#and balding men in wife beaters

[royalnugget42]

Last post I’m ever gonna make abt dream SMP I think, but here I go.

First off I think people forget that abusers are human. That they have human motivations and human failings. There might even be some likable things abt them, because fundamentally they are still humans, and humans are complicated and varied.

Let’s be clear. This ending did not redeem anyone. The story was cut short, because this is a tragedy, and I’ll discuss that in a second. I saw another post saying it better, but this idea that all abusers are manipulative liars who have carefully constructed every aspect of their persona is a fiction. Real abusers are usually human beings that genuinely believe they are in the right, no matter what they say or do. This actually makes them more dangerous, not less, and it makes it harder to hate them.

Dream is evil. I won’t mince words, he is evil in his actions, his thoughts, and his behavior, and Tommy is not, and has never been to blame for it. This conclusion is not about that (because to be honest it should never have been in question). Tommy realizes the utter tragedy of what happened. Because there was a time when Dream might’ve been called good. There was a time when he was a good person. Dream isn’t evil because he was born that way and he never changed, he’s evil because he did change, and at any point he could’ve stopped and listened and learned but he didn’t.

The tragedy is that Dream could’ve been an ally at the end. They could have been friends. The tragedy is that Dream was so caught up in himself that he both directly and indirectly Destroyed himself. His server is gone. He lost.

Tommy apologizing isn’t about forgiving the abuse, or apologizing for his tame little pranks. He’s sorry because Dream is pitiable here. The entire world is about to come crashing down around them, and all Tommy can think is “I’m sorry. I wish you could have been better, maybe in the next life you’ll be less of a fucking prick, and we can have some actual fun.” This is not a win for Dream, it’s the final stage of grief for Tommy.

He finally accepts that the person he once knew, the friend he could’ve had is gone. He’s apologizing because he couldn’t save Dream from himself.

It’s a tragic ending but anyone who tells you there’s no messages to be found in tragedy should read them more closely. The message here being (especially from Tubbo’s POV) that even if everything ends in tragedy, at least we tried in the meantime. Even if it all ends in flames, what’s more important is that somewhere in the middle of it all we were happy.

It’s sad now, because it didn’t have to end this way. But sometimes it does. What’s important was never the ending, but what lead us there, what we did in the meantime. In the middle of it all there were festivals, and jokes and games and cool projects, and sometimes there was even something that could be called hope.

Personally, I think that’s a very powerful message to put out in the world. Maybe it doesn’t answer all your questions, but even if it did, would you really be satisfied? Answer the questions yourself. We fans built this misshapen monstrosity with our own hands, and now it’s ours to tear apart or tie ribbons on as much as we please.

[hellsburners]

pain and suffering

summary: to which criminals run from the shadows, and the shadows run home to you. pairing: frank castle x male reader x matt murdock word count: 4k warnings: 18+ warning, unprotected s3x, dom!mattfrank, bottom!reader, double pen3tration, blowj0bs, mentions of violence a/n: i got this request like a whole month ago and im sorry to anon it took me a while to think of this

masterlist | more matt murdock

gif credit for frank & matt

The night air looms over Hell’s Kitchen. A normal person might hear the honking of cars and the loud chitchat of people in the street, but to a man like Daredevil, he hears everything. He hears Sally from down the street, crying as her husband comes home drunk, or Dominic, stealing another purse to pay for his brother’s medical bills. The city is not just a cluster of sounds for a man like the Devil, it’s a war cry. His city needs help, so he braces for the jump, a leap into the battlefield.

To him, pain and suffering is a saint. The pain of every hit, every jab, and every punch. To Matt Murdock, the pain of getting hit is like lashing for every sin he’s made. He is the fist of God, the guardian angel of the Kitchen, his suffering is the price for the safety of his people. So to him, yes, pain and suffering is the saint that guides him, the adrenaline to jump, to fight, to stand back up and fight again because he knows if he doesn’t, worse men will. 

He sits wounded on top of a building, the hanging laundry hiding him from plain sight. He pants, blood gushing from his lower rib. But then he smells it: gunpowder. The sound of clanking metal and rubber boots walking closer to him. He knows that smell, the smell of danger, the smell of bad news, the smell of The Punisher.

“They hit ya’ pretty bad tonight Red,” his rough voice roared across the building. He smells of blood, not his blood, but the blood of at least thirty other men. 

“I don’t need your help, Frank,” Matt said, wincing as he tried to stand. 

“I doubt that,” he was closer to Matt, he took the rear end of his rifle and pressed it to Matt’s wound, he cried out in pain. “See?”

“I don’t need any help from you.”

“That’s your problem, Red. You’re so self-righteous. You’re out here bleeding yourself to death thinking God sent you here on earth to be his punchin’ bag,'' he puts the rifle down, the metal butt hitting the floor. “You think your God can miraculously heal your wounds? The Devil ain’t no saint.” 

“And you’re any better?” Matt spat. “You wear that skull on your chest and you think that gives you the license to be a killer?” he licks his dried-up lips, the wounds weighing on him. “You’re a beast, Frank. A wild creature with no self-control, bloodthirsty, and—and inhumane.”

Frank was right, but Matt’s pride would never take any help from Frank Castle, he’s a murderer, a cold-blooded killer, and men like him have no place roaming the streets of New York. Matt tries to walk away from Frank, he could feel the blood drip into his waist, his head dizzy. Before he could even reach a meter away from Frank he feels the pull of the earth and drops into the cement floor, out cold. 

“Dumbass,” Frank spat.

—

To Frank Castle, pain and suffering is a weapon. 

Pain is the bullet to the head of a wife beater, a pedophile, a human trafficker, and any other demented fuck that helps in spreading crime in his city. He sniffs in the scent, it’s nauseating, the smell of garbage and piss, the smell of dead bodies piled in a heap for the cops to find. The blood pooled on his boots, painting them red. He reloads the gun, pulling on the lever that locks the bullet in the barrel, ready for the trigger. 

“Please, man. I have a wife and two kids,” the bald man begged. His shirt was soaked in blood, a bullet grazed his hip. He walks backward achingly, his back hitting the wall. “Fuck, man I swear I don't know anything ‘bout this! ”the man kneels in front of Frank, his hands together like he’s praying. 

Pain is the bullet that ends all suffering. 

Bang!

The man falls on the concrete, blood dripping out of his skull. Frank wipes the blood splatter on his face with his sleeve. He takes the pistol and slides it into the holster on his thigh. He grabs the man’s sleeve and pulls him into the heap. No loose ends. 

Frank takes his rifle and leaves. Taking the rooftops so the cops won’t see him. His body is sore, but it was never a hindrance. He sees a red blur across the building. The Devil himself, running from a bunch of men. Frank notices the Devil walking strangely, a hand on his left to cover a bleeding wound. 

He takes the sniper rifle and aims it at the four men searching for the masked vigilante. He reloads the rifle, and one by one the men drop dead. The Devil was clueless as to where the bullets came from. He walks over to the wounded man, lumped over the side of a rooftop wincing in pain. 

Frank had always admired the Devil’s determination, always standing back up after a fight, the line he wouldn’t cross, it amused Frank in a way. He liked to toy with it, always putting the red vigilante in positions where his moral code is tested. 

You know you’re one bad day away from becoming like me. 

Frank once told him, and he guessed it wasn’t true. Despite how hard the world hit him, he never crossed that line. That’s why when the Devil ended up face down on the concrete floor he took his body into his shoulder. Carrying his body to the only place he knew would understand the situation. To the person that knew the creed of pain and suffering. 

He stands in front of the wooden door, the door was locked. Not his first instinct to knock, because he knew he would always be let in. He knocked on the door, no answer. He knocked louder, banging on the door, the sounds echoing throughout the hallway.

“Jesus Christ, people will hear you,” you said, answering the door. 

— 

To you, pain and suffering is a curse. The curse that binds people to hospital beds for years, slowly rotting into the sheets as more and more medicine gets pumped into their veins. The curse that brings people into the emergency room, stabbed my knives, with broken knees, amputated fingers, and gunshot wounds through bone and muscle. 

You earn money from pain and suffering. Doctor’s fees from people you know can’t even afford it. You always wanted to give them pro-bono, but you weren't loaded like that. That’s why when injured vigilantes were involved, everyone in the New York underground knew your number. 

You had known people like Maya Lopez, Misty Knight, Ben Reilly, Ty Johnson, and Tandy Bowen alongside other masked heroes. That’s why when The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen arrived at your door four months ago you didn’t second guess your decision to help him. To you, helping these people would absolve you of being complicit in the suffering of innocent people in the hospital. 

“Got your number from Spider-man, hope you don’t mind,” he said, sprawled on your kitchen table covered in blood. His muscular body contracted from the pain as you sewed his wounds shut. You never truly cared about forming connections with your clients, it was more of a get-patched-up-and-leave type of way. 

He would often flirt with you whenever he came by, his dimples forming under his mask whenever he smiled or laughed. “Don’t worry Doc’ I’m a big boy,” he said, smiling at you. The smile quickly faded when you dug into his skin to retrieve the bullets on his bicep, a groan leaving his lips. You tried not to think about it, but he's pretty cute. 

On one night, a man banged on your door, you rushed to meet a shadow drenched in blood as if it was raining blood from the sky, a white skull on his chest. His hoarse voice groaned as you took him into your kitchen. Multiple bullet wounds, and gashes on his chest, in your personal opinion a person with that many injuries would've ended up on the morgue. 

“Did you fall into a meat grinder? What the hell,” you said. You tried your best to patch him up but he needed some blood transfusions. 

“Check the bag,” he groaned. Inside were bags of blood from the hospital, all type O, what the fuck. 

He stayed in your house for two nights, you checked his vitals every hour to make sure he was still alive. This hasn’t happened before, you’ve never had a client that was on the brink of death. It was always some minor injury, but this man managed to wake up and stand after two days to leave. 

You found a bundle of one hundred dollar bills in your mailbox the next day. 

—

“Bring him to the couch,” you said. You took Matt’s body as Frank carried his legs, you took his limp body into the sofa, a deep wound on the torso, an easy fix for you at this point. It has been months since you first met the two men in your apartment. You’ve spent multiple nights helping them, in your apartment, or Matt’s, or Frank’s bunker. You were technically associated with them to the point that you know their real names. 

“The emergency kit is on the kitchen counter.” 

“Got it Doc,” Frank saluted, removing his trench coat and his bulletproof vest, his muscular form bulging through his black shirt. They reeked of blood, you could taste the iron on your tongue. 

Matt’s eyes fluttered, his head turning to the sound of your voice. “Hey,” he said, groaning through the pain. You cut his undershirt open, the wound gushing out blood. You took some gauze to soak the viscous liquid, making sure the clotting starts. 

“Sit your ass down, Red,” Frank ordered. You managed to sew the wound shut, you gave Matt some pain relievers as his eyes fell back into sleep. You let him rest for a bit, covering him in a fleece blanket. You walked towards Frank, a few cuts on his arms, he was already in the middle of sewing some of them before you helped. “Don’t worry about me, it’s nothin’”

“Make sure you don’t die in my kitchen this time,” you said, walking to the kitchen sink to rinse your bloodied hands. You opened your refrigerator to grab a drink. “Want a beer?”

“Sure,” Frank nods.

You took a cold beer from your fridge, the metal caps clanking on the floor. You handed him the bottle, he took a big swig like he was thirsty for water, some liquid falling from the corner of his lips. He sat on a wooden chair, legs spread, the hem of his shirt raising a bit to show a peak of his abdomen. 

Matt soon woke up. Much to your disagreement, taking a beer of his own. He took a seat in your dining area, topless with bandages around his torso. The three of you are looking at each other around the table. “So–what happened tonight?” you asked. 

Matt’s frown was deadset. Frank taking gulps of his second bottle of beer. You were taking sips of your bottle, looking at the heated tension between the two. It was annoyingly anxiety-inducing. “You know, I don’t know what’s the point of talking to you two—I’m a physician, not a therapist.” 

“You need to stay away from him,” Matt said, his lips a straight line. “He’s a dangerous person with nothing good going on for his pathetic life.”

“Boohoo! Little catholic boy here feels entitled about being god’s little bitch,” Frank spat. “Is that what you think bitch boy?”

“See? He’s an immature old fuck that thinks the world’s answer to violence is guns and bullets,” Matt said, downing his beer.

“He’s just using his lawyer bullshit on you,” Frank said.

You rolled your eyes, it’s always like this, them bickering. You downed the beer, the bitter taste running through your tongue. You set it down with a loud clunk. The two men halted their bickering. 

“I’m not taking sides but I think both of you are annoying cry babies that should just kiss and make out!” the two men frowned their brows. “You bicker like an old couple—the two of you need to suck it up because, at the end of the day, the two of you leave a trail of blood in this city that I clean!” you shouted.“You know how many people end up in the emergency room thanks to you two, I don’t even keep count of them anymore.”

Matt called for your name, to apologize or something, but you took another bottle of beer and gulped on the bubbly drink. Instead of talking you took his lips to yours, the bitter taste of his mouth shared with yours. His hands come to your neck, fingers wrapping around the flesh as his tongue meets yours. You smell his clean shampoo mixing with the alcohol, he smelled like a man who took hygiene seriously.

You pull back to walk towards Frank, bending down to kiss him, pressing on his shoulder with your hands to guide you. The bitter taste of both of your mouths intoxicates you. He grabs the hem of your shirt, pulling you in more. He smelled of cheap soap and gunpowder. You pulled away to catch them frozen, feet glued to the floor, aghast.

“See,” you rubbed your hands. “Not hard at all.” 

Frank was biting his lip chuckling, his fingers massaging his lip. He pulled you to his lap, kissing you harder, his hands falling to your ass. Your hands run through his dark hair, his stubble pricking your face. You moaned from the contact, Matt’s enhanced senses making the sound echo in his head. He hesitated but his groin turned to the noises you made. Frank’s lips fall to your neck, nibbling on the skin eliciting more lewd noises from you. 

“See this red?” he said. “This little slut likes it.”

“Play with his ear, he likes it,” Matt ordered. Frank hadn’t known that.

“He also likes it when I do this,” he pinches your nipples, and you shudder from the slight pain. The two men didn’t know that you had experiences of having sex with them on different occasions. “So you’re a little whore huh, you do this to all of your clients?”

“No—,” you gasped. “Just you two.”

Matt chuckled. Frank had set you on his lap so that you were facing Matt, his hands playing with both of your nipples as he left purple hickeys all over your neck. Matt had knelt in front of you palming your growing erection. The ache in your groin grows from the lack of release. Tonight these men offer you more pain and suffering but in ways that elicit nothing but pleasure. 

He takes your trousers off leaving you with nothing but your shirt, finally something to ease the pain. Matt stood to open his pants, his thick cock standing tall, the hairs neatly trimmed. “Take his dick inside your mouth,” Frank whispered, while he stretched your legs open so his fingers could tease your hole. He took his fingers to your mouth making it wet.

Matt’s hands ran through your hair, his tip teasing your swollen lips. As you took his length into your mouth, Frank's finger entered your hole curling inside drawing out muffled sounds from your mouth. You were quickly bent over by Frank, his head in between your ass cheeks licking and fingering your hole, while your head was bobbing up and down on Matt’s cock. 

Frank smacked your ass so hard it left a red print as he continued to toy with your rear. Matt groaned as the tip of his cock hit the back of your throat. Frank pulled you back with your hair, popping Matt’s cock out with a string of saliva. It was painful the way they carried you, but in some sick twist of events, it turned you on even more. 

“My turn,” Frank said, as he takes your mouth to his sex, you engulf his thick uncut cock, your nose hitting his unkempt hair taking in his scent. Matt bent down to toy with your hole, curling and stretching two fingers inside you stimulating your prostate. You were turning your lips as you sucked on Frank’s cock, a hoarse groan leaving his mouth as he grabbed onto your hair tightly. 

Matt stroked your cock as he moaned, eating you out with his wet tongue and playing with the rim of your hole. Frank took control of your mouth, fucking into it like you’re his sex toy, his cocking hitting the roof of your mouth at a constant speed. Frank could feel his climax coming so he pulls out leaving you a wet mess next to Matt. 

“Can I fuck you?” Matt asked. You nod, taking them into your bedroom. 

Frank undressed and took a seat on the small sofa chair in the corner of the room, stroking his hard cock. You were on all fours on the bed, facing Frank. His eyes glued to you as he stroked. Matt lubes your hole before slowly pressing his cock into your hole. You gasped as he sheathed into you. Frank smirked, this turned him on even more, his large arms contracting as he stroked his cock.

Matt started to fuck you slowly, his hips slapping your ass. He started to let out guttural moans, his hips becoming rigid as he gripped onto your waist, his nails digging into your skin. He bends down to kiss your neck, rutting into you, his hard thrusts ramming into you. “I’m close,” he moaned. He jerks your cock to the point that you yelp out, cum shooting out of your cock as he continues to jerk his hips before he emptied inside you, a deep groan leaving his lips as his cum fills you. You two collapsed on the bed, his body weight on top of you. 

“Move over Red,” Frank said, looming over you as Matt moves over before Frank mounts you. Matt’s cum formed a slippery lube that made Frank’s cock ease its way as it thrusts. Your body was still weak from your high. He grabs onto your hair as he ruts into you, continuing his hard pace against your body. “You like that?” he said, stroking your sore cock back to hardness. 

“Ye–yes, fuck,” you moaned. 

Matt was at the edge of the bed, soothing your hair as he peppered kisses all over your face. The bed creaked as Frank humped you, veins popping across his arms as his grip on you tightened, you’re sure it would leave marks. He pulled out, leaving you to gasp from the sudden lack of fullness. He sits back on the headboard of your bed, legs sprawled as he gestures for you to ride him. You mount yourself on his hardness, sitting on his thick and hairy thighs. Matt sits on the edge of the bed, his erection coming back from the sight of you two. 

“Take it like a good boy,” Frank praises. You hold onto his chest as you feel the hardness enter you, some of Matt’s cum leaking out. You take Frank’s lips, you now realize how abrasive his stubble was. You move your hips around and around, Frank lets out curses here and there. He pulls your head back, littering your neck with more marks, his fingers find your nipples, teasing them to draw out more moans from you.

Franks sees Matt on the side, his hard already leaking precum just from watching you take Frank’s cock. He calls for Matt to come to you two, to join back in. You feel Matt’s fingertips on your skin, your body is now so filled with stimulation, his mere touch driving you wild. You feel his erection on your back, his lips attached to your shoulders. He takes his leaking cock and presses into your hole, the size alongside Frank’s was a tight fit, your breathing quickens from all the pressure. The two men made sure to guide you and praise you as you take both of their lengths. 

