#guess they want me showing off my hairy white legs rather than cover up

[dangit-lin-blog]

i got dress coded for wearing leggins even though they said that we could wear leggings under a skirt

[bunny-wk-fanfic]

This Is Brought To You By

The door opened to a rustic cabin, the natural wood glowing amber thanks to a roaring fire. Worn dark leather seating seemed hazy thanks to said fire light, each piled with plush pillows and draped with cozy throws or blankets. A low table had been laid out with candles, a bottle of wine was being kept chilled in a classy and slightly modern ice bucket with two glasses just off to the side. The only splash of color amongst the glow of the fire, the natural wood and stone textures were a small handful of red roses, loose petals just lightly scattered about. With the help of the slow jazz playing softly in the background, it made for a very romantic atmosphere.

"Well, hello there." the male voice was a slightly low purring drawl, drawing attention to the male figure sprawled across an almost stereotypical bear rug. "Deadpool here. Hopefully, while reading this, you're hearing the voice of a certain sexy male Canadian. I'm sure you know the one. And I don't mean the short, hairy one with anger issues and kitty claws and a fondness for cigars. Unless of course said angry man is being represented by a beautiful, beautiful wild Australian man. Because if then, well, lather me in hot sauce and spank my Chimichanga. But I'm getting off track here."

Fingers drummed against a knee, drawing the attention to the missing and familiar red and black outfit, and more importantly, to the lack of proper attire.

"Yes, my current outfit has to do with the reason we are here today. It's come to my attention, that it's been some time since we last met, or that our beloved writer has written anything involving our favorite woman. And more importantly, our favorite woman when involved with me." a single white rose was plucked from behind, waved about as if a magic wand, and dragged across a scarcely clad male thigh that was pocked with fresh wounds that were instantly scaring. "As such, I decided to… encourage our beloved writer into bringing us all together once again."

With a dramatic wave of limbs, he moved from reclining on his side, that screamed 'Paint my like your French women', to leaning back on his elbows. The pale pink satin nighty, the atmosphere, and the pose would have been more than alluring were the one in said pose a woman. With the male, the nighty was rather comically stretched across his frame, though covering everything important, the sheer robe with fluffy cuffs only adding to the oddity of the entire situation. It clashed with the fact that he still wore his iconic red and black full head cowl.

"Now, our lovely writer might say otherwise about my encouragement, calling it nagging, whining or say I simply began to annoy her until she finally relented. Ignore those words and continue to read mine with the amazing drawl of a voice provided by the Canadian sex symbol; my pal, my bosom buddy, Ryan Reynolds." the white rose bobbed to the beat of the low music, tapping against a hip every so often.

"Now, back unto the reason why we're here. Honestly? I was lonely and wanted some cuddles with my lovely, lovely Kagome." noticing that it was just the male lounging in the open living space, he was quick to wave a hand. "Don't worry, don't worry! My girl is currently enjoying a much-needed hot bubble bath. One, I wish I was taking part of, but felt this little conversation was, at the time, more prudent. How could I feel that? Simple. I had the desire that everyone read this in Reynolds voice, nothing more and nothing less. Though if we are asking for more, and I know what you all want, I on the other hand, wouldn't mind lathering my girl in rich and real Canadian maple syrup and eating my midnight pancake snacks off of her, but maybe later. So while Kagome is taking this time to prepare for a very adventurous night right here on this vegan friendly-faux-bear fur rug, I'll fill that time with hanging out with you lovely little readers. Because without you, though more so my unannounced arrival and delayed departure, we wouldn't be here right now."

Happy humming could now be heard from behind a closed door just off to the side, the male giving a little jiggle in his spot in excitement. The rose momentarily used to fan himself, though just how useful it was as such, needed to be questioned at a later time.

"Now I'm sure there are a few things you all wish to talk about; my last movie with the fridge trope, which I myself can only say thanks to the writers for that one. Thanks guys, I've always wanted more trauma and torture to sprinkled in my life." a finger was wagged, tongue tisking against his teeth, though the sound was slightly muffled due to his mask.

"Or when my next film will come out, and if so, will it be part of the Marvel Universe. This is where you show your true love and devotion. I ask you, lovely readers, to go out and use the internet, haul out the trolls if need be, and ask, beg, and cry for me to be part of Marvel. Not that I want to, not really, it's just principle. What with their large budgets, CGI teams, writers, directors and a full cast. Honestly, a whole school of mutants gone save for three at a single extended time? For what purpose, 'cause I doubt they all went on some sort of field trip or vacation, but what do I know, I failed out of 5th grade. But, not really." his head tipped to the side, possibly staring in the direction of where the bathroom was, it was hard to tell with his face actually covered to know for sure.

"I mean, who wants to be part of that depressing team? All that self-sacrificing for the greater good?" he gave a few bobs of the rose in his hand as his head tipped back, almost as if in contemplation. "Though let's be honest, we all know I would survive an alien with a California Raisin on steroids for a chin, snapping their fingers. And then I'd introduce said alien to my Desert Eagles Mark XIX while recruiting Ant-Man to tickle where the sun never shines before becoming… Anti-Ant-Man? I honestly don't know what to call him in his Ultraman form, wait, does that make him a magical-boy or a science-boy? Right, Ant-Man shrinking to tickle where sun don't shine for hurting my favorite Web-Head super bro." the rose now tapped where his mouth was, though again, it was hidden by his mask. "And it would be super hot to watch Kagome kick his ass. I wonder what she would wear… Something skin tight? Revealing? Her old school uniform?"

A door opening, even though quiet, drowned out his muttering, the candles flickered as steam billowed out of the bathroom before quickly dissipating the further it billowed into the open space. "Are you talking to White and Yellow again?" a female figure left the dark bathroom, her form covered with a short semi sheer dark pink bathrobe of her own. Her hands were raised just enough to free her hair from beneath the robe, though she paused when she really took a look at the sprawled out male. "...I thought that was supposed to be a gift for me?"

Snickering, he trailed the rose down from his mouth, his neck, down his chest stopping just above his stomach. "Don't you think I look sexy in this?" it was always so amusing to tease and rile her when he wore risqué outfits, namely hers.

Finishing in freeing her hair, she eyed his form. Yes, his skin was pocked and disfigured from him constantly getting open sores and his abilities nearly immediately healing them. But beyond that, his form was all carved muscle, no doubt from years of being a mercenary. While yes, he was larger with the shoulders strong, he had a slight swimmer's build. It didn't lack-

"Ah, sorry for the intermission. Our writer took a few days to… deal with life I guess. How boring." shoulders shrugged, waving off the confused expression from his fairer companion. "Of course, it would happen when describing my awesome and amazingly sexy self." an actual pout could be seen through his mask.

"I will admit, you are sexy." the purring drawl from Kagome drew his attention again, her words and tone revealing she either decided she was going to ignore him going off tangent or just that she was used to it at this point, body freezing when her hands began with removing the sash that kept her own coverings secure. "I'm just not sure that shade of pink is quite your color. Maybe you should stick to your usual colors?"

The moment, the robe dropped and pooled around her feet, revealed a feminine figure dripping in curves with subtle musculature that showed she kept up with her own training, he froze. She wore a set of red and black satin and lace that covered pale skin. It covered a little more than what most would normally deem sexy lingerie, with slightly wider straps, but they accentuated her curves, drawing attention to them. And the thin ribbons that accompanied and mimicked, as well as help the lace that helped cover stiffening peeks, made her look more like a present just waiting to be unwrapped.

"Well, what do you think of my gift to you?" legs crossed slightly as hands once again rose to lift her hair to both reveal her neck and shoulders as well as lift her chest, she stood posed before him, basking in the golden glow of the fireplace behind him.

The white rose that had been resting near his hip instantly perked up, a white petal flying off at the somewhat harsh and sudden movement. Despite it being a mask, the white 'eyes' widened as the mask shifted to show that his jaw dropped.

"I'll take your silence as a, 'I likey'?" she giggled as she dropped her hands, they followed the curves of her body, no doubt drawing his gaze from behind the mask to follow with. Slowly, with a slight predator grace, she lowered to her knees and began to crawl up his form, leaving a trail of kisses behind her that glittered from both the fire light as well as her own abilities to help heal him.

Tossing the rose without a care, he reached forward to trace her curves for himself, not stopping as her own hands reached forward to lift and remove his mask. Lips curved up when she reached forward to kiss him. It was sweet, a simple press of her lips against his own. His smile grew when he quickly ended the sweetness by reaching for that delightful curve of her ass that shook playfully in his grasp.

The gasp that was let out was easily and eagerly swallowed, tongue dipping between lush lips to tangle with her own. With where his grip was, he pulled her closer to settle in his lap. Trailing lips away from her own to nip down her jaw and neck, he smirked against her warm skin.

Pausing, brown eyes narrowed as he turned away from the purring woman in his lap. "Oi, what are you still doing here? This ain't no peep-show! Go away. Read a book, play a game, watch a movie. I hear that new one about a guy named Guy wanting to be free or something, is worth the watch. And if my pal Ryan is in it, ya know it's good. Now," a hand reluctantly left the span of leg it had been caressing with a waving motion. "Shoo."

Turning away, leaving behind the couple and the sounds of giggles and kissing echoed loudly over the crackles and pops from the fireplace. A quick squeal that turned into laughter that was followed by a masculine whine at the sound of fabric tearing just set the pace of what was to come. And who was in charge of this nights shenanigans. A door closing muffled the sounds as the cool evening draped across the forest, leaving only the crickets in the distance and even further off cries of wolves the only sounds to echo.

Message delivered, though the exacts of what the message actually was seemed to have been lost. But it had been shared, and that seemed to be all that had been important. It did leave questions of what the future held, and if there would be any further important messages that would need to be shared. Who knows. Guess the game of 'wait and see' was going to have to be played.

AN: Don't ask. Please don't. I will say this, I was at work when I literally/figuratively heard Deadpool/Ryan Reynold's voice pop out from no where and bug me until I started writing this down. And when I lost the flow for a few days, it came back until I managed to finish it. So now I'm posting it here and cleaning my hands of it. I hope you can find some enjoyment in, I know I'm going to enjoy the peace and quiet.

As always; read, enjoy, and please review! - BunnyWK

[teenager-probs]

The Styles Effect Pt. 3

Part One Part Two

Requests Open

Warnings: Cursing, fluffy prince!harry, Slight Kidnapping, Nudity (according to Harry #3), hella gifs

Pairing: Reader x Harry(s)

Summary:

Y/n finds a notification on her phone asking to make a wish.

She thought nothing of it when she decided her wish, a wish for all the fanfiction Harry's she’s read, to become real.

Sure she thought nothing of it- until it came true.

"Are you fucking kidding me here! Do you know how many fucking psycho daddy demon fanfics I've read in my lifetime?!"

*Y/N = your name 

A/N: This story was originally posted on wattpad by chingyonce. I give her full credit for this. I have changed some things and I’ve taken some things out. But overall this is her original idea and content. I wanted to have this story on this platform so if you don't have wattpad you can read the story here.

Also, none of these images/gifs are mine- full credit to the owners

"By God, it doesn't even work on horsepower. What do you call this magnificent creature?"  I looked over at Prince Harry, my face scrunched with distress as I watched him repeatedly stroke the leather seats with wide amazed eyes, trying to move closer to the passenger window only for his body to be restrained back by his seat belt which I could tell was annoying him even though he tried to hide it.

"A car..." I answered, looking away as I blew out a small breath, hearing Teacher Harry in the back groan silently in his sleep.  

It was actually Teacher Harry's car, I found his car keys in the pocket of his jeans and just kept clicking the button on it until I found his car lighting up and beeping in the parking lot.  

And I did that swiftly after I ran into Prince Harry and hastily dragged him along with me in my desperate escapade in rounding up all these Harry’s I’m slowly running into.

Anyways, back to now.

So, all I have to do is find the rest of them, all the Harry’s. Which might not be too hard, if it wasn’t for the fact that I am a slightly obsessive fangirl who just can’t get her fix on all the AU Harry’s that she can read about.

I’ve already gotten three including the new addition -Prince Harry- who was aimlessly wandering around my school for no apparent reason.  

"So, what were you doing at my school again?" I asked, looking down since Prince Harry was laying flat in his passenger seat, playing with the recline button on the side.  

"Funny you say that I was lounging about in the marble-floored living room of my castle with a handful of beautiful maidens in silk waiting at my feet... and then, I find myself looking for you." He began, his British accent much stronger than the other two Harry's, as he placed his hands behind the back of his head and sighed, staring intently at the ceiling of the car.  

He seriously sounded like some rich multi-millionaire tycoon who laughed at different varieties of soft cheese and owned his own grape vineyard in the countryside.  

"Me?" I asked, flickering my gaze between him and the road.  

"Yes," He confirmed, his chair still back as he shifted, resting on his elbow to study my face.

"I awoke in the strangest place, with minuscule blue doors everywhere-"  

"Lockers."  

"And then this vision appeared in my head. Of you." He said in a slow voice as if trying to piece all the parts together in his head while he spoke as I felt his intense gaze on me before a long silence fell upon us.  

"Maiden, are you my father's whore?"  

I swerved the car at his words, my eyes wide as I gripped onto the wheel, my heart racing as the tires screeched, hearing Teacher Harry slide and hit the side of the car making him let out another groan before I regained control as Prince Harry watched me with wide eyes.  

"My lady-"

"No, I am not your father's whore and ya know what, and I may not know what Narnia medieval world you come from but here, in this land, you don't call women whores, not here, not there, not anywhere. You, ‘Sam I Am’ asshole." I snapped at him, shaking my head at Harry.  

“My lady I apologize, my intention was not to offend you, but to address the fact you indeed are not the mistress of my father is jolly blinding." He said, clasping his hands together as I scrunch my face while he grinned.  

"Blinding?"  

"It means excellent, superb, great- oh bloody hell woman! Your ankles!" He suddenly exclaimed, looking down at my legs in my seat with wide eyes as I leaned away from him in surprise.  

