#castle faggot

[haveyoureadthisbook-poll]

[teratobf]

this was always how i envisioned our "wedding" like 4 years

[baladric]

screenshot sketchdump bc why.. have i never drawn howl before.....

[thebestestbat]

lost my phone in my car...found it...bed.

[mlmxreader]

this post is for the faggots & only the faggots

women DNI, unless we're mutuals/friends, this isn't a post for you

minors DNI, this is an 18+ post.

Fallout 4 + Sex

includes: Gage, Preston Garvey, MacCready, Hancock, Valentine, Danse, Sturges, Mason (Pack alpha) & Old Longfellow.

all are done w male reader.

Gage

100% likes to have you bent over a surface when he fucks you, as long as you say you want him to; he especially likes it when you suggest that he should fuck you against a window for all the other raiders below to see. He loves how tight your ass is around him and he loves it when you lick his cock clean; he has a massive soft spot for seeing you masturbate, though. Watching your hand work your cock as those little moans of his name slip from your mouth as you beg him to join in or at least help you out.

"Don't worry, boss, I'll be there in a second."

Preston Garvey

While not massively kinky, Preston will admit that he likes the rush of outdoor sex; he likes to ride you and bite down on the skin of your neck to try and stifle his moans, hoping that no one hears and thinks that something's wrong. He loves the way you grip his hips as you thrust up into his ass, grunting out his name between gritted teeth in a vain attempt to keep quiet. Fuck, Preston would carry on forever if there wasn't yet another settlement that needed help. He has to admit, though, he's thought about having sex at the castle a lot and he does want to try it.

"Quiet, General, I think I hear someone coming."

R.J. MacCready

Do not let him fool you. MacCready fucking loves to tie you up, tease your cock until your eyes are filled with tears, make you beg for it - almost as much as he loves the slow, sensual nights with you riding him slowly. He'll fuck you anywhere you ask, as long as he's 100% certain there's no enemies nearby. His favourite is when you let him fuck you in the mornings; sloppy and slow, every stroke almost painstakingly gentle as you bury your face in the pillows and beg for him to cum in your ass. He loves it, he's not shy about admitting it, either.

"What's the matter, cowboy? You can't keep up?"

John Hancock

Get the Rad-X and Radaway, boys! Hancock can (and will) go all fucking day and night if you ask him to. He's got some reservations, like, he won't fuck you anywhere TOO risky mostly because he doesn't want to get you into trouble - bit otherwise? You just say the fucking word. And he's SO vocal, too, always moaning so loudly with his face buried in the mattress, your cock slamming into him as he grips the already torn sheets and just fucking begs for you to keep going. Hancock isn't fucking shy, either - he will ask you to fuck him whilst you're wearing the Silver Shroud armour. He will beg. Do the voice, too, and he'll be cumming before you even touch him.

"Aw, shit, sweetheart, is that for me?"

Nick Valentine

Classy, that's one word for it. Nick has a lot of old-world memories about pornography, and he isn't really all that keen on it. Sure, roleplay sounds fun - if you're down to be the guy delivering the extra sausage pizza, that is. But otherwise, Nick likes to take things slow; he's not exactly sure how much time he'll have before he needs to be repaired, so he wants to make the most of it. Whether you want to be top or bottom, he doesn't really care or mind - he'll take your cock just as happily as he'll fuck you in the ass. 100% has a consent kink, though, that man LOVES to hear you say how much you want it.

"And who said that this old bucket of gears and sprockets didn't have it in him anymore?"

Paladin Danse

Danse is very much the same in the bedroom as he is outside of it; he's collected, he's controlled, he's got a fat ass that he loves for you to bite and smack until it's raw and red and he's got tears in his eyes as he tells you to keep fucking going. Don't expect any less of Danse except for it to be a long, long session; he's so fucking good at taking your cock, you'll have cum 4 or 5 times once you're completely spent. He orders you around, telling you exactly how he wants you to fuck him, exactly what he wants you to do to him - like he's giving you fucking details for a mission. It's hot.

"Come on, soldier, you can fuck me better than that."

Sturges

He's good with technology, that's for absolute sure. He'll ask you to test out some new dildo he made and he fucking loves it every time; watching how you cum and beg for him to fuck you, kiss you, anything as you've got his new toy inside you. Fuck, even just thinking about it makes him hard; but he's never mean, much like Preston, he enjoys giving you a lot of praise and encouragement. The few times that you've let him use his toy on you and fuck you at the same time were always his favourite, though; watching how well you take his cock and the toy at the same time was fucking priceless.

"C'mon, baby, you're doin' so well for me already."

Mason (Alpha/Leader of The Pack)

Y'know the Nine Inch Nails song 'Closer'? Yeah, that sums up Mason, really. He's a kinky fuck. Constantly happy to let you ride him and cockwarm him while he's sat on that fucking throne of his; he'll fuck you anywhere you ask, and the guy has a HUGE kink for marking you up. You want him to bite? Scratch? Smack you around? He'll do it! You just have to say the word and he's fucking on it. He isn't shy about it, either, he's fucking possessive and he knows you like it by the way you get hard whenever he shows off. He's also more than happy to have you sit on his throne while he kneels between your legs and sucks you off; doing his best not to grin, knowing that no one can make you cum like he does.

"That's it, good boy, taking my cock so fucking well in front of everybody."

Old Longfellow

Rough. Longfellow is fucking rough with you. He won't bite or smack you, although he's quite happy to spank you if you ask, but he'll manhandle you and throw you around and if you ask him to. Outdoor sex by the sea is commonplace - if it's a nice day at his cabin, he'll fuck you outside. Doesn't care if he might get visitors. He does also like to make it last as much as he can, though, and often finds himself reminding you of how much he loves you - he doesn't want to say anything to you he might regret, so praise and little reminders are constant. If it gets too much, though, just say and he'll stop - grunting and growling and moaning in your ear instead.

"Not bad for a mainlander, are you? You almost take cock as well as an Islander."

[utterdisaster1]

Year One

Pairing: Sirius Black x male!reader So after this, we're going straight into pining, romance, teenager phase. There will be a time skip, I think 5th year. TW: mentions of food and eating, mentions of bullying and homophobia, the f-slur and related terms (not in the magical world though). Use of Y/N.

After, more or less arduous journey to London, which gave you plenty of time to ponder why some professor couldn't just come and apparate you to the castle, like Professor McGonnagal did to Diagon Alley, you finally found yourself at the King's Cross.

