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hardlyinteresting · 2 months

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Love, Guilt and Other Wounds

Aaron Hotchner x female reader

When Aaron and his partner are taken hostage, he has to break her heart to save her life.

Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, a little bit of domestic fluff, mention of blood, injury (non-graphic), hostage situation, knives, cannon-compliant themes of violence, non-detailed discussion about religion (Christianity), themes of childhood abuse, please let me know if you want me to add anything else.

Word count: (less than I expected, sorry) 3.7k Request here! | Masterlist

"Of course, I’ll hurt you. Of course, you’ll hurt me. Of course, we will hurt each other. But this is the very condition of existence. To become spring means accepting the risk of winter. To become presence, means accepting the risk of absence". - Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

Aaron isn't sure if he believes in a God or a higher power. He was taught to read scripture; and spent Sunday mornings perfecting his posture in church pews-- starched shirts and neckties pulled too tight. The preacher's sermons left him wanting-- wondering how this man of God could stand over his congregation preaching every week, and not see all the lies they were holding back. How could he not see the secrets Aaron seemed to read so clearly? At just fourteen Aaron knew who was having an affair and with whom. He could see which children feared their fathers. Every pew had another story, another family growing together, or falling apart. The hypocrisy of it all drove him mad, and he imagined standing from his seat to shout it, overwhelmed as he realized he had unintentionally become the keeper of everyone's secrets. He learned that everyone in that church was a liar in their own right, and he hated it. But, when he left for college, his mother called to ask if he was still going to church on Sundays, and he lied and said yes.

He should have paid more attention. Maybe then he'd understand how he ended up here. Perhaps it's some sick retribution. A cosmic evening of the scales; his penance for his sins. He just wishes you weren't here with him. How dare he think he could love someone when all he's ever done is punish those who love him? His hands are stained with blood; he taints everything he touches.

Very early on in his career, Aaron learned he couldn’t take cases personally. As devastating as it was to have another victim show up while hunting a killer, it wasn’t a personal failure. Compartmentalize. Use logic. Move forward. He repeated the process again and again. Logically he knows that he is not responsible for the actions of the aggressive sociopath who is now holding the two of you hostage; but, he blames himself for not keeping you safer, for bringing you with him, and for putting you in harm's way. He knows he will not recover if you don’t make it out of here. He won’t forgive himself.

The profile said this man would be anti-social. Physically, he’d be small in stature. It was clear he’d been sneaking up on his victims. He had been taking couples, knocking out the men with a blow to the back of the head, and then the women. It’s a method that the team had seen before, common for UNSUBs without the social ability to lure their victims, or the physical strength or confidence to attack head-on. But they had not profiled that he would escalate to taking out his targets with a taser.

After six days in San Diego, the team finally had a lead on two rental properties in the UNSUB’s comfort zone. One was an old tyre factory, listed as a multipurpose warehouse and storage space; the other was a large storage facility in an industrial neighbourhood. Both units had been paid for in cash, both offered the privacy and space required to hold and torture two people for days at a time. The team split up, Hotch and you arranged to meet the owner of the factory space to find out more about who the renter was and gain access to the property. With no response from the owner of the second property, Morgan, Prentiss, and Rossi headed over to check it out.

The two of you had only been on the property for five minutes before Aaron had been incapacitated and taken out. He had foolishly made his way into the building while you ran back to the SUV to grab your jacket. Out cold, there was nothing Aaron could do to stop you from meeting the same fate.

It’s not his fault. But he feels like it is as he watches you shiver from across the room. He can’t be certain how much time has passed, but it feels like hours. He can only hope that you’re being kept in the building you were attacked in, that the team will connect the dots and come and get you, but until then you’re stuck. He watches, nauseated as your eyes flutter open, and then shut again. You’re concussed, he doesn’t need to be a doctor to know that. His ears are ringing, and he’s sure the blow he took to the head has at the very least temporarily worsened his hearing.

“Doesn’t the FBI have rules against fraternization?” The UNSUB wonders out loud, waving a knife around as he walks towards you.

“What makes you think we’re a couple?” Hotch asks, as he tries to work his hands free from the rope that binds them behind his back, “She’s just a colleague”.

It’s a lie. But it needs to be said. Compartmentalize. Use logic. Move forward. Buy time, shift the UNSUB’s interest away from the two of you. Ruin the fantasy.

“I think I’ve been doing this long enough to know a couple when I see a couple, Aaron,” the man taunts, obviously proud of himself. He’s feeling emboldened having taken two FBI agents, but that works in your favour. He’s getting cocky, too full of himself. It’s a level of confidence he isn’t used to having, it just gives him a higher height to fall from. Compartmentalize. Use logic. Move forward. “I think it’s time we wake your girlfriend up,” the man says, his hand gripping tightly at your hair, your head tugged back without remorse.

Aaron resists the urge to cringe as he hears you groan, your face twisted with obvious pain as you’re rudely awakened. “She’s pretty. What’s she doing with you?”

“I told you. She’s a colleague”.

Your eyes are unfocused, scanning the room trying to make sense of what is going on.

The man raises the knife, holding it to your throat. This time Aaron blinks, desperate to control his expressions and micro-expressions. In this scenario, the less he cares about you, the safer you are.

It’s the burden of being tied to him. Time after time his love destroys people.

The blade presses closer to your throat. Aaron controls his breathing.

“Impressive agent Hotchner. But I’m still not convinced,” the UNSUB moves the blade but pulls your head back further. Your eyes meet Aaron’s, “Do what you’re going to do, he doesn’t care,” you say. You’re speaking to the man with the knife in his hand as much as you’re speaking to Aaron. He weighs his options, his heart pounding as he watches you hold your breath, willing the tears to leave your eyes. It’s the permission he needs but doesn’t want. Compartmentalize. Use logic. Move forward. He knows you’re doing the same, telling him to break your heart to save your life.

“Please, Hotc--”.

He doesn’t let you finish, “Just shut up for once. Please,” he thinks the words cut through him more than they cut through you. Knowing his cruelty is a lie does little to soften the blow, and it breaks his heart to be the one throwing it.

But this is all he’s good for, isn’t it? Letting people down. Surely it’s not just coincidence that so many of those who have dared to love him end up damaged. One way or another he destroys people. Who is he to say that he’s the one who is suffering when it’s he who does all the damage?

Even as a child, he couldn’t help it. He thinks perhaps he inherited his sharpened tongue and lack of patience from his mother. She loved him in her own way but could never show it without first tearing him apart. Her biting words, and regular beatings. Prentiss had been right when she once said he was distrustful of women-- unfairly so. Not all women carry the hateful, spiteful heart his mother had. Very few had ever turned their rage at the world and their shortcomings into a personal and violent rage against him. He grew weary nonetheless. Better safe than sorry.

At a young age, it became clear to him that there were few things, if anything, as important to his mother than appearances. On Sundays, she fussed over his clothes and his posture. She lectured him on table manners from the moment he could hold a fork. His room had to be spotless. His grades had to surpass average. Long before his brother was ever born, he learned how to live up to her expectations. But still, there was always something she could find him lacking in, an excuse to take her open fist or wooden spoon to his skin, a reason to send him to bed without dinner. He remembers crashing into the china cabinet trying to escape her one night. She was mortified on Monday when he had to walk into school on Monday with a cast around his arm. “Make sure they know this was your fault,” she told him. Perhaps I was built to fail, he had thought. She loves me and I embarrass her. I will only ever let her down. God, how disappointed she would be to see him now.

Seconds feel like hours as the UNSUB leers expectantly. The man's mouth twists into a smile when he sees the tears forming in your waterline again. Aaron watches your fist clench presumably to distract yourself from the migraine that matches the pounding in his head, just as much as it is to pull your attention away from the hurtful lies he's about to weave.

“You were supposed to have my back,” Arron spits with faux vitriol. “You had one job and couldn't even manage to do that”. Compartmentalize. Use logic. Move forward.

“From the moment you showed up I knew you'd be a problem”.

He continues to try to work his hands out from the binds. He can feel the knot loosening as he continues to buy the two of you time. “Aaron,” you beg, tears slipping down your cheeks now.

“Following me around with some school girl crush. Look where we are now,” Aaron breathes.

He can feel his father’s rage resting on his shoulders, as heavy as his hands were when he used to pat him on the back. It’s a quiet burning, far more silent than his mother’s anger, but it’s there and threatening him all the same. A silent shame; a fear induced by the knowledge that he’s failing but not being able to stop it. His father lived like a ghost in their home, just as Aaron has learned to haunt his life. He only ever raised his voice when he drank, but even then his hatred was self-directed. A sorrowful self-pity. A cry for help. The affairs, the gambling, the drinking; the man punished himself, stumbling home to a house with a vengeful wife, a silent boy, and a crying baby. It was a heart attack that finally killed him, but Aaron never doubted his father had stopped living long before that.

