#can still perpetuate misogyny

[dyketubbo]

girl help i have a hater

[quietwingsinthesky]

see my brain just doesn’t register the idea of anyone having a ‘one true love’ which is why the common fandom tropes of making canonical love interests terrible in order to justify why your ship is better always bugs the shit out of me. it feels like the only reason you would do that is if the idea of the characters in your ship having any other sort of romantic relationship that was important to them, even in the past, is a threat to their current one, therefore all their past relationships need to be demonized in order to make them ‘not real love’ so that they remain pure and chaste and ready for the True Love of the endgame ship.

[euphemiaamillais]

district 12!reader and jealous peacekeeper!coryo. him taking her roughly up against the wall of the hob after he catches someone looking at her

cw: 18+//slutshaming//misogyny//rough sex

His girl. That's what you are, he reminds himself, seething when he catches you smiling at a thin, dirt-caked man who bought you a drink. Probably some filthy miner. He watches as you take the drink willingly—some sort of moonshine it seems to be, the staple of District 12—and wash it down with little grace or decorum. Anger churns in his stomach, his fists clenching. How dare you. And when you knew he was looking—you were doing this to spite him.

He watched you for a while longer, how you swing a little on your feet, your eyelashes fluttering. The man makes you laugh. Coriolanus is filled with disgust. Whore. You know exactly how to tease him, and how jealous he was. The man leaned forward to whisper something in your ear, and you giggled. You cast a glance over to Coriolanus, who's lips had twisted into a cruel snarl. You turned away, back to the man, but made an excuse. He could see you mouthing a pathetic sorry, and then slinking away across the room. He'd have to teach you not to disobey him.

When you arrive, his brow is furrowed and his top lip upturned with fury. You give a shy smile, but knew immediately something was amiss.

'Coryo,' You sidle up to him, one hand gripping at his firm bicep. He looks so handsome in his coveralls, dogtags hanging through the slightly unbuttoned shirt, which exposed his well-toned and tan chest. He looked even hotter in his peacekeeper uniform, something you'd made sure he was aware of during your more intimate moments.

'Don't,' He spits, fury blazing in his icy blue eyes. You slink into yourself, taken aback at his outright anger in the Hob.

'Whatever did I do?' You inquire, hands fidgeting nervously. You had to admit, although his anger instilled a little fear in you, it also made the area between your thighs burn and tingle with heat.

'Oh, I think you know,' He rebutted dismissively. You gave a quizzical look, to which he responded with his perpetual glare.

You shook your head, gnawing on your bottom lip nervously. You could feel the cheap moonshine swilling around in your belly—the one the man had brought for you. Had Coryo seen that?

'I really don't know what you're talking about,' You offer sheepishly, and his hand reaches out to grip your arm. He strains his grip around you, harsh—he's never handled jealousy well—and you think of the bruise that would make later. It stung as he continued to clench you.

'Mhm, I don't think so,' He shook his head, tongue clicking as he scolded you. 'Acting like a fucking whore... letting that scumbag buy you a drink. Do I not please you, hm?'

You shook your head, eyes apologetic.

'Coryo,' You began, but he cocked a brow, displeased that you were still calling him by his nickname. How could you be allowed that freedom when you had disobeyed him?

'I don't want to hear it,' He began to pull you away from the crowd, the sound of the band strumming away on their guitars fading into background noise as he brought you two to a quiet alcove.

Coriolanus pushes you up against the wall roughly, hands moving to your skirts, rucking them up to your thighs. HIs icy blue eyes are glistening with a ravenous desire. He presses himself flush against you, hands grasping the smooth skin of your thighs. You can feel him hardening against you.

'What did I tell you about misbehaving?' He taunts, grinding up against your exposed thighs, his clothed bulge ripe against your core. You attempt to clench your thighs together, but he shoves them apart extremely disgruntled at your endeavours to reject him.

'Whores don't get to say no,' He hisses, fiddling with the buttons on his coveralls. It's a little indecent as he has to tie the sleeves around his waist, but he soon frees his cock; hard and throbbing, the tip red and dripping.

'Mhm,' You manage to get out, going a little limp against him, surrendering your body to his whims. You have to admit that sometimes you go out of your way to enrage him... there's something so attractive about his possessive nature. The way he has to have you, and his complete disregard for propriety.

He runs his hand up and down his cock a few times, and then, with a little too much enthusiasm, he hikes your panties down roughly. He then presses his cock straight into your cunt, slick and dripping with want. You let out a high pitched gasp, resting your head back against the hard stone brick of the wall.

Coriolanus pulls your legs up around him, his thick cock now stretching out your walls. You grunt as he begins to thrust, seeing all that pent up desire in his noble face. How his desperation turns him into a savage, and not the star pupil of the Academy in the Capitol.

'You like that, huh?' He asks as he bucks into you roughly, your head knocking slightly against the wall.

A cock-drunk moan escapes your lips, which are plump with blood. He squeezes your thighs between his hands, attempting to get a better hold on you.

'Stupid little whore,' He sputters, pounding your tight, wet cunt. How dare you betray him. You shudder against him, your pussy throbbing with each movement he makes; for although he grows rougher, you can't help but want him all the more.

