#because Light has to have some dignity stripped from him even on his birthday

[captainhysunstuff]

Messy birthday ambush comic~.

Happy birthday, Light, you entitled asshole of a character~!

#drawn by me #my fanart #fancomic #Death Note #fictional characters’ birthdays #humor #because Light has to have some dignity stripped from him even on his birthday #Light Yagami #L #Misa Amane #Sayu Yagami #Ryuk #Sachiko Yagami #Soichiro Yagami #Yamamoto #food #cake #birthdays #ambushes #dangerous trips down the stairs #what a loved serial killer~ #yeah Ryuk wears the hat the entire time and only Yamamoto cares (Light cares until he realizes no one else does)

[nightswithkookmin]

What you think of fetus V who said in front of everyone "You seem to really like men" to Jimin? Youthful ribbing? Or a moment of insensitivity ? FWI saying you like girls or guys? Or calling close same sex friends u a couple? is actually common where am from. This has happened in my friend circle too actually. Except all of us are hets so no one take it seriously. Cant think a closeted person would find it that funny. Jimins lack of denial or even laughing it off always stood out to me tho.

What do I think of that comment?

I think we both know very often when people say they think a man likes men, they mean to say they think that man is Gay and very often when the g-word is used in a sentence, it is not meant as a compliment- imma give it to you straight, no bs. Lol.

The parlance gay and variations of it, in my opinion, is often used ubiquitously and traditionally as a slur slang among ignorant, non-progressive, anti homosexual individuals and is often rooted in malice.

And when malice isn't intended, ridicule is. The sad fact is, people adopt the terminology as ammunition to blatantly attack, dehumanize, belittle and strip away the dignity of queer folks and when the term is used in reference to non queer people it has a similar effect. It degrades them as well through the irony and humor of comparing them to gay people.

Gay jokes, if you will, is a subtle art of passive aggressively slurring gay folks if you think about it. I mean let's be honest.

Personally, I don't think Tae's intentions in that moment were malicious at all. I don't think he blurted out those words with the intension to ridicule Jimin either- stay with me. It will make sense in a bit.

But he called Jimin gay nevertheless. His comment if a joke, I'm afraid, reinforces these bizzare stereotypes of masculinity and promotes toxic rhetorics prevalent especially within Kpop shipping communities where every Male idol interaction is hyper sexualised and romanticized thus, suggesting a man cannot love another man, be affectionate or be fond of them unless they secretly lusted after them and harbored a desire to lay down pipes in their behinds- which, honestly is crazy coming from a guy with a cultural background such as the Korean culture where kinship is commonplace but more on that later.

I think whatever which way we want to look at it, it was an insensitive comment especially if you believe he meant it as a joke. It was definitely not his most woke moment, socially and culturally- and that's putting it lightly.

That 'gay' comment to me is right up there with all the problematic statements some, if not all, of the members have made over the years- the colorism, racist jokes, the ' eww, you too black,' 'akekeke- you too tanned shoo,' implying if you're black or tanned you are ugly. The fat jokes, the misogyny and misogynior- please don't ask me to give you examples of these. I don't want to ruin BTS for you. Lol.

There are commentaries on these out there on the internet. You can look it up for yourselves- You welcome. Lol.

For the record, BTS have since retracted, acknowledged and apologized for most of these questionable moments throughout the years and so we cannot hold it against them, forever- not to make excuses for them but they are human too. They learn, they unlearn, they make mistakes, they correct them, they grow and as NamJoon said, they really were a bit 'unsophisticated' and rough around the edges in their earlier years- even if it was just five years ago from now, chilee. They is a mess. Lmho.

I think it's all part of the human process honestly- don't worry BTS, I have a lot of space in my heart for y'all to be human and still love ya. Keep going sweeties. Y'all's doing greatness de la grande kind!! Bless y'all.

In V's case he was, since that incident, put as a judge on a show that allegedly featured queer folks and he seemed more welcoming of them than the other judges on the panel, excluding RM of course.

A year later, he would make a song that the LBGTQ plus fraction of Army would rally behind as a highly pro gay song- Stigma, which I find debatable but whatever. I mean, just because JK has stars, clouds and the sky in his lyrics don't make him an astronaut or an environmentalist fighting the good cause for the climate but to each his own.

Stigma was still something, I'll give him that.

Flashforward to five years later, and he would be recommending songs by gay artists, appreciating and promoting gay art and the artists behind them, sporting rainbow outfits, designing a BT21 character that is genderless, incorporating sign language in his speeches- he polished up. Woke the hell up. Politically correct. Yadda yadda yadda.

I think, like some of the others, he too learned his lesson. It's not ok to trivialize the oppression of others or make light of it-

Now that we've gotten the woke bit out of the way, on to our shipping business. Follow me, chop chop. Lol.

Firt of all, I don't think that moment is a big deal. But I find it interesting nonetheless.

Do I think Tae was teasing Jimin in that moment when he made that statement? It's not quite easy as yes or no.

Personally, I think he was clocking him.

This interview was conducted at a point in the timeline where I feel Jimin was shedding his image as the Maknae obsessed hyung in the group. He was coming into his own and embracing himself for who he is and that I think included his sexuality.

Prior to, he had in my opinion, since debut, slipped into the role of the queer jest of the group supplying queer humor and entertainment for listeners at radio shows by offering himself up for ridicule as the 'gay guy' within the group- I hated every bit of it. Lol.

You'd often hear the members refer to him as the one good with the guys, the boy in love with the Maknae- There is still a fraction of Army that see him as this persona but he has since outgrown that label and that phase.

RM was basically the Black jest of the group, offering himself up for ridicule for his darker skin tone right down to his blaccent. Can you do your black accent? They will ask him at interviews and he would proceed to deliver a walmart version of the Black American English. Sigh.

Compared to the previous year where he literally gasped and panicked when the members hinted at his sexuality or made statements that put his sexuality into question, Jimin seemed more in control and mentally prepared during this interview.

When the question was asked of him, the question of why he liked JK, his instincts it seemed was to steer the conversation away from his sexuality- a tactic the rest of the members would employ to avoid discussing Jikook a few months from that interview...

I mean, when Tae asked Jimin on JK's birthday that same year what he wanted to give JK, RM cut in before JM answered. Jimin had done the same thing when in an interview JK was asked if Jimin wasn't his style and JK was stuttering not knowing what to say in response. JM asked him not to answer the question.

When interviewers ask these questions, they do so for entertainment purposes- because who doesn't like gay jokes, amirite?

For heterosexual idols I assume it's not slippery slope for them to engage in these kinds of humor. They can play gay without risking exposing their heterosexuality and when they do play gay it's for jest.

It's not the same for queer idols I think.

Jimin was basically done being the butt of the gay jokes in 2015, he was done selling himself as the JK shit rainbows and I'm the unicorn fixated on him kinda person and it reflected in that conversation.

'I don't like everything about this boy. He ain't all that. But he is the Maknae and he cute so whatever' lol.

Like I said, I think Jimin was steering the conversation away from his sexuality but Tae's comment steered the conversation right back to it. 'I just think he likes men.'

Most South Koreans I've met in person and on the internet spend a considerable amount of time and energy trying to dispel the western notion of gayness projected on to Korean men for their skinship culture.

We like to glamorize gayness in these streets but in reality gay is stigmatized especially in places like South Korea. People don't readily read gay in Male interactions unless they were being homophobic or socially unaware.

To me, Tae's statement was more of an observation about Jimin, one which he felt a need to contribute to the discussion they were having, perhaps to provide insight into the inner workings of Jimin rather than as a joke or jest- or may be he did both.

Jimin managed to avoid opening himself up for the gay jokes and to this Tae then responded, I just think you is gay sir- The emphasis has been mine. Lol.

The thing about Tae is, in the earlier days he used to have a habit of 'exposing' Jimin whenever Jimin told half truths and what not.

For example, in 2014 during an interview when JM was asked what he wanted to do on his free days he had said he wanted to spend time with his family or something and Tae immediately checked him saying he was lying. Jimin then said he wanted to be with Jungkook which had JK fuming.

Was he teasing JM when he called him out for lying about his true desires? May be but I think he meant it too. Know what I mean?

He did the same thing when during their Paris VLive, Jimin got nervous when JK was singing 'know you love me boy, so that I love you,' in the background and Tae asked Jimin if he was nervous. Jimin snapped out of whatever whipped trance he was in and asked 'why would I be nervous' or something along those lines.

Why would Tae assume JM was nervous listening to another man sing? And why would Jimin be nervous in the first place?

And if at an interview Jimin is asked, why don't you like listening to the Maknae sing and JM responded that he is cute but he can't sing and Tae says well I think listening to Jk sing makes him nervous- would that be youthful ribbing or tea? Do you see where I'm going with this?

I see Tae as very observant- If not more observant than Jk. Their jokes are punchier because it is rooted in truth. He is stating his opinion, his observations and when he felt JM's answers were dishonest or inconsistent of his general notion of him, he called him out on that.

It's like him saying JM likes to pretend to be drunk in order to tell Tae he loves him- allegedly. Was it funny, yes. Was it a lie? I don't think so.

Jimin likes to pretend, we been knew. His boyfriend don spilled that tea already. I mean Jk said JM faked being asleep when he noticed the cameras filming him. He said also JM knows he is cute so sometimes he intentionally acts cute.

Tae used to tease Jimin a lot- hell he still teases him a lot to this day. Lol. Had Jimin looking at the back of his head like he wanted to quick punch him in the throat in the recent run, chilee. Lmho.

But you gotta ask, where is the lie in all those jokes?

The question I ask myself, and I think we ought to ask ourselves as shippers is, what about Jimin gave Tae that impression of him in the first place?

What made Tae, coming from a culture and background where 'gay' is a taboo and skinship is prevalent assume that if Jimin liked JK then it was because he liked men or was gay?

Even if Tae meant it as a Joke- no one laughed. Lol. That awkward silence that ensued... now that's how you know he had deadass made a 'gay comment' for real. Lmho.

They were all silent, waiting for JM's response and only laughed when JM responded to Tae- isn't that how it usually goes when you are the one queer person at the het dinner table? The tasteless jokes, awkward silences and stares? Just me? Oh, never mind then. Keep reading. Lol.

Imagine if JM hadn't responded or had gay panicked like he did a year before that interview, when RM revealed JK had been sneaking into JM's bed at night?

Dude was legit ready to throw JK under the bus had it not been for the shady camera guy behind the cameras. Deadass, Jimin was pointing accusing fingers at JK and everything- so much for gay love. Lmho.

The question still remains, what makes you look at your heterosexual friend and go- hey, that's gay. Think about it.

If Tae thought Jimin liked men, even as a joke, it's probably because Jimin had been giving him a reason or reasons to believe he actually liked boys beyond the usual daily doze of gay prevalent within K-culture.

