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kookingtae · 4 years ago

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falling into you (pt. 8) PREVIEW

pt 1 | pt 2 | pt 3 | pt 4 | pt 5 | pt 6 | pt 7

→scenario: Jungkook’s innocence is like a breath of fresh air in your wild life, and though you know you’re toxic for him, you just can’t seem to stay away.

→genre: college au, slow burn, mutual pining, shy/nerd jk + bad girl oc (mature themes)

→a/n: so i’m not finished with pt 8 yet, since it’s such a climactic chapter it’s taking a bit longer than i anticipated unfortunately BUT i dont want u guys to think ive forgotten about it!!! i know u all are waiting so patiently, and i cannot thank you enough from the bottom of my heart <3 i hope this preview keeps you excited for what’s to come!

Jungkook could never face Y/N again.

God, how could he, knowing that he’d not only finished in five minutes like a pubescent teenager, but also in his pants while she was on top of him?

Embarrassment didn’t even begin to describe the mortification he felt. He’d never wanted the earth to swallow him whole as much as he did in that moment. Sure, he was aware of his slight social anxiety, the way he was constantly looking to bolt from uncomfortable situations—but this was different entirely. This was new territory for him; he’d never done anything remotely sexual with someone else, period, much less with the girl who hung the stars, moon, and sun in his eyes. What was he supposed to do? There was nowhere to escape to in his own bedroom, no running away from his problems that made him uncomfortable. No, he had to stand there with his head down and his crotch dripping wet while he practically begged her to leave. He had never been so ashamed of himself. He had never felt so pathetic.

But then Y/N surprised him like she never failed to do: she’d given him reassurance, another kiss even, while telling him that she actually enjoyed the experience—went so far as to say it was the best in her life. Now he knew she was lying to spare his feelings. Of all the men Y/N had been with, there was no way a virgin cumming untouched in his pants was the best of them. She was cruel to make him believe otherwise, to give him false hope.

He wouldn’t allow himself to think any differently. He couldn’t allow himself to get hurt.

Which was why he made it his mission to avoid her at all costs—something he’d gotten very good at over the past few months, and the past few weeks, specifically.

But in the same way he’d learned from the patterns of her daily routine and used them as a means to remain hidden, she’d also learned his and utilized them to her advantage as well. It was the only explanation as to how he was turning a corner inside the art building (about to take the rear exit, since she usually waited for him out front) and suddenly she was standing right in front of him.

He instantly skidded to a halt, heart rate shooting to astronomical levels and eyes widening on their own accord. “Y-Y/N,” he stuttered out involuntarily, the sight of her causing every single detail of their time spent together to come rushing back to him like a tidal wave ready to wipe him out.

As if he needed another excuse to think about the moment they shared that had changed him forever, about the way her moans sounded in his ear and her body felt on his lap and the way she touched his cheek, his neck, the way her lips felt on his skin, god help him—

Already he could feel the beginnings of a blush start to rise to his suddenly hot cheeks, and he cleared his throat and shifted his weight from one foot to the other to keep from springing yet another boner in front of her.

He slid his books in front of his waist, just in case.

While she usually approached him with the natural ease of self-confidence and charm, today she seemed worried, unsure. She chewed at her lower lip—something he didn’t think she really ever did, as he would certainly remember the way it stirred within him—and looked up at him beneath delicate lashes that framed her eyes.

He didn’t have it in him to keep from outright staring at her beauty.

“I… I missed you,” she finally murmured, and he felt the breath physically whoosh from his lungs to join his butterfly-filled stomach all the way at the floor.

It had been a few days since he’d last seen her, since she’d been in his room that night where they opened up about their past and confessed how they truly felt about one another and shared the most life-altering moment he’d ever experienced. He missed her too, god he missed her. He missed everything about her the moment she left his side—would picture her face in his mind as soon as she left his field of vision. But for some reason unknown to him, she was too kind to him, spared his feelings despite knowing what little experience he had. There was no way he’d be able to satisfy a girl—mentally, physically, emotionally—who could have anyone she wanted. Perhaps she pitied him. Either way, if she wouldn’t put a stop to it, then he would.

Or so he’d try, but alas, nothing ever went according to his plans where Y/N was concerned. And here she was, three simple words mumbled into existence and he couldn’t even remember his own name, much less why he’d been trying to fight this.

She seemed to expect he would say nothing—either that or she’d grown used to his silence—because before he had enough sense in him to even think about responding, she was speaking again. “How have you been?”

The question was asked with deliberate, genuine curiosity and concern; she really wanted to know if he was okay, how he was handling things after what had transpired between them. And no matter how hard Jungkook tried to fight this, fight her, fight himself, he was only human.

And so he stopped fighting.

“I– I missed you too,” he breathed out, and it was like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders and relocated to his gut. He tensed at his confession, mentally berated himself for his words even though she’d been the one to say them first. He felt like he couldn’t breathe, what with the way his throat locked up.

Though the second he witnessed the smile that sprang to her tantalizing lips, he felt as light as a feather floating in the breeze.

“You did?” Her eyes lit up, sparkled under the fluorescent hallway lights that still managed to capture all of her beauty despite the unflattering lighting. He didn’t think it was possible for any scenery, not even that of a dull and stuffy university building, to make her appear any less breathtaking than she always was.

“I was so worried after I left last week,” she continued without prompt. The mention of his premature finish had him stiffening in dread, though she didn’t let enough silence fester between her words for the anxiety to claw its way up his throat. “I didn’t want you to beat yourself up. I’ve noticed you tend to be too hard on yourself sometimes.” She glanced up at him with the hint of a sheepish grin dancing on her lips.

Her expression said it all: that’s an understatement.

And this shocked him to his core, because she was absolutely right.

Just how well had she gotten to know him in their time spent together over the last few months? And how? And why?

The last question would always boggle him until the end of time; he would never understand why she was interested in him. Why was he the one she had feelings for, when she claimed she never had feelings for anybody? Though he supposed he could ask himself the same thing: why did he feel things for Y/N that he had never felt for anyone else in his life? And the answer was quite simple, really: because it was her.

He didn’t know what about himself was so special to make him stand out in her mind, and as a result he still couldn’t help but be skeptical, even after her confession. But it wasn’t like he had any choice in the matter on what to do with that skepticism—not when his heart kept leading him back to her.

At some point after her accurate description of the inner turmoil that’s been plaguing his mind, his mouth had fallen open slightly. He couldn’t hide the surprise from his face even if he tried; he was speechless.

Y/N gazed up at him, not seeming in any hurry to rush the conversation along, and for that he was grateful. He’d never met somebody so patient and understanding before—just another reason to make Jungkook’s heart flutter with endearment. And it was no secret to himself anymore that he yearned to be in Y/N’s presence for as long as possible whether he was aware of it or not.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed, you know,” she continued as if she could read his mind, and that was when he realized the way his eyes avoided hers and the fact that his skin was the color of tomatoes must’ve been dead giveaways. “I meant it when I said that was the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced.”

