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#like perhaps in the way that gay men use them but also a little bit more than that

edgeray · 3 months

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“LATE NIGHT DEVIL, PUT YOUR HANDS ON ME

and never never never ever let go”- Teeth, 5 Seconds of Summer

Mafia AU! Arlecchino x Reader Oneshot

Author's Note: It's been a while since I've actually published anything on here. Well, my gay ass is back with another oneshot. This one has been in the works for at least a month. I'm considering making a Part 2, but that will definitely take at least a couple weeks for me to publish (if not months). I wish I was kidding. School literally hates me and my teachers are incessant on killing my GPA. This is also a gift for @megistusdiary because it'll be her birthday when I post this. Please go check out her blog for amazing genshin wlw content (especially Arlecchino content!) Would you guys like this on AO3 as well?

Content Warning/Info: This is a long af oneshot (6.3k words), long af descriptions and kinda long intro, Arlecchino is referred to with they/them pronouns, implied female but no usage of feminine pronouns for Reader, general dark-ish content, pet names, Arlecchino is a lil scary, I've never been to a club so I apologize for the very inaccurate information, nor have I ever been apart of the mafia so also inaccurate, a bit suggestive but otherwise sfw, if I'm missing anything feel free to tell me!

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Monsters are said to have lied underneath beds–waiting to ensnare an unknowing victim–or stalk hidden among the depths of a closet–awaiting an opportune moment to strike its next prey. Monsters are fabled entities that are used to scare off children from bad behavior and are quickly eased from the mind by coddling parents. The mere notion of a monster shooed away like a pesky fly, swept underneath the subconscious like forgotten specks of dirt.

You know otherwise. Real monsters don’t lurk on the undersides of mattresses; no, they lurk both in the skies above and the depths below. They do not stalk dark closets because they instead stalk alleys in daylit streets. Monsters are very real, that you know is true since you’ve seen your fair share of them. You’ve met monsters in person–they’ve come to you before. Terrifying is an understatement for them, and each time one has appeared as a client, you’re no less scared shitless.

You’ve learned that even inhumane demons find themselves in need of entertainment; like the sinful creatures they are, they seek self-pleasure. And that is how you found yourself in this particular circle of hell, meant to serve and please demons, devils, and monsters alike. Perhaps it was a revolting job, working at a strip club run by a criminal organization but it paid decent money for being danced on the fingertips of whoever you were unfortunate enough to be assigned to.

If it was a regular strip club, being an exotic dancer would have been fine. It wouldn't be so bad. Lustful and prying eyes can be accustomed to quickly, and so are the flattering compliments and the awkward flirting by middle-aged married men. However, there was a difference between lecherous and predatory gazes. Here, you aren’t even viewed as a person, no, the clients here, those that come in reeking of smoke or blood (though sometimes both), armed with knives and guns on their person, see you as nothing more than a toy or prey for them. Even in the eyes of your employer, you're less than human in their eyes.

‘You harm our merchandise, you’ll pay for it,’ is the warning given to every guest when they first enter. Merchandise. That's what you are. And that single line of words is the only thing that assures you of your safety among mafia members, gangsters, crooks, and whatnot. You've heard that the organization behind this strip club does well in enforcing that rule according to other dancers, but you personally don't want to see if the statement is true. You've been here for a little over a year, and besides bruising grips and pulled hair you’ve surprisingly yet to be seriously injured in any way. So maybe monsters do have a little humanity in them.

You're quickly growing to be a fan favorite as of recently, which means more money goes your way, but you're not sure how you feel about all the attention on you. It's most likely because of how often you offer private dances and private rooms to clients. Whatever gets you the most money; the faster you make money the faster you can pay off your debt and be out of here.

Tonight is supposed to be no different from other nights. You perform on stage, you rile up the crowd, you get showered in tips, and if there is a customer that looks mentally sane enough not to murder you in private, you take them to the back. Except, tonight, you're approached by your boss, who informs you that the entirety of the club was reserved by the Fatui, a well-known mafia more powerful and larger than the one that backs you up, for some celebration. These kinds of occurrences in the club rarely crop up, but when they do, they're often the most opportune time to bag in an abundant amount of money. Big shots like the Fatui pay and tip well, but there's one unsaid risk that comes with this: as a mere dancer like yourself, your life quite literally dangles in the Fatuis’ hands tonight. The organization that owns this establishment can't retaliate against the Fatuis if they so choose to dismiss the warning. They can't even compare to the might of the Fatui.

Simply put, if a Fatui kills you tonight, no one could do more besides bat their eyelashes. You're not at all pleased with this predicament of practically bordering on death, especially when you know one wrong move with one too hot-tempered Fatui could land you at the pearly gates. Keep pleasing the crowd, keep entertaining them, keep racking in the money, you remind yourself as you continue your dance, twirling around the pole sensually, and the customers devour every movement with their eyes. The only comfort you're given is that you've heard the Fatui are quite reasonable and diplomatic most of the time. This is especially true for the Harbingers, you've heard, the twelve most elite members that serve under the Tsaritsa, and the ones that are the most exclusive customers this night. That doesn't mean the Harbingers are any more humane than the average crook. Having worked in a strip club run by the mafia and surrounded by criminal organizations, the more rumored something is, the more dangerous it is. They can be considered devils amongst demons even. That's simply how vile they're supposed to be.

The most concerning problem about the Harbingers is that you don’t know what they look like, only the occasional whisper has alluded to how to distinguish between the twelve. Perhaps, you can survive through the night if you try not to draw too much attention; let the other dancers shine instead and hope you don’t get requested for a private room or dance. That way, you can ensure you don’t end up dead.

Your time to go upstage comes sooner than you’re prepared for. Your hands are clammy, and your form trembles in a way that only happened during your first month. Both reactions don’t make for a very good combination when your survival relies on you not fucking up and disappointing criminal customers. As you approach the pole, just like every time you’ve done, you make sure that the crowd’s gazes are in the backdrop of your mind, and instead, fixate on repeating the movements you’ve been taught and have mastered with your experience. Bet your survival on the provocative sway of your hips, the practiced showcase of your legs, and the allure of your dancing form. Beguile the crowd, but not too much, just enough to wow them. From what you can tell by the volume of the crowd, you’re doing a good job pleasing the Fatui enough. Your body stops tremoring after a few minutes on stage, and with one last final push of courage, you focus your eyes on the crowd before you.

Unsurprisingly, the makeup of the Fatui are men, though there are notably quite a few women. Either way, all of their attention is on you. As your eyes scan across a crowd, for one reason or another, you stop at a particular set of eyes near the back of the crowd. Intent, pitch-black abysses stare back, like they were trying to bore into your soul and devour every single motion of yours. They don’t quite hold the same ravenous desire as many of those before you right now, you mentally note with curiosity. It feels like your form is being calculated, in the way a predator would cautiously observe their next prey, a sensation you’ve experienced a few times, but each is no less chilling. The weight of their engrossed gaze causes you to shiver momentarily, and you snap away from their disturbing gaze to prevent any fumbling or faltering while you’re on stage.

Tonight marks the first time you actively seek out the same viewer while on stage, or even, during your entire time here. For some reason, you feel awfully bold, or curious, whichever two comforts you more, and unlike the meek little rabbit you usually are, you instead search for the viewer’s gaze. You find the pair of eyes with relative ease, as you remember that above their eyes are distinctive snow-white strands with streaks as black as their orbs. You take a moment to study them, and they remind you of a lion–or lioness–among hyenas. The aura they exude varied quite a bit compared to the other Fatui in front of you: not rambunctious, or arrogant; it's apparent they held an aura of indomitable authority just from the way they held themselves. Perfect posture with their clasped hands nested in their lap, with one leg raised over the other. They’re an embodiment of perfected elegance, however, much like a porcelain doll, they’re also expressionless, their appearance unmarred. You don’t examine the Fatui’s form for much longer because their scrutiny on you pricks at your skin irritatedly.

You don’t look for them again throughout your performance. In fact, you hope you never meet those charcoal pits again. You’re afraid that if you do, you’ll be ensnared by whatever beastly claws or fangs you know that Fatui hides underneath that impenetrable mask. The moment your time on stage ends, you rush back to the changing room to shake off your nerves. You sit down at a nearby chair, taking in deep sighs as you attempt to forget how you were stared down like a you were cornered, defenseless animal. And that is what you are, as much as you hate it. There’s nothing that can protect you from the Fatui. Maybe if you hide, never show your face for the rest of the night, they’ll forget they ever saw you and they’ll target another dancer. Surely, that will work, won’t it?

You’re able to steady your breathing before you can delve into a panic attack. Tonight, you decide, you’re not going to take any customers to any private rooms or take any private dances. You’d be missing out on a lot of money, but your life is more of a priority as of currently; not after the ‘encounter’ with that individual, you don’t want to think about how many more are just like them, hiding in the crowd like they were awaiting an opportunity to pounce on your vulnerable form.

Unfortunately, it seems like someone else has other plans for you because your manager storms into the room asking for your whereabouts before his eyes narrow on you. You immediately sit up, stiff as a board when he practically marches his way towards you.

"Someone wants you."

You sigh and shake your head. You should have known. "Not tonight."

He clicks his tongue. "You know I can't allow that tonight."

You bite your lip. "Just pass them to someone else."

"They're not someone you or I can refuse."

"Who?" You question with a shuddering breath, your nails digging into your thigh.

"The fourth one. The Knave. Lord Arlecchino."

Fuck your life. You might as well pull the trigger now. You’ve heard faint whispers of each Harbinger from the customers audacious enough to speak of them. The youngest, the eleventh, charming and boyish. The ninth, money-obsessed but a pretty looker. The eighth, elegant and cold, yet no less alluring. The seventh, as human-like as their robotic creations, which to say isn’t very. The sixth, is hotheaded and mysterious. The fifth, unknown. And the fourth?

Insane. Ruthless. Bloodthirsty. That’s how the fourth is described. You shiver at the horrors that appear on the forefront of your mind when imagining what may come for you. If you're lucky, you'll be alive at the end of the night, more than likely clinging to the edge of living.

“Well? What are you waiting for? Get ready as soon as you can.”

And you do. It’s not long until you stand in front of the private room’s door, your guest is already inside more than likely. The Fourth Harbinger is waiting, you remind yourself, fruitlessly trying to swallow down your stress. You can be dead the minute you step inside, this room could be marked as your grave. Whatever he tells you to do, you’ll obey wordlessly to survive. Just nod along, smile, and do whatever it is that he tells you regardless of the demand. You inhale deeply, regaining some ease of mind, before you bring your knuckles to the door, knocking.

“Come in,” comes a deep, flat voice, slightly muffled by its distance but what surprises you is how feminine the Harbinger sounds. Maybe you got the wrong room. You glance back at the room number plate on the door, and it’s the room you remember your manager mentioning. It’s the right room. Maybe someone else? You don’t have time to wonder, however, as you enter the room, knowing that if it is the Fourth, it wouldn’t be wise to keep him (Her? Them? You’ll just stick with ‘them’ now.) waiting.