You cry out from the sensation. Frank takes your lips to stifle your cries, tears fall from your eyes as your tongues touch, and Matt inches to join your kiss. The three of you kiss into the pain, The two men slowly moving inside you. The pressure was so intense but the arousal overcame, your sex was so hard, leaking so much into Frank’s abdomen. They start to thrust, Matt could feel his sensitive frenulum rub on Frank’s, it made his eyes roll back, his senses overflowing. 

All of you reeked of sex, the sounds of slapping skin and wet tongues fighting for dominance against the grunts and moans. The constant rocking was making the bed hit the wall, the mattress moved as if there were an earthquake. You were all covered in sweat, hair sticking onto skin, Hands gripping the wooden headboard, fingertips roaming skin, and tongues lashing on each other. 

Everything felt like a blur to you, you were being rocked back and forth like a playground swing, your core sore from the fucking, and there were pairs of hands all over you touching your most sensitive spots. You could feel the climax, creeping into your body tingling your coccyx to the highest peak of your spine. You felt their erratic thrusts, Frank was a groaning mess under you, his neck all red and his face flushed. Matt was a noisy mess on your ear, cursing and calling your name like a prayer, his arm wrapped around your waist as he fucked. 

You were at your peak, arousal overflowed from your body into theirs. Their cum filling into you. You all yelped out in pleasure as you rode your highs. Frank dug his hands into your thighs as Matt hid his forehead on your shoulder, rutting their fill into you. The next few minutes came to you in flashing lights, like fireworks spraying colored lights all over the room. 

You woke up the next day to two heavy bodies at your sides. Matt’s arms around your waist with your head resting on Frank’s chest. All of you reeked of sweat and cum. As you turned you saw Matt’s eyes flutter, his long lashes flicking as his golden eyes beamed under the sunlight. 

“Sorry about last night,” he whispered. 

“Why? I had fun,” you said, peppering kisses all over his cheeks. 

“You sure?” he said, as he rubbed his thumbs on your cheeks. 

“Pretty sore but nothing a pain reliever won’t fix,” you said. 

“I guess you’re right, making out fixes everything,” Frank said, his voice deeper. He joins you and Matt, pressing kisses all over your shoulders. Matt takes this as a sign to kiss you all over your neck, their hands snaking all over your body. “What’s good for breakfast around here?” Frank said in between kisses.

“There’s a good diner across the street,” Matt said, leaving soothing kisses on the marks they left on your neck. Your body was so sore and painful, but these men made sure to make it up to you. You woke up last night to them cleaning you up, Matt wiping you with a damp cloth and Frank rummaging through your closet to grab something for you to wear. Despite their rough lifestyles, they made sure you were taken care of. Maybe a little less pain and suffering next time though. 

“But first,” you said, pulling away from them.” Shower.” 

interactions are greatly appreciated btw if u liked this fic and want more send me a prompt and i'd gladly make something from it :>

[octuscle]

Truck Stop

Christian had never had to go to the bathroom so urgently in his entire life. His bladder almost burst. He chased his Porsche at more than 220 Km/h over the highway. Finally the sign for the exit to the service area. That's when he saw the restroom, right across the street was a parking lot. Okay, it was a truck parking lot, but he couldn't take that into consideration anymore. Running to the restroom, he was already unbuckling the belt and zipper of his suit pants. There were already three men standing at the urinals. Quite hulking, as far as he could tell out of the corner of his eye. Fortunately, one stall was free. He dropped his pants and pissed like a bull. Then he heard a loud fart. Followed by a booming deep laugh. Immediately followed by another fart. My God, what a stench that was. Christian had to get out of here. He pulled up his pants and fastened his belt while turning around. And collided with one of the behemoths standing right behind him in the toilet stall. "Could it be you took my parking spot, fella?" the guy asked. Dirty jeans, dirty wife beater, hairy chest and arms. To see the face, Christian had to crane his head back. A man in his mid-40s with a bald head and unkempt beard. Christian felt uncomfortable. Also because he had pulled up his pants too quickly, a last stream of piss ran down his pant leg. "Payback's a must, lad," the colossus grunted and turned around. Christian was about to push past him when the man let out a huge fart. Christian almost felt sick. The man stepped aside. Christian noticed that the room was filled with six or seven men. Boots, dirty jeans or hi-viz pants, their impressive upper bodies in T-shirts or undershirts. One of the truckers dropped his pants and someone pushed Christian's face into the hairy crack. He held his breath, but just as he came up for air, another fart blew in his face. Christian's eyes went black. When he regained consciousness, he was lying alone on the floor of the toilet. He stood up and realized that he had been lying in a puddle of urine. The whole floor was dirty and stank. He could throw away his suit. But now he had to get out.

In the fresh air, he took a deep breath. Boy, why did he have such a tremendous hunger. Even if he was ashamed of his dirty and smelly clothes, he had to eat something. Urgently. He walked toward the rest area. In the entrance area, he noticed that it was actually a store with clothing. Okay, more like work clothes, of course, but he couldn't go around people like that. He grabbed some work boots, a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. There was no changing room, so he paid and undressed behind the clothing rack. He didn't wonder about the dirty white socks. And about the urine-stained grayed jockstrap. He put on his pants and boots. And then the undershirt. He had foolishly not been able to see that this was not a T-shirt in the package. But anything was better than his filthy clothes, which he simply stuffed into a trash can.

It was late and the selection in the self-service restaurant was slim. Since there was nothing else, he went for the chili con carne. At least the portion was huge. Christian set his tray down on an empty table. He was the only guest for the most part. The chili wasn't bad at all and Christian gobbled it down small. There one of the guys from the restroom sat down to him. And asked if he could have taken a joke. Sure, point of honor, said Chris and stretched out his hand. The two of them slapped hands. A second fella joined them and put three bottles of beer on the table. They toasted. Little by little, the round increased. After the second beer, Chris had to burp like he had never done before in his life. The round laughed bawling. And one after the other did the same. And then Chris farted so loudly that the few other guests and the employees turned around. Again the round laughed up.

"Lads, I've got to take a shit, then I'm off to my bunk," Chris said goodbye to his buddies. When he was out of the restroom, he wiped his paws on his dirty jeans and lit one last cigarette. He still had a few miles to go in his truck tomorrow, so it was time to hit the sack.

[nooniesnecklace]

A Twinkle In your eye

Spooky fanfic

—

彡 ᴇᴅɪᴛᴏʀꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇ

Hey guys I wanna put out there that finding omb gifs are so hard on here🥲,BUT that won’t stop me from making content for you guys. I’m actually really happy that the fandom is small, on here so that gives me a chance to introduce my work to you all and grow the fandom! Also I’m sorry for all of the misspelled words and missmatched format🤥… but alas I did my best and hopefully it’s enough to please you! Anyways, enough of the chit chat and let’s get into the story

彡ᴘᴀʀɪɴɢ(ꜱ)

-Oscar Dias x reader

¡! ❞ ᴛᴀɢꜱ

-fluff☁️

彡ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ

-627 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ

.

It was a dark night in Free-ridge, you had just came from a party that had ended with a shoot out of two opposing gangs. But that didn’t stop your night from being fun you and your friends decided to roam the streets looking for trouble or something the least bit interesting. Before you left the party you and your friend had lil bits to drink so you guys were a little shot minded. I didn’t take long for you two to roam around and stumble into a yard full of bald men. Strangely there was a couch outside but not strange enough, you’ve seen worse

“Hey who the hell are you..” a deep scruffy voice said to you. This voice belonged to the most handsome man you’ve ever seen

“I’m your worst nightmare.” You said in a low deep seductive tone you bit your bold, red lips and smirked at the man. He looked at you with a stern gaze, his cold gaze made a chill go through your whole entire body. You two were inches away from each other. You could smell the cigarette ash and lite bud beer sent that stained his clothes. And 9 times out of ten he could smell the light sent of alcohol that lingered your mouth. After a long period of silence he grinned and laughed in your face. His smug laugh filled you with instant rage, you hated being a laughing stock, so in a fit of rage you slapped in on his cheek… the red mark of your hand print still lingering on his bearded face. He immediately started laughing you started to regret your decision immediately

Your friend sensed the danger that you were in so she grabbed your wrist and then you two booked it immediately! While running you to were laughing your asses off until you two arrived to your house. The two of you plopped down on your bed and you removed your your shoes. You guys were still out of breath from running all the way from that strange but handsome man’s house to your house. Your so tired that you begin to dose off..

It’s the next morning, and your friend woke you up with the smell of her signature cinnamon pancakes you hopped up out of bed and walked to the kitchen.

“Good morning sleeping beauty, did your Prince Charming come and kiss you up?” She said teasingly. You mock her while she puts the pancakes on your plate you pick up the fork and knife that was already laid out for you.

“Sooo, are we gonna talk about last night” your friend said

“UGH, I rather not” you said, telling ashamed for all of your previous actions I mean who even was that guy you thought,

“Come on Y/N you slapped the fu*k outta that guy! And you don’t wanna talk about it?”

“NO!” You said as you stuffed your mouth with your friends fluffy, delicious pancakes. You wanted to forget that night forever and you prayed that you never, ever met that guy again because if you did you felt as if something bad might happen. Later that evening you felt like being productive, so you went on a walk to get some groceries. It was all move sailing until you looked into an ally way and saw a bald man beating another man. He seemed familiar, he was bald with tattoos and was wearing a wife beater. You started to ponder on who it could be then, you remembered from the night before. You tried to leave before he noticed you but he turned around walked up to you and pulled you into the ally way, then he pinned you to the wall. “Tell anyone about this and your de*d” you opened your mouth to respond but he interrupted you “ wait….don’t I know you from somewhere” sh*t sh*t sh*t you thought, this was for sure then end until he spoke again “Your the crazy hyna that slapped the fu*k out of spooky” he chuckled “he’s been looking for you” the bald man said with a grin on your face. Then in the blink of an eye, he shoved you into the back seat of his red vintage convertible you try to put up a fight but it was no use for his big burly arms and his overwhelming strength. He started to pull out of the ally way and drive along the dangerous streets of free ridge until you guys stopped in the driveway of the house that was familiar. It was the house from last light… “Alright vamos”

[addictedtostorytelling]

What are your thoughts on Sara’s family history storyline in the last seasons of CSI? They didn’t seem canon to me, especially when Sara was thinking that her dad wasn’t as violent as she thought and that part of it might have been her mom’s fault. And that she was being a little more open about it, like when she had that conversation with DB early on and with Greg.

hi, anon!

short answer is that i’m with you: i don’t think the way sara’s backstory is presented in the later seasons of csi really makes sense.

longer—much, much saltier—answer after the “keep reading,” if you’re interested.

warning: i’m pretty negative about the writing decisions of the later seasons of csi and sara’s characterization in them here, so if you’re a fan of the later seasons or sara’s storylines in them, you’ll probably want to steer clear of this post.

__

there is never any question in the earlier seasons of the show which one of sara's parents was the physical abuser.

while sara’s mother did kill her father, prior to episode 15x12 “dead woods,” there is no indication that the violence between them was ever “equal opportunity” before the murder—and, quite to the contrary, there is every indication that her father was the sole perpetrator, based on context clues.

even though sara never says "my father was a wife beater" on screen in those exact words, her strong reactions to husband-on-wife ipv cases (like in episodes 01x10 "sex, lies, & larvae," 05x13 "nesting dolls," and 08x07 "goodbye & good luck"), plus how triggering she finds domineering and aggressive men to be, plus the context for her experiencing auditory flashbacks in episode 05x13 "nesting dolls" (which is specific to her discussing and observing evidence from husband-on-wife ipv cases), plus the story of her father’s murder at the hands of her mother just in general all assert that such was very much the case.

it's woven into the fabric of sara's character and the way she approaches her job and her relationships with men and her basic personality.

it absolutely could not be clearer if it had been explicitly stated.

and for fifteen seasons, we're never given any reason to doubt what we've been shown about sara in this regard.

"sara's father was violent against her mother (and until her mother murdered her father, that violence was very much a one-way street)" is 1000%, unequivocal, unimpeachable show canon.

that so, the decision to retcon this through-line come s15 for the sake of—what?—making sara have a slightly more personal connection to the case de jour is not only indefensible from a writing perspective but an insult to sara as a character.

sara may have been a child when her mother killed her father, but she was fully aware of what was going on in her home prior to that point and she knew which parent was the instigator of the violence.

that's not to say that her mother's mental illness didn't play any role in the sidle family dynamics or never came to bear in her mother and father’s interactions, because certainly it would have.

certainly it did.

however, that is to say that if sara spent her whole life sure that her father was the physical abuser, she sure as hell knew what she was talking about.

she watched him lay hands on her mother.

she heard the screaming, yelling fights.

she sat bedside at the hospital while her mother got stitches in her cheek and her father bald-faced lied to the nurses: “she just ran into the car door again. she’s so clumsy, etc.”

she was there to personally witness what happened between her parents, and there's no real ambiguity in what she saw.

while as an adult, she might have a somewhat more nuanced understanding of how much strain her mother’s (presumably untreated) mental illness and her parents’ joint struggles with addiction undoubtedly placed on their relationship than she did when she was a child, that doesn’t change the facts of the relationship itself.

she was never wrong about her dad.

the unscrupulous writers of the later seasons just wrote her to be because, as @bartramcat once succinctly framed things, they wrote "only for the episode."

they didn't care about the larger show narrative.

they didn't care about character history.

they didn't even have a good sense of who the characters—and especially the "og" characters they had inherited from the show's original writing staff—were or how they'd behave in any given situation.

they ignored fifteen years of precedent for the sake of a one-off storyline, and their decision to do so was absolutely the wrong one.

they came up with the idea for episode 15x12 "dead woods" and let their love for the concept—that sara helps a foster child with whom she apparently has a personal relationship learn that despite what had long been thought, her father didn't actually kill her family, and in the process sara reckons with her own family history of violence—prevail over any other storytelling concerns, in so doing undermining fifteen years of well-established character history and weakening sara’s origin story, diluting its strength and clarity.

to make the violence in the sidle home “equal opportunity” almost a decade after episode 05x13 “nesting dolls” told us that it wasn’t unnecessarily muddles what had previously been one of most evocative and memorable character backgrounds on the show.

and for what? why? cui bono?

it’s not as if there’s ever any more said about the subject after episode 15x12 “dead woods” takes place.

it’s not as if this retcon was necessary or purposeful in any larger sense.

hell, it wasn’t even necessary or purposeful in the episode in question! 

to have connected abby’s experience to sara’s WITHOUT nerfing sara’s backstory would have been very easy to do.

they could have just had sara say “abby gets to rewrite her story, and i don’t. her father wasn’t a monster, but mine sure as hell was” and left it at that.

and honestly, to me, it would have been a more powerful and provocative storytelling choice to do things that way—to allow sara help abby redeem her father while knowing she could never do the same for her own.

to go off on a tangent a bit, the last two seasons of csi in particular are, overall, highly uncomfortable with tragedy, to the point where even in episodes that should ostensibly be dark and depressing given their subject matter (such as episode 14x12 “keep calm & carry on”), the writers weirdly and stubbornly insist on inflecting the action with comedy and don’t allow any kind of bad feelings to linger for too long. while in the early seasons of the show, csi was a drama with occasional comedic elements or episodes, in its last few seasons, csi became a comedy with occasional dramatic elements and episodes. to my mind, this abrupt genre shift very much plays into the writers’ decision to retcon sara’s backstory in episode 15x12 “dead woods,” as they seemingly just can’t allow the episode to end on a down note; they just compulsively ameliorate and oversimply EVERYTHING, not allowing there to be any jagged edges or messiness (a problem which is then compounded by the whole “writing only to the episode” issue, as they always have to resolve every problem neatly within the hour with no intention to revisit said problems or continue the character development at any future points).

so.

given that this retcon runs counter to everything we ever know about sara’s family history prior to s15, and given that it was decided upon by writers whose general grasp on sara’s character is tenuous at best—girl feels ooc from s12 on, ngl—and given that it’s something that has no bearing on her story going forward and is never remarked upon again in any meaningful way, my response is

like.

okay, later seasons csi writers, you want to pretend like even though everything the show has ever told us about sara’s family history points to her father being the physical abuser and her mother being the victim (at least until her mother snapped and killed her father), that’s not actually the case, and sara somehow magically knows this now, thirty-five years after the fact, because—?

yeah.

i’m not going to accept that.

that’s bullshit.

you don’t get to come in and change the rules fifteen years on.

though not explicitly stated, it’s basically been canon that sara’s father was abusive since episode 01x07 “blood drops.”

you guys just never did your homework with this character, and it shows.

as for the notion of sara opening up more about her background to people in the later seasons, my feelings are similar:

i think it’s lazy writing that shows what a poor grasp the later seasons’ writers have on her character overall.

while i can rationalize sara talking to greg at least somewhat, as at that point in the series, he has already been made aware of at least some facets of her backstory due to the case details of the wynard murder in episode 13x15 “forget me not” (meaning that “the cat’s already out of the bag” with him in some ways), the conversation she has with db in episode 12x21 “dune & gloom” makes no goddamn sense to me.

that she would volunteer information about her mother’s mental illness to someone she had only met just a few months ago flies in the face of her prior characterization.

after all, this is the same girl who took seven years to tell the man she loved anything about her backstory at all and even then only did so with prompting! this is the same girl who never in fifteen years ever told catherine or warrick or nick or greg anything about her past of her own volition, even though she considered them family!

while you might say, “but aj, maybe her willingness to talk to db in that instance is just reflective of her growth as a character!,” i don’t buy it—not when she’s still so tightlipped about her past with everyone else, not when she still won’t speak openly about her family life even years later.

even by the days of the reboot, she’s still only willing to speak publicly about her childhood in vague terms and highly selectively (see reboot episode 01x04 “long pig”). it’s not like she’s ever voluble in talking about her past or even particularly comfortable providing details about it to anyone but grissom.

i mean, hell, greg remarks in episode 15x12 “dead woods” that even in light of him already knowing some of her backstory due to the wynard case, he and sara still “have never really talked about what happened with [her] dad,” which suggests that she hasn’t really filled in any blanks for him about her childhood in the two years since the events of episode 13x15 “forget me not” originally took place.

she’s just never an open book about that stuff.

that so, it’s weird that she would open up to db, and especially at such an early point in their relationship (and at a time in her life when she’s not actively looking for new confidantes, as she already has a confidante in grissom).

the whole thing just feels very “to the left” of her characterization.

so, yeah, i’m right there with you, anon: i don’t find the way sara’s backstory is handled in the later seasons of the original show at all believable.

it just doesn’t track with her previously established tendencies and history, and there’s no real narrative work put in to show wherein the difference lies. 

thanks for the question! please feel welcome to send another any time.

[joshslater]

Putting Reek in Greek

Essentially just a repost of walkamongyou’s excellent What Happens in Malia... with few tweaks thrown in. I take his feedback “Love how plausible you've made it“ as high praise, as that was the goal.