It's similar to JK feeling uncomfortable when Jimin in 2014 described their relationship as one between love and friendship. Jimin responding with male friends can love eachother too without being gay would imply JK was interpreting his words and actions towards him as laced with romantic and sexual subtext or intent.

Now why would JK assume this if men touching men and feeling up on eachother in their culture was a normal thing?

There are gay men in Korea you know?

Tae and Kook were both hyper aware and curious of Jimin's sexuality in that period- for different reasons of course. In my opinion.

Not sure if Jimin's androgynous features played a role in these suspicions and assumptions they had of him in the early days because androgynousity in men is often ignorantly profiled and stereotyped as queer.

Tae seemed convinced JM was queer at least and JK was projecting his own queerness on to Jimin a lot- cough, cough.

It seemed to me also that Tae for whatever reason had the impression JM had a thing for him? I'll save my VMin agenda for delulu Fridays but chilee I don't know, Jimin has been on an agenda to friendzone that man since those manly mans thawed off his chest. Lol.

VMIN... ok.

I mean Jimin's response to Tae was more to deflate Tae's ego than to deflect or evade the issue and I wonder why. 'You are so full of yourself' 'I may like men, but I don't like you' and Tae responds with 'really' as if he's been challenged or dared- ever had your straight friends assume you like them just because you are queer?

Anywho, for whatever reason, Jimin seemed to be the only member in the group around the early days whose words and actions were put through the queer litmus test.

Also, I think a distinction ought to be made between calling two same sex friends a couple and calling them gay.

Calling two friends a couple is inconsequential- except when their sexuality is on the line. Calling two same sex friends you know are straight a couple is nothing but a gay joke.

BTS do this all the time. Jimin called Namjin a couple, Tae kook a couple, himself and Suga a couple, himself and JK a couple.

Jk has equally referred to others within the group as a couple, made heart signs above them, and have even held his chest and said he never thought he would fall for a guy.

In none of these instances did he or any of them imply that they or the persons they were referring to were queer or liked men and I wouldn't make much of such comments.

When JK was called out for gifting a present to Jimin and not the others, Tae teased JK as well and his gestures implied to me, 'it's ok to like him, I know you like him, you like JM don't you, uWu' and other variations of these.

But he in no way hinted at the sexuality of JK explicitly or implicitly- not in a way that prompts a response or rebuttal from JK like it did in Jimin's case.

I guess what I'm saying is that, that moment is nothing but something at the same time. You look at Tae's personality and his reputation within the group as the one with no filter who blurts out things that often has BTS running helter skelter- that 'I want to see your children" comment at Festa almost gave RM an aneurysm. Lmho.

Then they had to literally take his mic away from him when he started talking about meeting a pretty chick or something at a fansigns.

You consider the history between him and Jimin, the context behind that comment and the things that was said after that comment- the interviewer said 'well JK is really handsome...' which means he took the 'joke' Tae had made to mean JM had romantic interest in JK- something I feel JM was trying to avoid.

I don't think Tae meant anything by it. I don't think he knew at the time JM was queer but I do believe he suspected he was.

Hope this helps,

Signed,

GOLDY

[writingsofmyimagination]

28 Days |Epilogue|

GIF by: @suggamiin​

Genre: Werewolf Au (Jimin x Reader)   Part 1  Part 2

Rating:18+

Summary: It’s your birthday and well...you get treated. Sinful PWP to end this.

Word Count:3188

Warnings: Swearing,Smut - Slight exhibitionism, sex toys (cock ring) SUB Jimin... I repeat Sub Jimin.

Final Part!!!!! Loved this sooo much.

@safi4x​ @nerdygaloresposts​ @sockie-the-dumbass​ @jimin-75​

You were gratefully stolen from your nightmare of failing your end of year exams by the soothing scent of waffles. The glucose of the maple syrup powerful but tantalising to your drowsy senses. Dragging yourself from the comfort, you made a stumble to the kitchen area. A waffle sliding off the spatula onto the plate, his neck nudging his head into your newly emerged direction. You went to retrieve your fluffy dressing gown from the arm of a chair. His gaze briefly frozen on the curves of your behind feebly covered by the black lace hot pants teasing from under his shirt. The only skin available for your eyes to feast on was the occasional trail of veins running down his arms. Ripped denim skinnies sat over black and white vans, laces gleaming white. Red tee with the cutest pocket over his chest fitted and tucked into his leather belt. Heaven forbid he ever look scruffy to go out.

“Take a picture it lasts longer” you toyed covering the view and making your way over to him

“How many times have I asked you?” he countered serving the question straight back

“No, you’ve asked me if you can film us fucking, slight difference” your return bouncing the un-returnable ball in his court.

“Hey I’ve needed something while you’ve been busy revising and FINE! I’m asking now” He pulled you closer by your behind, hands having a firm squeeze for breakfast. You dodged his incoming kiss, leaning to the side to slide your finger through the maple syrup drizzled on your plate. His eyes frozen on the way your finger disappeared in your mouth and sucked on the digit he easily wished was his cock.

“I’m more hungry for actual food right now” You pecked him on the cheek kidnapping the plate from behind him.

“You’re insufferable when you tease you know that”

“You have your finals to focus on today”

“I know I know” His leather jacket sliding on his shoulders smooth as silk.

“Good luck”

“Happy Birthday baby” The drawn-out kiss on your forehead brought a beaming smile to your lips, insides heating up to a pleasant warm fuzz. Before he had the chance to straighten out your hands captured the back of his neck dragging him into a heated kiss which he fell weakly for.

“Remember to wear something nice for me later”

“As if I’d let you take me out in anything but. Can you not even give me a hint?”

“Nope”

You had no idea how dressy you needed to be.

Are we going out out or just just out?

//

Opting for as mid ‘out’ as you could you dug out your button front dress. The dress was belted with a silk tie, it stopped mid-thigh scooping slightly at the sides. The chest and long sleeves were laced in a pretty delicate floral pattern. Your hair was curled swooped over one shoulder and pinned. White hi-top converse snug on your feet.

Fuck heels, I need comfort

He rocked up at your door in black skinnies which were tight around his thighs.

Jesus lord mother of Mary

That alone could make your mouth hit the floor. The cotton fresh white v neck tugged tight into his gold buckled belt. The same leather jacket, silver zips scattered across in silver strips. Face bright, the concoction of exams going well and the reaction to the approved visuals of you.

“Ready?”

“Don’t I look ready?”

“I mean you look stunning but did you really have to wear something so easily taken off?”

“Is that a complaint?”

“More of a why do you have to be such a teasing bitch?” he chuckled as you swatted his arm.

//

He blindfolded you as soon as you got to his car.

//

You were cautious to your feet guided by Jimin until he ordered you to stop.

“Don’t move”

“Like I’m going to wander off” you shot back.

A click was the only thing reaching your ears. The smell of the room was familiar but your brain was too intrigued and giddy to bother working out why.

The blindfold fell from your face leaving only scrunched up eyebrows until the glint above you drew your attention. You were in the university library, the floor normally underneath tables had been pushed to the side, table legs flaying the air. It was astronomy week and the students had secured fairy lights to the ceiling in the shape of a star constellation. The blinds were shut, the fairy lights intermittently twinkling above you; like diamonds on a royals crown. He emerged from behind the desk with a wicker picnic basket and a rolled chequered blanket tucked under his arm. His sweet smile only subtly laced with triumph. Your gaze still fixed on the false sky.

“I know how comforting you find the library and how much of grump you get when your cold so didn’t want to take you out…”

“I love it!” you beamed nearly knocking the picnic basket from his grasp as you smothered him with a hug; his free hand steadying the influx of your weight against him.

“But If you haven’t got sausage rolls in there I will seriously reconsider our relationship” you teased plonking yourself down on the cleared floor atop the blanket.

“They were the first thing I picked up” he calmed.

//

“Ready for your present?”

“Mmmhmm” you hummed mouth full of scotch egg. Jimin fished out a small box from his pocket.

“Well open it. I’m not proposing” he beckoned after your stared at it for a moment too long.

“Jimin it’s beautiful” you cooed looking and the tear drop pendant weaved in your fingers. The outside ripples of silver, the main body was crystal clear, shimmering as you tilted your hands.

“Look closer” he urged. You did as you were told for once.

“How did you…?”

“You’d be surprised at who Yoongi has as contacts” he explained. Carved into the gem was the unmistakeably twizzled in swirls of patterns of haemoglobin. Something heavily involved in your thesis and wanted to specialise in in regards to how some viruses attack this area.

“I knew your nerd ass would love it and all jokes aside you give me so much life and I do feel sometimes you’re my oxygen that I need flooding through me to live” he paused.

“You know like haemoglobin”

“I’m more than aware of its function Jimin” you chuckled. He was sweet; the sweetness coaxed water to fill your eyes with none of it falling.

“I love you too you big softy” You were already clipping the chain around your neck. He lent over to you lips pressing hard into you. The other gift he’d presented was far less innocent.

“Are you planning on getting the strawberries and cream out or what?” you mouthed speaking into his kiss, lightly grappling at his bottom lip. The sucrose in the air was all too suffocating.

“Are you not sweet enough?” he teased failing to hold his cringe filled laugh. You lightly shoved his chase away from you.

“Get that cheese away pllleeaase” you begged. In order to maintain your dignity your leg was slightly bent and raised before you. Your thigh was more exposed but at least your underwear was covered.

//

“Oops” You shook your head, the cool cream conveniently dripping onto your thigh as Jimin fed you the last but one strawberry. As straight as his face was his true intention hadn’t been masked in his eyes.

“Well are you going to clear up your mess or not?”

“Well if you insist”

You planted both hands behind you leaning back, his warm tongue collecting the cool cream escaping down your thigh.

“I think you taste sweeter” he hummed, his tongue spanning his lips before disappearing back into his mouth. Your sudden movements caught him off guard. Enough to let you have advantage and push his weight back enough to fight yours to be on top. You scrunched his shirt up to his neck. Perfect olive skin. Muscles taught and firm under his skin. His eyes diligent in following the drips of cream pooling over his stomach, his muscles twitched at the temperature. The last strawberry dragged through the milky coating on his skin before half of it disappeared in your mouth.

“I think you do”

“Why don’t you come up over here so I can taste you again?” You were by no means going to say no but you were going to tease him until he pleaded for it. You stood, shimmying out of your underwear. His brows knitting together when you sat back down still over his hips and not his face.

“Don’t pout!” the buttons on the front of your dress one by one slowly became unhooked. His hands automatically resting firm on your hips after his hands quickly laid claim to your chest.

“I just thought I’d make myself that bit sweeter for you”

“And how do you think you can do that?” he challenged. He was too busy admiring your front he’d not seen your hands dip behind and retrieve the cream pot.

“Like this?” You watched the trail make its way down through the valley of your breasts running over your stomach to pool in between your thighs and run down his sides. His eyes now shifted to your core laced in creamy glucose.

“Fuck princess” he whined, those unstoppable flecks raging in his eyes.

“Get up here now!”

