk spreads across your face when Ted is right there where you left him, shaking a bit, but otherwise perfectly still.

His breath hitches in the quiet hotel room when he feels you reclaim you space behind him. You chuckle, and he curses, and you wonder if this will ever get less fun.

“You really hurt my feelings, Teddy Bear.”

He grumbles at the nickname you’ve given him. He’s not so fond, but you think there’s a ring to it.

“Sorry, sir.”

“Look at me, Mayor.”

Despite the show of reluctance he’s put on, his head snaps up and back to look at you. His nostrils flare, and you know deep down the hatred is only for himself and the turmoil he’s got boiling inside of him. Why else would he be paying to see you every week?

You swear you see his pupils grow even larger when his gaze lands on the monster of a cock in front of his face. If that wasn’t enough, his tongue swipes over his bottom lip and quickly retreats, like his morals are just a second behind his horny little brain.

Your yes flick past his head to his phone, still unlocked on the bed. You grab it and hum, act like you’re going through his apps just to watch the way he squirms on his knees for you.

You finally open the camera, and the little blip sounds and lets him know you’re recording.

He looks great on tape like this, looking up at you with his wide, brown eyes. The bulge in his jeans is even more prominent since they’re such a light wash, and the lens even picks up on the tiny little patch of dampness that soaks through the denim.

You pull the phone up, angle it down a bit more so your dick is on display, eclipsing the view of his face. The pale silicone contrasts beautifully with his flushed and tan skin. You take it in hand, stroke it a few times, though your fingers can’t quite wrap around the entire thing.

Ted’s squirming in the near background, shifting from knee to knee, and you think he’s waited long enough.

You step forward, and he opens his mouth. You chuckle and grab his jaw, run your thumb along his wet lip.

“Eager little beaver, aren’t you, Mayor?”

On camera, you watch him tear away his gaze from your prick to your face. His forehead wrinkles up, he doesn’t want to answer.

“Don’t get camera shy, baby. Let’s see your manners.”

His mouth finally closes, and he swallows and clears his throat.

“Yes sir.”

“Yes sir, what?”

He tries to look down, but you keep his jaw firmly in place. His nostrils flare again, but the camera also picks up the way his hips shift forward, his straining cock begging for relief against his fly.

“Yes sir, I’m eager.”

You hum.

“Eager for what, Teddy Bear?”

His jaw clenches, you can feel it under your palm.

“Eager for your cock, sir.”

You nod silently, and his eyes flicker up to your face instead of the phone.

And then you release his jaw, grab the base of your cock, and slap him with the cold silicone.

The noise he makes is pathetic, all strung out and desperate, and so you do it again, and again, until a phallic red streak adorns his face.

“This what you wanted my cock for?”

He nods quickly.

“Yes, sir.”

“Yeah? Want me to leave a bruise? Want the shape of my cock on your face for the whole town to see tomorrow?”

A sound escapes his throat like he’s just got the wind knocked out of him, and he opens his mouth to answer, but you don’t let him. Instead, you smack his shiny lips with the head your dick.

“I know you do, Mr.Mayor. I know you want everyone to see what a good little cocksucker you are.”

His tongue reaches out to press against your cock, swirl around the large mushroom head of it.

“Yeah, that’s it. Get it nice ‘n wet.”

He does, lets saliva pool in his mouth and then sinks his mouth further down, pulling back to reveal what a dutiful job he’s done with drool slipping from the corner of his mouth.

“Imagine if this got leaked, Ted,” you murmur.

He whines, opens his mouth once more to take you in, even further this time, but still barely past the head.

“You’d like that? You think you’d get more votes if they knew how good you are at this?”

He nods around your prick, looking directly at the camera, and fuck, it’s a sight, makes a low heat build in your gut that you try your damndest to ignore.

So you thrust into his mouth, a slow but smooth motion, watching through the phone how wide you’re stretching his lips. He takes a deep breath through his nose until he can’t anymore, until you’re feeding the tip of your cock down his throat and he closes his eyes in focus.

“Fuck, yeah, I think they’d love this,” you say, and you’re completely sheathed inside him, holding, waiting until he can’t take it anymore.

He pulls back with a gasp and you let him, watching his spit dribble from his mouth, loving the deeper shade of red his lips are turning.

“Don’t you think so, Teddy Bear? You’re so inclusive now, sucking off a faggot and a tranny.”

He chokes on his spit, sputters and coughs until his face is red. But he whimpers, too, and he tries so hard to wiggle in his jeans and find even the smallest bit of friction.

You laugh at him, how desperate and wrecked he looks just from sucking on your fake cock. The damp patch on his pants has doubled in size and something about it makes you feel so so powerful.

“Tell ‘em how much you like my cock, Mayor.”

He clears his throat and looks directly at the camera.

“I love your cock, sir.”

As soon as he’s done speaking, you run the slick tip all over his lips.

“Yeah you do. Look so pretty with it in your mouth. Why don’t you take off all those layers? Show ‘em how pretty you can be?”

“Yes sir,” he nods.

He’s quick about it, throwing his vest off and fumbling with the buttons on his shirt until it’s hanging off his shoulders. It goes, and his tank top underneath does as well once he gets it untucked.

And then he’s just in his sinfully tight jeans, looking up at you with a heaving chest.

“That’s a good boy,” you mumble.

He sits back on his heels with a sigh.

“Thank you, sir.”

It’s a little tender, the way you smooth your free hand across his broad shoulder, the soft muscle jumping under your touch. You film the way his breath hitches when your palm ghosts his pebbled nipple, then the way he shudders when you flick it.

“You really are so pretty, Mr.Mayor. Love how these get so hard for me,” you tell him as you roll one between your thumb and finger.

His head lolls back, and his mouth opens around a groan when you squeeze. You give the other one just as much attention, until you feel him trembling under you.

Then, you reach up to wrap your hand around his bobbing throat, no pressure, just for show.

“Hmmm… think maybe we should get you a collar. Make you even prettier. Would you like that, too?”

He nods with his eyes shut. You give him a moment to realize where he’s at, but when it’s clear he’s lost in his head, you slap his cheek.

“Yes! Yes, yes sir, I would.”

His glassy eyes stare up at you, past his recording phone.

“Yeah, have you wear it to all your fancy meetings, let all your constituents know who you really belong to.”

You hear him gulp, loud in the quiet room, and watch him squirm around some more, watch how his cock jumps in his jeans.

“Who do you belong to? Who owns this mouth, and that weeping little cock?”

“You do, sir. It’s all yours.”

“That’s right, Mr.Mayor. Let me take what’s mine, huh?”

He opens his mouth with a slack jaw, and his eyes looks so beautiful when they roll back as you fill his mouth.

Instead of thrusting, you grab a fistful of his hair and pull him into your cock. He keens around the silicone, so fucking needy. You curse and whisper his name, and that only gets more of a reaction from him. He’s humping the air now, a frantic roll of his hips, and you know he’s found that sweet spot where his jeans rub against him just right.

For a moment you let him go at his own pace. On camera, the bobbing of his head and the jerks of his hips are synced. His eyes are shut, and he’s really fucking into it, and as much as you hate to admit it, you are too.

The silicone base of your cock is pressing up against the perfect spot to get you heated. It doesn’t take long for you to still Ted’s head with a firm grip and start fucking his mouth.

He looks up at you just as he gags. His eyes are starting to water, and his chin is covered in drool. You thrust harder, deeper, until his eyes look a bit frantic and his breathing gets labored.

“Fuck, Mayor, you’re gonna get me off like this,” you say as you slow, give him a bit of a break to catch his wind.

He whimpers, and he closes his spread legs and rubs them together, aching for a bit more.

“You like that? You wanna make me come?”

His ‘yes sir’ is muffled around your cock, and it jiggles in the harness when he nods his head and that feels so fucking good.

“Get me off and then I’ll let you come. Gotta do it just like that, though. Don’t fucking touch yourself, Ted.”

He whimpers and doubles his effort, sloppy, knocking the huge cock all around to try to get you off with his panicked movements. You watch through the camera as the muscles in his arms and shoulders and chest all tense up, and you can’t tell whether or not he’s trying to come or trying not to come.

You’re getting close, the sweaty glide of the smooth base flicks against your throbbing bud. Your own breathing starts to pick up, and you’re so close but it’s just not quite enough.

So you grab the back of his head and thrust, slip the silicone to the back of his throat and grind until you finally, finally tumble over the edge.

He’s gagging and coughing with the prick still in his mouth, and the tears are running down his face one right after the other and it only makes those waves keep crashing in a delicious rhythm.

When you pull back, just a bit, there’s teeth marks on your cock, shiny with spit on the video recording. You give another thrust just to punish him for it, and it sets off a fucking gorgeous chain reaction.

It ripples from his head to his toes. His breaths are more than labored, evident even when his shoulders shake and stiffen, his stomach clenches and unclenches and his hips jolt and stutter as he squeezes his legs together.

You pull your cock from his mouth just in time to kneel down and get a close up of his jeans, and the way that wet spot gets larger and larger as his cock jerks and his hips roll.

The sounds he makes are so fucking pathetic it’s almost funny, whimpering and sniveling as he just keeps coming, spurt after spurt absolutely soiling his pants.

His legs shake with the last few pulses, and then he’s slumping, completely ruined from head to toe. You lean back on your own knees so the camera gets an Oscar-worthy pan of his stomach and chest, heaving and sweaty. Up even further to his freshly fucked mouth, all red and shiny and swollen. And his eyes, wide and almost scared looking in his post-nut clarity and guilt, don’t quite meet you or the lense.

“Smile real pretty for the camera, Teddy Bear.”

And to his credit, he does, though it’s anything but genuine and much more resembles a grimace than anything else.

The sound of the recording ending marks the end of this little session as well. Both sets of bones pop and crack as you stand up together. The dressing is quiet, as it always is, and he doesn’t steal a single glance at anything other than the tacky hotel room carpet.

He clears his throat, and you look up from buttoning your shirt to see him still flushed and still guilty. He’s dressed, but he’s holding his vest in front of him and shielding the soaked spot on his jeans from view.

“Thanks, I guess.”

You hum and shrug as he grabs the door handle.

“Same time next week?”

He shrugs then, too, but you know the answer already, know that next Monday you’ll have another bundle of taxpayer dollars come through on your venmo.

He leaves without another word.

When you watch his speech on the news the next day, his voice is noticeably more hoarse and gruff.

#Pedro pascal #Pedro pascal x reader #Pedro pascal smut #Pedro pascal fanfiction #Pedro pascal characters #x reader #ftm reader #Ted Garcia #ppcu fanfiction #pedro pascal cinematic universe #sub! Ted Garcia #Ted Garcia fanfiction #Ted Garcia smut

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randomshyperson · 1 year

Text

What They Will Say About Us - Wanda Maximoff Oneshots

Summary: A love from the past returns, and Wanda gets a second chance to make it right. But some decisions are easier in their concepts than in reality.

Warnings: milf!Wanda angst hours, implied internalized homophobia, hidden making out, attempts to Judaism references, and mentions of past relationships. | Words: 1.727k

A/N-> I blame the movie Disobedience and the song of the title name (by FINNEAS) for this one.

General Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad

--//--

It was such a risky idea, honestly.

Wanda had no reason to be in the Synagogue this afternoon, other than her personal motivations of course, which came down to an old friend in town.

The black sheep returns, she heard, from a good dozen people. It made her stomach turn. Wanda wishes she could have summoned the same courage as you, years before, and left everything behind. Fought her own father like you did and had the minimum of happiness like she imagines you found in New York.

Or at least, Wanda likes to believe so. When she thinks of your adolescents, stolen moments here and there, and how you left without hesitation, she must believe that what was out there was better. It made you happier, at least.

The Synagogue was crowded and it was too risky to look around that much. Wanda felt watched from all sides - whether it was Pietro and Crystal, or Erik and Natalya, she had the impression that all eyes were on her. As if everyone knew how much she wanted to stare at you.

Your presence there was noticed very easily and commented on by everyone. The choice of black clothes, the outrageous jeans for the traditional community, every strand of rebelliously messy hair.

Everyone looked at you as if you were a crime against everything the faith stood for, but Wanda looked at you as if you were a masterpiece.

The small sarcastic smile as you mumbled Hebrew as you entered, the almost non-existent nod before ignoring your sister's simple request to take the seat next to her and avoid any commotion, your determined steps to the small group standing around having a conversation.

Every inch diminished between you two made Wanda's heart skip a beat.

"Shalom Adonai." You greeted, interrupting whatever conversation was going on between Wanda's family. She tried to disguise how much she was begging for your attention, but you caught every stolen glance, the smile at the corner of her lips getting harder to hide and bringing a warmth underneath her own dress.

You were embraced by Natalya, tenderly, around the neck. She had always liked you, Wanda remembered.

"Shalom Adonai, Y/N. It's so good to see you home, child." Said the woman so warmly that you almost felt bad for the lack of manners you were about to present.

"Yes, yes, it is good to be back. Would you guys mind if I talked to Wanda for a second?"

She knew she was blushing, and that it only made her father's disgusted expression worse. But something about the punk-rock attitude made them assume that you might cause a scene if you were denied, and Erik just nodded in agreement.

You offered Wanda a smile, invading her personal space only to go around her, grabbing her hand in the process.