Thank fuck the week is almost over. It all started because I booked a discount holiday to Malia, like a fucking egit. The flights were cheap and the advert promised it’d be a ‘Great Gay Getaway’. It started out with a delayed flight, adding 4 hours of waiting in a packed terminal on top of the 3 hour uncomfortable flight. We were late to the crappy hotel, my room had already been given to someone else, and I got downgraded to a filthy cupboard with a narrow bed and no shower. The indifferent staff told me the price difference would be reimbursed on my credit card within two weeks and that I could use the pool shower.

I could have lived with giving up my beach view room with queen size bed and marble bath tub if there were some great gays to get away with, but no. Had I done any research I would have known that the place is littered with pubs and chippy shops for plebs who want to get wasted and watch footie in better weather. To top it all off I’ve coincided directly with all the trashiest stag and hen dos known to man. Everyone’s a chav, everyone’s English and worst of all, everyone’s straight as a ruler. Definitely nothing to offer a cultured gay man from South London. So here I am, sat in a tacky cocktail bar with two nights left, and can’t wait to get the fuck back to work. I just got what might be the evening’s last Old Fashioned, contemplating going to bed early when they enter.

They’re a classic example of everything that’s wrong with the Brits. They stagger in, singing and chanting “OI OI” and “Lads! Lads!”. They’re young, comically sunburnt, with identical chavvy haircuts, short on the sides and long on top. A group of working class boys on a lads’ holiday. One of them’s wearing a t shirt that says ‘On it till we vomit’, another that says ‘Pussy Patrol’ and a couple of them, of course, have football shirts. They’re a ridiculous cliché, drunk and rowdy. One loud-mouthed guy, their leader, is particularly handsome. He’s topless despite this being a public place, revealing a toned, athletic body; he wouldn’t look out of place dancing on a podium in Soho. His hair is dark brown and spikey, he has a diamond stud in both ears and a mischievous expression on his face as he starts chanting ‘Shots! Shots! Shots!’ and soon they’re all joining in. A row of tequila appears from the bar and he cries out “What happens in Malia stays in Malia!”

I don’t want them here. I resent their misogynistic ways and the atmosphere they’ve created. Not to mention I’m having a terrible day, so the London boy in me does the only thing he can think of and seeks out the bouncer, a bald, robust figure in a tight black T-shirt stood by the doorway. “Is there any chance you can get those guys to leave? They’re making people uncomfortable.” He shakes his head “Sorry, sir, there’s nothing I can do.” “Are you sure? It’s not fair on everyone else in here” “As long as they don’t break any laws, pay their bills, don’t fight or break anything they are welcome to stay.“ Normally I’d give up, but I’m miserable and exhausted from sleeping with an AC unit rattling outside my room, so I feel a lie come to my lips. I even shock myself as I say it. “But they are breaking the law. I’ve seen them at another bar this evening and they’re dealing drugs.” He looks at me, the irritable expression gone from his face. “What did you say?“ “I said they’re drug dealers. They’ve been selling cocaine.” Suddenly, his expression is deadly serious. “Thanks for letting me know. You have a good evening now.”

I watch them covertly, with a slight smile as the security guard approaches them. There’s a confrontation, voices are raised, and like kicking a beehive they buzz around the bar collecting their shit. They glare around the bar, even in my direction, before they go and peace returns. I chuckle to myself. What happens in Malia stays in Malia… Stupid chav cunts.

I go back to the bar stool and finish my cocktail at a leisurely pace, sit for a while and listen to the music they’re playing. At least I think that’s what I do. Everything starts going fuzzier and fuzzier, warmer and hazier. I need to get out and get some fresh air.

“Mate, wake up…” I’m groggy, I’m parched, my head’s pounding and I’ve no idea where I am. “Wake up, fella!” I feel a strong pair of hands shaking me, gently at first, and then roughly. My eyes slowly open, but everything’s dark and for a second I’m terrified that I might have gone blind, until a pair of sunglasses is pulled from my face and I’m blinded instead by the bright Malia sun. It’s high enough for breakfast to be over. Leaning over me is a handsome man; he’s wearing a grey t shirt and a backwards cap, but I recognise him instantly as the topless guy from last night. I panic, try to move but my body doesn’t want to respond and instead I slump to the ground. “Whoa…whoa…”, the man says, catching me in his arms and holding me tight against his broad chest. “Thank fuck you’re a skinny bastard.”

He props me back up on the deck chair I was sleeping on, holding my head upright, his face close to mine. I can smell chewing gum and cigarettes on his breath. I’m sure it’d be erotic if I wasn’t so frightened. "Now dickhead, I want you to listen very carefully to me. Blink once if you understand.” He’s using a hushed, calm voice, but with more than a hint of viciousness. I manage to consciously blink, though even that is an effort. “Good. Now, it seems like you had your drink spiked. Unlucky for you, but fortunately I here to help you. I left you out in the sun for a bit to sober you up but clearly it didn’t work. You’re wankered…” He ruffles my hair and my head instantly slumps to the side without him supporting it, so he takes a hold of my temples and pulls me sharply back upright.

He barely whispers now. “OK, listen to me, you little prick. You messed with the wrong lads last night. We’re no drug dealers, but it cut close to home for some of my mates, so they are divesting certain personal pharmaceutical investments as we speak. Personally I ditched my stash of slow release growth hormones by giving you quite a liberal dose. It should have you set well into the next quarter, perhaps longer. Russians really now how to cheat...” He chuckles darkly and stares straight into my eyes. Back to normal voice again. “Don’t look so scared mate. My job is to keep you in sight and entertained until they are back. We’re going to have a great day together… Now, what’s your name again?” I try to respond, but can only groan. “Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that…” He laughs, coughs and then spits on the floor. “Well…my name’s Caine, and to be honest, fella, I don’t give a shit what your name is…But what I do give a shit about is that you ruined a proper good vacation for me and the lads.” My body tenses at this accusation “No worries though… tonight’s a new night, as they say… and you’re going to make it unforgettable. You’re about to become the newest member of our Lads on Tour group: Gaz. That’s your name, right? Gaz? Blink once if it is…" I sit there, not responding. My name definitely isn’t Gaz. He grunts and lands a hard slap across my face. “I said blink if your name’s Gaz!” This time I do blink. “Good lad. You’re not as thick as you look. Now, Gaz, let’s get you semi-functional. We’ve got lots to do today and a big night ahead of us. Drink this.“ He shoves gym water bottle in my mouth and squeeze it lightly. I can do nothing else but drink it, though I happily do. It tastes like an isotonic drink. Sweet, salty, slightly sour and slightly bitter all at the same time.

I’m staggering down the street, with Caine supporting me. A lot of passers-by are shaking their head or trying to not stare at us…well, me; to an outside eye he looks like a well-meaning boy helping out his mate who’s had one too many. Nobody would guess he was a straight chav with a perverse sense of justice, propping up a sedated gay man.

But it’s not only this apparent display of friendship that is making people stare. Despite not having had a good look at myself, it is clear even to me I’d been out in the sun for far too long. “You look a bit burnt there Gaz. I thought I lathered you up pretty well with sun lotion. Looks like I took the tanning oil by mistake.”  My usual pale skin was a painful, blazing red all aside from a tan line where he’d left a pair of sunglasses on my face and an equally ridiculous set of white lines where he’d dressed me in an old wife beater; I was now modelling what most Brits would call a ‘twat tan.’

It wasn’t just any wife beater either. In contrast with my normal, well accessorized shirt, chinos and brogues look, I only had a total of four items on my body. One pair of orange Jägermeister promotion flip flops. One pair of blue, slinky adidas football shorts as, perhaps not less expensive, but certainly cheaper looking stand in for board shorts. And finally, the crown jewel, someone’s black wife beater that read “I HAVE THE DICK SO I MAKE THE RULES” in outlandish red letters. All of it covered in traces of what must have been at least one out of vomit, food and cum, and I could definitely smell both sweat and alcohol wafting from it.

All of this I piece together painfully slow, as I’m practically carried by Caine along the scorching street towards God knows where. I’m paraded around town like an effigy of the worst of Britain, unable to do anything to shield myself from, or even look at the passerby.

Suddenly Caine steers me into a building. As he guides me through the door, I notice the spinning red, blue and white of a barber’s pole. It’s a Turkish barbers; the two men working there turn around and eye me up and down, one is unable to quell a small laughter, the other barely hiding his disgust. It’s a far cry from the warm welcome and prosecco I get at Toni & Guy in London. The decor is ugly and cheap, with neon lights and linoleum. The two men discuss something among themselves in another language, ignoring us, until one finally comes forward with a neutral “You want a haircut?”

Caine throws me in the barber’s chair. I notice whatever I’ve been spiked with is starting to wear off as I’m now just about able to support my own head. The barber is behind me, glaring and tutting like I’m an idiot. I see him take in the stains and slogan on the tank top as he puts the cape around my neck. “You look unwell.” he states. Caine’s voice comes from behind me. “Yeah man, he’s just taken a lot of shit. You’re a pussy but you’re right as rain ain’t you Gaz mate?” He slaps me hard on the chest. It’s agonising on my sunburn, but I can barely flinch. The barber seems appeased, rolling his eyes, and taking another look at the photo Caine is showing him on his phone. “While we were out Gaz gave me strict orders to get him a fresh cut before we hit the town again today. When he sobers up he’ll be gutted if he isn’t looking his best. He even said he’d pay triple, didn’t you Gaz mate?”, he laughs. “You stupid stoner bastard.” The barber nods OK. I’m sure he’s being deliberately rough as he sets to work, shoving my head from side to side and pressing the clippers tightly against my scalp, totally ignoring my sunburn. Still, while my muscle control is coming back, I’m feeling fatigued, and before I know it I doze off. When I come to, the barber is holding a mirror up to the back of my head and tapping my shoulder impatiently. “Your haircut, sir.”

I see Caine’s reflection appear behind me, smiling broadly, flashing his perfect white teeth, then see my own eyes widen as I take in this new look. Gone is my fashionable London haircut. In it’s place is a modernised fusey bowl cut; the top third of my head is covered, but below that is a harsh line where I’ve been shaved bald. The barber must have done something to the hair he left on my head, as it’s now blow dried into a ridiculous, voluminous mess. I look like a giant iced gem. It’s a style I’ve only ever seen on the stupidest chavs and builders trying to copy their favourite stars from The Only Way is Essex. “Oi oi, Gaz, a perfect lad’s haircut for a night out with the boys!” Cain shouts in my ear. “Great idea with a perm innit?! You get this do for half a year without any work in the morning.” He reaches across to shake the barber’s hand. “Thanks, I promise Gaz is smiling too, aren’t you mate? Thinking of all the pussy you’ll get with your new do ain’t ya?” Both men laugh as Caine reaches into his pocket and pulls out what I see is my wallet, cramming a handful of euros into the barber’s hand; well above what I assume is triple their going rate it. “Keep the change mate.” The barber smiles. “Have a good one lads…” He turns to Caine and lowers his voice. “Please help your friend take a shower. He really needs one.” 

“I can’t wait to tell the lads how you were too stinky to stay in that Turkish barbers! Classic Gaz! Gaz the Stinker! Must be all the growth hormone that is starting to kick in.” Caine howls as he leads me down the pavement, people are staring at us. The sun is above us, so it must be about lunch time.

“Now, Gaz, mate, we’ve got one more stop before we’re ready for our special lads’ night. But I want this one to be a surprise. Drink up.” He handed me the gym bottle again. Still thirsty I eagerly empty it. “Good lad. I added something extra, so it’s not just electrolytes and that mental patient docile stuff you had before. It’s time for you to have another little sleep. Not even a stab in your guts would wake you up…”

Eventually I do wake up, this time to the distant sound of buzzing. I know the drill by now; I try to speak, but no sound comes out. My senses clear and I feel the gentle touch of someone rubbing me with lotion. It stings. As I look around I realise with horror exactly where I am. He’s taken me to a fucking tattoo parlour. I don’t even have any tattoos…well, correction, I didn’t. I feel a lump in my throat as I dread to think of what Caine has in store for me. As if on cue, he appears. “Morning you lazy bastard! You’ve woken up just in time; quite a few helping hands worked together to sort out all those tats for you in time. But we got it just like you wanted, Gaz!”

I wonder what tattoo artists would work on an unconscious client, but I know Caine is a ruthlessly smooth talker. I remember articles I’d laughed at in the Daily Mail of people who’d had ridiculous tattoos done on holiday. Now, thanks to Caine, I could add my own name to that illustrious list.

“You guessed it mate, you’ve got some sick new ink. What’s better is Phoebe here is treating them with burn victim lotion. Seals those fuckers right in, so you can go swim tomorrow if you like. Makes them a bit blurry, but it’s no worse than any one year old tat. Let me show you on my phone…” With a manic glint in his eye, he slowly scrolls through the photos of the artist’s handiwork in front of my face with careful glee, enjoying how I can’t really react, but I still find myself gasping at what he shows me.

My body has been turned into a ridiculous canvas of male clichés; there are British flags and patriotic slogans, roses, poppies and images of football players I don’t even recognise on my arms, legs, neck and chest. There clearly is a wide range of styles and level of abilities represented. But the blazing centrepiece is a huge Celtic print of three letters across my back; a name, not my name, a name bestowed upon me today: ‘GAZ’, underlined with the grammatically incorrect phrase ‘Malia 2017. Lad’s on tour’

Caine locks eyes with me in triumph. “On other guys I’d think this much ink was stupid, but on you, mate, it’s fucking on point. I’m happy it came out perfect, since red and yellow can’t be lasered.” He swipes to the next photo, showing a gaudy glass stud in my earlobe. “It’s acid treated, so you don’t have to worry about the piercings growing shut.”

Everything is starting to blur together. Perhaps I’m in shock, and you would think for all the sleeping I’ve done today I would be on top of things. Caine has led me back to the cheap holiday apartment where this hellish day began. This time I can feel tingling, like pins and needles, of movement returning to my body. I’m able to stand up on my own, and I’m in the middle of a bedroom with Caine in front of me. He’s dressed really nicely in a white linen shirt, breathtakingly handsome. In spite of all that’s happening I can feel my penis bulging in the adidas shorts he put me in this morning. I don’t want to get hot for him, and perhaps this is another of his additions to the water, but I suspect he just is that hot. “Now, mate, let’s get the final touches for the finale. I want you to have a say in this, since you’ve been so good all day. Which footie top is it going to be for the big night? What do you say, Stinker? Red, or blue?”

He spins me around forcefully and I gaze up at two football shirts hanging on the wall. I assume they’ve both already been worn by one of my new ‘friends’ the night before. My shoulders slump in defeat and I quietly nod in the direction of the blue one. He pulls it over my head. As expected it smells of stale sweat. “Nice choice, mate. I think the red would have really brung out your sunburn. You really should get some aloe vera on that, you daft twat. No time for that now though, the lads are waiting and it’s taken you all fucking day to get ready.”

We’re in front of a club, waiting in a queue. Everyone is dressed nicely, in collared shirts and dresses, and I feel so conspicuous in my sweaty football gear. I’ve regained a lot of movement, but I’m lumbering and everything’s still fuzzy around the edges. “Sorry everyone!” Caine shouts “Gaz here has had five pints too many!” As we reach the front of the queue, a dapper bouncer blocks the way. “Identification, Sir.” The bouncer stressed the Sir a bit extra, dripping with disapproval. There was an awkward pause. I check the flimsy pockets of my football shorts, but they were as empty as I had expected them to be. “Oi, Gaz I have your new passport.” Caine handed over a passport to the  bouncer. It was one of those temporary passports embassies issue for people daft enough to lose it while abroad. The bouncer opened it, made a quick look, and handed it back. With far fewer pages than a normal passport it looked flimsy. I opened it and flipped to the identification page. Most of the fields were what I would expected them to be. Height, sex, number all as expected. The expiration date was only a month in the future. Again, nothing surprising for a temporary passport. But the photo made me nauseous. It was a photo from today, though I had no memory of it being taken. My mouth was slack jawed open, eyes bloodshot, sleepy and unfocused, skin unevenly tanned. To crown it all, that ugly haircut and two slits shaved in my left eye brow. I had no memory of that being done either. I raised my hand to confirm. I was painfully aware that had the photo been shot a few hours later there would also be a pair of cheap studs in my freshly pierced ears and an ugly tattoo snaking up from the tank top, on the side of the neck.

Just as horrifying as my run-down visage was the name in the passport. Instead of John Holland, my name, it says "Gaz Taylor". As if he could read my mind, though that wouldn't be that hard at the moment, Caine spoke again. “The lads were kind enough to submit a deed poll to correct your name before getting your temp passport. With any luck your new permanent ID card should be waiting for you when you get home. I say permanent, but you can of course change name again in like 2 years, or whatever their hold off time is.” The club is classy, expensive and busy. Caine guides me across the room, his hand pressing firmly into the small of my back, over to a group of men who are chatting among themselves. Of course it’s the same group of lads as the day before, my new ‘mates’. “Fellas…you remember Gaz? He’s very sorry about last night and really keen to make it up to you all!” They turn, and I feel their eyes on me, taking me in; the tattoos, the outfit, the piercings, the hair. They’re all dressed nicely, suave and in sharp contrast to the ridiculous figure Caine has shaped me into; there’s a moment of silence before they burst into raucous laughter.

Soon I’m being shoved from person to person, they’re all shaking my hands, offering me swigs of their pint, clapping me on the back and eager to spend time with their new ‘mate’. I feel that even with those minuscule amounts of beer, my tired body is sinking fast. One of them squeezes my bicep, asking me if I’ve started to swell yet and if I watched the match last night. Another asks me if I knew there was a dress code, pointing at my top and loudly shouting “Classic Gaz”. Someone named Chris tells me he knows a guy who needs concrete workers, and write a number with a marker pen on my arm. Another pulls me over, asks me what the capital of Thailand is, before slapping me hard in the balls and saying “Bang cock!” They are all taking the piss out of me.

I’m standing with a guy called Shaun, who is showing me a top he picked up for me that day that is also ‘Classic Gaz’, a lime green t shirt proudly emblazoned with the words ‘MUFF DIVER’. However, this presentation is cut short by lights flashing from outside in red and blue, and the music in the club stops abruptly. The boys scatter and I feel a lump of joy in my throat. Somebody must have informed the police; finally my nightmare is over!

Four police officers quickly advance towards me. I look around and Caine is no where to be seen. In fact I don’t recognise anyone around me. I don’t realise how drunk I am until two of the officers roughly restrain me and put me in handcuffs. I try to speak to them, but they completely ignore anything I say, and as I’m shoved into the back of a police car I can hear the music start in the club again.

I wake up as they drag me out of the car. Everything is so unreal. Like it is happening to someone else. A police man is asking me questions and I think I answer them. Two officers take me to a well lit room and tell me to take off my clothes. Flip flops, shorts, shirt. Every piece can be removed in one motion. They take photos. They look in my mouth. I lie on my belly on an angled, padded table. I’ve had things in my ass many times before, but this wasn’t what I hoped for. I get dressed again. They take me to a small cell, and I can finally fall asleep.