“Lord Arlecchino?” You inquire as you enter the room, closing the door behind you. Sucking in a harsh inhale, you instantly recognize their distinct hair. It’s them. Your sight is immediately greeted by the figure sitting on the couch before you, sitting in exactly the same way you discovered them–crossed-legged and lounging back with unfaltering confidence. The Knave wears a scarlet blazer over a black compressed turtleneck, with a matching set of crimson leggings. Upon closer inspection, you’re able to make out red irises in their jet-black eyes. Despite the blatant and literal red flag, something about their appearance draws you in even when they scream danger. They’re… you’re not quite sure how to describe them. You admire the unblemished and pale skin, their elegant and rugged demeanor is like the perfect balance between femininity and masculinity. Are they beautiful, or are they handsome? You think both.

Arlecchino stares back at you like they’re considering devouring you then and there. You can’t suppress the shudder that runs down your spine. You’re a sheep before a wolf. There’s something so chilling about them that even with your experience with other clients, none has ever made you feel this way with just their mere gaze alone. This is what separates the average crook from one of the most powerful mafia members you've ever heard of.

You wait for a response but they only continue to observe you. You take the silence as confirmation to your question and that they’re anticipating something from you. Biting back a sigh of resignation, your hands hook underneath the band of your bra top and you lift it just the slightest amount before a cutting voice makes you freeze.

“What are you doing?” the Harbinger demands, their tone chilling and apathetic, making you want to shrink in yourself immediately. Your blood pumps loudly in your ears and your hands tremble a bit. Something about how designing their gaze makes you suddenly self-aware in a way you’ve never felt before another client–you’re practically half-naked in front of them with your skimpy bra top, undergarments, and fishnets and now is the only moment that you've actually considered how little covering is on you.

Why are they stopping you? Isn’t this what they wanted you to do? Or maybe they just want to do it themselves. Those types of customers always have the most bruising of grips and suffocating of holds. You stiffen at the notion. How are you going to survive this night with a Fatui Harbinger of all things? How many of your limbs are going to be fractured and how many of your bones are going to end up broken?

“I…I’m undressing,” your meek voice sounds out and you hate the crack in your speech. The Harbinger continues to scrutinize you. You don’t dare continue disrobing yourself.

There are several beats of wordless response before they then stand up from the couch.

Oh shit. You’ve fucked up. Are they going to kill you now? Is this your end?

Every thought is telling you to run in the opposite direction as they stalk up to you, but you're petrified as you realize with a chill that they’re taller than you. You’re not short by any means, a bit above average height, but they tower over you, looking down at you from above and casting judgment on you like a god. Once they stride toward you, you avoid eye contact by looking straight, observing their neck and clavicle that protrudes from underneath the fabric. You tense when they raise a hand, their manicured fingers placing themselves underneath your chin and long, carmine nails dig into the underside of your jaw, making you wince. They forcefully tilt your head, raising your focus onto their face.

It’s like they plunged their hands down your throat and ripped out the oxygen from your lungs, leaving you unable to breathe. Up close, the first thing you notice is their lips, plump and red from their lipstick. Briefly, you wonder what color their lipstick would look on your skin. Then your eyes travel up, red-crossed eyes gaze back at you and you gape quietly at the distinct shape of their pupils. You swear that their pupils flash red as you finally lock eye contact with them.

“Did I tell you to?” Their tone is cold compared to the strange softness of their handsome (beautiful?) face.

Something in your gut coils inwardly and you want to look away, but their firm hold on your chin prevents you. You bite your bottom lip to repress a whimper. You’re delicate glass in their hands, and they can break you so, so easily.

“No, sir.” Only the numerous times you’ve said this phrase ensures you don’t stumble over your words. They don’t answer promptly, but as they observe your features, their lips quirk up the slightest amount.

“You know how to address me. Very good,” Arlecchino purrs after several beats of silence, in a low, oh-so-sultry tone, and oh. Oh.

You’re not sure why, but their last two words make your stomach churn, but not in a discomforting way. In the way that lights a fire underneath your skin and spreads heat to every part of your body. You’ve never quite felt this way with another customer. You couldn’t believe that your body reacts this way just from a single praise but it doesn’t stop the pooling heat in your bowels. The chill down your spine still remains in place, but there’s an off-putting equilibrium of iciness and fervor generated from the client.

The Fatui’s eyes stay fixated on you wordlessly until the hand on your chin turns your head, finally breaking you free of their intense behold. Their grip slackens so that they can trace their nails gently down your throat, every inch of surface their fingertips brush against ignites a blaze on your skin. A shuddering exhale leaves your lips and it seems like they take notice because from the corner of your eye, the small uptick of their mouth grows. Despite how sensual and probing the Harbinger’s touch feels, there’s nothing lecherous about it–purely just intrigue and fascination. It’s a touch you both have and never experienced before. Cold nails rake against your throat, not enough to mark or scratch, but enough to invoke shivers.

You’re aware you should be terrified, but for a reason you can’t pin down, you can’t jerk away from their touch. You try to reason with yourself it was only because you’re one upset away from getting yourself killed but that reasoning falls apart when their hand gingerly traces your jawline and you make the softest of groans, a barely audible noise of content. Unfortunately for you, the sound seems to have reached Arlecchino’s ears and their expression softens slightly: their eyes narrow less and their brows aren’t as creased. And that smirk–if you could even call it that from how faint it is–becomes a half-smirk.

They pull their hand away and your trance is broken, reality returning back to you as you remember that the person before you is still a Fatui Harbinger, no matter how bizarrely melting their touch was. They turn on their heel and walk towards the couch in front of you; the slightest bit of heaviness is placed on your heart. You remain stationary where you are, observing them as they seat themselves gracefully on the couch, and their attention encounters yours again. Their black pits hold expectancy in them. At first, you’re clueless as to what the criminal desires from you, but then their legs spread apart, an inviting gesture that beckons you and every rational thought leaves your easily swayed mind. Your heart skips a beat, and you're sure this time it's not out of trepidation.

Even if you didn’t command them to, your legs would take you to their seating figure. You stand before them, feeling blatantly disrespectful to look down at Arlecchino, but you await their order. They lean back, lounging laxly against the couch, their posture never lacking their usual self-assurance. It only ties the knot in your gut tighter. You’re aware of what they’re instructing you to do, but the absent confirmation makes you hesitant. It seems like the Knave picks up on this because the room echoes with one definitive spouted word from their lips, authority and dominance ringing through their husky voice.

“Sit.”

Your legs buckle underneath you from the one-worded response, the demand only stoking the consuming fire inside you. Eager to please, you perch yourself on their lap, straddling them, your knees pressed into the furniture below you and encasing both of their thighs between your own.

Oh, you think to yourself as your legs make contact with their thighs. They're firm. And for some reason, that provokes your stomach to churn in itself even more. You're so close to them, enough to feel their breath cascade against your skin.

As you seat yourself, you nearly clumsily topple over, instinctively grasping onto their shoulders for support. Their shoulders are remarkably broad, you regard, well-muscled as well. Their hands creep up on your hips, steady but gentle hands grasping on each bare side of yours to stabilize you. The heat that radiates from their hands is infectious, regardless of the nails that burrow into your plush waist. For the first time, you flush considerably, a sweltering inferno forming in your cheeks and your head fills with dizziness. Their touch is gentle–something you rarely experience with customers–so, so gentle that you would describe it as heavenly. How can someone so inexplicably vile have heaven on their fingertips?

It's not a position you never found yourself in. In fact, it's far from the first time you've been like this with another client. But here, as you're sat on top of the Fatui Harbinger, and red x-pupils search yours, a foreign feeling passes through you. Placing your finger on it, you dubiously think it's bashfulness, but the heartbeat that sings in your ears and pulses underneath your fingertips tells you otherwise, tells you it's something more. Against that, you remove your grasp on their shoulders and place your palm flat against the couch’s surface behind the Knave.

You squirm a bit, nervousness in your form as you remain as still as you possibly can, waiting for any more instructions. All you need to do is act like an obedient doll for them in order to survive; compliance is the best way of ensuring survival with people like these. You feel like you're merely eye candy from the way that their attention flits across your body, but you're immobile throughout the entirety of their observance. Being looked at is much better than any physical interaction. Their hands still cup your hips, but slowly, they descend to the side of your thighs, making your skin feel tingly.

Impulsively, you mumble out a quiet "Sir…" as strange sensations brush against your skin.

The sound surprises you and you feel on edge as their eyes travel from your lower half to your face. You gulp considerably. From their stare, they expect more of a response, a reason for their addressment, but even you don’t know yourself; it seems like an unconscious calling that just rolled off your tongue. You cow underneath their gaze, even when the two of you are at eye level. When you linger in quietude, their hand releases one of your thighs and lifts to your face, supporting your chin while their thumb rests on your bottom lip, unfurling it just the slightest amount to implore an answer from your now parted lips. Gleaming scarlet pupils grip your regard sternly, piercing into you and instilling you to spew something out. Except, you still can’t, now too entranced and lost in the crimson.

“Doll.”

Despite the pet name, it's devoid of any affection or warmth. It's a word that drips of command, a reminder of your place: simply a toy that they can play with however they want, a manipulated and decorated plaything for their amusement. That means you answer to them, and so when they request a response, you're under the obligation to please them. Your survival is in their palms anyway, if they wanted you to dance, you would just so they wouldn’t strangle the life out of you.

However, its implication doesn’t prevent the tingling shudders that wrack your body nor the involuntary clenching of your thighs around theirs. Was it the gravelly voice that aroused your behavior? Your cheeks flare at the knowledge that Harbinger sensed the physical reaction. It shouldn't be possible. It shouldn't be possible, your thoughts repeat, but then they're interrupted by:

"Oh?" Arlecchino inquires to themselves, a stark amusement in their speech. Their red glare illuminates slightly, replacing the lost darkening with a faint glow in their pupils, and the corner of their mouth curls up. It is only then that you discover something entirely new: that monsters can be sinfully, cataclysmically, terrifyingly beautiful and the sight before you is the most exquisite example. A devil has you wrapped in its claws and its fangs readied for devouring but it’s disguised as an ethereal angel; blinded by their perilous allure, you mistake their snow-white hair, their lustrous piercing rubies, their flawless porcelain skin, and their burning, fleeting touches as traits of a seraph. From a measly smirk, you forget the atrocities lying underneath their fingertips and dismiss the hazard their presence holds.

The hand on your thigh rakes its fingers up, red nails trailing across the surface of your fishnet, wrenching out a breathy gasp from you as they travel inwards. Tingling pleasure injects into your veins as you subconsciously lean in, imploring for further sensual contact. A plea sits on your tongue and nests in your eyes as you beg them through your pitiful expression. They drink in your desperation with a slow swipe of their tongue over their lips, and that single action is debauched enough to elicit a soft groan from your throat.

“Well, aren’t you an amusing toy?” They drawl out with a preposing rasp and dark abysses glint with an insatiable hunger.