He removes one hand off your thigh, and reaches up to grab a fistful of your hair, tugging on it. You cry out, feeling a slight tingling in your scalp.

'Don't you ever do that again!' He yells, pulling harder at the roots of your hair.

You nod, unable to form words. He scowls, tugging at your hair once again. A stinging pain shoots through your head.

'Answer me!' He growls, continuing to thrust harshly into you. You whimper, lips trembling, trying to find some semblance of words.

'Yes,' You muster, gasping as you feel him, so deep inside of you, stretching you out, his balls slapping against your entrance.

'Yes what?' Coriolanus demands, and you swallow thickly, a little afraid. Your heart pounds, blood rushing to your head.

'Yes sir,' You sputter. He lets out a contended sigh.

'Mhm, that's right,' He coos. 'Good girl.' His sweet words are a stark contrast to the way he is pounding you up against the wall, movements illuminating the repressed anger that coursed through his veins.

How it turns him on, having you up against this wall, watching the way your face contorts in pleasure as he fucks you like the stupid slut you are. He can feel himself getting closer; the way your pussy clenches around his cock and the desperate sounds you make. He has to remind you that you're his, and only his.

He only has to pump you a few more times, his cock aching for release. The slick leaking from your cunt coats his cock, and he nestles his head in your shoulder, giving a few final thrusts before letting out a deep groan. You feel him finishing inside of you, hot, sticky cum coating the inside of your walls.

Gasping, he slides out of you, and you feel his spilled seed slowly trickling down your thighs. He pulls your panties up, grinning as he thinks about how you're going to have to walk back out there with his cum gradually dripping out.

'You look so pretty,' He murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead. You smile, used to his sweetness that seems to come back after he gets what he wants.

'Thank you, Coryo,' You say, knowing how he delights in your obedience to him.

He bobs his head, watching as you smooth your skirts down, still a little dishevelled, hair astray. He thought you looked beautiful like this, though; eyes blown out with desire, lips ripe, an overall look of cock-drunkenness. You wrap your arms around him, looking up with a grin.

'You're my girl, huh?' He asks, a small smile crossing his lips and you nod your head in response.

'I'm yours.'

[virgincels]

BLIND ITEM !

ft. og re4!leon s. kennedy x fem!reader

tags. actor au, smut, leon is an ass, some misogyny duh, reader vomits once like non-sexual context, breaking and entering, dub-con that turns to just consensual sex, only one threat of violence :3

note. comm for the sweetest ever @liableperfections / 🪩 anon :3 plot credit goes entirely to her literally had to cut so many words down it was 10k before bc i was so excited ab it so if it seems choppy I’m so sorry… 😭 ignore my attempt at navigating la.. it’s so confusing usa system is so confusing .. ignore any typos :3 feedback n rbs always appreciated!!! REPOST CUZ TUMBLR HATES ME.

Malibu Beach is a terrestrial paradise. A post-apocalyptic Eden of sorts ‘cause there’s no tree of knowledge or any apples— Only thing Malibu Beach and Eden have in common is the naked ladies. It’s the best part of both. Which to Leon is factually correct, but to be politically correct as Hunnigan, his PR manager, would say it’s an opinion.

No need for serpent-induced bedlam, hedonism is at its peak, the fall of man is in full swing. There’s more snow than grains of sand. Leon’s world comes to life in bottle greens and muted blues, water glittering like a diamond behind the dimmed lenses of his aviators.

He snags a cabana close to the shore, draping curtains to keep him safe from blinding cameras and prying eyes and drab women who are more naked than they are clothed. From afar it’s a great sight. Up close it’s a whole lot of cellulite and over-plumped lips and over-plucked brows. Leon’s not picky, his standards are not high, he’s only asking for the bare minimum. Nice face, nice ass, nice tits— It’s expected, but it’s not an expectation ‘cause that would mean girls have to try and live up to it, but most of them come that way. Well, they’re supposed to come that way, but some girls got a little busted on the flight over from heaven.

Ashley faces him, she should be careful when Leon’s around, he pulls on bikini strings more than he tugs on his own dick, and her bikini has started to look especially stringy.

“Can you get my back?” In the light, her lashes twinkle like gossamer wet with morning dew.

Don’t need to ask him twice. Leon’s hands traverse the plains of her back, he coats her skin in lotion like the finest of pâtissiers would a cake, angling the spatula downwards to smooth thick buttercream into pastel swirls of perfection. It’s only SPF10 ‘cause Ashley’s more focused on getting an even tan and less worried about skin cancer.

They’ve been hanging out between filming. Ashley pisses him off with her hoity-toity shit, someone swapped out her brains for that rack, but she’s hot so Leon keeps her around. And to be completely honest, his perpetual state of ennui had been smashed like brittle glass by Ashley alone. If it wasn’t for her, he’d still be riding the Raccoon City wave. Biggest blockbuster to come out of 1998. That’s a big feat. Competition was big names like Deep Impact, The Horse Whisperer— Oh, who is he kidding, nobody remembers that crap, but everybody remembers Raccoon City, the Resident Evil sequel that hit the ball out of the park.