When I wake up again for a few seconds everything feels fine. Nothing hurts. A bit thirsty perhaps, but nothing more. Then I see a horrible football tattoo and a cellphone number scribbled on my arm, and all the memories of what has been done to me floods back. There is no clock in the cell, so I don’t know exactly how many hours I sit there until someone comes to get me, but I have plenty of time to consider my situation. I understand what Caine meant with growth hormones producing smelly sweat, because it is definitively me and not the clothes that stink the worst.

When someone finally come and get me it is a police officer explaining they got a call about a drug dealer matching my description. While they didn’t find any drugs, I was clearly under the influence and they kept me in custody. The blood report showed a whole buffet of different drugs, but being under the influence isn’t an offense in itself. He further informs me that a report has been sent to Europol so I should arrive airports an hour earlier from now on, as I can expect thorough searches. With that he wishes me good luck and hope I can get my life back on track. He has no idea.

Lastly he hands me a sports bag. I had been checked out of the hotel while in custody, and the bag was the only thing in my room. A last laugh from Caine. The bag contains a wrinkled bundle of damp clothes. Joggers, sweatshirt, t-shirt, a pair of seriously worn trainers and three socks. No underwear. It’s as if someone did a hard workout and then put his clothes in sealed bag for a day. No matter how I am getting home, it will be just as unpleasant for any travelers close to me, since without wallet this is what I’ll wear.

In the side pocket is a hotel envelope containing three papers. The checkout folio from the hotel, a Ryanair boarding pass for the evening flight back in the name Gaz Taylor, and a fax from my employer. Or rather former employer, as it reads “Upon receiving the drug use report we are hereby terminating your employment effective immediately in accordance with section 18 (e) of your employment contract.” I look again at the phone number scribbled on my arm.

[314]

🌻

ok u know what, i’ll tell y’all about people at my college for the hell of it. some are real characters. to start this off, i go to community college. and if you do too, i’m sorry (those who go as well know exactly what i mean). but it’s ok, it’ll be worth not being too much in debt in the end, hopefully. 

i’m gonna name off 3 people from the college: 

ted: alright, so we have a lot of city kids at my college. ted is the most badass dude i’ve ever met. he’s 5′4, from chinatown, modeled for the GAP as a child, and he’d beat the fuck outta you if you crossed him. we have a common room in our college where people can hang out, and i actually ended up in there a lot because i wanted to play a game of pool from time to time. i walk in there, and i witness this MAN snap a pool stick over his knee. after that, i actually talked to him a bit, because when he wasn’t angry, he was a decent guy. i actually took pictures for him a few times. later in the semester, he totaled and flipped one of my colleagues car with 3 people in it (everyone was ok but damn that car was fucking toast & uh wear your seatbelt guys). i think everything caught up to him, because he totally disappeared mid semester, and i never saw him again. 

orion: ok this one girl just had really tiny hands so everyone would force us to play pool together. now i have really small hands, but this girl had SUPER DUPER small hands. she was cool, we keep in touch actually. one of the few i actually do talk to sometimes! end of story. 

krillin: this is it. i could write a book on this weirdo. krillin fares from brooklyn. he’s 23, 5 feet tall, and wears wife beaters. oh and he’s bald. that’s why we call him krillin. he is also on his 8th or so semester of CC. krillin asked me out. i said no. he messaged me on facebook, i played stupid with him for a good 3 days trying to brush off his attempt to ask me out. i start dating my boyfriend, and holy shit he was so PISSED and passive aggressive. lmfao idk the men here are fucking wild y’all be safe in college. 

[pcyheartgirlx]

In The Bleak Midwinter [CH2]

CHAPTER 2

Genre ;; Angst/Smut/Fluff/Romance

Pairing ;; Chanyeol x Reader x Seokjin

Word Count ;; 7k

Summary ;; “We’re all whores, we just sell different parts of ourselves.”

You own a multi-billion dollar company, servicing the biggest names in kpop, in more ways than one. Under the name “Starlight Catering”, you, your best friends, Damon and Maya, and your hundreds of workers provide stress relief for idols.

You have partially retired, not because you didn’t want to, but because Chanyeol was your muse. He was all that you had time for and needed. Jin came along.

So what happens when you mix fire and ice?

You get smoke and all the lines are blurred.

A/N ;; This chapter was SO much fun to write. I really hope you enjoy the EXO interaction I incorporated in here. ALSO there is mention of your "exboyfriend" Jiyong (yes, G-Dragon) in this chapter, a flashback to be specific. It is rather violent so be prepared for that. Anyway, enough of my Drabble. On to the fic, happy reading!

[PLAYLIST] [BACKSTORY] [PROLOGUE] [CH1] [CH2] [CH3]

The car came to a stop right in front of the SM condominium. You fixed yourself a bit before you got out of Damon’s car.

“Thanks, babes,” you said putting your hand on his shoulder. “Get some rest guys, okay?” Concern mirrored in your words. Maya turned back to you and blew you a kiss.

“We will, Eomma. Don’t worry!” She squeaked. You really hated when they called you that but you ignored it as you nodded at her and opened the car door to leave. With a final wave, the car drove away and you were left in front of yet another building. This time though, there was no tension and no nerves.

You had been seeing Chanyeol for a while now. For about two years to be precise. It wasn’t until this past year that he became the only regular you had. The company had expanded beyond your belief and you just didn’t have any time for anyone else. But you were lying to yourself if you said that was the only reason. Of course, the sex was amazing; he knew all your spots, kinks and triggers. He made you cum more than anyone had ever thought they could. The reality of it was that you enjoyed his company. You two had so much in common ranging from music, movies, sense of humor, style and even particular outlooks on life. You’ve had many sleepless nights with him getting lost in deep conversation until the sunlight found its way into his room. It wouldn’t stop there either, he’d stay on the phone with you until you got home and then you’d spend hours talking, laying on your bed until you both fell asleep on your phones. He was just as important to you as Maya or Damon. He made you believe in love again.

With the good comes the bad though. Chanyeol wasn’t self-conscious by any means. He knew that he was indeed one of the most handsome men on the scene. It was his pride. He wanted you to himself and no one else. It became apparent after the first few months. He would text you non stop when he thought you were with someone else. Sometimes he’d even show up to your apartment and wait in his car until you got home. At first, you thought it was because he worried. But as time passed, you saw the real problem. He had never had to share a woman before. And who could be upset over that? No one should have to share their beloved, you told yourself. But everything you worked for, you couldn’t throw it out for one person. You had done that before and look where it got you.

Even if you did, there were other factors. Because of his status, dating wasn’t an option. Neither was the possibility of going out together and venturing life in a setting beside his room. You were a dirty little secret. “That isn’t a relationship you deserve,” he would say. Not after what you have been through. Chanyeol loves you very much, he just has an alternative way of showing it.

As you approached the door, you flattened down your dress one more time before you knocked lightly.

“Chanyeooool!” You heard a voice whine loudly from the other side. That voice was none other than Jongdae’s. “I think your lady is here!” He called out.

You could hear Chanyeol’s deep voice inaudibly reply, followed by his footsteps scurrying closer to the door. When he opened for you were leaning against the door frame, looking up at him with pure seduction welling up in your eyes like tears. You couldn’t help but yearn for him more. He stood there in a black wife beater and his favorite pair of Adidas joggers.

“What was all that talk about you needing me now?” You hummed. He bit his lip and started for you.

“Come here, Baby,” he growled as he cupped your face with his large hands and started kissing you hungrily.  Your lips were fighting for dominance, with him sucking and nibbling on your bottom lip. Without breaking the kiss, he pulled you inside and turned your position around so he could close the door behind him with his back.

Immediately, he let his hands descend down from your face, traveling your body and finally ending at your bottom, grabbing it firmly. Each one of his hands was on either cheek and he pulled you close to him with force as he continued to devour you. Your breaths were heavy and your tongues danced together, interchanging between his mouth and yours. You let out a soft moan as he tightly held on to your ass before he bent his knees and placed his hands on your thighs. He moaned into your mouth and you felt yourself being lifted off the ground, he picked you up and you wrapped your arms around his defined shoulders, legs pushing his waist closer to you as you locked onto him. You broke free as he started kissing your cheek, traveling down to your neck. Resting your head on his shoulder, you let him suck and bite at the skin on your chest and neck. He began walking down the hallway, not stopping.

As you passed the living room, you quickly spotted Jongdae scribbling away at his notebook, Sehun indulged in this phone and Kyungsoo studying the script placed on his lap. Jongdae’s head snapped up as he hurt you pass.

“(Y/N)! Hi!” his voice was always so pleasant and sweet. Even with Chanyeol feasting away at your skin, you greeted him.

“Hi, Jongdae!” You said shakily. Also waving at Sehun who greeted you warmly. Kyungsoo on the other hand…

“Oh for fuck's sake, not again you two!” The semi-bald man glared at you two as you walked by in Chanyeol’s arms. He pushed his script aside and followed you guys. 

“AWAEEE! Leave them alone!” Jongdae whined. Kyungsoo simply ignored him. 

“Listen! I’m trying to fuckin’ practice!” He yelled but Chanyeol kept gnawing at you as you shot him an apologetic look that was mixed with ecstasy. “Can you please try to keep it down?!” Chanyeol responded by entering his room, with you grabbing onto him tightly and slammed his door.

“I guess not!” You heard Kyungsoo continue from the other room. You giggled to yourself at his expense and because Chanyeol was now lapping his tongue against the crook of your neck. You were pinned against the door. He let go of your ass and placed one hand firmly on your left breast while the other cupped the back of your head.You loosened your grip around him and let your limbs fall, your feet touching the floor and your hands traveling up and down his biceps, roaming his chiseled back. His tongue started traveling lower, down your chest, letting his lips kiss and suck every part of that path towards your breasts. Your head was thrown back in pleasure, allowing him to taste you. But suddenly he stopped. He put his arms on either side of your head as he gasped for air. He brought his head up so he was looking straight into your eyes.

“Where were you?” He panted, his voice was husky and low. You just blinked at him and bit your lip. “You smell like you’ve been with another man.”

Fuck.

You tried to quickly come up with an explanation but Chanyeol was an impatient man and you were hypnotized but him. Those full pouty lips were pink and swollen and his cat-like eyes reflected pure lust but you also saw a glint of anger. It turned you on so much.

“Ahhh…” he groaned as he brought one of his hands to his hair and ran his fingers through it, looking down. “Look what you do to me, aish.” He breathed out as he walked away. The guilt was starting to scratch away at you internally.

“Chanyeol,” you whispered as he turned away from you, walking toward his closet you trailed behind him. “Baby let me explain—“

“I thought that was it, (Y/N),” his voice trembling. He reached into the closet, grabbed a towel and handed it to you. “Wash him off you next time.” His words were cold like icicles digging into your conscious. You took the towel from him and watched him walk over to his desk, opening his laptop. “I’ll be waiting here for you.”

“You won’t even let me explain?” you pleaded with him. He simply ignored you as he started opening up the internet browser. “Fine,” you huffed and made your way out the door.

You continued down the hallway, passing a few more rooms before you made it to the kitchen. As you walked in, you saw Junmyeon, Baekhyun, and Jongin sitting on stools surrounding the long island. They looked as if they were just talking among themselves, with Jongin stuffing his hand into a box of fried chicken as usual.

“Isn’t it a little late, guys?” You said with a soft voice, concern laced in your words.

“(Y/N)!” Jongin mumbled, the chicken still being chewed in his mouth. Junmyeon shot him a disapproving look.

“Cmon, don’t talk with your mouthful,” he commented before he looked at you and motioned for you to come toward them. “Sit with us for a bit, (Y/N)!” He said sweetly. “Have some chicken!” Jongin glared at the leader, partially because he scolded him but also partially because he just offered up some of his precious chicken to you.

“Yea! Look!” Baekhyun piped as he reached his hand into the box and pulled out a drumstick. “There’s still one drumstick left. You loveeee drumsticks.” He wasn’t wrong. “Eat me, (Y/N)! Eat me!” The blonde’s voice went up 10 octaves as he tried bringing the piece of chicken that he was waving around to life. Junmyeon and Jongin just shot him a “what the fuck” face causing you to laugh more than you already were.

“You guys are so sweet, but I don’t think I can tonight,” you said as you approached them to hug each of them. Baekhyun just let out a child-like "awww" before dropping the chicken back in the box.

“Why not?” Jongin squeezed you with one arm as you greeted him.

“Chanyeol and I just need a little extra time together today. I might have pissed him off a bit,” you explained as you hugged Junmyeon last.

“Ahh he's such a hothead sometimes,” Baekhyun commented as he swatted his hand in the direction of Chanyeol’s room. “He ruined a perfectly good date for you with three of the most charming men in EXO!” He beamed.

“I know! What a jerk,” you muttered jokingly, agreeing with Baekhyun. You put your hand on Junmyeon’s back, resting it there as you spoke. “Did you guys get the sweets I sent last week?” You could see Jongin’s eyes light up in your peripheral.

“They were SO good, (Y/N)!” Jongin chirped as he took a bite of the drumstick that was previously offered to you.

“I saw that you had them shipped all the way from Argentina! You really didn’t have to go through all that trouble, (Y/N),” Junmyeon looked at you with such gratitude, it made your heart soft.

“Really! It was no problem. Let’s just say someone owed me a favor,” you assured him. “I just wanted to get my sweeties some sweeties!”

“Why are you so good to us?!” Baekhyun cried with joy as he pulled you into a hug almost dropping the towel Chanyeol had given you. “We don’t even sleep with you!” You and Jongin chuckled at him while Junmyeon playfully smacked his hand for being so vulgar.

“Because you guys take such good care of us! You’re always so kind and sweet whenever me, Damon or Maya are here. Plus, I knew you guys would like them,” you gushed. They all smiled their million dollar smiles at you. Deep down inside you melted into a puddle of liquid gold, shining because you were blessed to see this in person. God, they’re so fucking perfect, you thought to yourself.

“Did you need to shower?” said a voice coming from the other side of the room. You looked up and saw Minseok standing there, dripping wet with a towel wrapped around his torso. Fuck, Maya is so lucky to get to tap that.

“Yes! I do,” you cried out, lowering a sly seductive gaze at him. “Thanks for the show, Minseok.” You noticed his cheeks blushing violently.

“Uh...Y-you’re welcome,” he fumbled with his words causing Jongin to bust out laughing, sounding like he was gasping for air. Baekhyun and Junmyeon did a better job at holding in their laughter. Minseok started walking passed you with his head down.

“You would think the way he had Maya screaming he would get over his timid side in front of you guys,” Baekhyun declared. Junmyeon tried to shoot him one of his mom glares but couldn’t keep a chuckle from escaping his lips. Jongin still sounded like he was having an asthma attack.

“The speaker should still be in the bathroom, (Y/N),” Junmyeon called out as you walked away. You were there so much they remembered your habits. Well, at least Junmyeon did.

“Yea but keep the volume down because Kyungsoo is going to pop a vein if he can’t study his script,” Baekhyun added, he glanced at Jongin. “You need to dick him down a little bit more.”

“Byun Baekhyunnie!” Junmyeon and Jongin both screamed in unison. You just laughed, said thank you quickly and disappeared into the shower.

The floor was still wet and the mirror fogged your reflection. You turned the water on and began to strip. Once your phone was connected to the speaker by the sink and the water was at the right temperature, you put on a random radio station and jumped in. As The first song play, you lathered your body mindlessly, washing any traces of Jin away. Mentally scolding yourself for not spraying yourself earlier, you continued to put more soap on the special loofah they left for you in the bathroom. You smiled to yourself again thinking about how considerate these 9 men were. But the feeling quickly faded.

Tteonaga

Yeah, I finally realize, that I’m nothing without you

I was so wrong, forgive me

That Voice.

You jumped out of the shower as fast as you could, darted for the phone and played the next song.

Jiyong

Even his voice made you sick. Suddenly, the scene played in your head.

x-x-x

You were walking into your old house. You remember it, right? The beautiful white and yellow Victorian home, all the detailing was designed intricately with you and your soon to be husband. Everything was perfect, right? You guys left NYC a year ago to start over in Korea together. What you left in NYC, cocaine, hooking, abuse, The Old (Y/N). The old Jiyoung. Well. they seemed to find their way back to you guys here.

As you walked into your beautiful house, loud music filled your ears. It was coming from the den. Battling with yourself, you sighed and decided to follow the music, walking across the beautiful linoleum floor. When you approached the den, you saw your fiance with his head crooked back in his chair, mouth agape panting slightly. On his desk was a mountain of coke as usual and poking out from under the desk were a pair of heels.

“How many fuckin’ times do I have to tell you,” you walked over to him and saw one of the girls you just employed slurping on his cock under the desk. You pushed his chair back, grabbed her by the hair and began to drag her to the front of the desk.

“I’m so sor--” her apologetic sob was cut short but the collision of your fist to the side of her temple. She fell to the floor, clutching her eye.

“Ah for fuck's sake (Y/N),” Jiyoung started. “You always have to be the bigger bitch right.” Your stomach boiled at his words. You walked over to his shelf where he proudly displayed his many music awards.

“You’re damn fucking right,” you spat at him, walking back over to the girl.

“Just stop, at this point, you look stupid,” he said as he buckled his pants and sat back down. He took the edge of his silver credit card and started cutting a small piece of the mountain of coke. With a fistful of the injured girl’s hair you shot him another look, holding the Daesang over your head

“So that’s what you’re gonna do?” you brought the trophy down and smashed it against the girl’s head. She let out a blood-curdling scream that both you and Jiyoung weren’t even phased by. It was a sound you both had grown accustomed to. He brought the edge of the credit card to his nose and desperately sniffed the contents until they disappeared.

“You’re just going--” One blow. “--fucking sit there--” Two blows. “--and snort--” Three blows. “--our--” Four blows. “--fucking--” Five blows. “--life--” Six blows. “--away!” Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten.

You always liked even numbers.

At this point, the girl’s face was unrecognizable. Blood dripping down your arm on his white fur rug. It was like someone had grabbed a bucket of paint and just attacked you from the side, staining your face, chest, dress, and legs. You dropped the girl’s lifeless body and his stupid fucking award on the floor. He just sat there, bored and uninterested. You shook some of the blood of you and started to break down crying.

“Stop fuckin crying,” Jiyoung said as he took another bump. You just couldn’t stop. All the things you left behind followed you here and it wasn’t you. It was him. He brought them back.

“W-we...we were so happy, Jiyoung...so happy,” you sobbed pathetically as you dropped down to the floor, the blood-soaked rug cushioning your knees from the fall.