"My ankles yes! They're there!" I yelled back at him, trying to control my driving as I looked at Prince Harry who was blushing furiously.  

"My lady, your bare legs, your skin is showing for god's sake you're practically naked!" He flailed in his now upright seat, averting his gaze from the skirt I was still wearing as he tried to cover his blushing face.  

"Did you not notice that when we first saw each other at school?" I asked, rolling the car to a halt at a stop light.  

"I might have possibly missed that detail when I noticed the body of a man you were dragging who, I do say, is quite devilishly handsome." He said in a haughty voice, looking over his shoulder at unconscious Teacher Harry before he looked back at me and flashed me a flawless cocky smile that almost made my heart stop.  

I swear on my life I saw a sparkling gleam on one of his pearly white teeth.  

Prince Harry suddenly began to take his large gold embroidered expensive looking coat off, leaving him in an off creme baggy -sort of see-through- shirt before he politely placed it on my lap to cover the exposed skin of my legs, adjusting and smoothing the fabric before retracting his hands back.  

"Uh, you didn't have to-"  

"No, I insist, please. I must admit it's more for my sake rather than yours and I regret to inform you that the mere sight of your exposed skin distracts me more than I'm comfortable with." He explained, rubbing his jawline and clearing his throat awkwardly as he looked out the window, the tips of his ears a light shade of pink from his blushing.  

I couldn't help but laugh.

"Do I amuse you, madam?" He smiled, a playful look on his face as he turned to meet my gaze.

"Yeah, you could say that. Every time you talk it's like you're always quoting some smart person’s essay, oh, and you can stop with the whole ‘madam’ thing. My name's Y/n." I explained, driving forward before Harry took one of my hands off the wheel, the cold metals of his gold and silver rings on a few of his fingers brushing against my skin before he brought my hand to his soft lips.  

"Y/n hm? What a pleasure it is to be in the presence of such a fair maiden." He said, his voice held such a rich timber and a small smile spread across his lips. Still holding my hand, he ran his thumb gently over the back of my hand.

I then belched out a loud burp, making Harry let go of my hand and retract back in his seat in surprise.

"Oh, you definitely my fav so far," I commented, putting my hand back on the wheel with a smile on my face.  

"Wait! Take me there!" Prince Harry suddenly exclaimed, leaning forward in his seat as he pointed out the window.  

"Burger King?" I asked, hesitant as I followed his request and drove over to the fast food place, parking the car as I looked over at him while he fumbled with his seatbelt.  

I guess fanfiction characters do eat.  

This pussy...  

As Prince Harry got out of the car, I looked behind my seat at unconscious Teacher Harry, his body splayed across the back seats.  

"You want a burger?" I asked him, trying to see if he’s at least a little conscious.

I heard him let out a little groan, his brows creased before I nodded.  

"Burger it is then," I said, surprised when I spotted Prince Harry outside my side of the car, trying to keep his composure while opening my door for as he nodded his head for me to exit the car, and then took my hand to lead me out while I held onto his jacket.  

"Thanks", I said, trying not to freak out that Harry Styles -excuse me- Prince Harry Styles just opened the door for me.

“Oh this is yours”, I added, handing him his jacket back as he swallowed, giving me a quick, but polite nod and smile while he tried to avoid looking at my legs.  

Find a man who can appreciate naturally hairy legs I thought to myself, smiling at Prince Harry as he dramatically entered Burger King, pushing both glass doors open abruptly as he strode in.  

"Peasants, you may stay seated!" Harry announced to all the customers at their tables making everyone in the room, including the people waiting in line for their orders, all stop to stare at him in bewilderment.  

"Oh my god," I mumbled under my breath, standing behind him as he stood in the front of the restaurant, chin high and arms outstretched as if preparing himself for a speech.  

"I only beseech you to lead me to your ruler, King Burger." He said in a loud tone, his voice carrying out and echoing through the room mixing with the sound of thick potato slices being fried in the back.  

"No Harry this isn't-"  

"Ah, you must be him." Harry smiled when a chubby little boy wearing a cardboard Burger King crown approached him, slurping on his large coke as he looked up at Harry with wide eyes.  

"I must say, the Kings are a bit... younger here," Harry whispered, leaning back for only me to hear before he went down on one knee, bowing his head down in front of the little boy who was shaking his drink, trying to slurp more coke.  

"King Burger, my name is Prince Harold the fourth and I come in peace. I have journeyed from a far-off land-"  

The boy suddenly threw his cup of coke onto Harry, splashing him with the sticky liquid.  

Harry sputtered out in surprise, standing to his feet drenched in coke, his long darkened hair a bit wet as he stumbled back in surprise before I caught him from behind and stabled him.  

"Is this not a declaration of war! By all that is high and mighty, your kingdom will fall and I will behead you from which you stand King of Burger!" Harry bellowed through gritted teeth, his jaw locked as he pointed at the little chubby boy before Harry started to retrieve something from his waist, my eyes widening when I spotted the sheathed sword at his side.  

"Okay! That's enough! That is really enough!" I nervously laughed out, grabbing his wrists and stopping him from taking out his weapon as he continued to glare at the kid with narrowed furious green eyes while everyone stared at us in shock.  

"Come on Timmy, get away from the weird man." A woman who had just come out of the bathroom said, fast walking to her son before she dragged him away as he stuck his tongue at Harry who began to charge at him again until I intervened.  

"Woah, Woah, Woah, let's just go get you some food dude," I said, placing my hands on his broad chest, slightly pushing him back as he calmed down, still gritting his teeth before I brought him to the front register, the people in line, backing away eyeing us as I sent all of them an uneasy smile.  

"What can I get you." A lanky pale teenager said in a blank tone, blinking at me with an expressionless face as I helped dry Prince Harry with a bunch of napkins from the front counter as he mumbled curses under his breath.  

"Uh, two burgers please and a-"  

I felt a tug on my shirt, turning to find Harry looking at a little girl skipping with her dad wearing an identical cardboard Burger King crown on her curly-haired head.  

"I say, is there more than one ruler in this kingdom?" He asked me with a confused expression that was absolutely adorable before I just smiled and pointed behind the cashier at the array of cardboard crowns stacked in the back causing Harry's eyes to go wide in amazement.  

"May I have a crown?" He asked me with a childish grin before I nodded.  

"Yeah and one king junior please."  

••    

Prince Harry stayed in the passenger side, sucking on the straw of his own cup of coke, looking through his kid's meal with the cardboard crown on his head falling slightly.  

"When Teacher Harry wakes up just hand him the burger and calm him down, make sure you explain that I'll be taking care of you guys," I said, nodding my head towards the other Harry who was still knocked out which was kind of worrying me but I honestly had other stuff to take care of at the moment.  

"You're like a noble knight my fair lady." Prince Harry said in awe, looking at me with wide green eyes as I stepped outside and closed the door, locking everything.  

"Or a pimp, anyways I'm taking the keys but the windows are open alright, I'll be quick," I told him, making him nod before I turned and headed toward Target that was in the same parking lot as the Burger King.  

I immediately looked for the whistles in the dollar section, wanting to find one loud enough like a rape whistle.  

So far the Harry's I've come across weren’t as bad as I was expecting. I mean the one I've read a while ago were pretty, bad, so I was going to prepare myself.  

My advantage here was that I knew their stories, although I've read so many that I might have forgotten some of them, but I’m pretty sure I still remember the gist of most of them.  

I walked out of the store, a whistle, and pepper spray in my hand that I had purchased before I heard the crash of a stand of items and products fall to the floor along with a loud curse from that same British voice that's been haunting me all day.  

I turned the corner, finding a different Harry this time by the look of his attire, this one was wearing a dark oversized sweater and his brown hair was a little past his shoulders in soft cascading subtle curls as he mumbled to himself, trying to pick up the groceries he had spilled from his brown bags.  

According to Prince Harry he had a vision of me and tried finding me, so maybe it was natural for all Harry's to come to me eventually... I just had to find out which one this one was.  

"Here, let me help you." I approached him, crouching down in front of him as I collected his things on the ground making him snap his gaze up to meet mine.  

"Thank you, sorry I'm just- I'm a tad clumsy." He smiled, chuckling to himself a bit averting his eyes back down to the floor as we gathered everything.  

"It's fine." I politely said, studying him as I placed my whistle and pepper spray in the pocket of my jacket before picking up the stand that was on the ground as this Harry stood to his feet, holding his brown bag of groceries in his arms again.  

"I really do appreciate it, I've been flustered lately trying to get this Greek recipe I'm currently working on and I was worried I got my spices mixed." He said in a shy tone, sending me a grateful smile as I blinked at him.  

Recipe... okay, this was definitely Chef Harry in that one fanfiction I read.  

This one was the culinary perfectionist, alright, not bad.  

"Uh, that seems like a lot of stuff you're carrying. Would you like me to help you take it to your car?" I asked, wondering how the hell I was going to get him in my car.  

Prince Harry went with me willingly so that was easy, maybe I could just knock this one out just like I did with the teacher.  

"Oh I actually walked here, my place is like right across the street from here, yeah it's pretty convenient but uh- I would actually appreciate some help." He said, blowing out a breath of relief and nodding as I took one of the bags from his arms.  

"I'm Harry by the way." He said, trying to maneuver the other bags in his arms to outstretch his free hand out for mine with a friendly smile.  

"Y/n." I introduced, shaking his hand while trying to come up with a plan on how I was going to kidnap him.  

We walked away from the store, me holding a few of his bags of food and vegetables as we talked and he leads me to his house across the street.  

He wasn't bad, he was actually pretty normal especially compared to the other Harry's.  

"Uh- you can just place the bags on the kitchen counter," He said, biting his lip as he walked inside his house first, trying to keep the door open for me with one of his long legs as I went inside, checking the room.  

Wonder if I could just tie him to a chair and then drag him outside to the parking lot where I parked the car.  

Where can I get rope though...  I placed the bags down on his kitchen counter, my eyes wandering around the cozy welcoming neatly kept living space as Chef Harry started to straighten out all his spices.  

"Make yourself at home, I just need to look for- oh god did I break the eggs." He murmured the last part to himself, a worried expression on his face as he peered down at one of the grocery bags while I made my way into his living room, taking in every detail.  

This place looked familiar, the white furniture, the gray and black pillows.  I took in a deep breath, smelling the scent of fall leaves and pumpkin making my eyes flicker to the candle on the mantle of the fireplace.  

Why did this all seem so familiar?

"Hey pumpkin, you think you could try out the new recipe I'm using? I could use some good constructive criticism." I heard his voice call from the kitchen, the sound of a knife dicing food in the other room echoing through his place as goosebumps formed on my skin.

My body stiffened, my palms immediately sweating when a quote from a fanfiction I had read a long long time ago popped into my head.  

He called me pumpkin.  

The quote in my head began to expand and everything became that much clearer.  

He called me pumpkin because he loved to carve, he loved to hear the screams I would make when he pushed me down to the floor of his plush carpet, gently running the tip of his knife against the bare skin of my back.  

I gulped, looking down to find myself standing on that same dark rug that was mentioned in that one fanfiction.  

Oh god.  

No, anything but that fanfiction story.  

This wasn't Chef Harry at all.  

I walked back out into the hall, breathing heavily as I peeked my head and watched Harry in his kitchen, smirking to himself as he sharpened two large knives together, the metal scraping against one another before his dark green eyes flickered up, connecting with mine before he placed the knives downs with a mischievous smile on his face.  

"So pumpkin, how about you stay for dinner".

I’m trapped in the house with fucking Psycho Harry.

Fuck.

[yukiwrites]

Morgan, Sharing Stories

Thank you so much for commissioning me again, @xpegasusuniverse! I’m sorry for the wait, but hopefully you’ll laugh as much as I did :D

Summary: Still unsuccessful in making Saizo wear one of her masks, Morgan walks with her friends towards the stables to get ready for another day. There, she meets Camilla and Hinoka, somehow suddenly remembering embarrassing stories of her brother and sharing them with the princesses. She didn’t expect to hear many more shameful stories from them, though...

Commission info HERE and HERE!

Part 1 - Part 2 -  Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5

After befriending both Second Princes from Hoshido and Nohr alike, Morgan's days got even busier than before: Now, she had a lot of different playmate-er, friends to hang out with!

First there was, of course, her brother, who would always patrol with her and sometimes share her table during meal times. Then there were Ini- Laslow and Sev-lena. Morgan enjoyed seeing Laslow being turned down as much as she did in Ylisse, so she would sometimes dedicate her day to following him around just to get a few laughs. Selena often took her to have tea with Lady Camilla (mostly at the princess' orders), so Morgan was becoming well-acquainted with that world's (or at least Nohr's) cuisine. It vastly resembled the ylissean one, honestly, which was one of the reasons she had made herself at home so quickly. If even the food tasted the same, it couldn't be such a bad world!

Then there were Sakura and Elise -- they would often get together to craft more masks for Saizo, who would exclusively show himself after the hoshidan princess begged for a long time... Only to elude them with his ninja skills right after.

"I'll get him one day, I swear!" She held both fists up with determination one morning as she walked to the stables with her youngest friends.

Being Prince Leo's friend, or at least playmate (or someone he looked for to be amused at her knowledge, if there were a word for that), sat rather strangely with her brother, who was his subordinate. It also mixed up Morgan's schedule since, from the beginning, she had asked to share on Odin's burdens and help him with his work.

Meaning, she half worked for Leo, half treated him as equal.

She shrugged. Oh, well, it's not like their relationship changed much, anyway!

"I-I'm sorry I can't hold him for long, Linfan..." Sakura looked down, apologetic. Every single time she made Saizo appear, she would grab him and try to keep him still so Linfan could shove the mask on his face, but of course the ninja was much stronger than the frail princess and would easily break away from her. After the initial shock, that is.

"Aw, it's okay, Sakura!" Elise bounced on Linfan's right as the hoshidan princess took the left. "Next time you call him, I'll try bonking my staff on his head!" She made a swishing movement, making Linfan and Sakura duck. "Then Linfan can jump in and put the mask on 'im!"