They smirk enticingly, their thumb running across your bottom lip and smearing your lipstick on their thumb pad. Their grip on your chin tightens a bit, pulling you even closer to them before a shadow casts over you when their face nears. Before you can even fathom their intentions, they descend upon you, closing the distance between the two of you. Your lips are greeted with something pillowy soft and fervently warm, and you sharply inhale from the sensation. Every one of your nerves sings frenziedly, your muscles tense all over, and your heartbeat drums deafeningly in your ears–all of this as your body is engulfed in a fervid tornado of heat that makes you lightheaded with pleasure. It takes you several beats to realize the reason for this is that Lord Arlecchino, the Fourth Harbinger, the Knave is kissing–no, kissing is far too intimate, devouring–you voraciously like they're trying to rob you of any air, trying to imprint themselves on your mouth. Their mouth dominates yours, pushing against them with a deep fervor and famished urgency, eager to swallow every bit of shocked noise you make.

You close your eyes and allow yourself to indulge.

You first taste lipstick with a waxy flavor hitting your tastebuds. It’s cold against your lips, yet warm at the same time. But the physical texture and flavor of their lips are irrelevant; there’s only one true manner you would distinguish their taste:

They taste like sin.

The type of sin that’s chocolate coated and sprinkled with colorful toppings; depravity so sweet and charming it makes you reconsider the bounds of right and wrong. Degeneracy is far, far tastier than anything you’ve indulged in before. How can something so evil be so heavenly? Cushiony soft, placidly warm, flatteringly zealous, it’s like having a dance with a devil; so unequivocally immoral but no less gratifying. You question if they really belong to the Fatui because how can something like this come from such? You want to engrave the texture of their mouth onto your memory, feel this faux intimacy even when you’ve long parted. The Fourth Harbinger, you surmise as you surrend your will to them, is decadent–the only word that can be defined as both wicked and delectable at once–the perfect word to describe them.

The last remaining bit of reasoning comes to the backdrop of your thoughts and begs you to not be swept away in the heavenly embrace. You discount it in favor of accepting this godsent gift by leaning further with a weak imitation of their ravishing lips and pressing back. It’s a feeble attempt to match their insatiate nature, far too domineering and forceful than you can manage but they display a token of appreciation when they squeeze your thigh, indenting your skin shallowly with the burrowing of their nails. The action exposes just how sensitive you’ve gone underneath their touch and you reward them with the sweetest of sounds.

“Arlecchino,” you mumble with half-lidded dazed eyes in between ravenous exchanges and it evokes a depraved throaty growl from the Fatui, like provoking a call from a starving beast. They lean deeper to indulge in your taste. The gruff sound reaches your ears and it’s like a psalm–you shudder from its musical melody.

Their clutch on your jaw releases and their fingers outline your jawline before snaking to the back of your head. Well-manicured digits entangle themselves in your hair, and there’s a gentle shove against your skull that forces you deeper into the kiss. Your hands clutch onto the couch underneath you as tight as you physically can for any sense of grounding and your knees attempt to close in even more to feel more of their body against yours. The hand on your leg, in turn, caresses the length of your thigh.

Every graceful touch, stroke, and brush exudes an unyielding and infectious warmth that only adds to the stoking fire in your gut, and you’re bathed in so much swelter from the ecstasy that you feel dizzy. Yet, you never want it to end, you grow more addicted and drunk with each encounter of their lips. That, paired with your strained breathing, prompts your stamina to falter much sooner than the Harbinger’s. You let out a soft whine to signal your depleting oxygen, and their mouth unlatch with yours, pulling away despite your ache for more. With the separation comes a small string of saliva attached between the two of you, evidence of the shared intimacy that’s snapped when they lick their lips. The hand behind your head detangles from your hair and you silently mourn over the loss of contact.

You heave for air, your chest rising and falling rapidly. You’re a little perturbed when you notice that they’re not even out of breath, a small but firm reminder that they’re as inhuman as humans can be. That knocks a sense of reality back into you. Customer, mafia, Fatui, Harbinger, it comes back to you like a train. Here you are swapping spit with them while in the lap of potentially the most dangerous criminal you could ever meet, but fuck were they a good kisser–you’ve never experienced anything that came close to this in your lifetime.

Any foolish doubtful contemplation of the morality of this interaction is swept away just like that when you hear:

“Greedy little thing that you are,” they regard with the most cunning and handsome of smiles, discrete amusement dripping from their words. Their dark pits behold you entirely, the same way they have always done when it seems like they were contemplating what part of you to savor the most. Only this time, you’re not so disturbed by the notion. If anything, the swirling heat in between your legs suggests the opposite.

Greedy wasn't a word often associated with you, yet you couldn't more correctly describe yourself in that moment. Greedy. Greedy for a Fatui Harbinger no less. As ashamed as you should be, there's no use denying that you crave for their touch, for their gaze, for anything and everything they're willing to give you. You want everything and more. The more you contemplate, the more it seems obvious why you wouldn’t. Are they a devil disguised as an angel, or are they an angel that fell from grace? Regardless, they bring nirvana to you. An incessant desire bubbles inside you, your throat swelling up with an urgent request on the tip of your tongue. Would they allow such a thing if you plead? Would they be offended by your impudence? Would they punish you for such? But the necessity outweighs any reconsideration of your insolence and the supplicant beg tumbles out of your loose lips.

“Can I… touch you please, my Lord?” You croak out, wincing at just how wretched it comes out. The response from them is not immediate as the two of you stew in silence, a building sense of dejection inside of you. The expression on their face noticeably contorts, smile lessening, their brows furrowing, and their red x’s glinting dimly. Their free hand raises to near your neck and you suck in a harsh breath as their fingers enclose around your throat. The mere action sends a stinging reminder to your lust-dazed thoughts about their position, and a chill pierces you.

Mafia, Fatui, Harbinger, the Fourth Harbinger, the Knave–the labels cycle through your thoughts. Though their grip is lax, not exactly suffocating and giving ample space to breathe, their fingertips does acutely jab into your skin, a display of their impressive grip strength. You have no doubt that they can suffocate you with one hand alone, snap your neck, or, as your mind ventures into more harrowing territories, crush your skull. Those thoughts alone has you breathless with anticipation. A heavy weight suddenly appears in your gut, so heavy that you feel like you can’t move so much as a muscle.

Did you just go too far? Was that too much to ask? Was this how you were going to die?

The reflex to gag and inhale combat each other in your throat, a discomforting sensation that crawls up your spine while you tremble. You’re almost certain that the nails have penetrated the layer of skin, drawing beads of blood that’ll trail down your mark. You whimper at the prickly pain. Yet, in all your unease, the most masochistic thought arrives briefly at the forefront, and you can’t help but consider: this position is just as intimate as all the other interactions. You’re already so vulnerable in their lap, does the hand around your neck change your peril in any way? No, you’ve been a defenseless lamb to a slaughter the moment you’ve stepped into the domain of a menacing wolf.

Ah. Even now, you can’t dismiss the warmth of their fingertips.

“Do you still want to touch me when I do this?” They demand callously, their voice harsh and reverberating through the room. Their grasp closes more around, and you feel your supply of oxygen inhibited. Tears begin to brim your eyes, but you’re undeterred. Unlike Arlecchino’s, your answer is instant and breathless. Your eyes intently lock on theirs, the hardened expression enough to satisfy their question. There’s no need for contemplation. Danger, you determine, is addicting.

“Yes.”

The previously small smile stretches across their lips considerably. Content, or dare you say it, thrill writes itself over their face and the boulder previously pressed against your shoulders is lifted. Your throat is freed from their hold, but their touch doesn’t halt there. Instead, they rotate your head for you to face to the left, exposing your side profile to them. From the corner of your eyes, you watch as their face draws closer to your skin, hot breath cascading across the small dents her nails created. The one on your thigh finally leaves, moving to one of your hips, tender strokes across your flushed surface. They lean forward, and moist, plush skin meets yours. Lips traverse over the length of your neck, teeth scraping against, making you weakly groan. It takes all of your will to still your body, only allowing for the Harbinger to do whatever they desire to your form. Their touches are burning, burning, burning–so hot that you wonder if you’re experiencing a heat wave. Peppered kisses follow the edge of your jawbone, all the way up to your earlobe. A wet kiss graces your ear and then the most sinful of statements dignifies your eardrums, like a devil whispering hymns directly into your ear.

“I think I’ll keep you to myself after this.”

A short hum follows afterward.

“If you want to touch me, you’ll have to work for it. You’re only mine for tonight, aren't you? Entertain me. Give me a private dance, doll. After all, you have me for all night.”

---

Link to M-Alexa's amazing art and how I imagine Arlecchino to look like in this oneshot.

#arlecchino x reader #arlecchino x you #arlecchino #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin impact fanfics #guys I'm so tired it's 2AM rn #i have school tomorrow guys #i chose to finish this tonight despite the shit ton of homework I have to do #arlecchino brain rot does that to you #def worth it #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact arlecchino #genshin arlecchino #genshin fics #arlecchino smut #edgeray.writes #edgeray.blog

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borisbubbles · 20 days

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Eurovision 2024: #27

27. FRANCE Slimane - "Mon amour" 4th place

youtube

Decade ranking: 103/153 [Above The Black Mamba, below Marco Mengoni]

Slimane has a very powerrful voice. 🙂

THE RANKING

Okay, FINE. I suppose I can't leave it like that. 🙄 Although I'd much rather would.

So *SLIME*-MANE. There's a lot to unpack and a lot I know most people will disagree with my takes, but oh well. I've ranked Joost low, and Mustii low, so it's only fair the Slimane fans get some scalding hot truth tea splashed in the face from this deluded overthinker. Disliking men is a much more productive way to run away from my problems than simpling them is.

So remember how I spoke about songs designed to Make People Cry? You know I hold emotional extortion in contempt. "Pity" is just a slightly more charitable way of looking down at others, and shouldn't be strived for. These anthems are inherently designed to manipulate the undiscerning into uglycrying while offering very little sustainance. Yep, we're here yet again. Another song that doesn't pass even a tiny bit of scrutiny, except in a language most viewers do not speak.

In fact, I'm pretty sure that "Mon Amour"'s francophoneness is what made many people sleep on the fact that it's not exactly narratively sound. Most people that I've spoken about ESC to that understand French haven't responded well to "Mon Amour" (lol one of my French friends bursting into chat all "SLIMANE REPS US? EW. HIS MUSIC IS SO BORING AND CORNY 😣" hours after Mon Amour's release passed without comment from any of us ♥).

The indifference makes sense when you read the lyrics. It's filled with cliche's that scream "I YEM ZE FR0NCH~", a little bit too much on the nose. If I thought "Évidemment" was bad, this is worse. Lines such as "reviens à Paris" and ''Es-ce-que tu-m'aimes où pas?" are such clichés they feel thoughtless and expected, like someone writing out the monologue on autopilot.

