#men would never be judged for being emotional after a sport game of some kind
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I need a tranquilizer after all that, tbh.
#personal#fob#2ourdust#actually is lowkey so embarrassing that i can feel so much about a band#and i know being a fan is a thing#men would never be judged for being emotional after a sport game of some kind#but for some reason i feel like i am doing too much for and about my favorite band#is it because i'm a woman and society says i shouldn't have such strong interests in that anymore?#or something else#therapy next week is gonna be wild already bc i'm going to bring up my existential dread 😅 but maybe we'll have time to touch on this
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Mel Dahl - Friend of Dorothy
Homosexual activity has been has been a reason to be discharged from the US military since the Revolutionary War. As the USA prepared to enter World War II, the military, in addition to its regular efforts to find gay, lesbian and bisexual service members and boot them from service, added processes to try to identify “homosexual” recruits and prevent them from joining,
During his campaign for the presidency, Bill Clinton pledged to lift the ban on gay troops, but faced opposition from senior military personnel and powerful Congressional leaders.
The compromise they reached and implemented in 1994 was the “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” policy, which meant the military wouldn’t actively search for gay, lesbian or bisexual personnel nor ask about a person’s sexual orientation, but if the military discovered someone is LGB, they could be discharged. Thus as long as the LGB individual didn’t share about their personal life at work or with military colleagues while off base, they should be able to serve. A truly imperfect and problematic policy, but a step forward.
This “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” policy remained in effect for 17 years, until being repealed by Pres. Obama. Openly gay, lesbian and bisexual people have been allowed to serve in the US armed forces since the repeal.
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When Mel Dahl enrolled in the Navy in 1980, a military doctor asked the standard question of whether he’s gay, and Mel admitted he was. He completed basic training and applied for clearance to be a cryptographer. As part of that process, he again was asked if he is gay and his truthfulness got him a dishonorable discharge.
He fought his discharge in court, even walking coast-to-coast in 1981 to publicize his case. It took 13 years of court battles, but in 1994 a judge finally ruled his dismissal unconstitutional and the Navy agreed to pay him 4 year’s worth of back wages. During the media interest early in the legal battle, Mel told a reporter that a great many gay men served at the Great Lakes Naval Training Center where he was stationed.
A witch hunt for gay sailors at the Great Lakes base ensued. The Naval Intelligence Service launched a full-scale investigation to identify a presumably massive homosexual network. They followed Mel Dahl and would secretly go through his possessions trying to find clues.
Naval intelligence discovered and infiltrated a gay Christian group that tried to worship weekly on base and everyone who was participating was discharged.
The Navy sent investigators to gay bars in the Chicago area to discover gay sailors. Investigators were paid to pose as gay men, to drink and dance and introduce themselves to other patrons, trying to identify who might be in the military.
During these trips to the gay bars, they noticed that many gay men identified themselves as “a friend of Dorothy.” The Intelligence Service figured that “Dorothy” must be a woman who organized a city-wide ring of gay servicemen. If they could find her, they figured they could “convince” her to talk, perhaps outing many gay navy personnel, who with a little pressure could be persuaded to identify many other gay men in the Navy so they all could be booted out.
The key was to find Dorothy. The NIS sent investigators to the gay bars to ask questions about this mystery woman. At one point, someone managed to convince them that a real-life woman officer named Dorothy was who they were after. She was very religious and anti-gay and this was a way of getting back at her for her bigotry. Spies followed her for months, never finding any associations with gay people, and concluded they had the wrong Dorothy.
They never found Dorothy
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An interesting aside, while this investigation, and many others, focused on gay men, in the late 1980s there was a perception that the military was unfairly not working so hard to discover lesbians in the ranks.
Vice Admiral Joseph S. Donnell sent out a memo urging his subordinates to ferret out lesbians in the Navy. His memo included this helpful tip for identifying lesbians:
“Experience has shown that the stereotypical female homosexual in the Navy is hard-working, career-oriented, willing to put in long hours on the job and among the command’s top professionals.”
Wouldn’t want their kind!
Military records indicate that in the 1990′s, being a woman who was also a member of a naval sports team, like softball or basketball, was enough to get the person onto the “potential lesbian” list, with Naval Intelligence scouting the games and taking pictures of the players to add to their investigation files.
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The phrase “Friend of Dorothy” first popped up in the 1940’s, and for many decades was a way for gay people to indicate someone is gay. The “Dorothy” in question is the main character from the Wizard of Oz.
At a time when it was illegal to be gay and society was strongly homophobic, it was handy to have a phrase that allowed gay men to identify themselves to each other without actually saying they’re gay. When meeting another person, the gay man could say, “I’m a friend of Dorothy,” and if the other man were gay, he likely understands exactly what is being said. But if he isn’t gay, he’d probably think the individual thought they had a mutual friend named Dorothy.
Some believe that the phrase is derived from book The Road To Oz (1909), a sequel to the original Wonderful Wizard of Oz. In that book, Polychrome (Oz) says, “You have some queer friends, Dorothy.” She replies, “The queerness doesn’t matter, so long as they’re friends.”
The movie The Wizard of Oz delighted audiences and was so popular that from 1959 until the 1990′s, it was broadcast annually as a television special on American television.
Dorothy’s journey from Kansas to Oz mirrored gay men’s desires to escape the black-and-white limitations of their small-town life for the big, colorful cities.
The Tin Man, The Scarecrow and Cowardly Lion are misfits who don’t conform to the roles society has given them, and yet Dorothy immediately accepts them. The Tin Man is constantly getting emotional and crying and needing to be lubed up. The Scarecrow can’t frighten a crow nor anything else. The Cowardly Lion identifies himself as a “sissy,” says “there’s no denyin’, I’m a dandy lion,” and behaves in a stereotypically effeminate way.
Gay men are often accused of being less masculine than straight men and could see themselves in these characters. Dorothy meeting & accepting them is often interpreted as her meeting & accepting gay men without question. It didn’t matter to Dorothy if others were different, it was their character that mattered.
The phrase “Friend of Dorothy” isn’t nearly as widely known nowadays in the LGBT community thanks to the changes in the law and societal attitudes.
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I learned the British equivalent of “Friend of Dorothy” is “Friend of Mrs. King” (aka, Queen, as in a "gay man"). “Do you know if Nigel is a friend of Mrs. King?”
#Mel Dahl#Friend of Dorothy#hahaha#the US Naval Intelligence Service couldn't crack the simple code#shows how effective it was#gays knew it and straights did not#queer history
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An Arranged Marriage - Arthur Shelby
Pairing: Arthur Shelby x reader
Requested: Yes.
Prompts: #25 from the fluff-list.
Warnings/notes: This turned out longer than I meant for it to and I got a bit side-tracked. It’s so incredibly cheesy too hahah. Sorry if this piece makes no sense and is messy. I haven’t written fanfiction in a few months now so I might be a bit rusty, and it’s not proofread either so sorry in advance for any mistakes. Buuut I hope you will like it xD (The religion you hold in this story is borrowed from Game of Thrones)
Wordcount: 4373
Summary: You’re in an arranged marriage with Arthur for the sake of the Peaky Blinders and your father’s business.
Arthur had been all for it when Tommy married John off to Esme to make peace with the Lees, but now that he was in the exact same situation, he finally understood why John had reacted the way he had when he first found out he was about to walk into his own wedding.
Arthur was older than Tommy by three years on paper, but in mentality… even though he probably didn’t even realize it himself, he was younger than both Tommy and John.
Out of all of his siblings, he was the one who took their dad bailing the hardest. He had been forced to step up and help his aunt Pol take care of and raise Finn.
It had robbed him of a part of his childhood even though he had been a young adult at the time, and in a way, caused him to stay in that younger part of himself mentally; that vulnerable, soft, emotional part.
This was one of the several reasons Tommy had taken on the leading role, both of their family and the business. Usually, Arthur didn’t mind. He didn’t like being in charge, he preferred someone else handling everything, Tommy in particular.
But now, now he wished he was the leader of the family. Because now, his younger brother was making him marry for the benefit of business. He was making him marry a woman he had never met in his life before and who was twelve years younger than him.
The biggest problem with the entire situation wasn’t that he didn’t want it, though. The worst part of it all was that he knew that no woman your age and with your status would be happily married to an old, at best average looking man like him.
And his age and looks wasn’t the worst part, either. It was his personality, or lack thereof, really. He had no personality. He was just angry, reckless and generally uncontrollable. Anger, that was all he was, and violence was all he had ever been good for.
He was terrified of marrying you, because he was terrified of terrifying you. And he knew he would at some point.
He had heard a lot about you from his brother when he had told him about his plans and that your father had accepted his offer. He said you were kind, thoughtful and pure. Everything that Arthur was not.
A girl like you didn’t belong with the likes of him. You belonged to someone much more worthy. Royalty, even.
But what Tommy had left out, because he had no idea, himself, was that your father would never marry you off without your approval. He would never make you do anything against your will.
Sure, you weren’t in it to the fullest, but you had never been in love before, and at this point, you feared you never would be with the way all men bored the crap out of you.
So what was the worst that could happen? You would eventually end up with someone you didn’t love wholeheartedly, anyway; you knew you would. So why not let it be while helping your father expand his business and partners?
The thought didn’t make you jump up and down with joy, but it didn’t appall you either. You could take care of yourself, and if your husband-to-be ever dared raise his voice or lay a hand on you in ill-meaning, you knew your dad would throw his agreement with the Peaky Blinders to the curb in a heartbeat to protect you.
The day of your wedding came only a week after your father’s parlay with Thomas Shelby, and your sister had been chatting your ears off all morning about everything that could possibly go wrong.
“What if he’s, like, really ugly?” She asked, tugging on your hair a little to roughly.
You flinched at the feeling and glared at her through the mirror, giving her the same answer you had given her the other thirty times she had asked that question.
“You should know by now that I don’t judge people based on the way they look, I judge them based on their personality. A man with a good soul is automatically b-“
“-is automatically beautiful no matter if his face is considered nice or not by the standards set by society.” She cut you off, imitating you in a much higher voice than you actually sported, rolling her eyes. “Yeah I know, you’ve told me.”
You gave her a flat look. “Then don’t keep asking.”
“What if he doesn’t remember the words?” She asked then, which actually got your gears spinning. What if he didn’t?
You belonged to a religion not many people outside your family did nowadays; The Faith of the Seven. A God with seven faces – the Father, the Mother, the Maiden, the Crone, the Warrior, the Smith and the Stranger – each aspect representing one part of life or existence.
You didn’t know whether or not your husband-to-be was religious. You didn’t even know his name. But either way, you felt slightly bad for the fact that your religion would be pushed onto him.
The wedding vows in your religion could be a mouthful for some people, yourself included.
“I barely even remember the correct order of the words myself, so if anything, chances are we both mess up.” You answered finally, causing your sister to huff.
But she said nothing more, quietly getting back to brushing out your locks. Eventually, your cousins and aunts filled into the back room of the church as well, no one wasting any time in getting you ready for your big day.
It was only when the wedding bells started ringing, indicating that it was time for you to make your entrance, that the anxiety any normal person should’ve been feeling the entire time but you hadn’t, caught up with you.
What if your sister was right? What if he was a real nasty man who would hurt you? What if he was so ugly you couldn’t look at him? You never cared much for people’s looks, barely at all, in fact. But now all the judgment seemed to come crashing down at once.
You knew this man was a good bit older than yourself, a whole forty years old. You had met many older men taking care of business in your father’s name, and you had encountered your fair share of men who in reality were just pigs in human vessels.
You could only hope to the Gods that the man you were about to get married to didn’t turn out to be one of them.
You walked into this mess fully prepared to never be able to love him, whoever he was, but you still carried some hope in your heart that you would grow to care for him.
And Gods knew you wouldn’t be able to if he turned out to be a grade A asshole.
But there was no time left to wonder, as the wedding bells were ringing over your heads in a way that was almost deafening, and your father stepped inside the backroom where you and the rest of the women in your family were gathered.
You stood up from your seat at his entrance and his eyes instantly found you, turning wide for a moment, before his entire face softened in a smile.
“Ah, darling…” He started, looking as if he was on the verge of tears. Which really wouldn’t surprise you. Your father might have been a fearless mob boss, but he wasn’t afraid to show his feelings. In fact, he cried a lot.
You plastered on a smile, feeling your lips tremble slightly with anxiety, as was the rest of your body.
He approached you, carefully grabbed your face in his hands and planted a kiss on each of your cheeks before pulling away to look at you with a big smile on his lips. “You look absolutely beautiful.” He complimented you. “And so much like your mother.”
Your heart tugged in your chest at the mention of your deceased mother, and you knew his did as well judging on the way his smile fell ever so slightly.
But he quickly shook it off and suddenly turned serious. “Are you sure you want to do this, angel? You don’t have to feel like you have to do this to please your old man, there are plenty other businesses to join with.”
His words tumbled around in your head for a moment, but you already knew what you wanted to do.
“I know you would never make me do anything, baba.” You smiled. “While I am doing this for the sake for the business and our family, I am also doing it completely out of free will. And besides, you’ve met this man’s brother, haven’t you?”
He nodded. “I have. He seems to be a very troubled young man and he still has a lot to learn, but he has a strong judgement, and I know he would never even propose something like this if his brother wasn’t just as honorable.”
“Then I trust your judgement about his judgement.” You nodded back.
Your father smiled at you for a moment, before finally letting go of your face and taking a step back with a heavy sigh. “Right.” He straightened out his suit and offered his arm to you. “Shall we?”
You took his arm without a second thought and got into position by his side, allowing your aunt to drop the veil to cover your face.
Her and the others then left the room, each wishing you good luck before leaving you alone with your father. You took a deep breath, staring straight ahead at the open door.
“Don’t let me fall.” You said to your father with a breathy laugh, your entire body shaking with nerves at this point.
You couldn’t see him through your veil, but judging by the ruffling of his suit, you knew he shook his head as he answered. “Never.”
The walk towards the entrance of the church was patronizingly slow, probably more so in your head than in reality because of the situation at hand.
You walked straight forward for about a minute, before taking a left turn, and by the sound of people standing up in the church benches and the bells having grown louder, you knew you had now reached your destination.
Your family was positioned at the left side of the church, and the entire Peaky Blinders clan that you had yet to meet and learn all the names of occupied the right side.
You still couldn’t see shit through your white, almost full coverage veil, of course. You only knew this based on what your aunts had told you while they had been getting you into your wedding gown.
Quiet murmurs could be heard the entire way down the aisle, most coming from the right side, although you couldn’t quite decipher if they were good murmurs or bad murmurs.
Out of instinct, you squeezed down harder on your father’s bicep, feeling your hands getting cold with fear.
You were beginning to have real second thoughts for the first time since accepting the indirect proposal, but it was too late to voice them now, as your father suddenly stopped, and only a second later let go of your arm, directing your icy, shaking hand into another, much warmer and bigger one.
The skin of his palm was calloused, evidently pointing at the fact that he had been through some hard labor in his life, and only causing your heart to thump harder in your chest as hard-working men were more often than not the ones who also beat and raped their wives.
Seemingly having gotten lost in your own thoughts, you had entirely missed the fact that the bells had now stopped ringing and that your father was giving you a soft nudge to the back, telling you to step forward.
You did as silently instructed, carefully squeezing your husband-to-be’s hand and using his help to step up on the small stairs he was standing on.
Turning to face him, you soon felt his hands graze the sides of your veil, and for a moment it almost seemed as if he was hesitating. But the next second, he had lifted the veil over your head, revealing your face to him and allowing the two of you to get the first look of each other.
And when your eyes met his and his face became visible to you, you almost sighed out loud in relief.
He wasn’t ugly, but rather on the opposite hand, quite handsome. His face was aged, without a doubt by the same labor that had caused the rough skin on his hands and fingers. And his eyes. His eyes were so blue, and so soft, you knew at once your father’s judgement had been correct.
This was no man that was going to hurt you. This was no man that would ever hurt any woman; he was a good man.
But while you gazed at him with deep interest, Arthur was absolutely speechless.
His brother had told him you were a looker, but you were absolutely beautiful. Painfully so.
And as he had no idea of the optimistic thoughts running through your head, he only grew more panicked at this, even more scared to ruin you now that he had met you, and fallen in love with you at first sight.
“Dear friends and family, ladies and gentlemen.” The priest, who you hadn’t even noticed up until this point, suddenly started, causing you to jump slightly out of fright.
You quickly recovered, and your husband-to-be gingerly grabbed your other hand to hold them between you.
“We are gathered here today, to witness and celebrate the union of (Y/N) (Y/L/N) and Arthur Shelby Jr. in marriage. With love and commitment, they have decided to live their lives as husband and wife. Today, as we create this marriage, we also create a new bond and new sense of family – one that will undoubtedly include all those who are present here today. Through your commitment to each other, may you grow and nurture a love that makes both of you better people, a love that continues to give you joy and also a passion for living that provides you with energy and patience to face the responsibilities of life. In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity, to symbolize your new union of love, trust and friendship.”
The priest carefully tied a pure white silk ribbon around your hands, binding them together with a pretty knot on top.
“Now please, look upon each other and say the words.”
But the two of you were already looking at each other, him looking at you with astonishment, you looking at him with interest, but both of you looking at each other with satisfaction and just a hint of anxiety.
Together in unison, you began reciting the words your ancestor had done oh so many times before.
“Father. Smith. Warrior. Stranger. I am hers, and she is mine, from this day, until the end of my days.”
“Mother. Maiden. Crone. Stranger. I am his and he is mine, from this day, until the end of my days.”
His voice was rough and held a thick Brummie accent. Any other peson probably would have found his deep voice a bit threatening, but you found it the exact opposite. It was soothing.
Surprisingly, he got through the words without as much of a stumble. You had expected him to mess up at least once, but no. Not one single mistake, and it made a weird kind of pride build up inside of you.
“You may now finally seal your marriage by sharing a kiss.” The priest finished, and you had never seen a man as uncomfortable as the one in front of you right then.
He was looking straight into your eyes, and in the corner of your own eye, you could see everyone awaiting the final finish with anticipation.
So you looked back at the man you now got to call your husband, gave him a nod so small it was barely noticeable. But he saw it and took that as the permission he needed to do the priest’s bidding.
He removed his untied hand from yours and slowly raised it to your face – so slowly, you almost wanted to hit him and tell him to hurry it on so that everyone could stop staring.
But you caught yourself. Who were you to judge him for being nervous? You had no idea what was going on inside his head, and you were just as nervous as he was.
And soon enough, his lips met yours anyway.
It was the lightest, most careful kiss you had ever received in your life, but in that moment it was enough to send your families into a roar of applause and whistles, the loud volume of it all bouncing off the church walls and echoing through the entire building.
The mere sound of their enthusiasm and support was enough to make you laugh, and much to yours and Arthur’s surprise, you grabbed a hold of the front of his suit and pulled yourself into his chest to shield your blushing face from everyone else as you laughed.
He visibly froze at the sudden act of affection, but when Tommy clapped him on the back in congratulations, he instantly came back to reality and put his arm around you, pulling you closer and with him down the steps to join your families with a proud smile of his own.
The rest of the evening was spent celebrating in the Garrison, a pub on Watery Lane that you found your husband was the proud owner of.
You drank and you laughed and everyone got along.
At some point, your father reached the absolute maximum limit of the amount of alcohol he could possibly consume, getting up on the table on shaky legs with your two uncles and a few men from the Peaky Blinders who were equally as drunk, all of them staring to sing on the top of their lungs.
You sat by Arthur’s side the entire evening, feeling strangely safe tucked under his arm despite barely knowing him, but when your father and his boyband eventually all fell down from the table, smashing another one in the process and sending the entire bar into absolute chaos, it was all getting a bit too much for you and you asked Arthur to go home.
To his home, where you would now be staying with him.
You had barely even stepped outside the door before a cold breeze went past you, pulling at the red dress you had changed into after the wedding ceremony, and your hair still put up in the wedding hair-do.
You didn’t shiver, actually enjoying the chilly breeze after being stuck inside the pub for several hours.
When that many people were crowded into the same room, most of them smoking and all of them jumping around like headless chickens on drugs at some point, the air eventually got very hot and humid.
But still, Arthur instantly started opening the coat clasped in his hands. ”Do you want my coat? It’s really cold out here.” He asked, holding it up and looking at you with careful eyes.
You were quick to shake your head. “Oh, no. You don’t have to do t-“
But he was already pulling it over your shoulders, smoothing the fabric out over your back carefully before quickly pulling his hands back to himself, stuffing them into his pockets.
“You’re my wife now.” He said, voice coming out as a mumble thanks to the alcohol he had consumed throughout the night, but you could almost sense a tinge of sadness to it, too. “Even if this probably isn’t the life you would’ve wanted, it’s my job to take care of ya and I’m not letting ya go cold.”
You felt your eyes, heart and entire body soften at his sweet words and obvious insecurity.
At the beginning of the day, you had had no expectations whatsoever to actually fall in love with the man you would be marrying, but with the way your heart skipped a beat just by being in his presence, your attitude was quickly changing for the better.
While you actually enjoyed the cold night air, you didn’t have the heart to tell him so when he was so obviously trying his hardest to keep you happy. And either way, you appreciated the gesture more than you could put into words.
A small smile pulled at the corners of your lips. You didn’t know if it was the whiskey currently pulsating through your veins or if it was the actually growing attraction that made you do it, but you soon found yourself taking a step closer to him and raising a hand to his face to make him look at you, as he was now looking at the ground.
His eyes met yours, and even though it was almost pitch black outside, you could see the sparkling blue color as clear as day.
“I don’t think I’ll have too much of a problem with the life I’ve been given.” You confessed, your thumb absentmindedly starting to rub circles on his clean-shaven cheek. “I already feel more for you than I’ve felt for any other man in my twenty-eight years of living.”
He shuddered under your touch and despite being a full-grown adult, he gave you a look so vulnerable and exposed it reminded you of a child. But not in a bad way.
Now, you weren’t sure whether it was the alcohol or genuine feelings that had made you act like you had up until now, but you were absolutely certain the next thing you did was purely the alcohol’s doing.
Without another word, you leaned your head up to meet his lips in a short but sweet kiss. He was startled by your sudden and unexpected action, that much was clear to you with the way he stood frozen in his spot.
But the alcohol being the cause of your boldness in this situation particularly wasn’t in a bad way. You knew you wouldn’t forget it happened, and you wouldn’t regret it, but you knew you never would have had the courage to make a move if you were sober.
After you pulled away, you just gazed at each other for a moment, before another breeze pulled through and this time made you shiver visibly.
Arthur came back to his senses at that, and wasted no time in taking you under his arm and starting to steer you in the direction of his house.
To a start, you had enjoyed the cold air, but now that the heat from the night’s festivities had died down, you were more than grateful that Arthur had given you his coat, as it was the only reason you weren’t a shivering mess upon arriving home.
That night, you slept in the same bed, but Arthur never tried anything. You didn’t talk much and neither of you made any move to get intimate. You just slept. Soundly. And so you did for the rest of the weekend, as well.
The first week was good. Really good. You didn’t talk much, but you shared glances, you got along, and enjoyed each other’s company. But going into the second week, everything was an absolute disaster. For you, at least.
You never would have thought you would catch genuine romantic feelings for him this quickly, but you did.
The first week you had appreciated the respect he was always sure to show you, but now that you actually harbored feelings for him, you craved his company and touch.
But he was scared. He was still so terrified of losing control, hurting you, or just scaring you away, because he knew from the moment your eyes met for the first time that he was completely whipped and never wanted to lose you.
He never told you out loud about how he felt, but you knew.
You had bonded with the entire Shelby clan during your first week together, Finn more so than anyone.
He was young, and despite having been raised by Polly and having several women around him daily, he had never really had a mother.
Unintentionally, you stepped up and took that role almost immediately despite only being ten years older than him. He told you all of the things Arthur wouldn’t talk to you about himself.
He told you about his time in the war, his issues and the demons that haunted his thoughts and came knocking when he least expected it, causing him to lose control.
And from that, you could draw the conclusion yourself that he was scared to hurt you.
You had planned to confront him on it one night, to tell him that you knew he wouldn’t hurt you, that you weren’t that easy to scare away, that you had developed real feelings for him and wanted to take your relationship to the next level.
But before you got the chance to do so, you proved it to him wordlessly when some asshole tried picking you up at the pub in the presence of the entire Shelby family, and you socked him right in the face and went off on him about his sexist tendencies like a mad-woman, having him running out of there with his tail between his legs and a bloody nose.
That was the moment Arthur realized that he had nothing to be afraid of; he didn’t have to worry about breaking you, because you couldn’t be broken.
All of the doubts fled his mind that day, and only a few days later, you were attached at the hip and acting like you had known each other and been in love for years.
Another two months later, you found out you were pregnant with your first child, and every night from then on when he would come home to find you sleeping with your hand resting on your growing belly, he could only stop in the doorway and stare at you.
Because who would’ve thought someone like you would fall so easily for someone like him? The most unlikely match in the entire world, and still, there you were.
Happily in love.