She followed you through the halls to an empty room, as she would have followed you to New York if you repeated the invitation.

"Why are you being so shy and quiet?” Your question came on the way, hand in hand with her, when you turned your head for a moment. A tease followed before Wanda could answer. "Aren't you happy to see me?"

She chuckled through her nose, indignant at something so absurd. She had been happy to the point of barely sleeping properly for the past few days since the news that you were in town reached her house, and she longed for a visit that never happened. It was foolish to think that you would come to their parent's home, not when you were revisiting family after so long. But at least in the Synagogue, Wanda found you. Or the other way around.

You stopped walking in a dimly lit room, at the exit of a staircase that no one would pass after the meeting had begun. It was a cramped space that the younger ones used to hide from chores, that you, Wanda, and Pietro had used many times as teenagers.

You challenged her then. You loosened her hand to rummage in your pockets and took out a lighter and a different cigarette, wrapped in silk. It was only to elicit a reaction from the woman in front of you, who widened her eyes as if you were the devil itself and grabbed your hands.

"You can't-"

"I'm just messing with you, Princess." You retorted with an easy smile, shoving the items back into your pocket, and to the end of the other's sanity, your hands moved to hers again before Wanda could pull away completely. "You haven't changed a bit."

Her shaky breath tickled your cheek.

"You did." She murmurs affectedly, looking at everything but your face, and mostly at your hands together. Your fingers playing with hers. "You cut your hair, and your clothes...it suits you."

You hum distractedly, Wanda has no idea it's because of her perfume. So many years, and she messes with you the same way. Licking your lips, you try to bring clarity to your own thoughts.

"I heard you were getting married." You state then, and Wanda has to look at you, frowning.

"What? How-? I-I-"

You chuckle, taking in every trace of the face you missed so much. "Your mother invited me to the engagement feast." You explain casually. "I dismissed an event, so imagine my surprise when I heard you dumped the guy's ass..."

Wanda bit back a smile, she shouldn't laugh at this. At the shame she had put her family through; the most rebellious act of her entire life, dismissing a rich, Jewish, and proper fiancé. Chosen by god and her parents.

"Sorry for the inconvenience in your schedule." She returns, teasing, her eyes sparkling the way they only get around you.

You smile, interlacing your fingers together and bringing an immediate wave of nervousness to the woman in front of you. The gentle tug lessened the distance.

"I just got through packing up and ran over here." You murmur then, a very sincere and vulnerable look in your eyes suddenly.

Wanda swallows dryly, her heart hammering. "Oh, really?"

Your smile didn't falter, but your eyes did. "Do you remember... what I told you when I left?"

Wanda could hear her heart in her ears. She nodded, and you moved her hands to your waist. She gasped, overwhelmed with the longing for you, with the love she had kept for so many years. Her burning face was hidden in your collarbone, and you chuckled, equally affected, you slipped your arms around her to reassure her.

"I said I'd come back at any second if there was a risk of losing you to anyone, Wands." You whispered against her, even as she confirmed that she remembered. "And here I am. I hope not too late."

She shook her head frantically, drawing another laugh. You were tormenting her after all, how audacious. Wanda grimaced, and brushed her lips against your neck first, enjoying the flinch, before sinking her teeth in your skin.

You whimpered, low against her ear. Wanda licked the bite and sucked until she had a mark and you were soft against her, melting.

"Wanda." You called out, and she pulled away in the same second, only to firm her mouth on yours.

It was exactly as she remembered it, but even better. You tasted like peppermint candy and coffee, and it was too delicious for Wanda not to squeeze your sides and push you against the wall.

Your tongue slid into hers until her head spun and her knees buckled. The sermon began downstairs, and the music drowned out any gasping sounds that escaped her lips.

Wanda took advantage of it.

You were out of breath when you let go, and your hair seemed wilder than before. Your hands were dangerously beneath her blouse, gripping her waist directly by the skin. The strong squeeze would be enough to mark, and Wanda would have to be careful about changing clothes at home.

"Run away with me." You gasped suddenly, and Wanda stopped breathing.

She had a flashback, so many years before, where you were much younger and much more insecure, and she was terrified. And you asked the same question and began to cry as Wanda shook her head in the negative.

"Detka..." She started uncertainly, not with the same fears as years ago, but with the same cowardice.

You had changed more than she had, and your eyes were as firm as your tone.

"I have an apartment and a job." You reasoned, your hands releasing her waist to hold her face. "All the stability and security I couldn't give you at 17, I have it now. I got it all so I could be with you, princess. Run away with me, Wanda. Please."

Her eyes burned. "My family would hate me." And you knew it was true, yet you still loved Wanda the same way you did when you were seventeen.

"I would be your family." You assure her, caressing her cheeks tenderly. "And we...we could make a family of our own, too."

Wanda sobbed softly, returning to her original position, her face hidden in your collarbone. You almost began to cry too, but you busied yourself with holding her, smoothing her hair until you had her definitive answer.

"It's a beautiful dream, detka." She whispers against your skin, her arms tightening around you. "The best one there is."

You kissed the top of her head. "Let me make it come true, Wands."

She sobs, and the music there and low ends. Wanda needs to stop crying before someone comes to check, so she does so quickly, wiping away the tears and almost hiding them from you.

"Reality would tear us apart." She declares, but you deny it with a nod, offering her a sad smile before moving closer to kiss her forehead. Wanda almost tugs you away, but like years ago, she flinches.

You sigh and face her in the eyes. "I wish you would dare to love me as I love you, Wanda."

Her gaze begs for sympathy, but you can't give it to her now. You turn your back on her and leave her alone on the staircase, and it's as if Wanda can hear the memories echoing in that space.

Maybe one day, she will find the courage to follow you.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #elizabeth olsen x reader #wanda maximoff oneshots #marvel imagines

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abbatoirablaze · 2 months

Text

Surrogate Luna, Chapter 25

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: angst, mentions of loss of limb, homophobia, gay relationship (mm), mentions of murder plot, murder, mention of rape.

“I need an audience with alpha Barnes and his Luna.”

Nat gave Sam a wary look, and turned to her sister, who was shaking her head from her place at the other side of the doorway.

“Sam, I know that you are a friend, but-“

“Exactly, I’m a friend. So, let me in to talk to Bucky and Cinna,” he growled, projecting his aura outwards, “I received information about Steve from one of the people still in the pack who’s stayed on Sharon’s good side so that he could feed me updates on my actual alpha. And Cinna and Bucky need to hear it!”

“How about you tell us this, information, and if it seems worthwhile, we tell our alpha!” Yelena suggested.

The beta sneered, baring his teeth at the she-wolf, and Natasha stepped between the two, “calm yourself down, beta.”

“I have dire information about my alpha, an alpha that I know Cinna and Bucky are still in love with,” he hissed, “information that could save his life, should they take me up on it!”

“What do we care of an alpha that has no bearing on our pack?”

“You stupid she-wolf, let me through!”

The door opened behind the set of sisters and the older beta. Clint’s brow was raised, and he had one hand on the door handle, while the other was casually reachingfor his arrows, “it’s starting to get loud out here. What’s going on? Is everything okay?”

“Finally, someone that will listen to reason,” Sam grunted, throwing a glare at the sisters, before turning his attention to the sigma, “I’ve got friends still within the Rogers pack, and I’ve been informed that Sharon is going to make an attempt on Steve’s life. I need to speak to Alpha Barnes and Cinna.”

From within the room, Cinna looked to Bucky, who while trying to remain composed, had let a bitterness rise into his scent.

“Bucky…”

The young pup, who was once smiling, was trying to contain the anxiety in his scent as Steve tugged on his hand , “Bucky?”

His eyes snapped to that of his mate.

Steve, though only a year younger, was much smaller than himself. The ten-year-old was often mistaken for seven or eight, despite being a ten-year-old alpha. And while they were both alphas, they’d been caught kissing behind an oak tree where a delta warrior had been walking past.

Bucky proudly took the younger wolf’s hand, the eleven-year-old alpha glaring at the much older delta, “don’t speak in an ill manner about my mate, delta!”

“Bunch of queers,” he growled, glaring between the two pups, “your fathers should beat some sense into ya. Both alphas. Both boys. You’re disgusting!”

“I said don’t speak about my mate!” Bucky growled, projecting his aura outward as he sneered at the delta, his teeth baring. The delta twitched, and his eyes widened. He was surprised that the young pup was affecting him.

He stumbled back, falling into a kneeling position.

And while that would have satisfied most other wolves, Bucky and Steve could hear the delta continuing to discuss his disgust at the romantic entanglement between the two pups.

The scene was so uncommon that even amidst the summit going on about them, a crowd of other wolves had looked at them with interest.

“APOLOGIZE!” Bucky hissed at the man, continuing to project his aura.

The delta growled, the pain racking his body as he continued to submit to the child, “Fuck you, you faggy little mutt! Fuck you and your faggot mate! I’m not apologizing for shit!”

“I SAID APOLOGIZ-“

“BUCKY!”

Bucky stopped projecting his aura outwards as his own father, as well as Steve’s, came into view.

“Father…”

“What on earth is going on here?” Alpha Barnes growled.

“This is supposed to be a peace summit!” Alpha Rogers joined in.

Both Bucky and Steve looked away from one another. Bucky dropped his partner’s hand.

“WELL?” Alpha Barnes bellowed, turning his attention between Bucky, Steve, and the delta from his pack, “SPEAK!”

“My alpha…your son…he-“

“HE WHAT?”

“He’s a queer!” the delta spat, spitting at the ground in front of Bucky, “saw him and the other alpha boy kissing behind a tree. Fucking kissing!”

“He’s my mate!” Bucky said firmly, “Steve is my mate!”

Alpha Barnes and Rogers looked uncomfortable as they shifted their attention between their sons. The two alphas had always known that their sons were close, but they both always chose to ignore just how close Steve and Bucky were.

“Steve?”

“James?”

Bucky could feel the disappointment in his father’s voice. Just as he could feel it in Steve’s fathers. Neither one of them were an omega. And if they mated one another, that meant unless they took on a female, there would be no heirs for either pack.

His stomach turned.

While being gay wasn’t illegal in his or Steve’s packs, it was still frowned upon if you were a warrior, or a future alpha of the pack.

He knew that by proclaiming Steve to be his mate, he was going to deny any obligations to create an heir. Or at least, that’s how it would look to other wolves within both packs.

“I love him, father.” Bucky said firmly.

His father’s jaw twitched, and he looked at Steve, “and you, son?”

“I-Bucky is my mate, Alpha Barnes. I love him!”

“Disgusting!” the delta growled.

“It seems that someone would be challenging your mateship, young alpha!” Joe Rogers smirked, hoping to scare the young pups away from their love, “is that something that you two are willing to stand for?”

“Then let them!” Bucky replied firmly, “I will never stop loving Steve. He is my mate!”

“Alpha Barnes…” Joe Rogers smiled, “you know what a challenge to mateshp means…”

“Delta, are you challenging my son’s mateship to young alpha Steve Rogers?”

The delta gave a sickening smirk as he nodded, his nostrils flaring, “it’s unnatural is what it is. And I refuse to let my future alpha mate another man…it’s not right!”

“Delta…be smart with your words,” Bucky hissed, knowing where it was going, “if you challenge my mateship to alpha Steve, I will show no mercy.”

“And I will end you. There will never be a time where my future alpha is a fag!” he hissed, “royalty or not. I will not stand behind it.”

“Death trials!” the eleven-year-old proclaimed confidently as he once again took Steve’s hand in his own, “if you challenge my mateship, then I will challenge you to the death trials in accordance to the Barnes pack!”

“Your death warrant, kid!”

“Alpha…”

Bucky felt a phantom pain in his arm, and he whimpered, remembering the first time his relationship with Steve was questioned.

While he’d managed to beat a full-grown adult at a death trial, he’d lost his arm in the process.

And Steve had made it clear to him that he wasn’t going to let the alpha lose a part of himself every time someone questioned their relationship. He’d broken up with him shortly after, leaving Bucky angry over his love for the other alpha.

“Steve made his choice…” Bucky muttered sadly, “he made his choice years ago…”

“Alpha…”

Bucky frowned at the sadness in his luna’s voice, “Cinna…Steve-he-he’s not the same Steve I knew when we were pups. He’s not the same Steve that you’ve gotten to see. He’s under Sharon’s thumb. The only similarities are that he abandoned both of us when he got scared to stand up for his love.”

“He’s our mate, alpha…”

Bucky could feel the sadness filling the room and he closed his eyes, nodding to Clint, “let Sam in so that we can hear him out.”

He felt Cinna clutching onto his arm and he sighed, “Thank you, alpha…”

“I have not promised anything, Cinna…I’m merely hearing Sam out,” he pointed out, “you may not like the answer that passes from my lips just yet.”

The door opened further, and Sam was shown into it, a solemn look on his face as he bowed ever so slightly to the alpha and omega.

“You have asked for the presence of myself and my mate,” Bucky said in a low, firm tone, “What news do you have, Sam?”

“A spy from Sharon’s inner circle…she’s loyal to the Rogers pack,” he admitted with a frown, “I was told that Sharon plans on killing Steve after his next rut. She’s drawing her power from him, but she’s going to remove her mark on him and kill him now that neither you or Cinna have come for him.”

Cinna gasped, and Bucky pulled her close.