But what sets me off is the overal narrative. Slimane and France have attempted to retcon "Mon amour" as "the story of an artist reaching out to his fans, seeking validation" but that is not what the lyrics read out. Instead, speak of the aftermath of a broken romance, where SHE has had her heart shattered to a degree that she LEFT THE PROTAGONIST'S HOMETOWN FOR AN UNKNOWN DESTINATION AND BROKE OFF ALL CONTACT. Instead of giving her, you know, personal space or time to reflect, or even lick his wounds, he keeps desperately asking her whether she still loves him or not. Dude, I don't know her, and I know the answer is "no". Give it a rest, and move on. Sadly, Slimane didn't move on and spends a full three minutes wailing on about it. "I want her, I need her only her, why doesn't she love me". We know where this ends - with a restraining order and either her or him dead and dismembered inside a dumpster six months later. (Australia's jury of snarky yet emotionally intelligent gays picking up on this and ranking him dead last ♥ bless them ♥)

As you can perhaps tell, the above realizations completely KILL the romantic aspect of the song for me. I cannot, and WILL NOT get into its grief and sadness. All the parties involved should be GLAD it's over.

Instrumentally, the song's just... generic piano ballad, nothing new or innovative here. Dime a dozen, we've heard it before, bla bla bla. "Mon amour" is a nothingburger, an empty vessel for Slimane's vocal chops.

Which brings me to another problem I have with it - I personally don't really care much about technical skill? Eurovision is an audio-visual SONG contest, not a SINGING contest. It is cool that you can nail those masturbatory vocal projections. You're a singer who can sing. "Loud" however is a pitch, not an emotion. It would have been more impressive if you've also discovered the cure of cancer alongside it. (Curing tumors with vocal vibrations. Medical students reading this, get on it so I can be impressed by Slimane.)

Focusing exclusively on that though, is annoying to me. Good Eurovision entrants start with a SONG. "Mon amour" barely classifies as one. End off.

That isn't to say I cannot respect Slimane's vocal for what it was. I mean THIS:

is a feat only a few vocalists can successfully pull off. It is MORE impressive the first time you witness it before the laws of Diminishing Returns kicks in. But it was immensely clever to trial it at Dora and then include it into the song itself - it gives the performance stakes and gravitas, so why not?

However that brought the song's weakness even more to the forefront to me. My logic is the following: if you can pull off such a stunt, then why aren't you the immediate fave to win? Eurovision 2024 was the most open year perhaps of all times, and I'm supposed to believe a voice THIS strong cannot win it by itself? There are enough examples of strong vocals POWERING through merely decent songs (Céline and Corinne Hermès for instance) into a first place. If you can pull that off and still lose doesn't that prove your song is fucking shite?

Going into the contest I was HOPING to get something out of the live besides Big Vocals and also that France wouldn't morph into a direct contender to win (You would HOPE that 2024's varied and exciting line-up was competitive enough as to not crown a vocal projection exercise as its winner), and ultimately, I got both of my wishes because Eurovision 2024 was BORISVISION. I was the meta this year, bitches, and I think fourth place is a perfectly reasonable result for a vocal that strong on a song that nonexistent.

But more importantly, Slimane managed to inject his performance with EMOTIONS and good god I really needed that.

It took a LOT of effort from Slimane for me to recognize that yes, this man is cooking with gas, and his expertise elevates the whole package. "Seductive" is the incorrect emotion for the subject matter but whatever. Ignoring the subject matter is the only way you can enjoy the song, so if that's what one must to do end the night on a high note, so be it. I let it pass, with few regrets.

Like Nutsa, he served enough for me to respect him ~as a performer~ who deserved the result he got. Like "Firefighter", I still have some contempt for the song itself, and there's a strict limit for how Im i'm willing to place it.

Turns out that boundary lies at Marco Mengoni. "Mon amour" always felt like a lazy, soulless answer to "Due vite" for me, and I'm not willing put it ahead, nor to re-examine my stance on DV so quickly after my 2023 ranking. "Due vite" was a song that ultimately wasn't my cup of tea, but it was the superior composition, and deserves a higher mark.

So ultimately, I end with Slimane a bittersweet note. A man with the capability to win the Eurovision Song Contest, yes and who manifested his impending loss with below average penmanship. If the French are looking for someone to blame for not winning once since 1977, they can start with their failure to recognize their 2024 song needed a revamp.

THE RANKING (again)

#Eurovision #eurovison song contest #esc 2024 #eurovision 2024 #esc #Malmö 2024 #France #Slimane #Mon Amour #BorisBubbles

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envythemouse · 5 days

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All-time Sam/Dean recs

Plotty:

Intertextuality by doctor__idiot

Summary: It starts out as a joke. Sam has no other excuse than boredom. And maybe a little pettiness.

Envy’s notes: Sam gets annoyed when Dean keeps trying to flirt with girls they come across. The solution? Flirt with Dean himself.

Another Go Round by KassandraScarlett

Summary: Someone sends Dean back to 2009, with a mission: change the past, change the present, so the apocalypse never happens.

Dean leaves behind a Croatoan-ridden world, only to stumble into the one person he's always loved more than anything else.

Or:

Zachariah doesn't send Dean to 2014. Instead, Chuck sends the Dean of the future to 2009.

Envy’s notes: Sam Winchester/apocalyptic Dean is the best ship we have in the fandom so I had to put it on the list. Apocalyptic Dean gets sent to 2009 right after Sam tries to kill himself to get away from Lucifer. This Dean knows what it’s like to truly lose his other half and so treats Sam with the love he deserves. I love affectionate Sam/Dean. Even better, other Dean watches it all happen and is jealous of himself.

Sincerely, Sam by Samcursed

Summary: Sam Winchester is praying for death.

Dean's already gone after sacrificing himself to take out Amara and Sam's losing more and more of himself each day at Lady Bevell's hands. He's reached his limit. Then suddenly he finds himself in 1998 and the sole focus of a supernatural lawyer who has one very firm request; She needs Sam to cure a demon. Dad, Dean, and Bobby won't let him out of their sights and Sam has enough to juggle with the swarm of supernatural creatures who think the Boy King has come back to take his crown.

Envy’s notes: Older Sam and younger Sam switch places so it has younger Dean/older Sam in the past and younger Sam/older Dean in the future. Sam uses his powers in this and the demons rebel because their boyking has arrived, some demons are trying to break the seals decades earlier because Lucifer has also noticed Sam’s presence. Oh and Sam think his Dean is dead and wants to join him.

The Truth In The Lie by flawedamythyst

Summary: Sam and Dean pretend to be gay lovers while they hunt a monster on a bus tour of Nova Scotia.

Envy’s notes: Lots of physical affection and damn do I love these original characters. Sam and Dean go undercover as a couple on a bus tour for gay men, they do a lot of sightseeing. There’s this guy hitting on Sam and he has no idea because he can’t read signals, but Dean does notice.

Pacified by Parroticat (hanover)

Summary: Set in season 7 after they've got Lucifer out of Sam's head. Sam starts having nightmares, waking up every night screaming himself hoarse, weak and exhausted. Dean fixes it the only way that has ever worked, no matter how embarrassing Sam finds it.

Envy’s notes: Sam starts wetting the bed after going to hell, Dean takes care of it. Not a kinky fic, just hurt/comfort.

073 – Barry by ani_coolgirl

Summary: In remembrance of the life and times of Barry Cook. Sam remembers perhaps a bit too much.

Envy’s notes: In which Barry helped Sam find out his sexuality and knew Sam’s brother was also Sam’s first crush. When Sam tells Dean about Barry, he realises Sam has feelings for him.

For You to Me are the Only One by flowerofnettles

Summary: Classic trope, Winchester Drama version—Before the boys hit her with witch-killin’ bullets, the monster of the week puts a curse on Dean: either he has sex within five days, or his heart will give out. The catch? The curse was designed to make its target violent during sex, and naturally Dean refuses to put anyone’s life at risk to save his own. As the fifth day gets closer, a desperate Sam makes the choice for them both, by offering (with a little help from Castiel’s angel powers) the only person he’s willing to risk at Dean’s hands: himself. Only when it ends they’ve got bigger problems, because Sam never expected that a few nights pretending to be a stranger volunteering to take care of Dean could lead to such shocking discoveries about himself, his brother, and the strength of the bond tying their souls together.

Envy’s notes: Not as smutty as it sounds. It has a lot of feels also. Hidden identity!Sam/cursed Dean. It’s all very consensual (except for Dean not knowing it’s Sam). It’s over 50k words so you can spend the night reading it.

It's Just Research by brokenlittleboy

Summary: Sam becomes obsessed with the "wincest" shippers on the forums for fans of Carver Edlund's "Supernatural." Dean finds out.

Envy’s notes: Sam starts reading wincest and then becomes a fanfiction writer because what better way to let all those feelings out?

Well Jung by alwaysthrowsscissors

Summary: The brothers are faced with their broken relationship in the aftermath of Gadreel’s possession and Kevin’s death. In an act of desperation, they go to couple’s therapy to try to work things out. It may bring them closer than they bargained for. This fic starts off funny and becomes more intimate and serious as the boys navigate their first time and process it with their therapist.

Envy’s notes: Sam and Dean go to a couple’s therapist to fix their relationship, they misunderstand some of their therapist’s advice.

Sam’s brow got further and further stitched as he looked at article after article. “She can’t possibly have meant this.”

“What do you mean?"

“It’s all...sex stuff," Sam said, crinkling his nose in disgust.

Baby Bird by TheQuietWings

Summary: Sam is sick, and Dean has some… unconventional methods to make him eat.

Envy’s notes: Dean feeds Sam mouth to mouth. Oddly sweet.

Embarrassing Crushes by Marie_Tomas

Summary: Sam and Dean get drunk and share a few embarrassing stories. When they ask each other about their most embarrassing crushes, the answers that they both give are kind of...surprising.

Envy’s notes: This one is really sweet and I love the way Dean reacts to Sam’s confession.

When This is Over, We Should Really Have Angry Sex by mjlove1 and oulfulsam

Summary: A Wincestous deleted scenes take on "Red Sky At Morning" S3 While Sam Dean & Bela are at the party Sam overhears something that leads to a very jealous miscommunication. Rated M for graphic Wincest in Ch2. 2-shot written w/ the wonderful& talented MJLove

Envy’s notes: Established wincest. Sam overhears what the guard says and thinks Dean actually slept with Bella.

023 – confession by ani_coolgirl

Summary: There are some things you can only say when you're alone. What Sam doesn't realize is that he's not alone.

Envy’s notes: Ghost!Dean hears Sam talking to his comatose body in S2:E01 Time of Dying. Why can they only be sweet to one another when one of them is dying??

Always My Pretty Baby by taiyou_nii_chan

Summary: Sam has always been Dean's "pretty baby" but years have gone by and he hasn't been feeling "pretty" or "a baby" lately. Dean takes care of fixing that.

Envy’s notes: A personal favourite because Sam doesn’t get called pretty enough, it’s always Dean :(

017 – backfire by ani_coolgirl

Summary: Sam gets Dean back for the itching powder. It doesn't quite go like he planned.