You didn't know how to feel about being instructed to "run through the wall of the third archway". On one hand, you were certain Professor McGonagall wouldn't play a practical joke on you, but on the other, she would be the perfect person to fool someone, because who would expect a prank from her?

Your parents weren't of much help either. A parent rather, your father couldn't take the time off. Clearly, there is a difference between acknonwledgement and acceptance, one you hadn't picked up on during the Professor's initial visit. Neither of them wanted to talk about it much.

Whether it was your recount of the trip to Diagon Alley or things you had read in books up until that point, of which you bought much more than expected, they would say, "It's not like it applies to us, honey. Let's go an a walk or let's watch some telly".

At Professor's querying look when you came up with a giant stack of books, you just said, "When one doesn't know anything, there's everything to learn." And you very much intended to know everything.

I mean, it's magic. Not tricks one may see at some fair or circus, but an actual power to change reality as you see it. How could you be satisfied with just the bare minimum profficiency in the first-year curriculum?

The possesion of magic was enough to make the normal world seem bleak in comparison. But what also sparked your interest was when you saw two women walking hand in hand in the Alley, clearly having an amorous conversation. At your look, which you hoped didn't give the wrong impression, the Professor said "The wizarding people don't concern themselves with notions of sexual preferences nearly as much as many muggles do. Relationships between people of the same sex are treated exactly as those between the opposite sex. We see no difference."

When you heard that, you wanted to cry. Could you have grown up like that? Without people calling you a faggot or a poof. Not that you ever expressed any interest in a boy openly. There were one or two small, innocent crushes, when simply being around them made butterflies fly in your stomach, but you never told anyone. You couldn't.

It wasn't that long ago that they decriminalised homosexuality, after all. You were six when they legalised it. The first time you were beaten up for "your poofness" you were five.

And again, it's not like you made any advances on another boy. It was either your face "looking gay", your weird behaviour, or maybe being one of the smaller kids in your year, and the slurs were just added in for further humiliation.

But now you were going somewhere where it wouldn't matter. So crashing into a pillar wasn't a bad price to pay for that. After one more look at your mum, you ran into the wall.

Fortunately you didn't crash. After a quick sensation you couldn't quite describe, you found yourself on a lively platform filled with eccentrically dressed people, similar to how they dressed in Diagon Alley. There was also a bright red steam locomotive: with "Hogwarts Express" engraved on the front of it. Everything was just magnificent.

You didn't even register your mum appearing next to you. But after a moment of silent awe, you pulled yourself together and went on. Seeing some kids with carts full of suitcases you were glad that Professor McGonagall had recommended buying a single trunk with extension charms on it. It barely weighed anything, which was a very significant advantage as well.

You wished you had gotten a heartfelt goodbye, but your mum seemed more overwhelmed by her surroundings than by the fact the soonest she would see you would be in three months. Maybe she still hadn't registered the fact.

Still, your hug was returned, and got you a kiss on your forehead, along with a "Stay safe and behave", before boarding the train.

You entered the first empty compartment you found. You were quite convinced you didn't want to intrude on a group of already existing friends, or worse, possible bullies. You quickly sat down and took out your book on protective charms and enchantments.

Seeing that you now actually had an opportunity to practice the spells, you immediately immersed yourself in training, your breath hitching every time you saw your wand actually perform the spell. You didn't even notice the train taking off.

But you did register being interrupted by two kids, first-years by the looks of it. One had dark red hair, startingly green eyes, and freckles on her pale skin. The other was a scrawny boy with greasy, shoulder-length hair and a scowl on his face. He clearly wanted to go further down the cart, but the girl said "Come one Severus, it's the first one that isn't full," and soon enough turned to you. "Hi, my name is Lily Evans, and this is Severus Snape. Could we join you?"

You simply nodded and said 'Y/N L/N', with your thoughts more focused on why the notice-me-not charm you had placed earlier had stopped working on your compartment door.

The girl continued, "You wouldn't believe what sort of buffoons we met earlier. So self-conceited and arrogant... I mean, why would you insult a stranger you've barely met!? I'll pray not to end up in the same house as either of them!"

"Well, I'm sorry that happened to you" you said quietly.

The boy hadn't said anything yet, but he did sit down next to the Evans girl, so you assumed they were both going to stay. At some point, she started talking about phones, or rather how much more convenient it would be if they just installed some phone booths outside so she could call her family instead of sending letters by owl.

"Yeah, I wondered the same thing," you interjeccted and silently added "Not that they would get what I'm talking about anyway; they seem weirded out by anything that has to do with the school."

"My sister's weirded out too," she responded with a tone that seemed to imply some deeper emotions. But she quickly asked "Are you from a normal- I mean, Muggle family too?"

"Yeah," you replied. "I assume you are as well"

The boy gave you a sharp look, apparently displeased with the attention you were receiving, and said, "Congratulations on stating the obvious"

"That's rude, Severus" Lily said.

He huffed but didn't say anything further, though whenever she wasn't looking, he would send you a glare, sometimes accompanied by a sneer.

Despite the shadow of despair that the boy seemed to be, you connected well with Lily. Being Muggle-borns, there were many experiences you shared, as well as a particular interest in the subject of Charms. You both received a visit from Professor McGonagall and quite agreed that you wouldn't want to do anything to incur her ire.

When the train finally arrived at Hogsmeade Station, things moved quickly. One moment you were on the platform, then, sooner than you realised, you were sailing on a boat to the castle. The castle was gorgeous and took the breath away from most, if not all, first-years present.

Then you were guided by the Headmistress towards a waiting chamber, given a speech about the houses, responsibility and consequences, and a few minutes later, you entered the Great Hall.

You wondered if you had any lungs left, considering how many times it seemed you could barely breathe that day.

The Hall could only be described as grandiose. "Impressive" or "grand" really wouldn't do justice to the beauty of your surroundings.

After listening to a song from a battered hat, it was time for the sorting. When your turn came, you quickly went up the stairs and put the hat on.

Interesting. Very interesting. So many qualities. A strong desire to learn, an abundance of curiosity. But I see there's something you want even more. To belong. To find people who will stand with you, not against you. And there's protectiveness as well. You're willing to fight for those you love, for what you believe is right. I think I know... Better be...GRYFFINDOR!!!

You were quite surprised, but not disappointed. They seemed like a nice group to be a part of.

You sat down next to a blonde-haired girl, and she quickly introduced herself. "Marlene McKinnon, nice to meet you"

"Y/N L/N, nice to meet you too," you responded.