#Peaky Blinders#peaky blinders x reader#peaky blinder imagine#peaky blinder fanfic#peaky blinder headcanon#Arthur Shelby#arthur shelby imagine#arthur shelby x reader#arthur shelby fanfic#tommy shelby#john shelby#michael gray#polly gray
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THE BLACK BULLS IN HIGHSCHOOL
Ok so I found myself thinking "what role would each black bull fit in a very cheesy-typical-american-teenagers-film environment?" and my mind ACTUALLY developed something.
So here it comes, my very first personal and self-made headcanon!
Enjoy!
YAMI: THE DAD- I MEAN, THE TEACHER
He is teaching PE (duh)
All students call me him "coach"
He is actually coaching one of the high schools' teams as well - something like basketball or baseball
It is not even the first team but he refused to coach the first teams and likes to focus on who is left behind because not as talented. Even if everyone consider his boys as loosers he would never give up on coaching them
Since he is the coach the team has actually improved - everyone is surpassing their limits and he is so proud of them
Would give emotional support to the kids that are not comfortable in PE class due to bullying, clumsiness or body immage issues
EVERY student would go to him when they have some kind of issue
He gets real about everything with his students: sex, birth control, sexuality, mental health...
But he would never judge them and would always offer the best support
He actually saved lives because of that
Students would fight for him when other teachers bullshit about his reputation as he doesn't get along with the rest of the staff
He is dad
ASTA: THE SPORT BOY
He is part of a bunch of different teams and clubs, and he rules in every single one of them
However he prioritise American football, he is the starting running back and the team's star
Would already have a bunch of college scholarships if it wasn't for his marks
Like he actually tries so hard but he just can't cope with studying and homeworks
He avoids basketball, he is short and insicure about it (he would be great at basketball too tho)
Very popular and all the girls have a crush on him
But he doesn't have a clue
Doesn't like hanging out with his team mates, most of them are "lads-lads" and bullies
He actually fights them a lot
Lowkey geeky, he loves hanging out with the geeks gang and nerd all they long with them when he doesn't have sports commitments
They would help him improve his scholastic performance because this boi really needs help
BONUS: Asta worships coach Yami like a god and Yami ATTENDS HIS GAMES TO SUPPORT HIM
NOELLE: THE RICH GIRL
Extremely popular due to her family reputation
She is part of the elite group in school, meaning the rich kids gang
She would act very cold and distant as the group's etiquette requires
She is actually extremely sad and bored - those guys are not her friends, she hangs out with them just because she is supposed to, so she feels like she doesn't have any friends at all.
The only person she trusts and vibes with in her group is Mimosa
Has the hugest crush on Asta
The two of them eventually become close and she starts to hang out with him and his friends
Would never confess her feelings tho
Very smart, her marks are top ranking and she is planning to apply to a very expensive and fancy college after grads
Extremely clumsy and insecure when it comes to sports and PE but since she befriended Asta she is getting better at it
Loves reading and is secretly part of the book club, which she considers as her self-care and happy place
CHARMY: THE MASCOTTE
Everyone at school loves her
She is always cheerful plus she is so tiny and cute nobody could even think about not liking her
Not the best marks but she gets along with all teachers very well
Always organising some sort of bake sell to collect foundings for the school
Eats the bullies
Would join Zora in his pranking sessions by time to time but she would always have her way while Zora is getting all the troubles
Started the cooking club at school - there are not a lot of members but they have a very good time
Always brings her own food for lunch - she hates canteen's food
MAGNA AND LUCK: THE TROUBLEMAKERS
Constantly in the detention room after school
Skipping classes is their favourite sport
Always together
Magna is kind of quieter than Luck and most of the time Luck is the one that is providing chaotic energies to the duo
Magna on the other side doesn't do anything to stop him - he is very chaotic himself, just way more self conscious
Magna is slightly better at school than Luck and he would pass him homeworks and notes
Teacher's worse nightmare
But when it comes to Yami they would do their freaking best to impress him
Their uniforms are always messy
They had a makeout session in Magna's room once - it felt good but now they decided to do not talk about it
Just a lot of homoerotic vibes
GAUCHE: THE MISTERY GUY
Always quiet
Doesn't speak to anyone
Kind of rude when you approach him
Only has one friend: Finral
Girls really like him due to his looks and his misterious persona - but he cannot be less bothered
Nobody knows when his birthday is
His marks are really good
Loves history class
Plenty of his little sister's photographs in the inside of his locker door
Has a part time afternoon job in some coffee shop
Only studies at night
One time Finral conviced him to go to a party and he still considers it as the most ridiculous experience he ever had in his life
FINRAL: THE PARTY BOY
Cute as hell
Super bubbly personality, always cheerful
He studies the bare minimum and survives by being extra nice to teachers in order to get higher marks
Somehow this technique fails when the teacher is male
Befriended Gauche (nobody knows how) but his bestfriend is Vanessa
Had sex with half of the school
Girls would cry in the bathroom for him
He is actually very insecure and scared of commitment but the only person he would talk about it with is Vanessa
He is the CEO of public relations at school and in charge of all the social events
Lying drunk on the grass in front of the school after a ball with Vanessa while looking at the sky and talking nosense is one of his best high-school memories
VANESSA: THE PARTY GIRL
She is older than anyone else as she had to skip a couple of school years due to her difficult past
Only student that lives by herself
If Finral is in charge of social events at school, she is the queen of throwing private parties and her place
Attended class in hungover or still drunk a lot of times
However she menages to get good marks and invests time in studying and doing homeworks
Would like to attend college but thinks she is too stupid for that
FINRAL WOULD FLIP EVERYTIME SHE DARES TO SAY SOMETHING LIKE THAT ABOUT HERSELF
Boy crushes on her a lot but she is into older men
She goes to Yami's office everytime she has a mental breakdown due to her past traumas, she knows he would help her a lot - Finral and Yami are the only people who ever saw her cry tho
Wears her uniform in a very sexy way - and teachers disapprove that
Younger girls always go to her for beauty and dating advices
Bonus: Finral and Vanessa are like brother and sister and never ever had any type of sexual interaction - but nobody believes that.
ZORA: THE PRANK GEEK
Extremely smart, loves sciences
But his reputation among teaching staff is completely ruined due to his constant pranks
Like this guy could prank the principal himself and don't even care about it
He is actually planning to
Best detention pall with Magna and Luck
His tie is always undone
All the bad girls absolutely love him
Apart from playing pranks he is a big fat geek - he loves video games and often spends the weekends with Asta and the other geeks playing PlayStation all night long
Attends Charmy's cooking club quite often
Would skip classes just for the hell of it
Never attended a party
GORDON AND NERO: THE GOTH DUO (ALSO GEEKS)
Bestfriends, everyone thinks they are dating but they just vibe
Extremely good marks, they rule is chemistry class
They always pair up for projects and there is no competition
Very rare to hear them talking unless they are talking to each other
Spend lots of time at the library just being quiet and studying at the same table
Also love hanging out in their rooms listening to music or going to the comics shop
They absolutely love comics
Part of the geeks gang
Nero would spend hours reassuring Gordon after some girl that doesn't deserve him broke his heart
Gordon tries to find Nero a boyfriend at all costs and she doesn't understand why
Never skipping one of Asta's game
GREY: THE SHY GEEK
Absolutely hates PE
She always cries in the changing room before every single class
Yami knows how to reassure her tho
Only comfortable around her group of friends
Very good marks, she would love to study drama after grads
Big teather nerd, she loves the drama club and she is actually very good at it - it is also the only place where her shyness would completely disappear
Also extremely good at RPGs (like D&D)
Loves to organise RPGs sessions at her place with her group of friends
One time at school a guy flirted with her - she ran away and didn't show up for 3 days
She secretly admires Charmy for being so outgoing and sociable
She is also part of other clubs at school like book club and crafting club - these activities really sooth her
Actually enjoys sitting by herself in class if no one of her friends are there
Finds Luck and Magna extremely fun
HENRY: THE FRAGILE GEEK
He has a permission to skip PE due to health conditions - Yami makes sure that he is always included somehow so he won't feel lonely while his classmates are running around
Really good marks but his attendance is not the best
Loves literature class and loves reading
He read "The Lord of The Ring" 40 times
Also loves cinema and takes part to the cinema club
His friends would hang out at his place so he doesn't have to go out too much
when they go out they always make sure he's fine, is hydrated and not getting too tired
Asta would teach him how to throw a football
Always sitting in the first row in class
Would not take any bullies and roast the hell out of them within seconds
Loves to help other students with their homeworks
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from outside looking in
An introspection into isolation, finding yourself and finding your people.
Or essentially, a stream of consciousness about Arthur's life leading up to the events of the season 5 trailer.
Warnings: internalised homophobia, general angst
Word count: 2.4k
Ao3 version
Yes, I wrote an Arthur fic because why the fuck not
For as long as he could remember, Arthur had felt like an outsider. When he was little, he used to play with his action figures alone on the playground, launching them off the swings or scrambling up trees and slides to pretend he was way up high in outer space, simply looking down at the rest of the world. He read comics and books and kept to himself for the most part. As he grew up, his classmates laughed at him for his 'toys' and 'picture books', on one occasion going so far as to flush one of his comics down a toilet. He knew there was something about him that generally kept others away from him, knew he didn't quite act or feel like the rest of them.
Like an alien sent right from one of his stories.
When Arthur first met Basile, however, it was the first time he felt like he belonged.
They met when they were 10 years old, when Basile transferred to his school after moving to the area. Arthur remembered the day vividly. It was the first day back at school and his dad had dropped him off on his way to work early, so he was one of the only kids that had arrived yet. He had been sitting alone at his new desk, flicking through his Hawkeye comic, idly glancing at the other kids chatting at another table when the door to the classroom unceremoniously burst open. With a tiny, high pitch yelp, somebody stumbled into the room, nearly taking out another desk on their descent to the floor. Arthur put his comic down as he watched the newcomer, who had wild curly black hair, getting awkwardly to his feet.
The now familiar bright grin immediately met Arthur from across the room. Dressed in an ill fitting Star Wars t-shirt and sporting a too-big orange backpack, the new boy immediately started walking over to Arthur, ignoring the jeers of the other classmates. He stopped in front of Arthur's desk and held out a marker-covered hand, grinning. "Hi! I'm Basile! But you can call me Baz! I like your comic, too. Can I sit here?" the boy babbled away, already sitting down in the seat opposite Arthur.
Arthur had nodded, his own wide grin melting over his face. "Thanks! I like your shirt!" he exclaimed, pointing at the other boy's t-shirt.
And from then on, Arthur had one other person in his life to keep him company.
For a while, Arthur tried to ignore most of the other people around him. He had Baz, so why should he care about everyone else? Why should he worry about the rest when he was playing video games or watching movies or discussing comic books with his best friend? It was easy to brush away the comments about his glasses or his comics if he just focused on the person that actually liked him. Baz was virtually the only person he cared about and he cared enough for the rest of the planet.
But as he got older, the retorts became harder and harder to let go. The name calling turned from "Four eyes" to whatever slurs they could come up with, chasing him down with jeers and taunts he had no choice but to listen to. Flushing his comics or throwing his action figures turned into pushing him into the lockers or throwing things at him.
It is almost impossible to ignore what stares you right in the face, after all.
The question of "am I gay?" swirled around Arthur's mind for years. Whenever he caught himself looking at Baz for too long or caring a bit too much about a male character, the smallest of voices wondered somewhere in the back of his head whether it was true. Was he gay? Or did everyone else look at their friends the way Arthur did with Baz?
His browsing history was meticulously deleted, all of his secrets hidden away in the depths of the internet where no one else would ever find them. He never lingered long on websites, always sure to keep safer tabs open should someone come into his room without warning. He only ever searched up the burning question or scrolled through the endless chat rooms in the dead of night, looking for the answers in the depth of internet forums and 12 question quizzes. He felt like he was on some quest to find an answer that he was simply keeping from himself, never fully allowing himself the truth.
Soon enough, Arthur couldn't handle it anymore. He hated himself when he caught himself daydreaming about his close friend, cursed himself for being a 'pervert'. He wasn't gay, surely. He'd had crushes on girls, after all. That meant he was straight, right?
Instead of acting on anything or letting himself even look at Baz, Arthur hid away. He spent his lunch periods in the school library, avoiding his friend in the halls in favour of keeping his nose tucked into the latest comic books. He took the long way to and from school to avoid walking the same way as Basile, ducking through side streets and crossing the street with abandon. Whenever Baz tried to talk to him, he shrugged him off, insisting he was busy with school work. His heart raced every time he saw the dark curls at the other end of the hall going to class, dread overflowing his body like a broken tap, shoving him into the corner of the hallway to avoid being seen by his friend.
It is agony to avoid the unavoidable magnetic pull of longing.
"Arthur? Can we talk?"
It had been in the middle of November, the wind unusually violent and unforgiving, rattling the windows of the small cafeteria. Arthur was sitting at one of the big circular tables by himself, poking half heartedly at his lunch, feeling light years away from the rest of the tables in the room. When he looked up to his name, his heart dropped as he made eye contact with a pair of familiar, sad brown eyes standing over him. Arthur had never seen Baz looking so forlorn, like a kicked puppy, clutching his green lunch bag with an iron grip.
Before he could dismiss him, Baz dropped into the seat next to him, dropping his lunch onto the table and pulling out his food. "Baz, what are you—" he had started, glancing over at the sandwich in an attempt to avoid looking up into those damn eyes.
"You're avoiding me," Basile blurted, "Why? I thought we were friends." Arthur glanced up finally, feeling his face flush at the look Baz was giving him. His eyebrows were knitted together and his bottom lip trembled in a frown like Arthur had never seen.
"We are friends," he insisted, "And I'm not avoiding you. I've just been busy."
"You won't even look at me anymore," Baz whined, taking a bite of his sandwich. "I know I'm not the smartest–everyone always reminds me–but I can tell you've been avoiding me for weeks. Just tell me why and I'll leave you alone for good."
But Arthur couldn't tell Basile why he had been avoiding him. He could barely admit to himself just why he felt the need to avoid the only person who had ever made him feel less alone. Deep down, he knew exactly why he forced himself to look away, forced himself to stay away.
But despite this, Basile was his best friend. Neither of them had any other friends besides each other and in his pathetic self-isolation to avoid his own feelings which were staring right at him, Arthur had ultimately abandoned Baz. Baz, who had treated him with nothing but kindness since the day he literally fell right into Arthur's life. Baz, who liked the same things as him and let him talk about his silly fantasies and hobbies. Baz, who never ever judged him for anything at all.
"I'm sorry," Arthur had said that day, swallowing back tears and forcing himself to look into those bright brown eyes he loved yet hurt him so much. "I-I can't explain why, but I'm sorry for avoiding you. You of all people don't deserve that."
No matter what, Arthur knew he couldn't just leave Basile just because he couldn't handle his own feelings. And so, he stopped avoiding Baz. He let them go back to normal, going over to each other's houses to play video games or rewatch movies, bickering about their favourite characters over lunch. He talked to Basile about the pretty girls in their school and let Basile plot out his futures with them, pretending he didn't think it was futile. He vowed to never let his emotions get the best of him. He prioritised their friendship over whether or not he did in fact have a crush on Baz. They had more important things to worry about like going to Lycée in a few months and going to a new school again. It did not matter if he thought Basile's eyes looked nice the way they seemed to glow in the sunlight or his desire to touch his hair or hug him. What mattered was that Baz was still his friend, despite him acting like a dick for weeks.
When they went off to Lycée together, picking different classes from each other, of course their dynamic changed slightly. That had been expected. They no longer shared as many classes together or had time to just play video games together. Basile talked and talked and talked about the hot girls in the years above or the girls he was crushing on for weeks, hardly seeming to notice that Arthur never contributed more than advice and support. They both made friends in other classes, spending more time with them than each other.
Slowly, as Arthur got more used to his new school and new people everywhere, he started to feel better about himself. Sure, he was still a bit of a nobody, mostly drifting from group to group, never quite a part of things. But he still had Basile and he liked his classes enough to get by.
One night, buried beneath his bedsheets, Arthur stumbled upon an article which changed his entire life. Hunched over his laptop, scrolling through the billionth website that night, his jaw dropped. His heart hammered against his chest, blood rushing past his ears and a gasp falling from his lips as he read.
Bisexuality is the sexual or romantic attraction to both men and women or to two or more genders.
With this newfound knowledge, Arthur continued to keep it private. He held the word deep inside his chest, locked away for safekeeping, only to be released in the darkest of nights. He whispered it to himself in the mirror, muffled by the rushing water of the sink, shrouded by the midnight stars twinkling above. He saw blue and purple and pink in everything, in every sunrise and sunset, in every rainbow and article, allowing himself only the smallest of glances. He kept the word safe from the rest of the world, blanketing it and boxing it away with the rest of his old yet sacred possessions.
Even as he kept his secret to himself, he slowly, gradually learned to accept himself. He wasn't wrong for how he felt. He allowed himself to be closer, to reach out and touch, to tease and to smile. He no longer held back as much, caving into his near constant desire to touch. And Baz didn't seem to mind, so what was the harm?
In their second year of lycée, he and Basile befriended Lucas and Yann. He sat next to Lucas in a few of his classes, sharing jokes about their teachers or whispering about the homework. Yann was also a delight, teaching him to skateboard and always lending a helping hand.
Arthur even befriended Alexia, whom he was forced to sit next to in Biology. She was a whirlwind with colourful hair and a friendly smile, making jokes left and right, sending his heart out the window. She was caring and energetic, far more intelligent than he was and beautiful.
Of course, Arthur couldn't stay away from his sexuality forever. When his close friend Lucas came out as gay and suddenly he had a new pansexual friend from the year above, Eliott, it was unavoidable to think about. Alexia talked about being bi often as well, making his whole face flush violently every time. Sexuality and attraction were common topics of conversation in their friend group these days.
When Alexia kissed him on the dance floor at Daphné's party, Arthur felt his entire body erupt at every nerve ending, a force so powerful he could taste static. It was the softest and the shortest of kisses, but it felt like belonging. Arthur could barely believe his luck, holding on tighter to her like he would lose her if he wasn't careful. For weeks afterwards, through flirting and teasing, Arthur fell harder and harder for her, finally getting the guts to kiss her again at Imane's party. And she had kissed him right back.
With Alexia, Arthur no longer felt the need to hide or to repress. He could be open and honest with her, knowing she wouldn't judge him. He no longer felt constantly on edge because of the potential disaster of Baz finding out about his feelings or of the potential reaction of their friends, seeing how they had reacted to Lucas and Eliott. Alexia was special and she liked him for who he was and Arthur could only thank the universe every time he had the luck to even be in her presence.
And now, as he was dancing the night away, preparing to count down to yet another year, yet another decade, Arthur looked around the crowded room. He looked at his gorgeous girlfriend Alexia as she danced with Daphné and Imane and he looked at Lucas and Eliott so captivated and entangled together. He looked at Yann and Emma jumping around as they talked and he turned to Baz as he moved closer. They danced together briefly, smiling, closer than his younger self would ever have imagined.
He looked through the blinding white strobe lights and the flood of blue, grinning around at his friends. He thought back to his entire life and as he looked around the room, he felt a lot less like an outsider than before.
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WARNINGS: D/s play, foot worship, fellatio, condom sex, hair-pulling, breath play, female ejaculation.
=Chapter 2
While the eldest of the Schnee daughters was checking the fridge, Qrow Branwen was chuckling to himself as he stood over the toilet, whistling a pleasant tune. What a way to start the morning! No doubt things would be awkward for their next bowling game, but he didn't care. It was just what he'd been craving without even knowing it: a good, hard fuck with no strings attached. Winter had been just the kind of woman he was looking for and she more approached him than he approached her. This was by far the best outcome for this situation.
And it was about to get better. As he flushed and went to splash water over his face, he paused a moment to sniff the air. "I’ll be damned… she’s really doing it," he muttered to himself, quickly helping himself to some mouthwash before he exited. The smell of bacon frying was getting stronger, and stronger.
Glancing over her shoulder from the stove, Winter gave him a level gaze as she brandished the spatula. "Hope you don't mind me borrowing your apron," she said in a smooth tone, eyes still sparkling with the vestiges of lust from before. "Didn't want to get popping grease on my shirt."
"Hey, you know I was kidding, right?" he asked, pacing into the kitchen to observe her handiwork. Sure enough, eggs and bacon, both frying in the pan, sizzling away to perfection. Such a sight was just as pleasant as when he was bent over Winter from earlier, yet it came with some guilt. "Seriously, I didn't actually mean that sexist crap. You know that, don't you?"
Her smile softened. "I assumed as much, but… I'd be lying if I said it wasn't nice to have confirmed." A second later, she turned away to flip the contents of the pan. "Or at the very least, you were only still playing with me when you said it. One way or the other."
Leaning against the worktop nearby, he folded his arms across his bare chest. Even now he had decided against putting on a shirt. "Maybe I was playing with you. That's another thing; how does a super serious businesswoman like you get to like being called a ‘cumslut’?"
The spatula scraped loudly against the pan at the sudden broaching of that word. Her eyes flicked toward him as she paused to consider her options. Then she shrugged, and picked up the plate that was on top of the other, nipping the food onto it with a deft hand.
"You, um, can eat first if you're particularly hungry and want all of this. Then I'll get started on mine." Then she winked. "That is, if you'll allow a dirty girl to eat."
“Yeah, I can handle all this. Thanks.” Taking the plate of food without another word, he nodded, wandering to the drawer of cutlery to at least get them both knives and forks. Seemed the least he could do given the situation. Pushing a set toward Winter's plate, he gave a sly wink. "Who knows? Maybe we can have seconds if we’re still hungry after this."
"Maybe." The double meaning did not escape her, and she was more inclined to partake of the hidden one. Then she tossed another egg and two more strips of bacon into the skillet for her own breakfast.
"So… I noticed something interesting last night. Before you got me a drink."
"Y'did, huh?" Deciding against journeying further into the living room just yet, he leant against the doorway, holding his plate level with one hand, and grabbing the fork with the other. "What was that?"
As the coffee began to brew into the carafe at last, she turned the bacon gently without disturbing the egg just yet. "Oh, a little magazine you had buried under your other magazines. One covering a distinctly… unique topic."
It didn't quite phase the cockerel, who continued to toy with his bacon as he occasionally glanced over. He had to admit, he was surprised she had been through his magazine collection, but it wasn't too shocking considering he left them out. Still, he played with the subject. "Which one? The swimsuits, or the motorbikes?"
"You're still talking about the ones on top, I believe." Pausing to fold her arms and stare at him, she decided to tease him lightly before they furthered the main topic. "So, do you consider yourself a lesbian, or simply enjoy watching two women together?"
“Ohhh, no ya don’t,” he chuckled with a shake of his head. "I tried to use that ‘lesbian in a man’s body’ line before, got the lecture from Yang about how I shouldn't joke about those things. So I'll go with option B."
Winter smiled. It rang true enough that Yang would come down on him for joking about very real trans issues; come to think of it, she probably shouldn't have, either. Turning back to make sure her food cooked evenly, she decided the time had come to be more direct.
"There's probably a lot of lesbian porn out there. I never buy those magazines myself, so I wouldn't know. Still… I find it somewhat interesting you felt drawn to that particular cover. The girl with the collar, her 'owner' sitting on her back. Surely that isn't the typical issue you find in any gas station."
This was beginning to get interesting. Not only was she into “being used”, but she was now talking about one particular thing in his collection. That showed she must be interested, as well.
"I think I got lucky with that one." He placed the fork back down on the plate a moment. "Or more, unlucky. It's got it on the cover so I figured the rest of it would be the same. Only a two page article. Rip off. Still, the chicks on the cover are pretty hot."
"And you were interested in more of that? Chaining a woman by the neck, riding her like some kind of pack mule." Her tone was neutral; she could either be amused, or disgusted, or another emotion altogether. It was impossible to tell with her back turned as she plated her own food.
"Hey, I don't think you have room to judge my fetish, cumslut." He eagerly watched for whatever reaction that would bring. Again, she stiffened. Held perfectly still, mid-action, for several seconds. Then she began to move again, finishing putting everything on her plate before she responded.
"Nobody said I was judging." Then she turned around, and her cheeks were slightly more pink than they had been. And obviously, it was from him speaking that word. "You're just the first person I've come across this randomly who was interested in the community. Even if…" Her tone changed, making it clear she was asking a question rather than assuming. "Even if you haven't explored that before?"
One particular word in her response raised an eyebrow: 'community'. Qrow had always assumed such a fetish was relatively common in porn or daydreams, but rarely practiced. And if it was, it was never talked about. Finally stepping out of the doorway to let her through as well, he replied, "Closest I got was tying some chick's hands behind her back. She wasn't into it. After that, I tried to read that Fifty Shades bull. Couldn't even finish the first chapter.”
"Oh, honey, at least your black ties are nicer than Christian Grey's," she said with light laughter as she set her plate down to get two coffee mugs for them both. Then she paused their conversation to look at him. "How do you take your coffee?"
"Black." Instead of letting her struggle with both the cups and the plates, he instead went to collect her plate, carrying them both into the main room. Aside from being forceful and speaking harshly in their moment of madness, it seemed the rugged Qrow Branwen was rather gentlemanly, after all. Maybe there was hope for Winter to get to know him yet.
That explained the contented look on her face when she appeared with two cups of coffee. His was as requested, black as midnight. Her own was a lighter shade with a spoon in to stir. Then she seated herself on the couch and pulled her plate onto her lap.
