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inkskinned · 1 year

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love when men cry about body hair bc "it's hygiene" and yet 15% of cis men leave the bathroom without washing their hands at all and an additional 35% only just wet their hands without using soap. that is nearly half of all men. that means statistically you have probably shaken hands with or been in direct contact with one of these people.

love when men say that women "only want money" when it turns out that even in equal-earning homes, women are actually adding caregiver burdens and housework from previous years, whereas men have been expanding leisure time and hobbies. in equal-earning households, men spend an average of 3.5 hours extra in leisure time per week, which is 182 hours per year - a little over a week of paid vacation time that the other partner does not receive. kinda sounds like he wants her money.

love that men have decided women are frail and weak and annoying when we scream in surprise but it turns out it's actually women who are more reliable in an emergency because men need to be convinced to actually take action and respond to the threat. like, actually, for-real: men experience such a strong sense of pride about their pre-supposed abilities that it gets them and their families killed. they are so used to dismissing women that it literally kills them.

love it. told my father this and he said there's lies, damned lies, and statistics. a year ago i tried to get him to evacuate the house during a flash flood. he ignored me and got injured. he has told me, laughing, that he never washes his hands. he has said in the last week that women are just happier when we're cooking or cleaning.

maybe i'm overly nostalgic. but it didn't used to feel so fucking bleak. it used to feel like at least a little shameful to consider women to be sheep. it just feels like the earth is round and we are still having conversations about it being flat - except these conversations are about the most obvious forms of patriarchy. like, we know about this stuff. we've known since well before the 50's.

recently andrew tate tried to justify cheating on his partner as being the "male prerogative." i don't know what the prerogative for the rest of us would be. just sitting at home, watching the slow erosion of our humanity.

#writeblr #warm up #ps edited so it is more clear where “half” of men is coming from:#15% literally don't even touch water #an ADDITIONAL 35% ''wash'' by just running their hands under water WITHOUT SOAP #15+35 =50%#like that is not washing ur hands. go back and use soap #btw the numbers for women are 4% never washing and 15% ''just water''#which is still gross but like. sooo much better yikes #ps i know we're all gay on this site but watching ppl ''correct'' my math on this has been wild #i have a learning disability im genuinely bad at math so i check EVERY time someone corrects me #but no they're just confidently wrong.....#182 hours is a week babes. 182/24 (number of hours in a day) is ~7.6 #that's where i got that number from. also from rent we know there's 168 hours in a week.#ALSO btw if u read this and ur response is ''men are also struggling rn tho'' like babe you missed the point of it tho #this doesn't even make fun of men it's legit just pointing out that bigotry against women isn't founded #in anything men actually CARE about . like they don't actually CARE about ''being clean'' when they make fun of armpit hair #or they would be WASHING THEIR HANDS.#men pretend to be rollin' in cash and Apex Predators and instead they are trained to be lazy and unwilling to act in emergencies #i have never and will never make fun of men for asking for more support on important topics like DV and mental health.#this is so clearly not about men; it's about how common just being plainly misogynistic has become.#like they don't try to hide it anymore.

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dont-offend-the-bees · 2 months

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Something I Can Turn To

And now for something different again! I took the AU in 'Domestic AU' and I ran with it! So this is your classic sort of everyone's alive alternate universe, set some nebulous time in the current-ish era, wherein Charles and Edwin attended school together and both survived (slash saved each other from) their canon deaths. It's just a sweet and slightly sad little thing that doesn't go into a huge amount of detail, but I got very attached to it so who knows, maybe in future I'll expand on the backstory! Warnings for references to their pasts and the bullying, child abuse etc. that went on there, as well as to injuries, scars and trauma that resulted from it. But we're not getting into super nitty-gritty detail and hopefully the overall vibe is one of love and safety! Still, tread carefully if those topics are at all triggering for you 💛 2.3k, T-rated, also available on Ao3. Thanks again, @painlandweek!

"Charles!" Edwin called — bravely poking his face out from the warm duvet to be heard. "The advertisements are over!"

"Coming, coming!"

Charles scurried into the room moments later, two cups of tea in his hands. He huffed and puffed as he padded along the floorboards in hole-riddled socks. "Cold, cold, cold," he muttered, thrusting the cups towards Edwin in a sloshy, mildly dangerous manner. "Grab these a sec!"