After the sorting was done, and everyone was free to talk and eat as much as they wanted, you had more opportunities to get to know your housemates.

You already knew Lily, and by the stink eye she was giving two particular boys, you assumed they were the "buffoons" she mentioned earlier. One of them, with unruly dark hair, glasses, and a very loud voice, you learned, was James Potter. The other, with aristocratic looks, high cheekbones, a little haughy look that was tempered by a smile, and grey eyes that seemed to glimmer like stones underwater in sunlight, was Sirius Black.

You knew they would be trouble after their description from Lily. But what you didn't expect were the butterflies you felt in your stomach when Sirius turned to you, introducing himself and exchanging a brief conversation.

No. You were not going to be saddled with a crush on your dormmate. Not possible. And on your first day already. It had been going so well. You remembered the mess you were around the boy in your year 5 at your previous school, the simultaneous pull to him mixed with a fear of him noticing.

It will pass. You will make it pass. I mean, you barely knew him. If you can make an animal from a pebble, there must be a spell to just get rid of such a miniscule thing as a crush. There must be.

______________________________________________________________

Weeks passed, and you had not found the spell. But you didn't really need to. You were only 11 years old, after all; the hormonal storm was yet to come, so it wasn't that hard to fucus on other matters with the abundance of things to do.

Schoolwork was the primary focus. You had read up on a lot before the term started, but there was still so much more. Potions, the particular bane of your existence, was what you had to work on the most. Any wand-work came to you naturally, often earning praise and acknowledgement from your professors. History of Magic was a good time to take a nap, you had neutral feelings towards Herbology, and Astronomy, despite the late hour, was wonderful in its own right.

Another thing taking up your time was dealing with the prejudiced, fascist vipers from Slytherin House. Apparently, being a Gryffindor and a mudblood made you a favourable target. It was a good thing you had experience with bullies and that you instinctivelly picked up books on protection spells first. Apparently, a succesful protego performed by a first-year was a rare occurence, so they hadn't expected it. And living with James Potter also gave you access to books on hexes more than effective for fighting back.

What allowed you to resist the most, though, was what the hat had predicted for you. You and your dormmates quickly became close - mischief being both a bonding experience and something too fun to resist.

James Potter would have become your friend even if you had resisted with all your might. The boy had a certain pull to him. He was like the shining sun - whenever he walked into a room, he managed to capture everyone's attention. He was friendly to you from the get-go, but it was the moment he witnessed you repel a hex sent at the two of you with ease that you truly gained his attention and admiration. His curiosity turned towards protectiveness, which quickly developed into a genuine friendship that you would never think of rejecting.

Remus Lupin was quiet and subdued. He had an air of fear and shyness around him that you could relate to. It was palpable he was trying to keep his distance from all four of you. You didn't have the flair of James Potter, but after one serendipitious meeting in the library followed by a shared study session, it became a regular occurence. You were inviting and never pushed him beyond what he was willing to share, and over time, a clear fondness developed between you both.

Peter Pettigrew came as a package deal with James, really. Usually content to listen and nod along, it took you a while to actually get to know him. Surprisingly, it was chess that allowed you two to actually develop a friendship. He was shockingly good and practically pulverised you in most cases, but the time you spent together allowed you to get to know each other, and over time, you didn't need James to have something to talk about.

And then there was Sirius Black. In the dorm, he was everything - funny, teasing and entertaining. But whenever you left the dorm, he would be at the farthest distance possible away from you. You understood why. The howlers he received left no doubt as to his family's stance on blood purity and status. To them, you were the lowest of scum, sullying the earth you dared to step on. And with serpent eyes tracking his every move, particularly from a girl with a perpetual look of distaste, it was clear that his parents were being informed about all his activities in detail.

Now, when it came to your feelings, you spent one evening pondering on them and came to a conclusion - you appreciated his appearance, there was no doubt about that. He was pretty, and it was pleasant to look at him, like it's pleasant to look at art too; there's nothing abnormal about that. He was a friend, even if a concealed one. Being his friend felt nice, much nicer than having a crush.

Living with him helped you get used to his presence, and soon there was no fluttering in your stomach or slight blush on your cheeks whenever you talked with him. You were a kid, romantic feelings were easily avoidable and fickle if present in the first place.

Together, you and the other Gryffindor first-year boys created a force to be reckoned with.

Of course, the scope of your abilities was limited. There are only so many spells, potions and schemes an 11-year-old minds are capable of. But with each prank, your drive to outdo the previous one pushed you further.

All that however, made things with your other friend - Lily Evans, difficult. You cared for her friendship. You two could relate with each other in ways you couldn't with any of the boys. None of them were Muggle-borns; the closest relation was Remus's mum, who was a Muggle-born herself. There was also Mary Macdonald in Gryffindor, but she was definitely not in a place where she was ready to befriend a boy, much to your dismay, because she seemed like great fun.

So, you tried to balance things with Lily and swore to try to sway the boys away from Snape. And you did try, but it was quite difficult.

He was a git. No other way to put it. Well, there's many other ways to put it actually - unpleasant, greasy, rude, strident, oily - many adjectives, none of which were appreciated by Lily.

The only friend of yours she tolerated was Remus. So, you made it a point to include her in your study sessions.

Remus was uncertain at first. But Lily was nice, and after offering him a bar of chocolate to share (in secret from madam Pince, of course), he gave her a chance and gradually got used to her presence. He even started engaging with her in discussions about literature, a shared interest. Over time, he even started to show his more cheeky side, with friendly banter developed between the three of you.

The other thing about Remus was his secret he went to great lengths to hide. Maybe, if it had been just you living with him, he might have managed to conceal it for longer. After all, werewolves were not high on your list of priorities to research. But with three magically-raised boys present, after the February full moon, there was no denying it. When the four of you discussed it in your dorm, having casted all sorts of silencing and privacy charms while Remus was recovering in the infirmary, the other three seemed startled, each on some level. Peter was outright freaked out, James was jittery, and Sirius was at a loss for words—a concerning sign, given that his voice was usually constant unless he was sleeping, and sometimes not even then.

You suspected it the least, and yet, reacted the calmest. And for someone who claimed he knew since november, James seemed really torn about what to do next.

It wasn't a matter of sticking by Remus - well maybe a little for Peter - but overall, the challenge was dealing with the whole ordeal. "How do we tell him we know? How do we help him? Should we tell him anything?"