"Ow!" she breathed quietly, then picked up one of the sports magazines to shield her bare legs from the heat. "Didn't think about that…"
But that only made Qrow laugh to himself. His plate had significantly cooled down by the time he placed it on his lap, meaning it was unnecessary for him to fetch one for himself. But that didn't stop him. Nor was he about to act embarrassed about the subject that had been brought up, especially since Winter seemed interested. He moved a few of the magazines out of the way, fetching their subject of conversation out, and holding it up.
"So what are you asking me here; which one I'd rather be?"
"Oh, your casual use of the word 'cumslut' would indicate which." Flashing him a wicked smile, she took a sip of her coffee before setting it aside and taking up her fork. "Although I could also see you wanting to be on the bottom. You'd be surprised how many strong, handsome, confident men like to have a woman grinding her high heels into their backs."
"Well those men are more than welcome to it. But that ain't me," he told her rather bluntly, finally tucking into his meal now he had two hands to cut things properly. Picking up a rasher of bacon and holding it up near his mouth, he decided to clarify. "Nah. Call me a typical dude or a narcissist or whatever, but I'd much rather be the one pullin' the chain."
"Would you?"
The question was short and to the point, and she left it hanging there as she raised the bacon to her own mouth with her fingers, biting it with relish. Halfway through chewing his own, he began to raise an eyebrow again. He couldn't deny there was a slight pinkness in his own cheeks growing, mainly from revealing so much to her. Yet, she was still a closed book.
"Alright, alright," he started once he'd finished swallowing. "What about you? Apart from the 'cumslut' thing."
A coarse laugh floated out as she reached for her coffee again. "Oh, no, no, no. That is far too long a conversation. We're still talking about you." After another sip, she asked, "Is it about the power play? Enacting a violent fantasy without any true injury? Shaming, degradation? Or do you just like the look of leather and chains? Again, not here to judge; simply curious what started you thinking about BDSM. There are almost as many reasons as there are people."
"Lil bit of all of 'em." Apparently, Winter was going to remain a closed book until she was ready, it seemed. But he could discover that later. Maybe even on the end of his chain. After chewing through the rest of that bit of bacon, he looked toward her. "Dunno if Tai mentioned or not, but in our old jobs where we met, we didn't exactly meet people that made us feel powerful. I guess that's why I like it. My way of saying a big 'fuck you' to the submission, I guess."
"Hmm…" Her smile had faded. She wanted to ask after that, but didn't feel entitled to do so yet. That would be as bad as him refusing to accept her delay in her own story. "Taking back power that was stolen from you… interesting. And understandable. It can be cathartic, I can tell you." Very quietly, she added, "From experience."
Bingo. Picking up his mug of coffee and taking a quick sip, he looked back toward her, watching the reaction like a hawk. Now he knew for a fact she'd experienced these things. There was a small amount of shame in knowing she had explored more than him, but still, that didn't matter.
"So you're a sub, then?"
Her eyes did not return to him. "Most of the time. The best way I can describe it is… sometimes I need to be a Dom. To work through something, or to reaffirm my confidence. And I don’t mind it at all if I know a sub needs me flogging them senseless." Her tongue flitted over her lips. "But what I crave is being a sub. Does that make sense?"
Raising his eyebrows whilst finishing off the sip, he tilted his head slightly, putting the mug back down on the table. They were both as complicated as each other, and both into this for reasons other than pleasure it seemed.
"I can imagine you with a whip, y'know. With a nice leather corset on, giving the orders." In fact, the thought was even making him stir again, having to shuffle his position to keep his plate still.
"You know, I could be a Dom for you," she told him with a slight smile, eyes finally finding his now that he had not judged her for her confession, had not insinuated she was mentally ill or disgusting. "Put on the show without making you do anything a sub would normally do. Just a little costume party."
Rolling his eyes, he finally resigned to holding the plate properly, and put it back on the table with his coffee. "I don't think I'd make a good sub," he confessed, but that brought a smirk. "I don't take orders well."
That merely prompted a light shrug. "That's up to you. I'm very good in both roles. By now, you ought to have figured out that I excel at whatever I choose to attempt." She punctuated this by sipping her coffee again, gazing at him over the rim of the mug.
"But you enjoy the bottom more. Noted." Electing to ignore the rest of his breakfast temporarily, he leant back on the sofa with one arm, leaning his head against his hand to get the best look at her. By now he could feel himself becoming more ready again for another round, but he didn't put any effort into hiding it any longer.
"So now that I know the basics… how about round two?"
"Oooh," Winter cooed softly, grinning behind her coffee mug. "Well, well, someone is ready to go again." Taking one more sip of coffee, she set the plate and the magazine down alongside the mug, then rolled to straddle his lap in one fluid motion.
"So," she sighed, nose an inch from his, "how are we doing it this time? Any requests? If you don't have another condom, I could just blow you."
Smirking eagerly, his hands moved around to her back. This time, he was going to be that bit more assertive. Starting with a single step, moving his hand under her shirt to caress the skin underneath. No looking, just feeling.
"Like I said, Snowbird…" He continued to grind himself up against her however he could, feeling himself stirring. "I always carry a couple around."
Eyes sliding closed, she simply enjoyed the sensation for a few breaths, grinding right back. Then she whispered, "God, you really weren't kidding about that cock…"
Grinning eagerly back at her, he rested his forehead against hers, delivering a particularly hard thrust upward against her panties. Just enough to feel the girth again. "I'm a lot of things, but I ain't no liar." But then he quickly gazed around. Where would they do it? The sofa wasn't all too comfortable, a night on it told Qrow that it was barely big enough for one. It left one option, one that could fall in her favour. "But you, however… are on top of me right now. Some sub."
"Haven't you ever heard of a 'power bottom'?" But she was laughing breathily. Then she leaned to one side and nipped at his ear with her teeth. "Besides… we haven't established rules of the game. I'm not a sub until that's taken care of."
"Safe words and all that jazz, right?" he asked, unable to help the contented sigh that followed as he was fussed over. Continuing to stroke her back, he laid back to listen. "Alright, lay ‘em on me."
"You…" Her movements stilled, and she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "You want to discuss this now? Are you sure? I could just fuck you senseless and worry about that later…" But her cheeks were flushing slightly. "But… you… want to Dom me. Right here and now. Don't you?"
Leaning himself further back so she could watch him properly, the movements under her shirt stopped and he paused his grinding in addition. All so he could smirk back up at her. "You've already experienced this stuff. Way I see it, I got a lot of catching up to do. No time like the present."
Suddenly, Winter looked very different from he had ever seen her. She looked flustered, like a girl going on her first job interview, or waiting for her prom date to pick her up. Composing herself as best she could, she said in a still-excited voice, "Alright, well, we… first thing is first, I have a few hard limits. No injuries that will be visible outside of my clothing, especially to my face. Nothing that will leave lasting permanent damage without discussing it beforehand - like branding, as an example. Gosh, if I'd known, I would have brought my list…"
"You actually have a list for this stuff?" When that question earned him a slight glare in return, he held his hands up, smiling nervously. "Alright alright, I'm still listening. Anything else major?"
"Hmm," she huffed, already forgetting her momentary irritation. "No scat, ever. No golden showers unless it's in a controlled environment. Anything that goes into any of my openings has to be approved before play begins. If you plan on gagging me, we have to establish a safety signal to take the place of a safety word. And I don't like knives or guns being brought into play, but if you really want them, they have to either be clearly plastic… or I have to check them myself, immediately before play, to make sure they aren't loaded or sharpened."
"Ain't got any of those in the apartment, anyway; I'd say you're pretty safe." This seemed like an awful lot to take in for a first encounter. Perhaps he should have left it after all… Still, not letting himself be deterred, he nodded. "No icky stuff, no danger, safety signal. Got it. I think from the limited things we have in here, that ain't a problem."
She grinned at his overwhelmed expression. "Told you I could just suck you off… but alright, let's try this if you're still game. I can select a safe word, or you can."
Smirking widely, he seemed to have come up with an idea for that. A delightfully evil one. "Alright," he began, folding his arms instead. "It ain't a word, more of an impression…" When that seemed to raise an eyebrow more, he quietly let out a slightly higher pitched sound over and over. It was clear he was doing an impression of a chicken.
Both of her pale eyebrows went up at this notion. "You… can't be serious. You want me to do my best impression of a rooster? Aren't we taking that theme a bit too far?" But then she held up a hand. "No, no… you're the Dom. If I do that and you don't realize what I'm doing and stop, then it's on your head later."
"Well, it’s more to say 'I'm a chicken' than about the rooster thing. Since you can’t take whatever’s goin’ on." Now that was established, seemed the cockerel really did want to get back to business. His hands unfolded and instead he pushed against her shoulders, demanding her to stand. "First thing’s first… If you are a dirty girl, then get on the floor."
However, he seemed to have erred slightly. Winter’s hand reached up and into the back of his hair, grasping hard. A lot harder than the shapely figure and smaller stature would have suggested she was capable of pulling.
“AH!” There was a rather loud yelp from having his hair suddenly pulled, and he found himself having to tilt his head with it to prevent any further pain. But as best he could, he endeavoured to look back into her eyes.
"Let's get something straight, Rooster Boy,” she told him in a low growl. And the seriousness he saw in her flinty eyes really brought it home; this was a huge dealbreaker. “If I call a safety word, it doesn't mean I'm a 'chicken'. It means the pain or suffering that you're causing me is no longer something I can just shake off when play is over. The benefit-cost ratio no longer falls on the benefit side; I’ll feel too crappy later for the high of being dommed to be worth it. And I only use it if I absolutely have to, either because I suddenly know I can’t do this, or because you have breached one of my limits. Just because I'm considering being your cumdumpster doesn't mean I'm signing away all my rights forever. When we’re not playing, I am still a woman who deserves your respect as a fellow human being. Do we have an understanding?"
Qrow swallowed hard, suddenly finding he was even more turned on. This powerful woman was putting herself into his hands, and her words made him appreciate that a lot more starkly than he had a minute ago. "Alright." He finally nodded, making sure there was no amusement or flippancy to his tone whatsoever. "I get it, the safety signal is serious business. I won't fool around anymore."
"I'm a fan of fooling around," she told him, releasing his hair and running her fingers through it to soothe the slight ache she had caused. "Within reason. And I'm sorry if I hurt you, but I had to know you were listening. Now…" Her hands withdrew to lay on his shoulders, and she smirked very slightly, before wiping her face clear of any expression.
"Begin play."
There was a brief pause in that moment while he decided just what to do. Removing clothing wasn't discussed, so he threw that out. Forcefullness wasn't defined, either… but that seemed like the better option he had. Quickly grasping her wrists as he stood up as well, he shoved them off his shoulders, glaring downward as he stood close.
But what could he command of her? Just bending down to take him again seemed like it would waste the chance, and all that preparation. There had to be more. And to see just how far she would go, he eventually released her wrists to make a demand. "Kiss my feet."
"Yes, Master," she replied. Like lightning, no hesitation or misgiving. As she knelt, voice quieter than usual, she asked, "Does Master wish to be called something else?" Then she added in a stage whisper, "Normally I wouldn't ask that during play, but we didn't cover a lot of things before."
If anything, the word made him smirk all the more as he watched everything she was doing, even lifting one of his legs toward her to give easier access. He could certainly get used to that term. "Master is perfect."
Nodding, she immediately reached up and accepted his heel into her hands, drawing her goal higher. Soft lips caressed the tops of his toes, then grazed up toward his ankle to leave another kiss. Her eyes moved up toward him.
"Is this good, Master?"
Eyes half closing in contentment, he smirked downward at her, drawing his heel back out of her hand to rest down on the ground. "Very good… Now this one." Not even a moment's hesitation before he brought his other foot up toward her, to allow her to give the same treatment. However, like her, he had to ask in a whisper, "What do you like to be called in this stage? I'll use your favourite word later."
"W-well…" She left a few kisses on his other foot first to give herself time to find her courage. She seemed vaguely self-conscious to answer, but did it anyway. "The sub-name I liked most was… 'Princess', Master."
"Princess, huh?" For a sub, it wasn't what he was expecting. But regardless, he nodded, eventually bringing that foot back as well once he was satisfied with the attention. The foot-kissing was only a challenge, anyway. An actual demand was about to go forth when he pointed toward his wallet on the table. "Alright, 'Princess', the other condom’s in there. You can get me ready to put it on."
"Yes, of course, Master." And rather than standing up, she crawled the few inches to get the wallet, opening the wallet to retrieve the condom. It was a reputable brand; she approved of his choice. Returning to him, she leaned up and placed her hands on his thighs, the packet between her index and middle fingers.
"Does Master want me to get him ready any special way?"
Already reaching to push his boxer shorts slightly further down, he could feel his body getting itself ready without her actions. Even moreso when he thought about what she was doing earlier with her mouth. He wanted more of that. "Show me what those pretty lips can do, Princess."
With no further questions, not even a confirmation, Winter took him into her lips, tongue swirling around the lingering essence from their last session where it clung behind the head. The moan of pure gratitude and desire was as obscene as it could be, and her back arched as she took him deeper.
Such a moan was echoed through her new master. Gazing upward into the air, he found his hands slivering into her hair while she worked his member with her mouth. It was hardening again in no time, and the tongue that savoured his flavour was getting more and more adventurous over him. What could that tongue do lower down? On that soft sack of his? Maybe she could reach that as they kept going.
Willing to test that theory, his hands grasped handfuls each of hair, using it to keep her going against his member. The encouragement was clear. Her head began to bob harder and harder, taking him deeper with each pass. In no time at all, he was sliding into her throat, her lips brushing the base. Completely enveloping him as she did all the thrusting for both of them.
"Oh yeeeaaaah…" For one particular thrust, he held her firmly against the base, keeping himself nestled inside her for a short period of time. Oh how good it felt… So warm and wet, this time without the covering. It felt different to her entrance, but no less fantastic. In fact, it was probably tighter.
Taking advantage of being held entirely still, she ran her tongue as frequently over the underside of him as she possibly could with it as deep within her as it was. This was not the easiest feat in the world, but she pulled it off, experienced as she was.
"D-Daaaamn… how do you manage to do that without coming up for air?" The instant it came from his mouth, he stopped. That wasn't really something a master would ask. So instead he shook his head, finally easing her off his member instead. Once she was back enough she could breathe, he asked, "That good enough for you, Princess?"
"Yes, Master," she panted wetly, literally gasping for breath. After a few deep inhalations, she pressed her face up against his cock, despite the coating of mingled semen, her own juices, and saliva. "But is it good enough for you?"
Having to calm his own breathing down, he smirked. "I'm rock hard, aren't I?"
When she nodded, it further stirred her own arousal, and she raised up the condom to show him. "Is Master ready for this?" While waiting, she gazed up at him as her lips kissed lower, just barely grazing his soft sack below.
Barely able to speak anymore, he nodded. The sight when he looked down was truly one to die for. "He sure is," he managed to pant. The idea from earlier was starting to return, about where she should go. And the smirk only grew to a devious grin. "Ready to take this dirty girl on the ground, where she belongs."
"Of course, Master." Her fingers shredded the packet with practiced ease, and she barely glanced at it as she began to roll it down along his beautiful example of manhood. From opening it to snugly around him in under ten seconds.
"Pretty good with these things…" He had to compliment that, even if it wasn't all too in character. Still, he could get back into it slightly, and learn a little more about Winter while he was at it. All with a rather sly demand: "So let’s see your favourite position, Princess. I'm waiting."
With a shy smile, she used a carefully deferential tone to tell him, "We do not have the equipment for Princess's favourite position, Master. Though I do also enjoy…"
As Winter's deft hands ran down from his hips to his knees, she slowly eased back onto her haunches. Then the hands vanished and went to behind herself as she lowered herself down, until her back was gracing the carpeting between the table and the couch. Licking her lips, she rubbed up and down her own thighs now, spreading her legs as wide as was possible.
"Is Master satisfied?"
"Master's satisfied with anything. But he's surprised that Princess would go for something that simple." There was no need to be picky, however. Dropping down to his knees, he couldn't help but continue to stare at the sight. Still covered by that meaningless pair of panties, which were more than soaked. She'd need to be borrowing a pair of his before she left if she wanted a comfortable journey back home. Laying his hands on the insides of her legs, he brushed them up and down. Anything to get her excited.
"Ready to take me again?"
"Always, Master." Of course, they both knew that "always" hinged on how well they got along on a long-term basis. But for the purposes of this current session, she was his property, his pet… his cheap diversion. But she wanted to welcome him into her embrace this first time. It was the simplest, and the most easily pleasurable position, tried and true.
Clambering on top of her, this time she'd feel everything close up. The sheer body weight added to the dense muscles in his chest and arms, all lowering themselves on top of her. He had begun to reach a hand down between them, until realising what he could do instead.
"Show me," he commanded. "Guide me in."
Biting her lip, she eagerly reached down between them and grasped him, stroking very briefly to make sure he was still solid as a rock. Then she moved the tip to linger just between her soft petals, asking, "Like this?"
Edging himself further and further forward whilst she held him, it was a joint effort when the head slipped inside of her. One hand made it's way back into her hair, grabbing a handful to pull back. "Perfect." And while she was held back and unsuspecting, he thrusted forward again quickly. Again leaving no time for her to acclimate.
"A-AH!" Winter burst out at the sudden and hard invasion, though she did her level best to keep from crying out. How could it be so huge, and so soon after it last was drained? She would have to redefine how she saw being penetrated purely for this one man. That excited her.
The ever-present smirk was beginning to get bigger. Even more so when he thrust back and forward again. Only this time, he had a new tactic, one equally as exciting as it was frustrating: he went slow. Agonisingly so. He took a good few seconds to linger all the way inside, then a good few more to draw back again. And that continued for a while as he pulled her hair back.
All Winter could do was groan at the pace, but she couldn't cry out, couldn't call him the tease that he was. She wanted to, she yearned to… she wasn't allowed. They were engaged in play, and she did not have that power anymore. So she could do nothing but weather the slow torture of a thick, hot cock driving its way into her and dragging back out again.
"Huh… Wonder how long it would take to finish you off like this," he teased, continuing to slowly torture those tight insides of hers. Occasionally he pulled on her hair harder, watching with a sick glee as her head followed suit, having to follow its direction. When he could, he leant close to her ear, whispering, "Maybe I'll find out… maybe we could be here all day."
"All day…" Swallowing, she breathed quickly and shallowly due to the angle at which her neck had been wrenched, gazing up at him. "I… would love that, if it pleases my master. Whatever Master wants."
"You would, huh?" he purred, leaning in toward her. In a bold risk, and something they were yet to cover by rules, he pressed a kiss against her exposed neck. Then another… then another… over and over again. It made a slight change from the agonising sensation of a thick member going in and out.
There was a pronounced gulp from Winter. One of nerves. More likely than not, he could hear it, but she didn't mean to let it slip through, nervous as that made her. She simply breathed deeply of his heady masculine scent, allowing herself to be lost in the moment.
For a moment he paused those kisses, gazing down toward that perfect throat… There were other things he wanted to do, besides kissing. Things he'd been curious of, but never put into practice. No time like the present.
Leaning in toward her ear, he had to break character again, whispering, "How do you feel about choking?"
"How good are you at it?" she asked back, also in a whisper. "Just remember… I won't be able to use a safe word."
“Haven’t tried…" He was slightly more ashamed to admit. Having forgotten that safety factor as well, he thought of a new tactic, kissing her neck one more time. "If you’re fadin’ out, stomp the ground three times with your left foot, got it?"
She was tempted to point out that either foot would make the same noise, but decided to let it slide. Instead, she slipped back into her role and whispered, "Yes, Master."
Finally backing off to continue their play, the pace of thrusting began to quicken for a moment, speed increasing as he pumped back and forth into her body again, allowing her to get used to the stimulation. The last thing he wanted was too much, too soon. But a hand did leave her hair, and instead went to grasp her throat. There was no tightening just yet, only pinning her down. A threat of what would come, perhaps.
Her eyes widened appropriately, lips parting as she attempted to draw in more breath. It still came easily enough, though she felt a thrill of dread as she considered how soon it would not…
"Does Master… like to see Princess like this?" she breathed, eyes earnest, trusting. Hips still shifting back and forth around his girth.
"Fuck yeah, he does…"
And with that, the hand on her throat began to tighten. Tighter and tighter still until he could tell she struggled to breathe any longer. Only then did he increase the pace even more, forcing himself in and out even quicker, matching the very pace they had at the kitchen. That doubled with what he could see was making the venture more and more exciting, causing him to moan even louder.
Of course, Winter did have to stop moaning. There was no way she could continue to do so if she had no breath. But her face clearly told Qrow that she still loved every second he was pumping in and out of her tightness, forcing her thighs apart.
The way her vision swam, her fingertips and toes tingled from the lack of oxygen, it was something that always excited her. Even If sometimes she wasn't in the mood for it. Luckily, this wasn't one of those times; she had been indifferent to the idea, but that didn't mean she would have no reaction.
He waited until she appeared red in the face, continuing to pump harder and faster, until he finally let her throat go again. Allowing her to regain that valuable air she needed, he tried to contain his moans to ask, "That enough for ya? Or do you want more, you dirty girl?"
As she gasped gratefully at the air, fascinated as always by how much more she could feel compared to a moment ago when her breath was being stopped, she licked her lips and panted, "More, Master."
"More, huh?" Yet again, he tightened his hand, feeling her breathing come to another stop while he pumped in and out quickly and harshly. Everything about this was unbelievable; how attractive Winter was, how eager she was to be trash talked, and how much she was trusting him to never betray her trust. Even if there was a small feeling of guilt that he didn't deserve it, he didn't let it bother him currently, and kept pumping in and out of her.
"You're a glutton for punishment, dirty girl. Think you can come while you're outta breath? If I'll let you, that is."
From experience, she knew the answer to that. Intimately. But she wanted to let him discover that on his own. So she merely continued to squirm beneath his body, hands coming up to weakly caress his sides as he rode her, as he removed her freedom to breathe.
Tilting his head, he decided to keep his hand there for a while longer, truly curious of how long she could last before she'd tell him to stop. It was cruel, perhaps, but certainly not something he would be doing every time they were intimate. Simply a fantasy he'd never acted out before and was curious about.
But she didn't. Her eyes closed as the world began to fade, and her arms fell out to the side, even though her face was still shining with sweat, mouth open as she tried to pant in response to the intensity of pleasure assailing her lower half. As distantly as she could feel it now… it was also the only thing she could still feel. And that was something she craved.
Being able to ignore everything else but pleasure. Even her own demons.
How long has it been? Seconds? Minutes? Qrow was unsure anymore. But she still wasn't telling him to stop. Nor was she making any effort to even express true discomfort. She really was handling it well, continuing to take his length as roughly as it forced its way in over and over, despite the lack of breath, without even one complaint. But he didn't dare leave it forever. After a few particular thrusts that made his legs quiver, he released her neck again, allowing her back to reality.
Winter didn't react right away; her eyes remained slits, and her face slack. Then she took a shaky breath, thrashing from side to side weakly. She could scarcely move. Her eyes were glassy, and darted from side to side before fixating on Qrow's face.
"Am…" Her voice was hoarse, and she coughed, sending spasms through both of them where they were joined. "Did I… please Master?"
Having to slow the pace down a little just to hold on longer, he looked down at her form. His hand left her throat and moved to the ground by her face to support himself upward. Even if it was his goal to be forceful, he couldn't do that to her again; not today.
"Geez, Princess… you really know how to hold your own."
"That's what Master needs from Princess," she whispered. Her hand came up to rest on his side, but the touch was so light it was almost an afterthought. That had been slightly too long; she would have to recover now, rather than bouncing back immediately as she had the first time. So she began that process - taking long, deep breaths that inflated her lungs, sent sensation back into her palms and soles, made her heart thunder in her chest. And…
Made the grinding in and out of her so much more real. Already, it had been glorious, but being able to enjoy it more fully with a mind that was not half-asleep from asphyxiation doubled the sensation.
After grinding a little longer, he gradually leant in again, as though he were about to kiss her neck; though he held off. Unfortunately, he was still rather bad at this, it seemed, as he broke character again to whisper, "Seriously though, you gonna be okay if I go fast again? Or should I let you recover more?"
Though he would never see it, she smiled very slightly at the feeling of his face near hers, and the care within the question. It helped calm the lingering anxiety of their play. What she said was, "I am ready, Master. Do… as you will with my body."
He could have just kissed her in that moment, broken character even more and poured everything into a kiss to try and ease his own worry. But he refrained. In little to no time, he was thrusting as fast as they were in the kitchen, raking in and out of her inner walls with his rock hard member. The moment they had slowed had managed to push back and delay his orgasm, but it wouldn't be long until he'd be filling her again.
"Nnhhhah!" she gusted, head falling back at the brutal pace he set, wrapping her calves around his hips. Drawing him in, yearning for him to go as fast as he might so that they could both reach their end. Hers was building fast, and she wanted him right there with her when the dam broke.
And that would be very soon. But not before Qrow reached his own. And after a few more quick and forceful thrusts, more loud and gruff moans, he met his end. Moaning once more through gritted teeth, he forced himself all the way inside, feeling his member throb over and over again within her as yet another latex coating was filled.