“W-why would she kill him now?” she asked nervously, “he-he’s been with her for years. It’s been months since the summit and-“

“He’s outlived his use to her.” Sam pointed out, “she’s all but imprisoned anyone left loyal to Steve. The Rogers pack is all but wiped out and she’s claimed the lands for the Carter pack. And the news of your pregnancy has hit. She knows that you and Bucky have no more ties to Steve, and have chosen to move on with your lives without him. Part of her had been holding out hope that by keeping Steve around, she would weaken the two of you. She is tired of keeping him a POW when he has no use.”

“Bucky, we have to help him…”

Bucky’s jaw twitched but he said nothing.

“I wouldn’t tell you if I knew that either of you had moved on, alpha Barnes…”

“You may leave…” Bucky said firmly, looking to the door.

“Bucky, what are we going to-“

“Omega…we will discuss this later!” Bucky muttered, taking his leave of her, “I-I need to think…alone.”

Steve snarled at the woman before the door was wholly open. The rings of yellow turning amber around his eyes as he started to go feral.

“Oh, come on now, Steve,” she smiled as she sauntered into the room and closed the door behind her, “don’t be like that.”

He growled, refusing to speak to her. She took another step into the room, and he tried to lunge at her, but was caught by the chains around his neck.

His back hit the ground with a heavy thud, and he was immediately coughing. Rolling to his side he groaned.

“There’s no point in trying to fight me,” she reminded him, “I have all the power here, Steve…”

“Go to hell!” he spat, attempting to fight away the baser instincts while he shook, “GO AWAY!”

“Aww, but Steve, I came bearing a present!” she smiled. She knocked on the door and it opened. An omega from his pack was tossed in. She fell to the floor and Steve’s head snapped up.

“NO!”

“She’s here for you to use, Steve!” Sharon smirked, “might as well use her. I mean, you’ve been in a rut now for nearly a week…and we both know the longer you hold out the worse it will be.”

“Alpha!” she whimpered, looking up at him.

Steve’s heart broke.

He had made a promise, sealing the traditional oath when he had become the alpha of the Rogers pack, that he would protect his own. But here a young omega was, roughly nineteen or twenty. He could spot the marred chemical burns from Sharon’s people undoubtedly removing the mating mark on her neck.

He’d vaguely recalled who she was, knowing that her mate was among one of the first warriors of his that Sharon had killed.

She was dirty and looked exhausted.

Broken even.

“Just kill me!” she begged him, “please kill me, alpha…I-I don’t want to live any longer…not under this she-wolf…her lieutenants-they-”

But she had stopped herself, sobbing against the dirty rags she wore.

“What did you do to her?” Steve roared angrily, “WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO MY PACK?”

“This one in particular?” Sharon smiled, before launching a kick to the omega. She whimpered and fell to her side, and Steve saw the bruising on her thighs as the rags she wore slid up her legs, “well, let’s just say she’s one of the girls that takes care of my warriors and thanks them for their service.”

“Alpha…”

Steve’s stomach turned.

“You’re a monster!”

Sharon cackled and kicked the omega again, pushing her closer to the nearly feral alpha, “come on, Steve…my boys say she knows how to take an alpha’s cock…cries a little at first, but I know when you get started, you won’t even notice…that hindbrain will take over and you’ll lose control, knotting the little bitch. And before you know it, you’ll be gutting her because she’s not your precious little CInna!”

“I WON’T HARM MY PACK!” Steve spat, his shakes becoming worse as he tried to fight off what Sharon was saying would happen. His hindbrain was coming alive, and he knew that it was only a matter of time as the tremors worked harder on his hands.

“You’re not as strong as you once were, Steve,” she laughed, pushing the omega into Steve’s area. He pushed himself back, away from her, and Sharon continued to kick her closer, until she was almost into Steve’s area herself, “take her, Steve. Fuck her and then kill her. DO IT!”

Steve looked down to the sobbing woman, feeling the wolf starting to come forward as his own willpower bent to her exposed aura. He closed his eyes, and looked away from the woman as he felt his claws coming out of his hand.

He screamed in anguish as he tore into the hardwood floors.

“I’m so sorry!” he sobbed, as his hand reached out, and screams filled the room.

Chapter 26

Tag List: @lohnes16, @prokey16, @tenaciousperfectionunknown, @teambarnes72, @mrsevans90

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crystal-overdrive · 2 months

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I was thinking about where I might go with the political aspects of Towards Tyranny and was trying to figure out where exactly Tav stands, so I took the political compass test as her! I think this could make a really fun tag game, to take the test as your OC and compare it with your own, but asking people to out their politics feels a little rude, so I'll just say if you come across this and fancy doing it, go for it and tag me so I can see!

Tavarina

Economic Left/Right: -1.0 Social Libertarian/Authoritarian: 2.0

I did suspect she might come out on the left despite the regime she supports. The "Waterdelvian values" she is accused of having are to do with business regulation and her unwillingness to turn a blind eye to the black market situation in BG. We've seen her twice now seize private businesses, once in a propaganda effort and another in an attempt to protect the people from Bhaalist chaos.

She uses a lot of populist rhetoric but uses really is the key word. Prior to taking the Grand Duke position she was definitely pro Lord's Alliance and now is only really using a stance against it to gain power. Power, of course, is important to her, and believes (or is being pushed to belive) in a militaristic state. I expected her to come out more Authoritarian, but I suspect her love for the arts and education is pulling that down. She was an academic for a decade and therefore has a propensity towards public funding of these things. I'd like to retake this once I've finished the fic; I expect we're going to see her drift further towards the top right of the scale as her corruption continues.

Gortash

Economic Left/Right: 4.38 Social Libertarian/Authoritarian: 3.23

This came out surprisingly moderate, but I think that's because his politics don't map well to modern day political movements. I clicked strongly agree for a one party state, but also on same-sex couples should adopt: the man is bi! (and Faerun doesn't have the same issues with patriarchy and homophobia as we do). So I think there's some averaging happening here. He's interesting politically, because he's clearly authoritarian right-wing but he's not a conservative. He wants to usher in a new age, something for the people, but only those people who claw their way up for it. He's very pro-business, in the Banite manner thinks that those who can take should do so. For him, his use of technology lets him - the Steel Watch gives him a large degree of control over the population. I think techno-fascist is the label I'd put on him if I had to.

He fucking hates the Lord's Alliance because he doesn't want anyone challenging his vision and doesn't belive really in any regulation, let alone regulation from outside of BG. Though environmental issues are not the same here as in Faerun, I put him staunchly against anything environmental considering the way the Iron Throne affected the sea in game.

Also...conquering the sword coast...obvious imperialism...bad... (I literally forgot about this in the first version of the post it's only like his entire deal)

Tav vs Gortash

A large part of Tav's story is her coming around to Gortash's way of thinking, so I expect we'll see her drift further right and authoritarian, but as it stands I think they might be on a path for clashing politically. Allowing Tav to seize the Bash rather than executing it's editor and letting it continue to run as a business was a compromise on Gortash's part, and he told Tav that what she did with the Dept. of Drains and Underways was non-Baldurian. If she pushes any harder on regulation and government control there's going to be a problem.

They line up in use of authority, technology, surveillance and propaganda. Elevating some above others is not something Tav is against, but she leans towards education, experts and, possibly subconsciously, social class, where Enver really is about pure money and power.

Me!

Economic Left/Right: -7.13 Social Libertarian/Authoritarian: -5.64

Surprise! I'm a massive lefty! Not going to go into my exact beliefs because this isn't a politics blog, but I am interested in talking about how my own political feelings are expressed in the fic because recognising and utilising the self in writing is probably the biggest thing I've learned from my postgrad studies.

So I originally took the test because writing Towards Tyranny was actually making me concerned about my political position. Tav is like barley two-steps removed from a self-insert: me if I'd never learned about the concept of class privilege, probably, and I was finding her political scenes alarmingly easy to write.

Her decline is influenced by how pointless and difficult it can feel to want change sometimes. I know a lot of people who sort of blame every problem on capitalism and say they want revolution (I don't know if this is a joke or not, being horrible at reading people is another self-insert trait Tav has lol) but aren't doing anything tangible about it. They often use "no ethical consumption" as a get-out-of-jail-free card and for a long time I was staunchly against this. I know individual change doesn't do much, but I felt it was at least valuable to live in a way I agreed with, it was the only way I felt moral. I reused and recycled absolutely everything, I was vegetarian trying to go vegan and I was donating to hunger and environmental charities. I tried to limit my consumption as much as I could. I was (and still am tbf) obsessed with my phone that has right-to-repair and fairtrade components.

But the vegan thing kind of broke me? It wasn't necessarily that I found it hard, but that I had to watch everyone else eat their meat and wear their nice new clothes and basically enjoy consumption while I was opting out for, what exactly? I didn't feel like I was making a dent in anything, changing the world, saving it, I was just depriving myself for some moral position that no one else cared about. My feelings on the environment are very much informed by my spirituality and I had some difficulties in my path where I felt I was pushed towards the darker aspects of my faith and away from nature-worship (guess what else inspired the fic 🙃) and that just added fuel to the fire of "why fucking bother". The material aspects that are depicted in the fic - the gifts Tav is given, the nice clothes, good food, imported goods - are really an expression of this. I'm still kind of in that place, I'm eating meat again and buying luxury skincare and I don't really know how I feel about it, but I think the ending of the fic is going to be very much dependent on where I eventually land with my environmental politics and my spirituality.

(Man, I wrote way more than I intended to here. I guess I needed to get this out aha.)

#I'm not super well versed in politics so if anyone who knows what they're talking about wants to chime in please do!#tag game #political compass tag game #political compass #political compass oc #towards tyranny #tavarina ammakyl #gortash #shouting into the void #this got personal

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memoriaedamnatio · 1 year

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Aliakai

TW: Antisemitism

Aliakai#0945

253038952934670336

The pagan YouTuber Aliakai (she/they) attempts to present herself as a community figure, but is rife with problems ranging from toxic debatebro rhetoric and misinformation to antisemitism.

She is a hypocrite, constantly railing on Christianity and the Bible, including the Old Testament, which Christians barely use, and treating the Odyssey as a Bible. This is neither historically accurate nor the intended purpose of ancient Greek myths.

Her anti-”monotheism” runs constantly throughout her platforms, and one could say this is their most consistent issue.

Tweet archived here.

As for Aliakai’s antisemitism, it requires a deeper look. In this video, we find multiple instances of their antisemitism. Referencing the Old Testament to try to defeat the Christians just ends up being antisemitic almost every time. They repeatedly bring up Elohim and specifically Jewish stories in their attempt to “debunk” or “out-logic” Christianity. The Old Testament isn’t meant to be a strict rulebook - it’s also a collection of stories, a fact which Aliakai seems to purposefully ignore.

They talk about Sodom and Gomorrah and the sins committed therein as if the two cities were not specifically written to be bad examples. Additionally, ancient Greeks famously abducted women as the spoils of war. It is incredibly hypocritcal to judge mythical Sodom and Gomorrah without even a mention of the known, historical practices in ancient Greece. She then ties homophobia to the fact that God smote people with hemorrhoids, once again, in a Jewish tale. She is aware that the infamous Leviticus quote is likely about pederasty, but continues to use it to try to posture Judaism and Christianity as inferior anyway.

Aliakai criticizes the God of the Old Testament for smiting Job when Apollo also smites Cassandra in an equally cruel manner.

She then claims that Exodus is actually about punishing Egyptian gods and that the pharaoh is somehow the true victim in the story, not the enslaved Jews.

She also implies everyone takes the Bible literally, committing the common fallacy of equating all Christians with dangerous evangelicals. There is no “common Christian theology” as she claims. They are also condescending to trinitarians, while simultaneously assuming all christians are trinitarians. The text of the Bible does explicitly refer to the Trinity, contrary to their statement.

Any attempt to try to find plotholes in the Bible is pointless, and the amount of time and energy Aliakai wastes is akin to an atheist in 2016.

Here are some furtner examples of Aliakai’s antisemitism:

(Archived first link)(Archived second link)

Here she implies Christianity and Judaism are the same faith, which anyone knowledgeable in either should be able to tell you is both incorrect and a dangerous statement.

(Archived here)

This shows an incredibly poor understanding of how religious oppression is currently functioning in society, and again demonstrates their anti-monotheism. Do we need to discuss Myanmar’s militant Buddhist genocide of Rohingya Muslims, for example? Or Hindu lynchings of Muslims? The list goes on.

Aliakai’s archived talk for the Hindutva org Indica here. To her credit, she did sever her relationship with Indica (archived). However, for a politically inclined youtuber who can research, this is a dangerous lack of vetting. Same can be said of the others who partook, of course.

Despite disavowing Indica, they never disavowed Butler, who is undeniably a fascist. In fact, Aliakai continues to recommend Edward Butler a year after the community-wide revelation of his fascism.

Here is her only acknowledgement of Butler's fascism (archived), without explicitly agreeing or disagreeing with the blogger's criticism of him.

In this Tweet (archived), they are making a lot of assumptions about Butler here and being too generous.

They give Butler a lot of leniency despite his years-long, public love affair with fascism. This is an extremely weak willed response to finding out an associate is fascist. This is not antifascism. This is not accountability.

