my favorite kinds of songs from musicals are those kinda songs where someone does sth shitty and then everyone just kinda confronts them and the one person is overwhelmed. i don't even know why I just think that they make certain characters so much more punchable no matter what their actual role is
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“trans men don’t have any real safety concerns to worry about” i can’t wear a mask when i go into public bathrooms even though i’m higher risk and bathrooms are some of the easiest places to get sick because i don’t reliably pass when my facial hair is covered and i can’t risk not passing when i use the men’s room, but i also can’t just use the women’s room for safety anymore because i don’t reliably pass as either binary gender anymore. so my only options are to risk getting sick, take my chances with the consequences of not passing, or just never use the bathroom in public (which has its own health risks).
and today, it almost didn’t even matter that i was putting myself in danger to ensure that i passed because, thanks to a faulty lock and a man who didn’t think to knock, i came very close to having my half-naked body exposed to a bathroom full of cis men. if i hadn’t been holding my coat on my lap because there was nowhere in the stall to put it, every single guy waiting in the (very crowded) bathroom would’ve seen that i didn’t have a dick. how well do you think that would’ve gone for me? my money’s on Not Well At All.
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I think one of the most realistic parts about Baby Reindeer (2024) is how much Donny downplays the abuse he faces
I know everyone wants to hate on him for being “stupid” and blame him for everything that happened because yes from an outsiders perspective he made questionable choices but isn’t that what HUNDREDS OF PEOPLE DO?
I know so many people who’ve “played nice” or tried to downplay abusive behavior. You try and tell yourself “It wasn’t that bad”, or that it was just some crazy experience that should be forgotten. It seems so much easier to stay silent and just try to move on.
You don’t wanna start problems
You don’t wanna be mean
You don’t wanna be the bad guy
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soap and ghost work out together and the second they enter the gym, ghost knows his sergeant’s in a mood. he’s got a comment for everything; poking at ghost’s form and his entire routine, shamelessly checking him out in the mirrors and practically ignoring his own work out until he gets to the weight bench.
soap plops himself on ghost’s hips with a paper-thin excuse of playing his spotter and chats shit about how much he’s lifting for his entire set. “that the best you got?”, “thought you were here for a workout, lt.”, “careful, lookin’ a lil’ shaky there, sir,” until ghost finally sets the bar back on the rack and orders him to switch places.
soap settles under the bar, ghost sitting heavy and imposing on his hips as he looks down at him. he doesn’t look taunting or irritated, he’s blanker than ever and soap just smirks back and lifts the bar.
and fuck is it heavy, more than he ever lifts, but soap’s always put his money where his mouth is and he refuses to put it back up until he gets at least ten reps in. he’s pushing to hide the shake in his arms as the set crawls by, huffing out harsh breaths with every rep, face steadily turning red.
ghost doesn’t say a word, doesn’t even blink as he gets to seven, to eight, to nine-
until the final rep where he crosses his arms over the bar and holds it down.
soap’s eyes widen as he rushes to adjust to the new weight, hands almost slipping as he scrambles to find the new balance point. “christ, lt., what the fuck?” he grunts, the shake in his arms growing worse by the second.
“finish the set, sergeant,” ghost orders, expectant apathy in his voice as he leans heavier on the bar.
he locks his elbows as they attempt to buckle but he can’t move it any higher. “’m fuckin’ tryin’,” he grits out.
he just shakes his head. “i don’t want you to try,” he dismisses. “i want you to lift it.”
sweat pours down soap’s face, panting as he fights against the weight. “ghost-”
ghost stands, pushing down harder as he towers over the bar to get into soap’s face. “lift the fucking bar, sergeant,” he growls.
soap screams as he shoves against ghost’s weight with everything he has until the bar finally slips over the edges of the rack, the entire bench rocking with the force of it settling into place.
his arms flop uselessly back down, hanging either side of the bench completely numb as he pants, too breathless to think as his head spins and his cock throbs.
ghost just pats his reddened cheek as he slings his leg off him and heads over to the exercise bikes; not even sparing a glance at him as he throws out, “‘atta boy, johnny.”
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