Excuse me?

Your expression clearly mirrored your thoughts

“Please” his tone so whiny compared to his last demand.

His purr vibrated at your core, cream smudging around his lips. The cat who definitely got the cream. Your hand flew to his tangle in his hair, the other flying out to secure yourself against the beech desk in front of you. Nail meeting the smooth surface with nothing to grip onto.

Your head dropped; his eyes were closed held together in the total ecstasy of you. Only when the moans started trickling from your lips did his eyes burn up hard into you. The more pressure he put against your core the less you were able to hold his clouded over fuelled red eyes. This boy could have you cumming on his tongue quicker than anyone else. Whether it was because he could hear your heartbeat or the whole essence thing made it more intense but it he could have you so damn quick. You knew he was taking his time; any other day you’d already be begging him for your third release already, easy. The torturous slow stripes he made with his tongue had the deep groans boiling in your throat.

“Please make me cum already” you whined tugging his hair, grabbing his attention to your face and not the feast he was making between your legs He’d kept you dancing on the edge for too long.

“Make yourself” he coaxed in between the breathes he was catching up on. It wasn’t a sarcastic comeback. Definitely not.

“Want me to ride that pretty face of yours?” current roles subtly switching.

“Mmmhmm” he hummed swiping your arousal from his lips with his tongue, eyes blown, completely fucked out. You breathed a ‘sigh’ with a jesting eye roll. You were inebriated, addicted to how he loved it when you used him to get off. He was equally to you using him. His head stayed docile, his tongue a podium still and stiff for you to take your prize. Both your hands now steadied against the desk, hips gyrating over him.

No longer would he dance you along the jagged edge of your release. You threw yourself off, all the weight of previous refusals crashing on top of you. You fell hard. Your head hung; exhausted for a moment before giving Jimin room to breathe.

“Does this hurt?” You teased palming his cock straining against the tight denim of his jeans. The hiss and chokes echoing in the room answering your questions with perfect clarity.

“Well we can’t have that”

“Go behind the desk” He did as he was told.

“Why have I never thought about fucking you over the library desk” He cursed himself.

“I never said you were going to fuck me” Swirling the new cock ring he’d bought for you round your finger.

“Guarantee you’ll need me to fuck you when you’ve finished toying with me”

He always fucking knows.

His top discarded, slung over the top of the desk that shielded you from the rest of the library. Your hands guiding themselves across the perfect sculpture of his back, nails purposely leaving red trails. The cool leather of his belt resting against your skin. The front of his jeans pulled down his cock strained with the ring. Gargled moans and pants disrupting the calm of the library each time you hand gripped and moved.

“Going to beg yet?”

“No..o” Your hand snaked up his back, hair taught in your wrists.

“How about now? You breathed dangerously close to his ear, back arching in a crescent obediently to you. Vibration now throbbing through his already painful member. Neck strained, unrestrained grunts bobbing his adams apple. He blissfully regretted the present he got for you already; not too much though.

“Fuck” he whined, restraint and control leaking from his voice.

“Okay okay” Tolerance snapping as you your hands stroked him in a torturous slow movement

You stopped, pushed the power switch on the ring. Straightening yourself. Hands staying where the stilled; a potential threat if his words were not satisfactory.

He took whatever breath he could into his lungs, knuckles white gripped on the table.

“Pleeease let me fuck you, please let me cum mmm…. hand, mouth I don’t care” His arms struggled not to buckle, desperation thick through his strength.

“Are you that desperate that you don’t even care anymore?” Your thumb glazing over the end of his cock.

“Jesus…yes” his voice breaking in sync with his cracked resolve. With him facing the front you could only see his jaw tensing up, the side of his eyes straining to stay open.

“Are you that desperate that you don’t even want to make me cum before you?”

“mmm…No!”

Correct answer!

“Good boy” you praised

“Now I’m going to turn this back on and you’re going to wait until I allow you to cum. You’ve got to fuck me now. I’m dying to have you inside me”

Unanimous profanities bubbled into the room; bodies finally entwined. You both stilled, him fully inside you. Everything just felt too good. Senses overwhelmed with sweet sensations. Your arms crossed at the back of his neck fingertips tight to his skin. The perspiration glazing his forehead mingling with yours. Both looking down to where you connected.

“Ready?” asking and clenching around him at the time had him pinning his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Mmm” he breathed breathing through your torturous tensing.

“Words” you lightly scolded clenching again. His throat bobbed tense.

“Yes” he finally managed.

The throbbing vibrations resumed through him. The patch on top of the ring now vibrated through your clit each time he jolted his hips into you. His laboured breathing indicative of him holding back, funnelling control in his movements. Hot air swirling between you. Your head incapable of moving against the firm hand keeping your head with his. The muscles in your legs tensing, verging on cramping with how tight they gripped at his waist keeping the vibrations on you as much as possible. His bucks sudden and precise, enough apart that he can just about hold onto himself.

“Fuck, please give… it up to…” He was desperate, he needed you to cum so badly so you would show mercy on him.

“Hold it” you ordered. He whimpered, uncertain of his ability to do as he was told. His head drooped to the nook of your neck teeth latching on in a weak attempt to transfer some of the frustration and distraction somewhere else. He choked when your legs locked and pulled him as close as humanly possible. His restricted movement gave you the control to circle your hips around him directing the vibrations in the rhythm you needed. His hot breathes became jagged, fanning across the front of your shoulder.

“Count to 3 then cum for me baby” You panted.

“1” his hips snapped once.

“2” you clenched around him, controlling your muscles not to give. His moans stuttered.

“3” the count was almost breathless; almost devoid of sound. You arched into him shoving the vibrating pack back harsh against your clit, tightening around him again.

Swear words groaned out of his mouth, your core pulsing around him in waves washing you with serotonin. The rush of exaggerated senses never stopped overwhelming you too see white spots shadowing your visions. Sex with your essence was ridiculously other worldly; normal sex now completely transcended. You viced onto his body until his hips finished jerking.

Ugh! No condom, going to be an uncomfortable trip home. But..

“Jesus you’re going to kill me” he panted as you tapped at his hips

Move back

Powering down the ring, slipping it off with a grunt from him.

“Well you got me this remember so really you’ve done yourself in” Your index fingertip beckoning a hot soft kiss to your lips.

“I want one more thing from you baby”

“Anything” he confessed popping the buttons of his jeans back into looking decent.

“I’m not making my way home with your mess dripping out of me. Clean it up” You couldn’t decide who donned the filthier smirk Jimin or you. Within a beat he was on his knees, tugging a leg over his shoulder. Hurrying your hands behind you stabilising yourself from cracking your head on the top level of the desk. A gargled groan eliciting from the flicks of his tongue, the sensitive nub quietly welcoming the soft warm strokes. When his motions became less focused on collecting and began to circle more at your clit you gripped and yanked his hair.

Fuck, he looks sweet

“Look at you with your own cum glistening on your chin…so sexy” The visual pulled at the recovering coils in your core; but the light smile on your face slowly erupted into a small laugh. In retaliation he bounced up forcing an unbalancing harsh kiss. Transferring the chimera of your climaxes to your lips. You fingers teasing your buttons at the front of your dress closed, away from the already wandering eyes of Jimin.

“You taste so good mixed with me” He purred burying into your neck inhaling the after sex intoxicating scent he swooned for.

“Stop talking like that or I’ll wanna fuck you again” you warned. He burrowed further hands tightening at your hips

“And?” he countered

“I’d much rather you take me back home so I can do it with YOUR new favourite toy”

“Is it my birthday or yours?” His body remembering how hard he came with the new purple strap on you loved torturing him with.

“Having you in tears begging for me to go harder is all the present I need”

#bts #ksmutclub #smutcentralnet #sub-bts-network #kwritersworldnet #networkbangtan #bangtanarmynet #btsguild #jimin x reader #bts smut #BTS jimin #park jimin #28 days

[falloutdelmarvaau]

Fallout: Delmarva (Chapter 1)

Mission: A S.P.E.C.I.A.L. Assignment

I’m woken up by the sound of my alarm clock playing “Country Roads” again. It’s always been one of my favorite songs. Whenever I hear it, I always get a little lost in the descriptions of pre-war Potomac. Hearing about those mountains and rivers that haven’t been contaminated or blasted to pieces makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside. Sadly, that world is long gone, and what lived on is an irradiated mess that eats the warm and fuzzy for breakfast. With that thought in my head, I heave a disgruntled sigh and smack my alarm clock to shut it up, ready to begin my day.

With a grumble, I stand up and smooth out the wrinkles in my Vault-Tec jumpsuit. Like the rest of the residents of Vault 26, I never take my jumpsuit off except to shower. Today is not a shower day for me – the Overseer’s schedule would let me know if it was – so instead I simply proceed to the mirror to begin getting ready for my day. My appearance hasn’t changed for a few years now, thanks in large part to the Overseer’s rigorous standards for Vault 26’s residents. My brown hair is short, cropped off right where my head meets my neck. My brown eyes are a bit dull, as they always are this early in the morning, but I’m sure they’ll be full of life soon enough, drawing compliments that I never ask for from the Vault’s men. My cheekbones are a bit low, but that just gives me a strong chin. My forehead is high, proud and true, like the sloping side of a great dome. This is somewhat offset by my nose, which is small. Finally, my lips are full and smooth, which tends to prompt even more rude compliments from the men.

It takes me but a moment to do all that I have to do in the bathroom. I’m not due to join my colleagues for breakfast for another 15 minutes or so, which is nice; I love having time to kill. Sadly, I don’t have a lot of entertainment options in my small, cramped Vault room. So, for the umpteenth time, I grab my S.P.E.C.I.A.L. pamphlet and begin to read it.

This pamphlet is the same one that I was given in my childhood. It outlines all of the things that make citizens of Vault 26 special. We are strong. We are perceptive. We have great endurance. We are charismatic. We are intelligent. We are agile. We have good luck. And, with proper training, we can take all of these inherent traits and become even better at them. At least, that’s what I’ve heard.

I’ve never been an especially strong person; I can’t really lift more than a spoon most days. I’ve been told I’m oblivious most of the time, which means that my perception could be better. And I’m about as agile as a super-mutant on alcohol. But I’ve been told that I’m charming, and I know that I’m smart. This, combined with some good luck, has allowed me to become a computer programmer.

I am drawn from my reading by an alert on my Pip-Boy. It’s a handy little device: an arm-mounted computer that can do basically everything. It can monitor my life signs, keep track of my schedule, store maps, help me focus my gunfire while I’m doing mandatory training, play music, dispense medicine, keep track of the items I have with me, and much, much more. Every resident of Vault 26 gets one on their 10th birthday to help them with their lives. I mostly use mine to check my schedule, listen to music, and store my favorite programming shortcuts.

I look at my Pip-Boy’s screen and see that I got a message from the Overseer. “That’s odd,”I think. “He never calls me. Why would he? I’m just a regular working-class programmer.”Curious beyond measure, I open the message.