In this video, Aliakai tries to present a case for making an SPG more official of Ares and mental health. In this video, around 8:03, she hints that Ares is the god of police officers who brutalize protesters. Considering police brutality and the unjust use of police violence, this is incredibly insensitive and quite racist. Police do not have anything to do with justice, and claiming as much for a shared community experience is bold.

Performing a Hellenic ritual for Ukraine with a Heathen without involving any Slavic pagans is morally questionable, as is claiming Ukraine is dedicated to Demeter’s arts. This is an act of further colonialism against a country currently being invaded by imperialist forces.

Asking viewers not to invoke Eris simply because of personal beef for a supposedly aid based ritual is infantile.

#aliakai #hellenic paganism #pagan community #paganism #pagans of tumblr #witchy #witchcraft #hellenismos #helpol #hellenic polytheism

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religion-is-a-mental-illness · 10 months

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By: Jimmy Bangash

In Muslim communities, homosexuality is intrinsically linked to anxiety, intimidation, violence, and, in some cases, death. For many, it involves living a closeted existence for fear of being ostracised or disowned. Islamic theological teachings, disseminated by religious institutions and espoused by community leaders, range from preaching for our execution to advising us to live a life of celibacy. Yet voices on the left, historically a stronghold of LGBT support, do not sufficiently decry the abysmal treatment of gay and bi people of Muslim heritage, nor do they adequately mobilize against this specific and brutal form of homophobia.

This piece will scrutinize homophobia in the Muslim community and explore the left’s reluctance to criticize it in a consistent and productive manner. It will not explore the growth of the LGBT Muslim movement which champions equality and representation of LGBT individuals; rather it will focus on the dominant, wider Muslim community’s response to homosexuality.

Homophobia in the Muslim World

It is not a spurious exaggeration to claim homophobia is more widespread among Muslims than within other religious communities. Rather, statistically relevant polls of social attitudes consistently support the truth of these claims. This evidence provides a bleak picture, particularly when assessing attitudes in Muslim-Majority countries from which western diaspora communities originate.

A 2017 American poll found that 51% of Muslim respondents expressed support for marriage equality, an increased figure over previous years – yet 34% still opposed it. Media outlets disingenuously hailed this 51% as some type of success over Christianity, citing the figure to justify headlines such as “Majority of U.S. Muslims Now Support Gay Marriage, While white Evangelical Christians Remain Opposed.” Noteworthy in this attempt at obfuscation is the comparison between a conservative faction of Christians against a combined figure of liberal and conservative Muslims. In a more honest comparison between conservative Christians and Muslims, the data shows a far more damning portrayal of the conservative Muslim community.

Within Britain, where Muslims are more conservative than their US counterparts, the 2009 Gallup Coexist Index poll asked 500 Muslims if they believed homosexual acts were morally acceptable. 100% agreed that they were not, uniformly presenting homosexual acts as immoral. In the years since, there has been some positive traction around UK Muslims’ attitudes toward homosexuality; however, the picture remains oppressive. Most notably, a 2015 ICM poll found that 52% of British Muslims felt homosexuality should be illegal, with only 18% stating it should be legal. Equally damning was that 47% felt it was unacceptable for gay people to be allowed to work as teachers.

At an international level, the data around Islamic Homophobia is even more alarming. A 2013 PEW global study on Muslim Attitudes reported an almost unilateral condemnation of homosexuality in Muslim communities around the world. Countries expressing the highest acceptance of homosexuality among their Muslim population were Uganda (12%), Mozambique (11%), and Bangladesh (10%), with the other 37 countries, all Muslim-majority, polled showing less than 10%.

All 8 states or territories that mandate the death penalty for homosexuality are Muslim-majority. Among those that do not, many imprison people for being LGBT instead. All of these punishments are derived from mainstream interpretations of Sharia Law and Islamic Jurisprudence, which positions homosexuality as a major sin often equated to Sodomy and adultery. Where people are executed for the crime of being LGBT, the preferred methods of execution are public hanging or public stoning. Unsurprisingly, this international climate of execution and imprisonment encourages mob violence towards LGBT people.

In Brunei, where existing laws already made homosexuality punishable by imprisonment for up to 10 years, an attempt was made in 2019 to introduce the death penalty (by stoning) for convicted offenders despite a long-standing moratorium on executions for any crime. Justified by a new penal code that reflected a strict interpretation of Sharia Law, the policy led to a significant global outcry, which included boycotts and celebrity protests. The government of Brunei subsequently conceded to the international pressure, backtracking its position to clarify that the moratorium on the death penalty would extend to those convicted of “crimes” covered under the new legislation.

Pew Research picture:

Impact: Private Sphere

While an international contextualization of Islamic Homophobia is important, it would be erroneous to assume that its detrimental impact on LGBT individuals takes place exclusively in faraway places such as Afghanistan and Iran. In the West, honor culture – a community mechanism of social control in which coercive tactics such as shunning, loss of community status, and shaming are utilized to pressure family members to take corrective action against those who do not conform to Islamic rules – often thrives within Muslim communities.

In 2017, Jahed Choudhury, a UK Muslim of Bangladeshi heritage, married his white partner in what was called “the first Muslim Gay wedding.” He was featured in the press with his husband and interviewed on national television. Some weeks later, he told a BBC interviewer that members of the Muslim community spat at him in the street. He also revealed that he was receiving hate comments on social media and described a specific message from someone in the community threatening to throw acid on him the next time they saw him. Choudhury then apologized to the Muslim community on national television for the offense of having married his same-sex partner so publicly. In other words, the threats of violence and intimidation were successful.

In 2017, Mahad Olad, a gay American ex-Muslim, was invited to travel to Kenya by his family, who are part of the Somali diaspora community. When they arrived, his mother confiscated Olad’s passport, and informed him that she was aware he was gay and that he had left Islam. In order to “save” him, she had decided to send him to Somali Sheikhs who would bring him back to Islam and make him straight. Only with the assistance of Ex-Muslims of North America was Olad able to escape his kidnappers and return to the USA.

In another 2017 incident, Siddika Reza, who was Secretary General of the Islamic faith organization NASIMCO (the Organization of North American Shia Ithna-Asheri Muslim Communities), attended the public, same-sex marriage of her son to his fiancé. After she shared pictures of the wedding on her social media account, more than 1000 members of the Shia Muslim community signed a petition calling for her to resign, on the grounds that her endorsement of her son’s marriage “goes against the legitimate majoritarian interpretations of Jaffari fiqh, which NASIMCO must uphold” – essentially, claiming that public endorsement of her son’s wedding was endorsement of sin and was therefore un-Islamic.

The result? Reza resigned from her post. The Muslim community’s social coercion was successful in censuring a member for being too accepting; in this case, it ensured that a mother’s acceptance of her son was suitably punished.

In 2019, Seran M (full name undisclosed), a Swiss 17-year-old of Iraqi heritage, awoke in bed with his father standing over him holding a knife and shouting, “Are you gay? Are you gay?” The father then proceeded to slit Seran’s throat. Fortunately, the teen was able to scramble over a balcony and obtain aid from his neighbours; he was put into an induced coma at a hospital and managed to survive.

While these overt displays of Islamic homophobia are reported by the media, it is imperative to understand how much remains hidden. Many LGBT people of Muslim heritage are forced to live closeted lifestyles to avoid facing these kinds of consequences, with some going as far as to have sham marriages in order to avoid detection. The controlling mechanism of honor culture often causes relatives to buckle under community pressure and disown their kin, tearing families apart and causing traumatic psychological repercussions for the victims.

Impact: Public Sphere

The influence of Islamic homophobia is not limited to the private domestic sphere. Its adherents’ ambitions are to ensure that LGBT rights do not achieve acceptance and that homosexuality is not normalized within wider society, driving them to take their charge into the public arena.

In 2019, Anderton Park School in Brimingham, UK, was the target of protest from members of the Birmingham Muslim community over a primary school education program named “No Outsiders,” as well as other material which they claimed furthered the “gay agenda.” Prior to a court injunction forcing relocation, the protest was held immediately outside the school gates, creating a frightening and intimidating environment for students inside. Videos can be found online of adults from the Birmingham Muslim community shouting “Shame! Shame! Shame!” through megaphones at the school gates, with children in their midst encouraged to chant along. Such deplorable conduct must have had a detrimental impact on any adolescent present who was coming to terms with their sexuality. These protests continued for approximately nine months and included the display of banners which read, “Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve.”

In an effort to show support with a head teacher who had refused to cave to the pressure, LGBT individuals from Birmingham decided to go to the school and hang signs of solidarity, such as pictures of hearts and rainbows, on the school gates. They decided to do this at night so that they would not encounter the protesters and risk direct conflict. Unfortunately, they had not considered that it was Ramadan, and that the Muslim community would be awake late at night, eating before fasting again the next day. In video footage of the resulting confrontation, male members of the Muslim community can be seen creating a climate of fear and intimidation, shouting at LGBT people for coming into “our community.”

Eventually, some Muslim men began throwing eggs at the LGBT people, who then departed, shaken by the entire episode. Their symbols of support on the school gates were subsequently vandalized.

The protests, eventually, were permanently banned by the courts, but it is noteworthy that Anderton Park school suspended the teaching of the “No Outsiders” program for a significant period of time – a definite win for the forces that perpetuate Islamic Homophobia.

Betrayal by the Left

Given the data and visible detrimental impact, one would expect the left, which generally sees itself as a bastion of support for LGBT rights, to champion the challenge against Islamic homophobia. Regrettably, this is not the case. Consider the outcry we see when cake-baking Christians refuse business services to LGBT people; the widespread vocal condemnation from the left reaches across continents. Similarly, there is leftist public outcry around Christian conversion therapy, galvanizing an entire movement for its legislative prohibition. Such action is mobilized by LGBT organizations, political commentators, activists, human rights organizations and even celebrities, who use rhetoric in which the Christian faith is often lambasted, ridiculed, and positioned as archaic and irrelevant – yet no such outcry is forthcoming when Islamic homophobia rears its head. The left remains silent when, for example, Muslim clerics attempt to exorcize gay demons from members of the Muslim community.

As if the left’s silence was not detrimental enough to LGBT rights, its accusations of racism and Islamophobia towards those who seek to criticize Islamic homophobia are a blatant betrayal.

At the Birmingham school protests referenced above, the LGBT community decided to hold a counter protest after the courts had forced the Muslim protesters to move away from the school gates to a more distant location. A small contingent of people, predominantly white, and armed with guitars and rainbow flags, stood across the road from the Muslim protesters, strumming and singing along to love songs. Days later, in a national newspaper, Saima Razzaq, a local Muslim activist who describes herself as “queer,” stated that the actions of white LGBT counter protesters “reek[ed] of a colonial mindset.” Razzaq had been instrumental in the Birmingham community’s response to the homophobic protests, but instead of welcoming the support of white allies, she characterized them as “white saviours” and declared that “the answers have to come from within our community.”

The message was clear: you cannot champion LGBT rights in the UK if you are white and your homophobic opposition is non-white, and to do so renders you racist and neo-colonialist. It did not matter that those Muslims who were protesting LGBT education had made it clear that they wanted it stopped on a nationwide level in a white majority country. Only people of the same color and faith were permitted to lead this challenge. Universal human rights could no longer be fought for universally.

At the 2017 London Pride march, the Council of Ex-Muslims of Britain (CEMB) marched to challenge Islamic Homophobia – with particular focus on Chechnya, where reports of LGBT persecution and gay concentration camps had outraged the community. They carried banners listing the countries that mandated the death penalty for homosexuality, and held witty, provocative placards and signs poking fun at Islam. Near them, a separate contingent of Pride marchers held signs poking fun at Christianity. Pride, after all, had always been a safe place to criticize homophobia whether it was religious, political or cultural.

During the march, police descended on CEMB to tell them that their signs were offensive and requested they be put away. However, they did not accost the holders of signs mocking Christianity. CEMB declined the request and continued to march with their banners and signs.

Days later, the East London Mosque wrote a formal complaint to the Pride organization citing its objection to being named as a mosque which “incited murder and hatred of LGBT.” Imaan, a Muslim LGBT organization, issued a press release condemning the protest. Both organizations claimed the placards within the protest were Islamophobic and caused harm to Muslim people. Pride issued a statement to a national newspaper in which they said they would not tolerate Islamophobia, then suspended CEMB from marching in subsequent Pride marches pending an investigation. The investigation took 8 months, but in the end CEMB was cleared of the charges and eventually able to participate in the following year’s march without any restrictions.

Nevertheless, a message was communicated to the wider public that criticism of Islamic Homophobia is unacceptable. In this case it did not matter that some of the critics were Muslim and others Ex-Muslim. It did not matter that almost all the protesters were diaspora and refugees, individuals who had grown up and lived under Islam and were from Muslim families. It did not matter that many of them had fled countries and communities where imprisonment or death were the penalty for their sexuality. Any criticism of Islamic Homophobia was deemed Islamophobic (anti-Muslim) and racist.

In 2020, the iconic reality show “RuPaul’s Drag Race” invited actor Jeff Goldblum to appear as a guest judge. The drag queen competitors walked a runway with the American “Stars and Stripes” as the theme. Iranian-Canadian contestant Jackie Cox wore a red-striped kaftan and a blue hijab outlined with 50 silver stars; she stated, “You can be Middle-Eastern, you can be Muslim, and you can still be American.”