Aaron breaks his own heart as he delivers each verbal blow. He hopes you understand. He prays that just maybe your concussion might leave the memories of this moment blurry. Selfishly, he begs you to forgive him, because he won’t forgive himself.

He can see the way your wrists strain against your restraints. The UNSUB adjusts his grip on your hair as you struggle to distance yourself from him. Your eyelids flutter and he knows your vision must be swimming but you don’t give up. With a sadistic grin, the UNSUB wipes at the tear stain on your cheek with fake sympathy, grasping your jaw roughly he forces you to look straight at Aaron, “Poor girl… guess boss man doesn’t care about you after all. What a waste,” he sighs his breath heavy against your cheek, as he moves to hold the knife to your throat again, “She’s so pretty,” he directs his commentary at Aaron this time.

“Oh, don’t get me wrong. I’ve slept with her. How couldn’t I when she was practically throwing herself at me?” The words taste bitter on his tongue as he speaks them. His stomach churns as he continues, “But what we have certainly isn’t love”.

It couldn’t be further from the truth. Aaron grounds himself choosing to remember the quiet morning you two had shared only a few days earlier. Waking up without an alarm but with Jack sneaking in to jump up on the bed. As he watches you cry now he recalls how you had smiled so brightly at the little boy, ruffling his hair and cuddling Jack into your side. He had watched with a smile of his own as you bargained with his son, promising pancakes in exchange for ten more minutes of sleep on your shared day off.

You crept into his heart so slowly he had hardly noticed. Until one day, he looked up from the bright pink sticky note you'd left on your recent report, reminding him not to work too hard; he knew, without a doubt, he was in love with you.

For so much of his life, Aaron conditioned himself to expect a fight around every corner. He learned to make sacrifices from his happiness in fruitless attempts to keep peace. For the first time in forever he's been feeling like maybe, just maybe, he's enough. You’ve been more than patient with him; understanding his hesitance to open up to people again. You don't get upset with him for working late, but you scold him for not getting enough sleep and skipping meals.

He smiles more. He cracks jokes the way he used to. You've helped him see the forest from the trees-- healed parts of him he didn’t know needed mending. He's tried to do the same for you. He's watched you open up and trust the team more. He's seen the way your confidence has grown and he can't take credit for your growth, but he's enamoured by the transformation just the same.

You deserve better. You deserve better. You deserve better. The thought echoes in his head the same as it does most days. But now, it’s louder. The voice in his head matches the volume of the ringing in his ears, and the rushing sound of his pounding heart. Compartmentalize. Use logic. Move forward. He fights to remind himself, but the UNSUB is laughing now. Taunting you and your emotions, and there’s nothing Aaron can do but sit there and watch. He struggles to feign indifference, watching as you continue to make yourself smaller. It’s only then that he notices that you too are working your hands out of the rope that restrains you. The UNSUB was stupid enough to tie your wrist in front of you.

Aaron’s eyes focus on the bandaid wrapped around your index finger. You cut yourself making dinner last week. He could have sworn his heart melted when you turned to him holding your hand out, blood beading already. “Aaron, where do you keep your first aid kit?” you’d asked. Your brows furrowed, and your lips pouted. “In the bathroom, the cabinet under the sink,” he’d answered with no intention of letting you go off and tend to your wound alone. Instead, he guided you down the hall, his left hand looped in a gentle hold around your wrist, his other hand on your waist.

Once you were sat on the countertop he took great care, making sure the wound was cleaned before he bandaged it. “My hero,” you teased, leaning in for a kiss.

A simple cut he could manage to fix. Jack promised you could use as many of his Star Wars bandaids as you wanted while you healed as well. A little love and patience could make it better, a philosophy he adopted to heal Jack’s scraped knees, and schoolyard bruises. But the sight before him now is far worse than any kitchen mishap could be.

Your nose is still bleeding. Bruises have already begun to form, red marks turning deep purple with every passing minute. He knows that your concussion is something you'll recover from. The contact burns from where the taser touched your skin will become new skin someday soon. The cuts and scrapes will scab over and then disappear.

Aaron worries the damage he's done can never truly be ameliorated. Your compassion is unmatched. It’s what makes you a good agent, a good partner, and someone Jack can turn to. You are forgiving. God knows you've excused enough of his behaviour. But, he doesn't deserve to be absolved of this guilt. He will carry this day around in the darkest corner of his heart; the same place he holds the memory of Haley and how he failed her. The words “what we have certainly isn't love,” will linger uneffaced by time or kind words.

The squeak of an old door opening piques Aaron's interest. The UNSUB doesn't react. Seemingly only interested in tracing the tear tracks on your cheeks. Your eyes are closing again. It's over now, he wants to tell you. He wants to hold you; comfort you; to apologise because you deserve to hear it anyway.

“Paul Simpson. FBI,” Morgan’s voice booms, “drop the knife and put your hands where I can see them”. Prentiss and Dave come to stand next to Morgan, their guns trained on the newly identified perpetrator. Aaron bites his tongue so hard he can taste blood-- it's all he can do to stop himself from bursting into a fit of bitter laughter. We win, he wants to say.

Disarmed and handcuffed, Paul is escorted outside by Morgan and two members of the local police. Prentiss and Rossi make quick work of untying you and Aaron.

“Aaron?” he can hear you mutter, breathy and quiet.

“Yeah, I’m right here,” he promises kneeling at your side. Your eyes are glazed and unfocused as you nod and tip forward. Unconscious, your entire body falls forward into Prentiss’ arms. Aaron’s voice joins Rossi in calling for a paramedic.

The doctors assure him that you’ll wake up soon. They dealt with his injuries quickly. Bruised ribs are the worst of his injuries. A cut at the back of his head and the taser burns were patched in only a few minutes, though he’ll readily admit he was far from a good patient. Too anxious to keep still much to the nurse’s dismay.

You’re still asleep. A major concussion will have you out of the field for much longer than he knows you’ll be happy with. He makes a mental note to start setting aside some extra paperwork for when you inevitably start hounding him for something to do. With the lights in the room dimmed, and a comfortable silence settling he allows himself to indulge in the illusion that everything might be alright between you.

With your hand in his, he breathes deeply trying to focus. He prays to a God he’s not sure he believes in. And when the quiet starts to get to him, he speaks out loud, as silly as he thinks he may look. He tells you about the phone call he had with Jack earlier and lets you know that Jack has a new painting he can’t wait to show you when you get home. Your hand squeezes his, encouraging him to keep talking.

“Aaron?” your eyelids flutter as you adjust to the light. The nurse had them turned to the dimmest setting but it’s still far more than you feel immediately capable of coping with.

“Yeah, honey,” he affirms. You release the breath you’re holding your brow relaxing.

“I love you,” you tell him. Your voice is steady and steadfast. Your resolve is impressive, unwavering and determined as you focus on making eye contact with him. “It’s not your fault,” you promise. He’s sure you don’t expect the weight on his shoulders to lighten instantaneously. You’ll tell him every day that he’s not to blame; intent on chiselling away at his guilt, shrinking it down before it manages to consume him.

“I love you,” he swears. He knows it won’t squash any of the doubt he’s planted. Aaron knows there will soon be days that the niggling insecurity threatens to break what you’ve managed to build together; when the worry that you aren’t enough seems louder than it ever has before. He won’t blame you if you decide it isn’t worth the pain of staying with him. But, he’s hell-bent on loving you through it. He can only hope that it’s enough.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds fic #hotch x reader

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palms-upturned · 2 years

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if you don’t know much abt christian fundamentalism, you might not have heard about quiverfull before. quiverfull is a christian nationalist movement that gets its name from psalms 127: 3-5

(3) Lo, children are an heritage of the Lord: and the fruit of the womb is his reward. (4) As arrows are in the hand of a mighty man; so are children of the youth. (5) Happy is the man that hath his quiver full of them: they shall not be ashamed, but they shall speak with the enemies in the gate.

the quiverfull philosophy is that pregnancies/children are a blessing from god, that contraceptives/abortion are rejections of god’s true plan, and that christian families should have as many children as possible and raise them to be good soldiers in god’s army. children are arrows in your quiver: the more you have, the stronger a soldier you are.

christian nationalism, white supremacy, and patriarchy all go hand in hand. they are not separable from each other. they all follow the same principles. and they are all being leveraged toward the same end: make as many white, able bodied, indoctrinated babies as possible. we cannot reduce this to an issue of men vs women and lose sight of how this is going to affect Jews and Muslims and people of other faiths, BIPOC, poor people, disabled people, queer (especially trans) people, intersex people, fat people. we can’t forget what the word “marginalize” means.