Sakura gasped. "I-I'm not sure that's saf-"

"YEAH! That sounds great, Elise!" Linfan bounced right back, fired up. "Maybe I could even throw a tome on his head... I do have experience on that, anyway."

"You have experience in throwing tomes at people? Not reading them and using magic and stuff? Haha!" Elise laughed aloud, "how did that happen?!"

Morgan puffed her chest. "Well, it all started--" stuttering, she then remembered she was supposed not to remember stuff, so she curled her tongue, almost biting it. "Iii don't really remember how it started, but I know a friend needed to be able to dodge? Stuff? And then I threw my books at her."

"N-not practice k-knives?" Sakura put both hands over her chest in awe. "It must have been scary to dodge heavy books..."

Elise widened her eyes and placed one hand under her chin. "You knowwww, maybe we should try that sometime! Since they're heavy, they're bound to be slow, right? I need to sharpen my reflexes anyway."

Linfan gave the princess a thumbs up. "Count on me! My tome-throwing skills are the finest of the realm!"

The three girls were making their way to the stables so Linfan could feed and clean Leo's horse. It WAS one of her jobs, despite her friendship with the boss, after all. Still laughing at the prospect of having another book-throwing session, they found that the barn wasn't empty -- both eldest princess of Hoshido and Nohr were taking care of their mounts.

Well, Hinoka was caring for her pegasus, since Camilla had released her wyvern for it to hunt a while ago. They were chatting as the hoshidan princess brushed her steed, but stopped once they heard the approaching laughter.

"Oh, Big Sister!" Elise saw Camilla from the door and ran to her. "What're you doing here so early?"

Camilla laughed lovingly, patting her little sister's head. "I could ask the same of you, Elise. Aren't you usually asleep at this time? It's barely before breakfast."

Sakura bowed to Hinoka from afar, walking at Linfan's pace towards the older women. "Good m-morning, Big Sister."

"Hey there, Sakura. What're you all doing with... her?" Hinoka pointed with her chin to Linfan, obviously still suspectful of her.

"Good morning!" The blatant distaste bounced right off of Linfan, who greeted them with a smile.

"Aw, don't be so harsh on little Linfan, Hinoka." Camilla patted the foreign girl's head, "she is just the sweetest, did you know? We often talk over tea. And since she's my precious Selena's friend, I don't mind her presence at all."

Taken aback at both Linfan's enthusiasm and Camilla's protectiveness over her, Hinoka cleared her throat. "Yeah, well, I just can't trust people that easily, okay? We don't even know if she really lost her memories and all."

Linfan placed her closed fist over her open palm, as though she had figured out something. "Oh! It's funny how everyone believed in Corrin when he said he forgot stuff from his past, but with me, people doubt it! Heeheehaha! Guess I'll have to deal with it anyway, huh?" She smiled brightly, not meaning to poke at Hinoka so much as she did.

The hoshidan princess frowned, clenching her fist. "Yeah? Corrin is my brother, of course I'll believe him."

Taking her index to her chin, Linfan looked up. "Hmm, yeah, Odin also believed in me after some tim- AH!!"

All but Camilla took a step back in surprise due to Linfan's sudden shout.

"Wh-what happened?!" Elise and Sakura asked at the same time, holding Linfan's arms. "Are you in pain?"

The apprentice tactician then burst into laughter. "Hah! Talking about Odin made me remember a super embarrassing thing he did when we were younger! I GOTTA tell him that later! Hahah!"

"A new memory!" Elise rejoiced. "What did he do? Dish!"

Linfan dried one tear of mirth from her eye, snorting so as to stop laughing. "It's so disgusting! I need to write this down before I forget it again," she searched on her person for her small notebook, immediately writing with the pocket feather pen. "It was the first time we were having special noodles from my father's friend's country... It was something like congratulatory noodles? They were suuuper long and very easy to cut."

"Oh, like buckwheat noodles? Your father has hoshidan friends?" Hinoka added, shifting her weight to another leg.

"I dunno!" Linfan closed her notebook, used to writing quickly. "I just know that we were about to eat it, but then my brother said that he would conquer that enormous bow by himself or he wouldn't call himself Odin Dark!" She gestured, making her brother's signature pose. Elise and Sakura giggled as Camilla chuckled. "Then he started to slurp reaaally loudly, and got a lot of noodles into his mouth by accident... But he kept on slurping!"

"That's madness, those noodles are super long!" Hinoka started to get into the story, slightly bending her body towards Linfan.

"... Yep." Linfan snorted. "He choked right after and started coughing noodles everywhere... then they started coming out of his nose! Eww! And A LOT of them, too! All those wriggly, thin and long things coming out of his nose!" She wriggled her fingers on Elise and Sakura's faces, who were contorting in disgust.

"Ewwww, bleargh!" Elise slapped both hands over her face, shivering from head to toe. Sakura brought both hands to her mouth, wanting to laugh and throw up at the same time.

"Hah!" Camilla snickered, throwing her head back in laughter. "That does sound like our Odin!"

Hinoka was as red as her hair from trying to hold back her laughter, but immediately loosened herself. "I also got one!" She got into the mood.

All the princesses gasped. "One?!" Sakura was the most shocked out of the four. "About Odin?!"

"Oh, no, not him." She shrugged. "About my big brother. Ryoma."

"I-I'm not sure I want to hear this." Sakura covered her ears, though her fingers had a wide space between them.

"Did he also choke on noodles?!" Linfan couldn't hold back her snorts, thinking about the hairy Walhart coughing and crying noodles.

"I don't know which one was worse, but no, he didn't cough up on noodles. He... Well. You all know how he likes to meditate and stuff, right?" She didn't wait for their replies as she would explain it anyway. "He goes under a waterfall and empties his mind; usually at the start of the day to be more focused."

The young girls all nodded, their eyes wide in expectation. Even Sakura's. Camilla placed one hand over her cheek in amusement.

Hinoka opened her arms. "Only that... he does that naked." Barely was the word out of her mouth, Morgan started barking a loud laugh, already predicting the end of the story. Elise and Sakura blushed deeply. "Okay, well, not naked, but only on his fundoshi."

"Which is basically naked." Camilla added as Hinoka nodded.

"Yeah. One day he went to meditate as usual -- stop laughing already, Linfan! I'm not done! -- but when he came back, he, well... He was HOLDING his clothes on one hand, but walked around the entire castle from the garden 'till his quarters only on his fundoshi. And it was wet."

Camilla finally cracked a laugh. "And they're white, if I'm not mistaken? Oh, the sight!"

By then, Linfan was already purple from laughing as Sakura brought both hands to her face in horror, Elise snorting loudly. Taken in by the atmosphere, Hinoka continued her story under snickers. "Yes. And he ONLY noticed he was basically naked after he got into his room and started his duties -- he was still dripping wet and I swear to the Dawn Dragon he took two entire hours to leave his room because he was ashamed. And when he left? He was so red my hair couldn't even compare! Hah! I'll never let him live that down." She finally followed Linfan and laughed aloud. "Sometimes I remind him of that just to see his reaction and it's always so funny, no matter how many times I do it!"

"I-I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS!" Linfan was choking from laughing so much, bending over herself to catch her breath. "This is amazing! It's way better than mine!"

"Are we holding a competition now?" Camilla giggled. "I'm afraid I haven't many embarrassing stories of Xander to tell. Apart from the usual clumsiness... Ah, if I remember correctly, there was one time he failed to crack a joke as we dined."

"That Prince Xander cracking a joke? He's the most serious man I've ever met!" Still with an air of laughter, Hinoka commented with a smile. Sakura nodded beside her, wanting to forget about her naked brother.

"You have no idea! I started crying right away 'cause I thought he was possessed or something! He even had a half smile and tried to raise his eyebrow like Arthur does, it was horrible!" Elise held onto Linfan's arm for support; just remembering that terrible sight making her chest tighten.

"THAT I can't imagine." Linfan looked up in thought, trying to picture that serious Crown Prince smiling like a fool, but her own mind filled his face with mosaics, as though to protect her sanity.

"I think I would cry too." Sakura looked down in horror, not liking these stories.

"Right? Right? It was terrifying!" Elise huffed.

"He learned his lesson, however." Camilla patted her little sister's head. "Never again did he try."

"For goodness' sake, too!" The young princess puffed her chest, then looked around to the princesses around her. "Is it my turn now? But how am I supposed to choose ONE embarrassing story of Leo? He embarrasses himself all the time!"

"BWAH!" Linfan choked a laugh, her stomach already hurting. "Lord Leo does?! No way! Tell me, tell me!"

Elise looked at Linfan in disbelief. "No way, you never saw it? I saw some people even bet on whether he would show up on his pyjamas or not the other day. They bet over how many pieces of his pyjama he would be wearing... the more people got right, the more money they got."

"Lord Leo is that careless? I GOTTA see it for myself!"

"You won't need to look for long, trust me." Elise snorted. "There was also one time he was half-asleep and sat down beside me to have breakfast. But then he chugged down MY strawberry juice instead of his usual tomato juice! I still haven't forgiven him for that! I was so looking forward to it!"

"Oh? You forgot to mention a tiny detail, dear." Camilla giggled. "The part where he realized it wasn't his juice halfway to the glass..."

"... And choked." Elise concluded. "But since the glass was already almost all turned up, everything else came down while he coughed, making such a mess I had to throw away the dress I wore that day because the stay never disappeared!"

"Oh my Naga-" Linfan slapped both hands over her mouth to hide her laughter. "I can't laugh anymore, please stop...!" She huffed, once again bending over herself.

"O-oh, something like that happened with Takumi, right, Big Sister?" Sakura turned to Hinoka, who nodded. "He was tired from his morning training and sat with his back to the table... then he took one of my cherry mochi instead of his own rice mochi... and wolfed it down in one bite." Sha looked down, distraught. "I really wanted that mochi..."

Hinoka put one arm over her sister's shoulder. "You forgot to mention how he choked with it and not only knocked over your AND his miso soup, he fell down from the tatami into the corridor."

"... Right in front of a servant who was still putting the table." Sakura started getting red from mirth, holding back her laughter. "Who t-t-t-tripped over him and m-made a mess... pfft... I-I'm so sorry, Big Brother..." She giggled under both hands, reliving the absurd scene.

Just by imagining the scene, Elise and Linfan both laughed so loud they startled the horses. "GODS, why wasn't I there?!" Linfan sputtered, her body already exhausted from all the laughter.

"You can come over next time -- I'm sure there won't be a shortage of opportunities for Takumi to embarrass himself." Hinoka snorted, not realizing how friendly she just sounded towards someone to whom she showed such blatant distaste not even one hour ago.

"For me to do what?" An exasperated voice was heard from the door. "What're you all laughing about? It's echoing all the way to the mess hall."

Prince Takumi and Prince Leo both opened the wide doors to the barn. They were both looking for their little sisters so they all could start breakfast when they met along the way, hearing the loud laughter coming from the stables. "So you were here, too, Linfan. Odin's looking all over for you, too."

"Oh!" Linfan slapped her forehead. "But I thought we agreed that it was my turn to clean your horse today!"

The princes approached, their brows raised at how their respective little sisters avoided eye contact with them. The girls' lips were so tightly pressed against one another that they turned white, in contrast to their red faces, as though they were trying not to laugh. Hinoka snorted openly as Camilla giggled and made her way to her little brother, hugging him.

"Well? Is it clean? You've been gone for one hour already." Leo said after he disentangled himself from Camilla's grip.

Once again did Linfan slap her forehead, making a round pink mark appear. "I didn't! Can I do it after breakfast? All that laughing made me hungry!"

Leo groaned. "Yes, you can. Just don't take too long, alright? I need my horse by noon."

"Yessir!"

"... What were you laughing about?" Takumi crossed his arms, watching his sister saddle her pegasus and bid it farewell.

"Why, that is a lady's secret, darling." Camilla booped Takumi's nose, making him jerk away from her and blush. "Would you pry on five ladies' private matters like that?"

"Embarrassing private matters," Linfan whispered, stealing a loud snort from Elise and setting Sakura off.

For some reason, Leo and Takumi felt like they were the reason for all that laughter. "What's the big idea? Don't tell me you're laughing at US!" Takumi looked at his sisters, stopping at his friend Linfan.

For some reason, when she looked up at Takumi and Leo, she mixed up her own memories of Odin snarfing down the noodles, somehow imagining Leo and Takumi both coughing noodles from their noses.

She couldn't take it.

"BWHAHGH-"

"Heehehaha!!" Elise followed, setting Hinoka and Sakura off.

Bright red, the princes looked at each other. "SISTER!" They grinded their teeth at their older sisters. "What did you tell them?!"

Camilla threw her head back in laughter as she once again hugged her little brother. "A few stories of the past, darling. Nothing worth- pfft... mentioning..."

"CAMILLA!" Leo let go of the hug, watching his increasingly red older sister laugh. "What's going on?! I won't stand around here and be mocked!"

Weakly, Linfan held onto Leo's sleeve as she laughed. "We were just... sharing embarrassing stories... of our brothers." She coughed, trying to stop.

Takumi's entire face and neck redded. "W-what did you tell them?!"

Hinoka laughed so much she was crying, but managed to hold Takumi's shoulder. "About that... time you ate Sakura's mochi."

Realization slowly hit the hoshidan prince. "NOOO!" He covered his face in shame. "Not that one!"

"BWARGHAH!" Once again Linfan laughed, holding onto Leo for support.

"... And mine was?" He tried to hold onto the little pride he had left, raising his chin.

Elise sputtered, bending over so as to catch her breath. "The... strawberry juice one... pfft...!"

Leo tried to maintain his composure by closing his eyes, but his bright red face betrayed him. "I'm- How could- I'm divorcing this family." he said in a low voice, turning on his heel. "Just wait until I remember your most embarrassing story, Elise!"

"W-wait, Lord Leo-" Still holding onto him, Linfan almost tripped when he started walking. "C-c'mon, why don’t we all go together to the mess hall? We can still share a lot more embarrassing stories now that everyone's here!"