You settled on subtlety. The plan was simple: mention the subject "casually", show support, and then quickly move on to a different topic. Simple.

But Remus was way too smart, and soon enough, he began retreating from you. You started catching him sleeping in the common room and could barely get a word in between classes, as he somehow always had a place to be or homework to do. So you had to take extreme measures.

One day, after letting him avoid all four of you, you waited until he returned to the dorm to take a shower. You went in while he was in the bathroom, locked the door, again casted all known privacy and silencing charms and waited to ambush him with support and love.

So that's what you did. The moment he exited the bathroom and saw all four of you, he knew what it was about. He went to the door, but it wouldn't budge, and you made sure a simple alohomora would not even make the lock stir.

That evening involved a lot of screaming, tears, crying and finally, hugs.

"S- So, you- you really- you don't mind? I'm a monster" he said, with tears streaming down to the floor.

"Of course we don't Rem. You're our friend." said James.

At that he only cried more. James hugged him first, followed by the rest of you. Ultimatelly, you all woke up with back pain from sleeping huddled up together on the floor, but closer than ever.

______________________________________________________________

The Christmas and Easter holidays you spent back home were uneventful. You were asked if you were doing well at school, and upon affirming, you were not pressed further. You didn’t even get the chance to talk about how Professor McGonagall had called you a prodigy, or how you had successfully cast some NEWT-level charms already. Nothing about your victories in the school dueling club. You didn’t get to complain about Potions or History. You were told to stick with the story your parents had concocted while you were away—that you were attending a boarding school in Scotland and that there was nothing special about it.

Your time at home only made you realise how little at home you actually felt. The forest was your reprieve. Beatrice the doe was always friendlier in the winter, knowing you'd have some extra carrots or other snacks for her. Nature didn't judge you, didn't silence you. You were in perfect symbiosis with it. You respected it and received respect in return.

So, it was no surprise that the last week of the school year was one of your worst. You wouldn’t see any of your friends over the holidays and didn’t have any friends to return to. You wouldn’t be able to talk with anybody about school, the latest issue of Transfiguration Today, or about Hippogriffs and Bowtruckles.

You could only cling to hope that the letters you all promised to send each other would be enough, or that they would at least pick your mood up a little bit.

The day before the ride back, you were sitting alone by the Black Lake, right next to the Forbidden Forest, where you knew no one ventured for fear of being kidnapped by centaurs or acromantulas. But that day, you heard a twig snap behind you and saw Sirius standing there.

Your sulking hadn’t made you blind to your surroundings. He clearly was doing even worse than you, and from his sparse stories about his home life, you knew why.

Neither of you said anything. He simply sat next to you, leaning against the same tree, and took your hand. You stayed there together until the sunset.

When you stood up, he held on, keeping you from leaving, and said, “I’ll miss you, and I can’t wait to see you in September. I won’t be able to say goodbye tomorrow, since-” he clearly didn’t want to mention his family, and you understood that.

"I will miss you too. Maybe we can write letters to each other" you responded.

He was going to refuse, knowing the risk of his mother reading his mail, but you quickly added, “I won’t send any. I’ll just save them up and give them to you when we see each other in september. You can do the same.” and then you hastily added, “If you want to, that is. I don’t want to pressure you into anything, I just-”

He interrupted you with a laugh followed by a tight hug. “I’ll write to you too.”

After that, you went on your way to the castle, while he waited a little while before returning. You both knew he couldn’t risk anyone from his family finding out he was spending time with a Mudblood, especially when there would be no time for tempers to cool down.

The only thing on you mind now, though, was the flutter of butterflies that erupted inside you the moment he hugged you and the tingling you still felt in the hand he held.

[octuscle]

The spirit of the previous owner

By the time he was in the cab, Connor had calmed down to some extent. He and his friend had had a terrible fight in their impressive apartment on Marylebone High Street. Not only had a Wedgewood plate or two been broken in the process, but his friend had almost pushed him down the stairs. Connor had loved this man more than anything. He had been his protector. And his stallion. He had felt safe in his presence. And had been fucked like he had never been fucked before. They had had good times. But now times were bad. All they did was argue, his friend made fun of Connor publicly, calling him a pussy and a faggot in front of friends. Yet it was Connor who had brought the money into the relationship. Through the successful sale of two startups he had founded, Connor had more money than he could ever use. His friend had only brought an imposing appearance and a huge cock into the relationship.

Connor had put up with it all, but now he was afraid his friend was going to seriously hurt him. He had been crying, locked in the guest bathroom of his own apartment on the phone with his best friend. And she'd been simultaneously Googling a realtor for a refuge for Connor. Even for people of Connor's budget, immediately available properties in London weren't exactly common. But his best friend had called him back after a short while to tell him that she had found something at least for the transition.

Connor hadn't packed. He'd just grabbed his coat, pocketed his wallet and keys, and walked out of the apartment. The "Yeah, fuck off you miserable faggot" that his friend yelled into the stairwell after him had certainly been heard by all the neighbors. He could no longer return to his old home.

He had never been to Brixton in his life, Connor thought to himself. And when the cab turned into the destination street, he had to swallow. Unadorned row houses, everything a bit run down. But the house the cab stopped in front of was actually the prettiest of the row. Freshly renovated, a bit disturbing was the large modern garage that had concreted over the entire front yard. But on top of the garage, as far as he could tell, was a large roof terrace.

The realtor was waiting for him in front of the house. An unpleasant fellow, nervously smoking a cigarette. Connor hated smokers. But all right now. They shook hands, the realtor opened the door and Connor entered. The first impression was good. Bright, tidy. The furnishings were new, but unimaginative from IKEA or something similar. But that could be changed. No art on the walls, but posters, some not even framed. The motifs are already good, Connor thought with a grin. Predominantly announcements of boxing fights. Pictures of crisp men. He had little love for the working class, but horny fella's they were.

The realtor began to explain when the house was from. That it would be sold fully furnished. Directly ready to move in. That there were plenty of other interested parties. That the price was a bargain. A voice inside Connor told him that was exactly what he needed right now. Connor said he agreed, if it was okay, he'd stay right here. The realtor's mouth dropped open.

Connor had emailed his financial advisor to handle everything financial with the realtor. He had taken the key and pushed the realtor out the door. This was his house now. He had never had a house to himself before. This was his castle. He took a deep breath and felt secure.