#just dunno what else to say.#look after each other i guess #what else can we do

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lovesickry · 7 months

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- let the light in.

┈⋆⭒ lando norris x rival femdriver!reader [2.3k] ┈⋆⭒ prologue !

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⎯ find all parts here! ˗ˏˋ ´ˎ˗ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⎯ contains: swearing .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⎯ a/n: this is an enemies/rivals to lovers and I am so incredibly excited to write this so here's the prologue. :)

2022 season, driver for Mercedes-AMG Petronas Formula 1 team.

You hadn't had a problem with Lando Norris. You weren't friends by any means but you used to smile at him, give him a pat on the back when he did well on the weekend. You used to scoff at some of his sly jokes he made to reporters. You used to be polite acquaintances. That was until the moment you saw something in him you despised. Something that you saw as unforgivable.

-MIAMI GRAND PRIX 2022

You were on pole.

You were actually on pole.

For the first time in your career you had taken pole.

The feeling was something incomparable to just about anything you’d ever experienced.

Stepping out of the car, having everyone congratulate you as you beamed, walking to the media pen for post-qualifying interviews smiling like an idiot. It was your first pole in your career and it warranted something to talk about. Though it had taken years for the interviewers to not comment on your gender, you relished in the fact that not a single interview today had asked about how it felt to have long hair or if it was uncomfortable wearing a racing suit and also having tits. Or how it felt that your competitors would always have a “biological advantage”. There was not one single comment made even similar to the quietly yet blatantly sexist comments you were so used to receiving and combatting. These interviews as pleasant as they were remained about the car, about the race and about the track. Things you loved to talk about when people actually listened. You look back at Carlos and Charles and they both whisper congratulations mid-interview. Miami definitely wasn't your favourite, the track was alright but what you hated the most (nevermind sounding stuck up) were the fans or atleast some of them. You'd already had too many shit experiences with middle aged white men telling you that Mercedes was a team purely for “show” or that they shouldn't make formula one a “political” sport. Are you fucking joking?

On the other hand, all the women you met were lovely, telling you how proud they were, how amazing you were. But all the men, oh they would either compliment you or insult you, both were equally uncomfortable experiences. Nevertheless, it was something you’ve sadly gotten used to and something you refused to dwell on this weekend. Your pace was superb, you had got pole after all and the idea that a win was in the books was one that kept you awake that night. Although needing the sleep just as bad.

The morning brought a wave of heavily suspected nerves, your hands were shaking annoyingly and you kept having to hide the fact from the cameras, so as to not make a story out of it, something that you inwardly (and outwardly) despised journalists about. Their ability to stick their nose in things so clearly marked “Keep Out!” You'd already seen about seven articles this year, making up some bogus story about how you and charles were secretly dating or some weird romantic trope, getting all these photos of friendly interactions and marking it up to PR interactions and we were secretly dating. It was funny actually, the lengths people would go to just to somehow justify their hate for you. At Least if you were dating a driver they could say you were only in the sport because, oh how did Christian Horner put it. “The drivers are good looking.” Which is exactly why you’d made sure to stay strictly friends with every single one, dating completely and totally outside the Formula 1 fucked up family circle.

As the media commitments finally wrapped up and you did the final interviews before being let go to prepare for the race you bumped into Alex, you admired him as a driver and he was always kind to you, he wished you good luck and congratulated you on your first pole before excusing himself to be escorted to the Williams garage. As you said, you were friendly with most of the drivers. You reach your drivers room and let out a sigh of relief seeing your physio standing there already. You do some quick warmups, stretches exercises before she asks if anything is hurting. You mention a point in your lower back in which she focuses on and does a few different methods on relieving some of the pain before you need to get in the car. You weigh in and settle into the car, brain fuzzed and hands though not shaking were sweaty and your heart was beating so loud you thought you might die, the sound feeling as though it was echoing around your helmet. Checking through the last thing with the engineers, suddenly you were alone on the track, open track ahead of you for the first time, you were starting alongside Max, who you knew was heavily tarnishing your chance of a win, but there was still the hope for a better start and better strategy. Maybe just maybe you could keep him behind?

Formation lap, returning back to your places, you were doing what you were taught, think of nothing, think of nothing, close the door, close the door. Close the door. Breath, you dont dare to blink as you watch the lights one by one before they all go off. Zooming off into the first corner your mind is blank as you like it and you are focused. You’re aware of your jaw tensing as you keep max behind going into turn 8. Your engineer is giving you lap by lap updates but its not helping as you push and push to keep him barely 1.2 seconds behind. You managed the pace but you noticed going into lap 23 that the rear tires were sliding, feeling it through turn 14 and 15 as you glimpsed max in your mirrors just as you swerved slightly. You were still in the lead however and feeling confident enough that pitting know and losing places would just mean others pitting later. You mention on the radio about the rears and they tell you to watch the tire deg for a few more laps and then they’ll bring you in. you reply in a quick yes before racking your brain on how the fuck youre going to handle these for another “few” laps. Not surprisingly max overtakes you on the next lap at turn 10 and you immediately opt to pit. You exit the pit lane acutely aware of the position you will come out in. P10, great. The tires took what felt like years to finally heat up and for you to actually start gaining positions but once you gained one, it all fell into place. The undercut had worked as everyone stopped to pit for fresh tires you gained time and on the 38th lap you’d found yourself right back in p2, comfortably looking at the rear wing of max verstappen who was yet to pit as he started on the hard not the mediums. But, you figured he'd be feeling the rears go soon and you could just wait it out but also, as you were reminded by your race engineer: manage paceand defend behind. Going into the 39th lap you watched as verstappen pulled into the pit lane and your jaw for the first time in nearly 40 laps, relaxed. If you could just keep the tires until the end this was yours. Your engineer alerted you that max had come out in p11 and although he was on mediums, it would still take him what they estimated to be 12 laps to reach the top pack again. Currently you were driving steady, your gaze was forward and you remained ahead by 2.3 seconds, an honourable lead but you could always push. The straights seemed to test the car more as Charles gained 0.8 in the straight but lost that same time almost immediately in the corners. Going into lap 49 your engineer alerted of the gap between you and p2,3,4 and 5. It was only 3 seconds. fuck , fuck fuck. Verstappen was still climbing and you were still losing grip with 8 laps left could you seriously make these shitty tires last, your questioned was answered as you grazed the wall coming out of turn 2, your rear tires simply giving out as you righted the car.

“Did you just see that?”

“Yes we did” “What can I do? I'm losing grip”

“Norris is .9 behind”

“Yeah alright thanks”

No help, cool. But now norris was behind, what happened to Charles. Aw what the fuck these tires were shit and the only hope was the brief 5 laps, however they seemed to be stretching out hopelessly as you locked up again and again. It was nearly undriveable approaching the 54th lap.

“Norris is .7 behind, he has been advised to overtake”

You don’t bother to respond, you’re trying to figure out how the fuck to still win this race, focusing all your will power into defense now as the McLaren inches dangerously closer to your rear wing. You’re cautious as you follow the racing line through turn 11, but your brain clocks out the minute that you glance in the mirror and see Lando Norris’ wheel impossibly close to yours as he attempts an overtake on the outside. You pray for no contact and it's futile, all the fucking effort you put in and the tire management was all fucking useless, because thanks to Lando Norris and his bullshit strategy and sheer fucking selfishness he hits your rear wheel sending you into straight into the barrier. What should’ve been your first win in formula one was made into a fucking joke as you watched the McLaren drive off unopposed. There were simply no words to describe the sheer anger you felt, your jaw tensed again, your teeth fucking shook and suddenly you wanted to cry. You knew you shouldn't.

Reminding yourself of where you were, you lifted your head up, being met with the red and yellow of the barrier.

“Are you okay?”

You have nothing to say, afraid your voice might break or you'll scream. You reach out and lift yourself out of the car.

Nothing could've prepared you for the red that filled your vision as you watched Lando Norris lift up that first place trophy that should've been yours.

Of course you were jealous but you weren't just that. You were fucking furious. Not only had he crashed into you, ruining your race. He had blamed it all on you, in a post race interview he said-

"yeah, no. I mean I don't think anyone is to blame but I also think she was in a position where she should have let me by and when she braked late she sent her wheel into mine."