Envy’s notes: Sam pranks Dean by making someone think they’re a couple. You can never go wrong with pretend relationship fics.

I Can't Forget the Time or Place Where We Just Met by alwaysthrowsscissors

Summary: Sam and Dean fall asleep on the couch, wake up cursed with amnesia, and assume they're in a relationship. After exploring their surroundings, they can't keep their hands off each other any longer. The curse breaks mid-sex.

Envy’s notes: Another one of my favourite tropes. Both have amnesia and assume they’re a couple.

Hell changes people by blueingaround

Summary: After Sam almost sees Dean die in that barn, he can't quite shake the feeling that something's going to happen if he loses sight of him. He had never wanted to be as close to his brother as now. He can't take his eyes off him. After weeks of recovery, Dean wants to go back to hunting, but Sam wants him to just stay home. He knows the way he feels about his brother is wrong, but after hell, Sam finds it difficult to remember social norms.

aka Sam is struggling after Dean's recovery and they go on a hunt together. Some monster is hunting incestuous couples and some feelings are revealed. They decided to have sex to play bait for the monster and this turns out way more emotional than they both had expected it.

Envy’s notes: Sam has wanted to be closer to Dean ever since going to hell. Here’s one of my favourite pieces of dialogue:

“You're telling me you're fine with incest?”

“As long as no one's getting hurt? Sure.” Sam said, shrugging again.

Dean was silent for a few seconds. Sam turned to look at him and saw his brother with a frown and his mouth slightly open in astonishment.

“You're fucked in the head, Sam.”

“We both are.” He said. “It just seems I'm a little more messed up than you are. But that isn't news.”

Smutty:

Best Brother Ever by Mayalaen

Summary: Prompt fill for the request of Dean/Sam, dirty talk, virgin!Dean, coming untouched, massage, fingering, unexpected orgasm.

Dean is really sore after a hunt, and Sam offers a massage. Dean's first reaction is a big no, but his back is killing him, so he gives in. It turns out Sam's awesome at massages, and Sam knows what will help relax him even more.

Envy’s notes: Sexual healing, literally. Massage fics that lead to more are always great.

State Of Emergency by PerpetualCookie

Summary: Dodgeville, Michigan. January 2000.

The Winchesters get caught in the biggest snowstorm of the winter. Trapped in their motel room by drifts of snow six feet high, they’re more inside of each other’s pockets than normal.

John hears some things he wasn’t meant to hear.

Envy’s notes: Young Sam and Dean have sex while their dad is in the same room. John is not sleeping.

I'll Take Care of You by Katlover98

Summary: Ever since Toni Bevell mind fucked Sam he has had trouble getting it up. Dean tries to help him when he finds out and it leads to sexy time.

Envy’s notes: Dean helps a sexually frustrated Sam.

Every First Time by antarshakes

Summary: It all starts with a threesome, really. It all continues through threesomes. Then, it’s just minus one.

Envy’s notes: A pretty realistic way wincest could happen.

"Handsome, could you show Dean here what kind of kiss really turns a girl on, please?"

Cowboys and Indians by saltandbyrne

Summary: An account of the times Sam jizzed himself while Dean pinned his hands down, starting with a game of cowboys and indians.

Envy’s notes: Who knew a game of cowboys and indians could be so hot?

And the Truth Shall Set You Free by Nutkin

Summary: Sam gets hit with a truth spell, and Dean decides to do some digging. It turns out a surprising number of Sam's most embarrassing fantasies involve Dean. A very toppy Dean.

Envy’s notes: omg I love this one so much. Sam is under a truth spell, Dean asks him what crazy stuff he likes in bed and Sam is just like: you.

"What about me?"

"You on top of me." Sam swallowed, willing it to stop, but the words just kept tumbling out. "You holding me down."

#slash #fanfiction #sam winchester #supernatural #fic rec #fanfiction recommendation #fanfiction recs #dean winchester #sam/dean #sam x dean #wincest #fanfiction rec list #fanfic rec #masterlist

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polyamorouscultureis · 9 months

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hi! i just found your page and i was hoping that maybe i could get some guidance because i haven't seen many people in this predicament and i've scoured the internet. i'm she/her, Z is he/him, and G is he/him. i am currently in a relationship with Z (we've been together for 2 years) and Z and I are both bisexual/biromantic. i met G 6 months ago playing D&D and we've been nearly inseparable since we met, we recently became best friends. G is only into men and so i've wanted a platonic relationship with him for a few months now. i am also asexual. we are all going on a trip to meet each other in a week or so and i brought up the idea to Z of perhaps him and G doing more sexual things and G actually agreed! they are both open to doing nothing, a little bit, a lot, and possibly even a romantic relationship! G and I decided we would be holding hands, kissing on cheeks, laying heads in laps, playing with hair, and all the domestic stuff to make sure i am included during the trip. i am ecstatic over the thought of them becoming more because having G be in my life for longer would be amazing and we would be so much closer to each other (even though we are best friends right now). but G said the other day that if he got in a relationship with Z that the lines between us would be kind of fuzzy in a way. i'm new to polyamory (even though i've identified for years) and i don't know what to define us as? a vee? a closed triad? i'm assuming it's whatever we want to define ourselves as. does triad have to mean that everyone is having sex with each other? i'm especially confused because I am asexual and G and I have the closest relationship that is platonic but not romantic because he is not into women. do you have any advice on going about this or what to possibly call the three of us if this does happen? i don't know if thrupple is the right term either. any advice would be much appreciated and you've found yourself a lifelong follower of your blog! thank you so much!!!

You're absolutely right that you can define it however you want to! To me you sound like a triad, but you could be many things. Labels are weird and the lines between friendship, queerplatonic relationships, and romantic relationships are murky and complicated for almost all of us. Don't be afraid to just do what feels right without labeling it at all.

Also, polyamory and sexuality are entirely different things. People of all sexualities and romantic orientations can be polyamorous - straight, gay, bi, pan, ace, aro, demi, anything. Labels are all just a collection of words to describe experiences and there are no hard and fast rules.

Excited for you, anon!

#polyam asks #advice #labels #asexual #polyamory #polyam #polyamorous #lgbtq #poly #polycule

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polyamorouspunk · 3 months

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Fully agree with you on the trans thing. It’s something I struggled with for a LONG time that I didnt *want* to be fully 100% trans. Like I fit in with trans people, I was transmasc, but I never felt *trans*. If that makes any sense??

People used to tell me all the time that I had to be trans if I checked xyz boxes. And I hated it. Now, years later, I’ve made it to a point that I just *am*. And it took me SO LONG to realize that was even an option. To just be myself without putting a label on it. I dont need to be fully cis or fully trans. Im just a little bit of everything and fully me.

It still confuses my queer friends. That I just *do not* care and dont put any importance on it. So its nice to see someone else with that opinion. Thank you

Yes!

Listen like I do not care if people reblog my posts and disagree with me. Like that’s you’re right as an individual. But what I don’t like is when I make a post talking about my identity and someone “corrects” me on it.

The problem with the push to be super inclusive, sometimes, is that people stop making it about who *wants* to be a part and who doesn’t.

I know people who are gay men who have 0 interest in being part of the LGBTQ+ community. Gay men who are like I’m not queer I’m not part of the community I’m just gay but I’m not identifying with the community in any way.

I know people who have described their “gender” to me almost verbatim the way that trans people have described to me their gender and have told me they do not consider themselves trans in any way, and it kind of sucks because I’m like… I know that if I were someone else they might put that label on that person even if that person doesn’t want it?

I’ve had people ON THIS BLOG send me asks telling me I am not trans and other people send me asks saying I’m not cis. Like lmao it’s so fucking funny pick one you guys. I gotta be one or the other- SIKE no I don’t. I’ve had people dump me over saying “I’m both cis and trans” which in hindsight seems kinda ableist because that was actually when I started IDing as plural so like. The idea you can’t be both is like. You know there are people with different experiences than you right. Like some common enough to be in textbooks. Not like some “out there” concepts like if you can grasp the concept of DID you can understand how perhaps to some degree a person can be different than their literal AGAB without being trans. Just for one example.

Sometimes I also fail to realize this but. When you reblog someone’s post, or comment on it, or send them an ask, etc… you are coming into THEIR space. I mean it very much went through my mind to be like “just ignore it” but I was like someone is coming onto MY post where I try and validate MY gender experiences and telling me people like ME are quite literally exactly what I’m talking about where I’m like actually I’m valid if I’m a little trans and outright saying “YOU AREN’T A LITTLE TRANS UWU” like. Hi it’s you you’re the problem you’re the people I’m validating myself to. Like I don’t care how politely and nicely you try and dress it up with inclusive language do not put me into a box I do not want to be put in because you think “that I have to be trans because I check xyz boxes” yeah literally. I know fully cis people who check “xyz boxes” and I ain’t out here telling them that actually they’re trans and valid for it. Like bro if you tell me you’re cis who am I to disagree.

In the near future you’ll never hear the words “I’m transgender” come out of my mouth directly. I might post it on here or say irl that I “dabble in transgenderism” but I do not outright say irl in person that I am transgender not because I’m “dealing with internalized transphobia” and “not ready to fully accept myself to be transgender in the real world instead of just offline” like no I just don’t ID as “transgender” period. Or you know what maybe I am but also who are you to say that’s what I am? How are you helping exactly? How is acting like I can’t “really accept myself for who I truly am” helping me any? Idk. Just because you have good intentions doesn’t make it better than the people who have bad intentions. Both are issues. Both are problematic.

Learn to go “actually it’s not my fucking business if someone is trans or cis or neither” and “they can call themselves whatever they want” and that includes NOT wanting to be included.

#bro like even Nimona says in the movie ‘I’m not a girl I’m just Nimona’#like I’m not a transgender person I’m just me #punk gets mail #personal

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gemsofthegalaxy · 1 year

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Actually sometimes if I think about it I am a little mad that Greg's blatant experience of Tom's homophobic powerplays and abuse is treated as almost nothing in the Family Abuse Through Capitalism show. it's, like, intentionally played for laughs most times.

At the same time, I love the two of them and find them compelling and interesting because I love jealously, possession, and devotion and I ship as many straight ships as I do gay ones. As much as I do want wholesome gay rep I also want hand-in-unlovable-hand, nobody-can-love-you-like-I-do stories too. I'm not mad at my fellow fans for just sort of sweeping it away because the show also does, I think? Perhaps there is an angle I am missing but-

Shiv gets to experience the whole gambit of being a scummy person and a woman and using her position to fuck over other women, but still having harrowing experiences of misogyny when she's utterly surrounded by men. It's heart- and gut-wrenching to watch. Layered and interesting. People have differing opinions, still, but it's in the text and it always has been.

Greg, meanwhile, is ambiguously straight. There are queer readings we can have- going from completely disinterested in sex/women to loudly and obnoxiously flirting with them publically as he gains an increasingly important position and plays the expected part he has to play. Not to mention, his pointedly absent father is gay, more than enough reason for him to not come out.