[Vault Resident Angela Miller.] the message reads. [Please report to the Overseer’s office for a special assignment. You will be having breakfast with the Overseer as he explains the situation to you.] My eyes practically jump out of my head. A special assignment? Breakfast with the Overseer? From what I’ve heard, not even the higher-ranking members of the Vault have breakfast with the Overseer. What could he possibly have in mind? Whatever it is, I can’t wait to find out.

* * *

It takes me a minute, but my Pip-Boy’s map eventually leads me to the Overseer’s office. I press the button beside the door, causing it to play a few notes of the old 1950s song Civilization. It’s one of the Overseer’s favorites for reasons unclear to me. A voice behind the door says, “Enter,” and the door automatically opens, two separate panels retreatinto either side of the door frame,allowing me unrestricted access to the office. Most Vault 26 membersnever get to see this place. I’m so excited!

The Overseer’s office is dark, lit only by the glow of a few security monitors that highlight different parts of the Vault. In front of those monitors is a circular desk, covered with various tools, buttons, and the occasional knick-knack. In the middle of the circle is a swivel chair with its back facing me. I can see only the hair of the man sitting in it; his locks are dark and well-groomed in a pompadour style.

“Welcome, Miss Miller,” the Overseer says. His chair turns, allowing me to see the rest of him. He is clad in a jumpsuit just like the rest of us, but he wears it with more dignity and authority. His eyes seem to glow in the dark; I can’t really tell what color they are. His skin looks a little darker than that of most people I know, perfectly complimenting his hair. His nose is sharp and angular, and his mouth is set in a confident smirk. “Glad you could make it.”

“The pleasure it all mine, Mr. Overseer,” I assure him meekly. This is so amazing!

The Overseer chuckles a little before gesturing to a plate on his desk.The sight of bacon, eggs, and potatoesgets my mouth watering. “This is an old-fashioned breakfast from before the Great War. I had it rehydrated just for you. Go on: eat.” I waste no timeinobeying, picking up and bitinginto a bacon strip. As I pop the morsel into my mouth and start to chew it, the Overseer asks, “Tell me, Miss Miller, what do you think of life in the Vault?”

I swallow my food and reply, “Oh, it’s great, Mr. Overseer,” before taking another bite.

“Good,” the Overseer replies, his voice smooth and soothing. “I’m glad to hear that.” He turns his back to me, watching the screens. “It would seem that your neighbors think so, too. Look at them, Miss Miller. Look how they work together to keep life in Vault 26 running smoothly. Isn’t it sheer perfection?” I turn my attention to the screens, watching the people as they go about their lives. I see a few people whosedays started earlier than mine; waste disposers, cooks, and others who specialize inthe health of those who live here. I also see others who have not started their shifts yet. Most of them have wandered down to the mess hall, where they sit in groups at crowded tables, talking and laughing. A few people are still in their rooms, reading old books or listening to music. One couple is having sex.

“Yes, yes, seems quite harmonious, doesn’t it?” the Overseer commentsas I continue to watch and eat. “It almost seems perfect. But here at Vault 26, we always strive to do better. We are a cut above the rest, and we have to make sure it stays that way. That is why I have called you here.

“You see, Miss Miller, there have been rumors going around of a particularly strong group of individuals somewhere in the Delmarva Commonwealth. If we could befriend these people, perhaps we could persuade them to move into the Vault with us. With their protection, we will never be attacked by ghouls or super-mutants ever again.”

I’m a little confused. “That sounds very nice, Mr. Overseer,” I say, swallowing some egg. “But what do you need me for?”

“You are one of the most charming people I’ve ever met,” the Overseer explained. “That’s why I’m sending you out into the wasteland to make contact with these people.”

“What?” I blurt out. This makes no sense. Why would I want to venture out into the wasteland? That’s where monsters of all kinds are lying in wait to ambush me and have me for dinner! “Sir, with all do respect, I can’t go out there!” I explain. “I’ve never been outside the Vault in my life, and I’m not anxious to get eaten by anything out there.”

“Don’t worry about that,” the Overseer purrs. “You’re a resourceful girl; the monsters won’t stand a chance against you. And, once you manage to befriend all of these strong people and bring them back to the Vault, I’ll be prepared to give you a very special promotion.”

My ears prick up. “Special promotion?”

“How would you like to be my own personal computer programmer? See, most computer code breaks down from time totime, and that includes the coding on these monitors.” He gestures to the monitors behind him. “I’ll accept only the best of the best to help maintain my machines. Would you be willing to do that?”

My eyes light up. Never in my life did I think I would have an opportunity like this. Being the Overseer’s personal computer programmer? That sounds amazing! I’d have the respect of everyone in the Vault, including the Overseer himself. “Boy, would I!” I squeal, unable to contain myself.

“Good,” the Overseer replies. “Then, after you finish breakfast, I suggest you pack some supplies and head out to the wasteland. Those people won’t befriend themselves.”

I cannot finish my breakfast fast enough.

* * *

It doesn’t take me very long to pack, mostly because I don’t have a lot of stuff. Some pre-packaged food and a few bottles of water go into my Vault-Tec bag, the contents of which are automatically logged into my Pip-Boy. A couple of stimpaks soon join them, which will come in handy if I happen to have a run-in with a ghoul and need to heal myself. Just as I’m packed up and about to leave,I see my ScienceBobblehead out of the corner of my eye. It’s a funny little trinket; it bears the likeness of the Vault-Tec’s blond-haired, black-eyed mascot, Vault Boy. Vault Boy’s science incarnation wears serious glasses alongside his bright “everything’s gonna be okay” smile. He holds a beaker that is painted luminescent green. I smile; I’ve always loved that bobblehead. I pack it out of nostalgia.

With my bag fully packed, I brace myself for what is to come and start walking. It is only a short trip from my room to the Vault’s entrance, but it feels like I walk for miles and miles. Finally, I stand before the large, gear-shaped blast door, trying to calm my breathing. Beyond this door are horrors that most residents of the Vault have never seen before, and I will have to face them down if I want to make the Overseer happy.

I steel my nerves and turn my attention to the access panel beside the door. The mechanism to open the door was enabled decades ago, so doing so is a simple matter of entering an “open” command into the panel. The process of the door actually opening, however, is nerve-wracking as hell. I watch a mechanical arm descend from the ceiling slowly and loudly, like it’s trying on purpose to trigger an anxiety attack. It latches on to the center of the door with an ear-splitting “CLACK!” that makes me jump out of my skin.

As the mechanical arm starts to roll the door aside, I receive an alert on my Pip-Boy. It’s another message from the Overseer. [There’s one more thing I forgot to mention.] he informs me. [While I was analyzing the rumors that I heard about this group, the four names that I heard the most were Garnet, Amethyst, Pearl, and Steven. When you find one of those people, message me back.]

Armed with this new information, I reply [Understood. Heading out now.]

His response is quick: [Good luck, Miss Miller.]

[Thank you.] And then, finally, the Vault door opens. I shield my eyes from the blinding light and brace myself for my trip to the outside world.

#Fallout: Delmarva AU #Vault 26 #Angelica Miller #Vault-Tec #fallout #Steven Universe AU #SU AU

[ariahearthockey]

Love Me, If You Will - Chapter 1

Prologue

_/_/_/_/

Fandom: Men’s Hockey RPF

Pairing: Sidney Crosby/Evgeni Malkin

Tags: 2017 NHL Playoffs, Concussion, Memory Loss, Medical Inaccuracies, Unexplained Medical Conditions, Alternate Reality, Time Travel (sort of), Pining, Fluff, Porn With Feelings, Happy Ending (sort of)

Soundtrack: Dancing On My Own - Calum Scott

_/_/_/_/

Chapter 1

Sidney wakes up with a weird feeling churning in his gut. His head is pounding, the room is spinning and the air is unseasonably cool for summer. The sky outside is still quite dark, sans the burst of deep orange brimming low on the horizon. He rolls over to his side and squints at the clock on the nightstand, and it confirms his suspicion. It is a little more than an hour before his alarm is supposed to go off and he groans in annoyance.

There is no way he can go back to sleep in the state he is in—with the nagging headache and all—but the idea of leaving the warmth of his bed seems really unappealing. He tries to recall if he has done anything stupid the night before like drinking his own weight in champagne to merit him such dire consequences, but he knew the answer is 'no'. The action can be justified easily since he has just won the Stanley Cup two years in a row, but he dislikes hangovers more than anything. So, like a petulant child, he buries his head deep in his pillow and pulls the cover over his head as an effort to will the pounding in his head to subside.

Then, he hears it. The noise of someone snoring, low and deep. It goes on for a little while before the bed moves, and a hand sneaks up around his waist and tugs him backwards. His back collides against a flat, sturdy chest and the warmth from it almost made him forget the one big question in his head. Has he brought someone home yesterday and totally forgot about it? Say it isn't so because no matter how many times he has done this, he still dreads the awkward morning after that is almost guaranteed when they are both much awake later, especially when he doesn't remember a thing about it.

He doesn't think he was that drunk, even if so, he is usually more careful about bringing his hookups back home. One blabber mouth could mean scandal and it is unlike him to have total blackout like that. But before he has the time to contemplate his actions or that of his alcohol tolerance, he is distracted by the bursts of warm breath against the back of his neck, soothing him and arousing him all at the same time. The sudden rush of blood in his body eases his headache a little and he hums quietly when he feels the soft press of lips against his nape, sucking and licking lazily until his skin feels tender.

And then there lies the most difficult dilemma. He contemplates if there should be a repeat of what he’s had yesterday—call it a refresh of memory or whatnot—or there should be some kind of resistance on his part before things get even more awkward. On one hand it seems like the right thing to do, not taking any more advantage of whoever that is in bed with him right now, because duh, he was raised to be a gentlemen. But on the other hand—where even the most chivalrous of a man would have a difficult time to resist—is the evident hard bulge that is currently digging into the crease of his ass. It feels huge to say the least, and he shudders just thinking about how delicious it will feel if he gets to ride it until he comes.

And then a groan comes from behind—all low and breathy—and it all but sends his blood rushing towards his own dick. His breathing picks up when the hand on his waist slips underneath the waistband of his sweats, and plays with the coarse hair near his crotch. His body grows hot and wired, and any thoughts of not wanting another go with this stranger is conveniently tossed out the window, together with his dignity as he spreads his thighs wider. The stranger seems to like it, and he groans that deep, throaty groan again. He has to bite down his own lips just so he doesn't make any more noise that could embarrassed himself further and relents himself to the soft touch of the very skilled fingers. But then, like sticking a stick into a spinning wheel, something in that voice makes his eyes shoot wide open, and when he realises why the voice sounded so familiar, he is more awake than being doused by a barrel of icy water.

"Mmm, Sid.."

