(TW: abusive relationship, gaslighting/emotional manipulation, implied rape)

The door creaks as it opens and Noah steps inside, swaying ever-so-slightly on his feet. He jumps at the sound of Marden's voice coming from a corner of the room.

"Got anything to say for yourself?"

Noah pauses in the doorway, craning his head to make out the vague form of his boyfriend sitting in the dark. "Oh," he says. "Mars, hey. You're still up?"

Marden nods, flicking on the light. "I had to wait up. I couldn't stop thinking about you, wasted and passed out on some side street. I know you can't look after yourself."

Noah sighs, toeing off his shoes and stepping towards Marden. "I told you not to worry, babe," he says softly. "I was being really careful."

As soon as he is within reach, Marden grabs for Noah's wrist and pulls him in. He puts his nose to Noah's collar bone, inhaling. "You smell like a liquor store."

"Mars, come on. I had two, maybe three drinks."

"That's all it takes."

Noah stops himself mid eye-roll, pulling his wrist back. "I was with Grace and Jordan all night."

Marden scoffs. "Yeah, cause your air-head sister and her pervert husband are really responsible drinkers."

"Hey," Noah says sharply. "Stop being mean. I was safe and careful all night, okay? Hardly had anything to drink. You're being ridicu--"

"I'm being ridiculous?" Marden snaps, shoving up to his feet. He towers over Noah, his gaze hard through the top of his skull. "I'm being realistic, Noah. You really think someone like you can hit the streets for a night and be truly safe? No. Some asshole would get one look at you, sloppy fuckin' drunk, and have their way with you. Is that what you want?"

"I wanted you to come with us," Noah says. "That's what I wanted! But you stayed home and I had to go out without you, and I really don't think you should get to act like this as soon as I walk in the door!"

There's silence, for a moment. Then Marden says, quietly: "Apologize."

Noah lets out a huff of breath.

"For what?"

"For making me worry."

"You make yourself worry, Mars. I can handle myself."

"Oh, you can, can you."

"Yes. Can we please go to bed now? I'm sick of you yelling at me."

Marden nods slowly, but his narrowed eyes and clenched jaw signify anything other than agreement.

In a flash, he grabs Noah by the back of the neck and starts to steer him towards the kitchen. Noah gives a half-hearted attempt at shaking him off, but the fight isn't in him. He's tired and a little buzzed and he knows better than to fight badly with Marden when he's angry.

Mars shoves Noah into a seat at the kitchen table, keeping one strong hand on his shoulder.

"Mars..." Noah says quietly.

"No," he replies. "No. I don't think you should get to go to bed until you understand just how scared I am for you when you go out. Clearly you don't get how I could be so worried, right? You think you can handle your drinks, Noah? Think you can stand up for yourself when you're drunk off your ass?"

"But I'm not drunk off my ass."

"Shut up."

"But--"

"I said shut up!" Marden growls, and Noah flinches when he cuffs him on the back of the head.

For a moment, Marden's shadow is gone; no longer looming over Noah's own on the pocked surface of the table. But then he's back, and he's setting a shot glass in front of Noah, a bottle of Smirnoff in his hand.

"What are you doing," Noah mumbles.

"I'm gonna show you why I'm right and you're wrong."

Marden fills the glass to the brim, then leans expectantly over Noah, one hand one the table and one on the back of the chair.

Noah looks up at him, eyebrows drawn in. "Let's not, Marden."

"Oh, don't worry, it's just you, sweetheart. I'll stay right here and watch."

With a resigned sigh, Noah picks up the glass and knocks it back. He grimaces at the jolt of it going down his throat, then presses his lips together.

Marden fills the glass again.

"You know what? I'm not doing this," Noah says, staring at the glass. "This is stupid. If you want me to stop going out, fine. I'll stop fucking going out, okay?"

"Drink it, Noah."

"Just because you're jealous of... what, my sister? A-and just because you can't control every fucking thing I do..."

"Drink it."

"Mars."

"You can handle yourself, right? That's what you told me. Fucking drink it."

Noah clenches one fist in his lap, but downs the shot as he's told. It burns. Doesn't taste good. But he doesn't have much of a choice now, does he?

Marden makes him swallow another shot then, and after that he's pulling a Corona from the fridge and holding it to Noah's mouth; standing behind him and holding him in place with a stern hand. Noah sputters as it slides past his lips, his throat exposed as Marden forces his head back. When the bottle's empty, Noah does his best to push Marden away.