The realtor couldn't believe his luck. The house had been unsold for over a year. The previous owner had been shot in his living room. Some gangland war or something. It had taken weeks to clean up the mess. Still, all the prospective buyers had felt uncomfortable as soon as they opened the door. He himself, too. And now this slim young man with an almost feminine appearance came and bought the house. Without batting an eye. Without trading.

Connor walked through the house. It was quite spacious. There was a living-dining room with an open kitchen downstairs and a terrace with a small garden. Upstairs were two rooms and two bathrooms. One had obviously been used as a bedroom, one as a study. A man had lived here. On the walls posters with box motifs, of motorcycles. Almost no books. And the man had been sporty. In the closet were tracksuits, sports clothes made of shiny synthetic fibers, like those worn by the men on the posters. A few pairs of jeans, a couple of jackets. My God, the morning coats took up more space in his closet than his previous owner's entire wardrobe did here. But it was perfect that he had something to change into here at all.

Lastly, Connor went to the garage. It was impressive. More like a fully equipped repair garage. With three high-horsepower looking motorcycles. And with a long wall of cabinets that held motorcycle suits, leather jackets and pants, as well as mechanic overalls. Okay, so in terms of the amount of clothing, maybe there was parity after all….

While everything else in the house looked as if its previous owner had just been out exercising, on a motorcycle ride, or at the pub, the kitchen was empty. There were no pots or anything like that. Just protein powder and bars. A few bottles of water. And a few cans of beer. He was about to grab a bottle of water when a voice told him that maybe a beer was more appropriate for the occasion. He opened a can, poured himself a glass and sat down in the TV chair. After a few sips, he fell asleep.

It was already dark outside when he woke up. My God, had he had a wild dream. He had gotten into a boxing ring. And his opponent was his friend. And he had knocked him out with one punch. He couldn't get the other crap together. He took the glass of beer and drank it down in one go. Shit, it was warm and stale. And he was hungry. If he remembered correctly, there had been a kebab joint not far away at all. That was better than nothing now. He wanted to reach for his coat, but something told him that black oxfords and a brown camel hair coat didn't go with kebabs. Even though his shoes and jacket were too big, he grabbed a bomber jacket from wardrobe, slipped on a pair of sneakers, and headed out.

At first, Connor had considered eating the kebab at home. But he was really hungry and ate it right in the snack bar, standing up. And drank a beer from a can to go with it. If his sophisticated friend could see him like that. The asshole deserved a punch in the face, he thought to himself. And cringed at the thought. Although he was right. Back home, he drank another beer. That would make him tired. He had to go to bed now.

Since he hadn't found any pajamas or anything like that in the closet, Connor had slept in his underwear. And obviously he had had a very wet dream tonight. Heck, how much had he jizzed out there? The realtor had said something about a basement, hopefully he'd find a washing machine there. But now he had to pee first. "Hey, hey, hey, mate!" That hadn't been a voice inside him now. He heard a voice. "In this house, a man sits only to shit. Pissing is standing up!" Connor was transfixed. "Trust me, mate, I only want what's best for you. Now piss, jerk off your morning wood, and then get a fucking haircut. You look like a girl." Connor was way too perplexed. Besides, the voice made him horny. Powerful, masculine, but companionable. With a heavy accent. That's how the boxers on the posters had to talk. Connor cummed. But didn't hit the toilet bowl but the toilet lid. He wanted to wipe it all away with some toilet paper, but that's when the voice spoke up again. "Nah, mate! This is your house, this is your cum. If it bothers anyone, tell them to clean it up."

The voice was right, after all. He finally had to live his life. And the voice was also right about the hairstyle. Connor wanted to change some things, the haircut was a start. But who had put his clothes on the bed for him? T-shirt, jockstrap, white socks, tracksuit. And there was a message on his cell phone. With an address. And a terse text, "Ask for Stevie." The barber wasn't far away. Because he found nothing else, Connor had eaten two protein bars for breakfast. He hadn't showered. He assumed the barber would wash his hair. He grabbed his sneakers and jacket from yesterday, got dressed, and left the house. Crazy, but he felt like the shoes fit like a glove today.

Stevie was more of a Steve. A colossus who was inked all over. He didn't ask for what Connor wanted. Stevie didn't wash his hair. Stevie only did a haircut. And it took five minutes. "Eight pounds, mate," Stevie grunted, "and tomorrow at 08:00 sharp, please." Connor left the store confused. Why tomorrow? He looked in the shop window next to the barber shop. He wasn't concerned with the offers for new cell phone contracts. He was concerned with the reflection. He looked like a chav. He looked like most men who were on the street at this hour.

On the way home, Connor had done some shopping. A few convenience foods, a few cans of beer. And a few motorcycle and martial arts magazines. Once home, he went in search of the washing machine. The entrance to the basement had been moved to the garage after the house was remodeled. And yes, there was a laundry room in the basement. Also, a storage room. But most importantly, there was the basement room under the garage. He had expected a lot of things. But not a darkroom. Fully equipped with sling and St. Andrew's cross. And most of all, with a jail cell.

There had been no net in the basement. When he got back upstairs, he had ten missed calls. His friend. He turned off the cell phone. Still, he heard a phone ring. The ringing came from the jacket he had just put on. There was a cell phone and an anonymous caller. He picked it up. And the voice told him that he could use this phone for now.

Connor took the phone, sat down in the living room, and inspected the phone thoroughly. A carelessly maintained address book. Stevie, after all, he already knew. Otherwise, mostly just abbreviated first names or cryptic ones like "Weed" or "Ink." And under Connor was his own number. Nothing surprised him anymore. Although it was actually maybe a little early, he grabbed a beer and flipped through the magazines. Fuck, they were already hot fella's. Both the lads in the leather suits and the mixed martial arts fighters. Connor jerked off more than once. It made him even more horny to cum on his torso and rub the jizz in. Hell, he had all the choices here, why didn't he put on some of the clothes here to jerk off. He tried on racing suits, boxers and mechanic overalls. Every outfit made him horny. In all of them he cummed. By now it was dark again. The house looked like a battlefield. Clothes were lying around everywhere. He himself was encrusted by the many cum. And still not showered. Then he got a WhatsApp message. From a Nick. With a location. And whether he would like to have a beer. The location was quite a distance away. But why not? He was about to call a cab when the voice came on. How many more motorcycles did he need? He was supposed to get around like a man. Hell, yes! Motorcycles were his world. So Connor put on a suit that went well with the bright red Ducati, grabbed his boots, gloves and helmet and took off.