Jungkook balked, practically choking on his spit at her forward, shameless words. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to the way she spoke her mind so openly without any fear holding her back. She’d gone through so much in her childhood, in her life—Jungkook not even knowing the half of it, he’s sure—and yet she was still so strong and brave and everything he wasn’t. He couldn’t help but admire the person she was today, despite all the prejudice and judgment he’d held for her when they first met.

He realized now that he was too quick to judge her, to write her off based on rumors and first impressions. He realized now that he was too quick to do that to a lot of people. Just how long had he closed himself off from others based on his skewed, morally righteous perspective? His whole life, if he had to say.

The epiphany that she was physically prying open his third eye with a crowbar, that he was now self aware and changing for the better for her—for himself—hit him all at once.

It was the most frightening sensation of his life, the introvert in him wanting to crawl back into his shell where it was safe and comfortable and dull. But deep down he knew it was also for the best.

“W-why?” He heard himself asking before he knew what he was doing. “Why do you keep saying that?”

He had to know why she insisted on standing by her statement that his mishap was not only hot, but the hottest ever. Why did she insist on lying to him, on giving him false hope? She spoke her mind in every other situation, or at least that’s what he assumed; why did she insist on sparing his feelings in this incident? Was he really that pathetic? Did she pity him that much?

She simply blinked at him once, twice, before: “Because I really like you, Jungkook.”

As if in slow motion, you could visibly see his eyes expand to the size of saucers at your words.

You would’ve found the sight comical had the situation been any different. But the way he continued to disbelieve that you could have feelings for him, that you could be attracted to everything about him despite who he was, despite his inexperience—it made your heart break in your chest. You now knew from where this inferiority complex stemmed—he’d told you himself about his family situation—and if anything, it made you want to rebuild his confidence that much more. He needed to see himself the way you saw him.

But you also didn’t want to overwhelm him, either. And you were more than willing to walk that fine line with Jungkook no matter how long it took.

“So are we on for a study sesh tonight?” You continued nonchalantly, wanting to return things to normalcy for him as much as possible before he ran away mid-conversation as he’d done so many times before. You wanted to ease his self-doubt so he’d stop avoiding you—like he’d been doing the past few days—as much as possible.

Jungkook blinked as if trying to adjust from the whiplash of your subject-change. “U–uh… if you want?”

“Of course I want to,” you replied without missing a beat, not caring how desperate you seemed so long as he didn’t question where you stood. You took a step forward, unable to help the intangible, magnetic draw you felt to him as you gazed up at him beneath your lashes. “That is… if you want to.”

You watched in agony as a gulp slowly raked its way down his throat.

“I–” his voice was hoarse before he cleared his throat. “I uh, can’t tonight. I have to study for math.”

You weren’t even sure how one studied for math, but you weren’t about to question the expert. “That’s fine! We could… do it tomorrow?”

Jungkook chewed at his bottom lip, an action he always did when he was internally struggling with something before he finally nodded his head yes in a slow, hesitant manner. “N–not in my room though,” he added as an afterthought, and when your gaze snapped to his he had a pleading expression in his eyes.

A mix of emotions rolled through you. On one hand, you were horrified at the possibility that he thought the only reason you wanted to study again was so that you could get in his pants. Which—okay, you’re not going to lie, you would love to have a repeat of last week—but that definitely wasn’t why you wanted to see him. He meant more to you than just a means to get off, which was what you’d thought of flings in the past. You didn’t want him to be just a fling, though.

You didn’t want to think of the meaning behind that fact right now, either.

But on another hand, you understood where Jungkook was coming from. Maybe it was because you’d studied him enough over the past few months to learn some of his behavior (for once you finally saw the appeal of studying), so you knew that level of intimacy was probably extremely overwhelming for Jungkook and he needed a moment to step back. Hell, it was even overwhelming for you, and that was saying something. Never had your senses, your heart, your body, your soul been attacked like that with such an abundance of emotional pleasure, and you hoped with all your might that Jungkook was feeling the same—that that was the reason he needed a breather from being alone with you, and not the fact that he just didn’t want to be intimate with you.

Unless…

Oh god, had you misread the situation entirely? Had Jungkook hated everything about that night?

Suddenly you were feeling sick to your stomach. The thought of you misunderstanding his confession—or worse, him changing his mind completely—made you want to escape to a dark and desolate stairwell and cry in the hidden nooks of the windowsill again; the irony that not only would you be pulling a Jungkook by escaping mid-conversation, but that the stairwell was also the place the two of you had your first real conversation, wasn’t lost on you.

“M–my roommate is staying in, studying for finals.” The sound of Jungkook’s voice was like a breath of fresh air whooshing into your lungs after almost drowning underwater. You blinked out of your inner turmoil, focusing on him. “So he’ll be there, i–in my room, this whole week.”

And suddenly your heart was warming with relief, hope, appreciation, like flowers blooming in the spring after a torrential downpour. Just when you thought you had him figured out, this enigma of a boy continued to surprise you. It was usually easy for you to hide your emotions—you’d been doing so for years, always wore a mask around others so that they couldn’t see the real you—and yet somehow, Jungkook must’ve sensed them anyway. He sensed the doubt, the pain, the fear that you vowed never to cage you crawling up your throat and threatening to consume you whole, and he eased it. He didn’t want you to misunderstand him. He wanted to reassure you.

If anything, that was just a testament to how Jungkook had broken down your walls—how much you had let him in, how well he was able to read the emotions you wanted to keep hidden. Your mask had begun to break, the real you showing through the cracks, and Jungkook was still standing here. He hadn’t run away.

You fought the urge to grab him and slam your lips onto his.

“Not in your room, then,” is all you managed to breathe out beneath a fluttering smile.

#jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #bts fanfic #bts smut #jungkook scenario #bts x reader #bts scenario #i hope this is good enough for the time being!!! im sorry its taking me so long to get pt 8 posted #u guys are the best i love u <3333

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thirstygirlclub · 7 years ago

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A Boy Named Box - Part Two (2)

KozikxGayMale!Reader

(this is my second time writing this. i had finished this, all done, until my internet crashed and i lost all of it. hopefully, this one will be as good as the lost part.)

(the second part of a request from an anon! where the reader is Juice’s twin brother that moved away from Queens to Charming for a new start and falls for a certain sandy haired son)

also this part is dedicated to @marcus-demitri455 and @samcro-saint99 who were so lovely when i was so heartbroken about this, love you my angels! ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

p.s legit thought that this was only going to be 3 parts max but I didn’t factor in the fact that i always get carried away and that this is all so cute that it is consuming me more than i ever thought possible? so this is going to be part 2 of 4 (for now but knowing me i’m going to turn it into a whole McFreakin’ book or some shit)

WARNING: CONTAINS CUTE STUFF

Tig was trying to rile you up, you knew he was, but that didn’t stop you giving him exactly what he wanted. You grabbed him by the front of his kutte and you couldn't give a shit about disrespecting the leather and sons of Anarchy colours when he was disrespecting you like he was. You had had enough of your sexuality being the butt of all of his jokes. You knew he was joking and he didn’t mean it, not really, but that didn’t stop it from offending you. Juan was getting sick of it too but he let you fight your own battles now you were both adults.