Goldblum, prompted by the drag artist’s outfit, queried, “Is there something in this religion that is anti-homosexuality and anti-woman? Does that complicate the issue? I'm just raising it and thinking out loud and maybe being stupid.” RuPaul responded that the presentation was complex, and that Drag had “always shaken the tree.”

Social and mainstream media erupted with condemnations of Goldblum’s comment, accusing him of racism and Islamophobia. His comments were labelled as dangerous. The Muslim Advocates organization issued a statement urging Goldblum to apologize; they claimed, “To not apologize for these comments is a silent endorsement of anti-Muslim bigotry.” In other words, yet another message of condemnation for those who seek to question Islamic Homophobia (as well as Islamic sexism in this case), and such questioning was characterized as being anti-Muslim.

There is a painful irony that cannot be missed in a gay man of Iranian heritage (Jackie Cox) wearing a hijab to symbolize Muslim women. Muslim women in Iran have long struggled against mandatory hijab and forced veiling laws. As movements such as white Wednesday have gained momentum in recent years, Iranian women are increasingly resisting and defying the hijab. Theocratic and misogynistic laws allow women to be punished for appearing in public with their hair showing. The BBC reports that 35 women have been arrested since 2017 in the capital city of Tehran alone. Some of these women reported being tortured and beaten.

While this betrayal by the left is abysmal, its attempt to police an audience’s response to Jackie’s art is nothing short of an Orwellian dystopia. Through his art, a drag performer was able to express his “misgivings” about the way LGBT people are treated in Muslim communities and provoke questions about the subject from his audience. Yet, the response from the left was to throw accusations of racism at that audience and eschew any useful dialogue around the real issue at hand. The message was again clear: even when presented with art by and about queer people of Muslim heritage, one may not scrutinize or question Islamic Homophobia. All dialogue around the subject must place Islam in a positive light; to do otherwise is anti-Muslim, Islamophobic, and racist.

Fortunately, Goldblum did not issue an apology – but neither has the Iranian government apologized for its Islamic- and Sharia- inspired execution of LGBT people. Iran still applies the death penalty for the “crime” of two people of the same sex loving each other. Muslim Advocacy group is quick to outrage over a scene on RuPaul’s Drag Race, but it does not appear to have written to the Iranian government to request an apology for state-sanctioned murder, nor has it declared the murder of gay and bi Muslim people in Iran to be anti-Muslim.

Islam is not a Race

The word Islamophobia is a deliberate conflation that blends criticism of an ideology (Islam) with criticism of a people (Muslims). This allows the silencing of any critics of Islam through the accusation of Islamophobia, which carries an inferred accusation of hatred against Muslims – something which would be far better described as Muslimophobia or anti-Muslim bigotry. Due to this conflation, the fear of being accused of Islamophobia makes individuals hesitant to highlight the abhorrent nature of Islamic homophobia, its theological roots, and the corresponding Islamic jurisprudence that results in the ongoing persecution of LGBT people.

Islam is a set of ideas in exactly the same way that Christianity, Capitalism, Communism and Hinduism are all sets of ideas. Ideas must be open to scrutiny, assessment and criticism. They must be open to satire and ridicule. Criticism of ideas leads to societal advancement, as can be seen in the widespread replacement of superstition with reason and the scientific method. Stifling criticism of Islam ultimately hurts Muslims and individuals of Muslim heritage; such censorship enables regressive and harmful practices (such as gay Islamic exorcisms in the UK) to continue, rather than to be scrutinized and stopped.

A majority of adherents to an ideology may be part of a particular racial demographic, whether in reality or in popular imagination. Criticism of that ideology is not, by default, a criticism of the racial demographic. If it were, one could argue that criticism of Capitalism is anti-white, criticism of Communism is anti-Chinese, and criticism of Hinduism is anti-South Asian/Indian. And it’s important to remember that in any case, Muslims are a very racially and ethnically diverse group.

Muslims are people and as such must be protected from bigotry. While all bigotry is unacceptable, we must acknowledge that using facts to highlight problematic beliefs and attitudes within the Muslim community is not bigotry – particularly when the facts themselves highlight rampant discrimination towards a sexual minority that is often in need of protection. Highlighting homophobic aggression and persecution is a responsibility that falls upon civil society, and that responsibility includes Islamic homophobia.

It is hypocritical of the left to allow consistent highlighting and condemnation of Christian homophobia and to position Christians (and, by presumed extension, white people) as robust, rational, critical thinkers able to withstand that criticism while characterizing Muslims as fragile “brown people” in need of protection from cognitive dissonance and critical thinking. This adherence to “Islamic fragility” is racist, paternalistic and patronizing.

Any focus on Islamic homophobia is inevitably challenged by the left with the question, “What about Christians?” It is perfectly acceptable to focus on one specific form of homophobia. In fact, it is essential that this be done, and in so doing it is appropriate to focus on the worst forms of homophobia. Attempting to address Islamic homophobia using an approach tailored to Christian homophobia, or a model designed for tackling homophobia in China, will miss many of the nuances particular to the Islamic faith. It will also be rendered meaningless for a Muslim audience who, by and large, consider Christianity or atheism to be erroneous or even heresy.

A specific focus on Islamic Homophobia allows focused compilation and assessment of data, theology, history, and attitudes. This then leads to specific suggestions for solutions, resource allocation, accountability and timelines for improvement. In order to plan specific remedial measures, we must look at the specific issue.

We must not be silenced by accusations of Islamophobia or racism in our efforts to eradicate the most pernicious form of homophobia that currently persecutes LGBT people across the globe. Rather, we must stand resolute and increase our scrutiny of Islamic homophobia, holding it and the Muslim community to the same standards to which we hold the rest of society. To do anything less is the bigotry of low expectations, and a racist double standard.

Notice that at no point does anyone actually refute the - completely, unambiguously true - fact of Islam being explicitly anti-gay.

https://quranx.com/4.16

If two men among you are guilty of lewdness, punish them both. If they repent and amend, Leave them alone; for Allah is Oft-returning, Most Merciful.

https://quranx.com/7.80-83

We also (sent) Lut: He said to his people: "Do ye commit lewdness such as no people in creation (ever) committed before you? "For ye practise your lusts on men in preference to women: ye are indeed a people transgressing beyond bounds." And his people gave no answer but this: they said, "Drive them out of your city: these are indeed men who want to be clean and pure!" But we saved him and his family, except his wife: she was of those who legged behind.

https://quranx.com/27.54-58

(We also sent) Lut (as a messenger): behold, He said to his people, "Do ye do what is shameful though ye see (its iniquity)? Would ye really approach men in your lusts rather than women? Nay, ye are a people (grossly) ignorant! But his people gave no other answer but this: they said, "Drive out the followers of Lut from your city: these are indeed men who want to be clean and pure!" But We saved him and his family, except his wife; her We destined to be of those who lagged behind. And We rained down on them a shower (of brimstone): and evil was the shower on those who were admonished (but heeded not)!

https://quranx.com/Hadith/Bukhari/USC-MSA/Volume-7/Book-72/Hadith-774/

Narrated Ibn `Abbas: The Prophet (ﷺ) cursed effeminate men (those men who are in the similitude (assume the manners of women) and those women who assume the manners of men, and he said, "Turn them out of your houses." The Prophet (ﷺ) turned out such-and-such man, and `Umar turned out such-and-such woman.

https://quranx.com/Hadith/AbuDawud/USC-MSA/Book-31/Hadith-4007/

Narrated AbuSa'id al-Khudri: The Prophet (ﷺ) said: A man should not look at the private parts of another man, and a woman should not look at the private parts of another woman. A man should not lie with another man without wearing lower garment under one cover; and a woman should not be lie with another woman without wearing lower garment under one cover.

https://quranx.com/Hadith/AbuDawud/USC-MSA/Book-38/Hadith-4447/

Narrated Abdullah ibn Abbas: The Prophet (ﷺ) said: If you find anyone doing as Lot's people did, kill the one who does it, and the one to whom it is done.

Stop defending an ideology that hates you or the people you care about.

#Islam #Jimmy Bangash #criticism of islam #homophobia #anti gay #islam for gays #gays for islam #religion #islamic homophobia #religion is a mental illness

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a-random-whovian7 · 1 year

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OK, kind of a long, unprovoked, incoherent ramble here, but I'm kind of sick about how gatekeepy this fandom has become in regards to RTD and Tennant. It seems that in some circles it's become the fashionable new thing to dunk on Ten's era as 'overrated' and 'not as good as you think', which is honestly kind of embarrassing given how it makes the fanbase look.

I understand that some of these criticisms are a bit of a knee-jerk reaction to the horrible deal that Jodie had in her era, where the BBC leant excessively into nostalgia for 10's era in order to cover up the shortcomings of the material. That I completely understand, and had a bit of a rant about on this post here:

but that was mostly aimed at the BBC, as RTD and Tennant didn't properly come into the picture until 2021. I also get that there are some people concerned that RTD will just be leaning into nostalgia, although it looks like S14 will genuinely be a fresh new start that uses the returning faces of the 60th as a launching pad for new ideas and stories.

The point I'm trying to make though is that to immediately start dunking on an era and trying to discredit everything about it before it has even began is the exact same mistake that gave the Whittaker era such an uphill struggle before it began. By getting all gatekeepy and wanting to immediately rail against the new RTD era before it even begins, we risk looking like the same stuck-up, cult-like fanbase and thus dragging the fandom and the show as an extension down in people's eyes. Whilst thankfully we haven't seen a repeat of the blatant sexism/homophobia that plagued the casting announcement of Whittaker (and we'd better not), we are seeing the same 'fussy watcher' attitude that was adopted by sections of the fanbase, only this time they're trying to weaponise the past in a slightly different manner.

As I want to reiterate, I completely get some of the concerns driving this. Was the RTD era perfect? No, it wasn't. RTD is my favourite showrunner, but even then I'm not going to deny the existence of the Absorbaloff or blindly believe that everything will be brilliant. But you'd be pretty hard pressed to find an era of the show that is perfect. The fact is that this era was insanely popular, and arguably still is, as Tennant returning has already generated more public interest in the show than it has enjoyed since 2019, and gatekeeping and trying to push away people on the grounds of our petty attempts to keep the fanbase niche or trying to prove that one Doctor is better than the other might result in us pushing away the next generation of fans. We'd also be doing Ncuti a disservice, as we'd be shooting his era in the leg by doing that too, despite all the promising developments and news from S14's production.

So yeah. Hope I've made my point ok enough, I'm running on nothing but sugar and nervous energy. Basically

except not really, please be concerned for the show and be critical, but stop trying to drag down past eras or future seasons before they come out.

Anyway, rant over. Bye. *drops mic and passes out*

#doctor who #rtd2 #doctor who 60th anniversary #doctor who series 14 #13th doctor #10th doctor #david tennant #jodie whittaker #15th doctor #ncuti gatwa #rtd #rtd era #regeneration

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playinhooky · 9 months

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CW: homophobia, transphobia, suicide/attempted suicide, mentions of OD

My family wishes I was dead.

They don't say it in such a blunt manner, but it's evident now in everything else they say and do. Every "she" and every prayer that I will 'see the light, return to God'.

It is common knowledge to my family that in 2013, I was stockpiling a sleeping medication to overdose and die. I was early in my transition and struggling because no one would use my name or pronouns. I still lived at home, saving and trying to get on testosterone. My sister found the stash because everyone in my family snoops. she found them and she told my mom who told everyone. They disposed of my pills and my plan and just thought I would be okay. but no one ever addressed or asked why I wanted to die.

"I could never go to your wedding if it was to someone of the same sex," my mom tells me one day, I don't even remember the context or what we were talking about, but I was stunned. My mother wouldn't want to see me be happy with the person who makes me the happiest?

"We wouldn't kick you out of the house for [being trans]," she says another time, "it obviously didn't work before [when we thought you were just gay]"

"I imagine it's hard to date like you are, be hard to date someone like you," she never remembers saying these things to me but they're just fucking seared into my brain forever. how she would rather I be miserable and self loathing as long as I was her daughter again. it never mattered that I was starting to find happiness in community with other queers. it never mattered that I was becoming someone that I loved and could look at in the mirror again.

I found prayers she had written out and posted on the bathroom mirror for all to see, that she wished God would make me whole again and bring me back to then, like I'd become some sort of broken and ugly unrecognizable being.

my sister's pretended for ten years to be on "my side" saying the right words, trying not to alienate me. and as soon as I made my decisions more 'real' in their eyes, as soon as I proposed to my queer trans boyfriend, the mask was off. they're afraid of losing me, they say, afraid that when (not if, when) I change my mind that my community will leave me and I will be further broken.

but they know, that I was going to kill myself ten years ago, because no one would treat me like a fucking human being for wanting so desperately to be masculine and perceived as a man. in case they forgot I reminded them I told them that being who I was would have killed me.

but they don't care. they simply insist i am "her", I am their sister. and now I do not believe that they are glad I lived on to become the person I am today. I'm sure they want me to be dead, they want me to be her and that means death.

so I guess that I will be dead to them. because I will not be her ever again.

#hooky speak #long post #venting #homophobia #transphobia #suicide mention #od mention #a decade of hurt

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thenewdeadseascrolls · 14 days

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Judges 15: 9-13. "The God of Men."

