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dashielldeveron · 4 months ago

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thinking about the katsuki office kiss scene (feat izuku) and the potential unwritten freak it holds is absolutely driving me insane and i have to voice my thoughts before they brain rot me like termites eating the foundations of a house. (also quick disclaimer that I’m sosososos understanding of why this more horny aspect was not explored in fic [goes against like the whole message, and how the harem is handled in fic is one of my favourite aspects of the whole thing] i just thought itd would be fun to explore as it’s own seperate thing)

not to thirst on anon (and please feel free to nuke the fuck out of this ask if it’s too thirsty because i totally understand) but the fact that the reader is too busy freaking the fuck out to notice the reaction of izuku across the room and the unspoken interactions happening between katsuki and him leaving it all deliciously unwritten and completely up however insane the audience interpretation of it is. and im a very insane audience!

like. do you think the katsuki looked izuku straight in the eye and then proceeded to open his mouth and start full on making out with reader?? you think that katsuki saw izuku glare at him with the most restrained desire to kill him and he put his hand on her neck, spurring him on to kiss her deeper??? (because while their more intense high school rivalry has been settled long ago i don’t think they’ll ever fully dull the urge to, at least, be in competition with each other, especially if they both are interested in the same person, katsuki is probably having such an inappropriately good time like ‘the girl i want is sitting in my lap and making out with me and im simultaneously beating izuku at something !! yay!!!’ [he does love to win, and in his mind having izukus soulmate want to make out with him probably registers as some fucked up form of ‘winning’ lmao this guy and his deranged inner world i love you freak number 2])

Do you think when reader sat fully down on katsuki’s lap it was taking so much (sexy) control of his not to march over there and get reader off of him immediately?? do you think that he was looking at the way katsuki was kissing reader and already was making notes on how he could do it so much better???? im going insane. internal battle between him being so pissed that katsuki is getting the makeup session he has been (literally) dying for, being incredibly concerned for your mental well-being and paying attention to how you kiss so he can better his plan to sexually infuriate you till you break.

^ (this led to a very long tangent on me talking about which of the soulmate troupe guys have some kind of jealousy issues, then further spiralled out of control to me rereading some of the chapters again so I could attempt to create a numbered ‘from least to jealous soulmate troupe guy’ list. it’ll have to be it’s own separate deranged ask).

lmaooooo sorry for this very strange ramble (again), i just love freak number one (izuku) and freak number two (katsuki). expect another ridiculously long ask in your inbox again soon

(also it was not a typo izuku is hoe 100% insane and that’s why he is matching my freak like take a look at this ask and tell me he wouldn’t also hyper-analyse literally one thing reader has done and think about all the horny subtext. hoe insane matched my freak.)

-cork board anon

everybody leave i wanna be alone with cork board anon

GOD IZUKU'S REACTION. and none of what i'm about to say is necessarily canonical to the fic, bc, like you said, it's unwritten so that the audience can imagine :)

so. ofc we don't see izuku's reaction bc reader is panicking. but like??? he's right there??? on the other side of the desk?? and he could OFA zip over there and tear them apart, but since it's a choice reader's decided to make, he's going to let her, and izuku knows she's worried about all her potential soulmates, so he just can't bring himself to stop her. which must hurt him so badly.

so holy FUCK the idea of bakugou staring izuku down while he's kissing her. oh my god. that brings izuku into the potential romantic dynamic, so instead of bakugou/reader like reader thinks, it's a fucked-up bakugou/reader/izuku. oh fuck. and i mean this in a sexy, jarring way: what you said reminded me of these CGs in jumin han's route in mystic messenger:

bc jumin is trying to make a point to the people watching him kiss MC and UGH it shooketh me the first time i experienced it. of course it's not a perfect comparison, bc reader's more in control/desperation than either jumin or MC are here, but i think the Vibe could fit. dear GOD bakugou opening his mouth while staring down izuku--would katsuki be more exerting a sort of bragging dominance over izuku, or would he be more surprised at the situation, just going along? bc for the moment, katsuki's winning. he doesn't know why, but he'll take it. and izuku can't do anything about it, because his soulmate would see him act poorly. i fully think that if reader hadn't been having a panic attack and vomiting, then it could've escalated to, like, katsuki sucking a hickey onto the top of her boob, or something, before he felt like he was going too far. and katsuki would be all smug about it, probably laying reader on her back on his desk, and once he surfaced, he'd wipe the back of his mouth with a wry grin and say something like "had to have some taste of you, sweetheart." and then he'd give her waist a final squeeze and say, "she's all yours, izuku." and he proceeds to bring this incident up for the rest of your lives. offers to relieve you if izuku's giving you a hard time (it's brushed off as a joke; he half means it and half doesn't--izuku rolls his eyes from across the restaurant booth and irritatedly peels at the wrapper on his beer bottle, and his grip around your shoulder tightens).

you see, your honour, i'll kill him :) :) :)

but UGH you're so RIGHT it was probably torturing izuku to see his soulmate kiss someone else, but he probably couldn't tear his gaze away because he wanted to see how she kisses people, so he could learn more about what she likes.......you're so big-brained. i love to see a man who is morally tortured inside. imagine his muscles tensing while he's going through all of the options in his brain. imagine him his mouth and nose twitching in fury. but he can't. do. anything. because that's his best friend and his soulmate, the two people (besides his mom and all might) that he loves more than anyone else in the world. he's not gonna hurt them. he understands how violence could be brought into the situation. but. but he's not gonna.

i would LOVE to hear your thoughts on the soulmates and jealousy 👀👀👀 bc i think i've really only thought about izuku's and a tiny bit of tenko's--because i feel like izuku gets INSANELY jealous but also has insanely high self-control--like in fic when reader kisses shinsou and midoriya seems all calm (he is NOT CALM on the inside) and is like "she knows what she's doing wrong." 👀👀👀 and i think that is SO sexy of him. because he COULD be possessive and controlling. it's his first instinct. but he won't. he won't. bc that would make us sad and perhaps a little scared. (and then tenko's jealousy--i've only thought about it in the context of touya, bc to tenko, touya seems confident and charismatic and very capable of stealing his girl away from him. so his jealousy comes from awfulllllll insecurity that he's not good enough :( but we love him very much, so hopefully he'll get over that in time.)

i appreciate you so much. you feel just as crazy insane about these ideas as i am. and yeah lol izuku would prob be into this, the over-analysis for fun and enjoyment. GOOD. we want to attract freaks!!! freaks only zone!!!! i love HIM i love YOU i hope your day is peaceful!!!!!!! xx.