“Say that again,” you hissed lowly, “you bastard.”

“I said,” Tig said loudly with a laugh, “I’m not gonna let a gay kid beat me in the ring. Unless you’re scared-”

You bashed him roughly against the brick wall of the work bay while he grappled at your hands and work shirt; trying to get you to release him but his attempts proving fruitless. His eyes showed panic and pain, there was blood running from his nose and down his chin from where you had punched him to try and get him to shut up. Despite the expression on his face, he laughed as you were wrenched away from the older man.

You struggled against Kozik’s grip. He had pulled your arms behind you, almost like a police grip, and was pulling you away. Even though he was strong, he was struggling to do so. Kozik practically threw you into the parking lot then pushed you back by the chest when you had rounded on him to get back to Tig.

“That’s enough!” Chibs commanded from where he had been watching the brawl and walking over to you, “Stop this now. You know he doesn’t mean it!”

“I don’t give a fuck if he means it or not,” you growled at the Scottish man, “I’ve had to deal with that shit all my life. I’m not dealing with it here, get it?”

“Alright, alright,” Chibs sighed with an understanding nod at you before turning to Kozik, “go deal with that dickhead. I’ll get the kid calmed down.”

“I’m not a kid!”

“Yeah? Then stop fucking acting like one!”

He grabbed you by the scruff of the neck and started walking you off but you fought him off. Chibs let go and put his hands up in surrender but followed you anyway. When you cast a glance back, Kozik grinned at you then turned back to go have a look at Tig’s face.

“I’m takin’ bets on a fight night,” Chibs told you and took a drag of his cigarette, “first match is you against him. If you’re willing to clear the air in public.”

“If he’s not scared of losing to a fa-”

“Enough Box! Are you in? I’m sick and tired of you bein’ at each others throats all the time.”

“Yeah,” you spat, “I’m in.”

“Right. 2 weeks time, you and him in the ring then all this gets put to rest. Yeah?”

You had been sleeping peacefully, in a drunk and stoned stupor, snoring away when you were woken up by a voice in your ear.

“Box,” you heard them whisper in your ear, “time to get up.”

When you opened your eyes you saw Kozik stood over your bed, with his arms folded and that stupid grin on his face, you sat up with a gasp and pulled the blankets up over your naked body and stared up at him with wide eyes.

“What the fuck man?!” You shrieked hoarsely, “get out!”

Kozik laughed at your now bright red face but didn’t leave. When he didn’t say anything you shook your head in a ‘what the fuck’ kind of way. You knew you weren’t the most attractive person while you were sleeping, especially after a night of drinking and smoking. You hastily wiped the drool off of your cheek and tried to fix your bedhead.

“You know you snore?” He asked with a laugh.

“Yeah, thanks,” you said with a scoff.

“Get up now; we’re going training.”

“Training?”

“Yeah. I bet $64 on you winning and I’m not gonna get it back with that right hook so get up, get dressed.”

He picked some shorts and a black shirt from a pile of clothes from the pile of clean washing on the desk chair to throw them at you. He then stood looking around and the room that you were sleeping in.

“Uh, kinda naked here bro,” you said and held the blankets tighter to your bare chest, “you wanna leave?”

Kozik smirked, knowing he had already seen everything, but turned to leave anyway. Once the door was shut, you checked the time and groaned, standing up and pulling on the clothes.

“Are you joking?” You asked him as you stormed through to see him sat drinking coffee at the little dining table in the kitchen, “it’s 6-fucking-05 in the morning. What is your problem?”

“Gotta get there before the crowds. Come on. Let’s go, we’re jogging to the gym.”

He stood up and hit you on the bicep as he walked passed you and out the front door. You sighed and followed him, stretching and yawning as you went.

Evidently, you weren’t as fit as you thought you had been. You had been jogging for a total of 10 minutes and you already needed to sit down since you were puffing, panting and sweating profusely. You grabbed the back of Kozik’s shirt and braced yourself on your knees before collapsing on some nearby grass. Your running partner chuckled then same to sit by you. Luckily, it was still morning and reasonably cool out.

You had only been in Charming for about 6 weeks but you were already sick of the heat. You were so used to the chillier, grey weather in Queens and you hadn’t yet acclimatised to it like Juan had but then again, he was always a fan of warmer weather. You used to say he was like a lizard.

“Come on Box,” Kozik groaned once you had caught your breath, “we’ve been sat here for 20 minutes and I actually want to get to work today.”

“I still have to go to work after the gym?” You huffed then rolled onto your side and curled up in a ball when he nodded.

“Stop being a drama queen.”

“Who are you calling queen?” You asked venomously.

“You know I didn’t mean it like that! Fuck you’re grouchy in the morning!”

You sat up to glare at him and saw that he was already stood up and was holding his hand out you to help you up. You sighed in defeat, taking his hand and letting him help you stand and you weren’t sure but maybe he held it for a second too long when you were on your feet. And maybe there was that mischievous glint in his blue eyes but you couldn’t know for sure because as soon as you had thought you had seen it he had turned around to run on ahead of you.

Training with Kozik was simultaneously the toughest but most entertaining thing you had done in your life, kind of. You had got a chance to talk to him properly about everything you had been through and it was nice to open up to somebody that wasn’t Juan. As much as your brother loved you, you knew he was getting fed up of hearing about your ex. He would never say anything to you about it but you could just tell. That twin intuition, you know?

Kozik had listened patiently to your worries while you battered the punching bag. He eased your concerns that the guys hadn’t accepted you as yourself and still just thought of you as one half of The Juice Box, that they all thought you were running away from your past, that they didn’t accept you for your sexuality with them being a biker gang and all.

“You know the guys talk shit but honestly Box... listen to me. They love you, alright? We all do besides, we all got our thoughts on Tig. Nobody gives a fuck if you’re gay. And yeah, you’re Juice’s brother but you’re also Box. We get you’re a different guy all together. Got better hair for a start,” Kozik had told you, ruffling your sweaty hair and making you laugh; diffusing the tense atmosphere you had brought with you that one particular day, “and don’t worry about running from where you came from; we all got something we’re running towards. You know?”

You hadn’t been ashamed to wipe away a few tears when he told you that; you needed to hear that and it meant so much coming from him. But as he patted you comfortingly on the shoulder you couldn’t help wondering what it was that he was running to.

On the plus side, you hadn’t been in better shape for a long time. You were waking up at 6am every morning without needing him to barge into your room and drag you out of bed. He had given you special instructions not to drink, smoke, do drugs for the entire 2 weeks you had been training with him and he had even put you on a special diet. This mostly consisted of you sharing his lunch, normally some kind of salad with lean meat or pasta, while you were working and him bringing you the food for your dinner. It was nice to have someone looking out for you every now and again.

You had a good little routine going too, wake up at 6 then run to the gym with Kozik at 6:30; work out and train until 8 so you were all ready to hit the showers and seeing him in just a towel afterwards was always a bonus, not that you would tell him that of course; he was already big-headed enough.