But we never get a confirmation and... I don't know if I would say there's been anything of Greg grappling with the specifically homoerotic way that Tom has tormented him. Greg seems to be mildly weirded out and then rolls with it- does he not recognize the game Tom is playing? is that a commentary on how victims may not recognize the abuse? If Greg was scared of Tom hurting him, why fuck him over on multiple separate occasions and even right after experiencing physical assault. I'm not asking what Greg's point is, but what is deal is, instead. Cause I can't figure out what they're saying with him when it comes to Tom's emotional abuse specifically.

In my opinion, we still don't have a confirmation on whether Greg really cares about Tom in return (as Tom had tried to make Greg emotionally reliant on himself but ended up emotionally reliant on Greg). Based on last night I think he does, honestly, at least like Tom's company and want to stick with him. Whether he does stay with Tom or not still remains to be seen and I think he's been vague enough they could go any way they want with him.

Greg is not only not a serious person, he's not a serious character, I think. And to me that's a wee bit of a shame. Yes, we also get ambiguous sexuality and issues with Roman but we've also had a deal of exploration of that- I would like more, but, it's been covered. It's been at least addressed, in some way.

Lastly, I will acknowledge that I don't even know what it is I'm asking for, here. I just feel the storytellers are maybe treating the queerness with a bit much levity for the world they've created. And I think the exploration of varying forms of discrimination as they layer on top of the Capitalism-Abuse has left something to be desired, perhaps, and all feel underexplored to me.

#succession #succession spoilers #greg hirsch #greg danced with an old man was super funny but its like #why him. and an older man specifically. hm?#its only funny due to his implicit ambiguous queerness. and it is... funny. obviously.#long post #sorry sorry #i hope nobody gets maaaaad #tomgreg #it is. technically about them

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dykefever · 11 months

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wolfstar tumblr has started again to claim that we shouldn’t describe sirius as short and feminine because it’s “heteronormative”, that we shouldn’t describe remus as tall and masculine because it’s, you know, un-canon (a terf’s?). it feels like terfs are coming to the fandom and we are going back to the time back then when popular writers who turned out terfs were dominating the fandom. seems the fandom is adopting the old terfs’ claims again and even shamelessly applauding it. how are you bearing these days, laura. as for me as a trans person who hates jkr and her holy “canon”, it’s horrible. feel like everything the few good people (such as you) in the fandom had tried was vain. sorry for disturbing you.

well it's been about three or so months since i last made a post about this stuff so sounds about right that more terfy posts are coming out all surrounding height discourse. it's a cycle in the r/s fandom and im afraid these terfs and transphobes aren't coming to the fandom they've all probably been here a while because this fandom is rife with them due to the source material and general politics of the people that write the fic (liberals who are so totally for gender neutral bathrooms but transwomen make them obviously uncomfortable irl)

i've already talked a bit about how harmful and also dumb this line of thinking is re: short and fem s so i'll link this post on gender essentialism i made but i'll say again it's just so tedious how it's often the same people who don't seem to inspect where their assumptions are coming from. people stick terfs dni in their bio and perhaps disagree with the openly transphobic lawmakers but that doesn't mean their biases against trans people don't exist. transphobia is far more insidious than that!

like people seem to go: short s -> s is "whiny" and "annoying" -> he's feminine (whether he actually is or not) -> thus he's being written like he's a girl and that's bad because that's heteronormative

the media heuristic that exists that "whiny" and "weaker" men (ie. complaining, relying on their boyfriend/partner for things, idk being the fucking little spoon) are women-coded does not mean you shouldn't make any character whiny or annoying or whatever because then you are essentially making them a woman and that's Bad -- the response is to unpack the very idea that there are certain traits connected to men and women and when applied to people of the opposite or other genders somehow still has a connection to an innate gender of 'man' or 'woman'.

also, s characterisation is varied but not as prolifically dramatic and bad as people seem to say. they're latching on to the 'feminine short s characterisation' where he acts dramatic as if i have not ready many a fic where he is tall and stereotypical masculine with similar personality traits. however, these traits are viewed differently when packaged differently. the difference is s wearing a skirt or being perceived as feminine in a way that they do not view as aligned with their perception of how gender should operate.

whether intentionally transphobic or not, the shorthand people use in these discussion always ties in with this belief that there are innate gendered characterisitics that if acted out in certain relationships makes them heteronormative. i am afraid that's not how queer relationships work! they are still gay even if one of them is short and the other tall and one is fem and the other masc like? you can dislike certain relationship dynamics but that doesn't make them inherently problematic or homophobic or anything. i avoid plenty of r/s fic because it's not how i personally view them. i don't try and morally justify my dislike because i don't like how they wrote r i just click out. as for saying one thing is canon and another is not like idgaf whatever!! most of canon is quite horrible and problematic and of course we are all engaging with it to some degree but to use it to argue something as meaningless as height should be adhered to. well i'm scrolling away frankly.

idk people are always telling on themselves in these discussions and you can pretty much always track one degree of separation between them and a pretty outward terf. i block and unfollow a lot of people but at the end of the day i engage with far less content than i used to because it sucks seeing so much transphobic and often anti-queer discussion. it's exhausting and it's why so many trans people especially transfem people leave this fandom. people can slap anti-jkr in their bio as much as they want, a terf is still a fucking terf.

#i dont really have the energy to have like the benefit of the doubt for people engaging in these discussions cause like #i have done so and it still happens lol #i understand people might not think theyre transphobic but examine how u think and what u say come on #anyway anon plz just block and unfollow ppl and take care of yourself if you still want to engage with the fandom. there are good people bu #it can take some time to find!!#harry potter #transphobia #answered #r/s #also forgot to say i actually didn't get any of this on my dash this time but i had a poke around and found the discourse pretty easily

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burningchandelier · 1 year

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How to be Punk; A History

My very talented and wonderful nibling has a birthday coming up and is, perhaps, doing a bit of soulsearching. With that, they wrote to ask me "how to be punk" and I wrote this back. It is longer than they probably bargained for, but anything less would have been a disservice. Please enjoy.

The most important thing about Punk is that it is a frame of mind. A person can be the most teeshirt-and-jeans-wearing, "normal"-looking person on the planet, but if they are devoted to justice for the underdog, anticapitalism, antiracism, feminism, queer rights, and genuinely making the world a better place through action and resistance, then that person is punk as hell.

Punk is about resisting authority, first and foremost. It is about taking labels that are used to hurt us and reclaiming them, turning them into our armor. It is about making your own impact in the world in the way that suits you best, and yes, of course, to a degree it is about fashion and music.

The best way to know where you are going is to know where you have been. You have to understand the history, at least a little, in order to know why things are the way they are.

With that in mind, here is a summary of the past fifty years of Punk. I hope I do okay.

The very word "Punk" itself used to be a slur used against effeminate men perceived to be gay. Back in the early 1970s, a bunch of dudes in England got called punks for wearing tight clothes with lots of safety pins. They turned around and said "Yeah, I am a punk. What are you going to do about it?"

This caught on incredibly fast.

Originally, the punk scene-- that of the early 70s, was a response to the commercialization of Rock and Roll, which had become pretty hack and overproduced, and to Disco, which was just taking off and was not appealing to everyone (I'll get into that another day).

Early punk (Sometimes called "Proto-punk" by people who want to sound like they know a lot, but it's pretentious) is a lot more accessible than people expect it to be!

Check out Iggy Pop and the Stooges, The Velvet Underground, and the New York Dolls for a taste of this era.

But WHAT ABOUT THE SEX PISTOLS!?

Okay. So here's the thing. The sex pistols are garbage. Yes, you have got to listen to Anarchy in the UK and God Save the Queen in order to know anything about anything when it comes to punk, but they were essentially an advertisement for a clothing shop, so they were automatically shills.

The important thing is that they created the Punk Aesthetic that we still know and love. Johnny Rotten was and still is a right-wing piece of shit. Sid Vicious was a garbage human. They wore clothes and made one good album, but I'm willing to admit that they did matter.

So then what happened?

Well, let me introduce you to Joey, Johnny, Dee dee, and Tommy.

The Ramones are where Punk took off and it took off like a bat outta hell.

You still see Ramones logos everywhere and that's for a good reason. It's because they rock. In this era, you also got Black Flag, The Misfits, The Dead Kennedys, The Damned, the list goes on and on (and it's awesome).

The 80s were a tumultuous time, politically and Punk got harder, more intense, more guitar-driven, and the bands had figured out that all you needed to make some incredible music was 4 chords and a message.

Sometimes, that message was awesome. Sometimes that message was total bullshit. Sometimes that message wasn't really a message as much as it was "I want to wreck stuff" but that's still kind of a message, isn't it?

It is worth noting that during this time, Punk was fighting for it's identity and a lot of that fighting included issues of race and gender-- some bands were total fascists and some bands were all about making fun of them. So you have to kind of understand that in order to get what was going on.

This is part of why fashion is SO important in the punk scene. Everything, everything, everything, down to the color of your shoelaces used to mean something specific. A bandana in your pocket could mean how you liked to have sex (and if you were Queer). Your boots could signal if you were a Nazi. Sometimes it wasn't a big deal, but sometimes it was important.

Wait. Nazi Punks?

Oh yeah, honey. There were a lot of Nazi punks in the scene, especially back in the 80s and 90s. That's the whole reason for the song "Nazi Punks Fuck Off."

We had to fight really hard, and continue to fight hard, to keep them out. They have no business in our spaces and in our music.

This sounds bad. I'm not sure if I want to be punk.

That's fair, but here's the thing. Being punk is so so so incredibly worth it (remember that part at the beginning about being anti-authority?) The community and the music and the beliefs are why we do it.

To be fair, if you've made it this far, you're probably in too deep already. Good for you! Keep going!

Okay, so then what happened after the 80s? Well, I know you can count, so you know what's coming next.

Punk took a backseat in the 90s. Grunge happened and Punk became kind of passe. The diehards were out there, slugging it out as always, but things had calmed down. In the West, politics weren't as dire, things seemed kind of hopeful. Punk was still important, but it wasn't what people needed.

That said, there was a rise in more pop-punk sounds that are, let's face it, fucking delightful. This is where we get Greenday, as well as a slew of bands that came into their own a little later on.

This was also the time of Riot Grrrl music, which I will happily tell you all about another time, but for now, we can say that it was the incredibly necessary, fantastic response to the "boys only" sign that alternative music, especially punk, had been hanging for years.

It is also worth noting that Punk, just like most art, is full of hypocrites who don't see their own blind spots. This doesn't make people bad, it just makes them people.

Punk has a long, crappy tradition of ignoring the contributions of women/people perceived as women and people of color even though it would not exist without those individuals.

It is getting much better, but god damn, it has taken a long time.

So then the 2000s happened and shit. went. nuts.

It doesn't really matter if you call it punk, pop-punk, emo, mall-goth, or anything else, but the alternative music scene of the 2000s went off like a bomb and there was no stopping it.