“Fucking save it, (Y/N). Please? I don’t feel like dealing with this right now,” he replied coldly. You just cried harder and started hyperventilating.

“Why does it have to be this wa--”

“You fucking bitch!” he screamed slamming his fist on his desk. He shot up and darted toward you. You let out a painful yelp as he grabbed you by the shoulders and started shaking you violently. “Why can’t you listen?! Huh?!” with that he threw you on the floor again next to the girl’s dead body, towering over you.

“Stop please--”

“Oh NOW you want me to stop?” he let out a condescending laugh and crouched to your level. “Did you like this, (Y/N)? Do YOU?” His breath hitting your face like a hot wave from a freshly opened oven. He picked up the bloody Daesang beside you. “Is this what you WANT?” He screamed before flinging the trophy behind him. You watched it go through the window, glass landing everywhere.

“(Y/N)?” you heard on the other side of the door. The voice was followed by a knock. You quickly shook the thought from your head.

“Yeah, Sehun?” you replied.

“Are you almost done?” he called out. “I have to use the toilet!” You sighed heavily and tried to compose yourself.

“Just a few more minutes! I promise!” you replied sweetly, trying to coat the creeping sob that threatened to escape your throat. You jumped back in the shower and washed yourself, trying to scrub the blood off your body all over again.

After your shower, you wrapped yourself up in Chanyeol’s towel and walked out of the bathroom, finding Sehun waiting patiently.

“Ahhh about time!” he exclaimed. You shrugged your shoulders and looked at him apologetically.

“I’m sorry Sehunnie!” you said timidly.

“Nah it’s okay,” he teased. “By the way, is Da--”

“No Damon isn’t with me tonight, hun,” you cut him off knowing exactly what he was going to say. He slightly pouted and replied with a simple "oh" before he disappeared into the bathroom. You thought it was cute how Sehun had grown fond of Damon. Damon had a tough exterior but Sehun possessed a certain quality to break that down. That quality is a great dick and the ability to make him laugh endlessly.

You walked through the halls with clutching the towel with one hand and your dress in the other, hoping no one else would catch you in your towel. Making it safely to Chanyeol’s room, you walked in to find him still at his desk, scrolling the internet. The details from his room were much different than Jin’s. He had musical instruments everywhere, showcasing your favorite side of him. There was also his dresser which was adorned with cute toys that Chanyeol found fascinating. His bed was large and had the soft blue sheets draping over them. Right above the bed was a curtain that practically reached the ceiling. You were very fond of that curtain.

“Chanyeol,” you called out softly to him. No answer. You sighed and walked over to him, wrapping your arms around his shoulder. “Chanyeol,” you repeated. “Talk to me, please?” He cleared his throat and nothing more. You got bored with his antics and started to take matters into your own hands. Bringing your lips to his neck, you started to kiss him softly. Before you could plant another one he broke free from your grasp and stood up. You took a step back but he got closer to you. His eyes filled with anger and hunger.

He brought a hand up to your face and caressed your cheek. You bit your lip as you put you placed your hand on his chest. In a blink of an eye, his hand moved swiftly behind your head and grabbed at the base of your neck, his other hand ripping the towel off of you, exposing your naked body. He forcefully pulled you into a kiss. His lips fighting yours for dominance. With his hand still gripping the back of your head, he pulled you away and grabbed on your right breast and sunk his fingers into your soft skin, causing you to wince in pleasure.

“Look at me,” he said and just like that, you brought your head up. Those eyes, his small sweet pout, the way his hair would cling to his forehead when it wasn't styled. You just admired these soft features as they hardened with authority. “Who do you belong to?” he breathed. He loosened the grip on your breast only to grab at your nipple, squeezing it tightly and tugging it. He knew this drove you insane and that you loved being played with. You didn’t take the bait. You just moaned and looked at him, yearning for more. He raised an eyebrow at you and cocked a half smile.

“No answer?” his voice sounded calm but dangerous. He gave your nipple one last squeeze, enjoying the sound you made afterward. His hand coasted lower, passing your stomach and arriving at the lips of your womanhood. His fingers teased your entrance and you just whimpered. He was feeding off it.

“I’m going to ask you again,” he said as he tightened the grip on the back your neck. With one quick movement, he forced his index and middle finger inside you, finding your spot immediately. A loud moan escaped your lips as he wiggled his fingers against your spot while running his thumb over your clit. His head lowered until you could feel his lips by your ear.

“Who do you belong to?” he hummed. Your whole body was overcome with euphoria and you gave in.

“Y--you, Chanyeol,” you whimpered, holding on to his bicep as his fingers moved swiftly inside you. “I belong to you.”

“That’s right, baby,” he praised. Releasing you from his grip, he extracted his fingers from you. He pushed you down so you were on your knees. At this moment you knew what he wanted. Your hands made their way to the waistband of his joggers and pulled them down to his knees. His head at eye level, you stuck your tongue out and swirled it around him.

“Ohhh (Y/N),” he moaned. “You know I love that but,” his hand crept its way to the back of your head again. You looked up and your eyes met. He loved that face you made. His cock twitched on your tongue. “Not today.” with that he pushed your head into his cock, forcing you to take it all in until you felt his head hitting the back of your throat. You choked and coughed on his member but he didn’t care. Your hands shot up to his waist, your knuckles turning white as your nails dug into him. His head fell back as he let out a long lingering moan. When he looked down, he saw the tears falling from your eyes, his thumb caught them before the could fall.

“I’m sorry baby,” he panted. “Go ahead and get some air,” he released his grip from your head, allowing you to be able to pull away. But you wanted to please him. Your (e/c) orbs pierced into him as you started to bob your head, slurping up all the drool that was threatening to escape your mouth. You felt his organ swell in your mouth at the sight of this. He ran his fingers gently through your hair, pushing back any strands that prevented him from seeing your face. Every slurp and suction increased the volume of his moans. Your tongue wrapping around his cock, licking and roaming every inch of it while it disappeared into your mouth every now and again. His hands grabbed the side of your face, he knew he was close. You stopped all movement and let him do what he loved to do before he came.

His hips thrusting forward into your mouth, you moaned into his dick, the humming vibration bringing him closer to his climax. His eyes closed tightly as he groaned, ��Fuck I’m coming.”

He paced quickened as he fucked your mouth. Slurping and moaning into him as much as you could, just as he was about to release, you threw yourself back, watching the white string of cum shoot out of him and fall on your body. Your breasts and chin adorned with his cum. Knees knobbing he bent over, placing his hands over them to control the shakes. He raised his head and looked at you, naked on the floor, propping yourself up enough where he could see his cum on your body. He reached over and grabbed the towel he ripped off of you so you could clean yourself. You simply shook your head and smiled deviously. Using your finger, you scooped up the cum and brought it up to your lips, sucking your finger clean. Chanyeol’s eyes widened and he watched you in awe as you cleaned yourself up.

“You’re so hot,’ he breathed. You chuckled seductively as you finished lapping up the last of his cum. The way he bit his lip made your womanhood throb. You wanted him inside you so bad. It was like he read your mind. Chanyeol’s recovery time was that for the record books. The first thing he did was rip the rest of his clothes off as he got up. Then he walked over to you and picked you up bridal style, carrying you over to the bed. You wrapped his arms around him planted small kisses on his shoulders before he placed you on the bed. Making his way toward your favorite curtain, your instincts kicked in. He pulled them open, revealing a mirror that almost took up the whole wall. It was your favorite part of Chanyeol’s room. You loved watching the faces he made while he wall drilling into you. He made his way over to you and kissed you. You bit his bottom lip and ran your tongue along it. He pulled away and smiled, that handsome smile.

“Turn around,” he commanded. You crawled to the end of his bed and got on all fours, your hips propped up waiting for him. You looked up at the mirror and saw him making his way behind you. Your eyes locked, both of you exuding animalistic desire. Chanyeol didn’t wait. He always took what he wanted from you. Just as he had done so before, his whole cock penetrated you, leaving you no time to prepare yourself for his entrance. Your walls clung to him tightly, wanting to feel every inch of him inside you.

“Mmm...baby you’re so wet,” he said, savoring your warmth. Immediately, he started pumping into you. His pace quickened with every stroke, arching your back into him so you could fully feel him inside you. Endlessly crashing into your spot, your body tensed. Your knuckles turning white again as you grasped at the sheets under you. You snapped your neck up and looked at him in the mirror. It was like he was caught in a trance, hypnotized by the way your walls gripped onto his cock and how your breasts hung at your chest, moving perfectly with his pace. Sweat was dripping down his forehead, traveling down the tip of his pointed nose. His mouth hung open, revealing his bottom teeth doing so. You couldn’t hold it in anymore. You felt your climax approaching and so did he.

Chanyeol’s hammered into you violently as you threw your head back in ecstasy, letting orgasmic waves wash over you. You felt your cum drip down your thighs and onto his sheets. But this didn’t slow Chanyeol down at all. He kept plowing into you, every thrust more powerful than the other. You let out another breathy moan, indicating another orgasm taking over you. As more of your cum dripped down your thigh and on his, he continued his pace. He raised his hand and brought it down to your ass with force, leaving his handprint on you. The sound of his cock being suctioned in and out of you filled the room along with a symphony of groans and moans spilling out of both of you. Another orgasm was approaching and you didn’t know how much longer you could take. You screamed his name in ecstasy as you came all over him again. You felt the sheets beneath your knees become soaked with your liquid. Your walls were tighter than ever and Chanyeol was on the brink of his orgasm. He gripped onto your waist for support as he collided into you. Another one? Fuck, how? You thought to yourself, knowing you were coming to your final orgasm. His dick throbbed in you and his moans never ending, he started to quake.

“Ohhh, (Y/N)....fuck,” he exhaled as he reached his climax, pumping his hot liquid into you. You too were reaching your final orgasm, your bones racking in your body as the last shot of come dripped out of you.

There was no energy left in your body. You just collapsed on the bed, panting and shaking violently. Chanyeol walked over to you with a towel. He tapped on your bum slighting to motion you to lift yourself so he could clean you but you just didn’t have the energy.

“Can’t...move…” you croaked. He smirked at your statement and proceeded to wipe your thighs and pussy clean.

“You see babe?” he said confidently while he wiped himself down after. He flung the towel across the room letting it fall where ever it may and laid next to you. He was on his side, supporting his head with his hand. “I’m the only one you need.”

Using his free hand, he pushed the stray hairs behind your ear so he could see your face. Slowly and painfully, you turned and laid on your back, scooting as close as you could to him. He leaned in and kissed your forehead lovingly.

“Are you okay?” he asked, concern thickly coating his words. You just chuckled.

“I’m great,” you exclaimed, loving the feeling of his touch. He was running his hands through your hair, occasionally caressing your face gingerly. You couldn’t help but notice his expression was different than usual. After sex, he flashed that 1000 kilowatt smile and would bring you closer to him, digging his face into your (h/c) locks. But today, he studied you, his doe-like eyes boring into you.

“What’s wrong?” you asked him. He bit his lip and tried to look away.

“You know what’s wrong,” he said silently, pinching the tip of his nose. It was a habit of his that you always noticed. Finding whatever energy you had left, you turned to your side just as he did, mirroring his stance and propping your head on your arm. He never stopped caressing you.

“I know baby,” your words were gentle and soft. “But it was just a one-time thing...I didn’t even want to do it.” He didn’t try hiding the happiness you gave him when he heard you say that. But it only lasted a minute.

“Well then why did you do it if you didn’t want to?” he was scared of your answer before he even asked.

“New client,” you said flatly. It was really that simple. “We are expanding, Yeollie. You know I can’t give you any more details but--”

“So don’t,” he cut you off. His expression turned solemn. Even if you could share the details about your other client, he didn’t want to hear them truthfully. “Just answer these two questions for me and we can move on,”  He leaned in so his lips would meet yours. They lingered there for a while, the butterflies in your stomach started batting their wings violently.

“Do you love me?” he breathed into you before he kissed you again.

“With all my heart,” you replied between kisses.

"And,” he kissed you again. “Will you wait for me?” His lips colliding again with yours.

“Until the end of time,” you whispered. He smiled wildly while collapsing on his back stretching his long limbs.

“I have the most perfect girl in the woooooorld,” he screeched as limbs reached out for what seemed like nothing. He sighed and tucked his hand under his head. Perfect girl? You thought. How low are your standards, Chanyeol? He interrupted your thought by clearing his throat. He always knew you were mentally denouncing his compliments the very second he gave them to you. “Come,” he continued, patting his chest with his free hand. “Lay with me for a little before you go.”

“No, you know I’m not going to want to get up after--”

“So don’t leave,” he said it like it wasn’t a big deal. You scoffed at him and shook your head. “Why not?” he pleaded.

“Because, Junmyeon will murder me and hide the body,” you joked. He chuckled along with you.

“That’s not a good enough reason,” he twirled the ends of your hair in between his fingers, just examining your naked body adoringly.

“My life isn’t a good enough reason,” you asked shocked. His eyes trailed away, making a pensive face then looking back at you quickly.

“No!” he said with emphasis, his eyes widening at you. You gasped and slapped his hand away. He laughed at your expense and then tried again

“Pleaseeee, just lay with me!” he pouted at you and his eyes glistened. “I want to hold you.”

How could you say no to that man? You smiled and gave into him, letting your head rest on his chest. Chanyeol shifted so that he was on his side again but now he held you close to him. His chin resting on the crown of your head and your face buried into his clavicle. His embraced tightened as he nuzzled into your hair.

“I promise I won’t ever let anything hurt you again,” he whispered softly as he always did. There wasn’t a day that passed where he didn’t remind you.

x-x-x

“There is no way you possibly think that Korean food is spicier than Mexican food!” you screeched into the phone. You were trying not to make too much noise as you walked into your apartment. The last thing you wanted to do was wake up the beasts aka your roommates. But Chanyeol was making it difficult by spewing nonsense into the phone.

“Yes, it is! I’ve tried Mexican food and it’s not that spicy,” he said as a matter of factly. You walked into your kitchen and put your bags down. After leaving the EXO dorm, Chanyeol called you immediately as always. He stayed on the phone with the whole way home. On your way back, you bought some pastries and bread for Damon and Maya as a thank you for helping you with that BTS situation. You felt a bit of guilt when Chanyeol suggested all kinds of pastries for them as you were in the bakery.

“Where did you try this Mexican food?” you asked, supporting the phone with your shoulder as you took the boxes out of the bags.

“In America!”

“Okay, where in America?”

“Taco Bell,” he said proudly. You almost spat.

“That’s not real Mexican food, Chanyeol,” you said trying to stifle back laughter.

“Yes it is! They’re tacos and burritos! What’s the difference?”

“(Y/N), shut the fuck up. In this house, we sleep in the middle of the night into the goddamn morning,” Damon interjected from down the hall.

“Okay, my bad, I’m sorry,” you called out quietly.

“Who are you talking to?” Chanyeol asked, his voice stern.

“No one,” you replied simply.

“It didn’t sound like no one,” he retaliated. Here we go, you thought.

“Chanyeol, it was Damon. I just told you I was home,” your voice expressing your annoyance.

“You sure you went home and not to your new client’s house?” his attitude completely changing back into the Chanyeol that you least liked.

“Don’t be like that, the sun is out and it’s basically daytime already,” you whispered. “Who am I going to see now?” You pointed at the window as if he was there to see it.

“So why are you whispering?” he doubted.

“Because I don’t wanna wake up Damon and Maya,” you explained, hoping you two could go back to talking about food. But you knew it was over.

“I see, well...it is pretty early. I should get my day started,” he said flatly. You made your way to your room and closed the door behind you.

“Are you going to sleep?” you asked with concern. You heard him sigh on the other side of the phone.

“No I’ll be fine,” again, his tone was flat. You leaned against the wall and threw your hands up in frustration.

“You have to sleep. Even if it’s for a li--”

“I said, I’ll be fine. Don't worry about me,” there was a silence. Just as you were going to say something, he beat you to it. “Look, I’m gonna go. I’ll talk to you later. Bye.”

Before you got to get a word in, he hung up on you. You let the phone fall to the ground as you stomped to your bed. You threw yourself on top, letting your face be suffocated by the many pillows that adorned your bed. Out of pure frustration, you let out a wailing scream, right into the pillow.

“Shut uuuuup!” you heard coming from Damon or Maya’s room. You couldn’t hear over your own screams, physically and mentally. Chanyeol always promised to protect you but he couldn’t protect you from the two things that hurt you the most, his jealousy and yourself. As you laid there, you thought about it more clearly.

It wasn’t like his jealousy wasn’t justified. Granted he didn’t know about Jin, but Jin was lovely. A very handsome man with a great sense of humor and a laugh that could fill you up with joy. At the end of the day, you didn’t love Jin. You loved Chanyeol. Or at least that’s what you were telling yourself.

The truth of it is, Jin fucked you up. He showed you a tenderness and passion that Chanyeol never showed. Chanyeol was fast sex, crazy rough sex accompanied by an intense and intimate cuddling after. But Jin was the opposite. Jin was slow and observant. He wanted to feel you every inch of you, indulge you and get drunk off your body. He was soft and gentle. Chanyeol is rugged and intoxicating.

But you were used to rugged and intoxicating. One could say that it was a type you had. But your mind was flooding back to Jin. The way his lips felt on your body, like a feather landing on the ground. His hands weren’t roaming your body, they were investigating. Memorizing your every curve and imperfection.

Suddenly, you felt yourself get hot. Thinking about Jin, even after Chanyeol fucked you into his mattress just a few hours ago, was exciting you. Your hand made its way down to the source of your heat. You pried your lips open and placed a finger on your clit, moving against it slowly.

Jin spilled into your mind again as you rubbed more vigorously. You thought about his lips engulfing your nipple, sucking and circling his tongue around it. The way he rubbed your pussy up and down, making you melt in his hand. You toyed your entrance with your fingertips as you thought back to his fingers in your mouth, tasting yourself.

“Oppa doesn’t like games.” His voice echoed in your head as you inserted a finger inside you, envisioning in your head that it was Jin pumping into you. You closed your eyes and saw him looking down at you. That glistening skin, those plush full lips. Faster and faster you pumped into yourself. Wanting Jin, needing him. Your hips bucked at the thought of his cock swelling in you. That gaze he shot at you before he came.

“Come for oppa, jagi. Come for me.”

It was like you could feel his breath on your face. His voice was so crisp in your head. You thrashed your head back and let that familiar wave of utter bliss run through you, and drip down all over your fingers. When you pulled out, you laid there with your eyes closed, your chest rising and falling rapidly.

The only thought you could think of was, What the fuck is wrong with me? You had just gotten dicked down but a man you were sure you loved and now you’re touching yourself at the thought of another. Strangely enough, the guilt you felt precious started to tear into you. But why? You thought. Why do I even fucking care?

As you let your sleep consume you, the last thing you were able to think of was Jin, cupping your face the way he did gazing at you like you were the only woman in the world.