The buzz around TM and the club house was electric on the day of the fight. Word had got out that Kozik was training you up and teaching you the way that Tig fought so he had enlisted the help of Chibs. This meant that it was no longer just a competition to see who was the better fighter but also who was the better coach too. The animosity and fighting talk was so bad between the two teams that Clay had to schedule the shifts so that neither team was mixed together. You had tried to defend yourselves and say that it was all friendly but Clay was having none of it.

You had also been promoted to “mechanic’s assistant” which essentially meant you were Kozik’s own personal go-fer boy and he was loving it; he was asking you to get any number of different things that he could easily get for himself. Every time you complained about it, he would remind you that Clay was keeping an eye on you to see if you were worth keeping on the team which would make you grumble but kick him the wrench that was about 3 inches away from his hand.

The sound of a motorcycle drew you out of your angry thoughts and you turned to see Juan climbing off of his motorcycle wearing his Sons of Anarchy kutte and sunglasses. He carried himself differently when he was wearing the vest and you kind of wanted one too but you had a feeling that regardless of how accepting they were as people, the other charters and club rules probably wouldn’t allow a gay man into the club. It didn’t stop you craving the sense of belonging that your brother had found with them though.

You were leaning casually against the front of a green dodge charger, beside Kozik as he was under the hood of the car, as you ate the rest of the blonde man’s chicken salad, when Juan came sloping over to you with his eyebrows raised and a smirk on his face. You sent your twin a quizzical look which he returned sarcastically.

“You ready for tonight little brother?” Juan asked you, “you think you’re gonna win?”

“Uh yeah,” You scoffed, stuffing another bite in your mouth, “why? You got no faith in me?”

“Nah, obviously I do. I just mean that Chibs is a good coach, that’s all.”

With that comment, Kozik raised himself from under the hood of the car and stepped in front of you, between you and Juan, with his arms folded and his chest puffed out. Juan tried his best not took look threatened but his small step backwards betrayed his smug face. You peeked over Kozik’s shoulder and smiled around another bite of salad. Your brother looked between you and Kozik with a knowing smile but said nothing, turning to head into the clubhouse.

You knew Juan knew about your teeny tiny, minuscule crush on your fighting coach. Again the twin intuition, but knew better than to call you out on it.

“You wanna pass me that wrench?” Kozik asked you once you had clipped the lid back on his tupperware tub.

He was pointing to a black handled tool in the tool box. All he had to do was bend down and grab it but he really was loving having you as his personal servant. With a sigh, you bent down to grab it and give it to him but he stood with his hand out stretched until you had placed it in his palm but even then he didn’t close his fingers around it.

“I meant the other one, the one next to it,” he said, that mischievous glint back in his eyes.

You sighed and raised your eyebrows at him before grabbing the other wrench and swapping it for the next size down.

“No, the other one,” he grinned.

“Are you fucking kidding?”

“Less of the attitude mister,” he hit you in the chest with the wrench you had just given him before turning back into the car, “Clay is always watching you. You wanna be my butler forever?”

“If I don’t kill you first,” you muttered but turned away when you saw Clay peering at you through the blinds in the office.

“What?”

“Nothing man, just saying how much of an honour it would be.”

“Yeah. That’s what I thought you said.”

You laughed with him and brushed your shoulder against his as you lent under the hood to watch what he was doing, sharing a look with him before he turned back to his work with a smile on his face.

(legit have no idea how to write guys, i’m sorry!!)

#if you're gonna be homophobic you can go and get fucked.#ok?#ok #kozik #herman kozik #kozik imagine #kozik prompts #kozik headcanon #sons of anarchy #sons of anarchy fanfiction #sons of anarchy imagine #sons of anarchy headcanon #sons of anarchy prompts

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ferretandtheweasel · 7 years ago

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Why I ship Draco and Ginny?

Seriously nobody asked for this 😂 tbh this is just my Harry Potter and Drinny journey. Also this is just me posting something to start this blog with. So, here's how everything went down:

So before anything I want y'all to know that I started reading Harry Potter at like 14? 13? (don't remember exactly). I was given the first 3 books as a gift. I was instantly hooked and finished them all pretty quickly. And because I am a slut for grey characters, Draco managed a place in my heart even when I low-key hated him (In the first two books lol). He was interesting to me because I wanted to see where his story would go? On the other hand I already had a soft spot for Ginny since Sorcerer's Stone. I had older cousins who wouldn't include me in their stuff so I found her adorbs and relatable in the first book and my sympathy for her only grew in CoS. Book 5 Ginny though, was my fav Ginny because she really put Harry in his place and hexed Malfoy. She became one of my favourite side-characters along with Luna and Neville.

Despite my love for her, like most people, Ginny ending up as Harry's main love interest definitely surprised me. JKR did a good job of convincing me though. I accepted quite easily that Harry and Ginny were endgame but before embracing Hinny, I was a believer that Rowling would make Ginny Weasley end up with Draco Malloy.

Why?

Some might ask and God, I wish there was some proper logic behind this but for some reason, my 15 year old romantic self was sold on the idea that Ginny and Draco are going to be Romeo and Juliet of the Wizarding world?

No, I don't know why I thought like this 😂😂😂 It just made perfect sense in my head at that time for Drinny to happen, I do laugh now at how cheesy I was as a teenager. I just loved thinking about the wizarding world, imaging about other characters that weren't the trio.

Anyway, so this revelation of Drinny possibly being Romeo-Juliet happened during Order of The Pheonix, Ginny hexes Draco with bat-bogey hex and for some reason I was fixated on that particular interaction in the book. I used to imagine Draco being flustered that little Weasley had hexed him, it just gave me so much thrill thinking how annoyed he would be that a girl got the best of him, I imagined him being turned on while he was mad at her, or that he would eventually get attracted to her while trying to get back at her. I just imagined them having the enemies-to-lovers sort of relationship and it just made sense.

Now let me tell you when I read Harry Potter, I lived in a small town in Pakistan, not only was internet not easily available there, it never occured to me back then to actually search for the Harry potter fandom online the few times i did get a connection, so I had no idea of "shipping" or "OTPs" and I didn't know any spoilers. So yeah I used to create scenarios in my head where Draco and Ginny would meet in the Hogwarts corridors and they would argue and have intense sexual tension, or how Draco would want to take revenge on Ginny for hexing him and it would lead to them to having an angry shouting matches which would lead to make out session etc (Yes, I am aware we call these 'headcanons' but back then I was not familiar with fandom terminology).

Anyhow, I finally get my hands on Half Blood Prince Book and lmao remember the scene where Harry is spying on Draco, and then Blaise (or someone else? Idr correctly) brings up how hot Ginny is, I was losing my shit because I was like, why else would JKR bring this up in front of Draco? I was sure that she was building up a secret romance between Drinny behind the scenes because we see stuff happeing through Harry's eyes. Yes i was connecting dots of my conspiracy theory, or at least wishing that that is what was happening.