Like the 80s, the political landscape of the West was toxic to self expression, especially for young people who were suffering under the Bush Administration, the culture war against gay marriage, and the real-life wars that America had taken to the Middle East. Punk came back with a vengeance because the kids were not alright.

This punk, though? This punk was a different kind of fun.

This punk was the kind of punk where you were a lot less likely to get beat up and a lot more likely to get a sunburn at Warped Tour.

Making Punk accessible to more people with a broader appeal meant. for some, a watered down message, but for many others it meant being exposed to those messages at all. In my opinion, a net positive.

Did the DIY ethos of anticapitalism that bands like Thursday and My Chemical Romance, and even Fall Out Boy touted in their early days survive being brought to MTV? You have to be the judge of that. I am probably too biased to say, myself.

Into the future we go!

I believe that you need about 15-20 years to reflect on history with a proper degree of distance. It is too hard to pick out trends and important events when you're examining something that happened five to ten years ago, so I won't get into the 2010s or '20s yet.

Just remember that Punk has staying power and adaptability.

So. What makes a person punk? That's up to you.

#punk #punk history #emo #pop-punk

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tijuanabiblestudies · 6 months

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... why did a butch chew your face at the club?

*deep breath* OK SO

i am 19 years old and a freshman in college. my egg is not even lightly chipped at this point; for all intents and purposes i am a girl. it is a friday night and i am sitting at my dorm room desk, probably on livejournal. my roommate comes in and says "hey [deadname]! wanna come to [local nightclub]? it's gay night!"

(during my girl years, i largely identified as bisexual. my roommate, a straight girl, knew this, hence the invitation.)

"sure," i say, "what the hell," and proceed to doll myself up for a night on the town. my outfit is perhaps not strictly relevant to the tale but i am going to describe it anyway. from bottom to top, i am wearing:

knee-high silver boots

black fishnet stockings

black miniskirt

red-on-black My Chemical Romance off-the-shoulder top (Revenge era; iirc it had some cool art of a graveyard on it)

on the face: black eyeliner, red lipstick

and to top it all off: red-on-black pinstriped fedora. or trilby, i guess, if you want to be pedantic, but everyone at the time called them fedoras.

thusly prepared, i join my roommate and several others from our dorm and we pile onto a bus and head downtown. we get to the club. the music is bad, but i start dancing anyway. as i do, i notice a butch gal standing on the edge of the dance floor, looking at me. i look back, make eye contact, smile a little bit. i am not expecting anything in particular to come of this. clubbing etiquette is unfamiliar to me.

the next thing i know, she is RIGHT up on me. bumping and grinding ensue, followed in short order by kissing. rather intense kissing, in fact. by which i mean she is biting me, repeatedly and not at all gently. lips, neck, collarbones--pretty much everywhere above the tits seems to be fair game. bite bite bite.

i...have no idea how to handle this situation. in retrospect, the solution seems obvious: use words and/or body language to convey that i am not fond of what is happening and would like it to stop please.

i do not do this. my entire brain freezes up like the proverbial deer in headlights and i just sort of accept my new life as a chew toy.

it goes on for a while. time loses all meaning. i have long since lost track of the people i came with. i am vaguely aware that straight men (it's "gay night" at a club in a college town, of course it's lousy with straight tourists) are appreciatively watching me get eaten alive. my, uh..."dance partner" (neither of us is even pretending to move to the music) speaks to me a few times; at one point, she laughingly says "you're so serious!" and i have less than no fucking idea how to respond. at other points, i can't hear her over the music and just sort of make what i hope are appropriate faces and/or noises. all the while, the biting continues. it hurts rather a lot.

finally, finally, 2am rolls around and the club prepares to close. my masticator mercifully releases me. i do not even bother trying to find my roommate et al. i retrieve my coat from the coat check and get the fuck out of dodge.

it being late, the buses have stopped running. i have no way of getting back to my dorm short of a long hike, and these boots were not made for walkin'. it is cold and i am tired. i find an unlocked door in a university lecture hall and sleep on a bench inside, for some value of "sleep."

after sunrise, i head back to the bus stop. in is now the weekend, so the buses don't start running until later, but luckily there is a girl at the bus stop who is also trying to get to the same general area as i am, and she calls a cab and lets me share it with her.

when i get back to my dorm and check myself out in the mirror, i find that i am covered in bite marks. remember the red lipstick i had on? it's gone now. my lips, instead, are purple.

i wish i could end this with a moral about underage drinking, but i was stone cold sober the entire time.

#storytime with jonas

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hosticaaa · 5 months

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𝒜𝔩𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔯 ; Cannibalism and allegories.

Al's sexuality is very funny to me because yeah I'm a horror writer of course its impossible for me not to use cannibalism as a twisted allegory for love / desire so we're here with this "I Love Women. I Eat Men. I Fuck Nothing." Shit and I've mentioned before that as far as sexuality goes, people have a very hard time figuring Alastor out and the man really doesn't help anyone, not one little bit ! He has no concept of the ace spectrum so he wouldn't know to relate himself to anything on it which means HE largely thinks he's straight because he defiantly "preforms" romance with women, but still keeps people confused because they stay hanging as regardless most things beyond the courtship stage develop to friendship with him rather than an actual relationship. Read; Queer-platonic relationships but the problem here being Alastor nor anyone he's in such a relationship with have the ability to actually identify it as that so they sit in this weird really good friends, maybe lovers, but suck on the will we/wont we "go further" stage. So Alastor has a ton of "girlfriends" but I'm pretty sure none of them really know what they are to him or how to categorize him, because he's certainly not a 'gay bestie', but then there feels to be more there (mutually) than "straight guy friend", but then you have the fact he has no desire to eat women and according to him only eats men and thats the only kind of lust Alastor claims he feels and he's really happy, if not over-eager to embrace this.

As far as men go its not really uncommon for them to mistake him as gay, bro is out here prancing around and limp wristing it like its no ones business and apparently Alastor's self aware enough to make unsettling jokes that allude to him being bisexual or gay but are actually wholly in reference to his horrible habit of eating dudes (And by preference, only dudes) but again, he'd consider himself "straight" if he had to label himself. Because, also mentioned in an older post, he does have this concept of the fact he just hasn't found the right girl yet and being in hell has kinda removed this idea he had in life that this was something important but obviously rather than giving him freedom in the sense of sexual liberty, he just doesn't feel like he needs to have serious intentions with women anymore, romancing them is something he can easily do with no obligation for anything serious or to even take the relationship to a sexual level, like he's truly just playing all the time. Like I imagine Al has a lot of broken and confused hearts behind him because of this but no one is particularly scorned because he's also always treated everyone so "well" and again the idea of "what even are we" in the first place. And again back to the lust being for men only but uh also being inseparable to the cannibalism which leads one to wonder is Al a very deeply closted gay/bi man ? Did the attitudes of his time period and thus possible social/emotional/mental trauma cause things to be so twisted for him ? The answer is likely yes as I have concepts that younger/human Alastor prrrobably had an idea he might not be "straight" in the usual way everyone else around him seemed to be, and maaybe tried to find out only to perhaps have a bad experience that compounded his existing issues along the lines of his existing contempt for men and his very neurotic need to project a constant aura of power/dominance/superiority ( Something he really doesn't feel near as much of a need to project around women ) and again, ties hard to the cannibalism in a whole different way. Plus we have the concept of Alastor being kind of vain and just finding that no one really measures up to his level of expectation - I just don't know if he really knows what the expectation is because of all this convoluted neurotic shit - if he found someone who met his standard what would he even do ? Embrace it and get normal or, more likely, just move the goal post, so yeah, hes a dandy aspec feminist that's so much easier to say than unpacking any of that.

#⊰ ° ‧: ｡* ⚘ 🥀 ━◞ 𝒯𝒶𝑔 ↝ From The Mun ⊱#⊰ ° ‧: ｡* ⚘ 🥀 ━◞ ℳ𝓊𝓈𝑒 ↝ Alastor ⊱#⊰ ° ‧: ｡* ⚘ 🥀 ━◞ ℱ𝒶𝓃𝒹𝑜𝓂 ↝ Hazbin Hotel ⊱#Alastor headcanons #Theres soooooo many things wrong with him guys soo many things

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positivelybeastly · 4 months

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Okay I’ve sent an icebeast ask or two but not all of them. That means there’s at least three of us. Icebeast army grows more powerful

"Icebeast? What is an - Icebeast? Is this some kind of frost golem that I should be aware of?"

Icebeast is such an oddly rare pair considering how often Hank and Bobby are just ALL OVER one another, especially during New Defenders and X-Factor, down to games of what the narrative presents to be gay chicken, being in the bathroom together, stopping women from kissing each other, Hank literally being happier around Bobby than he is around Vera . . . like, this is where you could argue a good chunk of Bobby's queercoding (perhaps accidental, perhaps not) came from, and yet it really doesn't get as much play?

My personal theory is that the both of them are, while OG X-Men, not on the top tiers of popularity - Hank, especially not after the last ten years of comic storylines - and more people are going to read into pairings like Logan/Scott instead, especially since the text has gone out of its way to validate that with the Hickman polyam implications.

I also kinda think that Hank has something to do with it, and it's - a little hard for me to properly articulate my exact feelings on this, because it's a nebulous feeling, not one I can really pin down, but I'll try.

I think Hank is, or can be, difficult to write, especially as a romantic/sexual partner? Like, I don't know if it's because people assume you HAVE to be intelligent to write him (you really don't, I'm here after all), or that you have to have a constant command of a billion quotations (Google is your friend), but there's just. Not a ton of REALLY good Hank fan content out there, and believe me, I do my best to keep abreast of that kind of development!

Hell, I'm the only Beast roleplayer I know of, and that's been true for over ten years, give or take one or two very low activity blogs or people who deleted very quickly.

You tend to get way more fan art than you do stories or fics that explicitly focus on him as a character, he's so often an accessory or support character, always the doctor, and I feel like it's a bit of a shame because he's such a unique character, especially among the X-Men, and so good for examining situations through a different lens than everyone else can provide.

All of which is to say - Icebeasters, I stand with you, and I will happily write all manner of gay to keep the army well provided for.

#Anonymous #verse: all-new #outofmuffins

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joannerowling · 7 months

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re: ask about people "reclaiming", homophobic slurs that are not from their language.

It's very true. and it's coming equally bad from both sides. On one hand, people of non-english upbringing, who never lived in the environment and neve were submerged in the culture, where those slurs originated from, have literally no business reclaiming them. It's just ignorant and disrespectful. If some western trans gay boy began call himself a pidor/pidorás (really violent slur for gay man in many slavic languages) since he is gay so it's okay to reclaim this quirky slavic word for gay ppl, i would go feral. I don't understand, why doesn't it work the other way. It so easy to think for a moment and understand that it's not your word to reclaim.

But on the other hand, english-speaking LGBTQ+ community has desensitised q slur so much, that for a foreigner, who is constantly in these online spaces, it's doesn't seem like it's a slur at all. A lot of new labels and genders and orientations are now including the slur, so maybe it okay to use. That's why im constantly stumbling upon people from my native online spaces, who call themselves queerplatonic or queergender or something like that. (the f slur hasn't reached us so far and i hope never will). I can totally see how someone just picked a label because it became so common in the US/Canada/UK, and the opposite opinions are drowned out by the louder crowds or labeled terfy.