But the speed at which that orgasm came wasn't the only surprise to come. When Winter Schnee came for the second time, moaning out into the ceiling her joy at reaching the end of this session, there was a bit more to it than previously. A warm splash of fluid hit Qrow's pubic area, thin and sudden, and then smashed between them with his last few thrusts. Over and over.
In his lust-filled gaze, Qrow had not noticed the initial outcome of their actions together. But then another few splashes hit, and he was starting to realise what just happened. In that moment, he quickly pushed himself off her, looking down between their bodies.
There was a significant amount of fluid present. It seemed that Winter Schnee really was just as he described. Yet he wasn't disgusted. He only growled, "Well… You really are dirty girl, huh?"
"Yes, Master," she breathed, averting her eyes as her cheeks tinged with pink. No matter how many times that was noticed, it seemed to provoke the same reaction: embarrassment.
Noticing such an unusual reaction, at least compared to everything so far, Qrow was slightly thrown off. She was was embarrassed at what she'd done, perhaps even humiliated. As much as he enjoyed the thrill of feeling so powerful compared to her, he didn't know if he would be pushing any kind of limit in continuing. Even his own. Making someone else cry just seemed to be something he couldn't risk unless he was assured it was part of play, or that she wouldn’t cry at all.
So instead, he lowered his head, letting out the same noise as he did before their play. The chicken safety signal.
At that, Winter blinked several times in complete surprise – then her hand flew to Qrow's face and cupped it, gently but urgently. "What is it? Are you alright?"
Sliding himself back out of her body, he laughed under his breath instead. And once free, he flipped down by her side. One hand had idly landed across her stomach, where he gently stroked over the fabric of her shirt while he caught his breath again.
"Nothing's wrong," he panted, smiling back at her. "Just figured that's how we say 'game over'."
"Oh…" Taking a deep breath, she let it out slowly, evenly, and regained some of her composure. "Alright. It's… I'm really glad you were paying attention and everything, but you scared me!" Then she rolled slightly to look at him. "If we come to the natural end of a scene like we just did, we can use a phrase like 'End play' or 'Scene complete'. Using the safe word is… like applying an emergency brake. You didn't do anything wrong, at all, but that's why I was worried; it made me think you were in pain, physically or mentally."
"Oh…" Now he was beginning to understand all the more about things. Safety phrases, phrases to begin and end scenes, the limits that each of them could take. It was all part of the learning curve into a world he was eager to explore. And what a guide he had!
When his hand drifted slightly further down, into the accidental wetness, he quickly looked down again. "And this… is this something you learned to do, or have you always done that when you finish?"
Her blush returned, but not nearly as much as it had before. "Well… it's not something I have control over, if that's what you mean. But it happens from time to time. Hopefully you weren't too disgusted; I'd be more than happy to clean up after myself."
"Do you realise how many guys out there would die for a chick like you who could do that?" he asked rather seriously, unable to help but dip his finger against the moisture that had gathered around the top of her legs, collecting a small amount of it to look. Her shiver said that she enjoyed the attentions, even if only distantly now. "I'm indifferent personally but gotta admit, it's pretty flattering to think I can make a woman squirt."
"Really?" she breathed softly, somewhat surprised. "I'm… well. I haven't had anyone tell me they enjoyed it in a while, but most of the time men think I've… well, wet myself. In the unfortunate way." Then she added a slight chuckle. "Did have one guy who was into that idea, and then was disappointed it wasn't urine. It takes all kinds, I suppose."
"Huh… s’pose so." He nodded, finally bringing his hand back away from her again, beginning to shift to get back up. And to remove the covering from his cock. But as he got up and headed toward the kitchen to dispose of it, he continued to talk as he walked. "Y'know, it's kinda embarrassing to admit you've had way more action than me. But hey, I don't wanna be that guy."
Sitting up carefully, head still lighter than it normally would have been, she took a few breaths before she tried to answer. "It's… nothing to be ashamed of. I'm just glad you aren't calling me a whore for all of my experience." Then the corner of her mouth twitched upward. "Outside of play, I mean."
Arriving back from the kitchen again, this time a few tissues in hand, his own mouth was mirroring hers. A confident smile shone through as he knelt down by her again, dabbing the various areas of the ground where the liquid had landed.
"I say guys who do that are jealous. They're either stuck fifty years in the past, or they're stuck in Mommy's basement. Fuckin’ weak."
"Perhaps you're right. I have very little time for misogynists, myself." As the next tissue dabbed at her thighs, touch gentle and attentive, her words ceased, and she merely watched him with a curious expression on her face. A contemplative one.
The final step was clearing the moisture off his groin, before tucking himself neatly away again. He was unaware Winter was looking, yet still wore a rather satisfied smile. "I might look rough as fuck and seem like some typical skirt-chaser, but I'm honestly the same. It's funny what you can pick up once you get two nieces you feel defensive over."
"And I find that admirable." Then she reached up to caress his neck. "Also, thank you for… wow. You're a really fantastic lay. For a first-timer, you even didn't do too badly with playing out a scene, but just the sex? I'm… going to remember this for a long time, I can tell you that much!"
That got him to look back toward her eyes again, stopping his movements so he could focus on her instead. Running a hand through his hair again in an attempt to neaten it once more, he smiled. "Back at ya', Snowbird. Let's just say I wouldn't mind doing it again sometime, if you're game."
"I'm beginning to agree." Then she used the edge of the couch to push up from the floor, legs like gelatin. "Ooh… good God, that's tight… I'm out of practice, I suppose. Have to get back to my yoga."
"Hey, least you got the bed instead of this crappy sofa," he remarked, collecting the tissues remaining and the condom wrapper to toss them out. But a trip to the kitchen wasn't all. Once deposing of the remains of their play, he walked back to the bedroom again. Even though his motives seemed to be unknown, he continued to speak to her from in the room. "I'm guessing you’d rather your sister or my niece not know you spent the night, right? I can cover for ya if so."
As she slowly approached the bedroom door, she considered this. "Well… yes, I think that might be best. The family will leap to a lot of conclusions about the nature of our relationship, and I would prefer to avoid those." She paused to sigh. "Especially from my father. He still expects me to find a 'nice young man' and get married, birth two-point-five children. Not that he's pushing, exactly, just… pointedly encouraging."
"Let me know if you ever get the point-five kiddo! That’d be something to call Ripley’s about." With a laugh, he pulled open one of the lower drawers in the small desk, picking up something Winter couldn't quite make out. That was until it was thrown at her face by him. A pair of red boxers. Not the most flattering pair, but it did the job.
"Figured you wouldn't wanna go home soaked. Feel free to keep 'em."
"Oh, I wouldn't have minded," she half-chuckled, though she was already sliding her panties down and off. "I've done worse, and would have had my slacks on over the top of them. But… I really do appreciate this." Once she had swapped them out, she glanced at the panties, then at him. "Hmm… would you care to hang onto these as collateral?"
"You want me to do your dirty laundry?" But despite the joke, he accepted the offer, taking the sopping wet pair in exchange. No one could exactly object to such a souvenir from a wonderful partner, especially when the remnants of her play were still on it. However…
"Just don't expect me to be wearing them if we do this again."
As she turned to go back to the kitchen, where her slacks were still somewhere on the floor, she smirked over her shoulder. "We'll see. On both counts."
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Ice-dance pair Tessa Virtue, Scott Moir named Postmedia's Team of the Year
December 28, 2018
Twenty-one years ago, Carol Moir made the Canadian sporting match of the century.
The coach at the Ilderton Skating Club asked her nephew Scott to hold Tessa Virtue’s hand because she figured it might be a strong team for ice dance competitions.
Scott, back in his more bashful days, knew the drill. He grew up steps from his hometown rink in a family that discussed figure skating around the supper table — in the hour or so before the puck dropped for the Maple Leafs game on Hockey Night in Canada
The Virtue clan, from nearby big-city London, were athletes. They had sport in their blood.
Tessa, who loved ballet, impressed her first teachers with the uncanny ability to replicate movement almost immediately on first sight.
When she and Scott took the ice together, the talent was evident.
“We weren’t skating to win the Olympics when we were skating (then),” Moir, now 31-years-old, said. “Pretty much, we were worried if we could go up and get ice cream afterward.”
They quickly outgrew their home rink, moving first to Kitchener-Waterloo and then to Canton, Mich., for pro-style training. Mike Slipchuk, then a coach and now Skate Canada’s director of high performance, first saw them skate on the other side of the world — at a junior Grand Prix event in Harbin, China, in 2004.
“It was one of those things where I was well aware,” he said. “As they were young and moving up, there was always a lot of talk about them. It’s neat to see where they started and where they end up in their careers.
“It’s been an incredible journey to watch.”
How many star athletes have risen to the top of their field, then got knocked off their pedestal, took a couple of years to regroup, then returned to dominate their event like no one has ever done before?
That list is short.
Michael Jordan, probably, after he came back to the NBA from his self-imposed hiatus to try professional baseball.
Muhammad Ali, for sure, when he reclaimed boxing’s heavyweight title.
That’s what Virtue and Moir accomplished these past two seasons. That makes them the perfect pick for Postmedia’s Team of the Year.
When they became the first North American duo to win Olympic ice dance gold in 2010 on home ice at Vancouver, they were only four years into their maddeningly platonic partnership on the senior circuit.
They still produced the performance of a lifetime, but it was understandably pushed into the national sub-conscious during a massive two-week Canadian gold rush capped by Sidney Crosby’s famous goal against the United States in the men’s hockey final.
Four years later in Sochi, Virtue and Moir were bested in figure skating’s most riveting rivalry. They finished second to training mates Meryl Davis and Charlie White, who used their post-Olympic Dancing With the Stars platform to become TV celebrities.
The Canadians retreated from the competitive realm for two years before creating their legendary bounce-back. This time, they moved to Montreal and constructed a familiar training pattern.
They were at the same club as the reigning world champs and their top competitors — Gabriella Papadakis and Guillaume Cizeron of France.
“They never shied away from training with the best,” Slipchuk said. “When you’re in that environment, there are no days off. It’s something they always did in their career, and with (coaches) Marie-France (Dubreuil) and Patrice (Lauzon), they recreated their skating and passion.
“The last two years was the best I’ve ever seen them. They went undefeated (in 2016-17) and then went out and won the Olympics again.”
The volume of their careers, which started with whispers and a growing buzz, developed into a deafening roar.
Virtue and Moir were Canada’s hopeful faces at the start of the 2018 Olympics in South Korea. They carried the flag into the opening ceremonies of a Winter Games without NHL players.
Then they delivered a transcendent skate that brought their discipline to its highest level.
They have become as revered as Kurt Browning, Brian Orser, Elvis Stojko, Liz Manley and Sale-Pelletier are in the country and figure skating world.
“The one thing that will always stick out to me is they wanted every piece of information to make them the best,” Slipchuk said. “Here’s the best dance team we’ve ever seen and they were always open and wanting advice any time we brought in officials, judges or technical people. They were so respectful of everyone there to help them. They’re professionals and perfect ambassadors for their sport.”
The 29-year-old Virtue was selected by ESPN as one of the most-recognizable female athletes in the world. People worldwide continue to be stumped by how her relationship with Moir isn’t romantic.
They’re flattered by it, but that’s not what makes them tick.
“If we can inspire young people to follow their dreams and believe in themselves, how fortunate are we that we can have that connection,” Virtue said.
Every so often, we get a glimpse of tremendous chemistry — from the way the Golden State Warriors move a basketball to John Tavares and Mitch Marner creating a goal. But those partnerships won’t last two decades.
This one did.
VIRTUE VERY TRENDY
When the Olympics rolled around in February, Canadians took to the Internet to search for the answers to their most pressing questions.
They wanted to know why NHL players weren’t participating this time, how come so many Russian athletes were banned and a lot of us just needed a refresher on the rules of curling.
But the most sought-after information in Canadian sports this year revolved around the relationship status of two beloved champion athletes.
Are Tessa and Scott dating?
“It’s not a surprise to anyone this was the No. 1 question on everybody’s mind,” Google Trends expert Nicole Bell said. “Coming of their very emotional performance in Pyeongchang where they won the gold medal for ice dancing to that sexy Moulin Rouge song, people were like, ‘Omigoodness, is it possible this is ‘The Notebook’ for real?’
“We want this to be real-life love — but sadly, it’s not true.”
Google is able to chart the rise in interest in personalities from year-to-year. Justin Bieber and Donald Trump, for instance, aren’t found on the list because online searches for their names didn’t move the needle much above their 2017 levels.
In this country, Tessa Virtue ranked first among Canadians and athletes in general in 2018. Hoopster Tristan Thompson is second among Canadians and new Raptor Kawhi Leonard is runner-up for athletes behind the figure-skating star.
Though the anxiety over William Nylander’s eventual signing with the Leafs and John Tavares’ Toronto homecoming checked in highly, the level of curiosity around Virtue and Moir, especially during and after the Winter Games, was the biggest story.
“It’s kind of interesting because they have been on the scene for a long time as a pair, but that (dating) questions hasn’t been a burning topic in the Canadian mind until this year’s performance,” Bell said, “and Tessa did a lot of beauty campaigns (for Dove and Nivea), along with being involved in fashion, and those activities produced additional interest in her beyond the skating world.”
Virtue finished fourth on Canadian searches for people around the world, behind Demi Lovato, Khloe Kardashian and Hailey Baldwin.
“Demi Lovato had a bit of a dramatic year with an overdose, Khloe Kardashian made the news for (a stormy relationship with) Tristan Thompson and Hailey Baldwin married Justin Bieber. Tessa is there with no scandal — just someone whose athletic feats and talent was so incredible.
“She’s somebody Canadians are incredibly proud of and she’s a role model. If you had a vote for Canada’s sweetheart right now, she would win, hands down.”
THEIR GREATEST HITS
2017-18 Moulin Rouge free dance
They put their own twist on a tried-and-true figure skating theme and it proved the final step to another Olympic gold medal. Though it was deemed second-best on the big night to the runner-up French, it still scored 122.40 points, enough for the win. The program is still burned into everyone’s brain — including theirs — and that’s why it will remain a favourite on tour for years to come.
2012-13: Carmen free dance
The final scores say it was only good enough for second at their hometown worlds behind Americans Meryl Davis and Charlie White, but the boundary-pushing dance highlighted the athleticism and chemistry of the Canadian duo. Moir has stated he wished they would have kept the program the following year for the Sochi Olympics, believing a polished version of it with nothing held back (and some less dodgy judging) could have put them over the top.
2009-10: Symphony No. 5 (Mahler) free dance
Then-coach Marina Zoueva described it as a marriage proposal and it was the launching point for Virtue and Moir as “Canada’s Sweethearts.” The program delivered their first Olympic gold in Vancouver and first senior world title in Turin, consistently scoring 110-plus points. It included their signature Goose Lift. And don’t forget, Virtue could barely walk from the immense pain in her legs due to her compartment syndrome woes along the way.
youtube
—Toronto Sun
#tessa and scott#off ice#honor#postmedia team of the year#interview: postmedia#a lot of fluff but at least there are pictures
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My Story
Hello, my name is Hannah. Currently I am 19 years old and am a sophomore in College studying to become a Forensic Anthropologist. I am a devote Christian, I love Harry Potter, Supernatural, The Walking Dead, etc. Yet I have this secret, one that I felt ashamed of and guilty over for quite some time now.
I struggle with HOCD, an obsessive compulsive disorder in which brings forth intrusive and unwanted thoughts of being gay.
2015-16: Change Begins
This particular year was huge for me. Second year of high school, finally making friends in the new area my family and I moved to, and learning of the possible move to Germany. During this period of time in my life there was so much happening at once, to be quite honest I did not know what to do with myself.
With all this change, my anxiety was being tested. Limits were being crossed and walls were being broken. And not in the good way.
December of 2015 would mark my first very scary, very real severe panic attack. One that had been building up for weeks and unknowingly to me, sneak up from behind and grip it’s rough hands around my neck. I should have been happy, I should have been calm. I was at youth group, spending time with my best friend, planning a goofy game with everyone. Yet, while everyone else was laughing, I was crying.
Strange.
I wanted to laugh, goof around, continue being a kid. Yet my body was breaking down, my breath becoming shallow, my hands increasingly unsteady. Everything was numb. From my toes to my face, numb. Before I knew it I was guided into the parking lot where my body had a mind of its own, jerking me around side to side as my mother stared at me with horror. A stroke. She was petrified I was having a stroke, calling the paramedics just to be told I was simply having a severe panic attack, OD-ing on oxygen and simply needed to regulate my breathing.
(The 2019 me is now a pro at stopping a panic attack as soon as they come on, no one knows and no one will ever know that one is happening.)
2016-17: The Move, Medication, Therapy.
Fast forward by about a year and I am now in my Junior year meeting with my psychologist and therapist for the first time. It was this session in which I was diagnosed with Severe Anxiety and OCD, although at the time they simply thought I wanted things nice and tidy, that was not the case whatsoever.
2018: Am I gay?
This was the intrusive thought that snuck into my mind and completely numbed it just like a panic attack.
At the time, my best friend at my new school was notorious for dressing guy-like and being quite the Tom-boy. Neither of us had ever been in a relationship nor were we looking for one. Of course, that never stopped me from having an occasional crush or obsessing over some celebrity, in fact, at the time I was head over heels in love with Tom Hiddleston and Adam Driver. But no one knew this except for my bestie and being a person with severe anxiety, I never made it a point in my life to have more than around one or two good friends, so it was very common for it to be just us roaming around everywhere. Little did I know that many people believed my Bestie to be a lesbian and that she was either trying to make me a lesbian or I was in fact her girlfriend.
Now, with knowing that information, that very key life-threatening (to me) thought became very real as I was eyeing this guy I had a crush on and was with my bestie and hoped he didn’t also believe that I was a lesbian. Which then triggered the thought, “Could I be a Lesbian?”
Silly, I know. Especially for someone who was sporting quite a major crush on this attractive boy, yet I still let it hit me, and boy did it hit me hard. From that point on I worried that perhaps I was a lesbian and that everyone knew except for me, that somehow I was the one missing the key bit of information.
From then on I was becoming obsessive. In the beginning, especially when I had no clue what was happening, I thought that perhaps using hypnosis guides from youtube to essentially ‘erase’ memories would help. But it didn’t, instead I was thinking more and more of it. I remember looking down in the comments to see if it actually worked for someone and a couple comments stuck out regarding HOCD. Other people were worried about their intrusive thoughts and found the life changing label: HOCD.
The search began: What is HOCD? How do I know I have HOCD? Is it HOCD or denial? How do I know for sure it is HOCD and I am completely straight?
Which then triggered the ‘tests’. You know the ones, the stupid: ‘Are you straight/gay/lesbian?’ ones. The ones that even if you get the ‘straight’ answer they will backhand slap you with the; ‘Don’t limit your options, you could be bisexual. You did after all search up a quiz so there could be a chance your into the same sex’.
With this the intrusive thoughts became more intense. Where I would be reassuring myself I was in fact straight but then would accidentally say lesbian instead of straight. Or homosexual instead of heterosexual. Or into girls instead of into guys. The answer was simple: I was saying homosexual, lesbian, and into girls, substituting what I actually wanted to say and think because those words were what was on my mind the most. Those words were causing me such unbelievable anxiety and the intrusive thoughts were taking over my entire way of thinking.
And with that, the intrusive thoughts became even worse. From then on I was constantly checking my bodys reactions. I would compare my emotions between a guy and a girl and would constantly check to see how my brain and body would react.
Big Mistake.
Because in this stage of such unbelievable anxiety and HOCD your body begins to produce false attractions.
Essentially, this means that because I was struggling with such crippling anxiety over possibly being a lesbian, I was unable to look at men anymore and view them as being unbelievably attractive, instead I would see girls and think what I would always think: Wow they’re really beautiful, I wish I looked like them.
And with wishing to look like them I would assess the rest of their body, I would compare their body to mine like I would before unknowingly, but this time it felt like I was checking them up as opposed to comparing them to me. Which then triggered the unwanted thoughts of calling girls pretty, beautiful, and hot.
I have friends who are completely comfortable with saying a woman they see is hot, which I didn’t think twice about when they would say it and would simply comment that yeah they are pretty or beautiful. Yet after struggling with HOCD when a girl would call another girl Hot I would immediately wonder if they were bisexual or a lesbian. Which in turn affected how I reacted to saying another girl was pretty or beautiful. When I would see a girl who was in the range of ‘hot’ standards and would mentally say ‘wow she is hot’ I freaked out. This was the beginning of a new stage of HOCD in which I turned the phrasing of ‘hot’ into a sexual form.
This may seem odd, but I never really thought of anyone as being ‘hot’ because before it was never something that was used in my vocabulary or my friends until I moved. So suddenly thinking this of girls really freaked me out because my brain was introducing new crippling intrusive thoughts.
For months this went on, in fact it almost went on for a year and in that year I had graduated and started a new job and was going to college online. These new areas in my life tugged my anxiety and thoughts in a different direction and before I knew it the HOCD was gone. It was as if one day I woke up and it was as if I had never even had it.
2018-19: Out with the New and in with the Old.
My life was fantastic, no more intrusive thoughts and brand new friends along with being paid in a job I loved. It was all fantastic until a girl at my job decided to open up to me and tell me that she thinks she might be bisexual. Sure she was dating our supervisor who was a great guy, but she also was reminded of how when she first met her best friend she kind of had feelings for her.
This reminded me of my HOCD and suddenly my fresh smile was replaced with the trained fake one.
The only person who knew I had struggled with HOCD by this point was only my mom, who while had told me a couple years ago that if I was a lesbian it was completely okay also informed me that she believed me to be 100% straight.
(Mothers do know best and do not get the wrong idea about her believing I was a lesbian a couple years ago, at the time I had never dated a guy and still have yet to, but in that period of time it was around a year after her sister came out on her fathers deathbed and then disappeared because while he was alive she was so scared of being judged. My mother just wanted to let me know that no matter what she would not judge me and love me for me despite the gender I liked. Of course,a couple months after that she saw how boy crazy I was for one guy and informed me during my identity crisis that I was in fact straight.)
So after my co-worker confided in me, I decided to share something personal about myself to her. I told her about the period of time in my life how people would make fun of me about being a lesbian even though I wasn’t and then one day I thought: what if I was? and it felt like my entire world was caving in. Then I told her about how that feeling was silly as I do check out guys and I do find their bodies quite enticing.
During this time wrestling season had begun and my brothers were on the team, there were more than a couple shirtless guys who made me blush.
After telling her this information, she informed me that she believes and knows I am straight, that she could tell despite me sharing the wrestling bit and how terrible people are to accuse someone of being gay or a lesbian when they know they are not.
Fast forward a couple months and wrestling season is just about over.
Only now I am sporting more than just a small crush for a guy on the wrestling team. I liked this guy, like really liked him. I thought he was unbelievably handsome, loved his voice and body, loved how he treated people, how kind he was, how he wanted to be a nurse and was also misinterpreted by people. Many thought he was stupid because of the slow way he talked, by the way he acted, but he was actually incredibly smart.
I loved how he made me forget about the bad and think only of the good.
It wasn’t until months into this ‘crush’ that I had realized the HOCD was fully gone, that I hadn’t thought about it for months. Hadn’t had any issues with talking to girls, was able to watch TV and not worry if I was attracted to the obviously beautiful women on the screen. I was able to read romance novels again and fall in love with the male leads.
In fact, I was able to find men in general attractive again. Celebirties were becoming enticing once again, I finally got around to watching ‘To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before’ and fell in love with the devilously handsome Noah Centineo. Who I ended up becoming obsessed about and watched anything that had him in it.
I felt cured, in fact, I believed I was cured.
No longer was I looking at others and immediately struck with the thought of if they were a lesbian or if they were gay. Other people were normal again, I was normal again.
Or so I thought.
July 2019: The Cure No More
With OCD and intrusive thoughts comes shame and guilt, while a couple weeks ago I was not concerned about HOCD, I was obsessing over the fact that I have viewed Porn in the past and the recent present and how I was a terrible Christian over it and didn’t deserve anyone. (That story will be for another day).
My depression over this got so bad that my parents could visablly tell something was wrong and pulled me to the side and were trying their best to force it out of me. For hours that day I had repelled them and refused to tell them.
My mom, in turn, tried guessing. She asked if I was pregnant? No. Did I commit a Murder? No. Was I doing drugs? No. Was I Gay? Because a while ago I was worried about being gay so that could be what I was worried about. Again, No. I told her there was no way I was Gay, that I 100% knew I was straight because I fell in love with a guy where we just moved from and was doing my best to lose my feelings for him since there was no chance we’d see each other again.
By the end of the day I finally confessed and they informed me that all my shame and guilt was for nothing because what she asked me earlier was a hundred times worse.
And with that all the thoughts returned.
Does she think I’m a lesbian? Could she have been lying to me when she told me she didn’t believe I was a lesbian? She asked if I was specifically stating that a while ago I was worried about it so does that mean she actually does think I could be or am a lesbian?
And with that I was back down the rabbit hole over something that was so incredibly silly.