So y'all can now probably imagine how freakin' surprised and confused I felt when Harry got jealous over Ginny and Dean in the Astronomy tower? 😂😂😂 Like i did not see Hinny coming, it hit me like a wrecking ball... But ofcourse I accepted Hinny at the time because I also loved how tables had turned and now it was Harry who became obsessed with her, I also loved the whole "But she is Ron's sister, I thought I liked her as a sister, Ron will be so mad".

So anyway I go move on with my life and finish Deathly Hallows but ofc Harry Potter series felt like my childhood ending and I couldn't accept it. In my head, even when I had embraced Hinny, I still felt the love for Drinny and saw their potential, by this time I was finally allowed a phone. (Yeah I got a mobile phone when I was almost 16 😂) and while searching for random hp related stuff online I came across Fanfiction...

I started reading fics because I wanted to know what happened between the time when the war ended and when epilogue happened. I also wanted more answers about all the characters. However, I used to find most stories/character ooc, so I used to leave most fics in the middle and move on, very few fics could satisfy me because few writers nailed JKR's Harry.

Anyhow exploring the world of fanfics to read something that I actually like, that's when I was introduced to the giant that is dramione. Dramione introduced the idea of fanfiction deviating from actual books, so I gave them a try but then there were so many Dramione fics on Fanfiction.net but their fics pretty much very early on put me off of that ship, and then I altogether gave up on it because the disrespect to the Weasleys especially Ron was astounding to me. Also people turned Hermione into a mary-sue character in fics which also put me off. I feel like people dont know how to seperate Emma Watson from Hermione. Anyway that is a rant for another day.... So yeah, It was then when I randomly decided that maybe I should check out if anybody wrote Draco and Ginny fics and it was like magic 😍

ff.net had some great Drinny fics Some of them were post series, some of them during their Hogwarts years. Some were pure fluff others K I L L E D me with angst! I still have issues with fics where in order for Drinny to happen they show how bad/abusive Harry-Ron-Hermione are. I leave them instantly, or fics where Ginny is ashamed of being poor (i feel like she loves her parents and everything they've done for her) or fics where I find them ooc... but over all Drinny is a ship which has given me some great fics and those fics have helped me deal with personal stuff and cheered me up when I was down.

Also reading about them gave me an insight on how healthy a relationship between them can be where they can both provide each other with validation, comfort, love and passion.

Reasons why i think they work:

1) Ginny and Draco are opposites but they compliment each other rather than repel. Eg: Ginny and Draco both belong to ancient pureblood families yet the environment and ideology they grow up with completely opposite, their values are opposite even when their world is the same. That gives a lot of foundation for both of them to learn from each other.

2) Ginny is fierce, talkative /bubbly (Ron mentions how it's strange that she's quiet around harry because usually she won't shut up), stands up for those she feels are being unfairly treated (Luna, Neville), she's quite popular as harry realises in year 6 that she has her own friends, she even gets invited to the "slug club"... I think this works so well with Draco who hides his emotions, is under control of his feelings... He's also somewhat of a bully in early years which just goes so well because can you imagine how explosive their encounters would be in the great hall? Draco saying mean things to Ginny just to wind her up and her reacting and never backing down. I think Ginny is really one of the only ladies who can match him inch by inch and call him out on his bullshit. Maybe wind him enough to lose control even.

3) They both play quidditch, can you imagine the friendly rivalry? That is one thing they can bond over, they can also bond over their ancient families and their respective experience of growing up in wizarding world post voldemort... It can be similar and different. They really have the potential to be attracted like magnets. Sorry dramiones, but the angst and enemies to lovers that Drinny delivers... No other hp ship does it for me.

So yeah guys Drinny is my guilty pleasure and I think Draco and Ginny could have worked out really well as a couple but off course I understand that JRK wasn't writing a romance 😂. There is just so much to explore in their dynamic though and I am glad for all the fanfics and fanarts are out there because they really satisfy my curiosity and love for them.

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trendingnewsb · 7 years ago

Text

Sympathy for the Incel

If you want to know why young men are broken, ask them.

There is a cultural crisis emboldening the misogyny and violence of the little-known incel movement (an abbreviation for the self-professed involuntary celibate community of men) and which has now been tied to three mass murders: Elliot Rodger, Chris Harper-Mercer and, this week, the alleged Toronto killer Alek Minassian, who is accused of killing 10 and injuring 15 people in one of the most horrific acts of mass violence in Canada in years.

One after another, media outlets are seeking to understand how this could happen while raising the question of how we got here. The Internet is enabling a community of men who want to kill women, read the headline in The Verge. Can the radicalization of incels be stopped? asked the Globe and Mail. But one headline stood out, from The National Post: What should we do about the incels? Maybe help them. Shouting about what horrible women-hating losers they are (which they may be) is not going to prevent one of them from murdering again.

This, in particular, is the question Im concerned with, and why I am attempting to find whatever empathy or compassion might be possible for the disconnected young men flocking to the movement and who might be at a crossroads. One young man stood out in the countless hours I spent listening to podcasts, videos and chat room conversations within the incel community which I have been following for months now: 19-year-old Jack Peterson, a socially awkward Chicagoan who after hours of interviews agreed to reveal his real identity for the first time to The Daily Beast.

To be clear, Peterson initially did not want to do any media regarding the group, particularly a profile on what the makings of an incel look like, but after considering my appeal that perhaps others might want to reach out if they could have a better understanding, he agreed.

Born Kalerthon Demetro in the suburbs of Chicago, Peterson (his mothers last name) is a high school dropout who lives with his single mother and whose father left when he was two years old. Peripherally involved in the online incel community for years, Petersons first reaction to the Toronto horror was to record a podcast specifically condemning violence and misogyny and underscoring that for the majority of participants, this is not their reality. For him and many like him, he says, the incel community is a means of supporting one another in a world when it sometimes feels like there is no one else.

To listen to the teenager speak, he does not seem psychopathic. He does not seem like he endorses psychopathy. On the contrary, he seems shy and awkward and lonely and angry. He laughs when other incels make dark jokes about killers, but he does not make them himself. He gets it. They are blowing off steam.

Being an incel is not about violence or misogyny, repeats Peterson, who is the only incel who has been on television doing interviews in recent days since the alleged Toronto killer pointed a finger at the incel movement in a cryptic post on Facebook confirmed earlier this week. Yes, for some guys it is, but not for me. Not for many of us.

The challenge in covering the incel movement is that in many cases the cherry-picked and sensationalist coverage reinforces these mens persecution complexes and drives them further into a pit of rage-fueled nihilism. Attempting to find any kind of compassion is in no way to excuse or normalize the deranged among them. On the other hand, it is to see what options we have left in reaching them at all.

In the groundbreaking book Change or Die, author Alan Deutschman writes, [The sense of self is threatened by any major change in the deep-rooted patterns of how we think, feel, and act, even a tremendously positive change such as leaving behind a life of crime and addiction. A change in progress demands new explanations for a past thats now cast in a darker light.