"Well, I don't WANT to tell any embarrassing stories!" Takumi still hadn't recovered, holding his face in shame. "I'll never live this down."

That almost set Linfan off again, but she managed to gulp the laughter down and straighten her back. "C'mon, it's gonna be fun! We can do it by turns, and it doesn't need to be about the family, how about it?"

Leo pursed his lips, almost pouting. "Well, I do have quite a few stories about Odin… But I still want to talk about Elise’s."

“Hey!” The young princess crossed her arms as Linfan snapped her fingers.

"I have a lot of stories about my brother too! C'mon, he won't be there anyway, so let's embarrass him all we can!" She held onto Leo's arm, slightly turning over her shoulder to wink to Camilla. The eldest princess giggled, then nodded.

They would make sure to think up the most shameful stories of everyone in that army, or her name wasn't Linfan!

... Well, it wasn't, but you get the idea!

[casputin]

17. Into the Chamber

It was probably the worst day of Harry's entire life. Percy had sent an owl to Mr and Mrs Weasley, then shut himself in his room. The remaining Weasleys sat with Harry and Hermione in a corner of the common room, unable to say anything to each other.

No afternoon had ever lasted as long as that one, nor had the Gryffindor Tower ever been so crowded, yet so quiet.

Near sunset Fred and George went up to bed, unable to sit there any longer.

'She knew something,' said Ron, speaking for the first time since he'd identified his sister's belongings. 'That's why she was taken. It wasn't some stupid thing about Percy at all. She'd found something out about the Chamber of Secrets. That must be why she was -' Ron rubbed his eyes frantically. 'I mean, she was a pure-blood. There can't be any other reason.'

Harry could see the sun sinking, blood red, below the skyline. This was the worst he had ever felt. If only there was something he could do. Anything.

'D'you think there's a chance at all' said Ron, 'she's not - you know -'

Neither Harry nor Hermione could think of what to say.

'D'you know what?' said Ron, 'I think we should go and see Lockhart. He's the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, and if he's done all he says he has then he should be able to stop the Basilisk!'

As Harry couldn't think of anything else to do, and Hermione was always happy to see more of Lockhart, they agreed. The Gryffindors around them were so miserable, and felt so sorry for the Weasleys, that nobody tried to stop them as they got up, crossed the room, and left through the portrait hole.

Darkness was falling as they walked down to Lockhart's office. There seemed to be a lot of activity going on inside it. They could hear scraping, thumps and hurried footsteps.

Harry knocked and there was a sudden silence from inside. Then the door opened the tiniest crack and they saw one of Lockhart's eyes peering through it.

'Oh ... Mr Potter ... Miss Granger ... Mr Weasley ...' he said, opening the door a mite wider. 'I'm rather busy at the moment. If you could be quick.'

'Professor, we've got some information about Slytherin's Monster,' said Harry.

'Er - well - it's not terribly -' the side of Lockhart's face they could see looked very uncomfortable. 'I mean - well - all right.'

He opened the door and they entered.

His office had been almost completely stripped. Two large trunks stood open on the floor. Robes, jade green, lilac, midnight blue, had been hastily folded into one of them; books were jumbled untidily into the other. The photographs that had covered the walls were now crammed into boxes on the desk.

'Are you going somewhere?' said Harry.

'Er, well, yes,' said Lockhart, ripping a life-size poster of himself from the back of the door as he spoke, and starting to roll out up. 'Urgent call ... unavoidable ... got to go ...'

'What about my sister?' said Ron jerkily.

'Well, as to that - most unfortunate,' said Lockhart, abiding their eyes as he wrenched open a drawer and started emptying the contents into a bag. 'No one regrets more than I -:

'You're the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher!' said Harry. 'You can't go now! Not with all the dark stuff going on here!'

'Well, I must say ... when I took the job ...' Lockhart muttered, now piling socks on top of his robes, 'nothing in the job description ... didn't expect ...'

'You mean you're running away?' said Harry disbelievingly. 'After all that stuff you did in your books?'

'Books can be misleading,' Lockhart said delicately.

'You wrote them!' Harry shouted.

'My dear boy,' said Lockhart, straightening up and frowning at Harry. 'Do use your common sense. My books wouldn't have sold half as well if people didn't think I'd done all those things. No one wants to read about some ugly old Armenian warlock, even if he did save a village from werewolves. He'd look dreadful on the front cover. No dress sense at all. And the witch who vanished the Bandon Banshee had a hairy chin. I mean, come on ...'

Hermione had been silent throughout the exchange as she saw her idol revealed for the coward he really was. But here she had to interrupt.

'So you're a fraud?' she said. 'A charlatan. You haven't done a single thing you claim to have done? How have you gotten away with it for so long? You can't have paid them all off.'

'Oh, sweet Miss Granger,' Lockhart tutted. 'There was so much work involved. I had to track these people down and ask them exactly how they managed to do what they did. And then I had to put a Memory Charm on them so they wouldn't remember doing it. If there's one thing I pride myself on, it's Memory Charms. No, it's been a lot of work, Miss Granger. It's not all book-signings and publicity photos, you know. You want fame, you have to be prepared for a long hard slog.'

He banged the lids of his trunks shut and locked them.

'Let's see,' he said. 'I think that's everything. Yes. Only one thing left.'

He pulled out his wand and turned to them.

'Awfully sorry, all, but I'll have to put a Memory Charm on you now. Can't have your blabbing -'

'Expelliarmus!' Hermione shouted before he had chance to say any more. Lockhart was blasted backwards, falling over his trunk. His wand flew high into the air; Ron caught it and flung it out of the open window.

'Blimey, Hermione,' he said, 'You'll have to teach me that one some time.'

Harry kicked Lockhart's trunk air. Lockhart was looking up at him, weedy once more. Harry had his wand pointed at him.

'What d'you want me to do?' said Lockhart weekly. 'I don't know where the Chamber of Secrets is. There's nothing I can do.'

'You're in luck,' said Harry, forcing Lockhart to his feet at wandpoint. 'Not only do we know where it is, we also know what's inside. Let's go.'

They marched Lockhart out of his office and down the nearest stairs, along the dark corridor where the messages shone on the wall, to the door of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.

They sent Lockhart in first. Harry was pleased to see he was shaking. When the entered they found Myrtle sitting on a cistern, and a figure near the taps. It was Professor Black.

'I might have guessed you might show up,' Black said.

'You're the heir?' Harry said.

'No, Mr Potter,' said Black. 'I am trying to find the entrance to the Chamber in order to save Miss Weasley, though it's not looking promising. But I found the snake Mr Malfoy mentioned. Perhaps his intuition is right, perhaps you can open it Harry with your Parseltongue abilities.'

Harry walked over to Black and saw the snake engraved on the side of the tap just as Malfoy had said.

'Say something, Harry,' said Ron. 'Something in Parseltongue.'

'But -' Harry thought hard. The only times he'd managed to speak Parseltongue were when he'd been faced with a real snake. He stared hard at the tiny engraving, trying to imagine it was real.

'Open up,' he said.

He looked at Ron, who shook his head.

'English,' he said.

Harry looked back at the snake, willing himself to believe it was alive. If he moved his head, the candlelight made it look as though it was moving.

'Open up,' he said.

Except the words weren't what he heard; a strange hiding had escaped him, and at once the tap glowed with a brilliant white light and began to spin. Next second, the sink began to move. The sink, in fact, sack, right out of sight, leaving a large pile exposed, a pipe wide enough for a man to slide into.

Harry heard Ron gasp and looked up again. He had made up his mind what he was going to do.

'I'm going down there,' he said.

He couldn't not go, not now they had found the entrance to the Chamber, not if there was even the faintest, slimmest, wildest chance that Ginny might be alive

'I think not, Mr Potter,' said Black. 'One of you will go and fetch Professor McGonagall, whilst the rest of us wait here. Then we teachers will go down and explore.'

'No chance,' said Ron. 'Ginny's down there, haven't we wasted enough time already. I'm going down right now.'

And before anyone could stop him he jumped feet first into the pipe.

'Oh, for goodness sake,' said Black before following him.

'Well, you hardly seem to need me,' said Lockhart, with a shadow of his old smile, as he began to back out of the bathroom. 'I'll go fetch Mc -'

'You're going down,' said Hermione, pointing her wand at him. 'You're the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. Go defend.'

White-faced and wandless, Lockhart approached the opening.

'Harry,' he said, his voice feeble, 'come now, what good will it do?'

Harry jabbed him in the back with his wand. Lockhart slid his legs into the pipe and Hermione pushed him down.

'What a fraud,' she said, red in her anger at being duped.

'I think Black was right,' said Harry. 'One of us should go and get McGonagall. If the Basilisk is down there I have the best chance of calling it off, so I think you should go.'

'Not likely,' said Hermione, 'You wouldn't have gotten this far without me, I'm not leaving now, especially with Ginny in danger.' With that she slid down the pipe and Harry had no choice but to follow.

It was like rushing down an endless, slimy, dark side. He could see more pipes branching off in all directions, but none as large as theirs, which twisted and turned, sloping steeply downwards, and he knew he was falling deeper below the school than even the dungeons.

And then, just as he had begun to worry about what would happen when he hit the ground, the pipe levelled out, and he shot out of the end with a wet thud, landing on the damp floor of a dark stone tunnel, large enough to stand in.

Lockhart was getting to his feet a little way away. Hermione was already standing to Harry's left. And a little way on Harry could just make out the silhouettes of Ron and Black. Though he didn't need to see where they were. Black was shouting at Ron loud enough.

'What if the monster had been down here?' Black said.

'Well at least I was trying to save my sister!' Ron said.

'Mr Weasley, I fail to see how you could help your sister if you were dead.' Black turned to see that everyone else had joined them down the pipe. 'So I take it that no one went to McGonagall?' he asked.

No one said a word.

'Wonderful,' said Black eventually. 'No one has the faintest idea of where we are, Slytherin's Monster could show up any moment and I'm stuck down here with three under-aged Wizards and the most grossly incompetent teacher I have ever had the misfortune of meeting. Oh, and there's no way we're getting back up that way, now, is there?'

The tunnel fell silent, except for the odd whimper from Lockhart.

'Well, we're down here now,' said Harry, 'and I'm not going to hang around.' He walked a little way down the tunnel, and muttered Lumos, igniting his wand.

Hermione and Professor Black also lit their own wands and the five of them moved forward cautiously, their footsteps slapping loudly on the wet floor.

The tunnel was so dark that they could only see a little distance ahead. Their shadows on the wet walls looked monstrous in the wandlight.

'Remember,' said Harry quietly, 'any sign of movement, close your eyes straight away ...'

But the tunnel was quiet as a grave, and the first unexpected sound they heard was a loud crunch as Ron stepped on what turned out to be a rat's skull. Harry lowered his wand to look at the floor and saw that it was littered with small animal bones. Trying very hard not to imagine what Ginny might look like if they found her, Harry led the way forward, round a dark bend in the tunnel.

'Harry, there's something up there ...' said Ron hoarsely, grabbing Harry's shoulder.

The froze, watching. Harry could see the outline of something huge and curved, lying right across the tunnel. It wasn't moving.

'Maybe it's asleep,' he breathed, glancing back at the others. Lockhart's hands were pressed over his eyes. Harry turned back to look at the thing, his heart bearing so fast it hurt.

Very slowly, his eyes narrow add he could make them and still see, Harry began to edge forward. But Black held him back and stepped forward himself.

'It's merely the snake's skin,' Black announced. The students breathed a sigh of relief and saw the vivid, poisonous green skin, lying curled and empty across the tunnel floor. The creature that shed it must have been twenty feet long at least.

'Blimey,' said Ron weakly.

There was a sudden movement as Gilderoy Lockhart's knees gave way beneath him.

'Get up,' said Ron sharply, pointing his wand at Lockhart.

Lockhart got to his feet - he then diced at Ron, knocking him to the ground. He straightened up panting, with Ron's wand in his hand and a gleaming smile was back on his face.

'The adventure ends here' he declared, raising Ron's Spellotaped wand high over his head and yelled, 'Obliviate!'

The wand exploded with the force of a small bomb. Harry flung his arms over his head and ran, slipping over the coils of snake skin, out of the way of great chunks of tunnel ceiling which were thundering to the floor. Next moment it was just him and Black staring at a solid wall of broken rock.

____________________________________________________

Cliffhanger! But only because I'd hit the post length limit!!!

[heauxlycoitus]

“A man created the first camera in order to capture the beauty and essence of the woman and the female form. I’m just going back to the original intent of the camera.”

~Ferdinand the Photographer~

I think one of the main struggles I have in releasing my sexual goddess is overcoming the idea that my body isn’t wrong. It’s not a barrier. Nor is it a stumbling block. It’s actually art. I am art. And I wanted–craved–the opportunity for my body to be seen from the eye of an artist. I remember walking through the Louvre Museum in Paris almost 2 years ago and thinking that I could be them if my body wasn’t wrong. There were countless statues and paintings of women and they were beautiful. I was just wrong. But deep down, I had hope that maybe the way I saw my body was wrong and not my body itself. I wanted to be incorrect about my body thesis, but didn’t know how to adjust it or throw it away altogether. I wanted to see something different. I knew I had to see it to believe it to change it this time. I needed empirical evidence in order to change my mind about the body I tow around. Someone needed to help me on this journey and help free me of my inner shame and virgin trauma.

So I was minding my own business and decided to start swiping. I usually swipe right on the white ones, most of the Black ones, all the pilots. This one caught my eye cuz he just looked hella regular, but also like he had an inner spice to him. Something about the button-up, tucked in shirt with brown belt made me think that there was more to him than met my eye. Totally like the trash-ass book 50 Shades of Grey. I liked it and I was intrigued. I make my best and worst life decisions when intrigued.

Ding! He immediately writes back. What a change. He was friendly with several exclamation points, exuding a non-asshole temperament, shared that he’s not interested or looking for a relationship, but he’s an erotic nude photographer and would like to take photos of me.