A/N ;; Tell me what you think guys! I'm trying to post all my chapters as soon as I'm done with them. Like I said, the Chanyeol x (Y/N) x Seokjin interaction is coming soon. I promise!

[tbarnes0602]

Rude Husbands Anonymous

Tanya:

Good afternoon,

We heard from your lovely devoted wife that you may be in need of our services. She conveyed to us that you are unwilling to clean the dishes and ignore for more than 2 seconds. These are terrible grievances and you have no idea of the impact you are leaving on your darling wife. She has enrolled you in our Rude Husbands Anonymous program for the next 20 years. Please do not panic when you have a black bag shoved over your face and shoved into the back of a car. This is how we pick up all of our members, they seem to enjoy it. In this program you will learn how to wait on your wife hand and foot and all the other body parts you possess. You will join an exclusive program that will teach you how to automatically agree with everything your wife says and you will get a gourmet meal of what tastes like cardboard. By the end of your stay you will be the perfect husband and won’t recognize yourself after all the plastic surgery.

We look forward to removing you from the trunk of the car. Please do not look behind you.

Sincerely,

Rude Husbands Anonymous

-------

Sean:

Dear RHA club,

You say the word “lovely” when you actual meant to type “murderous”.  I have been cleaning dishes and even constructed new ones using my patented dish creating process.  The new dishes were to replace the ones that she personally chipped with her callous disregard to the “dish safety” program.  The same program that says, “dish lives matter”, which is the mantra that all dishes live by.

As much as I appreciate her enrolling me in the aforementioned “Rude Husbands Anonymous” club, I have taken the liberty of contacting the club to make some small changes.   The club has since changed its name to “Avoiding Murderous Wives Club”.  The main purpose of this club is to train its members to watch for flying knives or various weapons that may used to end their husband’s life.  It even covers “how to sleep with both eyes open” and other useful tactics so that they can continue to enjoy the world of the living.  

The program that teaches husbands to create gourmet meals for their wives is now a program to check for any ingredients that may pose a threat to their lives.  Ingredients such as rusty razor blades that our carefully disguised as tomato slices, are now no match to the observant husband’s eye.

The last part of the program covers the plastic surgery but only as a disguise so that the wife doesn’t recognize the man she plots to murder.  Relationships can be started anew and hopefully without future murder plans.

Sincerely, Men lives DO matter and they don’t deserve to be treated badly by being bagged and thrown into a trunk, especially the trunk of a rusty beater.

Tanya:

Dear Bald Men Lives Don’t Matter,

We received your phone call and are not sure why you e-mailed us about the changes to our own program. We have since called the Insane Asylum agreeing that there is nothing that can be done with you. We took into consideration your ideas for our program and have unanimously rejected them and since added more security measures. We now require masks duct taped to our patients mouths and yard sticks to measure six feet of distance. We also have made padded rooms mandatory and now have a new anti-stress room for wives of our patients. In this room we strap husbands of the said wives to the wall and allow their wives to throw whatever they like at the said husbands. We have found this preserves the lives of those hard working wives and has allowed more life insurance plans to be cashed in. We would like to thank you for giving us this wonderful idea. We have sent you a complimentary cop to arrest you and a coupon to try out our program when you are insanity free. Please do not come before you have fully recovered so our other patients don’t catch it.

Sincerely,

Wives Lives Matter More

Sean:

Thanks for your correspondence, your message has been sent to our SPAM box.   Nobody will read it and it will soon be automatically deleted forever.   If it were read, I think the response would have been something of this nature:

I have contacted the Insane Asylum and they agreed to change their name to something more politically correct.  It will not be referred to as the “Permanently Out to Lunch Club”.  The POTLC has instructed me to instruct you to instruct your people to instruct yourself again, that they will not be admitting Sean into their facility.  Instead, they will be promoting him to king of the world where he hereby declares that the rest of this year, men will not need to wear masks or prance around looking for magical vaccines.  Women are now required to wear masks so that their cooties don’t spread to other men.  Duct tape was deemed to week to properly secure the masks, so this has been changed to steel straps. The complimentary police officer came by and we had a few drinks.  I appreciate you having him stop by.  Great times!

Tanya:

FYI - Your obvious Dear Man who Obviously Does Not Understand the Spam Folder, I’m glad the insane asylum will NOT be referred to as the “Permanently Out to Lunch Club” because that means you were NOT made king. By them NOT making you king we are saved from another pandemic. Luckily I had already informed the insane asylum of your love of eating bats and then coughing on bystanders. I’m not sure why you are going to have a week of properly securing masks when you have refused to believe in the “pandemic”. The police officer is stuck in traffic so I’m not sure who you were drinking with….I have informed the insane asylum of your new friend. They suggest you should break up with this new friend and consider it harmful for everyone else’s health. We also are not sure how you could come up with a response to an e-mail that you have not read. We believe your condition is getting worse and have chosen to burn down your house with you in it to save the world. Good bye BatMan!

Sincerely, Insane Asylums against those who eat bats and cough on innocent bystanders.

[maryofone]

Monster In Chief

Donald Trump is so scary for so many reasons, but for me there’s one story that sends a shiver down my spine more than anything else about him.

The only reason I’m even talking about that piece of shit is because these past few days the White House has been getting called out for supporting and protecting a couple of wife-beaters. Trump said some pretty warm and fuzzy stuff for one of the accused, and of course this isn’t surprising but it is making me think of that scary story I heard before he was elected.

There are so many stories about Donald Trump, and they all make him sound like an asshole. When I found out about his fraudulent University that robbed old and poor people I thought he was a next-level asshole. And then when I heard the “grab ‘em by the pussy” tape I thought he was a next-level PIG asshole, but it wasn’t until I heard about the deposition his ex-wife gave in their divorce settlement that my blood ran cold.

For all of you headline skimmers out there who really only knew that Ivana Trump once accused D-bag of raping her, let’s get into the horrifying weeds here for a minute. Once upon a time when they were married, Donald wanted to have a bald spot on his head removed, so Ivana recommended him to a plastic surgeon who could perform a ‘scalp reduction’ surgery. Apparently the results were more painful than the shithead was expecting, so in a fit of rage he took it out on Ivana. Specifically, he ripped a chunk of hair out of her head and then fucked her against her will. After she spent the night locked in a bedroom alone, crying, Trump asked her the next morning, “with menacing casualness, ‘Does it hurt?’”

FUCK. I can’t tell you how much this story chills me. Ripped her fucking hair out? How fucking barbaric is that? And you know, raping her afterward. But there’s something about his reaction to his own behaviour in the morning that I find especially monstrous. Here’s why:

Statistically, men are quite fond and quite capable of slaughtering women, which makes them really no different from a wild animal that could kill us. That’s why domestic abuse is so fucked up because it’s like you’re living with a grizzly bear that could maul you at any moment. The only pitiful defense men ever make for attacking their wives is that they lost control “in a fit of rage,” before returning to their normal, civilized state. And that’s what’s so fucked up about Ivana’s story, and what Trump said the morning after. Well after his fit of rage had subsided, and he blew his precious load AND had a full night’s sleep, he calmly taunted her about what he did. So, so, so much more dangerous than a wild animal. This guy is a fucking MONSTER.

Before the election Ivana made a statement about the deposition being “without merit,” and you could practically hear the gun being cocked behind her back. I can only imagine how many secret task forces Trump’s got working around the clock to keep all of these women quiet.

Because this story never really leaves my mind, I’m never surprised at how unsympathetic Trump is to any woman in any situation. Of course he defends employees who hit their wives. Behind closed doors I bet he would shake their fucking hand for it.

Donald Trump represents a dying breed of man, but he also has more power than any person on Earth. He’s been able to escape SO many consequences that he deserved SO much, it’s fucking depressing. The only consolation is watching karma grab him right by the scalp.

[anythingstephenking]

Multiverse Overload

It seems unreasonable to think I was finishing up Nightmares & Dreamscapes yesterday morning and a little over 24 hours later I am back, having just finished one of King’s longest novels, Insomnia, in one cycle of sleep. But here I am. Let’s get into it.

I suppose I wasn’t kidding that I was ready for a novel but I didn’t realize how hungry for this story it was. Or maybe call it boredom - 3 day weekends with 95+ degree temperatures don’t lend themselves to my pasty irish ass spending any time anywhere other than the couch.

I knew little of this story headed in. Actually a little embarrassed to say I thought it somehow related to the Christopher Nolan movie of the same name. Once I cracked the spine and read the teaser copy, I knew this was not true. Also, I was worried. Really, really worried. Exhibit A:

Ralph Roberts is seeing some strange happenings in Derry, Maine.

He sees auras around human beings that show him the horror threatening them.

He sees a nice young research chemist like Ed Deepneau turn into a savage wife beater.

He sees Charlie Pickering with blood in his eyes and a gleaming knife in his hand.

And he sees three little bald doctors in the homes of the dying - and he begins to suspect who they really are.

No wonder Ralph stays awake all night. You would too.

INSOMNIA

“JFC, if I’m stepping into another Tommyknockers I’m going to scream” I said to the cat, who was chasing a bug around the hotel room and has no fucking clue what the Tommyknockers are. Little bald men. Aliens for sure, right?

Well I was, thankfully, wrong in my assumptions. Making an ass outta u & me, or however that old saying goes. I’ve complained before about whoever is responsible for writing these teasers, deceiving readers into believing that Gerald’s Game was a spooky bedtime story, Pet Sematary scared King himself, or that Insomnia is about a dude with, well, insomnia.

In reality, this book is as close to a Dark Tower book as it could get without actually being one. I’d rack it against The Talisman in Dark Tower adjacency, and although not as an enthralling tale as The Tailsman, a good chapter in the mythology all the same.

Ralph Roberts, a senior citizen residing in our favorite vacation destination, Derry, Maine, loses his wife to cancer and spills into a depression as one would do when your companion of 45 years is snuffed out of the living. What begins as minor bouts of insomnia quickly evolves into an inability to catch more than 2 hours a night. As someone who has suffered from depression-induced insomnia and sleep paralysis, a terrifying phenomenon I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy, I feel for Ralph. Sleep deprivation is no joke, even if you’re awake watching Arrested Development for the 400th time at 3am. Ralph’s understandably exhausted, and assumes his mind is going when he starts seeing brightly colored auras surrounding humans, objects, street lights, you name it.

(Side story: Once I went on a date with a guy who - after I expressed discomfort in discussing the difference between irony and paradox 5 minutes into our first date - told me I had an unclean aura. I told him to go fuck himself (certainly something someone who’s aura is a little dirty would say) and he gathered his coat and left without a word. Anytime someone mentions auras I can’t help think of this guy - do you think he ever found a gal with a nice looking aura and the ability to discern the difference between irony and paradox? We will never know.)

In any case, Ralph does find himself a lady by the name of Lois, who in fact, does have a real pretty aura. And turns out she’s caught the insomnia and can see the auras too, along with other things that most humans can’t process. Turns out insomnia in Derry can flip a switch to entering worlds that aren’t our own.

Without going too far down the rabbit hole that is the plot of this novel (which squarely lies in the top ten of longest King tomes - say that 10x fast), Ralph and Lois team up on a quest against evil, as so many of King’s protagonists do. I was obviously committed to learning how it ended as I stayed up past my bedtime last night and reached for my paperback copy before I had even poured myself a cup of coffee this morning.

The key conflict in Derry of 1994 revolves around a war between pro-lifers and pro-choicers over a feminist speaking in town about women’s rights. Probably the hardest part of this story to swallow - the realization that 25 years later we’re still having the same argument in America with similar violent and tragic results.

This book is not without it’s faults - King called it “stiff & trying too hard” which is pretty accurate. It is way too long. It reads like a first draft that probably needed a stronger editor hand (or two or three) before publication that it just did not get. King’s ability to paint a picture in your mind is, as always, on point; but the writing describing the aural states seem to clog up the storytelling every ten pages or so. The initial painting of these ethereal halos was beautiful; after the 15th or so description they were just in the way. The use of italics for dialogue was distracting; I had to work to keep my eyes from skimming to the dialogue lines and ignoring the rest of the text on the page.

But it also had so many of my favorite things. For one, the connections to other King stories was strong in this one. Like when I am watching Castle Rock, it makes me feel like an insider to notice the little things that connect King’s worlds together. Like a hipster that listens to a band “before they were cool” - don’t you hate those people? Yeah me too. But here we are.

Derry, and all it’s history covered in depth in the pages of IT is rehashed here. We have mentions of the sewers, the Black Spot Fire, the post-Pennywise storm of 1985. The darkness that hangs over this town lingers, even though we were hoping that the Loser’s Club vanquished the darkness in the mid 80s.

Because something else dark is connected to Derry. The Dark Tower lore sits squarely and open here; we see Roland in children’s drawings and travel between worlds like in The Drawing of The Three. We also are introduced to The Crimson King; the guardian of The Dark Tower, Roland’s adversary and ruler of the highest level. He appears here in our world first as Ralph’s dead mother then as a catfish. I mean, IT was a clown living in a macroverse created by a barfing turtle, so I guess that all makes sense. We also learn Ralph and Lois’s quest is to save a young boy named Patrick Danville, who we’re told is very important in the land-o-the-tower. God, I can’t wait to get to the fourth Dark Tower book.

Other than the obvious references to IT and the DT books, we get a quick mention of the untimely death of Gage Creed in Ludlow. There is also a mention of “Aunt Sadie” in Dallas, and my mind wandered to lovely Sadie Dunhill of 11/22/63. I don’t know if King had the foresight (or the initial manuscript) to reference a character that wouldn’t hit the bookstores for another 17 years, but if so, Bravo Mr. King. Bravo.

By far my favorite photo of King that I’ve randomly stumbled upon on the internet.

My remaining questions are really around the nature of Derry - how can Pennywise and The Crimson King exist (in whatever universe) in or around Derry, without bumping into each other? Why so much evil in this one little town? Are they somehow connected? Are they the same person? Like my friend that claimed my aura needed a good washing, we may never know.

7/10

First Line: No one - least of all Dr. Litchfield - came right out and told Ralph Roberts that his wife was going to die, but there came a time when Ralph understood without needing to be told.

Last Line: And she saw, the long white scar on his right forearm was gone.

Adaptations:

None to speak of - another one of King’s works that’s been discussed in depth but never pushed into any kind of actionable development. All the best I think - a movie version could very easily veer into LSD trip territory.

[samanthasroberts]

34 Men Discuss Society’s Insane Double Standards That Favor Women And Hurt Men

Found on AskReddit.

1. If women sexually harass us, its seen as amusing rather than rapey.

One night in a bar, this incredibly drunk, incredibly skanky woman started fucking grinding on me while I was just trying to sit and drink a beer. Rubbing her gross vag all over my pant leg, and generally being disgusting and inappropriate. While this was happening, I thought If the roles were reversed, security would be tossing me out the door headfirst. Instead, people just laughed.

2. If you go anywhere in public with little kids, youre seen as a predator pedo.

Im a 19 y/o male, and I babysit my 3 and 6-year-old girl cousins often. Last time I babysat them, we played tag, then we had to go to the grocery store. The 3-year-old decided that she wants to play tag, and runs away from me, so I chase her down, playfully saying, I’m gonna get ya! in a funny voice cuz it gets her to laugh. A mom passes by and grabs my 3-year-old cousin, takes the 6-year-old, and goes to a manager. My aunt had to come down and tell them that I was watching them. That was the worse it’s been, but if I go anywhere in public with little kids, especially girls, I’m seen as a predator pedo.

3. If you and a girl both get drunk and have sex, only one can be accused of rape.

There was the anti-rape poster I saw a while back, where two teens get drunk and hook up. The dude gets busted for rape since she couldn’t give consent. The poster mentions nothing about it being the other way around, as in the girl getting busted for rape since he couldn’t give consent. The poster completely disregards the dude as a possible victim. It even goes as far as shaming the dude saying he ruined his life. Made me sick. All it did was promote male victims to want to hide even more.

4. Men are always the dumb ones on TV.

That men are always the dumb ones on TV. I grew up with three sisters and my mom, and I’ve always been disregarded as the stupid, out-of-touch male. Then, when I end up being right most of the time, I make a big deal about it and make everything worse, AND ITS THE TVS FAULT.

5. Women dont get blamed for dumping a man; when a man dumps a woman, hes afraid of commitment.

When a woman leaves a relationship she is praised for pursuing her needs, but when man leaves a relationship he is criticized for not being able to commit.

6. Female bisexuality is accepted. Male bisexuals? Theyre just gay.

How female bisexuality is more accepted and acknowledgedsometimes even encouragedthan male bisexuality.

7. Male genital mutilationtotally legal in every country.

Female genital mutilation: Totally illegal in most countries. Male genital mutilation: Totally legal in country.

8. If a woman gets angry at a man, its his fault.

Man gets angry at a woman, he needs to control himself. Woman gets angry at a man, man needs to learn not to make her angry.

9. Our society doesnt believe that women can sexually abuse boys.

It’s probably way too late for this to get any attention but I am a male victim of sexual abuse.

I was first sexually abused when I was four years old. It was swept under the rug because the 25-year-old that did it to me was going through some things and didn’t know any better.

Fast-forward to when I’m 9 and I was sexually abused every Friday for over a year and a half. I was told by my abuser that if I let anyone know, it would be my fault and I would get in trouble. One day I finally told, just wanting it to end even if I got in trouble. What happened? Both me (9) and my female abuser (23) were given a stern talking to. That was it. She went on to live her life. I never saw her again.

Every Friday I was locked in a room and bound. I would be left in the dark while I would have her perform oral (attempted since I was 9 and unable of getting an erection). She would pump me full of fluids and when I had to go to the bathroom she’d have me pee on her. At times she would pee into a cup and try to force me to drink it. If I was being more cooperative than usual she would untie my hands and have me touch her. At the end of every, I dunno what to call itsession?she would tell me that if I told anyone I would be taken from my parents. Even if they didn’t take me from my parents her dad who was a bad man would kill my mom and my sisters.

That is until I was 15 and made a Facebook. She found me on there and would leave comments like look who grew up sexy and stuff like that. I reached out to the adults in my life and they told me to ignore it, which I did. But they told me I was a guy and I could handle it. It’s not something that keeps me awake at night. But in order to get over it I had to harden myself because I’m a guy and guys can’t get raped.

On a previous reddit account I went to open up on a victims of sexual abuse page. I wrote out a multi-page post just getting it out there. The only replies I got were about how I was a guy and I didn’t know what it was like to be violated as a woman. I was harassed for weeks by women on there for trying to compare my experience to theirs.

10. Women can beat us up all they want, but if we hit back, were monsters.

I’m a big guy, I shave my head and grow a beard, most people think I’m intimidating.

Truly I’m timid at heart, I know how to box but have always found a way around confrontation.