The Resident Evil series is on its fourth instalment, and Ashley Graham insisted he come back to reprise his role; she wanted to act alongside Leon S. Kennedy and no one else. She stinks of money and Chanel Cristalle. Her dad is the studio head, so Leon’s kissing up to her, takes her cruising in his Bugatti Veyron up and down Rodeo Drive. They never breach the Platinum Triangle, he fears Ashley’s diaphanous skin would erode the moment unfiltered air hits her, melt off her bones in fleshly strings until there’s a skeleton rattling around in his passenger seat.

Ashley’s back is real nice. Like, the skin is super clear and creamy white and her shoulder blades stick out the same way a slinky feline’s do. If he could use anorexic as an adjective he would. Not quite, but almost.

“That feels so good, Leon.” He catches the tail end of the glance she casts over her shoulder, it’s flirty and he knows what’s coming next. Ashley’s spine straightens, skin pulled taut to the jagged bone, she twists her upper half and pouts directly at him. She pouts a lot for someone so scared of wrinkles. but when you’re this rich, the de-ageing secret is just Botox he guesses.

“C’mere,” Leon adopts a wider stance, spreading his thighs so she can curl up between them like a cosy pup in bed. “Hey, cutie.” He traces a thumb over her lips which are a milky shade of pink, fingers curling up beneath her chin to tilt her head up towards him.

She’s giving him bedroom eyes. Feathery lashes fanning his skin with the pace at which she bats them, like hummingbird wings beating against the wind. Leon is so going to get laid. Ashley’s nails rake over the sinewed flesh of his sculpted thighs, a testament to his athleticism, he does all his own stunts you know? Shit, he’s about to get the sloppiest head of all time, his dick is about to be degloved by that perfectly puckered pout, suction must go crazy—

In a single sweeping motion, the flimsy curtain is drawn back, fluttering in the same way Leon’s gut lurches. He can’t tell the difference between butterflies and nausea. It all feels the same to him. He half expects to be struck dumb by celestial flashes of camera light that gets him hotter than the sun.

However, in a much more pleasant turn of events, he spots a black whale tail that leads his sharp eyes to a bead of sweat dripping down a toned abdomen— Her belly button sticks out which Leon hates, but those tiny hotpants make up for her faults. They’re so short the flappy pockets are visible, distressed denim fringe brushing nice thighs that have got to mean an even nicer ass is right behind.

The face is even cuter. Round cheeks yet to shed baby fat, the apples smattered with charming freckles, her reddish ponytail is stiff with salt water. “Move,” she demands in a dictatorial fashion as if the world would bend to her will, rolling over and baring its belly like an appeased dog under her command.

Leon, against his better judgement, stays put. Who even are you, lady? The audacity of some girls, must be a fan of some kind. A clammy hand lands on his leg. Feels more like a dead fish left to rot on the docks. He shivers inwardly, prying sticky fingers off of him to clarify what the actual fuck is going on.

There’s a pretty girl in your peripheral. Not Claire. She’s not pretty in the way Claire is. She’s model pretty, might be a model or an actress or both, or neither. Just plain old pretty. But, it’s not plain, it’s extraordinary really. Polly Pocket dolly plucked from her compact home— Oh, gosh, your stomach is fucking killing right now.

Life is crazy, right? One minute you’re sucking face with a cute guy from Europe, and the next minute rotgut Mai Tais are not pairing well with the sweltering Malibu heat. And now you have reached the gates of heaven, fat-bellied clouds and Polly Pocket and something firm in your hand like a muscled calf. Not like a muscled calf, it is a muscled calf and it belongs to the most devastatingly handsome man you have ever laid eyes upon.

You anticipate the sprouting of wings from his back, the halo of Malibu sunlight that crowns his dirty blond hair to form an actual fucking halo. Holy fuck. You hope God can’t read your thoughts right now. Praying is out of the question, that’s like directly asking God not to press the big red button— Everyone presses the big red button, and then God would cast you down to hell in a fit of disgust. All ‘cause you want this angel to put your thighs to your chest and fuck you boneless with his seraphic dick.

“What the fuck, man?” Is the angelic knowledge he imparts upon your dying body. You feel like you’re being cooked alive, hot oil bubbling your skin.

“What is your problem, man?” Claire’s utterance comes at the same time.

“Hey, Claire,” you greet weakly.

“Hey, babe.” The back of her cool hand rests on your forehead, the heat is going to sear her skin like a piece of Grade-A beef. “Listen, man, can you just take your girlfriend and go?”

“She’s not my—“

“Leon, let’s just go.” The blonde girl loops her arm around this divine being’s bulging bicep.

Claire closes the curtain to shield you from the sun. It brings forth a wave of relief to your sizzling body, doused in floral breeze and sea-salt-infused linen.

“Aw, babe, you’re fucked.” She fans you lightly with her hand in hopes that man-made wind is enough to combat heat stroke or alcohol poisoning or whatever it is.

“You can head back, ‘m good here,” you slur, “gonna take a nap”

“You sure?” Claire pets your head, you see past her composed exterior, inside is a girl who’s mourning the loss of that cute beach bunny who ran for the hills the moment you started to emanate the smell of sickness.

“Mhm.” You nod, a sluggish movement that makes your liquified brain slosh about in your head. “I’ll be okay.”