It had been a great evening with the lads. But keeping Stevie waiting was unwise, Connor thought to himself. As he pissed, he wondered if he hadn't been circumcised. But the massive cock he held in his hands was not. He spread half of his piss on the toilet seat. Fuck, it was his piss. Even if the way to Stevie was short, he took his neon green Kawasaki Ninja for it. Today Stevie took more time and shaved bald in the sides and neck. It looked really good. Connor slipped Stevie 20 pounds, said goodbye to the lads and left the store. Shit, he didn't have any cigarettes with him. So he went to the next store, bought some cigarettes and a lighter and lit a cigarette on the next park bench. While doing so, he checked his cell phone. He still had a number of unread messages. But one was brand new: "Mate, workout at 10:00?" "Sure thing," Connor replied. He got on his bike and intuitively rode to his boxing center.

Sure Connor was a lightweight. But he worked out hard with his trainer. And technically, he wasn't bad at all. After two hours, the two were through. Connor went back to the weights for two more hours. His dream was to build mass. He never wanted to be pushed around by anyone ever again.

So slowly a new routine came into his life. Get up at 06:00, run for an hour, visit Stevie, work out. And in the evenings, roaming the pubs with the lads. Maybe with an occasional fuck in the loo. His body was developing very neatly. He'd persuaded one of the lads from the kebab shop to clean up his mess three times a week while he was out working out. Marylebone High Street was a long way away. Just as he was sitting at Stevie's one morning, he got a message. "Appointment today at 4:00 pm." The sender was Ink. He looked in the address book. Yes, there was an address listed. So he headed there after practice. Damn, why hadn't the idea come to him himself and much earlier. He was the only one of his mates without a tattoo. For a start, a full sleave was quite a good project. At least for the next few days he now had a few new appointments in his calendar.

When the inking of his arm was done, he stood in front of the mirror in the morning after taking a piss. He really liked what he saw. He saw a man who fit the house. And the house fit him. While sitting with Stevie, it occurred to him to check the voicemail on his old cell phone. His financial advisor had told him that everything was taken care of. The house was paid for and his friend's existing powers of attorney had been cancelled. Some messages were from his best friend. He wrote her a message telling her not to worry, he just needed some extended time off. And many messages were from his friend. First nasty abuse, then eventually begging and pleading. Sure, without Connor's money he was nothing. Connor sent a message with his new address "Tomorrow at 8:00 pm." He awaited his friend leaning against the window frame. The T-shirt showed off his new tattoos well. With his hands deep in the pockets of his workout pants, Connor massaged his cock. And down in his darkroom, a couple of his buddies were waiting with bulging bladders for the new piss pig to move into the cell.

[ufonaut]

Happy Pride Month! A while back, I posted some excerpts from The Sour Lemon Score by Richard Stark -- the twelfth book in the Parker series, that seminal classic of American noir (which us comic book fans are most likely familiar with from Darwyn Cooke's fantastic adaptations). What's so special about Sour Lemon is the gay couple at the centre of its tale and the fact that Mr. Stark's handling of gay characters is not just a first for this kind of genre fiction but it's also completely revolutionary.

For a book written in 1968, there's a level of introspection and complexity that had certainly never been afforded to gay characters in the mainstream before. It's the kind of thing we're not even seeing right now, let alone in the 1960s. The theme of the Parker novels has always been identity, the knowledge of oneself and the right to be that person is sacred above all else in Richard Stark's work but that's never been so evident as it is in this particular novel.

Parker's been double-crossed by a fellow heister named George Uhl and when we first meet Paul Brock & Matt Rosenstein, he's only trying to track down Uhl through his associates.

Again and again, we keep coming back to Paul Brock's apartment and its "veneer of masculinity" -- Parker's downright obsessed with the details of the place, and who can blame him? It's a fascinating choice on Stark's part, this decor, and hardly a random one. Heavy wooden furniture with Spanish influences seemed to have been a big thing for gay men in the 1960s, just take a look at Rock Hudson's home (nicknamed "The Castle") from 1962 to his death:

(from Rock Hudson: His Story 1986)

Even Liberace with his more flamboyant tastes had his Palm Springs home, nicknamed "The Cloisters", Spanish-style and with a heavy brass & wood motif and quite reminiscent of the "monastery" description up there in the Stark novel:

(from The World of Liberace 1973)

Obviously it's the existence of the second man in Brock's apartment -- the intimate details of the two toothbrushes, the clothes in the closet in two different sizes, etc. -- that's the main attraction here but the seemingly personal knowledge of gay tastes at the time add a necessary dimension to the character & the world around him. Paul Brock is not a stereotype, despite presumably being 'visibly' gay.

His lover, Matt Rosenstein, is an equally fascinating and well-developed character while exploring his struggle with internalized homophobia:

It's a portrayal of internalized homophobia that's cutting, visceral, and hard-hitting, especially for the era. Rosenstein and Parker are built up as mirrors of each other throughout the book and despite both of them referring to Brock as a "faggot" in their internal monologues, it's the more effeminate Paul Brock with his self-acceptance that wields all the power in his dynamic with Parker and that makes Rosenstein realize this reality about himself -- these are all books about criminals and hard cases, the narrative maintains that Rosenstein's worst trait is not knowing who he is.

The use of slurs may be disconcerting to most modern readers and I've noticed a large number of reviews calling Stark's work homophobic but I think the intention behind the story is loud and clear, and other books in the series have used "gay" and "homosexual" interchangeably and the preferred terminology has always been left up to the POV character. Even here, there's a stark (ahem) difference between Parker's use of the word -- to him, it's a descriptor -- and Rosenstein's -- drowning in his self-hatred.

As I come close to finishing the final book of the series, I wanted to shine a spotlight on my favorite entry in it and a widely unacknowledged piece of thoroughly fantastic gay literature.

[ravenmccookies]

Faggot gets lost in a totally very much abandoned castle, more at 11

[black-occamy]

Thinking about my boys, Remus and Sirius, discovering for the first time that there was some attraction between them. Thinking if at first they were scared - attraction to another boy? Are they sick? Are they mental? Are they *gasp* FAGGOTS? (Friendly reminder to all the babies below 25 that it USED TO BE an insult, quite a horrible one for children in school age back in NINETIES, and we're talking SEVENTIES.)

Did they try to push all those thoughts from their own heads first? Surely, they should be focusing on other things, studies, girls, pranks? Were they horrified when the other noticed SOMETHING, afraid that admitting the interest could mean immediate rejection? Disgust? Maybe hate?