She also asked if I was pregnant multiple times saying that before we left I was gone for several hours so how could she know what I have or have not done, it was the same situation yet I was not worried about being pregnant. This was the same situation with the drugs question, I didn’t do drugs but she didn’t know that, so why wasn’t I freaking out over her thinking I could have possibly done drugs? All of these things are situations in which she has to take my word over it, yet I was only worried about the question about my sexuality.
Her only proof was that a year ago I had questioned my sexuality because of other people, but that does not mean that I am a lesbian.
But that is the thing about HOCD, you want 100% confirmation on something that only you can give 100% confirmation about. You want other people to tell you that you are straight, or gay if you are having intrusive thoughts about being straight when you know you are gay or a lesbian.
Intrusive thoughts cloud that 100% because you feel that they are your own when in reality they are not. Through out the day our brain produces millions upon billions of thought, most of which we don’t even remember because as soon as they come up in our heads they disappear and we don’t even know it. Yet, especially with those that struggle with anxiety and self-esteem, these intrusive thoughts sometimes surface and cloud our judgement.
This is my story, my struggle with HOCD. I have beat it once and I will beat it as many times as I need to. I know these thoughts are not mine and I know who I am. Having read many other’s stories with their struggle, I’ve decided it is finally time to share mine and help others as they struggle with me.
I am not sure anybody is going to actually read this, but if you have, thank you. I hope that my story has helped you and give some relief that you are not alone. If you want to talk I am here.
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In my experience, Gotham is a polarizing TV series. Any superhero-themed program is sure to bring its critics, but Batman is a character near and dear to the American heart—as he is the last universally beloved billionaire—and it was certainly a risk going with a prepubescent Bruce Wayne. I’m a big fan of Gotham, and even I’ll admit that I’m not completely sold on its interpretation of the franchise’s main character. But that’s OK, because Gotham isn’t about Batman. It’s about the villains. And they’re almost all great. This was not an easy list to compile.
Gotham just feels like Batman, and it’s in large part thanks to the carefully crafted, over-the-top performances in some marquee roles, so without further ado, let’s get to the best Gotham villains.
I should also note that it would be impossible to do this properly without some spoilers. I’ll avoid any spoilers from the last few episodes of this season, but if you’re not caught up on this season of the show, some of this will definitely get you up to speed on where everything stands as of the Season Four finale.
15. Captain Nathaniel Barnes Played by: Michael Chiklis Michael Chiklis just looks like a cop, and that alone qualified him for the role of Jim Gordon’s boss. And his evolution from hardened lawman to judge, jury and executioner in the face of the future Commissioner Gordon’s heroics provided this political science major with a stark analogy for the tradeoff between idealism and pragmatism out in the real world. Every conflict of Barnes vs. Gordon centered around the way things should be versus the way things are, and the finale of Chiklis’ arc (for now, no one in this show is ever truly gone) raised good questions about where the line between the vigilante justice of Batman and The Executioner really stands.
14. Ra’s al Ghul Played by: Alexander Siddig The spiritual father of the proceedings carries a heavy burden. Not only must he justify the spiritual aspect of the rise of Batman (and the Joker), but Siddig also has to pull off whatever a 2,000+ year old man looks like. It’s a difficult ask, and he’s not had enough screen time for Ra’s al Ghul to seem like anything more than a narrator guide from a video game, but he’s given plenty of major moments, and he hasn’t come up short yet.
13. Butch Gilzean Played by: Drew Powell What Powell does with a character limited to being the main muscle on the show is the embodiment of the saying “when life gives you lemons, make lemonade.” He is one of the chief figures of strength on Gotham (and that was before he fell in a swamp filled with goop from Indian Hill), but his moments of vulnerability are what bring life to the character. His romance with a woman farther up on this list than he is reflects Butch’s limits, but perhaps new frontiers will be unlocked with his evolution into the famed Solomon Grundy from the comics.
12. Commissioner Gillian Loeb Played by: Peter Scolari Scolari brought a new face to this eternal foil of Batman and Jim Gordon, as the comics’ brusque blackmailer in the pocket of Carmine Falcone has been replaced with a shadowy figure in the pocket of Carmine Falcone. Scolari’s semi-detached performance is a fitting reflection of where our political reality currently resides, and he is very much a figure emblematic of the times.
11. Ivy Pepper Played by: Clare Foley, Maggie Geha and Peyton List Poison Ivy is still in development on the show—as evidenced by the three actors who’ve played her—but all three did well building a foundation for what should be a future supervillain the likes of which Gotham has never seen before. Both adult actors have provided the sex appeal intrinsic to the character’s strategy to exploit the stupid part of straight men’s brains, but it’s the child-in-an-adult’s-body aspect that makes this version of a hall-of-fame Batman character so compelling. After falling in dirty water (superhero origin stories would lead you to believe that the healthiest thing you can do is shower in uranium), Ivy Pepper’s accelerated womanhood might’ve been a missed opportunity for more comic relief, but her relationship with Selena is always engaging. Without it, neither of these characters would have the humanizing characteristics necessary to make their time on Gotham worthwhile.
10. Theo Galavan Played by: James Frain James Frain’s arc on the show was an original storyline, one that began with a plot to kill Bruce Wayne, then elevated him to Mayor, and culminated with him assuming the character Azrael from the comics. Frain’s smooth performance is underlined by an intense focus on a mission that all just feels Batman-y, even though this arc is not found in the comics.
9. Tabitha Galavan Played by: Jessica Lucas Theo was powerful, but his sister got the larger share of the badass genes in the family. Like her brother, Tabitha is an original creation of the show, and even though we’ve since lost Theo (granted, death is far from final in this universe), it’s difficult to envision Gotham without Tabitha at this point. Her romance with Butch is the only one on the show that’s convincing at all (a major new one is still TBD), and she was clearly placed in this universe to provide a positive role model for Catwoman—who did not make this list because she’s still stuck at the kids table with Bruce Wayne. Of all the major muscle on this show, Tabitha is the muscle-iest.
8. Hugo Strange Played by: BD Wong BD Wong has played so many doctors by now that part of me actually believes he is a doctor. Of all the doctors he’s played, my favorite by far is Strange. The main reason why no one on this show will ever die, Wong does a wonderful job of straddling the line between madman and genius—nailing the image of what Gotham’s mad scientist should look like.
7. Barbara Kean Played by: Erin Richards The NBA has a most-improved player of the year award, and Barbara Kean would have won Gotham’s MIP award the last two years. Initially, I lamented Richards’ on-screen demise as she was cast as the generic wet blanket to Jim Gordon’s hero (Kean was Gordon’s wife in the comics). Gotham almost lost me early on with their romance—as I just cannot take network TV’s portrayal of relationships seriously—but this new “take whatever she wants with a freaking glowing hand” version of Kean has unchained Richards, and her talents shine through in every scene. Gothamis right to structure a central narrative around her.
6. Mayor Aubrey James Played by: Richard Kind I’ll admit I’m biased on this one. I’m a politics writer here at Paste, and Kind’s performance as America’s bumbling mayor is a little too real to consider given the madness that America’s former mayor, Rudy Guiliani, is displaying every day on cable news. His portrayal of the character is the perfect summation of every empty-suit politician who ever lived, and it really resonates in a country overflowing with these vessels for the superrich. The mayor’s cowardice behind the scenes when contrasted to his stern public statements is just…*kisses fingers*
5. Victor Zsasz Played by: Anthony Carrigan The infamous hitman is a perfectly sardonic bit of comic relief, as Carrigan always finds the right kind of oomph behind his “Hey, boss, so when should I kill these guys?” salvos. A hyper-competent, semi-powerful character is a difficult needle to thread, as there must be a reason why Zsasz has yet to rise to the level of other A-list Batman villains, and it’s simply because Zsasz loves his job as an assassin-for-hire. It’s not about the power he could gain through his proclivity for mass murder, but the pure, utter nirvana that he derives from of every shootout.
4. The Penguin Played by: Robin Lord Taylor Oswald Cobblepot is not just an awesome name, but a fitting vessel for a character whose only real lasting public face is Danny de Vito’s snarling performance in Batman Returns. Robin Lord Taylor has brought a more refined air to the ringleader of Gotham’s underworld, and The Penguin serves as the yin to Jim Gordon’s yang. The universe of Batman is based on the premise that crime is a major industry in America—oftentimes involving our political leaders, as Mayor James demonstrates. Cobblepot likes to present himself a pragmatic choice in a chaotic world, and when the Gotham City Police Department finds itself with its back against the wall, some of the moral choices he presents are inescapably compelling. If crime is going to exist, why not try to bring some order to it? The GCPD can’t do that, but The Penguin can.
3. The Riddler Played by: Cory Michael Smith When arguing sports, I typically argue that numerical rankings should be eschewed for tiers. It’s difficult to compare a lot of similar folks, and drawing lines in between good, very good, and great is a far simpler task. I bring this up because this is where the top tier begins. Cory Michael Smith’s depiction of what I have always believed to be an underrated villain belongs in the Batman hall-of-fame—and frankly, it’s better than Jim Carrey’s semi-unhinged version (which I also enjoyed). It’s clear whether Smith is playing Edward Nygma or The Riddler simply from his posture and facial expression, which makes the Jekyll and Hyde-ian battle raging inside of him all the more engrossing. (Photo: Michael Lavine/FOX)
2. The Joker Played by: Cameron Monaghan Technically, we’re not allowed to call this character with a high-pitched laugh, a thirst for chaos and a bizarre love of Bruce Wayne (and now a purple jacket!) “The Joker,” as Monaghan revealed on Twitter. You know, copyrights, branding and all. TV stuff. Monaghan’s portrayal of The Joker would make fans of The Dark Knight proud. The choice to literally sew a new face on to Jerome evokes the same uncomfortable madness as Heath Ledger’s scars, and the amount of emotion that Monaghan is able to communicate through that mess with simply his face deserves some kind of award. “Jerome” is a delightful madman who brings an unbridled sense of joy to his criminality. I’m excited to watch this new, more serious iteration of this classic character, but I will desperately miss his home run performance as Gotham’s signature weirdo.
1. Fish Mooney Played by: Jada Pinkett Smith Stick this character in any gangster TV show or movie, and tweak the surrealism depending on context, and she’ll fit—that’s just how good Jada Pinkett Smith is. Fish Mooney did not originate in the comics, and the creators of Gotham should be universally commended for springing such a Gotham-y character to life out of the ether. Granted, Mooney likely wouldn’t be as engrossing if not for Smith’s electric performance. The woman completely owns every single scene she inhabits. Fish Mooney gives this show a good excuse to ignore the rules of death, because why would anyone want to take that out? Screw death and copyright law. Fish Mooney deserves to live on for eternity.
#Edward Nygma#Cory Michael Smith#Oswald Cobblepot#Robin Lord Taylor#Barbara Kean#Erin Richards#Tabitha Galavan#Jessica Lucas#Butch Gilzean#Drew Powell#Solomon Grundy#Anthony Carrigan#Victor Zsasz#Ivy Pepper#Peyton List#Clare Foley#Interview: Maggie Geha#Ra's al Ghul#Alexander Siddig#Fish Mooney#Jada Pinkett Smith
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A Brief History Of Andrew’s Protective Streak
Andrew learned to do stick-and-poke tattoos during juvie. Nothing fancy; he had always been good at sketching, so his line art was crisp, and he could do shading easily enough by filling in the design with less passes of ink. It was amazing how much cooler a pubescent teen thought he looked with a dragon jabbed under his skin in blue ballpoint ink, instead of just doodled on top. That was, in fact, one of the top requests. Andrew considered it distastefully ironic - Dragon, Draco, Drake.
He was amused by the idea of stabbing “Drake” hundreds of times in black and blue. But why would anyone want that permanently etched into their body? Andrew had given himself enough marks to remind himself of the opposite: that Drake was temporary, that he could be outlasted. Andrew’s marks were carved as a distraction, dulling one kind of pain by making a fresher, sharper, controlled version. They were for endurance, not aesthetic. He covered his marks with black armbands, not filled them with ink. They were necessary but nothing to be proud of. Andrew had no urge to give himself a tattoo. But the favors he garnered in trade for his skill were invaluable.
~~~
No one had ever kept a promise to Andrew (Cass had maybe tried), and with a lack of any real thing worth living for, he’d decided to create his own value by keeping promises to others, as long as he gained something from it. Andrew made a business out of promising tattoos and following through. He was good at them. And he was good at protecting his goal, because it got him out of the juvie facility one Friday a month for “away” games.
And he might be good at protecting people, if they were people he decided mattered, and that felt…slightly more worthwhile than anything else. There was something in the concept of being needed that made living a bit more tolerable, a bit less boring. He'd hated the idea of a carbon copy brother that had been needed by the woman that birthed them in a way that she hadn't needed Andrew. He'd wanted no part of that shit. He had Cass. Aaron was not his problem. Aaron did not matter.
But then Drake had gotten interested. "Let him visit." "I want to meet him too." "All three of us will be brothers." "Twins are every man's fantasy, AJ. "You'll look so perfect in my bed together.” And suddenly Aaron needed Andrew, even if he didn't know it. Andrew was shocked how vehemently this hit him, how important a priority it immediately presented itself as. The first person who genuinely needed him. It was up to Andrew to keep the carbon copy cleaner than the original. No one deserved Drake, and this was something only he could be relied upon to protect against.
The only way to prevent Drake from eventually convincing Cass to have Aaron come visit, with or without Andrew’s approval, was to remove himself as well. He was used to being hurt, and to hurting himself, so he could handle this loss. Cass wanted to keep him but she didn't need him, like Aaron. So he did what he had to do and landed himself in juvie.
Then he actually met Aaron. Aaron’s mouth listed off the name of some girlfriend – his identical twin was straight? Huh. – and the name of a high school and a position as backliner on the school Exy team, blah blah blah small talk, but Andrew took one glance at the long sleeves and jeans during California summer – there was the edge of a bruise at the collarbone – and the posture – defeated – and the behavior – jittery, twitchy, he’d seen too many inmates crashing to not know Aaron was on drugs that were both addictive and strong enough to kill – and he decided that this carbon copy needed continued protection, lest he end up as marked up as Andrew after all, just by someone else's hand than Drake's.
“Uncle” Luther wanted to help “save” him from juvie, but wanted to send him back to Cass. He needed to go where Aaron was, so he shared a truth that he’d never wanted to voice out loud. Luther did not believe him, immediately marking himself off Andrew’s list of people who had a chance to matter due to blood proximity. Instead he guilted a promise out of the minister to keep other children out of Drake’s reach “in case they’re as incapable as me at ‘judging brotherly affection’ and would come out just as traumatized” and drummed up a cavalry march in Luther’s meddling missionary heart to bring Andrew ���home” to his “mother” and brother.
Then he called in a lot of hoarded favors from his tattoo business: “accidental” conversations held within earshot of wardens that painted him in a good light, or at least, in a bad light with the bad crowds. A staged fight that he broke up peacefully, with sharp words and sharper stares, instead of with the fists the wardens knew he was so good with and the shivs he’d only ever been suspected of having. He even had a couple of recommendations from guards that had been impressed enough with his art to get inked by him themselves.
Pristine behavior, a winning streak for the Exy team, and his list of favors wouldn’t take too long to rattle up a parole hearing.
~~~
He was out of juvie, and he was busy. He had joined Aaron’s high school Exy team to keep an eye on him; it was still difficult to pin down all the times Aaron managed to pop pills, so he required observation. Andrew had made a very pointed promise to Aaron’s mother and was arranging to keep his promise because she wouldn’t fucking listen.
~~~
Tilda was dead, finally. It had been ruled an accident, as planned. Aaron was no longer attempting to speak to him, which was fine. He did not require his brother’s approval, just his dependence, and Andrew had fulfilled the promise to protect him. Aaron’s unexpected grief over his waste-of-oxygen mother was annoying, so Aaron glowering from across the room was better than Aaron grieving loudly.
Now was a good a time as any to get Aaron sober. It wasn’t like his twin could fill any more of Tilda’s prescriptions now that she was dead, and Andrew didn’t intend to let him go questing for more sources. So Andrew locked him in a bathroom with canned food – he tossed in Spaghetti-O’s along with the soups and green beans because he wasn’t a monster – and a pillow and waited for sixteen days.
He met with the lawyer in the meantime and signed off for the life insurance payout - A. Minyard. Not a lie. He bought the cheapest cremation possible and tossed the urn on Luther's front lawn for the bastard to make funeral plans around. He bought a car to replace the one he'd made Tilda wreck and put the car’s insurance policy in his own full name. He left Aaron's off. Aaron could depend on him to drive them.
Aaron emerged silent, sober, and craving grease. Andrew drove them to Sweetie's. His twin said nothing about the car, and Andrew didn't offer the spare key of a ninety grand vehicle to a just-barely-ex-drug-addict. There was no point bolstering temptation with means and opportunity.
Then Nicky showed up from Germany. Interesting, that his brother somehow turned out straight but his newfound cousin had managed to worm a gay gene out of Luther and Maria’s chromosomes. Less interesting was Nicky being a fucking chatterbox, making up for Aaron’s blessed silence in a way that no one asked for, as well as Nicky’s complete inability to defend himself even as he assumed guardianship of the twins.
Andrew did not have time to exchange a promise with Nicky in advance, he was too busy beating these four men who’d dared hurt his cousin like they were every man who had ever laid a hand on Andrew without consent. There were a lot of those. That meant a lot of beating. He nearly lost himself in the all-consuming violence tearing out of his core, and came out of the incident with a string of therapists and a bottle of literal happy pills.
They fractured his emotions from his rationality. He spent days with his eyes opened to how amusing and engaging the world could truly be, and then slowly he started to recognize the sick feeling in his gut and the constant edge of a headache throbbing in the base of his skull to the tune of but why is it funny? It’s not. It’s not funny. Stop it. Stop laughing. Stop laughing. STOP.
He became the dead hollow space rotting out the inside of a laughing shell. Why was he living, again? Oh. Promises. Protection. That was about all his brain could hold onto firmly while he was trying to scrape the corners of his ill-fitting smile off his own face with his fingernails. Weeks of practice tamed the giggles down to silent, hard-edged smiles. He could hear the world around his own laughter again.
God, who wouldn’t he kill to stop taking this medication? His brother. He needed to be needed. His cousin too, apparently. The promise was silent but he’d already paid out, so Nicky was his now. The rest of the world could fucking burn.
Aaron was edging away, though, drowning in the misplaced grief he refused to get over. But then Aaron’s girlfriend slapped him, yelled at him for not paying enough attention to her, grabbed his wrist too hard and bruised it. Aaron’s eyes said he couldn’t hit a woman. Andrew didn’t care if it was moral or a psychological remnant of Aaron’s mother’s abuse. A new promise was forged. Aaron was cemented at Andrew’s side through graduation. Andrew broke the girl’s arm and delivered the same promise he’d made Aaron’s mother. The girl quit school.
There were several other girls. Andrew struck preemptively at each. Aaron was his now, he had promised. His to protect. Something to continue living for. Women were nothing but trouble. They turned Aaron into a useless victim. Aaron hated him for his proactive violence, but Andrew only needed dependence to give him a purpose in life, after all.
~~~
And then the fucking Sons of Exy showed up and delivered a grand invite to join the Ravens after graduation.
First of all, it was laughable that they thought he’d leave the brother he was protecting behind to play a worthless sport.
Second of all, he was solidly unimpressed by Riko and Kevin. They were obsessed with Exy, and Exy to him had started as a literal temporary escape from prison and ended up a babysitting gig for his beat up strung out brother.
And third, their tattoos were tacky, unstylized computer font numbers, and unreflective of each boy’s potential in their chosen field. He informed Kevin of this quite pointedly, detailing his lack of interest in someone determined to make a career of coming in second, and the flash of fear in Kevin’s eyes at the implication of holding himself back to second place was…not quite amusing, and only vaguely interesting. It was not his problem. Kevin did not matter.
~~~
When graduation approached, Andrew paid attention. Nicky wanted to go back to Germany. Andrew hadn’t met and didn’t trust Erik, and wanted to delay that as long as possible. Worse, Aaron wanted to run off to college and be a doctor. Lofty goals for someone with shit grades after putting the high in high school several dozen times too many. He’d still try, though. He’d end up in a community college God knows where, no longer bound to Andrew’s side via their promise.
Andrew would not survive his medication without someone to protect.
When Wymack came knocking, Andrew seized the chance and reaped profit all around. Wymack agreed to let him bring his not-great-but-at-least-experienced family along on academic scholarship, and quietly agreed to let Andrew off his drugs for games. He’d seen tapes of Andrew before and after being assigned the pills, so he knew it was to his mutual benefit.
Aaron would get into college, shit GPA or no. The promise was reinstated another four years. Hopefully he’d learned his lesson on the last set of girls.
Andrew called in the favor for protecting his cousin and waited to see if Nicky would disappoint. Nicky waffled, he called his boyfriend-fiancé-whatever to get advice, and he finally caved and agreed a business degree would be good for him.
The drugs would wear off in two years. His promises would hold a little longer. Andrew had no fucking clue what he was going to do after that, but thinking about the future was a waste of time when he spent every spare minute keeping the Joker-laugh restricted to his face and out of his sane mind.
~~~
When Kevin showed up at Palmetto at the beginning of the spring semester with a shattered hand, looking as hollow as Andrew’s own chuckling corpse, he became a thing that mattered.
He promised Andrew a love of Exy – not feasible, but if protecting his goal could magically become a worthwhile purpose, then at least he’d have something to live for after his cousin and brother abandoned ship – and Andrew promised to keep him. Kevin’s life story was vaguely interesting, and Andrew wouldn’t mind breaking some parts of Riko permanently. He didn’t like abusers of his possessions. He stole Kevin’s phone, called up the prick, and made him some promises that involved ending up as bruised and bloody as his school colors. He hoped Riko wouldn’t listen.
~~~
When Neil Josten actually showed up at Palmetto after all promises otherwise, Andrew paid attention. Neil very quickly went from something pretty and mouthy that Andrew wanted to break for something akin to fun, to something he wanted to break to keep his protective promise to Kevin, and finally to something Andrew was going to keep for himself.
Neil's lies were aggravating. Trying to pick the truths out of the lies was interesting enough to keep him engaged. They made a game out of it. Neil was cheating; half the truths he said were not 100% truth. Picking those out was even more difficult. The idea of pushing Neil into full honesty – or at least approaching the asymptote, as one could only know another human being so well – was actually…more entertaining than he wanted another person to be. It felt like power over him.
He liked his foibles to be predictable: cigarettes, 20 to a pack, consumed at a speed he dictated. Crackers, consumed per the quantity that he ordered. Not Neil, who he always seemed to want more out of. More what, he didn’t know yet. He just knew that he gave away far too much information and far too much ground to this half-lie and what he got in return was not enough.
~~~
He was starting to understand what he wanted from Neil. He wanted another Roland. Lithe body, quick wit, good for occasional sexual impulses.
Except Neil didn’t swing, so that was out. It was a good thing Neil was holding Kevin anchored in Palmetto, or he wouldn’t be worth keeping, Andrew told himself.
And yet somehow Neil kept working more out of Andrew than he’d rightfully earned. An extra secret, on credit. Allowing Neil within closer-than-typically-acceptable proximity because he liked breathing Andrew’s smoke. Halloween with the upperclassmen. Dinner with Nicky’s worthless parents.
What the fuck was he giving so much away for?
The answer danced between them for a breath at Exites. He smacked a hand over Neil’s mouth and wasn’t quite sure which of them he was censoring, but the result was the same.
~~~
Drake. DRAKE.
He wasn’t even sure he was conscious. Everything was black, but that might have been a pillow? It was hard to breathe?
There, there was the old familiar pain. He was laughing. He watched his body react irrationally from the inside out. His hollow innards were infinite, pushing out against a heaving, giggling shell that was cracking.
~~~
Aaron. He hadn’t protected Aaron. There was blood on Aaron.
Aaron wasn’t hurt? Why was Aaron touching him. Why was he being touched?
Luther. He made his speech to Luther. Words years in the making.
The fucking drugs were sucking the vindication out of his voice, replacing it with a kind of sick, casual conversational pitch mixed with inane glee.
Sirens. He took off his knives. He already felt so exposed, and it had been only seconds.
Neil was touching him. Why?
No, the scars were personal. Neil hadn’t shared his, why the fuck should he be touching Andrew’s? A promise was delivered. Neil listened and let go.
Huh.
People were talking and his head was going to split open. The drugs were winding down and he was retaining snatches of the hospital room that he didn’t want to keep. A rape kit. Why? Drake was caught in the act AND dead. Intrusive. No. He punched the orderly. He was cuffed to the bed.
Outside he grinned at the expressions on the faces of this group of men he’d kept. He wanted to wipe them all off. His. Theirs. Fuck his chemical smile. Fuck their pity. Men didn’t depend on someone they pitied, and that was all Andrew had to live for. Fuck the drugs.
Bee wanted him off the drugs. He knew there was a reason he kept her around. But…he had promises to keep, and that took precedence. He was used to pain.
Abram. He challenged it just to be sure, but it felt true. He liked truth.
Oh. Neil let Andrew touch his scars, and wow. He’d survived a fair bit, it felt like. Those were true, too. Neil promised to keep Kevin alive, even though he was so prone to running himself, and Andrew thought of the way Neil had actually let go of his arm when Andrew told him to. It was just enough to make him trust, but only barely. Only temporarily. Only in the absence of any other viable solution.