“I’ll come check on you later, yeah? Just stay right here for me.” She lays a damp towel over your lower half and you feel like a bit of a beached whale. Like, fucking slack and stupid and heavy with sleep. It’s so unfair. Your one day off and the excessive day drinking comes to bite you in the ass.

Your nap is plagued by divine visions - getting to sink your teeth into that angel’s biceps. So life is not all bad. At least you’ve still got wet dreams to keep you going. The sun has sunken beyond the horizon, dwindling light paints the landscape a burnt orange, the deepening blues of the water taking on a coral hue as you poke your head out past the cotton curtains.

In the distance, you spot a mildly Claire-shaped dot with a ponytail. She’s still having fun so you make no move to bother her, instead you gather your belongings in a methodical manner. Beach towel folded at the bottom of your bag, cover-up slotted neatly into the side pocket. Water bottle and sunscreen on top - making sure to check the caps on both are tightly screwed on. Purse, keys, phone. You’ve got it all.

Though you’ve regained a sense of self - whatever you were going through a few hours ago that was an out-of-body experience - a tight knot lingers in the depths of your gut. It’s lodged in your throat. You proceed to the bathrooms located near the car park, beach bathrooms are not the nicest place on earth, but you’re not going there for a relaxing retreat, you’re there to unload the unholy amount of vomit that sits in your stomach like sunken rocks in a burlap sack.

Your gait is slightly off, it’s hard to navigate the beach in rubbery flip-flops, limping as your feet are anchored into the sinking sand with each step. After a treacherous journey over the colossal (read: totally flat, flatter than a brown rat’s feet) dunes, you’re granted access to the mildewy washrooms— The door swings open and collides with your delicate skull. A surge of nausea hits your system like adrenaline, pumping through you, and you pitch forward, hands on your knees as you hurl.

“What the fuck? Are you stupid?”

His voice is like the gentle tinkering of bells or a choir of angels, it’s thick and smooth like molasses, a knife through hot butter. All of the above. Even when he’s swearing the unholiest words you have ever heard under his breath. It’s him, the guy from before. And you just missed vomiting on his feet. Narrowly. He did hit you with a fucking door though. So there’s that.

“Oh my gosh, are you okay? I saw that!” The cute blonde from before has swiftly joined his side.

“I’m fine, Ashley, she ran into me.” Ashley… Ashley…You might’ve seen her on a billboard somewhere in Hollywood. Certainly looks the type.

“Not you, asshole, oh my god, Leon. Are you serious? You hit her!” Her voice is like money. Papery thin, but there’s substance to it. Makes the world go round. Makes you happy. This concussion might be making you woozy enough to feel happy. “Oh my god, are you, like, okay?”

You clutch at the wall of the beach hut-shaped washroom, steadying yourself. “I’m good, yeah, I’m really good, thanks for asking.” The vomit is gone from your system, that’s a step forward, but now there’s an ugly bump forming on your head.

“What if you have a concession?” Ashley frets, she makes no move to step closer as she would have to manoeuvre the puddle of vomit.

“A concussion.” Leon corrects, he side-steps to make a swift and graceful exit from this situation, making a beeline for the topless convertible parked a few rows over. Oh, shit this guy is like a big shot, and you almost puked on him. Keyword almost.

“Leon! Hello? We can’t just leave her!” She waves her arms at him wildly, like she’s flagging down a rescue helicopter.

“Oh no, my friend’s still here, I came in her car,” you begin, smiling sheepishly as she has made you feel a little like an abandoned puppy. Or a nuisance.

“No, no, you’re sick, like, really sick, and Leon hit you. He totally owes you.” Ashley insists, a delicate hand grasps your wrist in a surprisingly firm grip. “Get in the front.” She’s demanding not in the same way Claire is, but in the way of a spoiled little girl. It works for her, and you plop down on a leathery seat that sticks to your skin. “Leon, I’m gonna meet daddy over in Carbon, so don’t worry about me, okay?” She flutters her fingers at him. “Behave yourself!”

Shit. This car costs more than you would on the black market. That makes you nervous. The guy makes you even more nervous. The way he’s glowering at you— What an asshole. Ashley’s right, he hit you hard, you so deserve a swanky ride home.

“Are you stalking me?” He asks, sunglasses perched on the top of his head, he looks like a total asshole, levelling you up with those glacial eyes.

“Excuse me?”

“Are you stalking me?” He’s like dead serious right now.

“Why would I be stalking you?” There’s genuine confusion on your face, at least that’s what you want Leon to believe.

“Funny,” he scoffs, “real funny.”

“I’m sorry, what’s so funny?” You blink at him stony, gaze unwavering.

You, bitch. Acting like you don’t know him, like his face isn’t plastered all over California. In every nook and cranny. From flagship stores to beige vegan cafes that are frequented by a handful of hipsters and bored trophy wives alone. “Nothing,” Leon settles on, you can play dumb all you want, but this isn’t his first rodeo with stalkers.

In your hand, your Nokia beeps, and much to his annoyance, you pick it up to make casual conversation with whatever creep that’s put you up to this plan. “No, I didn’t mean to scare you, Claire. I literally kinda, I don’t know, it’s hard to explain, but I’m safe, okay? I’m in a…” You trail off, casting a sideways glance at him, “I’m in a taxi right now.”