How relieved they were when the other confirmed the feelings to be mutual? Were they elated? Did they feel that if they were sick or insane, that at least they were those things TOGETHER?

Did they ever, EVER share their relationship with the other two boys? Or anyone in the world for that matter? Did they hide any smallest sign of affection in the boyish attitude, slamming each other's shoulders and secretly dreaming of more? Sneaking out into the corridors of the castle, forever mindful of the prying eyes of ghosts, stealing just a touch, a kiss, a breath?

Yes, I look at all the wonderful expressions of rainbow love in the modern fandom and wonder - if they were real people in England in 70s... Would they ever go beyond those stolen moments between classes? Or would they silently agree to hide their freakishness from the world and move on with their lives separately, forever missing the other one's arms?

[firelitmoon]

Regency and force masc connect I agree because some faggot Prince is sucking me off in his precious little crown and fine costume and I’m showing him the man life outisde of castle with war and dirty hands

[thebestestbat]

books and short stories about shit (human and otherwise)

Frisk by Dennis Cooper

Castle Faggot by Derek McCormack

18 FOOT LEASH from Torture Works by Porpentine

Brainwyrms by Alison Rumfitt

Honorable mention: Lapvona by Ottessa Moshfegh

[tedspankoffskisbignaturals]

i apologize for the man im going to become once ive seen cinderellas castle (a weird faggot about the prince and tadius)

[your-friendly-neighbourh00d-fag]

hey, remember that ficlet i said i was going to write? here we are!

that fucking painting.

The world is burning. Oh, haha, pun not fucking intended. The world is burning literally, Will guesses, but metaphorically as well. His world. His ears are ringing and his mouth is dry and he’s swallowing hard and he can’t breathe and his knuckles are turning white because he’s squeezing them so hard and he-

“Will? Can… Can you look at me?” 

Mike is still standing in front of him. His thick, black hair is in a ponytail. Of course he chooses NOW to look gorgeous as hell, and Will can’t be thinking about this. He can’t be thinking about this anymore. Not when Mike’s holding that. That stupid painting. 

“Wh-what?” His voice is hoarse. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck

“I- I said it wasn’t from El, was it?” He sounds angry. He’s angry, right? Of course he is, why wouldn’t he be. Oh god, Mike hates him now. And soon El’s going to hate him too. His sister. Well, she probably isn’t going to count herself as his sister for much longer, is she. Shit. Why the fuck is he like this. The rest of the party’s probably going to take their side too, and they’ll be absolutely right for it, obviously. Of course they are. Tears start to prick at his eyes. 

“N-no, I, of course it w-w-was, she-”

Mike pulls his hands over his face in exasperation and sits down on the faded couch next to him. “Will, she told me herself. Who was… who was it from?” The painting has made its way into Will’s hands. The fucking painting.

Oxygen.

Oxygen, Will needs oxygen he needs to breathe, he needs to get out of here he needs to leave he needs to-

He’s running. Fuck, shit, fuck, shit, fuck, shit, fuck. 

“Will-” The rain is pelting at Will’s face, but he doesn’t even care. He’s numb by now. Because of the cold, because of everything. 

“WILL!”

Mike hates him now. 

“YOU CAN’T LEAVE, IT’S RAINING!”

El hates him now.

‘WILL COME BACK!”

Everyone hates him now.

……………………………

Will isn’t sure where he’s running to. Well, it’s the fucking apocalypse, he doesn’t really have anywhere else to go. And before he knows it, he’s at Castle fucking Byers. His safe place. His childhood haven. The place he built with Jonathan. 

And it’s fucking ruined. 

It’s fucking gone. 

Will sits in the wreckage of the Castle, really nothing but a pile of sticks and some fabric. It wasn’t a castle. Young Will had been so…

“Stupid.” 

Tears are flooding down Will’s face now. 

“So… stupid.” 

He’s biting his lip so hard that he draws blood, digging his nails into his forearms, closing his eyes and letting the rain wash over him. Will doesn’t even have the energy to cry properly. He just sits there. Sits there silently sobbing. Sits there letting everything pass by and happen to him. Sits there not doing anything.

“WILL!” 

Oh.

“WILL ARE YOU OUT HERE?!!?!”

Mike.

“WILL!!!!!!”

Mike is here. Mike is here and his hair is wet and falling out of its elastic band. Mike is here and he’s running towards Will. Mike is here and he’s wrapping his arms tight around Will. 

“I’m sorry,” Will whispers.

Mike’s lip is quivering and he’s shaking too. Why is Mike sad? Mike should be angry. 

“Wh-what are you sorry for?” He’s using that voice again. That stupid, soft, love-filled voice that made Will think he had hope. 

“I’m a fag.” 

Will feels Mike’s grip tighten on his shoulders. His pale hand slowly comes to rest under Will’s jaw, gently tipping his head up to meet his eyes. 

“Hey. Don’t say that. D-don’t call y-yourself-”

“Why not, Mike. It’s what I am. A faggot. A dirty little-”

 “STOP!” Mike grabs at his ears panickedly, holding his head like he’s hiding from a fucking monster attacking. He’s crying. Mike shouldn’t be crying. He should be happy that he has an excuse to start ignoring Will now. Not like it stopped him from doing it before, but.

“What. Can’t face the fact that your friend’s a fucking queer? That I’m gay? That I’m a fucking- fucking mistake? Because that’s what I fucking am, Mike. I’m a mistake. I’m a-”

Mike is.

Mike is kissing him. 

Mike has fallen forward on top of Will’s chest, eyes squeezed shut tightly and pressed his lips onto Will’s. 

He’s-

What the fuck is happening.

Will’s brain is short circuiting. He doesn’t know what to do. Is this a joke? Is this some kind of cruel, sick, prank? Oh he probably should have… Mike is pulling away.

“S-sorry. I… I shouldn’t have…” Will takes a moment to take in this beautiful black haired boy in front of him. His beautiful face that has tears running down it because of Will. His beautiful sopping wet hair that’s wet because he came after Will. In the rain. His beautiful golden brown eyes that have tears in them because of Will. Will has decided that Mike should never cry. Ever.

So he takes this beautiful boy’s face in his hands, wipes the tears away from his cheeks, and kisses him properly. 

Mike tastes like the sweet soda he was drinking earlier. Like rain on the weekend when you’re curled up in a blanket fort. Like popcorn and cold winter air. Like a meadow you’re lying in when it’s sunny, like syrup on eggs that he always insists on. Like childhood and like the warm glow of his basement. Like the last time Will was happy.