It was time to get clean. Finally.
~~~
He fell back into old survival habits under Proust's hands. In the moments Proust “worked” on him, he distanced himself, like watching something bad happen to a stranger. He couldn't look away, but it wasn't happening to him. Afterward, he reiterated the promises Proust had ignored.
He spent group sessions silent and planning how to keep those promises. He spent individual sessions talking just enough to show them he was making progress towards release. He stole the absurdly heavy tungsten paperweight off the desk of the doctor weaning his drug dosage to aid the exercises he did in his room.
He got clean.
~~~
God. Fuck. The blue eyes were one thing, the hair was criminal. This was going to be a problem. Neil was still here, and he was pretty bruised up, so apparently he’d kept his promise against something without running away. Andrew was content with that. That story would probably be more interesting than a status report on the rest of the outside world, so he put it off till last and commanded Nicky to fill him in on everything else.
~~~
Neil had gone to Evermore. If he hadn’t outright broken his promise to stay by Kevin’s side and protect him, then he’d bent it over backward and fucked it with a rusted fork. Kevin had only been safe from Riko because Riko had been too busy with Neil.
Neil had marks from his past that he’d pressed Andrew’s fingers to, marks Andrew had considered intriguing but dismissed readily enough because it was before his time, before his promise. But this. He smashed the band-aid back against Neil’s cheek, unable to look at the tattoo any longer without needing to punch something, and Neil had been punched enough in the last two weeks to account for several lifetimes.
Andrew hadn’t protected Neil from this tattoo. Andrew couldn’t, because he was getting unfucked in the head and Neil had been a stupid fucking martyr. Proust. Neil had gotten this mark for Andrew, because of Andrew.
Neil had a tattoo that Andrew hadn’t put there. Riko had touched something that belonged to Andrew. Andrew hadn’t protected what was his.
Andrew scaled back the gaping chasm of rage. He wanted to slide out one of his newly-returned knives and carve the fucking tattoo off of Neil’s face. Neil looked like he wouldn’t mind. He scaled further back. He wanted to tattoo over it. Neil probably wouldn’t mind. He scaled further back. He would not do anything to Neil’s face right now because it would cause an adverse reaction from the shitstain roosting in Evermore.
Andrew was a creature that endured. He had patience. He’d kill Riko for this, eventually. For now he needed to focus on what was in front of him. He needed to focus on Neil, on making Neil promise to at least not purposely counteract his own safety.
“If it means losing you, then no.”
Damn the boy. He threw Neil’s keys off the roof and nearly threw himself off two minutes later when Neil wrapped his lips around Andrew’s cigarette filter. Andrew didn’t want a few of his skin cells touching Neil’s mouth, he wanted his tongue between Neil’s lips instead of that cigarette.
Neil’s auburn hair glinted in the sunlight and Andrew was not happy to realize that this was going to be different from Roland, if it was anything at all.
And it wasn't anything. How many times had Neil reinforced that he didn't swing? Neil wasn't flirting with that move. It meant nothing.
~~~
Abram, thought Andrew the first time he felt like touching himself after... everything that had happened in rehab. Abram. Cute old fashioned Christian name. Neil was probably circumcised. He wondered if Neil’s pubic hair had any of that pretty auburn tinge or if it was darker. He thought about Neil's lithe runner’s body and flat stomach and he pictured touching Neil's scars in a way that would make the boy shiver with desire instead of disgust. He wanted to see them.
He wondered how many practices he would get away with sabotaging before someone thought to try sending Neil on court to bargain with him.
Two, it turned out. He didn't hesitate to make his demand. Neil barely hesitated before agreeing.
~~~
He liked touching Neil’s marks of survival, but made sure to keep his touch impersonal. Andrew wondered which of them had more scars in total. Neil’s were obviously larger, and he found himself interested in their stories. The words leaving Neil's mouth were carefully measured and haunted, but they rang true. Andrew didn't feel like he was giving away more than he was getting, this time. He was getting closer to Neil's asymptote and it felt rewarding.
~~~
After admitting his physical attraction to the walking Exy disaster he’d been idiotic enough to keep - the miniature one, to clarify between the two - Andrew went through five cigarettes and spent Roland’s thirty-minute “lunch” break in the back room making out with and then blowing Roland close enough to heaven to yank out one of God’s omnipotent fucking leg hairs, and by the time he was done he had to admit to himself that he was picturing Neil the whole fucking time.
Neil was just a shiny new toy that he was being deprived of blowing. This was nothing.
~~~
It was probably nothing, anyway. At least the one kiss was nice, before Neil had a panic attack.
~~~
The kisses were very nice, actually, and touching Neil’s cock was very nice, and Neil’s orgasm face was actually kind of attractive, and Neil didn’t touch what he wasn’t supposed to. And when Andrew finally got bored, he could always go back to effortless, no-strings Roland.
~~~
This was nothing. This would never be a this.
~~~
“Anything,” Neil promised in return for something as silly as actual effort from Andrew at Exy. He could decide what he’d tattoo over Neil’s number after they won. He had a goal to shut down.
~~~
This would never be a this because Neil was gone, Neil was fucking gone, Neil was a hollow shell saying “thank you” but meaning “goodbye” and then HE WAS FUCKING GONE—
~~~
Neil’s tattoo was gone. Andrew wanted to vomit. Andrew also almost wanted to smile. Riko’s mark was gone from his property, his Neil. Fuck everything, Neil was alive, he could think later. For now, he had to keep the FBI’s filthy hands off his Neil and take him home.
~~~
~~~
~~~
Neil lay on his back in their bed in Columbia almost a year later. Andrew smoked by the window, watching contentedly as Neil drew lazy patterns against his own shirt.
“I’ve been thinking a lot…about getting a tattoo,” Neil said suddenly, but quietly, like it was a confession. It was almost a question. Andrew’s opinion obviously mattered, though Neil should be perfectly aware by now that Andrew’s interest would not be swayed by the quantity or type of marks marring his skin.
Andrew arched an eyebrow to indicate he should continue.
"I thought I'd never want one after Riko's, but the more I’ve considered it, the more I want to memorialize certain things on my skin. Marks I choose for myself, for once."
Memorialize. So help him, if Neil wanted his mother's name they were going to have a fight. Another useless, abusive female, surprise surprise. And people wondered why he didn't trust them as a rule.
“…A pair of crossed keys. The house key and…I haven’t decided which of the car keys yet, actually. The GS was “first” first, but the Maserati was the first one you trusted to me alone.”
Oh. Andrew exhaled a long stream of smoke in Neil’s direction as he considered this, watching it dissipate as it crossed the room. “Cars and houses change. The basic shape of the two key types don’t. Don’t be so specific. How badly do you want this?”
Neil thought about it seriously. “I’d get it today if I didn’t have one major problem: I’m not going to trust some random tattoo artist to look at my chest, and I want it here.” He touched himself to indicate.
Dead over his heart. Fucking romantic. Andrew sat up from where he leaned against the window, stubbed out his cigarette, and grabbed his laptop. He pulled up a YouTube video demonstrating stick-and-poke tattoos so that his skittish boyfriend wouldn’t bolt, and then walked out of the room to gather the supplies.
Neil was wide-eyed when he made it back to the room with a bucket of gathered up equipment and pulled out a new sewing needle, a pencil, thread, tape, and ink, along with sterilizing supplies. "You're not seriously suggesting I get an amateur tattoo with pen ink and a needle."
"Tattoo ink." Andrew shook the bottle at him, and then set it down to swab his desk off with a paper towel soaked in rubbing alcohol. "Much better than ballpoint, and I've done plenty of good tattoos in ballpoint. You're not getting an amateur tattoo."
Neil scooted over to the end of the bed by the desk as Andrew lined up his supplies. “You have no tattoos.” Neil had earned the privilege of seeing Andrew fully naked about seven months after moving into Andrew’s room.
“I did it ‘professionally’ in juvie, and I was good enough that some of the guards even wanted a free tattoo done, so they got me real tattoo ink. This is a sealed bottle,” he assured Neil, tapping the lid.
Neil considered all of this. “You don’t do anything for free.”
“No. But favors go a long way in a prison.”
Neil nodded and obediently took his shirt off when Andrew flicked his fingers. He lay back down again, but tensed when Andrew disinfected the skin with brisk scrubs of an alcohol-soaked cotton ball.
"Relax," Andrew ordered. "I've done hundreds of tattoos." He could feel Neil's pulse thumping rapidly against his fingertips. He uncapped a blue marker and Neil wordlessly dug in his pocket for keys to trace. Andrew shook his head, though, and Neil went still. He'd meant it: they would share more than one car and more than one house in their lives. Neil was memorializing a concept, not specific key teeth. He freehanded a hardware store house key and an unbranded car key in an X over Neil's hammering pulse. “I’m planning black ink with bold lines and some minimal shading. Unless you want something different.”
Neil craned his head up from where he was laying to look. His expression was pleased.
"Any changes?"
Neil thought a moment, then dug in his pocket again. He selected the key to the Foxhole Court and laid it vertically between the other outlines. This one was specific, so Andrew traced the teeth carefully. It was also a hardware store copy like the house key, so he thought a moment, and then drew a fox paw on the head. Neil smiled, wide and soft.
Fuck. He'd had to stop counting months ago. The percentage was getting too ridiculously high. He hated... He hated how Neil made him feel out of control. For years his reason for living had been curating others' dependence on him. Having his own needs and emotions depend so heavily on another person was terrifying, but he'd resigned himself to it.
And it was Neil. He could trust Neil.
“Can we make the paw orange?”
Andrew shook himself out of his own mind. “I’ll get some orange ink online. We’ll fill that in when it arrives.” He rubbed the design down with another alcohol swab followed by petroleum jelly, and then uncapped the bottle of black ink.
Neil froze again when he picked up the needle and sterilized it. He shot his boyfriend an unimpressed stare as he methodically wrapped thread around the tip, and tipped his chin sharply at a scar two inches north of his design. "You've literally been shot, Neil."
"Once. This is a lot of punctures, okay." Neil took a slow, steadying breath.
"It is not a big deal. I've tattooed twelve year olds that handled this with more grace."
"Then why don't you have any, if it's no big deal?" Neil shot back. "I've never even seen a tattoo artist with no tattoos."
Because I've never had anything worth inking, Andrew wanted to argue. But that wasn't entirely true. He'd had a few passing thoughts about the short list of things important enough to keep with him for the rest of his life. The things he was building his life on. Truth. And Neil.
Neil was actually quaking in their bed. He wanted this so much but was so irrationally afraid.
Andrew silently sat in the desk chair and lifted his left arm, propping his elbow on the desk. He gave his inner wrist a swipe with an alcohol swab, just above the arm band, drew what he wanted carefully, and then dipped his needle in ink and began.
It had been a long time, and it was an eye opening experience, marrying together the familiar resistance and yield of skin under the pressure of the needle with the small, sharp pierces that throbbed with his heartbeat in his wrist. On the whole, pricks hurt less than slices. It hurt, but it didn't bleed or linger beyond a raw throb. Neil would be fine. He saw Neil sit up in his peripheral vision, but Neil wasn’t watching the design, he was watching the angle of the needle. Andrew was done stippling the first layer in about five minutes.
“It’s shallower than I thought,” Neil commented when it was safe to speak without distracting Andrew.
“Deep enough to hold the ink, not deep enough to hit blood vessels or let the ink feather over the muscle.” He went over it again, making it darker.
Eventually Neil piped up again. “How did you learn? I thought tattoo artists generally practiced on themselves to figure it out. Who else would let them?”
Andrew kept his eyes on his work, dipping for fresh ink and falling back into the rhythm. Like riding a bike. He’d always been quite efficient and quick with his work. “You don’t learn on skin. You learn on fruit, like bananas and oranges. The peel has skin-like firmness.”
“And…does it hurt?”
Andrew stopped to wipe off the excess ink again, sending Niel a bored look. “Immensely. I am writhing in pain.” Neil shot him a look in return. “It’s just shallow pinpricks, idiot.”
After a third pass and wipe, he eyed it critically. "Yours will take a good deal longer than fifteen minutes because of the size and shading, but.” He twisted his wrist for Neil to see. “Nothing to it."
Copying was easy for him, with his memory. 'Abram' was written in Neil's handwriting.
There was not 'nothing' on Neil's face. Neil's breath hitched, and the sheer emotion in those pretty blue eyes threatened to drown them both.
Andrew covered Neil's eyes when he couldn't stand it anymore, but he bent forward for a lingering kiss at the same time. "Your turn," he murmured against Neil's lips, pressing his palm to Neil's design. Neil's heart was still pounding, though Andrew didn't think it was due to fear anymore. Good enough.
Neil shuddered under his touch and cupped a hand around his wrist, squeezing gently. Andrew let him, and didn't flinch, but he made a note not to touch Neil's tattoo when it was done.
He kissed Neil one more time, then patted his tattoo down with mild soap water, sealed it over with Neosporin and saran wrap. He re-sterilized and threaded his needle, and Neil let him begin to work.
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Troy Otto x OC One Shot Series Part #3
Hello my lovelies, as promised, here’s part 3!
Chapter 3
Arya didn’t like Troy. In fact, she despised him. His smug attitude and penchant for picking arguments with her pissed her off. It got worse after she had accidentally discovered his aroused state during one of their more heated arguments. Since then, Troy had bumped heads with Arya at every turn. He constantly forced her to interact with the soldiers at the base; have meals with them, drink with them and go on border patrol with them. He said she had to ‘participate’ in the community if she wanted to be a part of it. She had instantly pointed out that she never wanted to be a part of the community and that if he’d just let her go, she’d be on her way back to LA. He hadn’t liked that suggestion much, judging by the slamming of his office door.
It was awkward at first; for both the guys as well as Arya. The guys knew Troy had somewhat of a soft spot for Arya so they didn’t trouble her much. They tended to leave her alone but now that they were all having dinner together, neither one of them knew what to say. Troy’s men looked to him for guidance but their Leader’s eyes were fixated on the pretty girl with a scowl on her face.
Shrugging, Mike broke the silence as he asked Arya to pass the salt. She chucked it at him, which in turn made Charlie chuckle.
“Quite the swinging arm you got on you. You play any sport before all this?”
Arya’s brows furrowed in confusion at the man’s friendly eyes. Even his smile seemed sincere.
“Baseball in college.”
A round of hoots were heard before the men started talking about their favourite teams. Then the conversation digressed into them wondering where their favourite baseball players were right now - whether they were alive or dead…or worse. It was a surreal transgression for Arya to see. They had all been so joyous and then reality had hit about five minutes later, bringing their mood down again.
“So you’re from LA?” Charlie started again; his southern twang ever so prominent.
“Yes.” Arya chewed on her lip as she watched Charlie’s eyes widen in invitation. He wanted her to elaborate. Sighing internally, she mumbled, “Born and raised in Santa Monica.”
“What’s it like there? I’ve never left Texas.” James called out from one end of the table and Arya shot back, deadpanned, “Overrun with walkers.”
Silence took over before Mike coughed and stated encouragingly, “Bet you killed your fair share eh?” He then addressed the rest of the table, “Y’all seen her with them biters right? Absolute beast, this one.” The men started laughing and banging on the table; commending her and such. Arya felt a warm flush on her cheeks as rage coiled within her. How dare they act this way? She was fuming at their audacity. They would have sentenced her to death two weeks ago, for no good reason. Yet now, on their boss’ orders, they were acting like they were her best pals.
“Guess the group decision to not murder me paid off.” She spat as she slammed her plate on the table before stalking off.
Times like these, she wanted to hack a few walkers, simply to let off some steam. Unfortunately though, there were none on the base and she couldn’t just leave whenever she pleased. She needed Troy’s permission for that. Simply the thought of Troy made her want to scream and hurl anything and everything against a wall. She even dreamed of choking the man to death every night.
“You’ll have to get that bandaged up.”
She closed her eyes for a few moments. It helped her in pretending he wasn’t here. Troy had managed to catch her off guard again. Of course he did. She belatedly realised he was referring to the freshly formed cut across her palm. She had been clutching the biro in her hands hard enough to make it snap under pressure and the jagged pieces of broken plastic had sliced open her palm.
“What are you doing here?” She asked with a bitter tone. He had a tray of food with him.
“You left without eating.” He nodded as he set it down. She watched him move around her make shift office; opening drawers and cabinets to finally settle on pulling out a first aid kit. She rolled her eyes at his pretence as he walked closer to her. She attempted to snatch the box from his hands but after a short struggle and a furious glare from him, he won in keeping the box. Grabbing her hand, he started cleaning the blood with cotton pads.
“I understand why you felt the need to leave.” He spoke quietly, his eyes daring to gaze into hers, “But sooner or later you’ll have to forgive them”
“I don’t have to forgive anyone.” She spat out, attempting again to tug her hand away from his grasp. Casually leaning against the desk in front of her, he tugged her forcefully till she was close enough for their knees to knock.
“Why are you doing this?” She blurted out tactlessly. She was tired of playing games with him.
“Well I can’t let you walk around with an open wound-”
“That’s not what I’m talking about.” She groused, her hands itching to cause some form of physical harm to him. He irked her. His very presence made her skin crawl and the fact that he was so tenderly wrapping her hand in bandages made her stomach churn with unease.
“What are you talking about then?” He asked with a coy smirk on his face.
“You want me to like it here. You want me to willingly participate and…and be friends with your men. You want me to like you”
She could feel him tense at her accusations, so she took it a step further. She liked rattling him as she called him out on his bullshit.
“You even pretend to understand me- like we’re kindred spirits or some such bullshit- but I’m nothing like you Troy. You don’t know anything about me.”
He was silent for a long moment, choosing to simply finish wrapping up her hand. Then his words pierced her like knives.
“I know you enjoy killing them. I’ve seen you on runs- you smile after a kill. You get high off the adrenaline and the blood. So I guess you’re just as sadistic as me.”
His words were punctuated by squeezes of her hand and tugs that brought her even closer to him. Too close.
“I know enough about you to know that you get it. You get how this world works now. You’re an asset to me and my men; they get that too now. So you’re staying here, whether you like it or not.”
Arya didn’t bother arguing with him. She was quick to see and seize opportunities when they appeared to her.
“That’s one part of it…but not all of it. You also want me to like being here. Now tell me, how that can ever happen, if I have no freedom?” She moved to stand between his legs, her stare brazen as she challenged him.
His smirk broadened at her bold move. “I know what you’re doing.”
“What am I doing?” She mocked as her fingers delicately traced a vein up his neck. He struggled to maintain composure. His hand gripped her wrist tightly, bringing it back down.
“Don’t lower yourself to that kind of cheap seduction. It’s pathetic.” He spat as his grip on her hands tightened. She felt a deep seed of humiliation take root within her. Cheeks colouring, she struggled to get out of his grasp. She elbowed him in the ribs and shoved his chest back as she grappled with him. He was taller, broader and stronger than her but she was resourceful. Managing to free one hand from his grasp midst struggle, her hand lunged at the scissors in the first aid kit. In an instant she had it pointed to his throat, pressing against his windpipe.
His grin was broad, perplexing her.
“There’s that fire.” His eyes sparkled as he appraised her.
“You can have all the freedom you want, doll.” He spoke softly.
Her brows furrowed, “What do you mean?”
“You can have your knives back and we’ll give you guns too. You’ll be free to do what you want here.”
“But…?” She waited for the other shoe to drop.
Smacking her hand away from his throat, he stood to his full height. Towering over her, he bent his head to her level, “You’ll come back with me to the Ranch in a few days.”
-/-/-/-
It turned out Troy’s men were as incessant pains in the asses as Troy himself was. A couple of them followed her around when she went on her walks; Charlie even started speaking to her like they were old friends. Mike would make stupid jokes that she tried ignoring at first but then they just kept getting worse to the point of somewhat making her smile. Then one morning, in the middle of doing a stock take, Arya watched Charlie trip over his untied laces and topple into Mike. A half open bag of flour that was in Mike’s hands then proceeded to fall over the both of them, making them look utterly ridiculous.
It was the first time in weeks that Arya laughed. It was abrupt and loud and contagious. She almost didn’t recognise her own laughter but once it had started, she couldn’t stop. She bent to her knees, unable to hold herself up from laughing so hard…and then it occurred to her that she might be crying too. Maybe she was just unhinged. Maybe all it took for her to snap was an ill placed bag of flour and two idiots. Then she saw Troy entering the garage. His eyes were wide with curiosity at first. Arya watched several emotions flicker through his eyes till he finally seemed to settle on irritation.
“Get back to work.” He groused, with a scowl on his face. Arya simply snorted and burst into another fit of giggles. Mike flung a handful of flour, colouring Troy’s hair white and then Arya was gone. One look at Troy and Arya was hopeless. She was lying on the floor with a stomach ache from all her laughter. Arya vaguely heard Mike and Charlie tell Troy something but she didn’t bother enough to catch it. She chose to lay there on the floor and chuckle at the complete ridiculousness of her situation. She was being held captive by a group of soldiers that were murdering people in the bathroom. She was also, slowly, starting to get comfortable around said murdering soldiers. The truly hilarious part however, was that Troy – who had all but forced her to interact with his men – was now jealous.
“Alright. You’ve had your fun.”
Arya sat up again, her back leaning against a rack of shelves, with her elbows resting on her bent knees. She had rubbed off the tear streaks down her cheeks but the redness in her eyes still remained. She bit her lip to hide her amusement as Troy crouched in front of her.
“I want you to go down to the bathroom. We have two new people”
Arya snorted again, “No.”
Troy’s eyes narrowed into slits but before he could speak, Arya interrupted. Her fingers rose to brush remnants of flour still left on his brow bone. He all but froze due to her actions.
“You said I could have my freedom. And guess what? Saying ‘no’ is a big part of it.”
“You still have to follow my orders.” He scowled, disliking the liberties she was taking.
“Hell no.” She chuckled, vexing him. “I ain’t no soldier and I’m certainly not a scientist.” She mocked. “I have no interest in your experiments on the living.” She stated with a smile on her face.
Troy seemed utterly perplexed at her behaviour. He had never seen her so unstable before. She was always so guarded and calculated; steady and calm. She would argue with him and she would scream but she would never outright disobey him. So why the change in behaviour now?
“You want me to get along with your men. You want me to like being here and you want me to like you. You also want me to murder people – honey you can’t have it all.” She leant closer to him; her eyes now narrowing to match his, “Make me go down there against my will and I will hate you with every fibre of my being.”
His eyes pierced hers as he debated whether to argue with her or not. “What makes you think I’d care if you hated me or not?” He baited her.
A slow smirk formed on her lips. Her fingers reached out to trace his cheekbone, just below his eye.
“You’d care.” She stated aloofly. The serene confidence in her tone annoyed him further but before he could scowl and prove her wrong, she rose to her feet.
“Charlie and Mike were being idiots and for a second they reminded me of my brothers.” Her tone was clipped now and her expressions guarded again.
“So I laughed.” Brushing off her arms and thighs, she waited till he too was stood.
Eyes snapping to his, she finished, “Then you asked me to murder people and it brought me back to reality.” Her face was deadpanned; her words blunt. She didn’t wait for him to respond, she simply left the garage.
-/-/-/-
Arya was never good at ignoring problems. Sure, she’d run from them, but that still meant she was acknowledging their existence. As she lay in bed at night, tossing and turning, she felt conflicted about ignoring certain problems. Troy’s words repeated in her mind unrelentingly. He had brought two new people into the base and as much as she would like to, Arya couldn’t ignore that. Curiosity gnawed at her, constantly urging her to get up and go see for herself as to whom those people were and why Troy felt the need to mention them to her.
Her footsteps were quiet but they felt heavy, the closer she approached the bathroom. She had to hold her breath when the stench filled her nostrils again. She shivered as she remembered her brief moments in this place. She hadn’t even stayed long enough to remember the colour of the tiles on the floor but she remembered all their sneers. She remembered how each man in the room looked at her like she was a lamb and they were the butchers.
The door creaked as she opened it slowly. Willy and Tanner were on duty. Their heads snapped to her presence. She folded her arms defensively as her chin jutted out proudly. She walked in with no explanation, her eyes scouring the place for new faces. A boy with scraggly hair was sat on the floor and a girl with an open wound lay across his lap. Arya blinked, her mouth opening in disconcert as she watched the girl slowly dying. Tanned skin, dark hair, captive…Arya saw herself in this girl…or rather, she saw what could have been her fate had she not bargained with Troy. That thought chilled her to her very bones.
Her gaze drifted to each of the soldiers in the room as they chatted casually and even heckled and jeered as they joked. How could they simply sit and watch someone dying? How could they ignore it? Then her eyes met the boys and he started pleading with her, asking her to help the girl and before she could so much as step forwards, the boy had a rifle butt thwacked onto his head.
“William.” Arya growled, her glare full of fire, “Back the fuck off. Troy sent me here to patch up the girl.”
“No he didn’t” Willy scoffed. Arya marched forwards till she was close enough to strike him.
“Why don’t you go ask?” Her heartbeat picked up but her stare never wavered. Lying was something Arya was well versed in, especially lying to utter dicks.