After centuries of observation the scribes of Judaism decided to answer the biggest question that plagues the Jewish people. "What is a Jew?"

Moses didn't know, neither did Joshua, they were works in progress. Jesus knew, but He was not a success. Despite His insistence on certain things, humanity was not prepared for a widespread Jewish phenomenon as it insisted on social equity during a time when world domination was quite popular.

So the Shoftim, which was documented much later is an attempt at combining what is traditional about being Jewish with what works out. Tit for tat has not worked out. Holocausts and pogroms do not work, using Israel as a perennially fueled conflagration point in global politics is also not working. The Jew being turned against himself because of incorrect approaches to the Torah is also not what God wants for Jews.

The Jew in the Shoftim is sleek, smart, sexy, suave, seductive, he is adorned in success and happiness in every way for every good reason. The Mishnah says the world will not change so long as the Jew hides in ghettos in black trench coats with big hats, bad hair, restrictive diets, unlikeable sexual practices, sexism, homophobia, frigidity and fear of God in their hearts.

God has something else in mind... a vast empire spawned by Jewish people just as the scriptures instruct. One in which no one need ever fear being a slave or a pawn again, and has everything they need to attain to Shabbos. The world will act as if it is having its toenails peeled off with burning tongs, but this painless process is what God wants.

The Shoftim continues with a story of how the Philistines left their holes in the ground in order to find Samson and take him prisoner after he retaliated for the cuckolding of his wife. To seek the Light of Samson out of a hunger for vengeance is to create a type of golden calf.

All idolatry is a manifestation of some kind of self-entitlement or anger. To draw the Light of Heaven AKA enlightenment "the supremacy of society" out of Etam, the Rock of Isaiah, the domain of the goddess of Israel called Sela, "solid footing" and take it prisoner out anger is not correct. One can be quite solid in one's footing when one is doing the wrong thing as the right.

So this frame explains what an enlightened Jewish person should do when his solid footing encounters a stumbling block. The answer is found in the Devarim, where God speaks of ways to remain bound, even during times of trial and uncertainty. The premise behind the Devarim are:

You shall not try the Lord...

And you shall do what is proper and good in the eyes of the Lord, in order that it may be well with you, and that you may come and possess the good land which the Lord swore to your forefathers, to drive out all your enemies from before you, as the Lord has spoken.

Without the intent to consecrate, to make things holy behind the use of a binding, antichrist results. In the text that follows, the people of Judah, "God's Glory" become upset with Samson because he embroiled them in what was supposed to have been a good cause that turned back on them. Turning things back to create reverberations in society is one of the reasons one employs the cubic structure of the boxes called for in the Devarim.

In addition, the text says the people of Judah were going to "hand Samson over". One does not put one's hands on the Light of Life one apprehends it. This does not require one to perform any manner of handling:

9 The Philistines went up and camped in Judah, spreading out near Lehi. 10 The people of Judah asked, “Why have you come to fight us?”

“We have come to take Samson prisoner,” they answered, “to do to him as he did to us.”

11 Then three thousand men from Judah went down to the cave in the rock of Etam and said to Samson, “Don’t you realize that the Philistines are rulers over us? What have you done to us?”

He answered, “I merely did to them what they did to me.”

12 They said to him, “We’ve come to tie you up and hand you over to the Philistines.”

Samson said, “Swear to me that you won’t kill me yourselves.”

13 “Agreed,” they answered. “We will only tie you up and hand you over to them. We will not kill you.” So they bound him with two new ropes and led him up from the rock.

The Values in Gematria are:

v. 9-10: The Philistines went up and camped in Judah, spreading out near Lehi. Lehi is "the jawbone". Who controls the jawbone controls the onset of Mashiach. Philistines want the glory of Mashiach, they do not want the Mashiach itself. This completely deconsecrates the concept.

The Mormons for example, covet the Jewish ideology surrounding the Mashiach because they feel entitled to it due to the primitive conditions within their society. God has tried to reach them and give them enlightenment through the Book of Mormon but they have refused and continue to try to bind the Mashiach to them, even as the text says, going so far as to attempt to hold the people of Judah hostage. This will not turn out well for them.

The Value in Gematria is 12992, יבטטב‎, yabattev, "they will die."

v. 11: Then three thousand men from Judah went down to the cave in the rock of Etam and said to Samson, “Don’t you realize that the Philistines are rulers over us? What have you done to us?”

We have been following thirties around. Thirty men mentioned before are now three thousand men. Any time a Number is multiplied by a factor of a thousand this means a millennium, 403, is coming to pass. 403=ד‎אֶפֶסג, dapsagg, "to understand what the angels printed."

We know God created the heavens and the earth on Day 1. So the First Millennium, is 688, "the United Nations, hooked by a nose ring."

The Second Millennium is 595, "the Holy Grail", "Mission Completed." "tilt and steer."

The Third Millennium mentioned above is Turkiye, "there is no place like home" the establishment of a sovereign Israeli state.

Turkiye means to establish the god Men, the god of the New Moon in the West, where certainly the people that belong there will establish the traditions with which they were charged by God to maintain.

The word μεν (men) is a particle of strong affirmation, which occurs 193 times; SEE FULL CONCORDANCE. It probably originated as little more than a Greek "harrumph!" but, as it was originally spelled μαν (man), its journey into its final form may have been lubricated by the name of the deity Men, meaning Moon (see above), if not also by the familiar Semitic expletive Amen! which is of similar meaning. Also note the striking similarity with the verb μενω (meno), meaning to stay, remain or dwell.

Our word μεν (men) may be used to mean truly, indeed (MATTHEW 17:11, LUKE 22:22, ACTS 4:16). But may also indicate a certain one (JOHN 19:32, ACTS 1:1). Particularly when preceded by the article, it may refer to certain ones; the indeedo's, the truly's, the homies (ACTS 1:6, 2:41, 5:1, 8:4, etc.) or even more generally: some (rather similar to the English word "certain" just used, which normally expresses a perfectly solid dependability but in some cases a "certain" vague average or mere suggestion).

If we believe in Prophecy then we are being told by God to start a Third Age and establish the sovereignty of Israel, not with just anyone, but the people whom God has consecrated from before time began to do it. Not the numchuks.

The Value in Gematria is 12830, יב‎ח‎ג אֶפֶס‎, yvhg efes, "no one will be killed."

This is another sign the God wants the Mashiach to begin. He said this in the Torah just after Eden ended. He wants the wars and the violence to come to an abrubt end and their practices on this planet must stop.

v. 12: They said to him. The Number is 11321, יא‎ג‎בא, "the answer will come." Mankind is far fonder of having problems than solutions. Mankind is problem oriented. The reason Moses struck the rock twice was to bring about a realization that the problems facing the Israelites at the dawn of their freedom from Egypt were solvable if they stopped complaining and thought about it.

God is telling us to pursue the Mashiach. It is time to solve the problem.

v. 13: “Agreed,” they answered. So they bound him with two new ropes and led him up from the rock. The Value is 14853, ידחהג‎, "the postponement."

To go up from the rock and attain to the postponement means the purpose of Mashiach is an ongoing approach to Shabbos. The reference to Turkiye and the god Men is the formulation of a curriculum and method of government that teaches and establishes an ethical way of life in Seven Months. If successful, violence, war, and oppression will be postponed on this world forever.

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quirkthieves · 3 months

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Lacramioara & Love

some headcanons while i put together mioara's playlist since ... cw for discussion of abusive relationships & talk of ableism, homophobia, 18+ topics, immolation...etc

Lacramioara's "first love" was the woman he adoringly refers to as "My Lady"; a noblewoman of the same age who saved her life after he fell, suffering severe head trauma in the process.

As a result, both feeling indebted and no longer able to make the long pastoral journeys alone that being a shepherd required due to his injuries, Mioara would dedicate herself to being the Lady's handmaid. (16)

In Mia's eyes, they were inseparable, and there was nobody else he'd rather stand beside. The long term psychological and physical symptoms of her TBI resulted in being either implicitly or explicitly rejected by others, which was only compounded by matters of class.

They engaged in both physical and romantic intimate acts; to Lacramioara, they were in a relationship, although her Lady did not view it the same way. Regardless, Lacramioara was willing to tolerate any and all sorts of treatment for the sake of remaining at his Lady's side. One particular demonstration of "fondness" was to make Lacramioara cry, because of her name and emotional volatility.

After nine years of being strung along, Lacramioara would watch her Lady become engaged, and then pregnant. Needless to say, there was a lot at stake when the two were caught together.

With her fiancee incensed at the infidelity and strange relationship the Lady threw Mioara under the bus for diabolic seduction-- but Mioara agreed to go along with her story. A life for a life, right?

Although given multiple times to recant and serve penance, Lacramioara refused. He would not apologize for love, nor would she deny it, so strong was her love for her Lady. Strong enough to be beatified and offered angelhood. Even after being burned at the stake, Lacramioara doesn't appear to realize she was used, but her heartbreak at her Lady not even being present for his execution left a deep curse on those involved that not even Mia is cognizant of.

But what about now?

-Lacramioara, naturally, still yearns for love. He'll chase the slightest indication of affection, regardless of if she would have felt that way for the other person in the first place. He'll tolerate the intolerable, even when he becomes aware she's being played with.

-She'll fall in love with even the oddest traits of an individual. As a partner, Lacramioara's genuinely supportive, and means what he says. He'll learn to make your favorite foods or listen to you talk about your favorite things, although this can sometimes turn into enabling in the wrong conditions.

-He can be viciously possessive and jealous. While not the type to think of her partner as a cheater, and believing of proclaimed friendships at face value, the situation can escalate intensely when she believes someone is hitting on his partner. Or attempting courtship in any manner. This has only been made worse by the centuries of doing a job where physical punishment in the most brutal ways possible is considered a proper avenue. Come get your boyfriend bro she's beating the shit out of people.

-Abandonment avoidance is high. Lacramioara has spikes of fear (irrational or not) that he's somehow messed up terribly, and will desperately try to right the wrong, regardless of if the wrong actually exists or not

-he's incorrigibly horny. im sorry theres no way not to be crass about it. and known for being promiscuous as far as fwb and one night stands go, although once in a relationship, he becomes entirely monogamous. she's also into some weird shit, but typically will adapt to the preferences of her partner.

-you will probably get your blood sucked though. not in a horny way. unless you want it in a horny way. but you are getting Drank.

-he excels in domesticity and will always make sure you have food to eat and somewhere to sleep.

-she likes to be matchies :) wearing matching accessories or outfits makes her happy

-something she values deeply is a partner who takes her disability as part of the package without seeing her as a burden. days spent crying in the dark from pain and nausea, spells of confusion, erratic moods, tremors and weakness... he already feels pressure and guilt about these things because of how they impede her work and the incredibly conditional nature of their payout. And when what you get paid in directly correlates to your ability to feel happiness...

-naturally, anyone dating Lacramioara will have to deal with Leopold in some fashion, and Leopold's inevitable shovel talk. He worries deeply about Lacramioara (and doesn't have much confidence in her taste), and has a vested interest in ensuring there's no more heartbreak.

(especially if it can lead to curses)

#BENEDICTUS ET AFFECTUS://MIOARA HC #holds mia. im sorry bb youll find love someday

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friendlyneighbourhoodspider · 1 year

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Pedophiles, Nazis, and ‘The Gays’

TW: Sexual assault, fascism, homophobia/transphobia/etc.

It’s close to the end of Pride month! Alternatively, for some purposes, Homophobia/Transphobia Awareness Month. Stochastic terrorism continues to rear its ugly head in the good ol’ US of A, robbing numerous beautiful members of our national community of their lives. Furthermore, there seems to be an appalling amount of sympathy for those who continue to propagate this antisocial carnage. The powers that be on the internet surely have an interest in magnifying the most sensational – hence, nastiest - perspectives; yet whatever disproportionate magnification of these views is occurring, any amount of approval north of zero for hate crimes is appalling.

Gay people are (still) being threatened physically for the mere fact of their existence, and some people seem ambivalent, or even pleased about it. Further, if even Columbine, Sandy Hook, Uvalde, and an emphatically resentful et cetera, were insufficient to encourage a collective agreement within our country to lay down the bulk of our deadly weaponry for the benefit of our neighbours’ safety, it seems tragically even less likely that meaningful preventative strategies will gain the political support that any of these homophobic atrocities plead with us to lend such policies. In this case, however, even the very value of the lives lost is not, for some abominable reason, even universally presumed in the public consensus. But I do not need to elaborate on this any further. It is evil to condone hate crimes. I would like to explore a portion why some people seem to do so anyways.

Immediate disclaimers: (1) I hope to explore possible reasonsfor which someone might choose to justify, condone, or even perpetrate homophobic hate crimes. This is absolutely not an attempt to ethically justify or excuse such behaviour. (2) Rivers of ink have been spilled about how we ought to engage with terrible, harmful ideas without platforming/promoting them. I will do my best to write responsibly, by referring to more comprehensive resources as authoritative guides.