Essentially, reaching someone entrenched within a near-fanatical belief system is often impossible because the ego will put up a fight to the death in order to not deal with the psychic pain of feeling that everything that has been done up until this point has been done wrong. But it is possible.

In Deutschmans book, spanning extensive research on changing past negative behavior to future positive actions, one case study of a parole officer illuminates how he found the most success in reaching the seemingly unreachable. By realizing that the real reason why people dont change is demoralizationthe overwhelming sense of hopelessness and power he applied the theory that the most he could do is to inspire a new sense of hope and power. Indeed, this officer invited 14 of the most argumentative ex-convicts and spent 90-minute sessions listening to them rather than telling them what to do. The response was extraordinary. The parole officer recounted: In one and a half hours they calmed down. They said, These guys arent against us. Now they come back every week and say, At least Im being listened to. In the last year the difference has been huge. They want to make a change.

In speaking to Peterson on the phone, while a journalist is about as a far away from a parole officer as you can get, its amazing the difference that occurs when I listen to what he has to say about the reality of incel culture versus how he sees the media portraying its members.

In his view, as despicable and morally unfathomable as the psychopathic fringe is, the reality of the wider membership estimated in the tens of thousands of active members is far more complex.

The way Peterson tells itand as is supported by his digital footprint of videos, podcasts and commentsfor him and many others, to be an incel is to seek the camaraderie of a group of male peers who provide an outlet where, for once, they can honestly talk about the increasing fragmentation, disconnection, alienation and ostracization they feel in an always-online world in which, as far as they can see, they are not welcome or wanted.

Peterson compared the mischaracterization of incels to the xenophobic broad brush that takes a minority of radicalized Islamic suicide-bombers and uses it to condemn the vast majority of Muslims. Instead, he said, there is an acceptance that there is a vile minority who distorts the vision of the communitybut that it is not his vision for the group.

Like many in the incel community, Peterson essentially grew up without a strong father figure.

His mother kicked his father out because, in Petersons words, he used to beat the shit out of my mother and she got a restraining order. His father was the same age that he is now when he got his 39-year-old mother pregnant, and hes never met him, but they have spoken on the phone a few times.

I dont really have any feelings about him, Peterson says. He just kind of is.

From an early age, Peterson felt a level of social anxiety that was bearable but distinct. His kindergarten teacher asked him why he did not play with the others. He said, I dont know how.

Things started to change around the third or fourth grade. It was the first time the girls started making fun of him, he says, saying he was creepy and gross and weird.

I didnt understand it, he says. I was told either to act like a man or that girls could do no wrong. And yet I was constantly told that men were the cruel, bad ones. None of it made any sense to me. I was just extremely shy. I didnt talk to them, but the teasing was relentless and made me want to kill myself.

In the seventh grade, Peterson transferred to three different middle schools all in one year as the bullying followed him everywhere. By the time he reached high school, he says, one young woman started taking photos of him and sharing them with other girls who openly laughed in his face about how ugly he was and why they did not want him near them. He did not finish his freshman year at the Chicago Academy for the Arts, but dropped out after the first semester. His mother never knew the extent of the bullying he experienced.

I was just ashamed, he says. How do you talk about that?

The profoundly formative pain of youthful bullying has been around forever. When a classmate taunts you and proclaims your worthlessness to all your peers, if you are a kid, the humiliation of such an experience doesnt feel like its happening in a classroomit can feel like a worldwide-televised death sentence.

Very few kids on the receiving end of the cruelty know how to deal with itbecause of a lack of life experience that is just as undeveloped as their pubescent brains.

But for a kid growing up today, the tool of the Internet levels the game. No longer do you wonder, Will anyone ever love me? Now you can Google it, and find secret places and communities and bodies of knowledge that your parents dont even know exist. This can be exciting, emboldening, a total game-changer.

I remember the first time I found a site that even mentioned the word incel, I was like, Woah, these guys are outcasts, too, he says. I kind of felt like, maybe Im not alone.

At the age of 11, Peterson visited 4chan for the first time, and he saw his rage and loneliness expressed as well as the impotence of such advice as just get over it. He didnt know how to. He didnt have anyone to ask. He just didnt want any more ridicule.

It was kind of crazy to see and read a lot of the stuff I did, Peterson says. But it was also the only place where other guys talked about some of the things I was experiencing. Feeling so alone and rejected by the people around you. I was extremely shy then, and still kind of am, but it makes you feel really fucked up to be told youre a creepy loser by a pretty popular girl when youre just sitting there, saying nothing, doing nothing, wishing you were invisible but instead being the quiet freak with the cystic acne all over his face.

He also received an indoctrination into the culture of these young men who accepted him and what they found acceptableand what he would need to as well if he were to finally fit in somewhere.

To understand the increasingly irony-rich language of the users, its essential to read Angela Nagles book Kill All Normies, which exquisitely captures the critical shift in online perspective and the death of what remained of a mass culture sensibility that happened at exactly the same time Peterson began actively engaging with it.

In her brilliant book documenting the culture wars of the extreme left and the extreme right in recent years, focusing on subcultures including 4chan and incels, Nagle describes the attitude rebellion on the site against the sentimentality and absurd priorities of Western liberal performative politics and the online mass hysteria that often characterized it.

Peterson is one of the best representations of exactly how these culture wars are shaping our young mens identities.

When everything is ironic, nothing is. So they mock it. All of it.

Theres this big hypocrisy in the fact that so many people who say they are all about human rights and empowerment think its actually funny when boys get mocked, he says. I never said a single misogynistic thing growing up. And I was punished. Just because I was weird. I couldnt help it. I honestly wanted to die.

On the contrary, the incel communities he found online seemed different.

When I dropped out of high school, the one place I felt okay about stuff for a little while was when I was online, Peterson tells me. By the time I discovered the incel culture on Reddit, it felt like, Okay, Im not insane. I was reading all these other guys stories about how girls told them they were repulsive. I never identified with the misogyny, but I did identify with the rage at the hypocrisy of just how untouchable women were in society. No matter what, no matter what awful thing a woman did, it was always supposed to be like, Oh yeah, thats female empowerment. But when you have no friends and are getting bullied and humiliated by women constantly and are told to both man up and renounce your masculinity its like the one bright light you see is this community.

By the time he was 16, Peterson finally met in person a young womanfour years older than himwith whom he had been chatting online since he was 12 years old. She did not know what he looked like for some time, and when he finally shared his picture, she told him that she didnt find him attractive. He lost his virginity to her, after which he says she ridiculed his penis size and laughed at him. Later, she sent him copies of messages that she had sent on to other men she was cheating on him with where she explicitly described the sex acts she wanted done to her. (Ive seen corroborating evidence of all of this.)

I was literally cucked, Peterson says. That word doesnt have any meaning anymore, but thats what I was. I still wanted to see her though. She was the only girl who had ever expressed interest in me, even though she tore me down and told me how ugly I was. It was still better than nothing.

According to Peterson, the relationship finally disintegrated when she began choking him and tried to go after him in her car. He ran to a nearby store to get help, and has the actual footage of the security cam showing him flailing against the glass window. The police came, and to cover for the girl, he said that he was suicidal. He spent three days in a mental institution because of it.