Me: Well, why the hell not!

We meet in his hotel. Because of the Coronavirus, we had to register me at the hotel. I was worried they wouldn’t let me in! Front Desk guy asks what I’m here for and my Tinder Photographer says, “Oh, she’s only going to be here for one or two hours.”

OMG! The whole front desk thinks I’m a prostitute! How embarrassing. I just stare back in my “Well, what he said” face cuz I’m working on not needing to prove my self or ethic to folks that don’t matter.

We go up to the ninth floor. I wonder about what kind of small talk to make in an elevator when you’re about to be very naked in less than 5 minutes. I guess the weather is a suitable topic.

Cloudy.

As soon as I walk in, I scan for sketch things like cameras, odd odors, drugs, copious amounts of alcohol, blood stains. I’d really rather this not be my last day on earth. Also, my first nude photo shoot left me traumatized, but that’ll be saved for another blog entry.

Ferdinand rushes in and starts moving furniture frantically and with intention. I’m standing there for 2.5 seconds like, “Oh. I guess this is when I take my clothes off…” As he scoots around and checks lighting and makes his plan for the photo shoot, I disrobe and unleash my floppy boobs. When I uncupped my breasts, I thought he would quit what he was doing and lick his lips or something. He didn’t. I slowly took off my undershorts and thought maybe this would be the time for him to be annoying and borderline gross–make a gesture or remark of my pubic hair or use his spidey-sense or fingers to check my wetness. Ferdinand never stares at me like I’m a piece of meat ready to be demolished. I was butt ass naked but still shrouded in my dignity somehow.

As discussed before, all photos were to be taken on my iPhone 7. I didn’t really know how good the photos would be cuz I’m 3 generations behind and only know how to do regular shit on my phone. I hand it over and he starts snapping. I could hear the dull tapping that a phone makes when someone presses the screen to take a photo. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary and I thought they were just regular pictures. I really really hope this isn’t going to be a waste of my time. Cuz I mean, I am a bit obsessed with nude photography and have high standards for this art form. But also, maybe he’ll do suck photos and then ask for a fuck later as a thank you. I was prepared for suck pictures, a fuck, and a lip-lick throughout as icing on the cake.

A bit lost at first, I just stand there. I don’t do well exposed or dancing. I need specific instructions. The whole free idea really stresses me out cuz it’s just too many choices and I get overwhelmed. He gives no instructions at first. In my head I’m like, “Lemme just put my forearm on the window ledge and look contemplative at the clouds.” I saw that on Pinterest once and it looked nice. That was my first pose before Ferdinand started giving me directions.

Sit here. Stand. One leg up. Cross your leg. Lean back. Lean forward on your knee. Let’s move this chair. Oh the natural lighting is going away. Face the window. Hands up. Arch your back. Open your legs wider.

Spread your lips.

More.

We took photos next to the window. Sitting on the ottoman. On the floor. In the corner. In the bathtub. Shower. Legs up. Legs out. Breasts covered. Breasts hanging. Clit peeking out.

It was intense. We take a break and he shows me the pictures and I almost burst into tears. I’m not wrong. I’m art. I look like I was made on purpose. By design. Not a single centimeter out of order. My breasts and thighs and hips, buttocks and back chub and belly pudge and knees and ankles and neckline, arm crease and wrists and fingernails made sense. My pubic hair framed my lips which framed my clit. How had I not seen this before?

Speechless. I made myself speechless.

We make a plan for the rest of our time together. He asked about what other poses and focus areas. I tell him that when I get nervous I do this stupid grin that I hate and it ruins photos. I look for the stupid grin and ask him to do those ones again. I want more of my nipples and areolas. My collarbone cuz it’s my favorite. More next to the brown hallway cuz I think it’s a nice contrast to my skin tone. He wants to try a tiny complimentary hotel red and yellow apple next to my clitoris.

In the middle of Part 2, he gets a phone call from the front desk. He sounds patient answering their questions. I stretch my back with my fingers gracing the floor. I hear that same dull tapping as he snaps a few photos. The lighting is great. Those were a couple of my favorite shots. That’s when I started to get aroused. I couldn’t help myself. My cheeks were getting rosy and my clitoris started to swell. I felt seen like a masterpiece in Madrid.

He gets off the phone and tells me to stay in that position–back arched, toes and fingers touching opposite floor ends. A lazy rainbow assisted by an ottoman if you will. He says he wants to take pictures of my mons pubis. OH LORD JESUS IS THIS BIOLOGY CLASS??!!! What in the world is a..then he inches closer to my v-line and I’m like, “Ooohhhh, well why did he just say the front hair part!” I totally forgot that it had a name. He knew the name. Other men I’ve slept with don’t even know the names of female anatomy–calling lips my vagina and shit. Ferdinand knew the woman’s body intimately without fucking me all because he had studied many and observed them through so many lenses over the years. I get more aroused.

He then says we need to do some pictures that exude **he pauses and thinks** pleasure. By now, I’m trying not to be breathless. I’m ovulating so I’m pretty moist already. It doesn’t take much. He places me near the bed lamp and says to touch myself.

Masturbate with an audience of one. Got it.

I slip my fingers between my lips and lost my breath. He took pictures of my circular motions as I played with my lips and clitoris. After him naming the scientific name of the “front hairy part” and him not licking his lips when I disrobed and him studying my body to grab her essence from the pit of virginal shame, they were begging for attention and finally got some. I reached a pretty deep breath and a low moan. He says I can go ahead and finish if I wanted and then just walks away giving me privacy to be with myself and my feminine energy.

I wasn’t ready to go deeper with my audience of one. Next time, absolutely. That was the one time I actually got scared. What if I go there and can’t get back? What if I like having an orgasm in front of an audience and I can’t replicate that experience ever again and then can’t orgasn ever again? What if this is when he goes ape-shit crazy? I wasn’t ready to be post-orgasm vulnerable. I knew I would want to be cuddled or to ride the wave of the cum. But we had more work to do. So I pulled myself back and my body was deeply sad. She was ready, but I was not.

I didn’t orgasm that time but I could have. Next time. Maybe when I have the iPhone 8 I’ll cum and he can get it on camera. After getting close to an orgasm, I sauntered into a few more poses–a little high off my own libido and ready to finish strong.

He asks if I want anything else. He’d taken almost 350 photos. I’m satisfied. He’s satisfied. I tell him I need to charge my phone for about 30 minutes.

I have so many questions. Like, how and why nude photography? Why women? Must the nude photography be done with a model that the photographer is sexually attracted to? Does the photographer’s sexual orientation and preference matter when choosing gender of the model?

He wants to hear my story. Where I am in my journey. Maybe he cares. Maybe he doesn’t. Perhaps that Spanish politeness coming through? I share anyway. Speaking and having him listen intently was like salve to a purity culture wound. He offered no advice or sage wisdom or encouragement. Just an occasional nod of attentiveness and full, deep eye contact where he saw my essence. And I let him. I gave him the heaviness of my vulnerability and he held it safely for me.

As I charged my phone, we talked. I kept waiting for him to lean over and let me infer that it was coital payment time now. I braced myself for the beckon and it never came. I wasn’t brave enough to ask if he felt the sexual tension at any time during the photo shoot. I sure did. But if we would have fucked, it would have ruined the sacred space of me and him together making art. It would have brought down the innocence and raw eroticism down to dirt level and left me shrugging my shoulders and figuring out when I could fuck my next one.

As my battery revived itself, I was still nude. But somehow, I wasn’t butt-ass naked. I’ll have to ponder the difference between the two in a later blog, but they are truly not the same. The whole time I sat on the couch, my hands gracing my thighs, breasts displayed, and body finally resting, his eyes never left mine. He could very well have stared at my exposed areolas or the haired triangle–my mons pubis–and imagined himself between my legs like every other guy, but he had the dignity, the audacity, and the reverence of the woman and feminine energy to not. I felt that and it almost made me weep again and get to an even deeper level of healing for my wounded soul. He had literally seen and snapped shots of my sacred spaces, gotten mere inches to be counted on 1 hand not 2 away from my treasures. I extended trust to him and he offered strong, safe hands to hold my vulnerability and sacred woundings. Time stood still and I inched my way further down my path towards healing and art and beauty and voice and honor and dignity and grace.

I’m not sure if I’ll ever meet Ferdinand again. I would love to take more pictures with him. I mean, I messaged him and did my best to beg and plead for another chance. I even said that I would shave if he brought his good camera. And y’all THAT is true dedication cuz me and my leg and pussy hair are real close.

Not fucking made me sit and be completely. Be all the things. I couldn’t run and hide behind fucking and flipping from position to position almost robotically. I didn’t fake an orgasm. I didn’t wonder why the guy didn’t care that I hadn’t cum. I brought my whole self in a way that I hadn’t in other sexual encounters. This photo shoot was somehow deper and more intimate than sex and I will wonder how and why it was like that for years to come.

That day, I learned, I need nothing else to be beauty. Nothing more to be art. Just me and my body.

Just me and my art.

Thanks Ferdinand. I’m glad I swiped right on you.

[lodelss]

Soraya Roberts | Longreads | November 2018 | 10 minutes (2,422 words)

Should I be married to a woman? If today were yesterday, if all this sexual fluidity were in the discourse when I was coming of age in the ‘90s, would I have been with a woman instead of a man? It is a question that “The Bisexual” creator Desiree Akhavan also poses in the second episode of her Hulu series, co-produced with Channel 4 because no U.S. network wanted it. Akhavan directed, co-wrote, and stars in the show in which her character, Leila, splits with her girlfriend of 10 years, Sadie (Maxine Peake), and starts having sex with men for the first time. So, Leila asks, if the opposite had happened to her — as it did to me — and a guy had swept her off her feet instead of a woman, would things have turned out differently? “Maybe I would’ve gone the path of least resistance,” Leila says. Maybe I did.

This is a conundrum that marks a previous generation — one that had to “fight for it,” as Akhavan’s heroine puts it, and is all the more self-conscious for being juxtaposed with the next one, the one populated by the fluid youth of social media idolizing the likes of pansexual Janelle Monáe, polyamorous Ezra Miller, undecided Lucas Hedges. Call it a queer generation gap (what’s one more label?). “I don’t know what it’s like to grow up with the Internet,” 32-year-old Akhavan explains to a younger self-described “queer woman” in her show. “I just get the sense that it’s changing your relationship to gender and to sexuality in a really good way, but in a way I can’t relate to.”

***

This Playboy bunny is chest out, lips open, legs wide. This Playboy bunny is every other Playboy bunny except for the flat hairy chest because this Playboy bunny is Ezra Miller. The star of Fantastic Beasts: The Crimes of Grindelwald calls himself “queer” but it’s hard to take him seriously. What was it Susan Sontag said: it’s not camp if it’s trying to be camp? And for the past few months, while promoting the Potterverse prequel no one asked for, this 26-year-old fashionisto has been trying his damndest, styling himself as a sort of latter day Ziggy Stardust — the monastic Moncler puffer cape, the glittering Givenchy feathers — minus the depth. Six months ago, Miller looked like every other guy on the red carpet and now, per his own request, models bunny ears, fishnets, and heels as a gender-fluid rabbit for a randy Playboy interview. Okay, I guess, but it reads disingenuous to someone who grew up surrounded by closets to see them plundered so flagrantly for publicity. Described as “attracted to men and women,” Miller is nevertheless quoted mostly on the subject of guys, the ones he jerked off and fell in love with. He claims his lack of romantic success has lead him to be a polycule: a “polyamorous molecule” involving multiple “queer beings who understand me as a queer being.”

The article hit two weeks after i-D published a feature in which heartthrob Harry Styles interviewed heartthrob Timothée Chalamet with — despite their supposed reframing of masculinity — the upshot, as always, being female genuflection. “I want to say you can be whatever you want to be,” Chalamet explains, styled as a sensitive greaser for the cover. “There isn’t a specific notion, or jean size, or muscle shirt, or affectation, or eyebrow raise, or dissolution, or drug use that you have to take part in to be masculine.” Styles, on brand, pushes it further. “I think there’s so much masculinity in being vulnerable and allowing yourself to be feminine,” the 24-year-old musician says, “and I’m very comfortable with that.” (Of course you are comfortable, white guy…did I say that out loud?) As part of the boy band One Direction, Styles was marketed as a female fantasy and became a kind of latter-day Mick Jagger, the playboy who gets all the girls. His subsequent refusal to label himself, the rumors about his close relationship with band mate Louis Tomlinson, and the elevation of his song “Medicine” to “bisexual anthem”– “The boys and the girls are in/I mess around with them/And I’m OK with it” — all build on a solid foundation of cis white male heterosexuality.

Timothée Chalamet’s sexuality, meanwhile, flows freely between fiction and fact. While the 22-year-old actor is “straight-identifying,” he acquires a queer veneer by virtue of his signature role as Call Me by Your Name’s Elio, a bisexual teen (or, at least, a boy who has had sex with both women and men). Yet off screen, as Timothée, he embodies a robust heterosexuality. On social media, the thirst for him skews overwhelmingly female, while reports about his romantic partners — Madonna’s daughter, Johnny Depp’s daughter — not only paint him straight but enviably so. Lucas Hedges, another straight-identified actor who plays gay in the conversion therapy drama Boy Erased, somewhat disrupts this narrative, returning fluidity to the ambiguous space it came from. The 21-year-old admitted in an interview with Vulture that he found it difficult to pin himself down, having been “infatuated with” close male friends but more often women. “I recognize myself as existing on that spectrum,” he says. “Not totally straight, but also not gay and not necessarily bisexual.” That he felt “ashamed” for not being binary despite having a sixth-grade health teacher who introduced him to the range of sexuality suggests how married our culture is to it.