He squeezes the steering wheel white-knuckled. You’re playing with him right now, and it’s not fucking funny. A little pathetic if anything.

“Yeah, I got enough cash on me to make it back, don’t worry about it. I will, I will, yep, okay. Bye, Claire.” You drop your cell phone into your beach bag and it falls quiet apart from the prowling growl of his engine.

“Where you need to go?” Leon asks, his teeth grinding together, offset by his clenched jaw.

“Santa Monica.”

“That’s helpful,” he says dryly. “Long way over.”

“I’m just being safe.” You shrug. “It’s half an hour, where’d you come from anyway? Beverly Hills?”

“You’re being unhelpful,” he repeats to cement the fact that he is going out of his way to be an upstanding citizen and help stupid girls who walk face-first into doors no matter how stupid they fucking are. Leon’s soft spot for girls is clearly limited. “Bel Air,” he adds a moment later, “but you know that, don’t you?” It’s in every tabloid, don’t gotta be a stalker to know where he lives.

“No, I do not, I seriously don’t know who you are, man.” Your profile is nice enough, not an eyesore, lips look kissable, you would look nice at his feet he decides. Girls like you need dick in your mouth to learn a few things about shutting up.

“You got in my car.” Leon points out.

“I was forced into your car.” Comes your rebuttal.

“Listen, I don’t have time for your shit, just tell me.” Leon never raises his voice at women, that would be a brash decision, girls hear a slight shift in tone and go cuckoo. When you talk to them all nice and sweet they turn to putty with no regard for the subject matter at hand. Could be harvesting a few organs or taking a couple billion out of their trust fund, it doesn’t matter, they’ll be stuck swooning.

“Don’t talk to me like that.” Look at you, you think you’re the shit. “I can get home from the boardwalk.”

Leon is a lot of things. He is an asshole, he would feel like more of an asshole if he made a chick walk home in the dark. He swallows his pride and he swears his Adam’s apple bulges out further than usual. “I’ll take you home, no sweat, I owe you one.”

“I’m good, I want to walk.” You are one stubborn bitch.

“You could use the walk,” Leon says, a slip of the tongue. He didn’t mean anything by that. Listen, it just came out. Promise. You’re testing his fucking patience.

You bristle beside him, to his surprise you make no move to insult him in turn. “Who are you, even?” It’s thrown over your shoulder coolly. “Like, am I supposed to know you?”

“Leon,” Leon says, and to his knowledge there are no other Leon’s in Hollywood - Leonardo DiCaprio does not count.

“Doesn’t ring a bell.” You’ve gotta be messing with him. It’s working, you’re driving him insane.

“Okay, sure.” He bites his tongue, and soon enough you tell him your address. Not the nicest part of Santa Monica, not the worst part. Definitely not Downtown L.A. so that’s good.

The velvet sky is frosted by stars, and it is a beautiful night for road head which Leon really fucking deserves for putting up with so much shit. If it were Ashley by his side he would’ve been forced to pullover more than a few times on the drive over to The Flats.

He pulls up in front of a house that looks to be made of paper mache. Wow, you’re slumming it. Leon makes an unmitigated promise to himself to never be seen around these parts ever again. The air is different, and there’s so many bad smells and oh my lord is that a homeless woman? He better leave before she knocks on his car door to offer him a good time.

“Bye, sweetheart,” Leon tells you because he is the prime example of a gentleman. “Not gonna thank me?”

“What an asshole.” You don’t even bother to say it under your breath, just to his fucking face after he dropped you off in this ugly, grey neighbourhood in his gorgeous convertible.

He forgets about you by morning. Leon has seen more women than a gynaecologist will in their lifetime. You’re another forgettable rack. That is until the following week. A blind item drops. He skims the page.

Blond guy… Plays a lot of action-hero roles… Good with women… Total Asshole… Something about harassment… Something about a full article dropping next week…

Sounds like Leon alright. Hunnigan is on his ass about it. Ashley is on his ass about it. The director is on his ass about it. The staff are looking at him funny. The room is spinning. Leon is going to take a prop gun and shoot himself. He’s managed to keep his asshole status under wraps, money and dick go a long way for girls— Shit, that bitch from Santa Monica. You were not an easy lay, there was no laying in fact. He didn’t offer you sympathy dick to make up for whatever he said to get your panties in a twist.

Leon checks his watch— Filming can wait, Ashley can wait, he won’t be long. Traffic is a nightmare, this sheepskin jacket is sticking to him - only time he has ever lamented having a roofless car. He shrugs off his costume, lays it over the headrest of the passenger seat. Your place is the crumbling stack of bricks tucked into the far corner of a street that is more litter than street.

He knocks on your door firmly, afraid it’ll knock down the paper walls. You don’t answer. He knocks again, taps his foot, and you do not answer. Leon tries the handle, he’s fucking desperate, okay? This film— The premiere has to go smoothly, he has to be back in the limelight and then you can go around making as many accusations as you please, send the pitchfork-wielding mob his way the moment promotions are over.