This was a turning point for Peterson.

He finally aligned himself fully as an incel. He was, in the words of Internet argot, black-pilled.

Anyone who has dabbled in understanding Internet lingo is likely familiar with the term red-pilled (inspired by the film The Matrix, where Neo is offered a blue pill where everything stays status quo or a red pill where the ugly truth is supposedly exposed). Adopted by mens rights activists around 2004, to get red-pilled is to subscribe to the particular ideology that feminism is a cancer and men are the real victims. But what does it mean to get black-pilled, as many refer to this communitys belief system? It sounds as bleak as it is.

Essentially, the philosophy is that everything is broken and the answer lies in refusing to engage in a meaningful or constructive way with society. (The phrase black pill first appeared in 2012 on a blog called Omega Virgin Revolt.) A critical part of being black-pilled is recognizing, with zero sentimentality or euphemism or explaining away, that women do not like genetically inferior men. They now have infinite options in the form of men who are higher status (be it, economic, physical, or intellectual) because of the breakdown in societal monogamy and now high-status men can game apps and use hypergamy (or dating up) to their advantage. (Meaning, a less attractive woman will nowadays reject a less attractive male if she is suddenly able to have meaningless sex with a high status man, who can juggle multiple women. This leaves men who are not as good-looking in the dust.)

Incels theorize that once you are black-pilled, you are finally given the gift of brutally honest Darwinian truth that, essentially, the game is rigged, so why bother? With such entrenchment in the truth of the doctrine comes freedom. No longer do you have to run around in circles. You can accept the world for what it is and settle back into your status on the lower rungs.

If you are red-pilled, you might take this theory of female behavior to use it in manipulative pick-up strategies to try to game women into thinking you are higher status or to find the weakest prey.

If you are an incel and have never had a single successful romantic attempt or only disastrous ones, this type of theorizing provides that wonderful feeling of certainty that comes with confirmation bias and the emancipation from regret of knowing that nothing could have been done anyway. Which is why many incels describe being black-pilled as an awakening from humiliation. Like finally realizing that you have been the subject of a joke that everyone else has been in on the whole time.

For a young man like Peterson, spouting such beliefs, he seems not so much a product of toxic masculinity as a failure of masculinity itself.

No one is teaching these men how to be men. This doesnt mean men in the sense of mens rights activists, but a healthy, balanced (not extremist) definition which includes someone who treats women well but also treats himself well by not being afraid to think for himself with opinions that deviate from the loudest, most hateful elements in the community.

But isnt the worst parts of the incel community hate speech? And shouldnt such hate speech be eradicated?

In Nadine Strossens timely new book Hate, she makes the case for countering bad speech with more speech, and illustrates how in countries where hate speech speech laws have been enacted, support for racist and xenophobic politicians has risen. In Europe, hate speech laws have in fact been used as a means of stifling dissent amongst the disenfranchised.

Equal justice for all depends on full freedom of speech for all, she writes.

Not only that, but as Keith Whittington argues in his new book Speak Freely, offensive speech is crucial to safeguard because of its utility in generating, testing, and communicating ideas.

One of the most brilliant defenses of the subject is Jonathan Rauchs 2013 essay, The Case for Hate Speech in The Atlantic, where he thanks the loudest and most noxious voices he faced along the way in his fight for gay marriage. [W]e won in the realm of ideas, he writes. And our antagonists–people who spouted speech we believed was deeply offensive, from Anita Bryant to Jerry Falwell to, yes, Orson Scott Card–helped us win.

For the incel community, of course, many of the ideas espoused are in defense of their identity as the losers of society, which frees them of the need to take personal responsibility.

I think thats a valid criticism, Peterson says. I get sick of the guys who seem like they just want to keep others down no matter what. Its almost like you are scorned when you experience a little bit of success.

The podcast Peterson recorded after the Toronto attack represents the incel community as not seeming as extreme as a cursory visit to the incel-tracking site We Hunted the Mammoth or the incel-mocking community Incel Tears might lead you to believe. On these sites, in the communitys most chilling screengrabs, posts include suggestions that in order to truly terrorize the women who have rejected incels over the years, perhaps mass acid attacks and rapes could be coordinated in order to inflict the same damage upon women that these young men feel has happened to them.

In contrast, Petersons podcast discussion contains an unusual degree of literacy about sociological phenomena, including the Japanese trend of hikikomori, or isolationism and utter retreat occurring with young men, which many incels predict will spread around the world in due time.

But at its core, it is still a conversation littered with misogyny and resentment.

At one point, someone says that women use men like emotional tampons. Another brings up the possibility of mandated girlfriends (or state-sanctioned rape, as shown on the new season of The Handmaids Tale). A joke is made that the best-case scenario is when incels go ER (or Elliot Rodger). There is discussion about the evolutionary benefits of sexual violence, which harkens Rodgers infamously deranged advocacy of a program where men could kill all women because if women were able to choose their own mates, their inferior brains would devolve humanity completely. Someone laughs about the idea of blackmailing women into having sex with them by threatening to post nude photos online. Peterson himself brings up the idea of access to assisted suicide for incels to prevent future attacks, and he suggests that talking to those who wonder about incel culture might help with improving our image, especially if you attach a face to the incel phenomenon, I think that that makes it more sympathetic.

Peterson clarifies to me: He was not suggesting it be him.

I meant someone else, but then it turned out, I guess I was the only person dumb enough to show my face in videos I made online, he says. So here we are.

When I ask him about the references in the podcast to Rodger, he responds, That guy was fucking nuts. I dont really joke about going ER, but I dont tell the guys who make those jokes not to do it because I know theyre being sarcastic. All this shocking stuff is often just the guys trolling. I would argue that I dont think anybody is going to be stupid enough to believe that sanctioned rape is being talked about as an actual suggestion. Sometimes the most ridiculous shit makes me laugh, even though I dont condone it. So if I do laugh at some of this stuff its probably me laughing at something because its fucking stupid.

The psychopaths are the problem, not the incels, he says.

If someone is going to carry out an attack like this theyre gonna have to be severely mentally ill to be capable of that, he says. Making jokes or being active in the incel community doesnt cause it. Being mentally ill does.

But what about when jokes arent just jokes?

I mention how last year when the Nazi website The Daily Stormers guidebook was leaked online, it contained the message: The unindoctrinated should not be able to tell if we are joking or not. So what about when such humor is actually a means of subversive propaganda?

I can see that, Peterson acknowledges. I mean, Ive had guys tell me some really fucked-up shit, and Ive told them, you know, get some help because I dont want you to hurt anyone. But I do think that making dark jokes for people who arent mentally ill helps keep a lot of us from going crazy.

And how exactly does he feel about the disparagement of women in saying that they use men as emotional tampons? Men do the same fucking thing, Peterson says. Thats not a one-sided thing. Men can use women emotionally, too.

And what of the suicide idea?