As a woman familiar with the shame associated with female sexuality, it’s difficult to ignore the difference in tenor of the response to famous young white males like Miller, Styles, and Chalamet and famous black women like Janelle Monáe and Tessa Thompson not only discussing it, but making even more radical statements. Appearing on the cover of Rolling Stone in May, Monáe said straight up (so to speak): “Being a queer black woman in America — someone who has been in relationships with both men and women — I consider myself to be a free-ass motherfucker.” The same age as Desiree Akhavan, 32, Monáe identified as bisexual until she read about pansexuality. She initially came out through her music; her album, Dirty Computer, contains a song called “Q.U.E.E.N.” which was originally titled “Q.U.E.E.R.,” while the music video accompanying “Pynk” has actress Tessa Thompson emerging from Monáe’s Georgia O’Keeffe-esque pants. While neither one of them has discussed their relationship in detail, Thompson, who in Porter magazine’s July issue revealed she is attracted to men and women, said, “If people want to speculate about what we are, that’s okay.”

The mainstream press and what appeared to be a number of non-queer social media acolytes credited Chalamet and Styles with redefining their gender and trouncing toxic masculinity. “[H]arry styles, ezra miller, and timothee chalamet are going to save the world,” tweeted one woman, while The Guardian dubbed Miller the “hero we need right now.” Monáe, meanwhile, was predominantly championed by queer fans (“can we please talk about how our absolute monarch Janelle Monáe has been telegraphing her truth to the queers thru her art and fashion for YEARS and now this Rolling Stone interview is a delicious cherry on top + a ‘told u so’ to all the h*teros”) and eclipsed by questions about what pansexual actually means. While white male fluidity was held up as heroic, female fluidity, particularly black female fluidity, was somehow unremarkable. Why? Part of the answer was recently, eloquently, provided by “Younger” star Nico Tortorella, who identifies as gender-fluid, bisexual, and polyamorous. “I get to share my story,” he told The Daily Beast. “That’s a privilege that I have because of what I look like, the color of my skin, what I have between my legs, my straight passing-ness, everything.”

***

When I was growing up sex was not fun, it was fraught. Sex was AIDS, disease, death. The Supreme Court of Canada protected sexual orientation under the Charter when I was 15 but I went to school in Alberta, Canada’s version of Texas — my gym teacher was the face of Alberta beef. In my high school, no one was gay even if they were. All gender was binary. Sex was a penis in a vagina. Popular culture was as straight, and even Prince and David Bowie seemed to use their glam sparkle to sleep with more women rather than fewer. Bisexual women on film were murderers (Basic Instinct) or sluts (Chasing Amy) and in the end were united by their desire for “some serious deep dicking.” I saw no bisexual women on television (I didn’t watch “Buffy”) and LGBTQ characters were limited (“My So-Called Life”). Alanis Morissette was considered pop music’s feminist icon, but even she was singing about Dave Coulier. And the female celebrities who seemed to swing both ways — Madonna, Drew Barrymore, Bijou Phillips — were the kind who were already acting out, their sexuality a hallmark of their lack of control.

“I think unrealistic depictions of sex and relationships are harmful,” Akhavan told The New York Times. “I was raised on them and the first time I had sex, I had learned everything from film and television and I was like ‘Oh, this isn’t at all like I saw on the screen.’” Bisexuality has historically been passed over on screen for a more accessible binary depiction of relationships. In her 2013 book The B Word: Bisexuality in Contemporary Film and Television, Maria San Filippo describes what has become known as “bisexual erasure” in pop culture: “Outside of the erotically transgressive realms of art cinema and pornography, screen as well as ‘real life’ bisexuality is effaced not only by what I’ve named compulsory monosexuality but also by compulsory monogamy,” she writes, adding, “the assumption remains that the gender of one’s current object choice indicates one’s sexuality.” So even high-profile films that include leads having sex with both genders — Brokeback Mountain, The Kids Are All Right, Blue Is the Warmest Color, Carol, Call Me By Your Name — are coded “gay” rather than “bi.”

Despite the rise in bisexual women on the small screen like Annalise in “How to Get Away with Murder,” Syd in “Transparent,” and Ilana in “Broad City,” GLAAD’s latest report on inclusion cited continued underrepresentation. While 28 percent of LGBTQ characters on television are bisexual, the majority are women (75 versus 18) and they are often associated with harmful tropes — sex is used to move the plot forward and the characters scan amoral and manipulative. This despite an increase in the U.S.’s queer population to 4.5 percent in 2017 from 3.5 percent in 2012 (when Gallup started tracking it). A notable detail is the extreme generational divide in identification: “The percentage of millennials who identify as LGBT expanded from 7.3% to 8.1% from 2016 to 2017, and is up from 5.8% in 2012,” reported Gallup. “By contrast, the LGBT percentage in Generation X (those born from 1965 to 1979) was up only .2% from 2016 to 2017.”

Here’s the embarrassing part. While I am technically a millennial, I align more with Generation X (that’s not the embarrassing bit). I am attracted more to men, but I am attracted to women as well yet don’t identify as LGBTQ. How best to describe this? I remember a relative being relieved when I acquired my first boyfriend (it was late). “Oh good, I thought you were gay,” they said. I was angry at them for suggesting that being gay was a bad thing, but also relieved that I had dodged a bullet. This isn’t exactly the internalized homophobia that Hannah Gadsby talked about, but it isn’t exactly not. My parents and my brother would have been fine with me being gay. So what’s the problem? The problem is that the standard I grew up with — in the culture, in the world around me — was not homosexuality, it was heterosexuality. I don’t judge non-heterosexual relationships, but having one myself somehow falls short of ideal. For the same reason, I can’t shake the false belief that lesbian sex is less legitimate than gay sex between men. The ideal is penetration. “That’s some Chasing Amy shit,” my boyfriend, eight years younger, said. And, yeah, unfortunately, it is. I have company though.

In a survey released in June, billed as “the most comprehensive of its kind,” Whitman Insight Strategies and BuzzFeed News polled 880 LGBTQ Americans, almost half of whom were between the ages of 18 and 29, and found that the majority, 46 percent, identified as bisexual. While women self-described as bi four times as often as men (79 to 19 percent), the report did not offer a single clear reason for the discrepancy. It did, however, suggest “phallocentrism,” the notion that the penis is the organizing principle for the world, the standard. In other words, sex is a penis in a vagina. “While bisexual women are often stereotyped as sleeping with women for male attention, or just going through a phase en route to permanent heterosexuality,” the report reads, “the opposite is presumed of bisexual men: that they are simply confused or semi-closeted gay men.” This explains why women who come out, like Monáe and Thompson, are considered less iconoclastic in the popular culture than men who even just make vague gestures towards fluidity — the stakes are considered higher for the guys. In truth, few feel comfortable being bi. Though the Pew Research Center’s survey of queer Americans in 2013 revealed that 40 percent of respondents identified as bisexual, this population was less likely to come out and more likely to be with a partner of the opposite sex. Famous women like Maria Bello, Cynthia Nixon, and Kristen Stewart have all come out, yet none of them really use the label.

“Not feeling gay enough, that’s something I felt a lot of guilt over,” Akhavan told the Times. It is guilt like this and the aforementioned shame which makes it all the more frustrating to watch the ease with which the younger generation publicly owns their fluidity. It is doubly hard to watch young white men being praised for wearing bunny ears in a magazine that has so long objectified women, simply because the expectations are so much lower for them. “I’m not looking down on the younger experience of being queer,” Akhavan said, “but I do think that there’s a resentment there that we gloss over.” In response, many of us react conservatively, with the feeling that they haven’t worked for it, that it is somehow less earned because of that. This is an acknowledgment of that resentment, of the eye rolling and the snickering with which we respond to the youth (ah, youth!). In the end we are not judging you for being empowered. We are judging ourselves for not being empowered enough.

* * *

Soraya Roberts is a culture columnist at Longreads.

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Looking back I had way too much fun around this time last summer. I went to Seattle area when I got an internship there. The tech company hosted most of their interns in corporate housing in a few areas. Ben was extremely outgoing, and had very different views on life at the time than I did. He was a fellow intern. I was sharing a 2 BHK fully furnished apartment with Ben. Whereas I was just coming off a 2 year relationship, Ben had stuck mostly to FWBs in school. Currently, I am interning in the Bay Area. I decided to take rental car option that they provided and stayed at a nice place a little further in the suburbs. Clearly, Ben was fucking a chick. He already had met a new girl, who had left her panties in the living room. Only one week after we moved in, I was having few beers with interns from my team. I am a rising senior in a college in Midwest and I am going to tell what happened during the last summer around this time during my internship in Seattle. Ben had on a Super Mario Bros. I got home late around 11:30 PM and when I opened the door, I heard some noise that was clearly two people kissing and making out. Rather than grab one, Ben walked over to a table with two girls who only had water and still had their menus. When we got to the porch about half the tables were open. t-shirt, so I guessed he wasnt actually playing on picking up a girl for the night. One of the girls recognized Ben and they exchanged pleasantaries. Ben got back to me and told that she is Erin, the girl he has been seeing. Ok, so he is seeing a girl now, within a week of starting internship. She had a very pretty face, shoulder length hair, and 34B breasts. I was next to a very pretty curvy brunette named Disha, and Ben was next to a Erin. We started to chat, and ordered a large pizza. It was a seat yourself kind of place, and it was a nice day so we decided to sit on the porch. When we finished dinner, Ben announced we had some beer in our room if they wanted to go back with us, which they eagerly agreed to. I walked across to the apartment with Dishas arm wrapped around mine, making small talk the entire time. They asked us what it was like playing a college sport, told us about their two other intern friends Amber and Alexa, mostly small talk. Their kisses stopped and after what seemed like a few minutes, I heard moans and muffles. She had beige skin, a defined face, and black hair that went about midway down her back. She was an average height, fit, thick skinned blonde woman. Erin was a very funny, cute girl from a school in the new England region. She had on a low cut blue and white striped shirt, and from my height I could look straight down into her cleavage, She had pushed up breasts that I though had to be D cups. The next night we went to a pizza place that was popular with interns. She was a gorgeous woman. I was wearing a t-shirt that showed I was on the soccer team and shorts. Erin and Ben were sitting on the futon, and Disha and I were sitting across form them in Ben and my computer chairs. If you have any issues with regards to exactly where and how to use atk xxx pics, you can speak to us at our own site. We got home and started to have a few beers. Ben had a hand over her shoulders, which he let slide down to her chest. They had gone to a party the night before. She immediately put her hand on Bens thigh as well. I untangled my arm from Dishas and started to rub her shoulder. She was tall, about 58", but still a good bit shorter than me. Soon I was rubbing it further towards her chest. Erin was tan, with a face full of freckles, and taller than Erin. She had on jeans shorts that only went an inch or two down her extremely long legs. Disha leaned in closer and put a hand around my waist and the other on my abs. Her legs were toned, and a golden bronze color. "You are gorgeous," Ben told her, being completely honest. As the drinks started, the girls loosened up even more, and told us that tonight was originally going to be a girls only night. " she leaned over and kissed Ben on the cheek. " I asked, being serious. "Well I think 32A sounds wonderful," Ben said. "I mean, Im small, 32A," Erin was saying. " "Umm, they are 32A, guys want bigger, like yours. " Erin laughed and said "Watch out, or I might make you put your money where your mouth it. We had beers and Ben was not going to wait. "Cmon Erin," Disha replied, "You have nice boobs. She pulled her shirt off over her head, then reached behind herself an undid her bra. " Ben immediately quipped, "Id rather you put your breasts where my mouth is. Her long blonde hair covered the top third of her back. We could see that she had no tan-lines on her back, as Bens hands were rubbing up and down it. " Apparently that was all it took. After a few seconds Erin got off Bens lap and sat back next to us, without putting her shirt back on. She was laughing and blushing. Dishas hand had moved to my lap and was rubbing my cock through my jeans as she watched. Her arms were wrapped around Bens neck, and we could hear her gently moaning. "In fact, I can think of nothing more I would like to do right now, than have a tall, thin, gorgeous woman straddle me topless and let me kiss on her 32A breasts. " I said, grinning at Disha. " She asked me in a seductive voice. "Is that what you want? I nodded yes as she pulled her shirt over her head. Erin straddled Ben, her back to Disha and me. She did have small, but very nice breasts with light brown nipples which were both very wet and very erect. I reached up and grasped one tit in each hand, leaned forward and buried my face between them, kissing her chest. Then I took her left nipple into my mouth, then moved over to the right. I know, Ive seen them. I kissed all over her breasts for what felt like much longer than Ben had played with Erin. She wrapped her arms around my chest and moaned as I sucked on her. "Big boobs are good too though. I opened my mouth and let my tongue meet hers. We broke the kiss and Disha got up to sit back on her chair. She unclasped her bra with one hand then let it fall off her into my lap. I looked up at Disha and she leaned her face down to mine. She let out another moan as we made out. She looked at it then feigned surprise. Two gorgeous, massive breasts were hanging in front of my face. We took the action to our respective rooms. Erin had Bens cock out of his pants and was holding it in her hand. Disha stood up and took of her shorts and panties. He turned the discussion towards sex and some how we were discussing boobs now. She got on her knees in front of me, said it hairy girls cunt was my turn, then undid my belt and took my shorts and boxers off. I reached down and squeezed her tits while she blew me. My cock was already rock hard and she immediately took it into her mouth. " "They are the nicest I have ever played with," I answered. She had large pink nipples which were both erect. I looked over and realized why. Her pussy was completely shaved. "Oh Kevin," she said, "youre so thick and. Before long she was thrusting back up and me, the tight grip of her pussy taking more and more of my dick until I was buried to the hilt. Disha whimpered slightly at first, worrying me, but after several minutes of slow, deep fucking I had managed to work most of my cock into her and she started to moan again. "I think I might be close to another. I pushed her onto the bed. " I reached down and ran the rough surface of my palm over her nipple while I began to fuck her harder and faster. As soon as Disha turned around she exclaimed "Oh My God" covered her face and buried it against me. " A gentle sheen of sweat now coated her soft breasts. She looked up at me and asked, "You really do like my boobs dont you? Her eyes went wide and she began to buck hard against me. I rammed her faster and deeper, staring down at the unbelievable sight of her angelic face. Dishas firm breasts swayed up and down with our fucking, her lovely body coated in a soft sweat, and her beautiful eyes always staring back at me. I worked my dick into her slowly a few more times before I paused. I felt her puss muscles contract and milk my dick inside her as the wetness of her orgasm washed over my buried penis. "Its feeling GOOD," Disha said. That night I fucked Disha 4 times. It was first casual sex experience for both of us. I slammed into her over hot girl with hairy pussy and over again, feeling her pussy grip me tightly. I reached down to play with a nipple while I continued to work my cock in and out of her. Im CUUUUUUUUUUMMMMMMMMING! I withdrew almost to the tip before shoving the full length of my thick me back into her wet folds.