#dash it all #📌 anon

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cooloddball · 3 years ago

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Someone submitted something in my inbox and they wanted to remain anonymous. Since this is an extremely long essay, I will put it under the cut. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK, YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!

xxx submitted: hey, i was the one who ask what do you think of Misha and Jensen's current relationship First off all thank you for your answear it means much to me cause im easy to be convice and this person who keep telling me that they are no longer friends can be so convicing, so I'm actully trying to forget what she said 😅 so I'm just writing a few. she said that since they no longer work together, they will forget about each other, and do their common things like the gay jokes, face touches ect. With other people, and neglect each other, don't talk to each other, and then meet new people who will replace the other. And and she talked about the gish thing, she said she sure they didn't talk since the end of the series, because Jensen didn't know where Misha was and Misha didn't know about the Radio Company vol 2 (but i saw people say that, they were just pretending, because Misha liked something about Radio Company Vol 2, before the gish live, so in theory he already knew then or something like that) and She said Misha wrote a poem about Darius not Jensen and now I will write down what she sent me : I saw a post about Jensen's current activities on social media, and I've come to the conclusion the only person he doesn't interact with is mish. Sadly this makes my break up theory even stronger. I feel like this is a goodbye to one of the biggest parts of my life. They've moved on from "uk what I haven't told you today? That i love u"+ from "miss my only jensen" from "i love u misha i mean it from the bottom of my heart" from "jensen has no flaws" from "misha is the funniest thing ever happened to me" from all that love and affection from everything they developed together and now they're apart leaving their lives like nothing happened and call me a dramatic but they both have the same energy now as someone has after a big break up. and Jensen comments on almost every of his friend’s post except Misha’s"+ Jenmish is genuinely the best thing that has ever happened in my entire life. I owe them literally everything. They're the reason i hold on. Unfortunately on this essay i have to start using past tense verbs for them, and i have to continue on that. I don't know for how long y'all been in spn fandom. But even if u joined one year before the show ended you'd know how close and intimate jensen and misha were. Everything about them was unmatched.+ The chemistry and how they just fit eachother. They had always been all over eachother. Like they were holding on eachother for dear life. They completed eachother and were like world's most powerful thing. They were the definition of soulmatism. No matter where, they ALWAYS kept interacting with eachother. Each possible tweet or insta post. On cons that the other wasn't there, the other one would bring up the othere's name for no absolute reason. +The looks and repeated love confessions. How invested they were both into eachother. The family they had built together cuz we know how close dee and mish are (look all the charity work they've been doing together recently). There are youtube videos to proof everything I've said so far.When i say break up, my real intention is that they've grown apart. Everything started in the the third or forth month of pandemic. Before than jensen used to interact +(comment mostly) on almost all of misha's posts. But after a while everything just stopped. At first personally didn't care that much. Bcuz I believed too much in them that I thought not even the gods above could separate them. I told myself maybe they spend long hours chatting or video calling and that's why online public interactions are gone. But as it passed it almost diminished to zero. Except some likes from jackles and eventual ones from misha there weren't anything else.+ We got absolutely no content and the show went off too. We were helpless and were sticking to everything we had Dee had a big social media shot down, so as jensen. Misha was busy with the election. We got some interviews for it with all of them. But we didn't get much.except remember both of them pulling a bff

move. and texted eachother during an online con where everyone else were dead-serious about politics? That flickered something in me. That showed me that+ they can't ever possibly let eachother go. And the times everyone else were talking and these too would just talk random things together (the one jackels had a white hat on with stacy abraham).And then Misha posted that for jensen's bday We really overlooked it. That shit was too intimate. To close. Fav march baby? U just don't go around and called ur bestie baby and when u mean it deeply. Especially not when ur friend is jensen ackles the "I suffered form internalized homophobia my whole life+ but fuck my wife's an angel and i have an angel bf too and another angel which is his wife but I'd rather die than come out cuz my asshole dad pulled a John winchester on me". It doesn't work like that. But uk how mish is. Carefree and open. I believe they got into a fight bcuz of this. He didn't even like the post. AND that was when the tiny bit of interactions we had was gone too. For a while jensen didn't even liked his posts. After a month it started again.What made me finally believe in that they had grown too+ far: I still remember the night misha posted that he and jensen were going to have a con for gish together. I remember how hard I cried. Lile the whole world was given to me. But deep down in my heart I knew that something would definitely happen. It didn't sit right with me and unfortunately my senses never lie to me. Jensen showed up at the wrong time bcuz of misunderstanding the time zones (this was HILARIOUS). That's not even my point.+ I've seen that interview 3 times so far. It always reminds me of when i saw my ex at a party and we were both so thrilled to see eachother and we still loved the other dearly, but we just couldn't work it out. Jensen and Misha's expressions were EXACTLY the same. The genuine smiles and longs pauses were they just stared at eachother. I'm so happy that it was online cuz if they actually gave that looks to eachother standing right next to the other one I would've collapsed. Misha didn't know that jensen's album+ was out. And he got so embarrassed when he found it out. He didn't know that jensen was on set and hadn't been home for 8weeks. Jensen had no idea where misha was. And this means that they hadn't talked in a long long time.When you're that close with someone for more than a decade, i mean THAT close, even if u're separated from eachother you'd at least check on the once a week, or at least once in two weeks. But it was vividly clear that they hadn't. I hate how this world works. They would always be in my heart.+ I would be thankful from them for everything. It hurts, and it won't stop and im so sure I'd be carrying this pain for a long time. They mean too much to a lot of us. Sometimes I think to myself that god i love them so much. Remember in 2019 when we used to get SO many jenmishdee interactions? That was LIT. It was THEE year for us. I hope they're doing good. I really do. I hope we don't get more proofs and I won't have to update this thread. Cuz my heart won't be taking it very+ well.Something i gotta add U may say that Jensen's busy and that's why he doesn't comment. But he comments on a lot of jared and his new costar's posts. So that's no excuse. So yeah that's it. I don't know what am I supposed to think. english isn't my native language, so sorry for the mistakes

Here is my response:

I don't know who this person who has been talking to is but I have to say they seem to be project their previous relationship experience on cockles.