He finds that it's a bit harder than usual.

Marden scoffs from behind him, leaving him alone at the table for a few minutes.

Noah puts his head down, breathing slowly, letting the alcohol take its hold. He hadn't been entirely truthful earlier. He'd had... maybe a little more than three drinks at the bar with his sister. Maybe. And now, all this on top of it... he's starting to feel a little faint.

When he pushes his chair back and tries to stand up, Marden is there as though he'd never left to push him back down and hold another drink to his lips.

Noah doesn't even know what it is this time. He tries to pull away, but Marden's fingers are digging into his jaw and forcing his mouth open. There's beer down the front of his shirt and he doesn't feel good and he has to pee and he hates it when Marden gets all scary like this, and that's when he starts to cry.

Marden's hands are gentle as they wipe away Noah's tears. "Don't cry," he says. "Oh, Noah. Don't cry, baby. You're okay."

He slides his arm under Noah's knees, the other braced across his back, and picks him up as easily as though Noah were made of air.

With his face buried in Marden's neck, Noah tries to stifle his tears. He whimpers as Marden lays him out on the couch, one arm hanging off the side.

"This isn't m' bedroom..." Noah slurs. He reaches up for Marden, but the other man just swats his hand away and climbs onto the couch.

"Mar... Mard'n..."

"Shh, Noah. It's okay."

Noah sighs wistfully, letting his head fall back and lull around his shoulders. There's a part of him that knows something is happening, but it's a very dull, quiet part, fogged up by the alcohol on his brain.

When he feels hands pulling at his belt buckle, he frowns.

"What're you..?"

"Be quiet, Noah."

"... Get off."

"Be quiet."

Okay. Be quiet. He can do that.

Noah is very quiet and very still as Marden slides his belt through the loops, then begins to pull his fly down slowly. When Noah's jeans hit the floor and Marden hooks his fingers under the waistband of his boxers, something inside Noah kicks again and he lifts his head.

"Stop," he whines, stretching one lead-filled hand out to push Marden away. "Stop'it. Mars."

"I have to do this," Marden says, and somehow his mouth is very close to the shell of Noah's ear. "I have to show you just how easy it is to take advantage of you, baby. Gotta make you understand."

Noah whines again, wordlessly, bucking his hips up in the world's weakest effort to throw someone off. Marden just takes both his wrists in one hand and pulls Noah's knee up. He can't remember how his boxers got taken off, but they're on the floor next to his jeans.

"I was bein' careful," he moans, desperate to make Marden understand that this is insane. Nobody is going to take advantage of him.

"I know, sweetheart," Marden whispers, his voice gruff. "But that's my point. You were being careful, and you still ended up here."

That sounds reasonable.

Now to my ears that clearly sounds like at least a little bit of hyperbole-for-effect. Personally I don’t literally believe that nothing good will ever happen again, and I don’t have the slightest intention of throwing in the towel in the fight to make those good things happen, but I absolutely relate to the sentiment and to the difficulty of conveying to some older people how pervasive that feeling is among many friends my own age. But a lot of people did seem to take the post literally, and boy were they angry about it. Just a sample of responses:

“Keep up that mindset and nothing good WILL happen.”

“Y'all are closet nihilists. I’m getting a promotion and my own place later this year. Speak for yourselves.”

“Not with that attitude! If we don’t have hope then we have nothing!”

“With that attitude, they never will. It’s up to you, it’s up to us. What a defeatist, self sabotaging attitude.”

Maybe you agree with those responses. I think a lot of people do, and I think they’re mostly well-meaning, and I think I have enough empathy to understand why they feel that they’re being helpful or taking some kind of a stand against despair. But imo this is a deeply fucked up response, and I’m going to try (gently) to explain why.

i do wonder how much of the derisive language you hear toward "resistlib winemoms" or whatever is just "people who grew up in Safely Blue Coastal Enclaves rebelling against ppl who remind them of their mom b/c they are emotionally stunted adults"

--

(For people who genuinely don't know, 'gooning' originally referred to people edging for a long term and becoming sexually uninhibited, and then evolved into a genre of pornography that basically eroticises the concept of 'porn addiction'.)

It's kind of like if feminists started throwing around the term 'bimbofication' to refer to women conforming to hypersexual gender stereotypes and referred to social media 'bimboifying' women. Deeply bizarre behaviour.