With these premises of our discussion asserted, we can begin in earnest. One way to discover a person’s motivations is to ask them, ‘what are your motivations?’ Some have publicly expressed unfounded concerns about ‘pedophiles’ and ‘groomers’ engaged in sexual abuse, sometimes with the alleged support of substantial institutions. Now as unpalatable as it may be, I believe one may stand to learn at least a little from a dedicated dissection of this baldly ridiculous reasoning. The relevant premises are despite appearances, somewhat involved:

i) LGBTQ+ identities entail a higher-than-average risk of pedophilic inclinations

ii) People who have such identities, experiencing pedophilia, often choose to act on it in an abusive manner

Conclusion I) Therefore, LGBTQ+ friendly institutions, by supporting such community members, aid and abet the aforementioned abuse, either wittingly or unwittingly, in at least some instances.

iii) It is important to prevent sexual assault

Conclusion II) Therefore, it is important to prevent sexual assault condoned and/or abetted by LGBTQ+ friendly institutions

iv) The basic rights of sexual abusers are generally superseded by a communal responsibility to protect their potential and/or actual victims

Conclusion III) Therefore, any and all means of ‘prevention’ as established in Conclusion II) are permissible.

v) Mass murder is an effective means of disrupting the actions of a community or institution

Now I can’t bring myself to state the relevant conclusions here explicitly, even as a paraphrase of a speculated view. I hope its basic horrendous nature is clear enough for all practical purposes.

Why is this reasoning at all interesting? Premise i) is patently absurd, and without it, the whole thing falls apart like a house of cards. However, another interesting premise is iv), and its support of conclusion III). It is interesting because of its appeal to related, more popular ethical convictions: for example that capital punishment can be an appropriate criminal sentence, especially in as far as the right to life of a known murderer may be seen as subordinate to, according to some arguments, the rights of others to safety from such violence. Most importantly, however, premise iv) represents a breed of dangerous political rhetoric that pops up in the context of many different political issues, including both sexual assault and fascism. The current extreme example may serve to illuminate the features and functionality of such rhetoric, making it easier to spot and (if necessary) avoid going forwards.

We can first seek to understand how this rhetoric works, and the limited, specific sense in which criticizing a political opponent as pedophilic can serve a similar function to criticizing a political opponent as fascist. The qualifier of ‘limited and specific’ is crucial, and will be elaborated shortly. To begin, however, the essential feature of this rhetoric is to encourage dismissal of some political opponent’s interests on the grounds that they embody some form of ‘pure capital-E Evil’, often identified as either a perpetrator of sexual violence (particularly against children), or as a supporter of fascist, race-supremacist, or other political ideology commonly seen as distasteful. In the right circles, an accusation of ‘communism’ or indeed ‘post-modern cultural neo-marxism’ will work just as well. To be clear, the present discussion does not seek to argue against the honest identification of criminals or misguided demagogues, but to focus on the dangers of such identification when performed dis-honestly.As stated previously, it is a particularly glaring issue when this identification is employed to encourage the dismissal of a political opponent’s views out of hand, without any further interrogation.

Even this purpose, however, may have limited justifiable uses. A person’s actual involvement in sexual violence is always a relevant grain of salt to take alongside any of their commentary regarding related topics, such as gender politics. A person’s public support for genuine white supremacist fascism can and should make anyone think twice before agreeing with them in any political sphere. These are not dangerous rhetorical precautions. The danger in these categorizations arises especially, of course, when the categorization of ‘fascist’ or ‘pedophile’ or whatever other label is not actually warranted. This is a particularly significant problem for accusations of fascism, because accepting a person’s views and attitudes as fascist genuinely requires one to adopt a rather hostile attitude towards them both rhetorically and personally. While such misidentification is also a problem for accusations of pedophilia, this latter version of the rhetorical tactic suffers much more strongly from the problem of exaggerated implications.

Even if a person experiences pedophilia, they are presumably as capable as anyone else of choosing not to commit any crimes on a daily basis, and therefore it is counterproductive vilify them outside the standard bounds of reasonable criminal justice. Further, even ifone accepts the ethical and legal legitimacy of capital punishment as a criminal sentence, it is clear that even the most heinous perpetrator of sexual violence deserves protection under the law from extrajudicial murder. There may be some anarchists out there opposed to the state’s monopoly on lethal violence, but for now I will not spend the words necessary to address the views of this apparent political minority. Taking the above premises as given, we find the applications of rhetoric concerning supposed pedophilia within the LGBTQ+ community to in many cases be much more unreasonably exaggerated than comparable applications of rhetoric concerning purported fascism within various political groups. Simply put, people are not committing (or even really advocating) mass murders against suspected nazis. They are not even murdering actual card-carrying members of the KKK (to be clear: I would not condone such acts). Accusations of fascism in the USA will at worst alienate you from the nation’s liberal majority. Accusations of pedophilia, particularly in association with a non-heteronormative sexual or gender identity, will at worst get you murdered.

There is another key distinction between accusations of fascism (or other political ideologies seen as distasteful) and accusations of pedophilia as they are applied in American political discourse: one can always choose not to agree with fascism anymore, but one can’t choose to stop experiencing pedophilia. If I believe you to be a neo-nazi, I can change my mind with relative ease if I witness enough speech indicating your disagreement with fundamental nazi ideals. Furthermore, it will be very difficult for me to maintain my belief in the face of such persistent disavowals. If I believe you to be a pedophile, there is relatively little you can do to convincingly and conclusively demonstrate otherwise, especially if it would be very convenient for my politics that this be true. This mirrors the more general contrast between fascist and anti-fascist rhetoric identified via Abigail Thorne’s Youtube channel: “if you’re a fascist, and antifascists [threaten] you, you have a choice...you could just go on with the rest of your life and stop turning up to fascist rallies...But if you’re a person of colour, if you’re trans or a person with a disability, or gay or jewish or whatever and fascists [threaten] you there is nothing you can do that will make them happy except stop existing.” Fascist rhetoric is therefore served uniquely well in the face of an audience unwilling to protect the fundamental rights of any group, pedophiles or otherwise, as long as the targets of the fascists can, however tenuously, be equated with whatever political scapegoats are du jour.

To sum up, even if it were true that members of the LGBTQ+ community are disproportionately pedophilic (it is not), and even if it were true that this community and the institutions that support it enable them to perpetrate sexual violence (it is not), hate crimes against them would still be just as evil as they actually are. The violent bigots are wrong. In other news, the Pope is Catholic. But the rhetoric that supports the dangerous perspectives in question is informative in as far as it plays a game of identity politics whereby the Bad(tm) individuals must be entirely ostracized from society because their Badness is seen to be innate, incorrigible, and explicitly dangerous. We can use this example to identify risks in similar kinds of rhetoric in discussions around adherents to fascist and communist ideas. As elaborated previously, the parallel is admittedly not perfect. Nevertheless, if we are serious about building a more just society, we must attempt the difficult task of resisting the harmful ideologies that surround us, without succumbing to the temptation of arbitrary in-group/out-group dichotomies. The neo-nazis are sure to win from the start if we agree to play by their rules.

Resources Re: Engaging with extremist ideology

Inuendo Studios on a pertinent alt-right rhetorical tactic: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wmVkJvieaOA

An Argument for rhetorical deplatforming: http://www.mountholyokenews.com/opinion/2021/10/10/debating-the-alt-right-is-counterproductive

Responding to concerns about infringing ‘free speech’: https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2017/feb/27/free-speech-debate-milo-yiannopoulos-alt-right-censorship

Mx. Thorne on the choice available to fascists, but unavailable to the targets of their abuse: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bgwS_FMZ3nQ&t=1627s

#antifascism #homophobia #transphobes #politics #vio

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absnt · 2 years

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. . . a forgotten memory.

#absnt. . . an exploration into how the doctor would have acted had there been a regeneration between ten and eleven. written by robin since 11.11.22. sideblog to @ wasme.

rules and study are below the cut .

CHARACTER STUDY .

he'd lost . not just those around him , but part of his soul . every muscle ached , every bone creaked , every inch of his very being tired and strained . what do you do , when you're tired ?

you rest .

he goes by john smith . he lives in a small flat in london , though he's most often not there , gone without a trace for weeks on end . he swears like a trooper , he drinks and he smokes , and most importantly . . . he's quiet . quiet and kind , with sadness filling hues no matter how hard he laughs .

RULES NOT GUIDELINES , done to keep this a safe space for myself and others.

𝐈 . i own 10.5 , but i am not ewan mcgregor ( sorry ) . we're anti - moffet and not super happy with some of davies' plot lines either . so attempts will be made to avoid these / adapt them in a healthy and unharmful manner .

𝐈𝐈 . everything on this blog is made by me ( both graphic wise and writing wise ) bar the psd , which is by emlgrate . if ever i used something that isn't mine , i'll give credit accordingly .

𝐈𝐈𝐈 . this is a sideblog to wasme , so i’ll follow back from there . i will however be very selective to who i reply to . this is done for my own comfort , as well as making sure my dash is a clean and safe space for me . please don't interact with posts etc if we aren't mutuals , thank you in advance !

𝐈𝐕 . 10.5 is easier to ship with than 11 but he's still pretty difficult to ship with , but i am still open to it ! platonic and familial bonds will be my focus here . nsfw content such as smut will not be present here , and if something similar occurs , it shall be tagged .

𝐕 . my aim is to make this a safe space for myself as well as others , so just be kind ! i'm a bit uncomfortable with vagues and posts that beg for sympathy , so i may softblock for this , just to keep myself comfortable . i will not engage with any mun or muse who participate in the following : homophobia , racism , sexism , transphobia , pedophilia , incest , non-consensual situation , using deceased faceclaims and xenophobia . i come from a jewish family , although i don't practice the religious side , i am a part of the community , so this is something i'm very passionate about .

𝐕𝐈 . this is meant to be fun , and not a job . in the past , i've gotten far too personal with rp and i don't intend to fall down that rabbit hole again . if i don't reply within a few days , feel free to nudge me ! but also know that borderline harassment won't work in your favour . . . let's have some fun !

#pinned .

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cabensonsgirly · 3 years

Text

👼Strangers to Friends, Friends into Lovers, and Strangers Again (Billie Dean) [NSFW]👼

Billie Dean Howard x fem!reader

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youtube

👼Part 1 of 2👼

👼Slice ? of ?👼

👼Wordcount: 3520👼

Written with the, as always, amazing @billiedeannovak even though she will still deny it in the court of law.

👼Content: This fic will be extremely distressing and triggering to some. Mentions of suicide, suicide attempts (not described), conversion therapy, homophobia, internalized homophobia, abuse, drug abuse, drug use, mentions of sexual intercourse with men, self-harm, smoking, drinking, distressing themes and topics. Do not read if any of these upset you, and/or trigger you. If you or someone you know is in danger and/or needs help, please do not be afraid to reach out. There are plenty of support services out there. You are not alone.👼

👼Your fingers fiddle with the stylus pen in hand as you stare at the recent design, not knowing what to do- it was so hard to think, so hard to focus- you felt so on edge, and it was unpleasant. “This one of your latest creations?” You turn your head, a bit of a smile on your face when you see one of your models, she was nice- but that nausea came back, just not as strong- she was the one who gave you drugs, got you hooked on them as well as cigarettes. Mackenzie? Or was it Jade? You couldn’t remember. “Yeah- Yeah it is. For a client but I can’t figure out what else needs to be added. It just doesn’t seem finished yet.” 👼

“Yn, your expertise is needed for a client.” You sigh and stub your cig out before heading back inside, picking up your iPad as you make your way out to the storefront “Hello I’m Yn, my specialty is custom fit changes and design, what can I help you with today?”

“Yn? It’s- It’s really you? I-“ She looks you up and down before looking back at you, a look of worry settling on her face “You’re so- It’s been so long… Too long.” Your throat goes dry, you look up to see Billie, she looks more than glorious, you clutch your iPad to your chest, snapping the hair tie on your wrist against your skin, a wave of nausea overcoming you “B- Billie, hey.”

Billie goes to move closer to you to give you a hug but stops when she notices you tense up, the way your breath catches, and the death grip you have on the clipboard “How- How have you been? You look” she pauses, mulling over what to say “Different” wincing slightly at the word. She can see that you look different, you look nothing like the girl she spent most of her time with growing up… It’s like she’s standing in front of someone completely different.

You swallow hard, trying to keep the nausea at bay, not being able to meet her gaze you look away, you knew her doe brown eyes were filled with worry. “I’ve been good, very good.” You clear your throat “What about you?” Billie purses her lips slightly as you avoid her eyes again- you never use to do that, not often anyway and even then, it was usually because something had happened, or you were shy about something else. She lets out a quiet sight “I know it’s no longer my place, Yn… But… You’ve never been very good at hiding things from me. I… Don’t think you have been but… I won’t force it out of you.”

She takes out her phone and looks at the time “I have to go soon to meet with my parents at a café down the road, you’re welcome to join if- if you want to.” Billie puts her phone away then gets out a business card and pen before writing her cellphone number on it then offers it to you, her voice softer “Take this at least, it… Has my cellphone number. Like I said all those years ago… I’ll always answer for you.”

Most of Billie’s words go unnoticed by you, her mannerisms were the same but they no longer affected you like they used to. They no longer felt like home- or comfort. “I’ve grown up, Billie” you state simply, looking at the business card as if it were on fire, but still you hesitantly take it and slide it into the card holder on your iPad case. “Even if I wanted to, I’m stuck here until we close.”