“Move back man, the girl’s whining is giving me a headache.” Tanner tugged on Willy’s shoulder. Arya located the first aid kit in the room and crouched down to examine the girl. Her face paled when she realised the girl had been shot.
“Please, you need to help her.” They boy pleaded, his face worn from exhaustion and worry.
“I’ll try.” Arya choked out. “There’s an exit wound….that’s…that’s good. Best I can do for now is wrap up the wound. Here, put pressure on it.” She handed the boy some bandages as she disinfected the wound. Once she had finished wrapping it up, she stood unsteadily. “I’ll look for pain medication-”
“Now I know Troy wouldn’t have consented to that.” Willy spat out, “We can’t be wasting resources on dead people.”
“We’ve been wasting food on imbeciles haven’t we?” Arya spat as she rounded on him. Tanner coughed to hide his laugh which only seemed to anger Willy more.
“Just because you’re Troy’s new plaything-”
In an instant, Arya had a knife at his throat. Just as quick, Willy had his riffle digging into Arya’s abdomen.
“Try and finish that sentence, William. Go on.” Arya threatened.
“Darling, I’m the one with the gun.” Willy scoffed.
“And you’ll still be the one to die if you finish that sentence. Doesn’t matter if I die too.” She spoke with such conviction, it rattled him a little.
“You’re crazy.” He grumbled, pulling away from her. “Bat shit crazy.”
Ignoring him, Arya turned to the boy on the floor again. Arya’s eyes focused on the girl, now passed out. “What’s her name?”
“Luciana.” The boy gulped, “I’m Nick.”
“I can’t promise to save your life, Nick.” Arya stated bluntly, “But I promise to save hers.”
/-/-/-/-/
Arya thumped furiously against his door, unapologetic for the amount of noise she was making. He opened the door with force, his tshirt riding up to display an expanse of smooth, pale skin. Her brows furrowed for a second as she thought she noticed a raised scar on his side.
“What is it? Did something happen? Is there a breach?” He asked frantically as he gripped her arm and tugged her into his room. In seconds he had a gun in his palm and he was pushing one into hers.
“Troy.” She growled, shoving him away.
“Arya.” He scowled but she threw the gun at his shoulder as she yelled, “I went down to the bathroom.”
He remained still for a second before his exhale caused his form to slouch. He was relaxed now, much to her irritation. “Is that all?” He rolled his eyes at her as he uncocked his gun and tucked it behind his trousers. His nonchalance angered her.
“What do you want?!” She seethed, “You sent me down there for a reason. What is it huh? You wanted me to see the brown Mexican girl dying on the floor…you wanted me to realise that could have been me? What, so now I should be grateful to you for keeping me caged?”
Her hands had a mind of their own as they repeatedly smacked his chest in attempts to shove him back as he kept reducing the distance between them. He had her backed against a wall by the time she had finished her rant.
“Stop it!” She demanded, her voice shrill, “Stop coming so close.” She smacked his jaw harder than she had anticipated. The resounding thwack made her breath catch. His retaliation came swift and hard as he gripped her wrists and forced them back against the wall. She could feel his laboured breath against the expanse of her neck. Her mind ran rampant with ways to get out of this situation. Her heart pounded and her head spun as his proximity to her decreased. Her breath began coming out in short spurts as nausea coiled in her stomach. Flashes of memories she had tried suppressing burst into her mind in vivid colour till she had no choice but the snap open her eyes and focus on something else. Anything else. She noticed another scar on his skin, this time on his bicep. It looked angry and raised; like it had been a recent bruise. Then his voice pushed through the fog in her brain, his words confusing her.
“I want you, on my side.”
Her mind screamed that this was another one of his ploys; that he’d rip the rug from under her feet the moment she believed his innocuous wants. He had her in his grasp, in the middle of the night, in his room. He could get away with anything. Hell, he could murder her and he would face no consequences. He could try to break her, if he wanted. He could even leverage her freedom for his needs…but he was doing none of that.
“I’m not a bad person.” He pushed, seemingly understanding her trail of thoughts. She didn’t want to argue; not when she herself wasn’t sure about the definitions of ‘good’ and ‘bad’ anymore. It wasn’t about that for her. It was about surviving and being able to live with yourself.
“Let her live and I’ll back you. I’ll be on your side.”
His brows furrowed at her ask. He hadn’t expected it. Arya didn’t care about the prisoners in the basement. She had been at the base for two weeks and they had seen enough bodies being carted out to know they were still pursuing on with their experiments but she had never once interfered.
“Why?” He thought he saw panic flash across her eyes for a moment but it dissipated just as quick.
“Please.” She blurted out, her mouth dry as her heart continued to hammer painfully in her heart. She couldn’t answer. Not now.
His eyes widened ever so slightly. Her behaviour was disconcerting to him. She had laughed today and then she had told him about her family. She was now limp in his arms and pleading with him to not kill someone she didn’t care for. He wanted to ask her what the hell was going on with her but instead, as his eyes roamed her weary features, he chose not to follow through. He nodded instead, his fingers pushing back strands of her hair behind her ear. They lingered there, brushing her ear lobes, curling to the crook of her neck.
“Ok.” He breathed out, “But she stays there.”
Arya released a heavy sigh as she slouched, her form now pressing against his. She hadn’t expected him to give in so easily. Then she realised he had let go of her wrists. His hands were now resting on her waist rather delicately…and she couldn’t ignore it any longer. She had to confront this nagging feeling in her brain, tugging at her to realise what this all meant.
She blinked as it hit her rather abruptly; this fool thought he liked her.
#troy otto#troy otto one shot#troy otto imagine#daniel sharman#ftwd#imagine#nostrum#one shot series#troy otto x oc
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Response to Buzzfeed “36 Questions Women have for Men”
Before I jump to any fast conclusions or start insulting you, let me just take my time to answer those questions with the least amount of swearing possible for me.
1. “How does it feel to be the same sex as Donald Trump?” I dunno. Why would I care? Oh, he has a penis and so do I, that makes me a bad person now? I am also the same sex as Nelson Mandela, Mahatma Gandhi and several other people who are/were working on making this world a better place for mankind. So? Does this automatically make me a good person? Fuck, no. You’re the same sex as Paris Hilton, does that mean you also have a brain that’s propably the size of an apple? Okay, fine with me.
2. “Why do you hate Romcoms? Or do you just feel like you need to hate them? - Everybody likes The Notebook, everybody likes Beyoncé, it’s just a fact.” I don’t hate Romcoms, I’m just not too big on the matter because I am usually not interested in the topics depicted there. Plus, you like to get mad about video games or porn, because you think they depict women in a way that is unrealistic and gives men unrealistic expectations that women can’t fulfill. Now, tell me: what do Romcoms and this kind of stuff do? Do they depict men in a realistic way or maybe in a way that YOU fucking wish was true to real life? Hm, I wonder why men wouldn’t like that. Do men cry about it all the time? I guess not, what a fucking surprise. Now don’t get me wrong, there are really, really good Romance movies, Hunting and Gathering for example is fucking good, but maybe that’s because it’s based on a novel by Anna Gavalda, who is just a good writer. Anyways, I didn’t like The Notebook, and I also don’t like Beyoncé. Fuck Beyoncé. It’s called opinions, I don’t know if you heard of that.
3. “Why do you make women sit around and talk about men in movies, when y’all easily just sit around and talk about boobs for hours?” Who? Who the fuck talks about boobs all the time? Since you’re not a man and thus don’t actually know what men talk about when there’s no women around, let me enlighten you: it’s not boobs. We talk about our personal interests, cultural topics like music or art, our hobbies, our experiences or current events. Maybe sometimes the topic of boobs will come up, but it’s not the big thing you make it out to be. Men don’t always think about sex, even if that’s what you have been told. I know a lot of women who talk about dicks and their sexual experiences a lot, too, so I don’t get why men talking about boobs is a bad thing.
4. “Why do you automatically assume that you won’t like a TV series or movie that starrs a female lead?” I don’t. I liked the Hunger Games movies a whole lot, for example. What about the new Star Wars movies? The thing is: I personally know that I won’t like something like the new Ghostbusters movie, because there’s women just crammed in there, not because there is a female lead. I couldn’t even give less fucks about the main character’s sex when I watch a movie.
5. “Why are you surprised when women are funny? - I’m propaly funnier than you!” You know what my reaction to a funny woman is: I laugh or, if it wasn’t that funny, chuckle. How did you even come up with this question? There are a lot of funny women. If you want a good answer to this question, watch the video The Amazing Atheist has made on this topic, I think it’s called “Tumblr feminists” or somtehing like that. There he explains that humor is basically something we use to cope with dark topics such as war, racism or stuff like that. We laugh about dark humor because it shows just how absurd our world is. PS: the woman in the video who said she was propably funnier looks and acts like she has no sense of humor at all. I don’t even think she’s funnier than my 4-year-old stepnephew.
6. “Why do you think we are obsessed with you when we hook up? - 9 times out of ten, I just want you to leave, too. I’m busy, I got shit to do.” I call bullshit. You know, sometimes, when two people hook up, one person might decide they want more from the other person than just having sex with them. To be fair, that happened to me at least three times so far. So, if this is a possibility one has to consider, it only makes sense to take caution, right? Right. I don’t even want to argue about this topic. PS: what shit do you have to do? Make stupid videos crying about being oppressed by the patriarchy? Jeez, I’m starting to insult you, and we are just 1/7 done. Oh boy.
7. “Why can’t I sleep with as many people as I want to without being judged? When men do it, they are congratulated.” By whom? Do you really think men celebrate with their friends when they managed to have sex with a woman? I’m going to tell you a secret, but you have to promise you won’t tell anyone, okay? We don’t. We talk about it, and sometimes, we are like “Nice, man”, but not like “Wow, you banged that slut”, more like “it’s nice that you had sex because sex is something people really fucking enjoy”. Do you get my point?Secondly, nobody cares about your sex life. But if you have sex with a whole lot of partners, it will eventually be disgusting at some point. Do you want to have sex with a guy that stuck his dick in, like, 100 different meat flaps? Yeah, that’s what I thought. PS: I don’t think you noticed that most of the people that do “slut shaming” or whatever the fuck you guys call it, are women themselves, who think they are better people or more pure than others by telling them they’re sluts.
8. “Why do you consider a woman a tease if she doesn’t sleep with you after three dates, but a slut if she sleeps with you on the first date?” Let me repeat myself: Who? Which guy even thinks like that? Were there no more cliché things you could think of that in some magical cliché-world men are thinking?
9. “In what world does “no” mean “yes”? - “No” means “no”!” So you’re talking about rape now, huh? Fuck off. I’m not gonna talk to you about rape, because people like you have made the word lose it’s meaning.
10. “Why do you say women are too emotional to be leaders, then justify catcalling by saying “men just can’t control themselves”?” I’ve never heard a man say either of that. But if you want a somewhat logical answer: women are naturally more inclined to show their emotions, which is something that can be seen by looking at facial expressions and the way of speaking. When women talk, they usually express a lot more of their emotions through facial expressions, as well as the tone of their voice. Listen to a man and a woman say the same sentence. The man’s voice will mostly stay the same, whereas the woman’s voice will change tone and pitch a lot more. As a political leader, you don’t always want other people to know what your thoughts and feelings are.
11. “Why do you think that just because you are nice to me, I owe you my body?” I don’t. You don’t owe me your body, even if I give you a new sports car as a gift. But if I am being a nice person, and a woman I find attractive is a nice person, too, and it seems like we are getting along well, is it really that far off to come to the conclusion that it might be okay to make a move? A move that doesn’t include force, that is. In today’s society, being nice doesn’t seem to be a basic human trait anymore, so it takes some effort to always be nice to a person. There are people out there who think they deserve a fucking medal for being nice, and they are wrong, but if I am nice towards someone, it’s most likely to gain their affection. So yes, if I am nice to a woman, that sometimes implies that I would like to sleep with that woman. If she’s being nice, too, I might be led to assume that she thinks similarly, so some people get frustrated if their expectations aren’t met.
12. “Why would you ever send an unsolicited dickpic?” How about you don’t ask men in general, but the people who do this? It’s not like all men are just taking pictures of their genitals and spreading them around the world, retard.
13. “Why do you think it’s okay to harass women, but when somebody does it to your sister, it’s not okay?” WHO? Who in the world says it’s alright to harass anybody? 3rd wave Feminists just like to overreact to everything, calling a guy tapping their shoulder a rapist and shit like that. What you think is harassment is NOT harassment in a lot of cases. Not gonna argue about that either.
14. “How does it feel to interrupt me when I’m in the middle of making a point during a meeting?” You make it sound like MEN ONLY interrupt WOMEN ONLY. Here’s the cold, hard truth for ya: Everyone gets interrupted sometimes. You’re not that fucking special.
15. “Why do you have to sit with your legs spread wide open? I get that you have balls, but you don’t see me walking around with my arms spread open to make room for my boobs.” A: Because sitting with your legs spread is comfortable as fuck. B: If our balls were located elsewhere on our bodies, so they wouldn’t be squished between our legs when we sit down, we wouldn’t do it as often. If your boobs got squished by your arms, you would spread them all the time. Did you even think about that question for the fraction of a second? PS: Do I complain about women taking up more space with their enormous bags? Or about fat people taking extra space with their, you know, fat bodies?
16. “Why are women perceived as the “weaker sex”, even though we literally birth you?” Congratulations, your body is able to do what it was designed for. I guess you women are better at giving birth than men. Listen, on average, women don’t possess the physical strength of men. That’s just biology. If you want to be perceived as strong, build up some muscle, or do something that makes men look strong, for example: become a construction worker or join the military. What, you don’t want to do hard physical labour all day or risk your life on the battlefield? Women are statistically much less likely to lose their lives during work, because most dangerous jobs are taken by men. (Women make up 47% of the workforce but only account for 7% of the work-related injuries.) If you want to be perceived as strong, why don’t you do something else than sit in a comfortable, propably air-conditioned office, making videos about why you hate men and why the world is so unfair?
17. “Why is it so bad to show your emotions? - It means you’re human.” I am raging at you right at this moment. Rage is an emotion. Fuck you. I already answered the question why it seems like men show less emotion. Oh, and maybe it’s because of fucktards like you, who tell us to “man up” and drink out of mugs that say “male tears”. You’re starting to contradict yourself there. Boys are often being told that “boys don’t cry” and other bullshit like that. If a man shows too much emotion, it’s perceived as a sign of weakness. You talk about privilege all the time, but has it ever crossed your mind that women are privileged because they can show their emotions anytime they want without having to think about social consequences or being called a pussy or a faggot by other members of our society? Let me ask you two questions: How often have you heard someone say “If you were a real man...”? And how often have you heard someone say “If you were a real woman...”? That’s right. You make statements that you think are absolutely true, because you think you understand how this world works, yet you don’t seem to put ANY thought into these questions.
18. “Why are you always trying to prove your masculinity to me?” Look at my answer to the previous question, you egocentric fuck. Have you thought about the slight possibilty that people just behave the way they do because they enjoy behaving this way instead of trying to impress you. You are a selfish cunt.
19. “Why the fuck isn’t it ladylike to cuss? When did words get gendered?” It’s also not gentlemanlike to cuss. Cursing is not a “man thing”, if you want to curse, than fucking go ahead, I don’t give a shit. But cursing is generally impolite, EVEN IF A MAN DOES IT. Do I have to spell everything out for you? And when words got gendered was propably the same time 3rd wave feminism was invented. Before that, nobody gave a fuck about “genders”. There were men, women and transgender people, and everyone seemed to be alright with that.
20. “Why is your first instinct to doubt women who have been sexually violated or raped?” Because accusing someone of fucking rape is a big deal. Even if he’s proven innocent, his reputation will be severely damaged, and in many cases, their lives are ruined. So, it doesn’t really make sense to give the maybe-victim the benefit of the doubt. There is this thing called “The Assumption of Innocence”, which means that someone accused of any crime is legally innocent until proven otherwise, which is the right way to do it. It’s kinda like this “pics or it didn’t happen” thing, but more serious. If you accuse someone of rape or sexual violence, you gotta have proof. Also, you throw the word “rape” around, calling every fucking tiny thing rape, it’s lost it’s meaning and maybe that’s why people do not believe rape victims as much anymore.
21. “Why do you assume that a woman is angry because she’s on her period?” I don’t, usually I’m trying to comfort my female friends when they tell me they’re on their period. But, to give you an answer: a lot of women (not all women!) are easily irritable during their period due to hormones, and that’s why men tend to be careful or blame bad moods on periods. Maybe women should talk about why they get angry at their significant other more openly instead of expecting them to know what the deal is. “Oh, he should be able to figure it out!” Yeah, no. Fuck off. I’m not a mindreader, so you either tell me what’s wrong or you deal with it by yourself.
22. “Why do you think women that wear makeup are false advertising? We could say the same about your dick size.” Are you actually comparing those two things? It’s not hard for a woman to enhance her facial features using makeup, while on the other hand, I don’t even know how I could make my penis look bigger than it is. It’s not like I can put some foundation and some highlighter on my dick and make it look two inches bigger, you retard. 23. “Why isn’t it weird that there’s a bunch of old white men, sitting in a room, making legislation about what I can and can not do with my body?” It would be exactly as weird if it was a bunch of black men, so mentioning that was not just unneccesary, but also pointless. To make this portion of your sentence viable at all, you have to make assumptions about people based on their skin color, which is racist. Don’t dare to try and tell me otherwise, you have to be a racist to make this work. Do you expect to fight racism with racism? Plus, those are the people that your country voted to make legislation. There have to be laws in a country, and I don’t know of any law that restricts you if you want to do stuff to your body. Oh, and wasn’t it a room full of white men that decided women should be allowed to vote? 24. “Why are straight guys so obsessed with lesbians?” Well, I personally am not. But it’s easy to figure out. Let me refer to the explanation ShoeOnHead did in one of her videos: straight men are attracted to women. Lesbian porn features two (!!!!) women at once, naked and doing sex stuff. It’s two of a thing a straight men likes, together. Why is it strange to like that? Also, lesbian porn is the kind of porn most searched by women. Why are women so obsessed with lesbians? And even more important: why are many women so obsessed with gay guys?
25. “How does it feel to get kicked in the balls?” If you can’t figure out how it feels to get kicked in one of the most sensitive regions of your body, you must be pretty dumb. But let me explain: sometimes, the pain is so intense, that the body releases adrenaline and other chemicals to numb the pain immediately, so sometimes it might even take a few seconds for the agony to kick in. Other than that: try to imagine a severe pain in your crotch, cimbined with the feeling of having to throw up creeping up to your stomach. There are cases of people throwing up or blacking out after getting kicked in the balls, so there you go.
26. “Don’t you ever get tired of trying to be manly all the time?” Who says I am even trying to be manly? And: don’t you ever get tired of trying to be “womanly” all the time? Don’t you get tired of putting on all this makeup and wearing high-heels? To answer your question: not really. It comes naturally to most men, because, well, they are men.
27. “Why are you so afraid of gender equality?” Who the fuck are you talking to? And do you even know what the fuck you are talking about? To quote Dr Shaym: “You cannot pretend to be a movement for equality when you are only concerned for the issues of one gender and completely disregard or downplay the issues of the other. It’s that simple.”
28. “Why do I deserve to be paid less than you? - In what world does 77 cents equal a dollar? - In what world does 68 cents equal a dollar? How is this fair?” Apart from the fact that the number even changes randomly, I have something for you to watch: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wjWBXbGVyQU For those of you who are to lazy to click an this link and watch a video that’s about half a minute long: the wage gap doesn’t exist. It’s based on statistics that don’t take into account: -the different jobs of the people surveyed -the hours worked -that men are more likely to ask for raises and promotions -that men retire later -that men are less likely to take time off -that men are more likely to work overtime among other factors, meaning this statistics mean nothing. Don’t you think if companies could get away with just paying women less, they’d hire women to save money? PS: Actually, there aren’t 36 quesions in the video, because these four questions are basically the same thing. Stop talking about makeup and dicks, because THIS is false advertising for sure.
29. “Why are you intimidated by a woman who makes more money than you? That’s awesome! More money!” I’m not intimidated by a woman who earns more than me. And if more money is awesome, why the fuck are you cunts still bitching about men allegedly earning more than women? It’s more money! I am beating you with your own fucking argument, that’s how bad you are at arguing!
30. “Why are opinionated women seen as bitches, when opinionated men are seen as bosses?” Do you even go outside? Have you ever even interacted with human beings that are not part of your stupid ideology?
31. “Why don’t you speak up when you hear your male friends behind closed doors make jokes that are offensive to women?” Because a) I’m not a woman, so these jokes don’t offend me. b) There’s noone around that would be offended, so why speak up? c) we’re talking about fucking jokes here, alright? Again, I get the feeling that you don’t understand humor. I highly suggest you watch the video by The Amazing Atheist I told you about earlier. Do you speak up, when you hear your female friends behind closed doors make jokes that could be offensive to men?
32. “Why are you so afraid of recognizing your own privilege? It doesn’t mean you’re a bad person. Just recognize it and do something about it.” Tell me about one legal privilige that I as a man have that you as a woman don’t. Because I can think of stuff that’s the other way around.
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The Boys Are Back In Town, Pt. 3
Part three! Huzzah!
A young boy with medium length brown hair was playing on his Nintendo DS and sitting out in the swing on the porch of his family’s house when a dark car pulled up in the drive way. He raised an eyebrow and stared at it without saying a word.
“Wow, this is such a normal and conventional looking place! Did my leaving really affect him that much?” Manuel seemed bewildered as he got out of the car.
“I’m sure he wanted to get away from his old life as much as possible, for better or worse.” Luis shrugged.
“Either way, this is the address, according to the university he works at.” Rodrigo got out of the drivers’ seat and locked the car.
“Hey look, a little boy!” Manuel nudged Luis.
“And that is why I’m going first!” Rodrigo got in front of his friends as they went up the walkway.
“Say, is your father home?” The balding man smiled.
The boy just stared at him.
“Pfft, you know nothing about talking to kids, do you?” Manuel rolled his eyes.
“Every kid, just like every adult, is different. And being a strange adult just walking up to a kid and asking them something rarely works. Especially if their parents have them taught a certain way.” Luis shook his head.
“Well, excuse me! Fine, one of you do it!”
“I will!” Manuel puffed his chest out and walked forward. “Dude, are you playing Pokemon??”
“Yeah! Diamond!”
“Who did you choose as a starter?”
“Piplup!”
“Awesome! How old are you? I’m forty-two!”
“I’m eight!”
“Awesome. Ugh, I wish I brought my DS with me so we could trade and battle some.”
“You have one too? Who did you pick?”
“Turtwig! Maybe I’ll bring it next time I see you so we can play.”
“My brother isn’t really into video games unless it’s sports games. Dad likes games too but not Pokemon and I don’t have a lot of friends at school. I’d love to play with you!”
“That settles it. I will bring mine next time.”
“Next time?” Rodrigo put his hands on his hips.
“There will be a next time.”
“Fine, but let’s get to Mariano so there will be a next time!”
“You mean my brother or my dad?”
“Your dad! He was in a band with us when we were all younger!” Luis grinned.
The boy’s eyes widened and he was silent for a moment as he realized who they were.
“Holy shit. Dad doesn’t really talk much about it, but I have managed to look up the music online and… wow I’m really meeting you guys! Well,” the boy counted them for a moment, “three of you. My favorite song is ‘¿Quieres un chico malo?’ I think I have a lot in common with it.”
Manuel felt touched. That was one of his songs. And, while he had just met this boy and din’t even know his name, he felt he was meeting a kindred spirit. The boy already reminded him so much of himself at the age of eight.
“Dad went to pick brother up from football practice. They should be home soon. Mom is inside if you want to go inside and wait.”
“You two can go in. I’ll stay with him and wait for Yano.”
Rodrigo and Luis glanced at each other and went inside.
As they closed the door behind them, something struck them.
“We didn’t knock!” Rodrigo put his hand over his mouth, “we just walked right in, uninvited.”
“The boy let us in. I mean, that’s okay, right?” Luis cocked his hea to the side.
“Maybe. I don’t know.”
In that moment, a woman walked out of the hall and saw them.
“Oh wow I—are you really who I think you are?”
“We’re rude for just walking into your home uninvited is what we are!” Rodrigo moaned.
“Your son let us in though!” Luis motioned at the door.
“It’s okay. Really! I never thought I’d meet either of you!” The woman embraced them both tightly. She was rather short with long, dark blonde hair and was a little chubby. She didn’t look nearly as young as Manuel’s wife Dani, but she still seemed like she was quite a bit younger than the guys in the band.
“Oh, where are my manners? I know who you two are, but you have no idea who I am! I’m Viri, Mariano’s wife! It’s such a pleasure to finally meet you both, Luis! Rodrigo!” She smiled an shook both of their hands furiously. “That was our younger son, Manuel, out on the porch.”
“Wait, Manuel?” Rodrigo stood back.
“Yes! Manuel! Erm, I understand it may seem… odd. It’s just that Mariano copes with things very oddly. Actually, he doesn’t now that I know, but he has this collection of all the pornographic films that your band mate, Manuel, has ever been in. Don’t tell him that I said that though!” Viri looked paranoid.