I had a girlfriend that got crazy violent when she was mad, knives, tazers, guns, frequently got involved. I hit her a lot in self defense (we were together for 3 years it definitely played into my low self esteem, i loved to hate it) and it completely ruined my psyche. I think of myself as a woman beater, as a misogynist now just knowing that I’m capable of it.

Just the idea that I can hit a woman has driven me to some of my darkest depths and even now typing it I dont feel justified in my actions despite the fact I was protecting my own life.

One night she came at me with a tazer from behind she started it early and I had enough time to move, she tripped and stunned herself, screaming in pain, bruised her forehead hitting it against the floor. Neighbors heard and called the cops and she gave a false statement. Of course looking the way I do it didn’t matter what I said, I spent a night in holding before she dropped the charges and got me out. I guess I’m just thankful she “loved” me enough not to let me get charged with that shit.

It’s made me scared about new relationships because I’m afraid someone can just tell a cop whatever they want and I’ll get fucked.

Shit this will probably get buried but it was nice to say it. edit: this post blew up r.i.p. my inbox. appreciate all the support and kind words. pm me if you want to talk peeps.

11. Stay-at-home dads are lazy losers; stay-at-home moms are empowered heroes.

I’m a stay-at-home father because I’m taking care of my wife and I’s 2 year old son. My wife’s got a career that’s promising advancement and she works sometimes 12 hour days. I often get the Why doesn’t he have a job and He’s a deadbeat dad routine but if I was a woman I’m sure I’d hear about how mothers work so hard as housewives.

TLDR; Man stays home raises child = Lazy, Woman stays home raises child = Hardworking Hero.

12. If youre a male nurse, people think its because you couldnt become a doctor.

When a man is a nurse people think and many times say in their face Couldn’t become a doctor, huh?

13. If a girl sexually assaults you, youre supposed to enjoy it.

I was sexually assaulted by a girl when I was plastered once and kept saying no I don’t want this. Woke up feeling violated and insanely uncomfortable yet when I told people they all told me to suck it up and I should’ve enjoyed getting some action.

14. There are huge gender disparities in criminal sentencing.

That women who have sex with underage boys aren’t given the same sentences as men who do the same with underage girls.

15. If men show feelings, theyre seen as pussies.

I don’t like how if guys show feelings and emotions they’re some kind of pussy and if a chick does it’s normal. We are all humans and we all have the same emotions that aren’t good to bottle up.

16. Guys are still expected to be the breadwinner.

I don’t like that there’s still this idea that guys have to be the breadwinners and provide for families. Some guys are cool with being househusbands, and women are just as capable of bringing home the money.

17. If a man who murdered a woman spoke at a Mens March, itd be national news.

There was a speaker at the women’s march on Washington named Donna Hylton. She got up on stage and talked about how she had spent 25 years in prison (not mentioning why of course), and the audience cheered.

Turns out, she spent 25 years in prison because in 1985, she and a handful of other people kidnapped a 60-year-old man, tried to ransom him for $435,000, tortured him for three weeks (Hylton personally sodomized him with a metal rod), strangled him, and stuffed his body into a chest to decompose.

I can’t help but wonder how a man with an equivalent record would be received at the same event.

18. Women are allowed to reject guys based on their looks without being seen as shallow.

When I turn down chubby women I’m shallow, but I get turned down for being bald and it just her preference.

19. If a man cheats, hes an asshole; if a woman does, its the mans fault.

I hate the TV portrayal that if a man cheats its cause hes an asshole and heartless but if a women does its scandalous and its cause her husband must either treat her bad or is just never around.

20. Despite what Hillary Clinton said, men are the primary victims of war.

That men for some reason have to be soldiers in some countries while woman only .

21. Divorce laws are lopsidedly in favor of women.

Divorce law.

Women are entitled to alimony at a MUCH higher percentage, even when she’s the primary bread winner.

The idea that a divorced woman has the right to a standard of living consistent to when you were married is gross. No one is entitled to a standard of living, that’s life. That we can be divorced and I can lose my job but still have to pay to keep you living how we were when we were married and I was employed…its insane.

22. Sex toys for girlsnormal. Sex toys for guysweird loser.

When a girl buys a vibrator, its seen as a bit of naughty fun. BUT when a guy orders a 240 Volt FuckMaster Pro 5000 blowup latex doll with 6 speed pulsating vagina, elasticized anus with non-drip semen collection tray, together with optional built in realistic orgasm scream surround sound system, he’s called a pervert?

23. A guy who plays video games for hours has a problem; a woman who watches Netflix all night doesnt.

When I play 3 hours of video games I have a problem. When my wife watches 5 hours of Netflix every night its not a problem. Edit: I agree this is not a gender thing. Sorry about answering the question wrong. There is a double standard with gaming/television watching though.

24. Men are expected to just sit back and let women hit them. If they complain, theyre a pussy; if they hit back, theyre a monster.

Domestic Violence. I just got out of an abusive relationship two weeks ago and I’m shocked at how hard it was for me to talk about it and get taken seriously with my peers. She was so mean and I’m the exact opposite these days. Only today have I felt validated for everything when I happened upon a counselor on another thread. I feel terrible about myself still and apparently that’s normal. I’m 6’4″ and a professional bouncer/bodyguard but let me tell you. Men can be abused just as easily as women. It was so bad I’m spending my lunch break here and trying to find a support group. The abuse was mental and very physical. Because I’m a large man though no one would take me seriously. It was always my fault, always me to blame. The preconceived general thought is that men are tough and can handle it. If not then I’m made to feel emasculated and told I’m a pussy. The truth is I just don’t believe in harming people I care about. I’m ranting now because I still can’t really talk about it to anyone. It’s a sad and shitty double standard. No one should have to deal with abuse.

25. Part of being a man is being disposable and no one giving a fuck if your life ends up ruined.

That part of being a man is being disposable and no one giving a fuck if your life ends up ruined.

We hear talk all the time about the gender earnings gap, women’s right to bodily autonomy (via abortions and access to birth control), and other women’s issues, and those are all important things to discuss.

What we don’t hear as often is the fact that 84% of the homeless are men, 92% of workplace fatalities happen to men, 91% of people in prison are men, etc.

We talk about the subtle forms of discrimination in society that result in women choosing to pursue careers which don’t compensate them financially the same way that careers popular with men dobut we never talk about the subtle forms of discrimination that cause men to at a rate nearly an order of magnitude higher than women.

26. When a woman is raped its a tragedy; when a man is raped its a joke.

When a woman is raped its a tragedy; when a man is raped its a joke. When a woman falsely reports a rape, it ruins the man’s life, she gets off scot-free or a tiny jail term.

27. Men who take selfies are much more likely to be accused of narcissism.

I have to say that the standard of what is acceptable on social media. If a female Instagram profile is full of 400 attractive selfies, people are not as critical of the narcissistic side of the pictures as much as they would if it were a guy. Not that I would want to post 400 selfies, but constantly posting pictures of yourself in specific poses isn’t a form of modeling or self-love as much as it is an expression of narcissism.

28. Theres no demand for plus size male models.

How we apparently need plus sized models to represent all women’s body types, but the thought of having male models with beer bellies and no rippling muscles/6 packs is disgusting.

29. Women get shorter sentences for the same crimes as men.

Women who can’t pay child support go to special homes. Men who can’t pay child support go to prison.

Women get shorter sentences for the same crimes as men, such as murder, rape, theft, or simple misdemeanors. Sometimes they aren’t punished at all

If a drunk male and a drunk female have sex, the female could charge for rape since she could not consent even though both parties voluntarily intoxicated themselves. This isn’t a common problem but it happens more than it needs to

Female requirements for the military, police, and fire responders are easier. During basic training in the army I saw a dude carrying 2 rucksacks (google it) and a girl walking behind him with nothing on her back.

Male rape victims are ignored or taken less seriously

Sexual harassment in the workspace happens to men and to women, men are just less likely to report it since they’re taken less seriously.

There are female quotas for CEO jobs, which inadvertently puts more qualified men out of a job in the name of gender equality.

Men pay higher auto premiums.

Women in divorce courts are more likely to win custody.

Men who want to teach young children are weird creepy pedophiles.

30. Its not OK to think a girl is too fat, but its OK for her to think guys are too short.

Its not OK to think a girl is too fat, but its OK for her to think guys are too short.

31. If a guy cries or shows any emotion whatsoever, he’s weak or not masculine.

That if a guy cries or shows any emotion whatsoever, he’s weak or not masculine. Fuck that. Guys are humans, not robots. They should be as expressive with their feelings as they want with whoever they want. I’d argue that trying to repress your own vulnerabilities is the real weakness.

32. Women who make rape accusations are automatically believed, even if theyre lying.

I fucking hate it that a woman can accuse a man of rape, and everyone’s on her side without a doubt, even if she’s lying. Flip it around, and the first thing the guy gets thrown in his face is probably something like You’re supposed to enjoy it, or You let a woman take control of you? That’s more scarring to the man than it is to the womanat least people take the woman’s word for it.

33. On a sinking ship, its women and children first.

The biggest double standard to me is ‘saving the women and children first.’ Why does a man’s life suddenly have less value in these sorts of situations?

34. Pro-choice? Men have absolutely no choice in the matter.

If an unmarried couple becomes pregnant the woman has 100% of the choice to keep the baby or have an abortion. If the man wants the baby and the woman doesn’t the man is out of luck. If the man doesn’t want the baby and the woman does the man is on the hook for 18 years of child support. Controversial I know, but I’d like to hear thoughts.

Source: http://allofbeer.com/2017/07/16/34-men-discuss-societys-insane-double-standards-that-favor-women-and-hurt-men/

from All of Beer https://allofbeer.wordpress.com/2017/07/16/34-men-discuss-societys-insane-double-standards-that-favor-women-and-hurt-men/

[adambstingus]

34 Men Discuss Society’s Insane Double Standards That Favor Women And Hurt Men

Found on AskReddit.

1. If women sexually harass us, its seen as amusing rather than rapey.

One night in a bar, this incredibly drunk, incredibly skanky woman started fucking grinding on me while I was just trying to sit and drink a beer. Rubbing her gross vag all over my pant leg, and generally being disgusting and inappropriate. While this was happening, I thought If the roles were reversed, security would be tossing me out the door headfirst. Instead, people just laughed.

2. If you go anywhere in public with little kids, youre seen as a predator pedo.

Im a 19 y/o male, and I babysit my 3 and 6-year-old girl cousins often. Last time I babysat them, we played tag, then we had to go to the grocery store. The 3-year-old decided that she wants to play tag, and runs away from me, so I chase her down, playfully saying, I’m gonna get ya! in a funny voice cuz it gets her to laugh. A mom passes by and grabs my 3-year-old cousin, takes the 6-year-old, and goes to a manager. My aunt had to come down and tell them that I was watching them. That was the worse it’s been, but if I go anywhere in public with little kids, especially girls, I’m seen as a predator pedo.

3. If you and a girl both get drunk and have sex, only one can be accused of rape.

There was the anti-rape poster I saw a while back, where two teens get drunk and hook up. The dude gets busted for rape since she couldn’t give consent. The poster mentions nothing about it being the other way around, as in the girl getting busted for rape since he couldn’t give consent. The poster completely disregards the dude as a possible victim. It even goes as far as shaming the dude saying he ruined his life. Made me sick. All it did was promote male victims to want to hide even more.

4. Men are always the dumb ones on TV.

That men are always the dumb ones on TV. I grew up with three sisters and my mom, and I’ve always been disregarded as the stupid, out-of-touch male. Then, when I end up being right most of the time, I make a big deal about it and make everything worse, AND ITS THE TVS FAULT.

5. Women dont get blamed for dumping a man; when a man dumps a woman, hes afraid of commitment.

When a woman leaves a relationship she is praised for pursuing her needs, but when man leaves a relationship he is criticized for not being able to commit.

6. Female bisexuality is accepted. Male bisexuals? Theyre just gay.

How female bisexuality is more accepted and acknowledgedsometimes even encouragedthan male bisexuality.

7. Male genital mutilationtotally legal in every country.

Female genital mutilation: Totally illegal in most countries. Male genital mutilation: Totally legal in country.

8. If a woman gets angry at a man, its his fault.

Man gets angry at a woman, he needs to control himself. Woman gets angry at a man, man needs to learn not to make her angry.

9. Our society doesnt believe that women can sexually abuse boys.

It’s probably way too late for this to get any attention but I am a male victim of sexual abuse.

I was first sexually abused when I was four years old. It was swept under the rug because the 25-year-old that did it to me was going through some things and didn’t know any better.

Fast-forward to when I’m 9 and I was sexually abused every Friday for over a year and a half. I was told by my abuser that if I let anyone know, it would be my fault and I would get in trouble. One day I finally told, just wanting it to end even if I got in trouble. What happened? Both me (9) and my female abuser (23) were given a stern talking to. That was it. She went on to live her life. I never saw her again.

Every Friday I was locked in a room and bound. I would be left in the dark while I would have her perform oral (attempted since I was 9 and unable of getting an erection). She would pump me full of fluids and when I had to go to the bathroom she’d have me pee on her. At times she would pee into a cup and try to force me to drink it. If I was being more cooperative than usual she would untie my hands and have me touch her. At the end of every, I dunno what to call itsession?she would tell me that if I told anyone I would be taken from my parents. Even if they didn’t take me from my parents her dad who was a bad man would kill my mom and my sisters.

That is until I was 15 and made a Facebook. She found me on there and would leave comments like look who grew up sexy and stuff like that. I reached out to the adults in my life and they told me to ignore it, which I did. But they told me I was a guy and I could handle it. It’s not something that keeps me awake at night. But in order to get over it I had to harden myself because I’m a guy and guys can’t get raped.

On a previous reddit account I went to open up on a victims of sexual abuse page. I wrote out a multi-page post just getting it out there. The only replies I got were about how I was a guy and I didn’t know what it was like to be violated as a woman. I was harassed for weeks by women on there for trying to compare my experience to theirs.

10. Women can beat us up all they want, but if we hit back, were monsters.

I’m a big guy, I shave my head and grow a beard, most people think I’m intimidating.

Truly I’m timid at heart, I know how to box but have always found a way around confrontation.

I had a girlfriend that got crazy violent when she was mad, knives, tazers, guns, frequently got involved. I hit her a lot in self defense (we were together for 3 years it definitely played into my low self esteem, i loved to hate it) and it completely ruined my psyche. I think of myself as a woman beater, as a misogynist now just knowing that I’m capable of it.

Just the idea that I can hit a woman has driven me to some of my darkest depths and even now typing it I dont feel justified in my actions despite the fact I was protecting my own life.

One night she came at me with a tazer from behind she started it early and I had enough time to move, she tripped and stunned herself, screaming in pain, bruised her forehead hitting it against the floor. Neighbors heard and called the cops and she gave a false statement. Of course looking the way I do it didn’t matter what I said, I spent a night in holding before she dropped the charges and got me out. I guess I’m just thankful she “loved” me enough not to let me get charged with that shit.

It’s made me scared about new relationships because I’m afraid someone can just tell a cop whatever they want and I’ll get fucked.

Shit this will probably get buried but it was nice to say it. edit: this post blew up r.i.p. my inbox. appreciate all the support and kind words. pm me if you want to talk peeps.

11. Stay-at-home dads are lazy losers; stay-at-home moms are empowered heroes.

I’m a stay-at-home father because I’m taking care of my wife and I’s 2 year old son. My wife’s got a career that’s promising advancement and she works sometimes 12 hour days. I often get the Why doesn’t he have a job and He’s a deadbeat dad routine but if I was a woman I’m sure I’d hear about how mothers work so hard as housewives.

TLDR; Man stays home raises child = Lazy, Woman stays home raises child = Hardworking Hero.

12. If youre a male nurse, people think its because you couldnt become a doctor.

When a man is a nurse people think and many times say in their face Couldn’t become a doctor, huh?

13. If a girl sexually assaults you, youre supposed to enjoy it.

I was sexually assaulted by a girl when I was plastered once and kept saying no I don’t want this. Woke up feeling violated and insanely uncomfortable yet when I told people they all told me to suck it up and I should’ve enjoyed getting some action.

14. There are huge gender disparities in criminal sentencing.

That women who have sex with underage boys aren’t given the same sentences as men who do the same with underage girls.

15. If men show feelings, theyre seen as pussies.

I don’t like how if guys show feelings and emotions they’re some kind of pussy and if a chick does it’s normal. We are all humans and we all have the same emotions that aren’t good to bottle up.

16. Guys are still expected to be the breadwinner.

I don’t like that there’s still this idea that guys have to be the breadwinners and provide for families. Some guys are cool with being househusbands, and women are just as capable of bringing home the money.

17. If a man who murdered a woman spoke at a Mens March, itd be national news.

There was a speaker at the women’s march on Washington named Donna Hylton. She got up on stage and talked about how she had spent 25 years in prison (not mentioning why of course), and the audience cheered.

Turns out, she spent 25 years in prison because in 1985, she and a handful of other people kidnapped a 60-year-old man, tried to ransom him for $435,000, tortured him for three weeks (Hylton personally sodomized him with a metal rod), strangled him, and stuffed his body into a chest to decompose.

I can’t help but wonder how a man with an equivalent record would be received at the same event.

18. Women are allowed to reject guys based on their looks without being seen as shallow.

When I turn down chubby women I’m shallow, but I get turned down for being bald and it just her preference.

19. If a man cheats, hes an asshole; if a woman does, its the mans fault.

I hate the TV portrayal that if a man cheats its cause hes an asshole and heartless but if a women does its scandalous and its cause her husband must either treat her bad or is just never around.

20. Despite what Hillary Clinton said, men are the primary victims of war.

That men for some reason have to be soldiers in some countries while woman only .

21. Divorce laws are lopsidedly in favor of women.

Divorce law.

Women are entitled to alimony at a MUCH higher percentage, even when she’s the primary bread winner.

The idea that a divorced woman has the right to a standard of living consistent to when you were married is gross. No one is entitled to a standard of living, that’s life. That we can be divorced and I can lose my job but still have to pay to keep you living how we were when we were married and I was employed…its insane.

22. Sex toys for girlsnormal. Sex toys for guysweird loser.

When a girl buys a vibrator, its seen as a bit of naughty fun. BUT when a guy orders a 240 Volt FuckMaster Pro 5000 blowup latex doll with 6 speed pulsating vagina, elasticized anus with non-drip semen collection tray, together with optional built in realistic orgasm scream surround sound system, he’s called a pervert?

23. A guy who plays video games for hours has a problem; a woman who watches Netflix all night doesnt.

When I play 3 hours of video games I have a problem. When my wife watches 5 hours of Netflix every night its not a problem. Edit: I agree this is not a gender thing. Sorry about answering the question wrong. There is a double standard with gaming/television watching though.

24. Men are expected to just sit back and let women hit them. If they complain, theyre a pussy; if they hit back, theyre a monster.