The door opens. Leaving your door unlocked in a neighbourhood this rough, oh, honey, you’re just begging for it, aren’t you? He steps over the threshold, the door clicks shut behind him, he moves forward in deliberate strides like he knows his way around. To be fair, there’s not many rooms to explore, not Ashley’s sprawling marble landing. From the top of the stairs, he hears your voice.

“Claire, is that you? I just got out the shower, wait there!”

Babe, you got ready for him? That’s cute, he hopes you shaved. The floorboards creak under his boots, climbing the stairs to face the open door of the bathroom. You’re in there, facing the mirror, wrapped in a baby blue towel. Easy access. When you spot him in the reflection, you drop the tub of cleansing cream in the sink basin, it splatters at the same moment your scream shatters the silence.

“What— How did you get in? Why’re you in my house? Get out!” All questions that Leon would answer if you shut up. You’re a stupid little thing, backing yourself into the wall until the back of your knees bump the bathtub. “Oh my god—“

“I let myself in, door was open, babe,” Leon says smoothly, “That’s real dangerous, y’know?”

You clutch at the shower curtain and almost bring it down on your head, Leon pries your fingers from the material as his hands find purchase on the fat of your hips. “Get off me— Get off, get off, get off!” Your spine straightens when he taps your cheek sharply. Huh. That worked. Is that what you need to loosen up? A nice, hard fuck. Some dick in that lonely pussy of yours.

“Hey, calm down, it’s just me.” The guy you think you know all about. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“You’re breaking into my fucking house, you fucking psycho, why would I want to talk to you?” Little fists hammer away at his chest, nails catching on his chest holster that looks more like BDSM gear than anything useful.

“You kidding me?” Leon captures your chin, his touch is anything but tender, a tactile intrusion that leaves crescent-shaped impressions on your jaw. “Had a lot to say in that article.”

“Is that… Is that what this is about?” You catch your breath, trying to appear nonplussed, though you tread carefully in trepidation. “The article isn’t even out yet-“ A soft whimper betrays your confident front when Leon bows his head to meet your eyes.

“Look at me when you’re speaking,” he instructs, and you do. What a good girl. “Okay, there you go, baby, continue.”

The disdain that spoils your pretty face intensifies at his words, and yet you can’t look away. Cute. Head says one thing, pussy says another. “I’m not- I’m not making Claire drop the article, this is the biggest scoop she’s ever had, and you’re gross.” You stand your ground. “You’re an asshole, I hope nobody ever has to deal with your shit again, I hope you get blacklisted, like, forever and fucking ever. I watched your shitty movies, I could do better than that and I got a D in drama class, you’re just hot and you get away with it-“

“That’s not very nice.” Leon talks to you like he is scolding a misbehaving child. Which you are. A rash little girl driven forward by noisy temerity. “We talked once, sweetheart. I wanted to go on a second date, what a shame.” He’s glad you find him hot though.

“Fuck off.”

“C’mon, you’re too cute to be using nasty words like that.” His teasing is not taken in stride, you elbow him in the gut and squirm out of his grip. Leon recovers fairly well, his fingers catching the hem of your towel, unravelling it like a spool of thread. He draws you closer, naked, wet body flush to his clothed one. Nice tits, tick, cute ass, tick, he wants to see how you’d look in a tight skirt, one that hugs your stomach and hips and the tapering of your waist. The type Hunnigan wears when she means business.

And shit. Your pussy is the only thing cuter than your face. Shaved bare like you knew he was coming. You wanted it. You did. Leon doesn’t see any other hot dates waiting for you. “Aw, baby, you shouldn’t have.” He coos, tracing your puffy pussy lips with the pad of his thumb.

“Don’t do that…” Your voice is merely a whisper, and you’re not scared, girls like you don’t get scared. They get pissed off. Heated. Angry and upset. But never scared.

“Is this what you want, babe? Some dick ‘n you’ll shut up? Just wanted my attention.” Leon’s voice is a low rumble in your ears, he drawls like a slow trickle of sticky honey. Nothing is stickier than your cunt. He parts your lips, catching the dribbles of slick that form in beads along your slit. “Jesus, you’re fuckin’ wet, baby. You needed this, didn’t you?”

“No,” you croak out, throat dry from only a few minutes of disuse.

“No? You want me to stop then, sweetheart?” Leon slows his touch, it diminishes until it’s gone entirely and you whine at the loss so sweetly. “You’re not making any sense, babe.”

“Oh my god.” You suck in a breath, trembling not out of fear, but out of unadulterated rage and dizzying lust for a piece of his dick. “Fuck you.” He takes that as a Please, fuck me!

“How about we do something easier, baby.” Leon forces you onto your knees, and he was fucking right. You look so good like this. Knelt by his feet. His belt is unclipped, pants unzipped, boxers lowered. He guides his dick into your mouth, and you really are the most cock-starved thing he's ever met, ‘cause you open up and swallow him whole.

Then you do the sluttiest fucking thing a girl has ever done for him - reach back and jab your nails into the meat of his ass to force his dick deeper down your throat. “Shit, that’s right, baby— Fuck, you’re a fucking freak, huh?” Leon rewards you with a skull fuck. Balls clapping wetly and obscenely against your chin.