I believe Jensen and Misha are okay and are together. Social media likes and comments don't mean anything. I mean it's not like Jensen or Misha used to comment on each other's posts before. Jensen didn't even wish Dee Happy Mother's Day this year, does that mean they are not together anymore? Nope. He has other best friends he has known for over 20 years like Jason Manns, Steve Carlson etc that he doesn't wish happy birthday, does that mean they are not friends anymore.

Please let's not put value on social media likes. I don't even follow my own family on sm and I don't always like or comment on my bf's or bff's posts on sm. So it doesn't mean anything.

As for the Gish Panel, I have talked about it before, the time Jensen was slotted to attend the panel, he was meant to answer fan questions. I honestly believe they decided to not do it at that time because they knew the questions would be about Destiel and not their new projects. If you watched that panel, Misha knew that Jensen's album was out as I pointed out. He was just trying to promote the album and soldier boy. He knew Jensen had also buffed out. It was all to promote Jensen. Anything else you hear is trolls and antis just being loud. Also don't forget Jensen called him "babe".

If Jensen and Misha weren't okay, he wouldn't have attended or participated all those panels Misha organized especially for Gish. Danneel also posts a lot about RA and likes Misha's posts. I am 100% Misha visited the Ackles when he went to Colorado last month.

Stop listening to trolls and/or antis or just people who are projecting and look at facts.

#submissions #cockles

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wheresmaldo865 · 6 years ago

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ShinsoXReader Valentine Day Special Featuring Song Dead Girl walking from the Heathers

Happy Valentines day! I got this idea in my head and decided to type this up. I originally wanted to do it for Bokugo but wanted to extend my characters palette... since my inbox is always empty :(

But any way, full steam ahead! I didn’t really get the chance to do detailed editing so please forgive me if theres any errors. Also the song is a little out of order so that some things make more sense.

Also, someone please tell me how to properly spell this kids name. I seen it boths ways with and without a u 😭

There a little doodle of Shinsou at the end 😉

Warning: Vanilla smut (Nothing detailed)

Word Count: 1752

‘The Demon queen of high school has decreed it, she says Monday, 8am I will be deleted. They’ll hunt me down in study hall. Stuff and mount me on the wall. Thirty hours to live, how shall I spend them?’

Standing there in a ghostly empty party room was the worst nightmare anyone could have imagined. A ruptured friendship. Three ugly sisters with more power then they deserved. Yet, she forgot.

She had put herself into this whole mess. She had wanted to be part of the ugly sister comment. The bitter sweet sensation had brought her satisfaction and acceptance between her other peers.

Now it was… only bitter.

Because (Y/n) had even had the audacity to stand against them. They made it a public statement to make her live a living hell. As if the room hadn’t already been hot before.

Her palms were sweaty from the wild night she had. Her school uniform stuck to her cold skin a bit to tightly. (Y/n) collar seemed to squeeze tighter, and tighter as the night went on.

I don’t have to stay and die like cattle. I could change my name and ride up to Seattle. But I don’t own a motorbike.

(Y/n) contemplated the endless options she could muster. Running away to the next town… or a town across the seas. Her parents didn’t need to know. No one needed to know anything. However, the more she thought upon one idea. The more ridiculous it ended up sounding. Even in her own head.

So, she continued on her way home. The summer night was overwhelmingly stuffy. Large beads of sweat formed on her forehead and rolled down her red cheeks. Right about now she wished for nothing more than a cold shower to run down her spine.

Y/n) spotted a window spilling light onto the side walk. Her eyes followed the beam of light to a room seated on a two-story building. She could a shadow of a figure walk by. Long spoffy hair poking out from all angles of his head. (Y/n) chuckled to herself.

She knew who the lavender purple hair belonged to.

There was suddenly an interrupting thought that came into her mind. Something devious, something… naughty. The liquor in her blood burned and set her body a flame. Desire hit her with a bus, especially in the lower area. The more she played with the idea. The wetter she became.

Wait, here an option that I like. Spend these thirty hours getting freaky!

Yeah!

I need it hard. I’m a dead girl walking!

(Y/n) marched her pretty little face right up to the door of Shinsou’s house. The blood in her veins mixed with the alcohol pumped excitedly. She was feeling too good to turn back. There was no hesitation in her hands as she lifted it to ring the doorbell twice.

She waited patiently for the door to open.

I’m in your yeard. I’m a dead girling walking. Before they punch my clock. I’m snapping off your window lock. Got no time to knock. I’m a dead girl walking…

The door finally opened. She was greated by the man himself, Hitoshi Shinsou. Someone she saw frequently in her life and had… affections toward. One could say the feelings were returned. There was only one way to find out now.

“(Y/n)? What’re you doing in my house?”

She smiled innocently. She took her pointer finger and pressed it gently onto Shinsou lips. She found it amusing the way his eyes went wide. A blush slowly creeping its way onto his face.

“Shhhh.”

Once Shinsou had finally regained his courage, he took her by the hand and led her inside. To him it was evident she wasn’t all put together, as she usually was. Before she could say anything more, he sat her up in his room. Giving her some water and medicine to replace the hangover pain she may have in the morning.

“Better?” He asked with a soft smile.

She nodded. Though the courage in her heart did not disappeared with the buzz. (Y/n) scooted her body closer to his. Their shoulders, legs, and arms bumping in several places. The blushed rushed back to his, but he didn’t move away from her. Her perfume flooded his senses. Rooting him in his place.