Domestic Violence. I just got out of an abusive relationship two weeks ago and I’m shocked at how hard it was for me to talk about it and get taken seriously with my peers. She was so mean and I’m the exact opposite these days. Only today have I felt validated for everything when I happened upon a counselor on another thread. I feel terrible about myself still and apparently that’s normal. I’m 6’4″ and a professional bouncer/bodyguard but let me tell you. Men can be abused just as easily as women. It was so bad I’m spending my lunch break here and trying to find a support group. The abuse was mental and very physical. Because I’m a large man though no one would take me seriously. It was always my fault, always me to blame. The preconceived general thought is that men are tough and can handle it. If not then I’m made to feel emasculated and told I’m a pussy. The truth is I just don’t believe in harming people I care about. I’m ranting now because I still can’t really talk about it to anyone. It’s a sad and shitty double standard. No one should have to deal with abuse.

25. Part of being a man is being disposable and no one giving a fuck if your life ends up ruined.

That part of being a man is being disposable and no one giving a fuck if your life ends up ruined.

We hear talk all the time about the gender earnings gap, women’s right to bodily autonomy (via abortions and access to birth control), and other women’s issues, and those are all important things to discuss.

What we don’t hear as often is the fact that 84% of the homeless are men, 92% of workplace fatalities happen to men, 91% of people in prison are men, etc.

We talk about the subtle forms of discrimination in society that result in women choosing to pursue careers which don’t compensate them financially the same way that careers popular with men dobut we never talk about the subtle forms of discrimination that cause men to at a rate nearly an order of magnitude higher than women.

26. When a woman is raped its a tragedy; when a man is raped its a joke.

When a woman is raped its a tragedy; when a man is raped its a joke. When a woman falsely reports a rape, it ruins the man’s life, she gets off scot-free or a tiny jail term.

27. Men who take selfies are much more likely to be accused of narcissism.

I have to say that the standard of what is acceptable on social media. If a female Instagram profile is full of 400 attractive selfies, people are not as critical of the narcissistic side of the pictures as much as they would if it were a guy. Not that I would want to post 400 selfies, but constantly posting pictures of yourself in specific poses isn’t a form of modeling or self-love as much as it is an expression of narcissism.

28. Theres no demand for plus size male models.

How we apparently need plus sized models to represent all women’s body types, but the thought of having male models with beer bellies and no rippling muscles/6 packs is disgusting.

29. Women get shorter sentences for the same crimes as men.

Women who can’t pay child support go to special homes. Men who can’t pay child support go to prison.

Women get shorter sentences for the same crimes as men, such as murder, rape, theft, or simple misdemeanors. Sometimes they aren’t punished at all

If a drunk male and a drunk female have sex, the female could charge for rape since she could not consent even though both parties voluntarily intoxicated themselves. This isn’t a common problem but it happens more than it needs to

Female requirements for the military, police, and fire responders are easier. During basic training in the army I saw a dude carrying 2 rucksacks (google it) and a girl walking behind him with nothing on her back.

Male rape victims are ignored or taken less seriously

Sexual harassment in the workspace happens to men and to women, men are just less likely to report it since they’re taken less seriously.

There are female quotas for CEO jobs, which inadvertently puts more qualified men out of a job in the name of gender equality.

Men pay higher auto premiums.

Women in divorce courts are more likely to win custody.

Men who want to teach young children are weird creepy pedophiles.

30. Its not OK to think a girl is too fat, but its OK for her to think guys are too short.

Its not OK to think a girl is too fat, but its OK for her to think guys are too short.

31. If a guy cries or shows any emotion whatsoever, he’s weak or not masculine.

That if a guy cries or shows any emotion whatsoever, he’s weak or not masculine. Fuck that. Guys are humans, not robots. They should be as expressive with their feelings as they want with whoever they want. I’d argue that trying to repress your own vulnerabilities is the real weakness.

32. Women who make rape accusations are automatically believed, even if theyre lying.

I fucking hate it that a woman can accuse a man of rape, and everyone’s on her side without a doubt, even if she’s lying. Flip it around, and the first thing the guy gets thrown in his face is probably something like You’re supposed to enjoy it, or You let a woman take control of you? That’s more scarring to the man than it is to the womanat least people take the woman’s word for it.

33. On a sinking ship, its women and children first.

The biggest double standard to me is ‘saving the women and children first.’ Why does a man’s life suddenly have less value in these sorts of situations?

34. Pro-choice? Men have absolutely no choice in the matter.

If an unmarried couple becomes pregnant the woman has 100% of the choice to keep the baby or have an abortion. If the man wants the baby and the woman doesn’t the man is out of luck. If the man doesn’t want the baby and the woman does the man is on the hook for 18 years of child support. Controversial I know, but I’d like to hear thoughts.

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/2017/07/16/34-men-discuss-societys-insane-double-standards-that-favor-women-and-hurt-men/ from All of Beer https://allofbeercom.tumblr.com/post/163070503847

[allofbeercom]

34 Men Discuss Society’s Insane Double Standards That Favor Women And Hurt Men

Found on AskReddit.

1. If women sexually harass us, its seen as amusing rather than rapey.

One night in a bar, this incredibly drunk, incredibly skanky woman started fucking grinding on me while I was just trying to sit and drink a beer. Rubbing her gross vag all over my pant leg, and generally being disgusting and inappropriate. While this was happening, I thought If the roles were reversed, security would be tossing me out the door headfirst. Instead, people just laughed.

2. If you go anywhere in public with little kids, youre seen as a predator pedo.

Im a 19 y/o male, and I babysit my 3 and 6-year-old girl cousins often. Last time I babysat them, we played tag, then we had to go to the grocery store. The 3-year-old decided that she wants to play tag, and runs away from me, so I chase her down, playfully saying, I’m gonna get ya! in a funny voice cuz it gets her to laugh. A mom passes by and grabs my 3-year-old cousin, takes the 6-year-old, and goes to a manager. My aunt had to come down and tell them that I was watching them. That was the worse it’s been, but if I go anywhere in public with little kids, especially girls, I’m seen as a predator pedo.

3. If you and a girl both get drunk and have sex, only one can be accused of rape.

There was the anti-rape poster I saw a while back, where two teens get drunk and hook up. The dude gets busted for rape since she couldn’t give consent. The poster mentions nothing about it being the other way around, as in the girl getting busted for rape since he couldn’t give consent. The poster completely disregards the dude as a possible victim. It even goes as far as shaming the dude saying he ruined his life. Made me sick. All it did was promote male victims to want to hide even more.

4. Men are always the dumb ones on TV.

That men are always the dumb ones on TV. I grew up with three sisters and my mom, and I’ve always been disregarded as the stupid, out-of-touch male. Then, when I end up being right most of the time, I make a big deal about it and make everything worse, AND ITS THE TVS FAULT.

5. Women dont get blamed for dumping a man; when a man dumps a woman, hes afraid of commitment.

When a woman leaves a relationship she is praised for pursuing her needs, but when man leaves a relationship he is criticized for not being able to commit.

6. Female bisexuality is accepted. Male bisexuals? Theyre just gay.

How female bisexuality is more accepted and acknowledgedsometimes even encouragedthan male bisexuality.

7. Male genital mutilationtotally legal in every country.

Female genital mutilation: Totally illegal in most countries. Male genital mutilation: Totally legal in country.

8. If a woman gets angry at a man, its his fault.

Man gets angry at a woman, he needs to control himself. Woman gets angry at a man, man needs to learn not to make her angry.

9. Our society doesnt believe that women can sexually abuse boys.

It’s probably way too late for this to get any attention but I am a male victim of sexual abuse.

I was first sexually abused when I was four years old. It was swept under the rug because the 25-year-old that did it to me was going through some things and didn’t know any better.

Fast-forward to when I’m 9 and I was sexually abused every Friday for over a year and a half. I was told by my abuser that if I let anyone know, it would be my fault and I would get in trouble. One day I finally told, just wanting it to end even if I got in trouble. What happened? Both me (9) and my female abuser (23) were given a stern talking to. That was it. She went on to live her life. I never saw her again.

Every Friday I was locked in a room and bound. I would be left in the dark while I would have her perform oral (attempted since I was 9 and unable of getting an erection). She would pump me full of fluids and when I had to go to the bathroom she’d have me pee on her. At times she would pee into a cup and try to force me to drink it. If I was being more cooperative than usual she would untie my hands and have me touch her. At the end of every, I dunno what to call itsession?she would tell me that if I told anyone I would be taken from my parents. Even if they didn’t take me from my parents her dad who was a bad man would kill my mom and my sisters.

That is until I was 15 and made a Facebook. She found me on there and would leave comments like look who grew up sexy and stuff like that. I reached out to the adults in my life and they told me to ignore it, which I did. But they told me I was a guy and I could handle it. It’s not something that keeps me awake at night. But in order to get over it I had to harden myself because I’m a guy and guys can’t get raped.

On a previous reddit account I went to open up on a victims of sexual abuse page. I wrote out a multi-page post just getting it out there. The only replies I got were about how I was a guy and I didn’t know what it was like to be violated as a woman. I was harassed for weeks by women on there for trying to compare my experience to theirs.

10. Women can beat us up all they want, but if we hit back, were monsters.

I’m a big guy, I shave my head and grow a beard, most people think I’m intimidating.

Truly I’m timid at heart, I know how to box but have always found a way around confrontation.

I had a girlfriend that got crazy violent when she was mad, knives, tazers, guns, frequently got involved. I hit her a lot in self defense (we were together for 3 years it definitely played into my low self esteem, i loved to hate it) and it completely ruined my psyche. I think of myself as a woman beater, as a misogynist now just knowing that I’m capable of it.

Just the idea that I can hit a woman has driven me to some of my darkest depths and even now typing it I dont feel justified in my actions despite the fact I was protecting my own life.

One night she came at me with a tazer from behind she started it early and I had enough time to move, she tripped and stunned herself, screaming in pain, bruised her forehead hitting it against the floor. Neighbors heard and called the cops and she gave a false statement. Of course looking the way I do it didn’t matter what I said, I spent a night in holding before she dropped the charges and got me out. I guess I’m just thankful she “loved” me enough not to let me get charged with that shit.

It’s made me scared about new relationships because I’m afraid someone can just tell a cop whatever they want and I’ll get fucked.

Shit this will probably get buried but it was nice to say it. edit: this post blew up r.i.p. my inbox. appreciate all the support and kind words. pm me if you want to talk peeps.

11. Stay-at-home dads are lazy losers; stay-at-home moms are empowered heroes.

I’m a stay-at-home father because I’m taking care of my wife and I’s 2 year old son. My wife’s got a career that’s promising advancement and she works sometimes 12 hour days. I often get the Why doesn’t he have a job and He’s a deadbeat dad routine but if I was a woman I’m sure I’d hear about how mothers work so hard as housewives.

TLDR; Man stays home raises child = Lazy, Woman stays home raises child = Hardworking Hero.

12. If youre a male nurse, people think its because you couldnt become a doctor.

When a man is a nurse people think and many times say in their face Couldn’t become a doctor, huh?

13. If a girl sexually assaults you, youre supposed to enjoy it.

I was sexually assaulted by a girl when I was plastered once and kept saying no I don’t want this. Woke up feeling violated and insanely uncomfortable yet when I told people they all told me to suck it up and I should’ve enjoyed getting some action.

14. There are huge gender disparities in criminal sentencing.

That women who have sex with underage boys aren’t given the same sentences as men who do the same with underage girls.

15. If men show feelings, theyre seen as pussies.

I don’t like how if guys show feelings and emotions they’re some kind of pussy and if a chick does it’s normal. We are all humans and we all have the same emotions that aren’t good to bottle up.

16. Guys are still expected to be the breadwinner.

I don’t like that there’s still this idea that guys have to be the breadwinners and provide for families. Some guys are cool with being househusbands, and women are just as capable of bringing home the money.

17. If a man who murdered a woman spoke at a Mens March, itd be national news.

There was a speaker at the women’s march on Washington named Donna Hylton. She got up on stage and talked about how she had spent 25 years in prison (not mentioning why of course), and the audience cheered.

Turns out, she spent 25 years in prison because in 1985, she and a handful of other people kidnapped a 60-year-old man, tried to ransom him for $435,000, tortured him for three weeks (Hylton personally sodomized him with a metal rod), strangled him, and stuffed his body into a chest to decompose.

I can’t help but wonder how a man with an equivalent record would be received at the same event.

18. Women are allowed to reject guys based on their looks without being seen as shallow.

When I turn down chubby women I’m shallow, but I get turned down for being bald and it just her preference.

19. If a man cheats, hes an asshole; if a woman does, its the mans fault.

I hate the TV portrayal that if a man cheats its cause hes an asshole and heartless but if a women does its scandalous and its cause her husband must either treat her bad or is just never around.

20. Despite what Hillary Clinton said, men are the primary victims of war.

That men for some reason have to be soldiers in some countries while woman only .

21. Divorce laws are lopsidedly in favor of women.

Divorce law.

Women are entitled to alimony at a MUCH higher percentage, even when she’s the primary bread winner.

The idea that a divorced woman has the right to a standard of living consistent to when you were married is gross. No one is entitled to a standard of living, that’s life. That we can be divorced and I can lose my job but still have to pay to keep you living how we were when we were married and I was employed…its insane.

22. Sex toys for girlsnormal. Sex toys for guysweird loser.

When a girl buys a vibrator, its seen as a bit of naughty fun. BUT when a guy orders a 240 Volt FuckMaster Pro 5000 blowup latex doll with 6 speed pulsating vagina, elasticized anus with non-drip semen collection tray, together with optional built in realistic orgasm scream surround sound system, he’s called a pervert?

23. A guy who plays video games for hours has a problem; a woman who watches Netflix all night doesnt.

When I play 3 hours of video games I have a problem. When my wife watches 5 hours of Netflix every night its not a problem. Edit: I agree this is not a gender thing. Sorry about answering the question wrong. There is a double standard with gaming/television watching though.

24. Men are expected to just sit back and let women hit them. If they complain, theyre a pussy; if they hit back, theyre a monster.

Domestic Violence. I just got out of an abusive relationship two weeks ago and I’m shocked at how hard it was for me to talk about it and get taken seriously with my peers. She was so mean and I’m the exact opposite these days. Only today have I felt validated for everything when I happened upon a counselor on another thread. I feel terrible about myself still and apparently that’s normal. I’m 6’4″ and a professional bouncer/bodyguard but let me tell you. Men can be abused just as easily as women. It was so bad I’m spending my lunch break here and trying to find a support group. The abuse was mental and very physical. Because I’m a large man though no one would take me seriously. It was always my fault, always me to blame. The preconceived general thought is that men are tough and can handle it. If not then I’m made to feel emasculated and told I’m a pussy. The truth is I just don’t believe in harming people I care about. I’m ranting now because I still can’t really talk about it to anyone. It’s a sad and shitty double standard. No one should have to deal with abuse.

25. Part of being a man is being disposable and no one giving a fuck if your life ends up ruined.

That part of being a man is being disposable and no one giving a fuck if your life ends up ruined.

We hear talk all the time about the gender earnings gap, women’s right to bodily autonomy (via abortions and access to birth control), and other women’s issues, and those are all important things to discuss.

What we don’t hear as often is the fact that 84% of the homeless are men, 92% of workplace fatalities happen to men, 91% of people in prison are men, etc.

We talk about the subtle forms of discrimination in society that result in women choosing to pursue careers which don’t compensate them financially the same way that careers popular with men dobut we never talk about the subtle forms of discrimination that cause men to at a rate nearly an order of magnitude higher than women.

26. When a woman is raped its a tragedy; when a man is raped its a joke.

When a woman is raped its a tragedy; when a man is raped its a joke. When a woman falsely reports a rape, it ruins the man’s life, she gets off scot-free or a tiny jail term.

27. Men who take selfies are much more likely to be accused of narcissism.

I have to say that the standard of what is acceptable on social media. If a female Instagram profile is full of 400 attractive selfies, people are not as critical of the narcissistic side of the pictures as much as they would if it were a guy. Not that I would want to post 400 selfies, but constantly posting pictures of yourself in specific poses isn’t a form of modeling or self-love as much as it is an expression of narcissism.

28. Theres no demand for plus size male models.

How we apparently need plus sized models to represent all women’s body types, but the thought of having male models with beer bellies and no rippling muscles/6 packs is disgusting.

29. Women get shorter sentences for the same crimes as men.

Women who can’t pay child support go to special homes. Men who can’t pay child support go to prison.

Women get shorter sentences for the same crimes as men, such as murder, rape, theft, or simple misdemeanors. Sometimes they aren’t punished at all

If a drunk male and a drunk female have sex, the female could charge for rape since she could not consent even though both parties voluntarily intoxicated themselves. This isn’t a common problem but it happens more than it needs to

Female requirements for the military, police, and fire responders are easier. During basic training in the army I saw a dude carrying 2 rucksacks (google it) and a girl walking behind him with nothing on her back.

Male rape victims are ignored or taken less seriously

Sexual harassment in the workspace happens to men and to women, men are just less likely to report it since they’re taken less seriously.

There are female quotas for CEO jobs, which inadvertently puts more qualified men out of a job in the name of gender equality.

Men pay higher auto premiums.

Women in divorce courts are more likely to win custody.

Men who want to teach young children are weird creepy pedophiles.

30. Its not OK to think a girl is too fat, but its OK for her to think guys are too short.

Its not OK to think a girl is too fat, but its OK for her to think guys are too short.

31. If a guy cries or shows any emotion whatsoever, he’s weak or not masculine.

That if a guy cries or shows any emotion whatsoever, he’s weak or not masculine. Fuck that. Guys are humans, not robots. They should be as expressive with their feelings as they want with whoever they want. I’d argue that trying to repress your own vulnerabilities is the real weakness.

32. Women who make rape accusations are automatically believed, even if theyre lying.

I fucking hate it that a woman can accuse a man of rape, and everyone’s on her side without a doubt, even if she’s lying. Flip it around, and the first thing the guy gets thrown in his face is probably something like You’re supposed to enjoy it, or You let a woman take control of you? That’s more scarring to the man than it is to the womanat least people take the woman’s word for it.

33. On a sinking ship, its women and children first.

The biggest double standard to me is ‘saving the women and children first.’ Why does a man’s life suddenly have less value in these sorts of situations?

34. Pro-choice? Men have absolutely no choice in the matter.

If an unmarried couple becomes pregnant the woman has 100% of the choice to keep the baby or have an abortion. If the man wants the baby and the woman doesn’t the man is out of luck. If the man doesn’t want the baby and the woman does the man is on the hook for 18 years of child support. Controversial I know, but I’d like to hear thoughts.

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/2017/07/16/34-men-discuss-societys-insane-double-standards-that-favor-women-and-hurt-men/