[readbookywooks]

5 R-i-i-i-p! I grit my teeth as Venia, a woman with aqua hair and gold tattoos above her eyebrows, yanks a strip of Fabric from my leg tearing out the hair beneath it. "Sorry!" she pipes in her silly Capitol accent. "You're just so hairy!" Why do these people speak in such a high pitch? Why do their jaws barely open when they talk? Why do the ends of their sentences go up as if they're asking a question? Odd vowels, clipped words, and always a hiss on the letter s. no wonder it's impossible not to mimic them. Venia makes what's supposed to be a sympathetic face. "Good news, though. This is the last one. Ready?" I get a grip on the edges of the table I'm seated on and nod. The final swathe of my leg hair is uprooted in a painful jerk. I've been in the Remake Center for more than three hours and I still haven't met my stylist. Apparently he has no interest in seeing me until Venia and the other members of my prep team have addressed some obvious problems. This has included scrubbing down my body with a gritty loam that has removed not only dirt but at least three layers of skin, turning my nails into uniform shapes, and primarily, ridding my body of hair. My legs, arms, torso, underarms, and parts of my eyebrows have been stripped of the Muff, leaving me like a plucked bird, ready for roasting. I don't like it. My skin feels sore and tingling and intensely vulnerable. But I have kept my side of the bargain with Haymitch, and no objection has crossed my lips. "You're doing very well," says some guy named Flavius. He gives his orange corkscrew locks a shake and applies a fresh coat of purple lipstick to his mouth. "If there's one thing we can't stand, it's a whiner. Grease her down!" Venia and Octavia, a plump woman whose entire body has been dyed a pale shade of pea green, rub me down with a lotion that first stings but then soothes my raw skin. Then they pull me from the table, removing the thin robe I've been allowed to wear off and on. I stand there, completely naked, as the three circle me, wielding tweezers to remove any last bits of hair. I know I should be embarrassed, but they're so unlike people that I'm no more self-conscious than if a trio of oddly colored birds were pecking around my feet. The three step back and admire their work. "Excellent! You almost look like a human being now!" says Flavius, and they all laugh. I force my lips up into a smile to show how grateful I am. "Thank you," I say sweetly. "We don't have much cause to look nice in District Twelve." This wins them over completely. "Of course, you don't, you poor darling!" says Octavia clasping her hands together in distress for me. "But don't worry," says Venia. "By the time Cinna is through with you, you're going to be absolutely gorgeous!" "We promise! You know, now that we've gotten rid of all the hair and filth, you're not horrible at all!" says Flavius encouragingly. "Let's call Cinna!" They dart out of the room. It's hard to hate my prep team. They're such total idiots. And yet, in an odd way, I know they're sincerely trying to help me. I look at the cold white walls and floor and resist the impulse to retrieve my robe. But this Cinna, my stylist, will surely make me remove it at once. Instead my hands go to my hairdo, the one area of my body my prep team had been told to leave alone. My fingers stroke the silky braids my mother so carefully arranged. My mother. I left her blue dress and shoes on the floor of my train car, never thinking about retrieving them, of trying to hold on to a piece of her, of home. Now I wish I had. The door opens and a young man who must be Cinna enters. I'm taken aback by how normal he looks. Most of the stylists they interview on television are so dyed, stenciled, and surgically altered they're grotesque. But Cinna's close-cropped hair appears to be its natural shade of brown. He's in a simple black shirt and pants. The only concession to self-alteration seems to be metallic gold eyeliner that has been applied with a light hand. It brings out the flecks of gold in his green eyes. And, despite my disgust with the Capitol and their hideous fashions, I can't help thinking how attractive it looks. "Hello, Katniss. I'm Cinna, your stylist," he says in a quiet voice somewhat lacking in the Capitol's affectations. "Hello," I venture cautiously. "Just give me a moment, all right?" he asks. He walks around my naked body, not touching me, but taking in every inch of it with his eyes. I resist the impulse to cross my arms over my chest. "Who did your hair?" "My mother," I say. "It's beautiful. Classic really. And in almost perfect balance with your profile. She has very clever fingers," he says. I had expected someone flamboyant, someone older trying desperately to look young, someone who viewed me as a piece of meat to be prepared for a platter. Cinna has met none of these expectations. "You're new, aren't you? I don't think I've seen you before," I say. Most of the stylists are familiar, constants in the ever-changing pool of tributes. Some have been around my whole life. "Yes, this is my first year in the Games," says Cinna. "So they gave you District Twelve," I say. Newcomers generally end up with us, the least desirable district. "I asked for District Twelve," he says without further explanation. "Why don't you put on your robe and we'll have a chat." Pulling on my robe, I follow him through a door into a sitting room. Two red couches face off over a low table. Three walls are blank, the fourth is entirely glass, providing a window to the city. I can see by the light that it must be around noon, although the sunny sky has turned overcast. Cinna invites me to sit on one of the couches and takes his place across from me. He presses a button on the side of the table. The top splits and from below rises a second tabletop that holds our lunch. Chicken and chunks of oranges cooked in a creamy sauce laid on a bed of pearly white grain, tiny green peas and onions, rolls shaped like flowers, and for dessert, a pudding the color of honey. I try to imagine assembling this meal myself back home. Chickens are too expensive, but I could make do with a wild turkey. I'd need to shoot a second turkey to trade for an orange. Goat's milk would have to substitute for cream. We can grow peas in the garden. I'd have to get wild onions from the woods. I don't recognize the grain, our own tessera ration cooks down to an unattractive brown mush. Fancy rolls would mean another trade with the baker, perhaps for two or three squirrels. As for the pudding, I can't even guess what's in it. Days of hunting and gathering for this one meal and even then it would be a poor substitution for the Capitol version. What must it be like, I wonder, to live in a world where food appears at the press of a button? How would I spend the hours I now commit to combing the woods for sustenance if it were so easy to come by? What do they do all day, these people in the Capitol, besides decorating their bodies and waiting around for a new shipment of tributes to roll in and die for their entertainment? I look up and find Cinna's eyes trained on mine. "How despicable we must seem to you," he says. Has he seen this in my face or somehow read my thoughts? He's right, though. The whole rotten lot of them is despicable. "No matter," says Cinna. "So, Katniss, about your costume for the opening ceremonies. My partner, Portia, is the stylist for your fellow tribute, Peeta. And our current thought is to dress you in complementary costumes," says Cinna. "As you know, it's customary to reflect the flavor of the district." For the opening ceremonies, you're supposed to wear something that suggests your district's principal industry. District 11, agriculture. District 4, fishing. District 3, factories. This means that coming from District 12, Peeta and I will be in some kind of coal miner's getup. Since the baggy miner's jumpsuits are not particularly becoming, our tributes usually end up in skimpy outfits and hats with headlamps. One year, our tributes were stark naked and covered in black powder to represent coal dust. It's always dreadful and does nothing to win favor with the crowd. I prepare myself for the worst. "So, I'll be in a coal miner outfit?" I ask, hoping it won't be indecent. "Not exactly. You see, Portia and I think that coal miner thing's very overdone. No one will remember you in that. And we both see it as our job to make the District Twelve tributes unforgettable," says Cinna. I'll be naked for sure, I think. "So rather than focus on the coal mining itself, we're going to focus on the coal," says Cinna. Naked and covered in black dust, I think. "And what do we do with coal? We burn it," says Cinna. "You're not afraid of fire, are you, Katniss?" He sees my expression and grins. A few hours later, I am dressed in what will either be the most sensational or the deadliest costume in the opening ceremonies. I'm in a simple black unitard that covers me from ankle to neck. Shiny leather boots lace up to my knees. But it's the fluttering cape made of streams of orange, yellow, and red and the matching headpiece that define this costume. Cinna plans to light them on fire just before our chariot rolls into the streets. "It's not real flame, of course, just a little synthetic fire Portia and I came up with. You'll be perfectly safe," he says. But I'm not convinced I won't be perfectly barbecued by the time we reach the city's center. My face is relatively clear of makeup, just a bit of highlighting here and there. My hair has been brushed out and then braided down my back in my usual style. "I want the audience to recognize you when you're in the arena," says Cinna dreamily. "Katniss, the girl who was on fire." It crosses my mind that Cinna's calm and normal demeanor masks a complete madman. Despite this morning's revelation about Peeta's character, I'm actually relieved when he shows up, dressed in an identical costume. He should know about fire, being a baker's son and all. His stylist, Portia, and her team accompany him in, and everyone is absolutely giddy with excitement over what a splash we'll make. Except Cinna. He just seems a bit weary as he accepts congratulations. We're whisked down to the bottom level of the Remake Center, which is essentially a gigantic stable. The opening ceremonies are about to start. Pairs of tributes are being loaded into chariots pulled by teams of four horses. Ours are coal black. The animals are so well trained, no one even needs to guide their reins. Cinna and Portia direct us into the chariot and carefully arrange our body positions, the drape of our capes, before moving off to consult with each other. "What do you think?" I whisper to Peeta. "About the fire?" "I'll rip off your cape if you'll rip off mine," he says through gritted teeth. "Deal," I say. Maybe, if we can get them off soon enough, we'll avoid the worst burns. It's bad though. They'll throw us into the arena no matter what condition we're in. "I know we promised Haymitch we'd do exactly what they said, but I don't think he considered this angle." "Where is Haymitch, anyway? Isn't he supposed to protect us from this sort of thing?" says Peeta. "With all that alcohol in him, it's probably not advisable to have him around an open flame," I say. And suddenly we're both laughing. I guess we're both so nervous about the Games and more pressingly, petrified of being turned into human torches, we're not acting sensibly. The opening music begins. It's easy to hear, blasted around the Capitol. Massive doors slide open revealing the crowd-lined streets. The ride lasts about twenty minutes and ends up at the City Circle, where they will welcome us, play the anthem, and escort us into the Training Center, which will be our home/prison until the Games begin. The tributes from District 1 ride out in a chariot pulled by snow-white horses. They look so beautiful, spray-painted silver, in tasteful tunics glittering with jewels. District 1 makes luxury items for the Capitol. You can hear the roar of the crowd. They are always favorites. District 2 gets into position to follow them. In no time at all, we are approaching the door and I can see that between the overcast sky and evening hour the light is turning gray. The tributes from District 11 are just rolling out when Cinna appears with a lighted torch. "Here we go then," he says, and before we can react he sets our capes on fire. I gasp, waiting for the heat, but there is only a faint tickling sensation. Cinna climbs up before us and ignites our headdresses. He lets out a sign of relief. "It works." Then he gently tucks a hand under my chin. "Remember, heads high. Smiles. They're going to love you!" Cinna jumps off the chariot and has one last idea. He shouts something up at us, but the music drowns him out. He shouts again and gestures. "What's he saying?" I ask Peeta. For the first time, I look at him and realize that ablaze with the fake flames, he is dazzling. And I must be, too. "I think he said for us to hold hands," says Peeta. He grabs my right hand in his left, and we look to Cinna for confirmation. He nods and gives a thumbs-up, and that's the last thing I see before we enter the city. The crowd's initial alarm at our appearance quickly changes to cheers and shouts of "District Twelve!" Every head is turned our way, pulling the focus from the three chariots ahead of us. At first, I'm frozen, but then I catch sight of us on a large television screen and am floored by how breathtaking we look. In the deepening twilight, the firelight illuminates our faces. We seem to be leaving a trail of fire off the flowing capes. Cinna was right about the minimal makeup, we both look more attractive but utterly recognizable. Remember, heads high. Smiles. They're going to love you! I hear Cinna's voice in my head. I lift my chin a bit higher, put on my most winning smile, and wave with my free hand. I'm glad now I have Peeta to clutch for balance, he is so steady, solid as a rock. As I gain confidence, I actually blow a few kisses to the crowd. The people of the Capitol are going nuts, showering us with flowers, shouting our names, our first names, which they have bothered to find on the program. The pounding music, the cheers, the admiration work their way into my blood, and I can't suppress my excitement. Cinna has given me a great advantage. No one will forget me. Not my look, not my name. Katniss. The girl who was on fire. For the first time, I feel a flicker of hope rising up in me. Surely, there must be one sponsor willing to take me on! And with a little extra help, some food, the right weapon, why should I count myself out of the Games? Someone throws me a red rose. I catch it, give it a delicate sniff, and blow a kiss back in the general direction of the giver. A hundred hands reach up to catch my kiss, as if it were a real and tangible thing. "Katniss! Katniss!" I can hear my name being called from all sides. Everyone wants my kisses. It's not until we enter the City Circle that I realize I must have completely stopped the circulation in Peeta's hand. That's how tightly I've been holding it. I look down at our linked fingers as I loosen my grasp, but he regains his grip on me. "No, don't let go of me," he says. The firelight flickers off his blue eyes. "Please. I might fall out of this thing." "Okay," I say. So I keep holding on, but I can't help feeling strange about the way Cinna has linked us together. It's not really fair to present us as a team and then lock us into the arena to kill each other. The twelve chariots fill the loop of the City Circle. On the buildings that surround the Circle, every window is packed with the most prestigious citizens of the Capitol. Our horses pull our chariot right up to President Snow's mansion, and we come to a halt. The music ends with a flourish. The president, a small, thin man with paper-white hair, gives the official welcome from a balcony above us. It is traditional to cut away to the faces of the tributes during the speech. But I can see on the screen that we are getting way more than our share of airtime. The darker it becomes, the more difficult it is to take your eyes off our flickering. When the national anthem plays, they do make an effort to do a quick cut around to each pair of tributes, but the camera holds on the District 12 chariot as it parades around the circle one final time and disappears into the Training Center. The doors have only just shut behind us when we're engulfed by the prep teams, who are nearly unintelligible as they babble out praise. As I glance around, I notice a lot of the other tributes are shooting us dirty looks, which confirms what I've suspected, we've literally outshone them all. Then Cinna and Portia are there, helping us down from the chariot, carefully removing our flaming capes and headdresses. Portia extinguishes them with some kind of spray from a canister. I realize I'm still glued to Peeta and force my stiff fingers to open. We both massage our hands. "Thanks for keeping hold of me. I was getting a little shaky there," says Peeta. "It didn't show," I tell him. "I'm sure no one noticed." "I'm sure they didn't notice anything but you. You should wear flames more often," he says. "They suit you." And then he gives me a smile that seems so genuinely sweet with just the right touch of shyness that unexpected warmth rushes through me. A warning bell goes off in my head. Don't be so stupid. Peeta is planning how to kill you, I remind myself. He is luring you in to make you easy prey. The more likable he is, the more deadly he is. But because two can play at this game, I stand on tiptoe and kiss his cheek. Right on his bruise.