A fucking lie. nobody is to blame? maybe the person who actually hit your fucking wheel maybe, the person trying to steal my fucking racing line maybe? There was no fucking consoling you as you made your way as quietly as you could to the McLaren garage, at least hoping for an apology. You spot him talking to Carlos and you go over, initially only facing Carlos, congratulating him on his points before turning to Lando, who is standing there with a smug look on your face. You want to punch him.

"I'm sorry about how your race ended Dylan, I really thought you had this one" Carlos sounded genuine and he rubbed your shoulder while he said it. It was a nice thing to say but you were acutely aware of Lando's presence.

"Thanks Carlos" I nod

"sorry but do you think I could speak to Lando alone please?"

he nods and walks off as Lando outwardly groans, you turn towards him and wait. For anything.

"Nothing? Really?"

he raises his eyebrows "What?"

Your nostrils flare and you swallow as you try to fathom this.

"No fucking apology Norris?" its not the most polite thing, but its the most polite things on a list of things to say to him.

he pouts his lips jokingly and then pops his lips.

"Nup."

That's it, something in your brain fizzles over, you're as angry as you can contain and you just stand there stoic looking at his smug fucking face as he holds what should've been your trophy. There is a bitter taste in your mouth as you smile out of sheer disbelief, an unnerving smile before leaning forward to whisper in his ear.

"I didn't brake late and you fucking know it"

You ignored the way his lips twitched into a kind of twisted smile or the way he went to respond before you walked away.

As you walk away from him your breathing is shallow and fast, he doesn’t try and argue with you and you are still fuming as you reach the hotel and try to sleep. Ending up on the treadmill, running until you couldn't be angry anymore but the minute you stopped it all came flooding back, blood on fire again and you were back in those fucking barriers. Your jaw tensed, you would never ever look in the direction of Lando fucking Norris again.

#source: cafekitsune #f1 #f1 fic #lando norris #f1 x reader #f1 x you #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris x you #lando norris x y/n #lando norris fanfic #lando norris enemies to lovers #lando norris smut #lando norris angst

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transsexula · 13 days

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Hate seeing people say that Transandrophobia isn't real because, in their words, the "androphobia" isn't something people in real life face.

Now. Maybe this is because when I see this opinion, it's attached to someone who is either transfem, AMAB, or who has only ever lived in incredibly liberal areas.

Meaning: They do not have the life experience to speak on that.

It's simple, I can use myself as an easy example: I grew up on the west side of the US. My extended family and parents were very Christian, very conservative. The community I grew up in was in turn the same- very conservative, very Christian, very fundamentalist. Certain Disney movies were banned from the house for featuring witchcraft, or other "morally reprehensible" things. DISNEY MOVIES.

With this background, I'm sure you can tell where this was headed: I can clearly remember being in the pharmacy with my mother. I was small. I saw a lady with what I now know is a pixie cut- incredibly short hair, bright bold pink. Her girlfriend was there, and her own hair was incredibly butch- like they went to a sports clips and asked for what the guy next to them was getting. I was amazed- I'd never seen a woman that looked like that before. I voiced so with awe and wonder to my mother. I was supposed to get a haircut in an hour. "I want that! She looks so pretty and nice"

Who was visibly disgusted. Grabbing me, yanking me away, muttering "no. You don't want to look like that. Let's go."

Fast forward a few years. I'm too young to be drinking a beer, my uncle has stayed up late. We are watching music videos and sharing interests, when we see a rather masc looking woman in a video. He's disgusted. He makes an offhand joke about how she needs to be reminded of her feminine ways. I know what violations he's implying so vividly. He opens up about his fantasy of hatecriming two butch "women" he saw. I'm too afraid to speak.

There's a debate in church. Should women be allowed to wear above the knee shorts? We really didn't like that they can wear pants. Really, the pastor says in his sermon- it's the woman's job to maintain her feminine nature, in opposition to her husband's masculine nature. These blurring lines aren't good for people.

And- I don't want to get into the people I've known who've been hurt, abused, forcefully feminized, beaten for being masculine- the men that feel entitled to their bodies, because they feel entitled to a say in how they present.

The reason you don't see the abuse for being masculine, is because you come from a world where it's widely accepted in ways that not every culture, not every state or country has.

Gnc women, trans men, transmasc nonbinary people- if you're in the wrong place, born to the wrong family, you may never be safe enough to wear pants. You may not be able to cut your hair. Or be anything less than the perfect, ideal woman.

You get punished for not being what you have been assigned. For the act of defiance against others perception, you can be killed.

So, yeah. There's a lot of androphobia. There's a LOT of fear of the masculine. It just comes out in ways you aren't expecting, as someone who hasn't had to experience it. You don't know what to look for. Where to look. It's everywhere but you can be blind to it if you're insulated enough.

Hell- even terfs are falling into severe androphobia. It's their whole motto. What am I, if not a failed woman to them? Mutilating my perfect feminine form? Being a man is the ultimate crime to these people. Are you really telling me JKRs very public campaign hasn't made life hell for ALL of us? We are all losing healthcare due to this.

#transandrophobia #transphobia #AGAIN THIS ISNT TO START SHIT THIS IS TO EXPLAIN WHY THIS IS A THING #the reason i didnt attach this to a post about it is because of that specific reason #im tired of people acting like we are all just safe in big cities

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romana-after-dark · 4 months

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Room's on Fire: Pilot

Dark!Santiago Garcia x Fem!Reader Dark!Francisco Morales x Fem!Reader Dark!William Miller x Fem!Reader Dark!Benjamin Miller x Fem!Reader

Also: FishBen, and an assortment of other M/M relationships (no Millercest). Everyone is Bisexual

Series Masterlist: Main Masterlist : MainTaglist

Spotify playlist

Summery: The Delta is a commune in the middle of nowhere established by Santiago's mother. Since Divine Mother's passing in a rebellion a decade ago, Santiago, known as The Pope, and his half-God brethren Francisco, Benjamin and William have ran the commune. Now it is time for them to take a collective bride to breed, to bring the savior into the world.

Warnings and Content:

DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT

DUB CON MOSTLY but there WILL BE NON CON. Major character deaths, forced breeding, physical abuse, brainwashing, manipulation, violence, gore, alcoholism/addiction, BIG OLE BLASPHEMY WARNING like this cult appropriates a lot of religious themes and they call reader their Madonna, Santi is called the Pope, like all that stuff. However, this is a cult so I mean. It happens. None of it are my thoughts on religion or meant to make fun of religion or demonize religious people. Disgusting views on virginity. Attempted rape outside the boys. T*m warning. Age gap. Creepy terrible men. Non-reader rape, dub con, violence.

This is not meant to be a statement about religion, Christianity, or Catholicism, this is simply my take on a cult. I am a religious person. I understand that some of this may be very offensive to religious people so if you don't like thing like AHS Asylum or Black Mass, maybe consider not reading.

"Come on home, girl, he said with a smile You don't have to love me yet, let's get high awhile But try to understand, try to understand Try, try, try to understand That I'm a magic man." ~Magic Man, Heart.

"God dammit Benjamin, what the hell is wrong with you!”

Will smacked Ben upside the head as Frankie chided him.

Ben tried to defend himself. “Hey! You guys act like you don’t sleep with ‘em too, why are you blaming me?”

“You’re fucking a new woman every goddamn week, you have no fucking class, we’re not even supposed to be sleeping with these women,-”

Santiago’s voice, strong and comanding, broke through the bickering. “Gentlemen, please, this is not becoming behavior for Gods.”

With their leader’s command, the other three settled down, Frankie’s eyes casting away. “Sorry, Pope.”

Pushing himself off from the wall he had been leaning against, Santiago walked toward the group. “That can’t be all the options. There’s no way Benny’s made his way through every of age virgin in our compound, we have over 5 thousand people here.”

The men thought through the women they knew, the various families at the massive compound who could accomplish their task. She couldn’t just be a virgin, that was the thing.

They needed their Madonna.

Before her death, Santiago’s mother informed their group that the prophecy would not be fulfilled through Santiago, that he was not the promised savior. Instead, he was destined to lead after her passing and that Santiago, Francisco, William and Benjamin were all demi-Gods. This was a step up for the Millers and Francisco, who had spend their youths in the privileged position of foster brothers to Santiago and living under The Divine Mother’s roof and direct guidance. To Santiago, however, this was a humiliating demotion.

His childhood was never one of whimsy, growing up told that he was a God, that he was the second coming, that he was the savior of the broken, the beaten and the damned… All that changed in his pre-teens. Suddenly, his mother was less pleased with him. His divinity was constantly dangled above his head. When his 20’s came and he failed to be what his mother wanted, she stripped him of his full God-hood.