What it really comes down to is that Id rather these mass shooters and attackers just kill themselves than kill 10 or more innocent people. So maybe if it was easier to commit suicide wed see less of these attacks. Im not condoning suicide but I prefer that to innocent people dying.

On the incels.me forum, a stated list of rules for participation include guidelines that are stricter than most elite private clubs in America.

No women allowed. No exception.

Yes, this means that a forum dedicated to decrying success with women has as one of its primary rules a focus on enforced isolation. Other rules also brutally shut out any chance to provide advice or mentorship to other young men.

A few months ago, when Peterson was using the forum, he suddenly found that he was banned from having certain privileges in the chatrooms. Even the incels, it seemed, were rejecting him.

In response, he filmed and put on his YouTube one of the most astonishing, hyper-granular deconstructions of modern Internet life Ive ever seen.

It is bizarro land for anyone not deep in the world of Internet language.

To create the video, he spent three days nonstop (two days spent up for 24 hours straight in between passing out) to create a meticulous 30-minute PowerPoint video that he filmed objecting to the ban and making his case that he in fact was a genuine incel using a barrage of evidence and minutiae and dictionary definitions and failures of logic to try to break down the bullying he felt he experienced on the forum.

And, if you want to get brutal about the absurdity of the exercise (and the insanity such subcultures can create amongst its members), to prove exactly why he was just as reprehensible to society as the rest of the incels.

It was pretty ridiculous, he says in retrospect. Its like American Vandal, Netflixs mockumentary on super-deep-dive crime docs, except with the heartbreaking element of seeing how brainwashed a young man is into trying to obtain peer approval.

At one point in the video, he even includes a diagnosis that he is paranoid schizophrenic as evidence that he ought to qualify as an incel because of this mental illness. The reality is that after he was given that diagnosis, another psychologist said he was not. Instead, the doctor told him (and is evidenced in the video), he was making himself sick with his own thoughts.

All of this humiliation is laid out for his fellow community of incels to seeand all of it to get back into good standing in the incel community. Thats how bad isolated young men want status and the reassurance of having a community to call their own. Even when the group identity is in how perversely low and entrenched their status really is.

Is it any wonder that these boys need a father figure?

Canadian psychologist Jordan Peterson (no relation to Jack) has been known to be moved to tears in interviews when discussing the crisis of alienation he sees amongst young men today and the need to provide them with tools that will reach them.

As he told Tim Lott of The Spectator late last year about his 90 percent male audience, Im telling them something they desperately need to hearthat there are important things that need to be fixed up. Im saying, You guys really need to get your act together and you need to bear some responsibility and grow the hell up. The lack of an identifiable and compelling path forward and the denialism these kids are being fed on a daily basis is undoubtedly destroying them and that is especially true of the young men.

Lott then observes the author of The 12 Rules for Life: An Antidote to Chaos displaying a level of vulnerability on the subject that is striking.

At this point, to my astonishment, Peterson begins to weep. He talks through his tears for the next several minutes. Every time I talk about this, it breaks me up, he says. The message Ive been delivering is, Find the heaviest weight you can and pick it up. And that will make you strong. Youre not who you could be. And who you could be is worthwhile.

As psychologist William Pollack articulates in the documentary The Mask You Live In about the boy code that warps masculinity from an early age: The way that boys are brought up makes them hide all of their natural, vulnerable, empathic feelings behind a mask of masculinity When theyre most in pain, they cant reach out and ask for help because theyre not allowed to or they wont be a real boy.

In fact, boys express depression in a completely opposite way than girls. They act out. But most people see it as a conduct disorder or just a bad kid.

After the Parkland high school shooting in March, one of the foremost activists in trying to address the crisis of reaching out to troubled young men before they become killers met with President Donald Trump to say his piece. Every single one of these school shootings has been from young men who are disconnected, said Darrell Scott, the father of the first student murdered at Columbine High School almost 20 years ago. In response, he founded Rachels Challenge to intervene with action rather than yet another toothless spectacle of condemnation of the empirically condemnable violence itself.

In a tweet rant posted during this same time by Martin Daubney, the editor of the English lad magazine Loaded, he articulated a similarly jarring portrait of collective angst from young men who feel callously tossed aside and branded as innately wrong, which only serves to compound the sense of victimization even further.

Im mindful of a seminal TEDTalk by Warren Farrell, author of The Boy Crisis, Daubney wrote. He looks at school shootings, and says: Boys who hurt, hurt us…They say todays boys feel part of some grand problem. You could frame it as #ToxicMasculinity: the notion that all males are to blame for the actions of a minority of damaged individuals. This is identity politics at its most destructive. Because we live in a world where every male indiscretion is used to attack all males. Im saying this: many boys are switching off. Were losing them.

How does an incel feel about all of this concernextended within the realm of ideas and intellectualism?

Itd be nice, Jack Peterson says, if he just had someone else to talk to about it.

I like Jordan Peterson a lot, he admits in a tone that sounds more upbeat than the rest of our conversation. I was going to go see him with another incel but that guy ended up not being able to go. But I bought a VIP ticket so I get to meet him next week.

In the wake of the Toronto attack, Peterson is unique in that unlike many in the incel community who have scrubbed their social or taken down their WordPress blogs that chronicled their life, he decided to see what happened when he went on TV to talk about his life in this widely reviled community now most associated with mass murder.

The decision to do so was gutsy. Especially considering the against-the-agenda talking points he is now presenting in condemning misogyny and violence.

The reaction he has received from other incels has been negative. And the public certainly doesnt like anyone who might be an incel.

Its an unwinnable place to be for someone who might still have a chance of climbing out of the twisted, self-fulfilling prophecy gutter that such dangerous places can become for young men who dont think they have anywhere else to go.

But Peterson doesnt regret doing the media and putting his face out there.

Instead, he speaks with an inverse of the perverted sadism of the Toronto attacker. It is a nihilism of potential that is in stark contrast to the nihilism of murderous revenge.

As he describes the decision, you can almost hear an epiphany clicking: When you dont care when you have nothing else to lose, it can be used for good or evil.

I dont know why I said yes to identifying myself as an incel, he says, mulling it over. I just felt like, you know What do I have to lose?

Of course, within the incel community itself, the answer is clear.

He could very well lose his status as an incel.

They called him all the predictable names. He was a cuck. He was a status-seeker. He was an opportunist. He was a number of slurs that are not fit to print. But for an incel, the worst insult he received of all was that he was a fake.

And, this being incel-world, the name he was called was targeted and precise.

You see, for incels, each man within the community self-identifies with how they qualify for their incel status. For instance, mentalcels achieve their status as a result of mental illness. A braincel is that way because of intelligence. A truecel has never had sex, a relationship, any kind of success at all.

Thus Peterson was called a fakecel. No, Peterson says, thats wrong. He definitely still is an incel. He is a part of the group. Where then does he now belong?

Peterson is quiet as he considers the answer.

I think something where I can help people, he says. I like talking about the positive stuff more, even if its frowned upon.

He considers a while longer.

I dont know, he considers, maybe Im a hopecel.

Read more: https://www.thedailybeast.com/sympathy-for-the-incel

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