I will say, to play devil's advocate here a little only for the sake of rounding the argument: language doesn't evolve spontaneously, and occasionally slurs can go from "slurs" to "no longer slurs" through cultural change. For example, in French, we have the word "con", which initially meant vagina and would have been used as a misogynistic insult (basically the same as "cunt", i believe the two are etymologically close). However today "con" has evolved to be used exclusively for men with a relatively large range in meaning (going from "dickhead" to "idiot"; sometimes it's applied in a genderless way, kind of teasingly - as in "t'es con" to mean "you're a bit of a dummie" or "you just made a bad joke/excessive one". It's all in the tone and context). Most, oh i'd really say 90% of French people at this point, have no idea what "con" used to mean. I've had that conversation with a French radfem once who said she refused to use it because of the original meaning, and my question to her was, what matters when identifying an insult, the word itself or the intent? It's an open one.

Perhaps this is what people hope will happen to "queer", though i don't think it's a good parallel with "con" - it could be if "queer" was used to design some completely different group or thing than homosexuals. You could argue it's already kind of happening though, many more people than you'd suspect have started recognising that "queer" and "gay" are different things (mostly because "queer" associations and media have completely stopped putting forth the fight for same-sex rights). I've seen that sentiment on radblr, "they can call themselves queer all they like but don't include me in it", as well as the firmer "queer is insulting period, and heteros don't get to reclaim a slur that was never thrown at them". Since it's not my language i'm not gonna pick one position over the other, but i guess both exist for equally good reasons.

(Like you i also noticed "faggot" is much less subjected to that. People seem a little more aware of that one and less willing to "reclaim it" or approriate it, outside of the worst of trans identified women. Why that is i don't know. Maybe because it's perceived as being more exclusively used for gay men, and violence against gay men is more well-known in general?)

Another thing your second paragraph highlights is something we don't talk about a lot i think: that for how culturally diverse "queer" spaces claim to be, they are fairly homogenous and singularly minded beneath the surface. Especially outside of native English speaking countries, because the kind of people who can speak English fluently enough to access these topics have specific backgrounds (it's very visible in France because people are generally not good at English here). This is why you can find several active LGBTQIA+ groups in Paris or some big cities and will struggle to find even one in much less prestigious unis.

#replies #anon #thank you for the interesting conversation #sorry for not using asterisks or “letter-slur” - it always makes me feel like a child to censor words personally #but i don't have a problem with people doing it themselves

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katsuhiras · 1 year

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A few days ago I made a digital tree anyone could adorn with ornaments and notes so I’ll be sharing those notes here!

:3c thank you, c! I’m secretly evil but in an endearing way. Also you saying makohokke supremacy makes me a teeny bit curious what the most well-liked ship is among everyone following this blog

I diagnose you with gay! happy holidays!

thank you! honestly it isn’t a good time for me either but I still hope all of us get to enjoy the day at least a little with something nice. Make some hot cocoa or other warm beverage of your preference if you can... this is an order! I command you! (gently)

emo spotted

i hope you have a good holiday season as well !

congratulations on figuring out how to eat lollipops! some of my favorite lollipops are coffee flavored ones and strawberry flavored ones. this message is definitely about lollipops and nothing else

merry christmas and happy holidays mx nuts! extremely sorry but i actually ate some toasted mixed nuts early this morning while crocheting

thank you, I am glad you like my edits and hope you are enjoying your holiday too!

thank you + I hope you also have a good day! perhaps eat a tasty cookie

seasons greasons back to you! i will post images if i find any cool rocks outside

I have no idea! you’d have to ask the person who created the site. i like your shrimp emoji!

happy holidays and thank you for the nice message!

completely understandable I like little ornaments and decorations too! the bells are a nice choice! I hope you have a nice day too

they SHOULD @ happyele hire me and let me show you what the people really want in these cards (more fangs and more old men in pigtails and occasionally some ogres and discord kittens) (I’m glad you like them!)

thank you thank you! I hope you have a nice holiday! I can’t put emojis because I’m on a computer but pretend there are some cute emojis here

you really did use magic because it’s impossible for me to read this without hearing it in Wataru’s voice

merry christmas, I hope your holiday feels joyous and magical enough this year! I am holding out a handful of seeds for Hibiki Wataru’s dove to snack on as a little treat

I’m glad to hear that I can brighten your day! have a peaceful and fun holiday!

thank you and wishing the same upon you!

hello cloud! thank you! I hope you have a great day and have nice warm drinks and treats!

I’m glad, ugly laughing is the best type of laughing! thank you and merry christmas to you as well!

we don’t know each other but I’m sure you are also very nice and really cool! I hope you’re having a nice day

short people mad at my tall boy swagger <3 kissie kissies for you <3

#personal #christmas ment #im not even that tall btw my narrative foil is just the size of a little slug

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suppenzeit · 2 years

Note

Rat, C.B., Dustin, Dinah? :)

this got long lol

Rat/AV/OLC-CB

Sexuality Headcanon: Bi, but with a strong preference for men. He's not super invested in long-term relationships tho (but won't turn down one if one happens to develop)

Gender Headcanon: Cis man, pretty masculine, but isn't concerned about masculinity the same way GB is.

A ship I have with said character: Electraboooooose (or, well, spagratti). They are canon in the OLC you can't change my mind (im only mostly joking about this).

A BROTP I have with said character: He hangs out with Dinah and Greaseball, though overall I think he's closer with Dinah. He does "dude stuff" with GB (they drink and watch tv).

A NOTP I have with said character: Hmm, I can't really think of any ship with him that I've seen that I've been totally opposed to. Not a super big fan of OLC Rusted Brakes but at the same time I don't hate it

A random headcanon: Likes to doodle, usually random things but might doodle a little portrait if theres other people near (he has so many doodles of Electra).

General Opinion over said character: Fun fact I used to not like him for a hot second before my brain realized that he's literally a shitty little man with a mustache and now he's one of my faves. I love a grimy little guy.

Sexuality Headcanon: Gay. He went through adult magazines as a teen and didn't understand what all the fuss was about.

Gender Headcanon: Cis guy, but doesn't give a shit about how masc he is.

A ship I have with said character: Rusted Brakes is the one I ship most seriously. Greaseboose/Electraboose/Cheater Boys are mostly there cause I think they're funny.

A BROTP I have with said character: He's bros with GB, but they aren't super close on an emotional level

A NOTP I have with said character: Hmm, can't really think of one

A random headcanon: Incredibly flexible!!! He's got no bones. Lounges around in bizarre poses.

General Opinion over said character: He's so funky and fun I love him <33

Dinah

Sexuality Headcanon: Hm.... straight, perhaps bicurious.

Gender Headcanon: Cis woman. Very feminine.

A ship I have with said character: I.... don't really have one. Like, I enjoy GreaseDinah and Dinahboose, but neither of them are OTPs for me.

A BROTP I have with said character: She's besties with Buffy and Ashley!! But I think she's good friends with most of the yard. Who doesn't like Dinah.

A NOTP I have with said character: Again, can't really think of one!

A random headcanon: She's surprisingly good at fixing things. GB doesn't know much about tech and sometimes it's inconvenient to invite CB over so Dinah has to be the one to fix whatevers broken.

General Opinion over said character: I like her! I like that she gets an actual arc in the show.

Dustin

Sexuality Headcanon: Hmm....... uhh. Let's say bi.

Gender Headcanon: Cis guy, but likes being a little bit gnc, as a treat.

A ship I have with said character: FlatDust I guess, but I'm not too invested.

A BROTP I have with said character: FlatDust again, but also Dustin and Rusty

A NOTP I have with said character: Uhh I don't think I have any

A random headcanon: Hums when he does things!! He doesn't even notice it, and the rest of the freight find it nice to listen to :)

General Opinion over said character: I like him! I don't think about him too often but I do like that he exists

#askbox #noactofcharitygoesunresented #stex

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kate2kat · 1 year

Note

Hey there

Not quite/almost a question: I didn’t want to clog up your comments on ao3, but I did want to respond to your last there. I am pretty much obsessed (still) with those initial three or four scenes in 2007 of Bill and Frank, and how the dynamic between them develops - particularly as there is very limited dialogue.

Re: specific point, I had also wondered about the“dramatic” behaviour Frank exhibits, and I consider it is a marker he’s putting down for Bill, to see if he picks up on it. Considering the amount of work and attention that has clearly gone into the acting choices in this show, the way Frank drops his hands - and is that a slight hip-jut? - is pretty telling. (I’m not suggesting Frank’s exaggerating it, just - as you say - not hiding it. Which ofc raises all manner of other issues for the character, in terms of trust.)

That that is Frank’s intention is, I think, more obvious at the dining table, in that single expression he has, which Bill can’t see, after the “no, you do”, and Bill has turned away in confusion.

Sorry - that turned out to be even less of a question than I anticipated. (And by all means, feel free to ignore this complete non sequitur. I honestly shan’t be offended)

I could think about these two and talk about them for a long long time, I assure you!, so thanks for continuing the conversation.

I love the subtlety of both their acting in these first scenes together as they signal and feel each other out. It’s so powerful, from a narrative point of view, that they are both middle aged by the time they meet in 2007. They would both have been adolescents in far less open times, times when gay people had to signal to each other carefully, and sometimes heightened flamboyance was part of that (it was when I was young). Bill is, I think, wholly unexperienced at interacting with other gay men. I think Frank clocked that, but he's gently flirting, nevertheless. Both signalling to Bill who he is, but also letting Bill know: I see you, I see that you and I are alike in this one crucial way at least. And think how powerful that would have been for Bill! Before the world ended, I picture him wistfully looking at gay culture in distant places, in magazines and porn, perhaps, and feeling that it was something he wanted to try out, but certain he would never fit in or be welcomed, for reasons to do with other aspects of his personality and world view. Imagine the jolt of (dimly perhaps) realising that Frank is flirting with him! I wonder how much of the way he sang the song was him consciously signalling back: you have seen me, I see you, I won’t reject you.

And god yes, how trusting Frank was, to signal himself to Bill while Bill was still pointing a weapon! I think he was very very tired, not just in the moment, but from the preceding four years of struggle and sadness. We never learn who he may have lost, but he’s not a loner like Bill, he’s ready to risk quite a bit for connection. Maybe even to risk it all, had he been wrong about Bill?

And finally (though clearly I have not done thinking about them), I think for Bill at least, he had a far far better life than he ever would have had, had the world not fallen apart. He got to live a long time with a man he loved, who loved him, without the judgement and stress he would have felt (and probably imposed on himself) in the world as it was before. He was proved right! He was prepared! He gained a purpose! And he had a long, happy relationship. (I’ll just have a little weep now).

This is a conversation sparked by my The Last of Us fic A long time lonely

#the last of us #bill/frank #fic #my fic

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