So why, pray tell, were him and his fellow leaders and brethren searching for a virgin? Since Santiago had failed, they needed to father a new child. A new savior. Divine Mother’s instructions were clear; they were all to wed and breed a virgin from their compound. She was to live in their home as their wife for them to use not only whenever they wanted, but whenever they could. A sacred duty to be fruitful and multiple. It didn’t matter whose child grew in her, as long as there was a child. The world would be saved, and Santiago would earn his mothers favor from the heavens.

So, she couldn’t just be anyone. She needed to be a virgin, pure and holy. She needed to be beautiful, strong, faithful to their ways, faithful to the Divine Mother, faithful to the Pope, William, Benjamin, and Francisco.

“What about Marcus’s kid?’ Will asked, breaking their silence, causing everyone to turn to him.

Frank frowned. “You think the daughter of a traitor is the best option for the Madonna?” The sarcasm was clear. He didn’t like this plan as it was. He didn’t want strangers in their home, breaching security, putting his brothers at risk.

“That might actually be the solution to the problem.” He waited until Pope gestured for him to go on, not immediately shutting it down.

“The rebellion was when she was 12, the interrogations found she had no knowledge of her father’s plans. Ever since, she has been isolated. Lydia says she has caused no problems in the women’s home, been obedient but has no friends, no connections.”

“So you think she’s intact?”

“Santi, I doubt she’d had her first kiss.”

Since the rebellion 10 years ago, Will has set up measures to identify problems before they become something like that, and that meant keeping tabs on people. Single women lived in a few group homes throughout the compound. Each home had prefects that reported to house mothers, and house mothers that reported to Will. Anyone that was of any concern, Will checked in on, that included daughters of rebels.

“And she danced at the fire?” Pope asked, arms still crossed but listening.

Will nodded. “She did. No signs of disloyalty.”

Muttering, Frankie asked Ben if he’d slept with her in recent years.

He shook his head. “Nope. Forgot she existed.”

Frankie watched as Pope thought things through, his mouth shifting. Frankie asked, “How are the other viable women going to take it if the daughter of a traitor is chosen above them?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Ben said, defensive of Pope. His loyalty to Santiago went above everything. “If she’s the right person, she’s chosen divinely.”

Santiago held up a hand, stopping another argument. “A redemption. She has the option to purify herself from the sins of her father through the pain of childbirth.”

“Biblical precedent…” Will murmured in agreement.

“And if she fails to produce a child, then we can say we were deceived-”

“Like Eve deceived Adam. Damn, Pope, I think it’s a winner.”

Santiago smiled at his fellow leader, clasping his hands together. “Alright, let’s go visit her, make sure she’s suitable.”

You were dead. It was over. Lydia had cleared all the other women out of the dormitory room and told you that the Pope and the other divine leaders would be coming to speak privately to you and you assumed that you had slipped up somehow and it was the end for you. You didn’t know what you possibly could have done. You never ever spoke badly about anyone, none the less your beloved leaders! You adored them all, worshipped them as they deserved, as you had Divine Mother…

Had they decided you were too much of a liability after what your father had done? How was that possible, it had been a decade… why now…

You gasp. Fransisco… he was clairvoyant… had he seen into your dream? Had he seen what you saw oh-so often, the dreams that forced you awake crying?

You prepared yourself to grovel, to beg for mercy, to plead that these dreams of fire were not what you wanted, that they tormented you. Would you forever be labeled a traitor for what your father had done? Hadn’t you proved your loyalty to The Delta?

The door opened and you dropped to your knees, silent until spoken too. You can hear Benjamin whisper a damn. The floor creaks in front of where you knelt, arms prostrated out and for a moment, everything stood still. Warm hands were on your chin, guiding you up to see him.

He was so much more stunning up close. You’d heard tales from other girls of the men, of the way they bedded them, how it was glorious, the most holy form of worship to allow them inside you… You had taken note that you had not been allowed that honor, you had accepted it as the punishment for the sins of your birth, you never thought you’d be worthy of close contact, but right now… Pope was touching your face, your chin tucked between his thumb and forefinger; his eyes were so close to yours, his plump lips keep a soft smile. “Do not be afraid, darling girl. If we are correct, you may outshine us all.”

“But it is, of course, your choice.”

Your choice…

This phrase was preceded by the reminder that if you said no, there would be no savior.

There was no choice.

“I am a servant to my lords.”

Santiago smiled at that. “Excellent. Now, let’s begin the inspection.”

The what?

“Oh… is it… I swear I am a virgin, I’ve never been touched-”

“I know.” Francisco said. Oh, right. Clairvoyant. “We need to make sure you’re… healthy.”

“Oh. Yes, of course then.”

Francisco undressed you, his calm demeanor and soothing touch eased you as he slowly stripped you of your clothing. He pulled the loose shirt over your body as you raised your hands, the pail bra underneath had a lot of coverage (everything was meant to be practical) but you still felt exposed.

“Just down to her underwear, Francisco.” Will instructed as he watched. Will was a healer, that was his gift.

Francisco pulled down your pants slowly, and you feel eyes scaling you.

“Strip her down fully, Frank.” Ben tells Francisco, and you jolt when you feel his hands on the bare skin on your hips.

Francisco sighs, but Will puts his foot down. “She doesn’t need to be naked, this is invasive enough as it is”

Ben gave a short laugh. “More invasive than fucking her.”

“BEN!” All three of them shouted, discomfort and fears coursing through your body.

“Pope, she’s shaking.” Francisco asserts with his hands on your shoulders and you watch Pope give Ben a look.

“You behave, your brother knows what he’s doing.” He turns to Will, jerking his head at you. “Handle it.”

Will approaches you, his hands on your face. He holds you different than Pope, more firm, more all-encompassing. Will’s hands were larger, and he placed them at the side of your head, like he was holding you together. “Hey, it’s alright. It’s like a medical examination, okay?”

You nod within his grasp. “Okay.”

He smiled at you. “Good girl. I’m going to touch you, just stand there and take it. Trust me.”

You did. You’d follow him anywhere if he spoke like that. His hands move down your neck, slowly over your shoulders and down your arms, sending a chill through your body. He squeezed your hands. “Doing so good princess. Gonna check your backside now, can you straighten up for me?” You square your shoulders as he walks around, towering over you. You lock eyes with Ben; he looks hungry, like he’s ready to pounce but smiling at you with his boyish charm you can’t help wonder what that pounce would feel like. Ben had slept with almost every girl in your dormitory, and you’d been privy to all kinds of colorful descriptions as you overheard girls talking. Not to you. Never to you.

Will rubbed his hands together and breathed on them to aid the warmth before placing his fingertips at the top-most part of your back. Slowly, he dragged 8 fingers down, applying pressure, sending a tingling down your spine as his fingers traced it. “Excellent posture, just need to check a few things.” His hands went back up, fingers bracing at your sides as his thumbs searched certain spots, rubbing over aching parts of you with pressure, but not pain.

“Got a few knots.” Will comment’s, and you turn slight back towards him, suddenly scared.

“Is that a bad thing?”

“No, no. Nothing to worry about. Just means you’re stressed. It hurt there sometimes?”

He continued massaging you, your next words coming out with a moan. “Yeah.”

“I know it does, sweet girl. Don’t you worry, I’ll help you take care of that. You will be my wife, after all.”

The thought brings a small smile to your face. The smile falters when his hands wrap around your front, William’s body pressed up against your back. His hands are pressing into your stomach, making their way up until he cups your breast, a small groan escaping his mouth that had somehow found its way into your hair.

“She likes that.” You here Ben say, drawing your attention, his grin made you swell with pride. You’d spoken with him before; Benjamin knew all the women. Still, he never chose you to bed and you had thought you weren’t appealing but now, now you see it. Now, as Ben began to touch himself over his pants as he watched his brother examine your body, you realize you were meant for a higher purpose. You were being saved, protected, put on a pedestal for this moment, to be the mother of their child, to be their Madonna.

Will continued him ministrations, soft grunts as he ground his hips into your ass. You can se his eyes are locked in with Pope. Pope, is watching the scene with hooded eyes and parted lips. With a soft but powerful moan, Will stilled behind you, panting a soft kiss on your neck before his fingertips trails your panty line. “Now, for the vaginal exam.”

All the pleasure you felt stops, your body freezing up again. “B-but, you said I wouldn’t-”

William turned you around to face him. “I have to check out your privates, gotta make sure you’re safe. It’s just me, it’s just external, don’t worry. We’ll face away.” He knelt down.

You were acutely aware your ass was still out for the other men when you heard Ben groan when your underwear is pulled down, the distinct sound of him summoning Francisco, who had been quiet so far, and the unzipping of pants.