Sorry, but I really had to wake you. See, I decided I must ride you ‘til I break you.

The blush on Shinsou’s cheeks traveled evenly to the rest of his face. He was completely blown away by the words that had just come out of his dear friends’ mouth.

Of course, he adored his friend. He would risk life and limb for the women before him. On the other hand, this hadn’t been the way he had planned to confess to such a lovely girl.

She was rubbing up against him in a way he almost couldn’t say no. Shinsou gently grabbed her by the shoulders and forced himself to pause for a moment. He had to be sincere now. For her sake.

“Wait, wait! What has gotten into you?”

‘Cause Heather says I gots to go. You’re my last meal on death row. Shut your mouth and lose them tighty whiteys”

(Y/n) turned the table on him. She wiggled her way around him. Pinning him underneath her on his bed. There was her scent again, intoxicating his mind. The way she moved to sit upon his waist did the unimaginable to him. He was beginning to feel tight in the jeans he wore.

He shot up again. As much as Shinsou wanted this. The desire for her consent grew bigger than anything poking in his pants. He would hate himself for several eternities if she regretted this in the end.

“Wait.” The word fell firmly to (Y/n) ears. Her giggles became put aside. She starred wide eyes and locked eyes with Shinsou Listening attentively to what he had to say to her.

Shinsou’s eyes closed for a moment. He simply let himself be present in her presence. Allowing him to short his desires and feelings.

“I…” He started but couldn’t finished until another second passed. “I have cherished you… for what seems like forever now. Watching you become such a powerful hero and wonderful friend. I would do anything to protect you from any harm. Even if that means it’s from myself. So, I have to know. You have to be certain.”

Shinsou toned shifted from his love filled admiration to an urgent one. What he said next was a serious matter to him.

“You have to be certain this is what you want. With me. A life and a future with someone like me. Otherwise, I’ll make sure you get home safe.”

Shinsou’s room became painfully silent for a few moments. (Y/n) eyes traveled to his chest. Perhaps trying to dissect his rapidly beat heart for sincerity. When she came back to meet his gaze… Shinsou had a feeling she had her answer.

A soft smile graced her lips. Her face was so close to his he could taste the drink she had on his tongue.

And you know, you know, you know. Its cause you’re beautiful. You say you’re numb inside, but I can’t agree. So the worlds unfair. Keep it locked out there. In Here it’s beautiful. Let’s make this beautiful!”

Her lips were on his in an instant. Her hands slide across his chest and up to his neck. Losing themselves in his wild hair. It took him a moment to register what was finally happening. Once he knew, boy. Did he respond. His arms found their way around (Y/n) waist and brought her closer to him. It didn’t take long before the grinding became heated. Kisses became hastily sloppy. Hands were slipping into places never touched by anyone else.

One by one, clothes were beginning to come off.

Tonight, I’m yours. I’m your dead girl walking! Get on all fours! Kiss this dead girl walking. Let’s, go you know the drill. I’m hot and pissed and on the pill. Bow down to the will- Of a dead girl walking!

Shinsou had (Y/n) pinned down to his bed. His pillowed framing her face perfect, though her hair was already becoming a mess. The face she was giving him still droves his desire. He wanted you immediately. It was only a matter of time before Shinsou had his thumb hooked on the pants and panties (Y/n) had chosen to wear. Sliding them off her smooth (S/c) legs. The new cool air rubbing against her sex produced a whimper from her throat. Shinsou chuckled lighty at the reaction.

He then removed his own shirt. Moving to then remove hers. He plucked the buttons one by one. The bra she wore was gone in a second. Revealing her total naked body to him. A sculpture he could marvel in for hours if he was given the time.

Full steam ahead. Take this dead girl walking! Lets break the bed. Rock this dead girl walking. No sleep tonight for you. Better chug that Mountain Dew! Get your ass in gear. Make this whole town disappear.

(Y/n) rose up from her place. Starling Shinsou slightly. He let out a small yelp when he found himself on his back again. His face turned red again when (Y/n) undid the buckle of his pants and ran them down impatiently. As if he would run away when the clock struck 12.

Her mouth found his member way too quickly for Shinsou to take. A loud groan caught him off guard as her wet lips wrapped around him. Her tongue swirling in all the right spots. Another growl ripped through his teeth when the full length of him hit the back of her throat. Combined with rhythmic pumping of her mouth and hand was almost too much for him. Shinsou had to protest for a stop before he would be completely spent.

Sitting up and looking into (Y/n). He couldn’t be filled with anymore lust before her burst. It only took another minute for (Y/n) to lay on her back. Shinsou nestling himself between her legs. Teasing her wet entrance.

A single push at the hip was all it took for him to be completely inside her.

The rest of the night Shinsou and (Y/n) spent their new-found time tangled in each other. Pleasure and it each touch filled with loving passion. They shared every moment they could. Hot breathes, moans and kisses coming from their lips.

#my hero academia #shinso hitoshi #shinsō hitoshi #shinsou x reader #mha shinsou #bnha shinsou

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spynotebook · 8 years ago

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“Who’s Sophia Bush?” is a question asked by people who don’t watch a lot of millennial-friendly hit television or keep up with an online social media presence of 1.9 million followers on Twitter and 2.9 million followers on Instagram that the actress has turned into a constant, and constantly intense megaphone for political activism. Some may be tuning in for news about her show, or a shot of her on a red carpet, but when she tweets, more than twice as many people see it than anything that Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell or Senate Minority Chuck Schumer put out. (Bernie Sanders, Cory Booker, John McCain, Elizabeth Warren and Marco Rubio are the only senators who have her beat.)

Bush isn’t related to the family that produced two presidents, and it takes about two seconds talking to her to figure out that she’s a liberal. But it doesn’t take much longer to see the amount of time she spends thinking and reading about the issues she cares about, and regularly lights up into causes for people outside the usual run of political obsessives—“People who have values and are champions of equality need to be speaking up about why that’s important,” she said.