“We won’t tell. We’re just shocked. We figured he wanted to completely forget his old life after how it all ended so badly.” Luis scratched his chin.
“He did and didn’t. He always seems to be both trying to escape and be obsessed all at the same time. That was true even back when I first met him.”
“How did you two meet?”
“I was a freshman at the university and he was one of my professors and… I just simply feel head over heels for him. He liked me back and everything grew from there! It was great and I regret nothing. I don’t care how many people judged us. It worked and we love each other and that’s all that matters to us.”
“And that is all that should matter!” Rodrigo nodded his head, as did Luis.
Manuel was deeply engrossed in showing the younger Manuel some tips as Mariano pulled into the driveway with his other son. The strange car threw him off at first, but he kind of assumed his wife has someone over visiting. It wasn’t until he caught sight of… him… with his son on the porch that a flood of wild emotions came into him.
“Manuel. Please get away from him. Now.” Mariano barked.
“Why?” Both Manuel and Mariano’s son Manuel questioned in unison.
“Because I don’t want you around that man. He might turn you into him.
“Wait, your name is Manuel too?” Manuel turned to the boy.
“Yes! I’m named after you.” The boy shrugged and then glared at his father. “Maybe I wanna be like him!”
“There was a time in my life whne I would have enjoyed that! But not now! I don’t want a son who just walks out on everyone who ever REALLY cared about him! Who walks out on the person who would readily die for him!” It was quite obvious now that Mariano was upset.
“Uh, maybe you should go inside for now while your father and I talk this out.” Manuel nudged his namesake.
“Okay. I hope you do. I need a friend who gets me.” The young boy nodded and headed inside.
“Mariano, you go in with your brother. This is private business between adults.”
“Of course, father.” Mariano’s other son, who was ten, nodded politely and went inside, glancing at Manuel with a concerned look on his face as he entered the house.
“So, you come to my home after walking away from me almost two decades ago and you instantly start poisoning my son!”
“Poisoning? We were talking about Pokemon!”
“He’s already troubled and lonely! I don’t need someone like you leading him astray.”
“Yano, my man, you know what I was when I was eight years old? Troubled and lonely! I always felt different and out casted! Excuse me if the boy is drawn to someone who understands his life! You’re the one who named him after me!”
Mariano went silent and stared at the grass of his lawn.
“I… Yano… I’m sorry. It was wrong of me to just leave you like that. I should have made more effort beyond sending that letter to your mother. I had no idea where you went either though. But even the way I left was wrong. I was emotional and unstable. I’ve always been… a bit off. I’ve always been a bit different, but a doc once told me that getting my head smashed into the hard wall of the school shower when I was young probably wasn’t good… and all those drugs we all did didn’t help me, I’m sure. I was a fool. The band was falling apart but I didn’t to leave you like that.” Manuel sighed, tears forming in the corners of his eyes.
Mariano took a deep breath, but said nothing.
“When the band first started… I cried. I cried because I was fall for you. I was twelve and thought I was hot shit and didn’t need to care about anyone. I thought I could put on an act and make tons of money and fuck a bunch of girls. I never wanted to get emotionally attached to anyone, but instead, I fell in love with you and cared about you. It confused me so much and I cried. José is the only one who ever knew about it because he found me crying. He never told anyone…but I’m telling you now. I was always shit about it, but I did love you… I still love you now. Please… I’ll do whatever it takes to make it up to you.” Manuel got down on his knees and looked up at Mariano, his deep, dark brown eyes pleading heavily.
“W, w, w,what happened to you? You… “
“I grew up? At least a little. At the core I’m still the same me. I just… don’t want to hurt people I care about anymore. I don’t know if getting married and having a kid has helped me realize that or…”
“We can start… again. I’ve missed you so much and… I do want to meet your family.” Mariano fell to his knees and hugged his old best friend as tightly as he could.
“But first, can I meet your family?”
“Of course.” Instinctively, Mariano kissed Manuel on the lips. Just as he did, an elderly woman passed by and stared at them.
“What, lady, never tseen two men kiss before?” Manuel said snarkily at her.
“Oh, I’m fine with it! I was just hoping you’d do more! Been a while since I’ve seen a hot show!”
Manuel got a devious look on his face.
“Good god.” Mariano rolled his eyes, got up, and pulled his friend with him. “Come on, let’s go inside!”
As they walked into the living room, Mariano began introducing Manuel to everyone.
“Family, this is Manuel Soria. The man I was so close with and in a band with years ago when I was young. Chemanu, you already know my son, Manuel. Next to him is my son Mariano.”
The two boys were sitting on loveseat next to each other. Manuel had on a black t-shirt with Pikachu on it and ragged blue jeans. Mariano had on a nice polo and khakis. His hair was brown but cut short and neat as opposed to Manuel’s longer more skater boy-like cut. There was a stark difference in their styles. They both had hazel eyes, like their father.
“And then there’s my wonderful wife Viri! And next to her is Rodrigo and Luis—wait. What??”
“Hello!” Luis waved happily Rodrigo chuckled.
“Oh yeah, the other reason we came here! We’re trying to get the band back together!” Manuel ran his hang through Mariano’s hair.
“Wha??? The band? I… wow… um. I need to think for a bit.”
“It would be lovely if you did!” Viri bounced up and went to her husband, who was much, much taller than her.
“It’d be fucking epic, Dad!” Young Manuel clenched his fist with delight.
“I agree!” Young Mariano nodded enthusiastically.
“I… Chemanu, can I see you alone for a moment?” Mariano grabbed his old friend’s hand and led him down a hallway. Manuel was already excited, as Mariano was using his nickname. They went into a room that appeared to be Mariano’s personal office. They went through another door to a big walk in closet. Inside was a big trunk with a lock on it. Mariano put in a combination, which undid the first lock. Then he took out a key and undid the second lock before opene the trunk.
“Holy shit… is that…”
“Yes. A full collection of every film you’ve ever been in. VHS’s and DVD’s both. Also all the magazines you’ve been in as well. I feel so pathetic but… I never stopped missing you or loving you.”
“That is… pretty awesome, actually. But uh, I’d be careful.”
“Why’s that?”
“Just hold onto them very closely and well. Especially the ones Dani is in with me.”
“Your wife? Oh yeah, the ones with her are some of my favorites, I’ll admit. She is great! You’re a lucky man.
“Mhm, yeah, and keep this between us and the guys and at the most our families, but she was fifteen when she started.”
“Jesus! Well, okay she looked well formed for her age.”
“Yes, I agree. But yeah, I don’t know if it will ever get out, but I’d keep your collection safe. I realize only a fraction of my films have her, but still. Also, if you gt your hands on her other films, which I can hook you up with, I’d keep tem those ones safe too.”
“Ah yes! Please, yes, I would like those!”
“Yep, you’re still just as bad as the rest of us at the core. Like you’ve always been.” Manuel chuckled. Mariano rolled his eyes and sighed.
“Anyway, yes. I’d love to get the band back together.”
“Great! Now we just need to get José.”
“Ah, I have a feeling this won’t be easy.”
“But it’s what needs to happen.”
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Serena, Nike, Colin, and What “Respectable Protest” Really Means
http://fashion-trendin.com/serena-nike-colin-and-what-respectable-protest-really-means/
Serena, Nike, Colin, and What “Respectable Protest” Really Means
F
or most of my childhood, I never had more than four pairs of shoes at a time. There were shiny school shoes and church shoes that met the requirements of countless morning masses and school days at my black and brown Catholic school. There were dirty sneakers and winter boots caked with salt. Plastic summer sandals that I’d wear on weekends and days when I’d racked up enough points on my “N.U.T: No Uniform Today” card to shed my itchy nylon jumper for the freedom of oversized outfits from The Gap.
When I inevitably left for a bigger, whiter public school, the way I dressed didn’t just indicate that my family was lower-middle class or that there were limits to our shopping budget. My glasses, my sneakers, my skin color, the way I wore my hair and collected keychains on the zippers of my JanSport, like jingling mementos of a former life, took on a collective connotation that I didn’t understand at the time. I wasn’t sure why I was being judged, but the loneliness I felt that first year was evidence to me that I didn’t fit in.
During my first parent-teacher conference, shocked by the chasm she perceived between my light skin and the shade of my philosophies, my sixth grade humanities teacher asked my mother why she was raising me to be “so black.” There, concealed beneath her bubbly voice, was the question that would determine how I fit into the classroom culture. Was I the “acceptable,” amiable sort of black girl or not?
When, a few years later, I began buying Jordans on Saturdays, plastic-wrapped Air Max 95s from shops on 125th street, Air Force 1s I could only afford after weeks of eating crushed Ritz crackers and cheese for lunch, I saw it as a form of self-expression — but I see now that it was a rejection of the people who did not accept me, the logical, actionable response to my teacher’s concern. I answered her, through the way I dressed, in the same tone of voice my mother had used years before: “…Because she is black.”
Over the past few weeks, Nike has addressed conflicts that affect its black customers with images that have invoked discussions about race and that notion of acceptability. Last week, in reply to the blacklisting that resulted from Colin Kaepernick’s extensive protest of police brutality, the company released an image of the athlete, captioned, “Believe in something, even if it means sacrificing everything.” It was paired with a television commercial that ran during the first NFL game of the season.
Believe in something, even if it means sacrificing everything. #JustDoIt pic.twitter.com/SRWkMIDdaO
— Colin Kaepernick (@Kaepernick7) September 3, 2018
In August, when Serena Williams’s medically beneficial catsuit was banned at the French Open, Nike responded with an image of her competing in the spandex outfit, captioned, “You can take a superhero out of her costume, but you can never take away her superpowers.”
You can take the superhero out of her costume, but you can never take away her superpowers. #justdoit pic.twitter.com/dDB6D9nzaD
— Nike (@Nike) August 25, 2018
That statement could almost serve as a description of Williams’s U.S. Open experience, as well. In the recent title match between her and Naomi Osaka, Williams was accused of cheating and, after she angrily responded to the accusation, was doubly penalized. Both women were in tears when they took the stage and Osaka accepted her trophy.
On each of these occasions, social media cracked in two. There were those who agreed with Nike’s support of Kaepernick and those who didn’t, literally ripping check marks out of apparel or setting clothes ablaze. A leaked memo went viral detailing the Nike ban a Louisiana mayor put in place for his city’s recreation centers. Days later, it was a caricature of Williams throwing a tantrum on the court in a match against a white, blond, straight-haired Osaka that was being shared and re-shared. (Osaka is Haitian and Japanese and has a head full of dark, highlighted curls.) According to both the tournament officials and people boycotting Nike, it was Williams’s and Kaepernick’s blatant rule-breaking that inspired their uproars.
The problem with that explanation is that until they were “broken,” no rules existed governing catsuits or protesting during sporting events. And the rules against coaching and arguing during tennis matches are rarely enforced with such stringency. Institutional discrimination and segregation may technically be outlawed in this country, but when the invisible racial boundaries that separate the privileged and marginalized are crossed, black and brown Americans are slingshotted back into place, implicitly discredited by the way their very existence breaks rules of acceptability.
It is easier to categorize certain people as too loud, too opinionated, too reckless, too offensive, too kinky, too dark or “too black,” than to admit that those people are right about the way the comfort and success of the privileged are reinforced through oppressive systems that categorically diminish others.
When men and women are sprayed with bullets by a racist man invited to pray with them, it is easier to hear, “We forgive you,” than “This was unforgivable.” When protesters are barrelled down by an enraged driver or beaten bloody by white supremacists, it is easier to believe that, “Those violent people aren’t real Americans,” than “This is part of America’s tradition.” It becomes easier to accept the black and brown people who sometimes sugarcoat bitter truths than the ones who smash stereotypes and draw awareness to oppression.
So, is a catsuit truly such an offensive garment that is must be banned? Is black, female anger so indecent that it needs to be contained even as it is being expressed rationally and articulately? Or is the woman wearing the ensemble and asking for the apology such an unstoppable force that she must be reigned in in order to maintain the image associated with a sport?
Or is the issue that the dissenter is publically pointing out fissures in our national edifice, a structure that has historically been bolstered by false images of untouchable whiteness?
Is the national anthem a tune that inspires such reverence that even quiet gestures of dissent must be regulated? Or is the issue that the dissenter is publically pointing out fissures in our national edifice, a structure that has historically been bolstered by false images of untouchable whiteness?
The kind of powerful emotions Williams displayed on the court should never be enough to incite the personal and pointed attacks she received. But when we consider the way her presence alone challenges definitions of strength and decorum that so many privileged men rely on to gain traction in the world, it makes perfect sense. Similarly, the inflamed responses to Kaepernick’s quiet protest may seem irrational until we consider how he is revealing the hypocrisy in our country’s ethos. For some, acknowledging the reality of the police brutality Kaepernick is demonstrating against means also acknowledging that their lives do not continue because of the quality of their values or life choices, but because of an unspoken and unfair birthright.
I suppose these realities highlight the monumental challenge at the center of true allyship: Allies must be willing to tear down oppressive institutions that may simultaneously make their own lives easier.
Perhaps that’s also why Nike’s series of ads struck me — not simply because the brand that chose to run them once represented my own youthful, awkward way of finding my style and my tribe when I was being tragically misunderstood, but because they are a gesture of allyship, however small. And Nike’s choice is an example of what we ask of privileged friends all the time: Please use your voice to speak about me, no matter the cost.
Collage by Emily Zirimis.
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Animal Serena Williams Is Fined in Dispute With Chair Umpire
Animal Serena Williams Is Fined in Dispute With Chair Umpire Animal Serena Williams Is Fined in Dispute With Chair Umpire http://www.nature-business.com/animal-serena-williams-is-fined-in-dispute-with-chair-umpire/
Animal ImageThe umpire Carlos Ramos, who penalized Serena Williams a game during the U.S. Open women’s final Saturday, has a reputation for strict interpretation of the rules.CreditCreditKarsten Moran for The New York TimesThe chair umpire that Serena Williams called a thief in Saturday’s United States Open women’s final has long been one of the on-court officials willing to enforce the rules without fear or favor on the game’s biggest stars, male and female.The umpire, Carlos Ramos, a 47-year-old from Portugal, was the focus of Williams’s ire during her 6-2, 6-4 loss to Naomi Osaka. Ramos gave Williams three code-of-conduct violations — for illegal coaching, racket abuse (she threw it down in anger or frustration) and verbally abusing a judge, the last of which resulted in Osaka being awarded a game in the second set.After the match, Williams was fined a total of $17,000: $10,000 for verbal abuse, the largest single fine of the U.S. Open so far; $4,000 for the coaching violation, and $3,000 for racket abuse. According to the rule book, players are subject to fines up to $20,000 for each of those offenses.Ramos is one of the most experienced match officials in tennis. Players chase the career Grand Slam by trying to win all four of the major titles. Chair umpires use similar terminology among themselves, and Ramos has completed a “Golden Slam” by being in the chair for men’s singles finals at all four Grand Slam tournaments and at the 2012 men’s Olympic singles final between Andy Murray and Roger Federer.Ramos also has officiated in high-profile Davis Cup matches, a men’s team event where emotions can run even higher than they ran on Saturday.While there was much criticism of Ramos on social media after the match, and top tennis players have been less than appreciative of his calls, some in the world of officials defended him.“Carlos has been one of the top tennis umpires in the world since the mid-1990s and has a reputation for being firm but fair in his handling of the players,” said Mike Morrissey, a former top chair umpire and formerly the head of officiating for the International Tennis Federation.Still, players like Venus Williams, Novak Djokovic, Andy Murray, Rafael Nadal and Nick Kyrgios have complained on court after receiving code violations from Ramos.At the 2016 French Open, Venus Williams disputed an illegal coaching call, saying, “I’m 36 years old. Never in my life have I had a coaching violation. No, I don’t do that.”In 2017 during a fourth-round match between Nadal and Roberto Batista Agut at the French Open, Ramos penalized Nadal for two time violations, the second of which cost Nadal a point (not that it mattered much in his 6-1, 6-2, 6-2 victory).“There are umpires who sometimes put more pressure than others, and you have to accept this,” Nadal said after that match.Nadal added: “I’m telling you this with some type of sadness, because I don’t want to have any problems. But this umpire is, I think, trying in a certain way to look for my faults, my errors. This is the impression I have.”In the same interview, Nadal said of Ramos, “I respect him a lot.”Active chair umpires like Ramos are generally not permitted to give interviews because of tour policies. Ramos has not spoken publicly about Saturday’s match in which Williams accused him of being “a thief” and also accused him of sexism for dealing with her more harshly than he would have a male player in the same circumstances.“I’ve seen other men call other umpires several things,” she said after the match on Saturday. “I’m here fighting for women’s rights and for women’s equality and for all kinds of stuff. For me to say ‘thief’ and for him to take a game, it made me feel like it was a sexist remark. He’s never taken a game from a man because they said ‘thief.’”There is no record of any men’s player calling Ramos a thief during a match. But he has certainly not been reticent to penalize men. He gave Murray a code violation during the 2016 Olympics after Murray accused him of “stupid umpiring.”“No sexist issue there,” said Chris Evert, the former world No. 1, on Sunday. “His history with men players shows that.”Although Ramos has focused more on officiating men’s matches during his career, he has officiated at three of the four women’s Grand Slam singles finals: the French Open, Wimbledon and the U.S. Open.“Top umpires have to be able to withstand the pressures put on them by top players who do not own the court, who have to play by the same rules and code of conduct as the qualifier, the new finalist and the softly spoken player,” Morrissey said.“I think that Carlos waited and waited to let Serena let off steam and get back into the match. Sadly that wasn’t to be, and the ‘thief’ accusation is not one any chair umpire on any court should ignore.”Williams herself said she had not had negative experiences when Ramos had worked her matches in the past.“Not at all,” she said Saturday. “He’s always been a great umpire.”But she told Ramos on Saturday in the heat of the moment that he would “never” officiate one of her matches in the future. Players do not have the power to make those decisions, although tour supervisors have in the past discreetly kept chair umpires from working the matches of players with whom they have had altercations. But those breaks — known as “vacations” — are not permanent breaks. Read More | https://www.nytimes.com/2018/09/09/sports/tennis/serena-williams-umpire-carlos-ramos-us-open.html | http://www.nytimes.com/by/christopher-clarey
Animal Serena Williams Is Fined in Dispute With Chair Umpire, in 2018-09-09 20:42:14
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What is Benching? 17 Signs You’re Being Strung Along Right Now
Have you found yourself in relationship limbo and don’t know what’s going on? Let these tips help you find out if they’re secretly benching you.
There are so many terms in the dating world that keep being invented to explain all of the complicated emotions, mind games, and motives in relationships. Terms such as ghosting, tuning, and DTR. But a recent term has popped up to describe something relatively devious, and it’s called benching.
It’s more common than you would think, and we’ve all at some point been benched or benched someone else, whether or not we realize it. But what is benching, and how do you know whether or not it’s happening to you?
What is benching?
Benching is a way of someone keeping you in a state of limbo, until they decide whether or not they’re truly interested in committing to you. Think of sports – when players are benched they’re not in the game, but are on the sidelines just in case they’re needed back.
This is effectively the same as someone benching you in your dating life. You’re out of play for now, but in case they run out of options, or decide they want you, they know you’ll be there waiting.
Benching, sometimes referred to as bread-crumbing, is a way for them to make sure you don’t become disinterested, while keeping their options open. It means they can put in minimal effort, minimal commitment, and still know that you’ll be there on the end of their hook for when they decide to make an appearance. [Read: Cushioning and why using this tactic just makes you a jerk]
It happens a lot through text, social media, and online dating sites, as this provides a safe, comfortable place to hide without having to be forced into committing to any plans. Having various options available gives them an ego boost, and gives them a backup in case you decide to walk away and leave them with no one.
How can you tell if you’re being benched?
Think you’ve managed to escape someone benching you? Well, here are 17 ways to tell if you’ve actually fallen for it without realizing. [Read: 15 signs you’re being led on and they’re taking you nowhere!]
#1 They’re hot and cold. After texting and flirting for a while, they suddenly become distant or say things that appear to be out of character for no reason. And then a week later, they’re back to being fun and flirty. These attitude changes become more frequent, depending on how interested they are in keeping you around.
#2 You see minimal effort. Sometimes it feels like you’re the only one that’s making any sort of effort, while they manage to put in barely any at all.
People generally put time and effort into things that they think are important, so if they don’t think you’re worth their time, then walk away for good.
#3 All talk, no action. After a while, you start to notice that they tend to make a lot of small promises that never actually materialize. They promised you’d hang out at the end of the week, they promised they’d message you in the morning, they promised to call you when they get home. But then every time they back out last minute, or you don’t hear from them for a week – if at all. [Read: 5 unique traits that make a person trustworthy]
#4 You can’t get through. All your texts seem to go unanswered, or just stay on ‘read’ and you don’t get any response. Don’t panic – they’re not dead, they haven’t gotten stranded somewhere, and they definitely still have battery on their phone. They’re just ignoring you, for now.
#5 You’re being blanked online. They always seem to be online, but they’re not messaging you. They share content, write statuses, and like posts, but you get nothing.
If you find that this is the case when they’re active on Facebook chat or on whatsapp, there’s a possibility that they’re chatting with one of their other ‘options’ instead.
#6 The classic excuse. When you don’t hear from them for ages, they’ll always use the same predictable line – they’ve ‘been so busy’ that they haven’t had time to message you back.
Here’s a tip – no one is ever that busy, unless they’re pulling 19 hour shifts at work, in medical school, or are a mega celebrity. And even then, they’ll still try and find time for you if they want to.
#7 It’s all a magician’s act. You may not have heard from them in days, or weeks, and just as you’re about to give up on them, they suddenly re-appear again. It’ll generally be in the form of a flirty text or well-timed whatsapp, and it’s a great trick to keep you from realizing that you deserve more.
If you find this happens relatively often, then ignore them and instead invest your time in someone who doesn’t constantly disappear on you. [Read: What you need to do when she’s playing hard to get]
#8 Test it for yourself. If you want to check if you’re being benched, text them right now and suggest going for a coffee date when they’re free this week.
If they respond with ‘Yeah sure, when do you want to go?’ you’re probably fine. But if they respond with uncertainty, or decline and suggest doing it some other unspecified time, then they’re stringing you along.
#9 The flirtatious chemistry is gone. As time goes on, you’ve noticed them becoming less and less flirty. Their behavior is morphing into something you’d expect from a friend, but they haven’t stopped contact. This is more than likely because they’re trying to distance themselves in case they decide to split, while still keeping you around in case they decide to stay.
#10 They’re full of it. They have a way with words, and can always cook up the perfect excuse for anything at any moment. There’s always a convenient reason for anything they’ve done wrong, or any time that they’ve not bothered to consider your feelings. Don’t be fooled – they’re just trying to make sure you don’t catch on to their true motives. [Read: The tricky kind of mind games men play that any girl can win]
#11 Who knows about you? None of their friends seem to even know that you exist and, when you really think about it, they’ve never actually offered to introduce you to them either. If their friends don’t seem to think that you’re in a relationship or anything that serious, chances are you’re being benched. [ElephantJournal.com: Why this dating trend is far worse than ghosting]
#12 They act as if their behavior is normal. After no contact, when they suddenly decide to enter back into your life they’ll act as if nothing has happened.
They go straight back to where they left off, assuming that you’ve just been sitting around waiting for their return. Sometimes they won’t even acknowledge that they vanished at all.
#13 You never actually see them anymore. You’ve started realizing that there’s no more real face to face contact between you. Every time you plan a date they seem excited, but then nearer the time, they make excuses or back out quickly.
Most of the contact you make is through the phone, or online, as this means they don’t really have to commit. [Read: 10 ingenious ways to beat a player who’s playing you]
#14 You don’t expect much from them. You constantly feel like you’re getting your hopes up, only to have them let down time and time again. It’s gotten to the point where you can’t even be comfortable planning dates or relying on them because you’re afraid that they won’t live up to what they’ve said they’d do.
#15 You’re starting to feel like you’re going crazy. Do they make you feel like you’re being needy, or unreasonable just for expressing your feelings and wanting respect? Do you feel like you’re losing your mind because they act like they don’t see what the problem is? Ditch them, because anyone who invalidates your feelings or brushes them aside isn’t worth it. [Read: Gaslighting – 16 signs the person you like is messing with your mind]
#16 Online mind games. When they’re on social media, they tend to like the statuses you post, but they don’t actually message you. It can be so confusing and disorientating, but they’re only doing that because it’s a non-committal way of staying in the picture. It gives them a presence in your life, without having to actually communicate with you.
#17 You’ve given up fighting it. You’ve become so used to their sporadic behavior that you’ve even started justifying it, or making up reasons as to why they’re like that. Don’t judge someone based on the parts of them that appeal to you, judge them based on 100% of who they really are. The more you overlook their shortcomings, the more you’re wasting your own time.
[Read: Selfish people – 15 ways to spot and stop them from hurting you]
Figuring out if you’re being benched is relatively easy, but learning when to walk away is the hard part. If you feel like someone’s keeping you on the side, take back control. Stand up for yourself, cut them off, and let them waste someone else’s time. You’re worth more than that!
The post What is Benching? 17 Signs You’re Being Strung Along Right Now is the original content of LovePanky - Your Guide to Better Love and Relationships.
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