“Goddamn…” He says, notching your legs so they spread and lifting one foot so it is resting on his bent knee. He touched your sensitive skin. “Pope, you gotta see this… the girls wet.”

“But-” I wanted to protest that he had said it would only be him, but there was no point. Soon, you’d be married, and they be able to have you as much as they wanted.

“Holy shit, she’s dripping…” Pope marvels as the slick running down your thighs.

Will continues prodding at you, fingers running through your glistening folds. In the background was a sound you couldn’t quiet pinpoint, and something that sounded like kissing, but who would be kissing? There was only Ben and Francisco there. Will dips his finger slightly inside your hole, making you gasp.

“Careful.” Pope warned. “She needs to stay intact.”

“I know.” Will groans. “But she’s so fucking tight, Pope.”

A muffled but strong groan behind you, and Pope looks like he’s about to fall apart when he pulls away.

“William, Franisco, Ben. Go to Lydia, tell her the wedding will be at her next ovulation.”

The men reluctantly made their exit leaving Pope alone in the room with you. He pulled up your underwear and pants before helping you back into your shirt. “You are perfect.” He grabbed your face again, pinching your chin and guiding you to look up at him. “Pack only personal items. You’ll have new clothing, everything will be taken care of. From now on, as long as you are what we need you to be, whatever you need, you’ll have.”

He leans in and you open your mouth to him, beautifully alluring, gifting him your first kiss and the spark was ignited. He was everything now.

“My Madonna.”

WE'RE LIVE! So excited to do this, I was a little too excited, I didn't wait until january like i said lol. After this I'm gonna try and finish Blessed be the Fruit and Awakening before going forward which shouldnt be long

PLEEAASEEEE LMK YOU'RE THOTS AND THEORIES!!!!

Special thanks to my BELOVED @hon3yboy for encouraging me so fucking hard with this series!!! she is so wonderful and has written great work including WEREWOLF MARC SPECTOR!!!!

How to keep up with the story!

Comment on this masterlist that you want to be tagged and I'll tag you in updates (If you ask to be tagged, I ask you at least like the fic. Likes dont do anything to spread the work, but it at least lets me know you're still reading.)

Follow @romana-updates and/turn on notifications

Follow the tag Rooms on fire

TAGLIST:

@hon3yboy @winniethewife @femmeanonymelives @yorksgirl @pockcock @neverwheremoonchild @casa-boiardi @meveispunk @survivingandenduring @criticalarchitecture @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @obscurexsorrows @hellfire-state-of-mind @christinamadsen @pimosworld @princessanglophile @rubyfruitjungle @simple-lovebot @missdictatorme @campingwiththecharmings @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @javier-penas-wifexx420 @stefani-topaz @alwaysmicado

if I missed you LMK!!!!

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catboybiologist · 22 days

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I don’t know if I believe in god, but I believe god would celebrate trans people. I think human diversity is beautiful, natural, and unique to all of us. I’ve also seen that the vatican released articles protecting transgender people under similar logic(please correct me if you see otherwise). Anyway, just wanted to counterbalance that anon semen hate thing.. lol

I know this is from a good place, and I'm gonna be the asshole here, but its difficult for me to accept the kindness you're trying to extend.

I think that seeking validation and a moral code from anything other than "live your life in a way that's going to make the most people the most real and happy, including yourself", including seeking that from some kind of being of external influence, makes you susceptible to guilt and manipulation by people who use the ever-changing "interpretation" of that will to get people to live to their interests as opposed to yours, and that this philosophy isn't limited to situations where the will of that being is interpreted as something that benefits me specifically because that feels like a shortsighted mental trap of constantly validating my own life decisions to myself in a nonstop cycle of searching for approval from an influence that, by definition, doesn't communicate with me.

And funnily enough, the Vatican is the perfect example. The statements you're talking about basically amount to the same "love the sinner, hate the sin" shit we've all heard for pretty much our entire lives, and was basically only written with the intent of inviting lgbt people in to try and save their poor little misguided souls:

https://www.reuters.com/world/europe/pope-francis-calls-studies-into-ugly-gender-theory-2024-03-01/

But thanks, I guess. Sorry to be a dick, I know this came from a good place, but its hard for me to mask my opinion on this kind of thing. I'll fully admit there's a personal sting here. I was the most patient, good little, explaining and validating tranny with a couple Christian "friends" earlier this year, only to find that they were stringing me along so they could try to "save" me. Trying to find validation in organized religion will always be a losing battle. These are organizations built upon decades of power structures that require specific family dynamics for population growth and control. I don't know if there's a god or not, by definition its really impossible to say one way or the other. But the Christian God is so transparently a tool for political manipulation in a way that should be obvious to queer people, and efforts to make the church seem "okay" for queer people more often than not have that same, thinly-veiled disgust associated with them. "oh, don't worry, we all have our little sins! Jeff gambles, Tom is gay, John smokes..." that kind of shit. That's not acceptance. It's thinly veiled disgust that will drop the moment there's an excuse.

Are there truly accepting Christians? Yeah, of course. But if you hand me a gun and claim its not loaded, I'm not testing it by pulling the trigger in my mouth.

#cw transphobia #trans #queer

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traincat · 1 year

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i was trying to explain to my mom how the harry potter game is antisemitic (we are not jewish) and she didnt really seem to get it. she was like "i mean if they were wearing yarmulkes i would be like yeah, the goblins are supposed to be jewish". do you know of a good source that i could send her that would break down the jewish stereotypes and how they arent just coincidence? if you dont have a good source dont worry about it but i saw you reblog stuff about it so i thought you might. thank you for your time!

I have a few resources I'm linking in my reply here, but I'm probably not going to be answering other questions about this because, to be honest, as a Jewish person in fandom, it's stressful. I'm reblogging stuff about Hogwarts Legacy because I'm Jewish and the antisemitism in the game is vile to the point where it feels irresponsible for me not to address it in some way, and because it ties into a lot of the other antisemitism I've personally faced in fandom when speaking about anything Jewish. I feel like your mother may have some trouble grasping the antisemitism because she seems to be viewing Judaism solely as a faith, when Judaism is an ethnoreligion -- a religion, an ethnic group, and wide and varied culture, and so stereotypes about Jewish people don't have to involve religious symbols and very often involve specific physical features, ie, big noses. The goblins in Harry Potter are short, ugly, and they have huge noses -- these are all features commonly associated in antisemitic caricature with Ashkenazi Jewish men. The idea that the goblins would only be valid caricatures of Jewish people if they were wearing a specific piece of clothing is troubling because it invokes the yellow stars Jews were made to wear by the Nazis. (For the record, my uncle wears a yarmulke full time, but the other men on my mother's side of the family do not. This does not make them less Jewish.)

But if your mother needs a symbol associated with the Jewish faith to help her understand, it's been noted that the game features a "goblin horn" that is very clearly a shofar, an important piece of Judaica which is used for religious purposes. (There's also a link between the date the horn is given in the game and a very brutal pogrom; more info in the twitter thread linked. If you want to get an idea of how virulent antisemitism is in fandom, the response to this thread and others like it are A Lot.) Like I can't say enough how blatant this is, and the reason it's getting by so many people are 1) a lot of non-Jewish people are at least on a base level, if not actively antisemitic themselves, basically okay with antisemitism, because antisemitism is so present in our culture and 2) uneducated on Jewish matters.

It's also important to note that in the Harry Potter world, goblins are specifically bankers. This is how they are first introduced to readers and this is their primary association in world: the goblins are literally guarding the gates on huge piles of wizard gold. This is an antisemitic stereotype, as Jews are often perceived as being money grubbing and greedy, as well as "secretly controlling" the greater world's wealth. More info in this wikipedia article: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Economic_antisemitism. This thread by Rabbi Danya Ruttenberg also breaks down the connection between the "greedy Jew" stereotype and the historical precedent for Jewish moneylenders, a profession that was foisted on them because it was distasteful to Christians: https://twitter.com/TheRaDR/status/1057333224538624001. Harry Potter is not unique in these depictions. There is an example of this in, say, Star Trek, where the Ferengi are a race of greedy, money-obsessed aliens who have exaggerated "ugly" features and who are often depicted as oversexed, especially when it comes to women of other, more classically attractive alien races (this is another antisemitic stereotype of Jewish men). But the Ferengi are also all played by Jewish actors, and in the show where they feature most, Deep Space 9, they're protagonists. So while the Ferengi are rooted in antisemitic stereotypes, the involvement of Jewish creatives and their role in the story makes it a more complicated, nuanced situation. This is not what is happening in Hogwarts Legacy.