Story Continued Below

“It’s like, I want to walk into Congress and raise my hand and go, ‘Hey, bros, if I’m expected to pay for your Viagra, you sure as shit are going to pay for my mammograms.’ What is happening? This is insane,” she told me in an interview for POLITICO’s Off Message podcast, hours after the House passed its Obamacare replacement plan.

As for President Donald Trump, she said she can’t believe people have stopped talking about the sexual harassment complaints against him or the “Access Hollywood” tape.

“We have a sexual predator in the Oval Office,” she said. “It’s like Bill Cosby all over again.”

We sat down in New Orleans during the technology- and activism-focused Collision conference, which she attended in a Hillary Clinton-homage red pants suit and “Solidarité Féminine” T-shirt to talk about proudly embracing feminism and what she faces as both a woman in her industry and a Democrat who isn’t shy about standing up for what she believes in.

Bush, whose day job is playing the detective Erin Lindsay on the show Chicago P.D., was at the Women’s March in Washington the day after Trump’s inauguration and has been part of other events, but more often she turns to social media.

“It’s not a strategy. It’s … I have a feeling and I talk about it. It’s the same as if I’m having dinner with friends and some insane thing has happened in the political arena that day and I come to dinner and I’m like, ‘Can you fucking believe this?’” she told me. “I’m screaming on the internet and I’m screaming at home and I’m also like sharing things that I find inspiring and beautiful.”

She’s noticed a change among her followers since November.

“I definitely see more and more people fully reading the articles that I find important to share and more and more people who say, ‘OK, we were sort of disillusioned with government and we really thought that there was nothing the average person could do, but this is—this is, like, extraordinary,’” she said, though her response to people who feel surprised at Trump is they should have been paying more attention to gerrymandering, money in politics and other distractions that she’s trying to get more engagement with: “There are people obviously who were warning us for a while.”

What the election has done for Bush, meanwhile, is shaken off any reservations she had about expressing her politics. She said she doesn’t care if she loses fans because they don’t like what she’s talking about on her own time.

“The stakes feel higher but it hasn’t changed my voice. If anything, I’m even less worried, which a lot of people think is strange,” Bush said. “If you really hate my opinion about wanting the environment to stay clean, wanting rivers to stay free of toxic coal waste, wanting children to have heart surgery if they need it—bro, don’t watch my show. I don’t care.”

But being out front on social media comes with risks, and certainly comes with a reliable stream of hate and harassment in response. Bush keeps screenshots of the worst responses on her phone—one stream for the offensive, one for the potentially actionable, with thousands of photos now in each—and has a team of lawyers and police officers tracking it and following up.

“The cruelty and the judgment and the sexism and the ease of threat and the ease with which people will detail ways in which either you should kill yourself or they’d like to kill you—it’s so shocking,” she said. “Truthfully, the intensity of it—and I choose to remain an optimistic person. I really try my best even though I’m fired up about a lot. But my social anxiety is through the roof. I’ve become increasingly agoraphobic.”

Not that Bush has it easy on the set. She tells two stories that she said are unfortunately routine for women in entertainment, whether on serialized dramas like the ones she’s starred in or on Bill O’Reilly’s recently canceled Fox News show, which she says she knew people who worked on.

There was the moment when a male co-star on “Chicago P.D.” interrupted her trying to weigh in with a suggestion by putting his hand in her face and saying, “No, stop.”

She took a deep breath and stepped back.

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“If that had happened to a man, he would have been able to be like, ‘Fuck you.’ And they could have had a fight. But if I start yelling, it’s, ‘Oh, you’re so sensitive. You’re so emotional,’” she said.

So her response, after a moment’s pause.

“If anybody ever puts a finger in my fucking face like that again I’m going to break your hand,” she said, adding that once she did make her suggestion, the director took it.

Or there was the time when a guest star she’d been getting along with, talking about causes they both believed in, told her he wasn’t into social media. He didn’t use Facebook, he told her, then looked at her and said, ‘But I’m a big fan of ‘Sit-On-My-Face-book.’”

“It’s like my whole body went numb and I was instantly sweating because I was so angry and shocked and I was so let down,” Bush said. “Like, someone who I think is an evolved person and what I wanted to say and probably what I should have said, truly, was, “I’m sorry, did you just make a joke in my place of work in which you are a guest that I should put my genitals on your face?”

Amid all the other political causes Bush believes in, she said she doesn’t think many men and even many women think about what true equality would be.

Her definition: “I won’t feel like I have to put armor on to come to work every day.”

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viralhottopics · 8 years ago

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Can I forgive the man who raped me?

Thordis Elva was raped aged 16. Years later, she emailed Tom Stranger, the man who raped her, beginning a raw, painful healing process documented in their book South of Forgiveness. In this extract, they meet to find a way forward

Thordis Elvais from Iceland and known to Icelandersas a writer, playwright, journalist and public speaker. She was voted Woman of the Year 2015 by the Federation of Icelandic Womens Societies in Reykjavik for her work on gender equality, and has written a celebrated book on gender-based violence, 2009s mannamli (The Plain Truth). She currently resides in Stockholm, Sweden with her partner Vidir and their son.

Tom Stranger is Australian. He met Elva when he was 18 and on a student exchange programme in Iceland, and the pair had a relationship. Since then, he has worked in various sectors (community services, youth, outdoor recreation, charity, construction, and hospitality). For now, he is working as a landscape gardener and lives in Sydney with his wife, Cat.

From: [email protected] Sent: Saturday 21 May 2005, 5.38am To: [email protected] Subject: Words for you Thordis, I dont know where to start. When I saw your name in my inbox, my spine went cold. My memories are still as clear as day. Please believe me when I say I have not forgotten what I did, and how wary I have to be of myself. I dont know how to reply. I want to call myself sick (but I know I am not), I want to say that you are so strong, so strong to be able to write to me and recall the events and my actions. I want to thank you for not hating me, although Id like you to. It would make it easier for me. Without looking for a scratch of sympathy, I want to tell you that the events and emotions I was party to in Iceland have replayed in my head many times, usually when I am by myself for any length of time. They flash past me, vividly accurate, and then, shortly after the denial and positive character reinforcement, comes the question: Who am I? It is a dark part of my memory. Ive tried to suppress it. But this is not about me. Whatever I can do or offer you, I am more than willing. The question is where to go from here. You tell me. Tom.