You gag on it, and you love it. God, he feels the pulse of your cunt through his boot when you grind yourself down on the steel toe cap. It’s round enough to do no damage, cool enough to help that hot cunt out, and the perfect shape to part your folds and stimulate your swollen clit.

Leon slaps it on your cheek a couple of times, then he tightens his hand around the shaft as you play with his balls, try to fit ‘em in your mouth like jawbreakers. Shit, fuck, his brain fucking blanks. He’s gonna cum if you don’t stop. His hand comes to rest on your forehead, hoping to snuff out the pleasure that builds too soon in his belly, you pop off his cock, refusing to stop making out with his tip, tonguing the slit like you’re getting paid to do this.

The bedroom is a couple metres away, it’s an awkward shuffle over with his lips slotted to yours, tongue running over your teeth, licking at your gums. Your back hits the handle, then less than a metre after that it hits the squeaky mattress. He kisses down your body, you smell like fruity body wash, it might be strawberry or raspberry. It smells like pink, that’s all he knows.

A sloppy kiss is placed on the very front of your mound. “You want me to play with your sticky little pussy, baby?”

“Ew,” you whimper out, nodding anyways, legs bent at the knee to bare your sweet pussy to him.

He laps at you like a dog. Eating pussy is tedious, Leon likes pushing heads down on his dick, it’s way better. But to hear you moan like that, shit he would do it a thousand times over, latch onto your clit and suck till you see stars. “Did you like that, baby? Fuck, creamed on my fucking tongue, sweet little thing.” He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. Sure, Leon's going to go back to set smelling of your cunt, it’s not so bad. He quite likes it. Better the tang of pussy than sweat.

“Jus’ put it in,” you beg, “please, please—“

“I heard you the first time, sweetheart. Be patient.” Leon takes your ankles in his hands, puts them by your ears. See this? That’s when Leon can tell a girl really fucking wants him. When she holds her thighs up for him, and then she puts her palms flat to spread herself as open as she can get. “Jesus, baby, you’re a slut.” He laughs derisively, it rolls off his tongue as sweetly as any other pet name.

You’re left keening when the head of his dick sinks into your weeping cunt, your toes curl, and Leon cranes his neck to kiss your ankle. He runs his hands over the backs of your plush thighs, circling his hips as he eases into you— He’s lying. In his world, there’s no easing. Leon’s dick is mean, and he can tell you’ve been dying for a rough fuck. He bottoms out the second his head pops past your fluttering hole. Then he’s balls-to-the-wall. Like, literally. They’re heavy against your ass, slapping loudly with each measured thrust.

“Baby,” Leon starts, he’s breathless, rolling his hips into yours, “I swear on my life, sweetheart, if that shit drops I’ll beat you fuckin’ bloody.” That article dropping would signal the end of his life as he knows it. Your pussy clamps down on him at his words. “Oh, you nasty little bitch, you liked that?”

There’s a string of yes, yes, yeses! and then a string of expletives, and then a drawn-out call out of his name as he drives into you with all the force of a freight train. Your nails are scratching down his back, and your pussy is coating him in the same wetness that pools below your ass.

“Take it, baby, take it, fucking take it.” It takes one last thrust for you to come undone, your orgasm has your body going ramrod straight, and then your pussy fucking gushes. And Leon in all his years of sex and women and pussy and fucking has never made a girl do that. Half of him is convinced you’ve gone and pissed on him, the other half is sure he’s made you squirt like girls do in porn— Holy shit. He’s twenty-seven years old and he only just made a girl squirt.

You cry out as he grinds into you, his dick bumping your cervix, his pelvis grinding into your clit— And you sob, shaking your head as another burst of liquid spurts out of your cunt, soaking his abdomen, soaking his fucking shirt that belongs to the costume department—

Fuck, he’s gonna cum. He’s cumming hard. Leon’s balls tighten, and his shaft twitches as his load shoots out of the tip of his cock into your tight cunt. He didn’t pull out. If there’s one thing, he’s good at, it’s pulling out. Leon made a girl squirt, and he didn’t pull out. All in one day. What an accomplished man he is.

“Mmm.” You roll onto your front, face in the pillows as you catch your breath, still shivering as aftershocks zap at your nerve endings. Leon wipes the sweat built on his forehead, strands of his hair stuck to it. “I’m not convinced, the article’s still going up.”

What a bitch.

“Right.” He delivers a brisk swat to your ass, it elicits an involuntary yelp. “Guess I’ll have to convince you. I got a week, don’t I?”

“A week and a half,” you say, not bothering to bid him bye as he zips his cargos, “I’m pretty hard to convince.” Cheeky.

“It can be done.” Through another round of dick from Monday to Friday.

[froggyfics]

The Deadliest Poisons Are The Sweetest - 6

Conflict arises within the Al Ghul household.

18+ only! I do not consent for this content to be viewed by minors. Please take heed of the warnings listed, though they are not entirely comprehensive. All characters are consenting adults. Do not continue reading if you are uncomfortable with the content. This story and its contents are 100% fictional, and are not affiliated with DC Comics.

Sincerely appreciate you guys for leaving comments and messages about my writing! Your interactions definitely push me to complete my work. Thank you for your patience.