It's not a coincidence that the goblins in Harry Potter have always been depicted as bankers right from book one. While you can theoretically separate the series from Rowling's transphobia (although, y'know, you shouldn't), the antisemitism is baked into the series. Hogwarts Legacy just takes it to a whole other incredibly overt level. The point of the game is violence against Jews, and we see that because it's revealing just how many people out there are fine with demonizing Jews specifically and the level of violence Jewish people often face in fandom when they speak out about antisemitism.

#/#//#///#////#/////#antisemitism #hogwarts legacy #hp critical

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thatsdemko · 1 year

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lie detector - c.pulisic

masterlist part two

requested: n

parings: Christian pulisic x athlete!reader

warnings: just a cliff hanger + it’s short

a/n: I’ve had this idea in my head for so long and yes don’t worry there will be a part two! whether you voted y or n on my poll here it is hehehe

you dated Christian years ago. things ended on good terms, and you couldn’t have been happier for each other. you never deleted the photos from your Instagram, as you must have forgotten they existed, so when the World Cup was going on, people were digging deep on Christian and found the old photos that still lied on your account. ever since then, you’ve received numerous follows, dms, and comments.

you weren’t someone who wasn’t used to cameras. in fact, you played for the United States women’s national soccer team. you were used to being framed next someone like Alex Morgan or Megan Rapinoe. you just never expected to be sitting in your current interview hooked to a lie detector being asked the question you dreaded the most.

“you dated this man right here, correct?” Linsey horan pushed the photo in front of your face allowing you to get a closer look at the brown eyed and brunette haired captain of the United States men’s soccer team.

“Yes, that’s Christian pulisic.” you said, you tried hard to remain calm, but you could feel sweat starting to build up at your forehead watching Lindsey giggle at the card in her hands.

“do you regret breaking up with Christian?” she set the card down shooting you a look, “I so badly want to know the answer.” she rested her chin against her knuckles anxiously awaiting for your response.

“umm,” you chuckled nervously trying to stay still so the reader could get a good indication on your pulse, “yeah I do. he was truly an amazing boyfriend and I wish him well in whatever comes next for him.”

Lindsey shot her head immediately over to the reader who nodded, “she’s telling the truth.”

“yes! the internet is going to go psychotic.”

—

christian saw the interview. his family, friends, and teammates had all sent him the video of you and Lindsey doing the lie detector test.

“he was truly an amazing boyfriend and I wish him well in whatever comes next for him.” the words replayed in his head like a broken record. he couldn’t get those words out of his mind, it had been over a week since the interview and he was so hung up on it that the next move he made, he didn’t even know he did it.

“hello?”

“is it bad that I miss you?”

#christian pulisic #christian pulisic x reader #christian pulisic one shot #christian pulisic imagine #christian pulisic x you #christian pulisic blurb #christian pulisic smut #football #football oneshot #football imagine #football imagines #football smut #football one shot #football blurb #football blurbs #football fic #football drabble #Chelsea #imagines

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gothhabiba · 6 months

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[ID: Anonymous ask reading "israel's policy of displacing arab muslims by settling in lands they used to live in (note that arab muslims being in said lands is itself the result of arabo-muslim conquests, so no i dont feel that teary eyed about it) is in solid part a ploy to destabilize europe by sending muslims there (the ummah in its great generosity refuses to take in the palestinians as a whole, they dont want refugees in general) who" message cuts off. End ID]

the rest of this message is complete virulent fanatical racism that’s not worth publishing, and of course this part of it is senseless racist blather as well, but this "arabo-muslim conquest" idea comes up often enough that I can almost convince myself it’s worth responding to.

first of all, this doesn’t matter at all in this context. like I said, genocide is just simply wrong no matter what. if you feel no sympathy as people are trapped in an open-air prison by the millions, trapped in actual prisons by the thousands with no charge trial or conviction, unable to have basic autonomy or freedom of movement, forbidden from harvesting food they need to live, subjected to racist discrimination and hate crimes even if they are among the Palestinians who are citizens of Israel, bombed and murdered by the thousands with nowhere to flee to, purposely disabled by armed soldiers and denied the means to support their families, raped (men women and children) with impunity by settlers and settler soldiers (men and women), shot at by soldiers as they try to work their own land, living in constant fear not knowing if they or their families will wake up to-morrow, not knowing if the crops they’re consuming have been made unsafe for consumption due to repeated bombardment by chemical weapons, having their children shot and killed with impunity while playing, having their deaths by bombing watched as entertainment, having their nonviolent resistance regarded as terrorism, their violent resistance regarded as barbarism, being expected to basically lie down and die, having the entire western media establishment cast them as the aggressors and the perpretators of their genocide as the victims of their resistance, having even people who are ostensibly sympathetic to them basically believe that they shouldn’t resist and are only sympathetic as long as they lie down and die—

if you can regard all of that without feeling any sympathy for the victims of it because of who you believe them to have been descended from over a thousand years ago, then no, you are not allocating sympathy based on any objective or enlightened rationale, you are just casting about at random for reasons to be racist until you believe you've lighted on one that makes sense.

second of all, it isn't even true that the modern population of Palestine (or the rest of southwest Asia, or North Africa) is descended from ethnic Arabs who replaced the indigenous population that had existed before the Islamic conquests beginning in the 700s A.D. I'm not sure what people who claim this is the case believe happened to the indigenous populations (where did they go? did they flee elsewhere? were they all killed? how could such a wholesale replacement have happened without being recorded in any account of history?). I'm not sure either why the idea that this happened is so remarkably persistent in so many different contexts amongst so many different people, if not out-and-out racialism that believes "Muslim" is basically a "race" and thus it's impossible for a population to be converted? I'm also not sure what people who believe this do with the fact that there are Christians, Jews, followers of indigenous religions, and other smaller religious groups in these regions. nevertheless, the Arabisation and Islamicisation of these regions (two different processes!) were cultural and political conquests that did not largely replace the preexisting population. again, not that this even matters.

thirdly, there is no reason whatever to believe that Israel seeks to "destabilize" Europe. that is fantasy talk with no correspondence with any events that have occurred in the last century and more. I suspect that you're conflating Israel with Judaism, and that this conspiracy theory is simply that old antisemitic canard that Jews have some secret plot to overtake the white races dressed up in new, bizarre clothing (shocker! that anti-Arab racism and antisemitism would go hand in hand! /s). Israel is a creation of Europe, its strongest diplomatic ties are with Europe and the U.S., it has no power of its own that it doesn't maintain because it is convenient for the colonising and imperialist powers of the world. what on earth would it possibly gain from this plan you've invented.

fourthly, the vast majority of Palestinian refugees (other than those who were internally displaced) live in Jordan, Lebanon, and Syria. millions of them. Europe, Canada, and the U.S. have collectively accepted about 1% of that number. what on earth are you talking about.

#Anonymous #long post /#Palestine #rape m /

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transmasczeroone · 5 months

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On coming out as trans:

I live in a very middle-class, Christian, conservative area, so I was bracing myself for the worst when I decided to come out publically to my co-workers and customers. (I work in a restaurant/bar that attracts a particular demographic: Imagine middle-aged ladies coming to brunch, older men coming for a pint after work, families bringing their children and dogs, most of them white, wealthy, and cishet. For context, I'm also 5 ft 4, and pre-everything, with a gender neutral name that leans towards the girly side, at least in my country.)

The first co-worker I came out to was a low-level supervisor, a gay cis guy in his 20s. He was a bit confused at first, had to ask a lot of questions to understand exactly what was changing, but ever since then he has been unconditionally supportive. He volunteered to tell the other managers that I'm trans, so I didn't need to go through the stress of that conversation multiple times.

The rest of the managers/supervisors (all cishet) at some point or another said that I can go to them if customers or other staff bother me (which hasn't happened at all), and all get my pronouns right most of the time, and are quick to correct themselves when they don't. They even go out of their way to use affirming language - one of my co-workers realised one day that that were no women on shift at the time, turned to me and said something about it being a boys' club and included me in that category. They celebrate my small wins, and the big ones, everything from "nice haircut!" to "ohmygod you're going on testosterone soon?? I'm so happy for you!!"

One of the managers - a cishet woman in her 50s, and the one I expected to have the worst reaction - asked a lot of questions to better understand me and offered to introduce me to her friend, who is also a trans man. This is a big deal to me, because I don't know any other trans men in my area. According to my co-workers, she's better at getting my pronouns right than almost anyone else.

Another cishet guy I work with is in his 60s had to ask what my he/him badge meant when he first saw it, and now he always makes a point of getting my pronouns right, especially in front of other people who she/her me based on my appearance or who need a reminder.