A million warning alarms start to go off in his head at the same time. He knows that voice, he knows that accent and he knows it far too well for it to be real or for it to be moaning his name like that. He bounces away from the bed so quickly, it is an awe he doesn't trip over his own feet and fall flat on his face. Instead, he stands a few feet away from the bed, feeling absolutely flabbergasted and confused as hell.

"What the fuck! What are you do—uh—"

The rest of his sentence dies in his throat as he takes in the picture in front of him. Geno, naked as a jay bird, is stretched out on his bed, with a wonderfully tousled bed hair and a sleep-warm face. The lack of light in the room hides absolutely nothing at all and honestly, he isn't sure where to look, or if he should look. It is not to say that he has never seen Geno naked before, quite the contrary actually. With them being on the same team for a little more than a decade, he has had his fair share of Geno's nakedness in the locker room. But, to be perfectly fair, never has he thought he would be seeing it in a setting quite like this.

"Sid? Baby, why you leave? Is cold. Come back and I'm make you warm."

With that, he is officially more confused than he has ever been. He is almost 99.9% certain that he is in some kind of a dream. It would have been one hell of an elaborated dream, but only that will explain why Geno is calling him by sweet endearments or touching him intimately or fucking grinding his hard dick against his ass.

"G—Geno. What—what are you doing in—in my bed?" Sidney sputters through his line of question.

As baffled as he feels at the moment, he can't deny that Geno looks exceptionally good in his bed. When Geno raises his arms above his head and gives his body a good stretch, it makes his throat dry all of a sudden. There is so much of Geno on display—the long stretch of his pale body, the dark hair decorating his chest that trickles down to his abdomen and all those prominent lines when his muscles flex underneath the taut skin. And then there is the very impressive package that he felt against his ass not too long ago.

"I'm sleep. Of course I'm in bed." Geno says it like it is the most obvious thing in the world. And it is, except that it isn't.

"Well, yeah. But what are you doing sleeping in my bed? And why are you uh—," Sidney questions again with his hands waving frantically in the air, "—naked?"

"Huh? I'm always sleep naked. I'm tell you, is more comfortable and easy if want fuck." Geno replies with a confidence that will normally make him laugh but right then it just made him want to pull out his hair.

"Wh—what? Okay, Geno. Listen to me. You're in my bed, naked, and with me in it. And you and I uh—we almost—" Sidney is too embarrassed to finish that sentence but judging by the sly grin adorning Geno's face, he doesn't have to.

"Yeah, I'm know, baby. And if you come back, we continue. I'm blow you, then I'm fuck you."

Sidney feels his body going through a tornado of emotions because he is simultaneously shocked and turned on by what Geno said. He shifts on his feet, trying to hide his hardening dick tenting in his sweats. "Oh my god, Geno. How much have you got to drink yesterday?"

"Drink? No drink, Sid. You know I'm never drink before game day."

"What game day? We just won the cup, G. There is no more game until the summer's over or did you forget?

Geno seems to catch on onto the confusion now as he sits up on the bed and looks at Sidney, concern written all over his face. Sidney feels his cheeks heating when he catches himself tracking Geno's every movement—because Geno in his birthday suit is fucking too hard to ignore. He has neither the self control nor the time to chide himself for not able to tear his gaze away right now.

"Sid, you okay? Head hurt? Come lie down, take rest."

Sitting down sounds really good to him at that moment. After all he has gone through since he woke up, he really need to sit and give himself some time to gather his thoughts a little bit. But then, "I would but you're still very naked."

Geno holds up his hands in surrender before he pulls the sheets up to his waist (as if that will help) and pats his hand on the space beside him on the bed. Sidney resigns and goes to him, sitting himself just a few inches away from Geno. He doesn't make any more movement once he is seated, because he doesn't want to accidentally strip Geno of his cover or something equally as mortifying.

"Sid, you feel not good? Head okay?"

Sidney shrugs. "Yeah, no. It's fine. It hurts a little when I woke up, but it's fine now."

"Sid sure? 'Cause Vyas said keep watch for symptom."

Vyas, the head of their medical team, is one hell of an annoying bugger. "Yes, I'm sure, Geno. I have gone more than a month without any symptoms now. I'm fine."

Something in Geno's face tells him that he might have said something wrong—which he really isn't expecting at all. He basically just told Geno that he is symptom free for quite a long amount of time but Geno is looking at him as if that is a terrible news. Like, okay—his head still hurts a little but that is just the champagne's doing. Otherwise, he feels perfectly fine.

"Sid, Nisky crosscheck two days ago. Vyas say is concussion so maybe Sid confuse." Geno explains gently like he is afraid to startle a wounded animal.

"What? What are you talking about, G? We've beaten the Caps a while ago, eh? And we just won the fucking Cup."

"Sid." Geno begins as he scoots closer to Sidney and cups his hands to Sidney's face. "Sid, is okay. I'm know maybe you forget and Vyas say sometimes is normal. But Sid, we not finish round two yet."

Then the confusion starts to really set in because that is just not possible. Sidney remembers clearly that they were well pass his minor concussion and went on to defeat the Caps, then the Sens, and then fucking hoisted the Stanley Cup in Nashville after they shut the Preds out in game six. "Geno, what the hell are you talking about?"

"Today is game four, Sid. Sully say you take rest and then be ready for game five, remember?"

He knows that if he is smart, he should say 'yes' just so he won't attract more unnecessary attention that will surely leads to more unnecessary tests. But then, "No, Geno. We already took out the Caps and then we move on to play the Sens and beat them in double overtime and then the—wait. Geno, are you pranking me? Is this a prank? Shit, did Flower put you up to this? Oh my god, of course he did. I can't believe I actually fell for that. Good job, G. You got me. Ugh, Vegas's gonna have to choose some other goalie because I'm gonna fucking kill Flower!"

"Sid, wait. Okay, calm down. I'm promise is no prank. I'm kill Flower for you if he prank."

"What do you mean it's not—of course it's a prank. If this whole thing isn't a prank, then why do you keep telling me that we're playing the Caps today and more importantly, you waking up in my bed naked?"

"Um, because I'm live here?"

"Oh, right. That's real funny, G. Ha-ha."

"Wait, Sid. You really not remember?"

"What don't I remember?"

The silence that stretches on after that makes him really uncomfortable. It is like the inevitable moment when the blood starts ringing in the ears just before someone is about to receive a monumentally bizarre news.

"Sid, we married. We married for five years."

_/_/_/_/

#sidgeno #fanfiction #Love Me If You Will #ariahearthockeywrites #men's hockey rpf

[anonymouswasawoman]

Invisible voyeurism

My observation of the 'dancing' industry this side of the Atlantic, a few short digressions about Hollywood, and why #meToo? Strap in and strap up because we have been living in these contradictions for far too long. I’m not a Madonna or a whore, nor have I ever been.

5/11/2017

My birthday

It has recently come to my attention through a series of significant events, including Hugh Hefner's death, and Harvey Weinstein's downfall- which highlights an issue coined by Emma Thompson as 'a crisis of extreme masculinity', and defended by Woody Allen, who fears a 'witch-hunt atmosphere'- for a man and men in general who don't know how to keep their hands to themselves- that there may be a topic for discussion regarding my unique position in the current gender climate. I did not initially write this as a comment on the Weinstein situation, fearing, not only being seen as someone who is jumping on the bandwagon, or coming out of the woodwork, but simply because I wrote the bones of this article before it happened, wanting to comment on the cultural aftershock of Playboy magazines creation. After the scandal, I felt obligated to #meToo. There is a reason so many women are 'coming out of the woodwork'. It is because this is endemic. It is because we should follow suit, if we want to regain the respect and trust we were pressed to lose for ourselves when we saw any type of this behaviour either as necessary, commonplace, or 'just a bit of fun'. To all the ‘uninterested’ or ‘unaffected’ women out there, let me stop you and say that you should remember that you have a duty to women in general. To any male readers: “Human rights are women's rights, and women's rights are human rights,” Hilary Clinton.

I have been victim to this kind of conduct, seeing it, almost in a clinical way, as entirely necessary, not only if I wanted to feel, somehow, illogically, safe in my environment (a strip club- if you hadn't guessed), but also, more alarmingly, able to keep my job. While the imminent issue at hand is, indeed Harvey Weinstein's 'pestering' of women and girls of all ages, I want to question this from my perspective, as I am not a semi-famous, or famous actress hoping to advance somehow in Hollywood, yet I am still stuck in this web of ignored bad behaviour working on what you could say is 'the front line', where everything is as exaggerated as it is allowed to be, despite the signs stating in Caps: No touching, No swearing, No prepostitioning, No shouting and No mobile phones. Hugh Hefner's death made me question whether Playboy still determines the standards of this industry, or any which sells seduction and implies the selling of sex, and whether the working conditions of dancers are affected by this standard. Whether he was pioneering or damaged, and still is damaging progression, so this relates to my (some would say unfortunate and powerless) situation and occupation. It also raises the question of the self-destructive nature of female sexuality. It raises the question to me about whether I am a weak woman & it makes me think about what queen Elizabeth said in 1588; "I know I have the body but of a weak and feeble woman; but I have the heart and stomach of a king"

It appears to me that in order to create a fair and 'safe' discussion space, we must not only talk about the 'crisis of extreme masculinity', but also question whether there is too, a mirrored crisis of extreme femininity, and who is to blame for this, who is in power, and who is allowing who is in power to engage in such acts, in order to achieve acclaim and/ or financial security. Whether we have reached peak fake ass fake tits fish lips threshold; or whether that is a (sub)culture which can live on without repercussions for the wider gender conscious community. The question is; is it avoidable, as a woman, to be a part of this sexist culture, are we all participating, like the citizens of Germany did under Nazi rule? I say to myself that I wont be affected, again, like I was when my boss fired me for not 'going away with him', or took me upstairs to 'smoke' 'on the balcony', but that wasn't the first time and it may not be the last that I called my morals into question. I questioned why I allowed this to continue, engaging with him, not crossing any moral lines, as far as I was concerned, but not removing myself from the situation. I question why I still don't want to completely tear his reputation to shreds by naming names and even talking about this right now, and who I am trying to protect by not doing so- him or myself? Emma Thompson said that someone needs to be the one who will speak up and name names but who wants to be a snowflake in this situation? Who wants to be the bad sport? Is naming names really what we need? Is this what woody Allen meant by witch hunt? Maybe I am discrediting this article and #meToo movement by not naming names like the women who named Weinstein, but I am not trying to shake up the life of a man who was living as it was (arguably, in a way) acceptable at the time and in that place, I am trying to shake up the establishment which makes this acceptable. Maybe the fact that Weinstein has been named is enough, for now, in that it has created this tornado of shit for the biggest image fearing industry in the world today. I question if I was just another girl who wanted to gain something from the older man with reputation, power and wealth. Maybe I wanted the Midas touch, and maybe that's what these women who obliged sacrificed their dignity at the time for too. Maybe you're a better woman than me if you didn't oblige. Maybe it was circumstance. Maybe that's why individual name naming is in some cases worthless, and in my case arbitrary and perhaps even damaging for the girls I've worked with.