Edwin did so, wincing as his arms breached the bounds of the duvet nest to the frigid air beyond. Once Charles had his hands free he wasted no time diving into bed, burrowing into the pocket of warmth.

"Mate, it's fucking cold," he said, reclaiming his mug. "Freezing my bollocks off out there."

"Perhaps we should have prioritised buying that space heater, after all," Edwin mused.

"Oi. 'Nuff of that. That kettle's a bloody essential bit of kit."

Edwin sipped his tea. Scalding hot, just as he liked it. "Hmm. Agreed."

Charles squirmed around getting comfortable, taking care not to spill his tea. He almost succeeded. "Ow. So! What'd I miss?"

"Nothing whatsoever — you made it back just in time." Edwin settled in as well, against the headboard — though by headboard, he of course meant the bare magnolia wall. "I must say, I'm intrigued by this one. I wonder how Detective Columbo's going to get this villain dead to rights."

"Always fakes you out, don't he?" Charles grinned, finally finding his space — pressed up against Edwin, hip to shoulder. "Mm — pass us the biccies."

Edwin handed him the somewhat depleted packet of ginger snaps. "Do be careful of the crumbs — we've only one fitted sheet to our name."

One sheet, one duvet. Two pillows. No bed frame. It was a modest sleeping arrangement. Particularly for two grown men, squeezed onto a mattress that was only a double by the barest technicality. But on these cold winter nights, that closeness had its benefits. Several benefits, in fact.

As though reading his mind, Charles grinned. "What?" He waggled his eyebrows. "Never messed about on a bed of biscuit crumbs?"

Edwin groaned and, lightly, pressed his palm to Charles' face and pushed it away. "You're revolting," he said.

Charles just laughed. "What? It's just like sex on the beach, really." He bit down on a biscuit. Loudly. "Bit crunchier."

"You will never persuade me that sex on a beach is a good idea," said Edwin, with a shudder. "The sand..."

"Sex in the sea, then?"

"Best of luck with your urinary tract infection."

Charles’ laughter rolled pleasantly in Edwin's ears as he nestled in properly, head on Edwin's shoulder.

Edwin chuckled in turn, draping his arm around Charles, fingers sinking into his hair. He played absently with Charles' unruly curls, as Columbo talked circles around his latest hapless ne're-do-well.

It was a strange little life they'd carved out for themselves, here in this sparsely-furnished nest. They had Edwin's scholarship to thank, and the student housing fund he'd received alongside. Though Charles helped as best he could with his meagre earnings from his part-time job at the local gym, they barely scraped by. Charles might've also been able to apply for student loans, once upon a time. But he'd never managed to bounce back after the sharp decline of his grades in year eleven. And what else could anyone have expected? It had taken all of his considerable strength to get back on his feet after what happened to him. Every ounce of his tenacity to return to his life after the incident that had almost ended it.

Edwin would not soon forget those hideous, harrowing weeks. Counting days of silence, of filling the Rowland family's voicemail to no acknowledgement. Of pitying expressions from hospital staff as they turned him away, time after time. Stewing and seething in the fear and the worry. In the rage of being told that he had less of a right to visit his best friend than the man who'd covered his back in belt scars did. Edwin didn't sleep, he didn't eat, he worried himself away night by night, and the boys who did the damage? Oh, they were suspended. For less time than it took for Charles to return to form. Back to school with a slap on the wrist. Any notions Edwin might've still held about there being justice in the world had been quite thoroughly quashed by that ruling.

It was a miracle Charles even found the strength to attend school for his last two years — let alone the same school. The one where he had, to reiterate, nearly lost his life to hypothermia and internal injuries at the hands of his hooligan 'friends'. Edwin had scarcely believed his eyes when he'd spied Charles across assembly that Tuesday morning. A month with no word and suddenly there he was, beaten and battered and more beautiful than Edwin's heart could take.

His parents — or at least his mother — had wished to transfer him, of course. But Charles, in true Charles fashion, dug in his heels and refused to be moved. Edwin had cornered him that very morning, on the stairs after assembly. He must have been angry — because he shouted at Charles when all he truly wanted to do was collapse into his arms.

"I cannot believe you would stay here in this barbaric horror show after what those boys did to you," Edwin had snapped, eyes stinging with the threat of tears to fall. "That is so fucking stupid it's unbelievable!"