Billie flinches slightly at your tone, your behaviour- completely closed-off, disinterested in her. She was starting to feel it too, the way you looked at her like she was a diseased person. She took a step back from you, blinking back a few tears “Grown up-“ she laughs a bit and shakes her head “We’ve both grown up, but there’s something- you’re different…” She looks away then back at you, her voice breaking “Who have you become.” She turns around and leaves before you can see the tears she couldn’t stop. You really were no longer the girl who looked at her like she was the night sky- no longer someone she recognised.

You turn around to go back to the office area without any further comment. The curiosity ended up getting the best of you and you pick up the business card, the cursive font read “Billie Dean Howard, Medium to the stars” and the back shows a number of ways to contact her, including her handwritten number. Her handwriting reminded you of old poetry. Your finger traces the card and a single tear rolls down your cheek, you felt bad but couldn’t show it.

The sudden feeling of nausea hit you once more, and this time you weren’t able to keep it down. You dropped the iPad back onto the desk and made your way to the bathroom, promptly emptying whatever was left from yesterday’s lunch. Heaving over the toilet for a few moments you try to center your breathing. Once you felt calm enough you get up on weak knees to flush the toilet, then rinse your mouth and wash your hands. Fixing your appearance didn’t help you feel better but you need to in order to get through the day.

Billie stops at the store window, looking in one more time to search for you, but when she couldn’t see you she sighs before continuing on her way. There were so many questions in her head, she didn’t understand what happened to you to make you this way, she knew something was wrong- something that made you into this person that barely resembles the Yn she knew. She pulls her phone out and turns her notification volume up to full before putting it away again- any time her phone dinged she would check it, hoping it was a new number that’d be you. Maybe her parents would know what happened to you, she could only hope they did. That was something Billie was never in short supply of, hope, and when it came to you… even if time has changed you and her… She hoped you’d both end up happy.

You stood in the back entrance of the boutique you worked in, the cigarette smoke almost wrapping you in a halo, you take a long drag from it and keep it in until you felt like it was suffocating you. You hoped with the exhale that Billie was gone from your mind but she was attached to it. Like she use to be. But nothing was as it use to be, and Billie would only distract you. You stomp your cig out before going back into the store to go about your day.

In the café, Billie’s parents Charlotte and Charles anticipated their daughters return. Despite being in contact with her weekly, they couldn’t wait to wrap their daughter in a tight hug. Charlotte jumps up from her seat when the blonde walks in “Pumpkin! There you are, come here” she hugs Billie tight “You look gorgeous.”

“Dear, let her breathe” Charles reminds her and wraps his daughter in an equally tight but shorter hug.

One of your colleagues asks if you have sorted out the orders that are due to come in tomorrow “I get that you’re fucked up over your failed marriage, but this order will either make your job here worthwhile, or it will be the end of your job if it falls through.” You flinch at her words, memories of your ex-husband flooding your mind, almost wiping Billie from it but she still survives- she’s still fucking there and making that pit in your stomach grow.

You head to one of the computers out back and start looking for the correct form, zoning out so that you’re not thinking at all- not about her- not about him- just nothing.

Billie laughs lightly and takes a seat, hanging her purse over the side of her chair, letting out a breath of relief to be with them after being surrounded by colleagues and… the interaction with you. “I feel like it’s been too long since I’ve been back home. Has anything happened? I-“ she pauses when the waiter gives them their orders, Charlotte having remembered Billie’s order despite not coming here with her in so long. They all thank the waiter before Billie continues speaking “I ran into Yn at the boutique, I thought I should see if they had anything I could wear on my show but” she stirs her drink with the teaspoon, watching the liquid swirl “She’s so… I- I don’t understand.”

Designing the gown that was requested by the customer made you feel like you were achieving something, even if it got you nowhere. At least a piece of your soul was attached to every gown you made.

Charlotte nervously glances at her husband as they exchange a look, a nod all the confirmation she needed. “Oh Billie” her mother starts “We haven’t seen her in a while either. People change. It’s life.”

You open up a folder full of other designs to see if there are any similar to the one you’re working on when you see one with just ‘Etoile.” You open it, curiosity overtaking you, and upon it opening you feel bile making it’s way up your throat- it was a sketch of Billie wearing a midnight blue dress with gold on the inside that would be revealed thanks to a slit on the side from just below the hip down, a slight train that would drag on the ground. You close it quickly and delete it, your heartrate not calming down. You stood up and made your way outside again, leaning against the brick wall with your eyes shut as you try calming yourself down- the cool air refreshing.

Billie looks at them, clearly confused “I don’t understand… She- she loves- loved you guys… She wouldn’t stop like that- she wouldn’t stop unless something happened.” Billie puts the spoon down then picks up her cup, taking a sip from it “This isn’t- This isn’t a- a change done willingly… It can’t be.”

Your fingers itched for another one of those pills you had in your bag, but you knew better, you were still at work. You turn to face the wall and without a second thought your fist connects with the brick. The pain reaching your brain mere moments later. For a moment you thought you were going to pass out, but the extreme pain was replaced with a throbbing and your knuckles bled slightly. Back inside you ran your hand under water before going back to your drawing.

“Poor thing didn’t have a choice-“ Charles states without thinking which earns him an elbow from his wife “Charlie!”

Your fingers fiddle with the stylus pen in hand as you stare at the recent design, not knowing what to do- it was so hard to think, so hard to focus- you felt so on edge, and it was unpleasant. “This one of your latest creations?” You turn your head, a bit of a smile on your face when you see one of your models, she was nice- but that nausea came back, just not as strong- she was the one who gave you drugs, got you hooked on them as well as cigarettes.

Mackenzie? Or was it Jade? You couldn’t remember. “Yeah- Yeah it is. For a client but I can’t figure out what else needs to be added. It just doesn’t seem finished yet.”

Billie’s frown deepens as she looks between both her parents “What do you mean she didn’t have a choice? Mom? What- what does dad mean? You said you didn’t know anything.”

“What if you add sleeves?” She questions while looking at the drawing “Oh, also, let’s meet after your shift. I know you’re running out.”

“Billie” her mother warns “We haven’t seen you in so long, why can’t this just be about you? We can talk about Yn any other time.”

You lean back, the back of your head resting against her stomach- she’s just a friend, you’re not a dyke. She’s just your friend. That’s it. “Good idea, sleeves… It’d just tie it together. She does have long arms so maybe they drape at the cuff” you look up at her, your smile growing “You’re the best. Where’d I be without you?” She’s a friend. A friend. A friend. A friend. Nothing else.

Billie sighs and takes another mouthful of her drink “I haven’t seen her in so long… You both know how much she means- meant to me. I just-“ She shakes her head before forcing herself to smile, telling herself it’s just another show. “I doubt you both would let me leave if I told you the places I’ve been, the people- spirits I’ve encountered. Please tell me you haven’t watched any of the latest episodes?”

She shrugs nonchalantly “You’d be… No clue. Well you definitely wouldn’t be as much of a model size that you are right now.” She smiles before going back.

Billie’s mom could tell her fake smile from her real one, even on TV. “Oh Billie… you still?” she lets out a motherly sigh “Shortly you left for LA, one night… the police raced through the neighbourhood. They got a domestic violence call, someone in the area reported Yn’s house. Ten minutes later they rang on every door to tell them it was a false alarm and that the family was okay. They-“ Charles interrupts “He fucking bribed them to avoid charges.”

Charlotte looks back at Charles before looking at Billie again, nodding “After that night, Yn was nowhere to be found. She was gone for months. Nobody knew what happened. I-“ Charlotte’s eyes fill with tears, her own heart aching at the though of the cruel things that happened to you, she loved you like her own. Charles affectionately rubs her back “The whole thing is online. Her father is a senator now. It’s on his campaign page under ‘Story of success’ and there are more articles that don’t sugar coat it. Her name was all over town until about…five months ago.”

You roll your eyes and go back to the sketch, adding the sleeves. She only saw you as a friend too. That’s good. It’s good. Just friends. Once you were happy with it, you saved it then sent it forward to the seamstress to make.

Billie puts her cup down a little too hard, the teaspoon rattling against the saucer and cup “They- they” she clenches her jaw hard and pulls her phone out, unlocking it before searching your name in google. She gasps quietly in shock as she sees article upon article of what happened “Yn Baker, daughter of Senator Gary Baker, a model for the successful treatment of the disease homosexuality-“ Billie looks up from her phone to her parents, her own eyes welling with tears “Why- why didn’t you do anything? Why didn’t you- Why didn’t you stop this?”

She takes a deep breath to stop herself from yelling, she was angry- distraught- guilty… If she hadn’t left you would be okay. You would be healthy, happy. You’d be her Yn again, her angel. “I’m sorry- I’m sorry that wasn’t fair of me to say.”

Billie puts her phone down and buries her face in her hands “She’s- They took everything from her. Who she is- was. She’s just- She’s just this shell now. She looks at me like I’m contagious…”

Putting the iPad away, you go back outside to smoke. Lighting your cigarette, you look at your right hand, your knuckles now bruised and bloody. At least it didn’t hurt, you thought, or maybe it did, you couldn’t feel anything anyway.

“Billie” her mother gently strokes her hair “There was nothing we could’ve done, she was gone for months, and nobody knew until the campaign. I know she- I don’t think she recognises us any longer. She looks through us. Do yourself a favour and let her tell her story if she wants to. There’s so much online- you know how the press gets. One article compared the treatment to that book… What’s it called-“

“Maniac” Charles finishes for her “That Lana Winters woman wrote it.”

There was something very quiet, very faint, in the recesses of your mind that was trying to claw it’s way out- tell you that you’ve started smoking the same brand Billie did when you were in highschool, but you didn’t know this, or you just didn’t want to acknowledge it. You put it between your lips and run your fingers lightly over your bruised and bloody knuckles, an apathetic look on your face. You’d need to clean it and bandage it up when you get home- a studio apartment after your ex got the house in the divorce. That’s what people did when injured, right? Cleaned it and bandaged it so it doesn’t get worse? Yes. It is. You saw them do that to the other patients at the hospital where you were fixed.

Billie lets out a sob and sniffles, picking up a napkin and dabbing the tears from her eyes “How- How could anyone do that to someone? She- she was so-“ Billie smiles sadly “I loved her so much. She always made me smile even when I thought I was going crazy.” She nods then sighs “I- I gave her my card and wrote my cell on it but… I don’t know if she’ll text me. She probably threw it out. Thought it would make her lesbian again… I don’t know” she picks up the teaspoon and plays with the dregs of her drink “Maybe I should- Maybe I can order something for my show, so- so we can talk that way, even if it is just business…”

She shakes her head “No… That’s a bad idea… I don’t know what to do mom and dad… Maybe send her that book. I’ve… read parts of it. Do you have her address?”

You didn’t know how it happened, you didn’t even know who he was. A stranger. He walked past you on the street and called you pretty. You told- taught yourself to like it. Crave and appreciate their validation. A woman’s was a lie. You had stopped him and told him to make you feel pretty. He looked like it was his lucky day. He asked if you wanted anything in return. What a gentleman.

He made you snort oxy right in front of him to keep you pretty. You did it, and he promised more once he was done. You knew it was dangerous, but you didn’t care. He took you somewhere, you didn’t know where, and fucked you on an old couch. It hurt, you didn’t like it, but the oxy made you giggly. He did you in any degrading position he could think of before dumping you outside like you were disposable.

He was neither the first, nor the last man to do this. You hoped at some point you would like it. You never did. He never gave you more oxy either. Your pants were thrown at you a minute later, followed by your bag. You wondered if this was the fashion industry.

Stuffing your pants into your bag, you made your way back. You didn’t know where you were. Maybe there was a bus you could catch. You tried checking your phone but the battery was dead. So you walked around this huge place, probably in circles, but at least you did what they wanted you to. Trying yourself out.

Billie climbs out of the car, thanking her driver before closing the door and heading towards her dressing room. She looks up from her phone and sees you walking around looking lost, and a right mess- she’s seen this look before. Sally.

“Yn?” She calls out “What’re you doing here?” She puts her phone in her purse and walks over to you “I did hear that there was a new stylist but… It’s-“ She looks you over, you looked even worse up close and it tore her to pieces seeing you like this “How about you come to my dressing room? We can get some sushi and get you cleaned up. Nothing will happen. I’ll- I’ll put a screen up so- so I don’t see you change.”

You were too high to make yourself feel repulsed by her voice or her worried tone. “Billie?” You smile gently at her “Hey Billie. I don’t need to change, I’m fine” you whisper, walking with her. She smiles back a bit “Hey Yn” she replies quietly “At least wear one of the down coats we get to wear between shots, you must be freezing.”

Billie opens the door to the room and lets you go inside before letting the door close. She walks over to the rack of clothing and pulls one of the coats out then hands it to you “It’ll look massive on you, but at least you’ll be warm.” You take it from her with a quiet thanks, putting it on, shivering as you do so “Oh this is nice” you wrap it tightly around your frame “Why’s it so cold in here?”

Billie bites her cheek to stop herself from crying at the sight of you, you were so fragile, so small, so very lost, and all she wanted to do was hug you tight and never let you go, just let you cry yourself out while she holds you close, but she couldn’t…not anymore. She laughs a bit and heads over to the temperature pad “We’re all vampires- No, it’s just some people prefer it, I never have. Definitely a summer girl” she puts the temperature up to what she hopes would be a comfortable temperature for you.

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