Either way, I will end this specific discussion here, telling you that I believed that if I were to continue on in life, stable, secure, and respected, I had to allow this to happen. I knew that I was singled out for a reason, so it was my own ego and sense of pride that told me to endure. Men do not experience this choice. And it is this choice I have to come to terms with. Perhaps men experience the choice to risk being viewed as a perpetrator, as Harvey Weinstein is now, in order to further their career, and get massages from young girls, but he is never faced with the issue that, if he does not, his career will be harmed, I believe. I could end this article here, but I would rather open up the discussion about how women can perpetuate this behaviour in men, and whether we are to blame for this choice between our own idea of ourselves and our dignity, and whether the sacrifices are or have been inescapable because of our culture. Perhaps we will never come to a conclusion but at least we are talking.

Questioning sexuality is essentially the most important way of questioning humanity. I think that since up until the last decade, arguably, we were separated into two genders makes it therefore the most uniting way of questioning humanity. I'm not trying to talk about transgender issues although that is somewhat on the same agenda when we are talking about sexuality; specifically female- I am trying to question humanity and therefore the meaning of life. I think that there is no meaning of life, only the right way and the wrong. Mine is still wrong even though I know this fact. My world is a world where they put us on a pedestal for our beauty, femininity, and sexuality. However volatile this pedestal is, and despite the fact that we know that these men are stood at the base of it holding onto it and rattling it evermore violently, we continue to stand because these are three thrilling things we are not able to obtain simultaneously or indeed individually in our daily lives because we are not able to uphold the best parts about being a woman when we are not regarded as a delicacy any more. No, it's not that we are not a delicacy, and it's not an innocence we have lost, it's the previous hitherto lack of knowledge that humans lack humanity whenever money is present. This job is wanting to be one of these ruthless people, but feeling intensely uncomfortable with the notion of doing so and defeated by not being able to. These people have never experienced what it is to lose and then continue to lose solely because you are in a vicious cycle of losing. We may have any number wins on our hands but the world is not a feminine one.

I would like to help you represent the subjugated girls of this underground occupation who have been quietly forgotten about by general society, because we can. I have only ever worked in one club, in Liverpool, so I have loyalties to the girls and management there, despite any negative experiences, and I hope there is an answer for all the girls, who are scraping by in an occupation and industry which no longer has any glamour and freedom attached to it because we forgot to fight for them in the midst of our hair shaving, bra burning, armpit hair sporting feminist revolution. I understand that these two ways of life and the girls that live them are ideologically at odds, and sisterhood is involved, but we could have the decency to expect more for the girls who are forced into these roles by their circumstances, surely that is what feminism is about. I am a (as staunch I can be without being awful) feminist, but as women I feel as though we may be at a point where we have to accept compromise somehow, like we do in relationships, because if nature is anything to go by, the Alpha will a lot of the time be male, with the women as the prizes and baby makers.

This brings to light the question of whether, as predators, we are pack animals, and whether the male is always the Alpha, guarding territory and defending his right, as a male, to protect the females. This motivation by sensual, physical, or carnal appetites is something that I feel is somehow binded to the discussion in this article, how animal instincts can affect human behaviour and its impact upon gender equality. The top wrung of our society does well to perpetuate this idea of the male Alpha. Don't get me wrong I like Future and Kanye West but their song "I won", talking about "you the number one trophy wife", happens to be really good and listenable, yet it is misogynistic to its core. My mum calls most black rap music "shouty rap", and indeed there is anger and oppression also at its core, and so there should be. I don't want to cross over into the issue of race but maybe the two are intrinsically linked. This is a very fine line to be treading on or over, but these are issues which call to be discussed, in connection with womens issues. Maybe writers who strip or strippers who write are not a common combination, and I hesitate to call myself a Stripper anyway, since the word, I feel, has become definitive of Woman who has no power, similar to the way 'Negro' did to black people, before they claimed it as their own. But back to the music, Kim Kardashian, who we all know is married to Kanye West, is potentially said Trophy, but this is a woman who has earned her own fame and fortune. We all know that she earned it by having sex with Ray J on camera, except when the time comes to choose who is the woman of the year, Caitlin Jenner, her step-father, is chosen, for completing gender-reassignment surgery with an overwhelming audience, and apparently becoming a role model to women because of it. If anything she should be a role model to men! People only knew of Caitlin, née Bruce Jenner, because of her appearances in Keeping up with the Kardashians', and for winning a gold medal at the Olympics. Please do not somehow take this as a dismissal of Caitlyns' bravery. In my opinion she just would have been more of a role model to transgender people if she had been more clear that she was not trying to be a role model only to women, but also to men, as all trans stories should resonate equally with both sexes, as it is not a struggle with being one sex, it is a struggle with being the wrong sex. It is a struggle with sexuality in general, not a struggle with either sexuality separately. It felt to me as though Caitlyn was accepting this Women's award simply because she had been led down that route by the fame and fortune of her family. It may have been more empowering to the transgender community if she had said, I won't accept this award on the basis that I am not a woman, I am a trans woman, and that has a struggle entirely seperate and arguably more difficult than that of a woman born in a womans' body who is still a woman. The Kardashians seemed to me to be all too keen to cash in on Caitlyns' struggle, by making it about them, and how it felt ‘from their perspectives’, N.b. Kardashians not Jenner’s, which is why I feel she would have done her struggle more justice if she had not taken her platform on the world stage for granted by simply saying she can be a role model to transgender people just because she managed to transition in the public eye and with all the scrutiny that the Kardashian family is under. Family values is something that the Kardashians have always kept at the top of their agenda which is why I was surprised when such an important part of their whole empire was treated with such suspicion. However, it is obviously difficult for me to be impartial, I just wanted to make a comment on an issue which is equally as important as and entirely connected to the issue of womens rights. Treading on thin ice, and with that aside, I know I'm going around in circles and with Trump as the president of America, there is no need to dispute the misogyny of our/their society, but there is a need to dispute who big brands employ as their role models, and there is a need to question blind faith.

Having said that, I like to have dinner bought for me even if it means I pretty much have to have sex with him at the end of the date no questions asked, but I will be the one to cut ties, because I think this is where our control comes in. Let me rephrase that, I have had dinner bought for me and had sex with him at the end of the date no questions asked, but I was the one to cut ties, because that is where my control came in. I met a guy in work, and danced for him, and there wasn't any question of who would pay for dinner, it was basically already decided before we got there because we both knew what we wanted from each other. Obviously I offered, though.

I understand that the paradoxical question is; how can we expect men to be okay with paying for our dinner if our wages are equal? But wages are not equal so does that then change the question to; How can we expect men to gladly pay for our dinner if sex is off the menu? If sex is on the menu, then, how can we expect men to want to have sex with us if we do not present ourselves as sexy? But then when you turn that on its head, it becomes a question about rape; How can we expect men to not want to have sex with us if we do present ourselves as sexy? And if you expand the ideology further, it becomes a sales technique: How can we expect people to buy from our company if we are not selling sex? These are no longer questions, they are just expectations, and they start at the top. We should have bigger expectations of brands to not do the obvious and put a rich white privileged girl with famous parents who therefore has millions of instagram followers, who stands for nothing of importance, as their brand ambassador.

So, should I feel weak for letting him pay for my dinner and using sex to repay him, when society is tipped in his favour? Do men and women not need to go on an equal amount of dates in order to find love? How am I supposed to pay for all of these dates when you earn more than me? Does you paying for my meal automatically mean homeboy should get it, or am I being too polite?

I have always hoped that this wouldn't be the case for women but writing this article I had a depressing thought that in a lot of cases in nature, monkeys, lions and wolves to name a few, without having done further research, the females have a role which is non-negotiable. I just wonder if we have plateaued somewhat with feminist progression, but perhaps it is just the way we are viewing it and attempting to progress. Maybe its easy for us to believe that we could start from the top down not the bottom up, but women with money don't need equal rights as much as girls like me who feel oppression on a daily level. Jennifer Lawrence doesn't need that extra 10 million as much as my friends need to not feel outnumbered and unsafe in their workplace. I think we are all confused about how things are to change accordingly when our wages do, and about what we can do on our level, which doesn't involve tweeting about which male member of staff tried to hit on you or came onto you in the lift or at the Christmas party. Or, from a mans perspective, not joking with your female colleaugues for fear for saying something un-PC. I know I sound anti-men but just because we bear the children and have less physical strength, should you be allowed to have expectations of me which are not morally defensible? Its these ingrained expectations you have to change. Real chivalry is opening doors, pulling out chairs, and lending me your jacket, but what if I don't expect that? And anyway, isn't part of that just being well-mannered? You earn more than me, so should dinner not be something I am entitled to, until you agree that you should hand over some of your well earned cash and title as CEO to me, or another woman, just as deserving of the role and the pay, as you? Speaking theoretically ofcourse. As men, in light of this whole situation, it seems it has become necessary to ask yourself, on what level have you participated in this culture of belittlement? There is obviously a spectrum, and it is understandable that this is confusing for men as well as women. There's a viral tweet going round of a comedian called Peter White offering advice to men on how to behave: "I think the golden rule for men should be: if you're a man, don't say anything to a woman on the street that you wouldn't want a man saying to you in prison." While the sincerity of this quote is questionable, seeing as most men won't see themselves in that situation, it helps to lighten the mood, when the real scenario is that one day it could be your daughter whose career is disrupted, or whose worth is demeaned by creepy advances from a higher ranking male colleague. As a man, you should not let yourself be lulled into a false sense of self-security because you have never assaulted or raped a woman. There is a spectrum. Turning a blind eye still makes you complicit.

I feel as though it is weak for me to say that as Women, in expecting equal pay, equal power and in a way, equal rights, we have to wait for men to accept our sexual equality, however, it seems to me that its not only men who are not able to adjust and account for this change yet. Women still want to get their nails done, their hair blow dried, and do sparkly eyeshadow, which is all fine by me, especially when their partner gets his beard trimmed and styled, puts cream on his face at night, and tries on her clothes when shes away for the weekend. But I think that the void of equality opens when a woman accepts something she can not repay, maybe not literally, maybe non-physically, a kind of spiritual debt, thereby consigning herself to an antiquated gender role, eg, at a base level: you have paid for me to get my nails done so I will pick up your dirty underwear/ wash it for you. In a strip club, this could be: you have bought me a drink, so I will turn a blind eye when you put your arm around my waist or try to touch me during a dance. The kind of women and girls that allow themselves to be treated this way are the kind of women and girls that allow other women and girls to be viewed as the lesser sex, as it could be said that this is, in some way, solicited honourably by the man's kindness. I feel as though we have all, in some way, been guilty of this, and this is where the spectrum comes in for women. We are turning a blind eye to our own position of inequality. It could be said that we do it for comfort, an easy life, but, from my perspective, I did it because I didn't want to sit in the corner with a face on because men are pigs and all I want from them is their money, and I wish to GOD THEY WOULD JUST SHUT the fuck up and stop asking me why a pretty girl like me is still single.