"Sorry," Charles had replied — not sounding sorry in the slightest. His stitched-up split lip curled with his weary smile. "No version of this where I don't stick this out with you, is there?"

And that, as far as Charles had been concerned, was the matter closed.

The simple fact was that Edwin had never had a choice in which school he would attend. St. Hilarion's was in the family tradition; his father, grandfather, great grandfather, all honoured alumni. And if Edwin's own incident a year earlier hadn't been enough to convince his father otherwise, then nothing else would. The only way Edwin was leaving that school before graduation was in a body bag. And Charles, the stubborn fool, could only be convinced to leave Edwin in the same manner.

And so for the last two years of hell they had tried, in their own ways, to keep their heads down. 'Tried' being the operative word. Charles could never leave well enough alone, and fights were amassed. But every time he showed up to their hideout in the attic with a black eye or bloody knuckles, it was always the same story. One where he saw someone else being bullied, and threw himself at the situation as a substitute punching bag. Sometimes, the person he was protecting was Edwin. More often than not, it was some boy he'd never exchanged two words with. Made no odds to him.

And no matter how it terrified Edwin, or how he admonished Charles, he could never truly take issue. To resent Charles for being protective would be to resent him for being tragically, quintessentially Charles. In the end there was nothing he could do but patch Charles together with his pilfered first aid kit, and plead with him to be more careful. Maybe, just maybe, it would sink into his thick skull one day.

While Charles spiralled, Edwin studied. And studied, and studied, and studied. During slow lessons, after hours in the library, in the dead of night under the covers — he preferred to catch his sleep in daytime naps, anyway. For obvious reasons, sleeping in the dorm around the other boys had lost its appeal. There were days where he was so exhausted he could do nothing in his lunchtime trysts with Charles but sleep. At times it seemed there was no safe place in the world besides that dusty attic, with Charles' thigh as his pillow.

It was worth it, the sleepless nights, the borderline mania of his studies. With his stellar grades at sixth form, Edwin secured a scholarship on the other side of the country — fully paid. Meaning freedom, at last, from the golden shackles of his father's money. He'd packed everything he could carry into a backpack and his grandfather's old leather travel case. And with the first money he'd ever had to his name and no one else's, he made his first purchase: two train tickets. One way.

It wasn't an entirely seamless escape, of course. When he'd walked to the Rowland house to collect Charles, he'd found him scrambling through the narrow window of his basement bedroom. Nothing on him but the clothes on his back, and a fresh bruise across his jaw. But escape they had — and Charles had slept the entire way to Edinburgh, head on Edwin's shoulder. Safe and sound, at last.

It had felt good to be able to rescue Charles, for a change. He'd been playing the hero for others long enough.

Edwin scratched lightly at Charles' scalp as the Columbo credits rolled. He smiled when Charles snuffled and nuzzled into the sensation in the manner of a contented old dog.

"What's on next?" asked Charles, drowsy.

"I believe there's an episode of QI on the next channel." Edwin enjoyed that programme — some of the humour was a bit crass for his tastes, but he almost always learned something interesting.

"Tenner says Alan comes last place."

Edwin rolled his eyes. "Easy money. And I haven't got a tenner."

"Fiver?"

"No."

"One-er?"

Edwin laughed. "I shall wager you... a kiss."

Charles perked up. "I'll take that action!"

"I hope you never take up a gambling habit, Charles," said Edwin, fondly. "Why on Earth would you place bets for something you can have at any time, in abundance?"

"Yeah, but it's not just a kiss, is it? It's a victory kiss. I get to be all smug and that."

"Charming."

"Oh, I'm a charmer." Charles smiled up at him crookedly, eyes hooded. "All the fit lads love me."

Affection bubbled in Edwin's chest as he looked down upon him. It was a flagrant hollow boast — Edwin knew better than anyone how dire Charles' opinion of himself could be. A situation that had only worsened in recent years, as the beatings from home and school grew more frequent and harder to hide under shirts. The scar on his lip had never fully healed. Nor had the proud sweep of his nose recovered from the time it was broken and poorly reset. He was a war-torn thing, and a bit of a hodgepodge. Elegant frame under rugged wounds, topped off with subtly effete highlights of gold earring and smudged eyeliner. Eyes older than his years, and a newly gap-toothed grin that could still light up the room. He was a strange young man, a walking contradiction; and Edwin loved him dearly, fiercely, and oh-so-terribly.