*****

After eight years of analysing the violent past and its consequences in a written correspondence, Thordis and Tom decide to meet up in the middle, between their home countries of Iceland and Australia, looking to face their past once and for all.

Day one, 27 March 2013

The taxi picks me up at a quarter to five and takes me to the bus station, where Im booked on the fly-bus. The grizzled taxi driver, hoisting my suitcase into the trunk with a smooth manoeuvre, asks me where Im going.

To South Africa.

Oh, really? To Johannesburg?

No, to Cape Town, I reply, still in disbelief at my own words despite the time Ive had to adjust to the idea. It would be an understatement to say that the proposed meeting has been on my mind. Its reverberated in every step when Ive gone out for a run; its been in every breath of cold winter air that scraped the insides of my lungs; its soaked the wet washcloth I used to clean my sons sticky fingers. And Ive tried my best to push it out of my mind when making love to my fiance, enjoying his warm skin against mine.

After all, that would be a highly inappropriate time to be thinking about it.

From the moment the destination was set, I adapted to a new calendar before or after Cape Town. The last time I bought deodorant I automatically deduced that I wouldnt have to buy another one until after Cape Town. Yesterday, when snuggling down with my three-year-old son to do some painting together, spending quality time with him BC momentarily appeased my guilt for leaving him for 10 days to travel halfway across the globe to face a man from the past without any guarantee of the outcome.

Something tells me that parents of young children are not meant to take such foolhardy decisions. Thats the reason I gave up my dreams of parachuting when I fell pregnant with my son. Then again, throwing myself out of an aeroplane at 7,000 feet carries less emotional risk than taking a trip down memory lane with the man who turned my existence upside down. Because it wasnt an unknown lunatic who tore my life apart all those years ago. Who turned down the offer of medical help for me, even though I was barely conscious and vomiting convulsively. Who decided instead to rape me for two endless hours.

It was my first love.

My mothers eyes flew wide open when I told her that I was travelling alone to South Africa to meet up with the man who raped me when I was 16. She strung together a series of hair-raising worst-case scenarios before letting out a sigh, looking at me with loving reluctance, and adding: But I know its pointless to try to talk you out of things youve set your mind to, dear. Shortly thereafter, my dad interrupted my packing when he dropped by for a coffee. Despite my attempt to break the news to him in the gentlest manner possible, it didnt prevent him from freaking out. He lectured me in a thundering voice about how I was jeopardising my life for an utterly ridiculous idea.

But I have to finish this chapter of my life, I said softly. My cheeks were on fire.

Finish this chapter? he repeated, appalled, and jumped out of his chair. You dont need to travel across the globe to finish anything! This whole idea is a big pretentious drama, thats what it is!

His words hit me right where it hurts.

Youll have no control over anything. Nothing but your thoughts! Nothing else!

What do you mean? I asked, confused. Ill obviously control my actions and whereabouts.

No you wont, dear, he hissed. You cant always. If you could, then that wouldnt have happened.

We both knew what he meant by that, even though weve never talked about the incident that changed everything. In recent years, Ive spoken widely and publicly about my status as a rape survivor (though, until now, never identified the man who raped me) yet my father and I have never discussed that fateful night. He has never asked and Ive always assumed he doesnt want to know.

I sat up straight, aware of my glowing cheeks. If you reduce me to victim and him to perpetrator, I can see how this seems incomprehensible to you. But were much more than that, Dad.

He scoffed loudly before storming out of the kitchen.

I leant against the wall and let the air out of my lungs slowly. Goddamn it. I knew this would be hard, but bloody hell.

My father appeared again in the doorway, pacing up and down with frustration I knew was fuelled by fatherly love. How can you be sure youll finish anything with this nonsense? This may just as easily be the start of something else entirely! The distress in his voice made it sound like a threat.

I sat alone in the silence my father left behind and watched the dust settle. In a way, I think were both right. This trip will surely mark an end to a certain chapter of my life. What sets me apart from my father is my belief that in the next chapter, I wont be the victim any more.

Day two, 28 March 2013

The screen in the seatback in front of me shows a blinking plane over a map. According to the timer, Cape Town is just 29 minutes away. The butterflies in my stomach nose-dive, as the time seems way too limited considering how many questions are left unanswered.

Goddamn it, what if I cant forgive him? Am I ready to let go?

Frustrated, I scroll through the folder on my laptop, searching for something to calm my nerves. I was level-headed enough when I suggested this trip, wasnt I? In an attempt to recover my faith in this risky undertaking, I read through my own proposal:

You may need a lifetime to forgive yourself for what you did to me. That is up to you and you take however long you need, independent of anyone else. I, however, am climbing a different mountain. And I am getting very close to the top. I propose that in six months time, we meet up with the intention of reaching forgiveness, once and for all. In person. It is the only proper way for me to do it, I feel. No letter can ever compare with face-to-face communication. And after all weve been through, I think it is the most dignified and honest way to finish this chapter of our story.

I sound so calm, so fucking reasonable. How is it possible that this was written by the same person now hyperventilating in a plane 30,000ft over South Africa, full of nerve-racking doubt?

Reading through his reply, Im somewhat comforted that he, too, felt conflicted:

Ill admit that I was floored by your request to meet up. Fearful, anxious, cautious, paranoid. You name it, it all came swarming in. But youve asked, and you sound like you are making vital ground towards something very special for yourself. So of course Ill agree to see you. After much thought I do think it will be beneficial, and an opportunity for myself to air face-to-face some long held words and for us both to look to close some doors. I want it for you, Thordis, as you seem strong, open and ready to see me and move forward. I want it for me because Im so very sick of being sick and seeing myself as unlovable, and believe I can move on if I could just look you in the face, own up to it and say Im sorry.