Mike bites down hard on Will’s lip, pulling him down further onto him and shoving his hands up into his hair. They pull apart after what could have been a few seconds, what could have been a few hours, what probably was somewhere in between. Mike and Will are now both breathing hard, staring at each other in wonder.

“So…” 

“So.”

Mike looks down onto the forest floor, pulling at the slowly ripping slip of paper. His face falls immediately, eyes prickling with tears again. 

“Y-your painting.” He sounds fucking heartbroken.

“It was stupid anyway.”

“No, n-no, it’s ruined. It got wet. It’s ruined. Your painting is ruined. It’s ruined it’s ruined it’s ruined-” Will grabs his face again and forces Mike to look at him. 

“Hey. It’s okay. I promise. I- I can paint you another one, I swear.” Mike’s eyes light up a bit more.

“Y-yeah?”

“Yeah. I’ll paint you whatever you want.” 

“Okay.” 

They sit there, in the rain, for a little bit longer, holding each other tight like it’s the only chance they’ll get. Because let’s be honest; it could be the last chance they get. It’s the end of the fucking world! But it’s okay. Because they have each other. Mike has Will. And Will has Mike.

“Will?”

“Yeah?”

“I fucking love you.”

“I love you too.”

[keeper-of-books]

G'day, welcome, hello, you have found me

• what you can call me: Kaden/Kade, Evan, keeper, faggot, whatever you want (except girl/woman etc.), hot

• he/him + they/them + it

• I was born in march 2005, if you wanna find out how old I am, do the math (or just look at the little info box at the top of this blog)

• 175cm is this relevant?!

• english is not my first language, like you might have already guessed, so please excuse mistakes/errors, or maybe correct me !nicely! since:

• I am not good with confrontation and will cry myself to sleep when yelled at, which most likely (hopefully) won't happen here

• shows:

Death Note, Assassination classroom, Big Mouth, Human Resources, Disenchantment, Aggretsuko, Vox Machina, Castlevania, Arcane, Q Force, The Imperfects, The Dark Crystal Age of Resistance, Orange is the new black, AJ and the Queen, Matrjoschka, Dr House, Sandman, Hilda

• movies:

The Dark Crystal, Coraline, Nimona, Suicide Squad, Deadpool, Chicken Run, Howl's moving castle, Charlie and the chocolate factory

• books:

Have read: Hell followed with us, Frankenstein, The meet cute diary, Aristotle and Dante, The midnight library, The cat who saved books, Coraline, The Graveyard Book, Cleopatra and Frankenstein, Punk 57, Skulduggery pleasant, If we were villains, Under the whispering door, Arthur and Teddy are coming out, Pan's Labyrinth, If cat's disappeared from the world, Dracula, The picture of Dorian Gray, Gwen & Art are not in love, Near the Bones, Paul takes the form of a mortal girl, I wish you all the best, The marriage portrait

Reading: Carmilla

Going to read: The Scottish boy, Gay Bored Werewolf, The Spirit Bares it's teeth

• games (Just games I like, doesn't mean I played them. I mainly watched the let's plays):

Sally Face, Little Misfortune, Little nightmares, Fran Bow, L.A. Noire, Beyond two souls

• music/artists:

Mika, Tx2, TJ beastboy, Eminem, Doja cat, Ashnikko, Noahfinnce, K.Flay, Delilah Bon, Lin Manuel Miranda, ÉASY, Gorillaz, mother mother, Imagine Dragons, poor man's poison, Harry Styles, Jhope, Pink, Shuba, and several who I only know about one song from, (K-pop groups/bands I know because of my friend: NCT, Straykids, Ateez, Xdinary heroes)

I'm still figuring out the whole Tumblr thing so if anyone has some tips, I greatly appreciate it.

[estradasphere]

tangent that i was going to include in the tags of my last post but it got wayyy too long

the only thing i've really been able to gather of Estradasphere's political leanings is that they Really didn't like Bush lol, which hey thats a point in my book but they never specifically said why. not that they needed to. they were a deeply unserious band who bonded over their love of glam metal and soap operas they were never really about Sending A Message or anything. John was the only member of the band who was outspoken about anything, and he seems to have been leftleaning buuuut in a lukewarm pacifist ''why cant we all just get along, peace and love, bring our soldiers home'' way which i find kinda spineless IMO... at least he condemned the aids crisis?? he only started making more political music after he left estradasphere though i wouuuld say "well hey at least they werent bigots then yippee!" buuuut there were some aspects that were... well OK i wouldn't really call esphere straight up bigoted but there were some pretty distasteful things they did that i've had to reckon with. the stereotypical "native american-esque" chanting on A Very Intense Battle done by a white guy, for one and also the explicitly racist spoken word clips before and after it which Are definitely satirical, but ... idk i feel like the whole "rural america sucks, parts of this country are so backwards!" theme of Buck Fever is kinda immature, especially coming from a bunch of white californians lol. like, as someone from alabama i do get the sentiment i guess, the south does suck sometimes, but idano, it's not handled with any of the seriousness or sensitivity that such a topic probably deserves, is all. that's not even my main issue with them, though - it's the constant use of the g slur. like. come on. i'm admittedly not sure if it was widely considered a slur yet back then but it does still make it kinda cringeworthy to look at and share their old promotional materials nowadays (they mostly used it to describe their sound; romani music was a huge influence for them). also i won't mirror it here but tim makes a joke that's Sort Of Racist I Think(?) about romani people in the passion for life dvd commentary and timb agrees with it... argh. to jack their shit and then turn around and disparage them... argh. but you could make a case that they know better now - they Could have used the g slur to describe the sound of the high castle teleorkestra album but they say eastern european / romani folk music instead which is nice. i dunno, i don't think it'd be productive to #Cancel estradasphere 15-20 years after the fact ofcourse but i guess i just wanted to document somewhere my Struggle in reconciling my unfathomably deep love for the band with the fact that theyve done some shitty things. even after saying all this estradasphere is still my favorite band ever and buck fever is still my favorite album ever. idk, i don't think the whole mindset online of not wanting to listen to any problematic artists is healthy

i didn't even mention the gay/bi jokes they'd occasionally make and the fact that they'd say faggot when covering money for nothing (and the crossdressing which was Probably implicitly intended as a joke) but thats because i genuinely find that shit hilarious im not offended by it at all