Edwin leaned down, dropping a sweet kiss between Charles' eyes — just above his broken nose. "I should think so. You're very easy to love."

Charles blinked up at him, a flash of vulnerability in his dark eyes. Edwin gathered him close under his arm before he could do something silly like second guess his affection, or shy away.

"Now shush," said Edwin primly, cupping his warm tea to his chest. It was an awful mug, scrounged from a charity shop with a chip in the rim. It declared the holder a certified 'Tired Old Queen', and it was always Edwin's mug without question. "Mister Fry is about to tell us the theme of the week."

And for a little while, that was that. Edwin followed the programme, rapt, humming in interest at new information — and rolling his eyes at the obvious blunders of the panel. Charles did not speak for some time, still warm against Edwin's side. Sometimes, upon being paid a compliment, he needed to sit a while and let it absorb.

It was the ad break, and Edwin was considering braving the arctic chill of the unheated flat for another tea, when Charles spoke again.

"Edwin?"

"Hm?"

Charles wrapped the arm clutching his — now empty — chequered mug around Edwin's waist. "When the Beeb come and drag me away for not paying the telly licence, will you visit me in prison?"

It was so out-of-pocket that Edwin couldn't help but laugh. "Well. Technically, I will be the one going to prison," he said. "It is my name on the apartment lease."

"Would you want me to visit you in prison, then?"

Edwin flicked Charles' earring, playful. "Obviously, Charles."

He could feel Charles' grin against his shoulder. "Brills. You tell me the layout, and I'll bust you out."

"That is not what I agreed to."

"I'll chat to that new girl at the gym, Crystal? Bet she'd help with a prison break. Reckon she's got a wild side."

"Charles," he said, flatly. "I'll not have you imprisoned with me when your madcap scheme goes awry."

"Why not?" said Charles, giving Edwin a warm squeeze. "That's the whole point of doing it."

Edwin scoffed — but his heart was beating ten to the dozen. "Charles —"

"Nope. Sorry." Charles took Edwin's empty mug from his hand — and leaned up to plant a loud, obnoxious kiss on his cheek. "Looks like you're stuck with me. Prison's not getting you out of this relationship, mate."

He made as if to leave the duvet igloo — and immediately hissed at the cold. "Although this bloody apartment might — fucking hell. Going outside; I may be some time."

Edwin rolled his eyes. "Oh, for goodness' sake." He inched over to the edge of the bed and gathered the duvet about both their shoulders like a cape, tucking his arm neatly around Charles' waist. "There. If we make haste, we can be back before the general ignorance round." He met Charles’ eyes, stoic. “No man left behind.”

Charles’ smile was a soft and doting thing; somehow it warmed Edwin deeper than any space heater ever could. He wrapped his arm around Edwin's shoulder. Their feet dangled side by side, toes flexed to avoid premature contact with the chilly floor. "Together on three, then?”

Edwin smiled back, and nodded. "One."

Charles bumped their heels together in companionship. "Two..."

Edwin returned the gesture, in commiseration for the unpleasantness to come. A cold and bitter expedition to the kettle lay ahead; but as in all things, they’d tough it out together.

"Three!"

Thanks for reading, this one's very dear to my heart - would love to know what you think 💛 Thank you, thank you, thank you for all the lovely comments you guys have been leaving on my fics - I have SO many to catch up on but I promise I'm gonna reply to them! I love talking to you and really appreciate you talking to me 💛💛💛 Not sure right now whether there'll be a fic for tomorrow (canon divergence/case fic) or the day after (free day). I have nothing written, none of my ideas are really sticking, and I'm still feeling kind of ill. I might end up just posting some ink sketches instead! But whether there's fics tomorrow/Saturday or not, there will defo be a fic Sunday 💛 Thanks so much, my lovelies - I'll be seeing you soon 💛💛💛

#painlandweek #painland week #payneland #dead boy detectives #dbda #my fanfic #might be posting this one like an hour before it's technically day 4 timezone wise #but my hands are hurting and i have people coming over soon so i kind just need to put the laptop away for a bit!#thank you for all the love this week guys seriously 💛#maybe if i end up not writing tomorrow/sat i'll actually have some time to catch up on the stuff you guys have been writing!#need to start giving some of the love back!

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