Forgiveness is the only way, I tell myself, because whether or not he deserves my forgiveness, I deserve peace. Because Im doing this for me. My forgiveness is white-hot from the whetstone, and its purpose is to sever the ties, because if I can let this go, once and for all, Im certain that my overall wellbeing will benefit greatly. Self-preservation at its best.

Day four, 30 March 2013

Its seven oclock when we buy ourselves a drink at the hotel bar and sit down by a table facing the garden, readying ourselves for the hard talk. The windowpane clatters loudly, and an endless stream of staff crossing the room distracts me to the point where I give up. What do you say about us finishing this conversation in my room?

He looks at me, shocked. Are you sure? Youre comfortable with that?

Im sure that itll be easier to have this talk if we get proper privacy. Its tough enough as it is.

Tom radiates ever-increasing anxiety as the elevator climbs closer to the 12th floor. Unlike him, my emotions have calmed down.

Almost serene, I step out of the elevator. Theres no turning back now.

He buries his hands in his pockets as I fish my key out of my bag in front of my hotel room. Putting my hand on the doorknob, it morphs into the white plastic door-handle with the keyhole that haunts my dreams. Within me, everything falls silent. Ready? I ask myself.

Without hesitation, I turn the key.

Tom follows me inside my room, takes a look around and smiles nervously. Not bad.

Sit wherever you like. Im going to make some tea.

Thordiss student ID from around the time she met Tom. Photograph: Courtesy of Thordis Elva

He sits down on the edge of the bed while I busy myself with the kettle. From the corner of my eye, I notice him closing his eyes and straightening his back, as if hes steeling himself. When the boiling water hits the teabag at the bottom of the cup, Tom begins the story in a hoarse voice. I wore my golden shirt that evening. I didnt know it was customary to get dressed up for a dance in Iceland, and I didnt have anything fancy. The son of my host family took me to an exclusive store and helped me choose the shirt. I thought it was the peak of cool, at the time. The striped trousers were a present from my host sister.

He accepts the steaming teacup from my hand and stares into it for a moment before continuing. I remember how excited I was when I bought the ticket. I remember that I was with my friends Carlos and Ben when we met you outside the dance. You were pretty drunk when you arrived.

It was the first time Id ever tasted rum, I tell him. I didnt know how to drink alcohol. Nor did I know how to smoke, even though I took a drag from the rolled cigarette you handed me. I just wanted to impress you. And after the ensuing wild cough, I wondered if perhaps that wasnt a cigarette, I remind myself.

I lost you the minute we stepped inside, Tom continues. Carlos and I went straight to the dancefloor. I remember feeling happy and carefree in that sweaty pile of people. Then someone told me you werent well, you were in the ladies.

My mind replays the awful scene from the bathroom stall. The stains on my new dress. My hair wet from hugging the toilet. My fear and wonder as one spasm after the other wrung my body out like a dishrag. The repeated promises that Id neither drink nor smoke again if I were only allowed to survive this night. And finally, the desperate wish for my mom to come save me. I fucked up, Mom. Im sorry.

Tom frowns. I felt it was my duty to go and check on you. So I went in and climbed over the partition, into your cubicle. I held your hair back while you vomited, and I thought I was going to be sick as well. Then you flopped to the ground and lay there, motionless. I remember carrying you out.

He pauses and looks away. Before I have a chance to tell him how grateful I was when he appeared like my mother incarnate to save me from an untimely death on the bathroom floor, he grimaces bitterly. Then I couldnt be bothered to look after you, Thordis. I dumped you on Ben and left you with him. You were slumped on the chairs outside the bathrooms and he stood there, stooped over you, as I went back to the dancefloor.

I look at him in surprise. I thought youd taken me straight home.

He clenches his jaw. My only thought was that this was the only Christmas dance I was going to experience in Iceland. I was selfish and didnt have any concern for you. In the end, I felt guilty that some other guy was looking after my girlfriend. So I scooped you up in my arms and carried you up the stairs, in a foul mood because I had to leave the party.

And the security guards stopped you on the way out because they wanted to call an ambulance for me as I was dangling from your arms, foaming at the mouth. They thought I had alcohol poisoning.

Id forgotten that moment but I dont doubt it, he says in a low voice.

Tom Stranger in 1996, the year he went to Iceland. Photograph: Courtesy of Tom Stranger

I remember that part vividly because for a second there, I thought youd take their advice, I respond, looking down into my cup. That Mom and Dad would get a call from the hospital saying that their 16-year-old daughter was lying there with alcohol poisoning. I imagined being grounded for life.

Id known for three years by then what it is to drink to excess, and Id seen many of my friends at various stages of drunkenness. I just thought you were wasted. I didnt think you were in real danger, he says.

Whatever it was, it had me paralysed and unable to speak. But I heard you loud and clear as you refused the offer of an ambulance, telling the security guards that you knew me and would see me safely home.

He nods, his complexion strangely pale. The taxi was white, I recall. I told the driver your address I remember letting us into your house. But what I dont remember is what I did with you while I struggled to unlock the door.

You draped me across your shoulder while you rummaged round in my bag for the keys.

He raises his eyebrows. Really? Like a sack of potatoes?

I nod.

He swears at himself quietly. And I remember your entrance hall, the shoes on the floor. From memory, past the coat hooks there were some stairs on the left, leading up to the kitchen and your parents area. Your room was through on the right. He stops and swallows.

I remember taking your clothes off.

I remember it too. My gratitude when he removed my vomit-stained dress. My relief at having my feet freed from the high heels. My frustration for not being able to utter a word of thanks. My lack of understanding when he continued to remove my underwear. Why my panties? Why?

My stomach muscles reflexively tighten as I prepare for the blow.

He stands up, moving restlessly, and walks over to the wall opposite the bed. I undressed you completely… He falls silent and hangs his head. The wind howls pitifully outside the window.

Tom begins to cry.

I wish I could tell you why I did it, Thordis.

Did what?

Raped you, he says, quietly.