[lodelss]

The Queer Generation Gap

Soraya Roberts | Longreads | November 2018 | 10 minutes (2,422 words)

Should I be married to a woman? If today were yesterday, if all this sexual fluidity were in the discourse when I was coming of age in the ‘90s, would I have been with a woman instead of a man? It is a question that “The Bisexual” creator Desiree Akhavan also poses in the second episode of her Hulu series, co-produced with Channel 4 because no U.S. network wanted it. Akhavan directed, co-wrote, and stars in the show in which her character, Leila, splits with her girlfriend of 10 years, Sadie (Maxine Peake), and starts having sex with men for the first time. So, Leila asks, if the opposite had happened to her — as it did to me — and a guy had swept her off her feet instead of a woman, would things have turned out differently? “Maybe I would’ve gone the path of least resistance,” Leila says. Maybe I did.

This is a conundrum that marks a previous generation — one that had to “fight for it,” as Akhavan’s heroine puts it, and is all the more self-conscious for being juxtaposed with the next one, the one populated by the fluid youth of social media idolizing the likes of pansexual Janelle Monáe, polyamorous Ezra Miller, undecided Lucas Hedges. Call it a queer generation gap (what’s one more label?). “I don’t know what it’s like to grow up with the Internet,” 32-year-old Akhavan explains to a younger self-described “queer woman” in her show. “I just get the sense that it’s changing your relationship to gender and to sexuality in a really good way, but in a way I can’t relate to.”

***

This Playboy bunny is chest out, lips open, legs wide. This Playboy bunny is every other Playboy bunny except for the flat hairy chest because this Playboy bunny is Ezra Miller. The star of Fantastic Beasts: The Crimes of Grindelwald calls himself “queer” but it’s hard to take him seriously. What was it Susan Sontag said: it’s not camp if it’s trying to be camp? And for the past few months, while promoting the Potterverse prequel no one asked for, this 26-year-old fashionisto has been trying his damndest, styling himself as a sort of latter day Ziggy Stardust — the monastic Moncler puffer cape, the glittering Givenchy feathers — minus the depth. Six months ago, Miller looked like every other guy on the red carpet and now, per his own request, models bunny ears, fishnets, and heels as a gender-fluid rabbit for a randy Playboy interview. Okay, I guess, but it reads disingenuous to someone who grew up surrounded by closets to see them plundered so flagrantly for publicity. Described as “attracted to men and women,” Miller is nevertheless quoted mostly on the subject of guys, the ones he jerked off and fell in love with. He claims his lack of romantic success has lead him to be a polycule: a “polyamorous molecule” involving multiple “queer beings who understand me as a queer being.”

The article hit two weeks after i-D published a feature in which heartthrob Harry Styles interviewed heartthrob Timothée Chalamet with — despite their supposed reframing of masculinity — the upshot, as always, being female genuflection. “I want to say you can be whatever you want to be,” Chalamet explains, styled as a sensitive greaser for the cover. “There isn’t a specific notion, or jean size, or muscle shirt, or affectation, or eyebrow raise, or dissolution, or drug use that you have to take part in to be masculine.” Styles, on brand, pushes it further. “I think there’s so much masculinity in being vulnerable and allowing yourself to be feminine,” the 24-year-old musician says, “and I’m very comfortable with that.” (Of course you are comfortable, white guy…did I say that out loud?) As part of the boy band One Direction, Styles was marketed as a female fantasy and became a kind of latter-day Mick Jagger, the playboy who gets all the girls. His subsequent refusal to label himself, the rumors about his close relationship with band mate Louis Tomlinson, and the elevation of his song “Medicine” to “bisexual anthem”– “The boys and the girls are in/I mess around with them/And I’m OK with it” — all build on a solid foundation of cis white male heterosexuality.

Timothée Chalamet’s sexuality, meanwhile, flows freely between fiction and fact. While the 22-year-old actor is “straight-identifying,” he acquires a queer veneer by virtue of his signature role as Call Me by Your Name’s Elio, a bisexual teen (or, at least, a boy who has had sex with both women and men). Yet off screen, as Timothée, he embodies a robust heterosexuality. On social media, the thirst for him skews overwhelmingly female, while reports about his romantic partners — Madonna’s daughter, Johnny Depp’s daughter — not only paint him straight but enviably so. Lucas Hedges, another straight-identified actor who plays gay in the conversion therapy drama Boy Erased, somewhat disrupts this narrative, returning fluidity to the ambiguous space it came from. The 21-year-old admitted in an interview with Vulture that he found it difficult to pin himself down, having been “infatuated with” close male friends but more often women. “I recognize myself as existing on that spectrum,” he says. “Not totally straight, but also not gay and not necessarily bisexual.” That he felt “ashamed” for not being binary despite having a sixth-grade health teacher who introduced him to the range of sexuality suggests how married our culture is to it.

As a woman familiar with the shame associated with female sexuality, it’s difficult to ignore the difference in tenor of the response to famous young white males like Miller, Styles, and Chalamet and famous black women like Janelle Monáe and Tessa Thompson not only discussing it, but making even more radical statements. Appearing on the cover of Rolling Stone in May, Monáe said straight up (so to speak): “Being a queer black woman in America — someone who has been in relationships with both men and women — I consider myself to be a free-ass motherfucker.” The same age as Desiree Akhavan, 32, Monáe identified as bisexual until she read about pansexuality. She initially came out through her music; her album, Dirty Computer, contains a song called “Q.U.E.E.N.” which was originally titled “Q.U.E.E.R.,” while the music video accompanying “Pynk” has actress Tessa Thompson emerging from Monáe’s Georgia O’Keeffe-esque pants. While neither one of them has discussed their relationship in detail, Thompson, who in Porter magazine’s July issue revealed she is attracted to men and women, said, “If people want to speculate about what we are, that’s okay.”

The mainstream press and what appeared to be a number of non-queer social media acolytes credited Chalamet and Styles with redefining their gender and trouncing toxic masculinity. “[H]arry styles, ezra miller, and timothee chalamet are going to save the world,” tweeted one woman, while The Guardian dubbed Miller the “hero we need right now.” Monáe, meanwhile, was predominantly championed by queer fans (“can we please talk about how our absolute monarch Janelle Monáe has been telegraphing her truth to the queers thru her art and fashion for YEARS and now this Rolling Stone interview is a delicious cherry on top + a ‘told u so’ to all the h*teros”) and eclipsed by questions about what pansexual actually means. While white male fluidity was held up as heroic, female fluidity, particularly black female fluidity, was somehow unremarkable. Why? Part of the answer was recently, eloquently, provided by “Younger” star Nico Tortorella, who identifies as gender-fluid, bisexual, and polyamorous. “I get to share my story,” he told The Daily Beast. “That’s a privilege that I have because of what I look like, the color of my skin, what I have between my legs, my straight passing-ness, everything.”

***

When I was growing up sex was not fun, it was fraught. Sex was AIDS, disease, death. The Supreme Court of Canada protected sexual orientation under the Charter when I was 15 but I went to school in Alberta, Canada’s version of Texas — my gym teacher was the face of Alberta beef. In my high school, no one was gay even if they were. All gender was binary. Sex was a penis in a vagina. Popular culture was as straight, and even Prince and David Bowie seemed to use their glam sparkle to sleep with more women rather than fewer. Bisexual women on film were murderers (Basic Instinct) or sluts (Chasing Amy) and in the end were united by their desire for “some serious deep dicking.” I saw no bisexual women on television (I didn’t watch “Buffy”) and LGBTQ characters were limited (“My So-Called Life”). Alanis Morissette was considered pop music’s feminist icon, but even she was singing about Dave Coulier. And the female celebrities who seemed to swing both ways — Madonna, Drew Barrymore, Bijou Phillips — were the kind who were already acting out, their sexuality a hallmark of their lack of control.

“I think unrealistic depictions of sex and relationships are harmful,” Akhavan told The New York Times. “I was raised on them and the first time I had sex, I had learned everything from film and television and I was like ‘Oh, this isn’t at all like I saw on the screen.’” Bisexuality has historically been passed over on screen for a more accessible binary depiction of relationships. In her 2013 book The B Word: Bisexuality in Contemporary Film and Television, Maria San Filippo describes what has become known as “bisexual erasure” in pop culture: “Outside of the erotically transgressive realms of art cinema and pornography, screen as well as ‘real life’ bisexuality is effaced not only by what I’ve named compulsory monosexuality but also by compulsory monogamy,” she writes, adding, “the assumption remains that the gender of one’s current object choice indicates one’s sexuality.” So even high-profile films that include leads having sex with both genders — Brokeback Mountain, The Kids Are All Right, Blue Is the Warmest Color, Carol, Call Me By Your Name — are coded “gay” rather than “bi.”

Despite the rise in bisexual women on the small screen like Annalise in “How to Get Away with Murder,” Syd in “Transparent,” and Ilana in “Broad City,” GLAAD’s latest report on inclusion cited continued underrepresentation. While 28 percent of LGBTQ characters on television are bisexual, the majority are women (75 versus 18) and they are often associated with harmful tropes — sex is used to move the plot forward and the characters scan amoral and manipulative. This despite an increase in the U.S.’s queer population to 4.5 percent in 2017 from 3.5 percent in 2012 (when Gallup started tracking it). A notable detail is the extreme generational divide in identification: “The percentage of millennials who identify as LGBT expanded from 7.3% to 8.1% from 2016 to 2017, and is up from 5.8% in 2012,” reported Gallup. “By contrast, the LGBT percentage in Generation X (those born from 1965 to 1979) was up only .2% from 2016 to 2017.”

Here’s the embarrassing part. While I am technically a millennial, I align more with Generation X (that’s not the embarrassing bit). I am attracted more to men, but I am attracted to women as well yet don’t identify as LGBTQ. How best to describe this? I remember a relative being relieved when I acquired my first boyfriend (it was late). “Oh good, I thought you were gay,” they said. I was angry at them for suggesting that being gay was a bad thing, but also relieved that I had dodged a bullet. This isn’t exactly the internalized homophobia that Hannah Gadsby talked about, but it isn’t exactly not. My parents and my brother would have been fine with me being gay. So what’s the problem? The problem is that the standard I grew up with — in the culture, in the world around me — was not homosexuality, it was heterosexuality. I don’t judge non-heterosexual relationships, but having one myself somehow falls short of ideal. For the same reason, I can’t shake the false belief that lesbian sex is less legitimate than gay sex between men. The ideal is penetration. “That’s some Chasing Amy shit,” my boyfriend, eight years younger, said. And, yeah, unfortunately, it is. I have company though.

In a survey released in June, billed as “the most comprehensive of its kind,” Whitman Insight Strategies and BuzzFeed News polled 880 LGBTQ Americans, almost half of whom were between the ages of 18 and 29, and found that the majority, 46 percent, identified as bisexual. While women self-described as bi four times as often as men (79 to 19 percent), the report did not offer a single clear reason for the discrepancy. It did, however, suggest “phallocentrism,” the notion that the penis is the organizing principle for the world, the standard. In other words, sex is a penis in a vagina. “While bisexual women are often stereotyped as sleeping with women for male attention, or just going through a phase en route to permanent heterosexuality,” the report reads, “the opposite is presumed of bisexual men: that they are simply confused or semi-closeted gay men.” This explains why women who come out, like Monáe and Thompson, are considered less iconoclastic in the popular culture than men who even just make vague gestures towards fluidity — the stakes are considered higher for the guys. In truth, few feel comfortable being bi. Though the Pew Research Center’s survey of queer Americans in 2013 revealed that 40 percent of respondents identified as bisexual, this population was less likely to come out and more likely to be with a partner of the opposite sex. Famous women like Maria Bello, Cynthia Nixon, and Kristen Stewart have all come out, yet none of them really use the label.

“Not feeling gay enough, that’s something I felt a lot of guilt over,” Akhavan told the Times. It is guilt like this and the aforementioned shame which makes it all the more frustrating to watch the ease with which the younger generation publicly owns their fluidity. It is doubly hard to watch young white men being praised for wearing bunny ears in a magazine that has so long objectified women, simply because the expectations are so much lower for them. “I’m not looking down on the younger experience of being queer,” Akhavan said, “but I do think that there’s a resentment there that we gloss over.” In response, many of us react conservatively, with the feeling that they haven’t worked for it, that it is somehow less earned because of that. This is an acknowledgment of that resentment, of the eye rolling and the snickering with which we respond to the youth (ah, youth!). In the end we are not judging you for being empowered. We are judging ourselves for not being empowered enough.

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Soraya Roberts is a culture columnist at Longreads.

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