The male customers I serve on the bar tend to ask what the badge means (although some prefer to stare at it in confusion and not comment at all). My usual response is, "It's to remind people that I'm not a girl, since a lot of people think I am," which omits a huge chunk of the truth, but isn't a lie. I've never had a bad response, though.

When I explain, they often say, "Wow, I never would have guessed you were a man" (ouch, dysphoria) and apologise genuinely and quite profusely for calling me "she" or "sweetheart" or whatever earlier in the interaction. They're eager to assure me that they meant no disrespect. Some even notice the badge and apologise without having to ask what it means. Nobody contradicts me, nobody is sarcastic or thinks I'm joking, and nobody has ever said anything transphobic to me or asked invasive questions. Some get confused and sort of gloss over my explanation, but nobody has been hateful. Sometimes they seem to accept me as a cis guy, other times they're clearly aware that I'm trans, but it doesn't affect their response either way.

The worst thing I've encountered is customers who see the he/him badge, blatantly ignore it, and then misgender me throughout the interaction. Not ideal, of course, but far better than what I was expecting.

This entire experience has reminded me of a time I read in a comment somewhere that transphobes are a very vocal minority, that transphobia feels like it's ramping up recently because transphobes know they're losing the war and are screaming in a desperate attempt to be taken seriously. They're scared that all their fearmongering and hatred is, in fact, getting them nowhere. Maybe there's some truth to that.

As I said before, I live in a conservative, middle-class area, and there are no queer bars, bookshops, etc. for miles and miles, but there are at least 3 churches within a 15 minute walk of my house. And in the 5 months I've been out publically, the worst transphobia I've faced from a co-worker or stranger is just them not using my pronouns until corrected.

I'm not saying don't be careful when you come out. I'm not saying that things always go well. Sometimes they go awfully, and I've had my own bad experiences.

What I am saying is that my faith in cis people has been restored to quite an astonishing degree, that sometimes people can surprise you in wonderful ways, that there are people out there willing to accept and respect us, and sometimes you find them where you least expect them.

#transition #coming out #trans #transgender #transmasc #trans man #trans boy #trans guy #ftm #zero.text #transmasculine

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molsno · 1 year

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what I've experienced and observed as an asexual trans lesbian is that engaging with certain kinks can be unhealthy and harmful, but it doesn't necessarily have to be.

by and large, most of the people who have "unhealthy" kinks are victims. that is to say, their kink originates from a place of trauma. someone who's experienced sexual abuse in the past, for example, may very well have internalized the idea that they deserved what happened to them. and because escaping that traumatic mindset is incredibly difficult, they may find themselves having sexual fantasies about being abused again long after the danger they were in ceases; to them, it can feel like being sexually abused means they're fulfilling what they believe to be their only purpose. these fantasies can be deeply damaging to a person's self worth, not just because they're blind to their own inherent value as a person, but because they're denying themself any form of sexual agency. they may very well seek out relationships in which they're abused once again. and that is unambiguously harmful! I've certainly seen several people that this has happened to, and it's an incredibly demoralizing and heartbreaking situation to observe and an even more miserable one to be in.

however, that isn't a universal experience. for some people, engaging with their kink with someone can actually be a source of empowerment. let's continue with the previous example. if, instead of seeking out a relationship in which they're sexually abused, they decide to engage in their fantasies with someone who genuinely recognizes their sexual autonomy - someone who they can honestly talk to about their experience, who respects their boundaries, and who communicates with them to establish safeguards to ensure that their consent is never violated - then they may well find a feeling of power over the situation that they didn't have before.

that isn't guaranteed to happen; for some trauma victims, their pain may be too great to replicate, even in a state of significantly reduced danger. some people may try to and discover that it is affecting them in an unhealthy way and stop. and that's okay! their sexual autonomy deserves to be respected. however, others who do engage with it may come out of the experience with a newfound recognition and acceptance of said autonomy. if they know they have the power to make the experience stop any time they feel uncomfortable, they may come to realize and truly believe that they didn't deserve what happened to them, and that they don't have to tolerate anyone who disrespects their boundaries in the future.

it's perfectly fine to not want to see someone's engagement with a particular kink. it can be upsetting for those who have been personally affected by it to witness recreations of it. luckily, in online spaces, there's an easy solution to this problem: you can avoid it by unfollowing or even blocking anyone who posts about it.

I find it troubling that so many people are averse to this idea - particularly because of the way they direct their anger toward trans women. it is a regular occurrence on this website and in fact most online spaces for someone to accuse a trans women (or multiple) of having an "inherently harmful" kink. often, these accusations are made with little to no context or even proof, if they're not simply fabricated outright (which they frequently are). accusing trans women of being sexual predators is one of the oldest forms of transmisogynistic violence you can commit, which is why I find it infuriating that this is such a common tactic in purportedly transfem-supportive communities.

perhaps you might be thinking that engaging in harmful kinks contributes to their normalization. I find this idea laughable, because sexual abuse is already normalized in society - it's baked into its very foundation, in fact. marriage, the nuclear family, christianity, police, the judicial system, and just about everything else was designed to give cishet white men absolute unchecked sexual power over women and children. and while some small advances have been made to chip away at this authority, by and large, these men are still free to perpetrate sexual abuse without facing any consequences.

minorities, on the other hand, have always been and continue to be violently punished for even being accused of sexual abuse. for example, there's a very long history of white women falsely accusing black men of rape with the express purpose of getting them lynched. still today, black people are viewed as hypersexual predators who pose a danger to white women and children for doing things as insignificant and nonsexual as wearing a revealing outfit. trans women are in a very similar position, with our mere existence being nothing more than a fetish to a significant number of tme people. it's no surprise, then, that accusations of sexual predation against us largely focus on the non-normative ways in which we often have sex.

what this inequality often looks like in practice is that cis men are free to browse the step-sister category on pornhub to their heart's content, whereas a trans woman who might, potentially, call her girlfriend her "sister" as a means of recovering from a form of sexual abuse she faced in the past is stalked online by people who believe her to be a physical danger to others, who will then publicize all of the details they can find about her private sex life with the intention of isolating her from what is likely the only community and support network she has. this should be obvious, but a trans woman without any community to accept her is significantly more likely to attempt to commit suicide, making this form of social outcasting a form of violence.

so the question then is, why does this happen? because let's be honest, it's not really about "removing predators from our communities", as much as people like to claim it is. if that were the case, then it wouldn't happen so disproportionately to trans women; the demographics of people accused would be more representative of their actual proportions. the real reason this happens is specifically because of transmisogyny. tme people, even those who are outwardly supportive, harbor internal conceptions of trans women based on stereotypes of us being sexual predators, and they react to our every action with undue scrutiny and vigilance. and because they hold the privilege of being transmisogyny-exempt, they can exert power over us in a way that they can't do to cishet white men by exiling us, knowing full well that they'll be believed by other tme people, even if they have no evidence of actual harm being done.

and that's the metric by which we should actually be judging the validity of claims of sexual predation - whether or not someone was actually harmed. if no one has genuinely been harmed, what good does it do to isolate someone from the only community they may have? that in itself is obviously harmful to the person being exiled, so the question to ask before utilizing it is: will doing so actually prevent more harm from being done unto others?

trans women as a whole are a deeply traumatized demographic. I can almost certainly list off more trans women I personally know who have been raped than who haven't. we are victims, in the vast majority of cases. despite that, we live under a veil of transmisogyny that constantly calls us dangerous degenerate freaks. as a result, some trans women develop coping methods you may find unpalatable. I'm not a very kinky person myself, and a result of me being ace is that a lot of even the most basic and common sexual acts are physically repulsive to me. because of that, I feel uncomfortable when I see people engage in certain kinds of sex and kinks, even if they're fellow trans women. you know what I do in these cases? I just don't follow them. I mind my own business and move on. it's really that easy.

arguing that nobody can engage in certain trauma-based kinks because it can harm them is short-sighted at best and actively dangerous at worst. how can you claim to be a feminist who supports bodily and sexual autonomy and be opposed to people having consensual sex you don't like? it's the same conservative rhetoric that aims to suppress women for taking control of their own sexual desires. it's one step removed from telling trans people not to get bottom surgery because they'll regret it. if you truly believe that people have the right to do what they want with their bodies, you're going to have to accept that some people will do things that personally make you uncomfortable, and you're going to have to acknowledge the fact that just because they make you uncomfortable, that doesn't mean they're harming anyone. just mind your own business. it's seriously not hard.

#I've finally had enough I'm done playing nice and tiptoeing around the blue whale in the room #I'm almost certainly gonna lose followers for this but I don't really care anymore #if after reading this you're still a reactionary who chooses to paint trans women as degenerate perverts just get out #txt #transmisogyny #my writing

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