The catch-22 of this whole situation is that the girls who are being forced into jobs like stripping are not able to help themselves. The beauty of this is that neither are the girls in the opposite extreme, wildly pushing feminist ideologies, getting locked up and pushed out for it. Maybe this means they should work together and be less suspicious of each other. Maybe we should start, as educated women, by seeing what it would be like if the Pleaser shoe were on the other foot. I don't mean do a pole dancing class, I mean go to a strip club and get a lap dance, or even just for a drink, however much it hurts to see girls feel that level of oneness with their own repelling urges. The reality of it is that this oneness with ourselves is not optional as a stripper. We are nothing but the way we look, so owning it is necessary. Making girls who come in to the strip club feel uncomfortable is the only way we can have power over them, but the only girls that we desire to have power over are the ones who take our money from us, come in with a group of guys and command all of their attention by bending over the table in their mesh tops and camo mini skirts, dancing like they're a Stripper. If you do take me up on this, don't be one of these girls. If you don't take me up on this, don't be one of these girls...

So, this is my self-indulgent, self-centred, #meToo piece, because I think, at a time like this women can afford to think of themselves and say how they've been damaged, and not care about who thinks its inconvenient. Having said that, I think consciousness-raising exercises like #MeToo only work when we combat them in our daily lives, and silence means nothing changes, so I am sticking a probe right into the wound, into the cold hard long days nights that we've worked, come home with pimples on our bums, and had to watch the water run dark and dirty off our skin, had to wash all of our clothes to make sure that the unclean doesn't mix with our daily lives because that was not us, it was not a release, it was finding a way to move when we were in chains, and sometimes the only place we could move was wrapped around a pole, or, less literally, tied to the floor. I am writing because I hope that one day period supplies could be free, and the abortion pill could be taken at home, and maybe so that I could play a part in helping more women come into the positions of power they deserve through hard work, to be in. I am writing because America shouldn't have a president who thinks he can 'grab women by the pussy'. I am writing because this occupation still exists, in all its hypocrisy. I am writing because this job will make you hard, it will make you feed on your softness, on your own young soft flesh, it will make you cut yourself on camera in return for credit, and cash. This world is men gazing at how much we are able and willing to degrade ourselves, and enjoying it too much to help us to stop. It's about how highly we regard ourselves versus how much we want something which isn't ours. It's not dancing it's love addiction. The only thing harder to come by than money is love in here. So that's what I never forget to aim for. I never forget that feeling love is my primary objective. I never forget that I'm still here because I would rather feel my heart beating, than feel it's pulse quickly slow each day, colder, each day I work 9 to 5 knowing that my rung on the ladder is that of someone who has earned a hell of a lot less in life than I have. What is the path of less resistance? There is less resistance waking up each day better than the last only to lose it all again at the weekend, that's why years go by and the girls find themselves at once older and less desirable but still with the exact same problems. I'm not saying I want to help everybody. I just don't want to not show love to them because that will make me weak and painful. My expense then for not being ruthless, is that I don't make enough to escape. I wouldn't like to be a loveless entity so I keep on keeping me because you can't see me here.

Here’s where I get passionate. I’m writing this because what is activism without activity? What is activity without activism? Oh well done you went to this place and wore a dress by this designer and then you posed for a picture of it on your Instagram. Well fucking done. Are you aware what the hell message is that sending? That you’re vapid and only care about yourself. Not saying don’t go places and do things and take photos of it, I’m just saying you could consider doing it for a cause. Activism isn’t posting a lil message in your Instagram captions about how sad and disappointed you are that America still houses Nazis, or that you think guns should be illegal, or that Harvey Weinstein is a bad man, or that assault on women indeed exists, activism is acting upon that. It’s going one step further, in a way that says, I really care about this and so should you. Activism is not talking about the example, it’s setting it.

I actually sent this to vice to publish, and I have to say, I know they were looking. Instinct is powerful. So powerful that I knew why they wouldn’t publish it. It’s because it was neither one thing nor the other. It wasn’t too much or too little, it wasn’t too personal or too objective. It has no references so it’s not journalism or academic, but there’s no characters and it’s obviously not fiction, So I’ll stop fucking around and just complete it. They ‘said’ there was something missing, So I either strip it back and add references, or I go more personal.

I’m not one to shy away from the truth, and it’s value, so I will tell you my story. Whether you are still reading, want to continue, or don’t, that’s up to you. I believe in all this balance, chaos theory, good vs evil and if you don’t then that’s on you. Here’s how I’ve struggled with hirsutism, I wrote this about two weeks before I published this ‘article’. This is the first time I’ve talked about this in writing, and I would like to add now in hindsight (6 months after I wrote this originally) I am now proud to be able to claim this as my own, especially in its perhaps not comparability but connection to the trans movement.

If you know what that is, you are probably either recoiling in disgust, or also suffer from this condition, or are a doctor. If you don’t, I’ll tell you. It’s excess female body and facial hair.... While on first inspection I look to be a ‘normal’ girl, closer inspection is something I’ve avoided my whole lifetime, because it’s not something that is easy to deal with. Basically, I have a line of hair up my abdomen, reaching just beyond my belly button. Pretty normal hey? Well it’s also around my nipples. Solvable. It’s also on my chest, underneath my clavicles, a fine layer of short dark hairs. Complicated. Oh yeah it’s also on my neck and the side of my face. That’s okay it’s being lasered. So what’s the diagnosis, you may be asking? Am I quite mannish? Do i have too much testosterone, big hands and feet, broad shoulders and more muscle mass? No. That is not the case. There is no problem with my hormones and no underlying medical condition like polycystic ovaries. It is not hereditary in any way and no one else in my family suffers in this way. So where does that leave me? In no mans land, literally, I am unsolvable by anyone. My body is a rubix cube which has been fixed so that it has no conclusion. I am currently undergoing laser hair removal which I did not qualify for on the nhs as I am undiagnosed. Bear with me, pun intended. Laser usually costs around £700 per treatment area. But I have negotiated for that cost to be for my face neck and chest due to them being relatively small areas. Still, I can’t really afford that on top of other normal financial considerations, like rent, food travel, and credit payments. I am on medication to try and make my apparently normal hormones be more feminine. They are steroidal. Side effects include depression, dry skin and lowered libido. While we are on the subject of sexual desires, I am not allowed them, by society. I do not allow myself them. Take your chances of getting hurt in a relationship and double them for me with this invisible problem.

The last person I had sex with was a married man who paid me £400. I have no problem saying this as it’s the only time I’ve ever been paid for sex, including in gifts, as I feel that is included. I have never been gifted anything by a guy except a teddy bear in my first year of high school as a present from a guy I kissed at the disco. I met the married guy at the strip club I work in. He managed to convince me to go outside of the usual terms I work by because we helped each other understand the hypocrisy of the situation. He was married like half the guys that come in. He payed me for a dance and we sat and talked. I’ve never done that before. I’ve always wanted to dance because talk is cheap and I don’t want to owe anyone anything. I ended up owing him, so I took his number and texted him the next day. I went on Sunday night, after work at 4am. We had a coffee, he paid me in a wad of cash which I didn’t count, then we undressed, beside either side of the bed, he climbed into bed, and me after him.

I’m not able to work when I have my laser treatment because I have to shave the area. Since I have shaved, plucked, and bleached my chest since about age 15, it is already quite scarred. I cannot use any healing or commodogenic moisturising products because it leads the hair follicles to break out. Needless to say I’ve never had a boyfriend, and I’m not apologising for all these details otherwise you won’t be able to see the reality of the situation. I know that other people have problems, and invisible weaknesses, and other girls suffer from hirsuitism, but it’s hard to find them when they are hiding too, and this needs to be talked about. That’s why I need to address the brutal and uncomfortable details, as much as it hurts me to.

So, now I don’t have a job because I can’t even work at a strip club. When I could work there I had to bleach my face and chest every night before every shift. That meant I was late and looked unprofessional. That is a theme for me, having to look as though I’m unprofessional when I’m actually an extremely meticulous and focused person.