This is an edited extract from South of Forgiveness by Thordis Elva and Tom Stranger (Scribe Publications, 12.99). To order a copy for 11.04 go to bookshop.theguardian.com or call 0330 333 6846. Thordis Elva and Tom Stranger will be speaking at the Royal Festival Hall as part of the Women of the World festival on 11 March, and at the Bristol Festival of Ideas on 13 March

People were quick to judge I wasnt angry enough: what came next for Thordis and Tom

Standing in stark stage lights, with five cameras directed at me, I recently found myself on a stage, telling an audience of 1,200 how Id been raped when I was 16 years old. Next to me on stage was Tom, who raped me after a dance at our high school. Together, we gave a TED talk that summarised a 20-year long process, whereby Tom shouldered responsibility for his actions and the way they impacted our lives. It was viewed nearly 2m times in the first week and the overwhelming reaction was positive and supportive.

In the talk, I described the violence Tom subjected me to, how I spent years wanting nothing more than to hurt him back, how I found a way to part with the anger that nearly cost me my life, as well as rid myself of blame that I like so many other survivors wrongfully shouldered.

Tom described how he felt deserving of my body that night, without any concern for me, and consequently convinced himself that what he did was sex and not rape. The following nine years were marked by denial, in which he did his best to outrun the past, until I confronted him in a pivotal email that changed our lives for ever.

Ive been asked why I didnt press charges immediately, and the simple answer to that question is that I was a 16-year-old girl with naive notions about rape. Rapes were committed by armed lunatics, the kind of sensationalised monsters you saw on TV and read about in the papers. The fact that Tom wasnt a monster, but a person who made an awful decision, made it harder for me to see his crime for what it was. That way, the demonisation of perpetrators in mainstream media got in the way of my recovery. By the time I was able to identify what had happened to me as rape, Tom had moved to the other side of the planet, far from the jurisdiction of the Icelandic police. At the time, 70% of rape cases in Iceland were dismissed, even when the perpetrator could be interrogated and the survivor had documented injuries, neither of which were the case for me. Therefore, pressing charges would not have been a fruitful process, and the only option I felt I had left was to bottle up my pain and anger. Studies show that very few survivors have a clean-cut story in which they went straight to the authorities after being assaulted, put the blame squarely on the perpetrators shoulders, healed their wounds and moved on. For most of us, life after violence is a messy ordeal. We dont go to the police because were too confused, scared or doubtful that well get help. We blame ourselves and obsess about things we couldve done differently. We numb ourselves with alcohol/drugs/sex/food/work, or we turn to self-harm to relieve the emotional pain. We continue to see our abusers and pretend that nothing happened, because facing the truth is overwhelming. We develop PTSD and mental illness. We stay silent about what happened out of fear that well not be believed, or worse, blamed for it because we did something wrong. No wonder, really. In reality, the only people capable of preventing rapes are those who commit them, and yet were told from an early age that we can avoid being raped by dressing and behaving in a certain way. This culture of victim-blaming also fosters the idea that there is a right way to react to violence. Had the survivor only worn something else, not smiled so widely, not gotten drunk, fought back (more), screamed (louder), gone straight to the police, not feared their attackers retaliation if theyd only done that, everything wouldve worked out differently. Victim-blaming deepens the shame that many survivors feel and lessens the likelihood that they speak up about their experiences.

youtube

Watch Thordis Elva and Tom Strangers TED talk.

The reality is that there is no right reaction to having your life ripped apart by violence. I knew that my collaboration with Tom would be controversial, and the reactions of internet trolls didnt surprise me. But I am concerned with how quick some people were to judge the wrong way in which I worked through my experience. I wasnt angry enough, I shouldve pressed charges, I was setting a dangerous precedent, I should be ashamed. Although I made it clear that my forgiveness wasnt for my perpetrator but for myself and that without it, I wouldnt be alive, I was still told that I should not have forgiven.

This worries me. I worry about my fellow survivors who are at risk of internalising the misconception that there is a standard reaction to sexual violence, with the conclusion that they didnt react in the right way. To you, I want to say that you did nothing wrong. The way in which you carried on with your life may not have been clean-cut, it may have been messy and incomprehensible to those who dont share your experience, but it was your way to survive a trauma. Nobody has the right to tell you how to handle your deepest pain.

And as the title of our story South of Forgiveness suggests, forgiveness played a pivotal role in allowing me to let go of the self-blame I shouldered, largely due to the victim-blaming culture I grew up in. And yet, forgiveness is not the core of our story, in my mind. The core issue is responsibility.

I understand those who feel discomfort and even outrage when hearing and seeing Tom on stage, knowing that hes perpetrated sexual violence. At the same time, given how prevalent this type of abuse is and how under-reported a crime it is, were in all likelihood seeing and hearing from perpetrators on a daily basis the main difference being that we dont know theyre perpetrators. They could be the people we went to school with, who greet us at the grocery store, who direct the films we watch, get elected to public office, run entire countries and live right next door. Given the low reporting and conviction rate, most of them will never have to take responsibility for their actions in an institutional sense. This does not lessen the gravity of their deeds.

By the time Tom had confessed to his crime, he couldnt have done time for it even if he wanted to, as the statute of limitations had passed. As a result, our case fell through the cracks of the legal system, like so many others, but it didnt lessen our need to analyse our past and place the responsibility with the person to whom it belonged: Tom. We also did our best to answer questions that are rarely posed in the public discourse about rape, where more focus seems to be on the survivors attire, behaviour, whereabouts and sexual history than the perpetrators culpability. And as frustrating as it is, I understand it to a certain extent. Because in the public discourse, the only people speaking about the violence theyve been party to are the survivors, usually. Which is why we only have their stories to dissect, their details to scrutinise. Did she say shed been drinking that night? This tradition of one-sided scrutiny blindsides us from looking at the behaviour of the person responsible, the perpetrator, to whom the focus needs to shift.

I am not sharing the story of how I processed the abuse I endured as a set of recommendations for others.

My story is a unique account shared in the hope that it can aid a public discussion about sexual violence.

As a society, it is our duty to fight against violence. And as individuals, we have a right to heal from it.