I have worked retail jobs, but since I no longer really have friends, as they’ve moved away, and don’t have a boyfriend, I find it hard to relate to people on a normal level. I get depressed, stressed, alienated and I have no release. Working in a strip club helps with these things, although the girls are from different backgrounds and a lot of them have it worse than me, admittedly. I believe I don’t have female friends because I think they find it easy to use me to their advantage because I am in a perpetual state of fear and loneliness. This is also why I’m not a lesbian, aside from the fact that I’m not attracted to women. I have been raped twice, albeit neither time entirely involved assault. I do not consider sexual experiences to be entirely pleasurable, of the few that I’ve had, due to the disconnect between who I present to them and who I really am. They see the ideal and expect only that. I have told one guy about my problem, and although he was understanding, I can tell he feared for his own comfortable normalcy. I told him after a one night stand. We met at the club. Due to my situation, I have done everything through life, alone. I dropped out of university, unable to deal with the workload and the mental workload that comes with this condition. They say now that a lot of mental health issues are reported at university and there is more awareness. There wasn’t really, a few years ago, and I got passed around a couple of uninterested councillors who made me write my depression and anxiety on a whiteboard in a blue pen because I was white and came from an almost middle class background and had no really visible problems, I wasn’t allowed to be troubled. I am 25 next week and I still live at home. My credit rating is extremely poor due to my not being able to find and keep a suitable job over the years. I used a loan and credit card in order to buy a dog, to sustain me through terrible loneliness. My family have always been supportive and have tried to overlook my strange self-imposed situation. They are trying to help because they know that a lack of stimulation from a dead end job that I am able to acquire with my current qualifications will be the death of me. I hate to sound morbid but it’s an option. But because of my family, I admittedly have had it very easy compared to many others. So while I am telling you all of this, I’m not doing it for pity, or even understanding or compassion, I’m doing it because telling you this can hopefully mean that I am able to affect people positively instead of hiding myself behind smoke and mirrors like I have always been encouraged to by society, because there was no other way. There has always been a huge disconnect between who I really am and who I am able to present to the world to be perceived, to the point where I have multiple Instagram accounts where I put pictures which express myself in a way I am not able to on my normal one, because I know that the people who follow me would find them unacceptable. Nobody follows or likes my secret account pictures because I am strange, hyper sexual and come across as hostile and aggressive, plus, they don’t know me. I am creative, and all the creative jobs I’ve applied for demand a built up and established person with flawless pictures of travel, food and good times to show on their social media. I have been beaten down into a corner by the world, and have nothing left but these words. I know you think that given what you’ve read, you probably wouldn’t be one of the people that are pushing me down but if you still have a question in your mind that despite every medical practitioner telling me that “there is nothing wrong with you”, my chest, with small hairs on it, is wrong, then you are one of these people. I’m not saying it’s right, I’m saying that when I remove it all, my body temperature is not able to regulate itself. My body has learnt, through a terrible vicious cycle, that this is what it needs to exist alone. That is my only theory for my situation, and I like it because it’s more reassuring than being a medical anomaly. I hope that if you saw my problem, you wouldn’t recoil, but I know you would. I hope that all my other flaws, all somehow attached to this issue, stemming from my lack of control over this profound weakness and wrongness of my body, would be overlooked due to their clearly self-destructive nature, but I know that they will not be. I know that even if someone came and handed me everything I needed to be ‘normal’, or ‘happy’, I still wouldn’t be. Because when I forget my difference and have enough to sustain me, I am normal and happy. I know that is life, and life is not black and white, but also, it is. I don’t know what I need, so I need you to know. I don’t know if I need to feel like everyone else, or not. Here I talk about going on living but I’ll leave that bit out because I don’t want this to sound like I’m threatening, at any point, apart from in my lowest moments when it feels way too real. I just want you to consider all my options. I have told people my problem, I have not told people my problem, neither more beneficial. I wonder if the world would miss me if I were gone. I wonder if they would gain more from seeing the pain in my eyes before or after I died. I have no answers here, only problems. I have no questions to ask you because there’s nothing you can tell me that I don’t already know. Because of this, hirsuitism (I don’t like saying the word), I have nothing but things to stand for if I were ever somehow lifted out of this situation. Being lifted is something I’ve always fought against- you can’t lift me because I am unrelatable, and not in the bad way. This has been cathartic, but nothing else. See all of these paradoxes, and hopefully you will see that what I’m trying to say is that mine and every other girl, who is even slightly afflicted by this issue’s, potential is hugely affected because it’s yet another thing that we have to think about and men, and the ‘femme-inists’ don’t. We are hiding it not only from men, and other judgemental women, but therefore ourselves and our families and friends. When I look down at my chest with a few hairs on it, when it’s grown out, it looks, to me, almost perfectly normal. I say almost because I know that if most anyone else saw it in it’s raw form they would not agree. Honestly I’m just glad that lasers exist so that I have the potential to be ‘just like everybody else’. But that doesn’t stop me from being curious about why this happened to me, and whether, as the doctors’ said, I am perfectly normal, it’s just that society doesn’t believe that’s so. Honestly I want this to be read from an objective view, because I know everybody has their own set of problems, and I don’t want to make out that mine are any worse or better than anyone else’s. What I’m really saying is- why can’t it be an option for women to want, not to be just as good and strong as other powerful and influential women, but to be just as good and powerful as other men, humans. Please tell me, if I want to compete with men for power, how I’m supposed to do that if I’m expected to be like all other women. Shave my armpits, shave my legs, have long flowing hair, dress sexy in dresses and skirts, instead of logically and unfussily in a suit and tie, don’t come off as too brash or aggressive lest you seem manly . That’s my question. Why is that perceived as wrong? Why, when I see my unshaven armpits in the mirror now that I’m not working and it’s winter, do I feel a little repulsed? From the perspective of my own struggle, I am privileged enough to be able to ask this, and attempt to provoke. Of my situation, I kind of want girls to say, can you imagine that? And not in a judgemental way. And guys, I want them to say, it doesn’t, shouldn’t, doesn’t, matter. Then try to ignore this. Try to be indifferent. Try to keep me hidden. See if you can.

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[newstfionline]

Being Sikh in Trump’s America: ‘You have to go out of your way to prove you’re not a threat’

By Sarah Parvini, Los Angeles Times, June 11, 2017

Balmeet Singh stepped outside a burger shop in a strip mall to wish his 13-year-old cousin a happy birthday when the stranger squared up against him.

“So, you’re going to blow up this country?” the man said. “You’re trying to blow up this country?”

He threw a drink in Singh’s face, his long beard and burgundy turban the intended target. Then the man threatened to kill him.

A dozen people sat in the nearby patio. Singh scanned their faces. No one said anything. Singh had never felt so alone.

The September attack left the 31-year-old real estate agent among the swelling ranks of Sikhs targeted, in many cases, after being mistaken for Muslim--a phenomenon that gained momentum after the Sept. 11 terrorist attacks.

Sikh community leaders say they’ve seen another uptick since the 2016 presidential election and the Trump administration’s proposed immigration and travel bans. Those proposals, they argue, are fueling an intensified xenophobia.

Sikhism, which has roots in the Punjab region of northern India and eastern Pakistan, is the world’s fifth-largest religion.

The FBI began collecting data on anti-Sikh, anti-Arab and anti-Hindu hate crimes for the first time in 2015, though the Sikh community has struggled for years to accurately track those crimes. Only six of the incidents in the most recent FBI report were anti-Sikh hate crimes, but the bureau has said it takes years to get an accurate accounting.

Sikh advocacy groups argue such incidents are under-reported and do not include other hate-filled attacks, such as discrimination or hate speech--a concern buoyed by law enforcement data. Many cities either did not report hate crimes or reported zero hate crimes, according to the FBI report.

“The overwhelming motivation for these attacks or intimidation incidents are part and parcel of a growing wave of hostility based on perception that Sikhs are Muslim,” said Suman Raghunathan, executive director of the advocacy group South Asian Americans Leading Together.

Advocacy groups use statistics on anti-Muslim hate crimes to help determine whether Sikhs are at higher risk, said Rajdeep Singh Jolly, interim managing director of programs at the Sikh Coalition.

“At the moment, the risk of anti-Sikh hate crime is high,” Jolly said. “Any time there is a flare-up in anti-immigrant rhetoric, we see an uptick in even an apprehension about hate crimes.”

While some of the violence against Sikhs stems from misconceptions about their background--attackers assume they are Muslim or Middle Eastern--experts say much of it is fueled by a prejudiced response to their darker skin, beards or turbans.

Earlier this year, two Sikhs and two other Indian men were shot in attacks in Kansas, Washington and South Carolina. In two of the incidents, authorities said the shooters expressed a variation of the same sentiment: Go back to your country.

“It’s very similar to how I felt after 9/11,” Singh said. “It’s not enough to simply be who you are and exist. You have to go out of your way to prove you’re not a threat.”

Maan Singh Khalsa thought nothing of the men in the white Ford F-150 who pulled up next to him at a red light in Richmond, Calif. Then they began throwing beer cans at him.

When the light turned green, Khalsa drove off and called 911. The truck followed.

At the next red light, two men got out of the pickup and ran up to Khalsa’s car. They reached into the open window, punched his face and yelled profanities. The attackers cut off bits of his hair. They stabbed his finger as he tried to shield himself. His finger was later amputated.

“By cutting my hair, the attackers did not just attack my body; they attacked my dignity, my spirit, my faith, my religion and my entire community,” Khalsa, 42, said later in a court statement.

Khalsa said he didn’t even think about rolling up the window when the men approached him. Instead, he tried to reason with his assailants, saying, “There is a misunderstanding; I am your brother.”

The Texas men were sentenced to three years in prison for the September attack. When addressing his attackers in court, Khalsa again tried to get them to understand.

“I hope that you will learn about me and my community and one day consider me your brother too,” Khalsa said.

On Sept. 15, 2001, Balbir Singh Sodhi was planting flowers with a landscaper outside his gas station in Mesa, Ariz. On his head rested a turban.

As he drove past in his pickup, Frank Roque, a 42-year-old machinist, opened fire with a .38-caliber handgun. Sodhi, 49, was shot multiple times. He crumbled to the ground, fatally wounded--the first Sikh killed after 9/11 by someone bent on killing a Muslim.

The next day, when police arrested him, Roque yelled, “I stand for America!”

Before the attack, Roque told a waiter at an Applebee’s that he was going to go out and “shoot some towel heads.” He said that “all Arabs should be shot” and that he wanted to “slit some Iranian throats,” according to media reports.

Sodhi’s brother, Rana, didn’t learn of his brother’s death until the next day, when a gas station employee called. He thought his brother must have been shot in a robbery. Then it sunk in that his brother was killed outside the shop. Sodhi had been shot because of what his beard and turban meant to his killer, his brother realized.

“We didn’t know there was so much ignorance,” Rana Sodhi said.

The FBI began tracking hate crimes against Sikhs in response to community advocacy following a mass shooting at a gurdwara in Oak Creek, Wis., in 2012. Six people were killed, and three were critically wounded. The gunman shot himself in the head.

Sikhs have been attacked at least a dozen times since, but it was a shooting in Kansas in February that again put the Indian community on edge. In that attack, two men were shot by a man who reportedly believed he was shooting Iranians.

Valarie Kaur, a Sikh civil rights advocate, said she’s spent years pushing back against the mistaken identity narrative because xenophobia targets “all of our communities at once,” not just Sikhs.

“It seems to make very little difference if the brown, bearded man with the turban calls himself a Sikh and not a Muslim,” she said. “They read us as un-American.”

In the days following Trump’s first travel ban order, conversations in Balmeet Singh’s family began to shift from asking about each other’s day to whether they would need to prove they are Americans. Over dinners, they discussed keeping copies of their passports in their car and scanned copies onto their phones.

They bought his youngest sister a panic button in case anyone harassed her.

Singh, who lives in Bakersfield with his parents, grandparents and sisters, said it was surreal for all three generations to sit down and talk about their identity.

“Suddenly, all of us have to discuss that it’s not enough to be who we are,” he said. “We suddenly have to prove ourselves.”

About 500,000 Sikhs live in the United States, with much of that population settled in California and New York, according to the Sikh Coalition.

Sikhs represent a small portion of the Indian population, but community estimates place more than 30,000 in the central San Joaquin Valley. They comprise the majority of the local Indian population.

In an effort to familiarize the rest of the community with Sikhs, Singh’s father put up a billboard along the freeway with his photo and information about his medical clinic. His face is plastered on the left side of the sign, his hair wrapped in a black turban.

Just days after 9/11, Balbir Singh Sodhi, his brother Rana and other members of their gurdwara planned a Sunday news conference to educate the community about Sikhs. The day before, Sodhi called his brother and asked him to bring an American flag for the gas station.

Sodhi was shot dead 30 minutes later.

“A lot of us moved from India after 1984, when Sikhs were persecuted in New Delhi out in the open,” Rana Sodhi said. “We didn’t expect those kind of things from America.”

He spoke with his brother’s killer for the first time last year after Kaur, the Sikh civil rights advocate and a family friend, set up a phone call.

The three spoke for more than 20 minutes. Roque, who still is in prison, told Rana Sodhi that he was seething over the terrorist attacks when he pulled the trigger. He said he wasn’t a racist, and he did express remorse.

“I want you to know from my heart, I’m sorry for what I did to your brother,” Roque said, according to a recording of the conversation. “One day, when I go to heaven to be judged by God, I will ask to see your brother, and I will hug him, and I will ask him for forgiveness.”

Sodhi nodded, then replied: “We already forgave you.”

#Sikhs #Sikhs in US #racism #prejudice