Feedback is always appreciated. Feel free to message me privately or comment below to let me know what you think. Constructive criticism is always welcome!

Pairing: LOA!medieval!Damian Wayne x fem!reader

Word Count: 3,780

Warnings: misogyny?, smut, p in v penetration, oral sex

The Wayne Manor, in all its glory, is quite ordinary. 

Yes, it is perhaps the most magnificent building in all of Gotham – but if you look closely enough, there are little quirks that can only be seen in homes that have been lived in. 

Little chips on the doorframe showed its perpetual use. The floorboards creaked due to constant footsteps. The stained windows were discolored to divulge their age.

The manor gave off a completely different aura when compared to the Al Ghul Castle. The castle was built primarily for defense purposes and was not meant to be lived in. Its bloody history was obvious with its moat, drawbridges, and arrow slits.

Maybe that’s why you instantly felt more at ease at the manor. This was a home. It had no nefarious purpose. Even if the castle was purged of its malignant occupants (namely Talia), it could not erase its bloody history. 

With that being said, you could not say that you were completely comfortable at the manor. 

“How can I make you feel more at home?” Alfred inquires.

You’re not entirely sure how to answer his question. Maybe he could send word for your family to come to the manor instead of staying at the castle. 

You push the idea to the back of your mind almost immediately after thinking it. Your family hasn’t really been acting like your kin since you’ve arrived in the capital. They’re simply too busy schmoozing to notice your plight. After all, you are their ticket to the upper echelon. Damian had you leave the castle so hurriedly that you did not even have the chance to seek them out to say farewell. You doubt they’d care about your absence anyways.

“Where’s Damian?” 

“He’s still speaking with his father. I can have him come to your room as soon as he finishes his discussion.”

“Yes, that would be wonderful.”

Alfred bows before exiting the room. “Your highness.”

You let out a melancholic sigh while plopping on your bed. The absolute silence that surrounds you deafens your ears. The peacefulness reminds you that this is the first time in a long time that you had to yourself. 

Your ladies-in-waiting are out familiarizing themselves with the manor. Rachel returned to her own home, promising to follow you to manor after she packed her own belongings. Alice, your personal servant, is acquainting herself with the servants’ quarters. 

Talia is not breathing down your neck. Your mother is no longer nit-picking at your appearance. Your father is not here to remind you of your dimwittedness. Your older brother is not hounding you to convince your in-laws to give him a council seat. 

It's just you. After so much time surrounded by others, wishing for some alone time, you’re suddenly dumbfounded. How were you able to entertain yourself before him – before Damian?

The embroidery hoop sits longingly in your open chest. Your needlework was in sore need of improvement you realized after moving to Gotham. After all, the noblewoman here had no household chores to take up their time, thereby leaving them experts at embroidery. 

You sit down on a sturdy wooden chair. It’s easy for you to distract yourself in the work that you’re doing. All that there is to distract you are the crackling of the candles and the occasional prick of the needle. 

You nearly fall out of the chair in terror when the door opens suddenly. Your ladies-in-waiting come barging in, talking amongst themselves merrily until they notice you. Their faces sour. 

“C’mere, your highness,” Matilda sneers. “Time for bed.”

A sigh escapes your lips before you can control it. Surely, you cannot be treated this way! After all, you’re a princess now!

Alas, you scurry to Matilda and turn your back towards her. Of course, you can wish for a spine all you’d like, but you’d never stand up to her. Or to Honora. Or Joan. Or Talia. You’re…you. A princess, but you were born among the lowest of aristocrats. Just a generation prior, your family were peasants! Matilda, Joan, and Honora all came from distinguished dynasties that far surpassed your own. 

“Ouch!” You tried with all your might to keep quiet while Matilda yanks you about, but when her nails scratch against your back, you can’t help but let out a screech.

“Oh, hush now!”

“You’re – hurting me.”

Matilda remains quiet and you step out of your dress after it pools at your feet. The fireplace keeps the room warm, but the hostility in the air increases the temperature. She tugs the nightgown over your head rudely. 

“I suppose I’ll stay the night with the princess.” Honora points to the feather mattress near the bed. 

Matilda and Joan nod their heads and curtsy towards you.

“Now, is there anything else you’d like for us to do before we retire for the night, your highness?” Joan’s voice is sickly sweet, but at this point, you know her words are laced with venom.

“No, thank you. You are dismissed. Have a nice night.”

They snicker in each other’s ears and walk towards the door, while Honora looks longingly at them. Joan opens the bedroom door and gasps at the sight. 

“Your highness!”

Damian leisurely strides into the room with his hands behind his back like a soldier. The occupants of the room immediately bow in respect, including you. 

So much time had passed from when you told Alfred to call for Damian, that you didn’t think he’d actually come to see you. But here he was! In your room. You didn’t even know what you wanted to say to him. You didn’t remember why you asked Alfred to send Damian to you in the first place.

He clears his throat and looks around the room. His gaze lands on your discarded embroidery hoop atop your dresser. He picks it up to examine the half-finished red carnation on the fabric. Your entire body heats up in embarrassment. In your lonely haze, you barely recalled poking the red and green thread through the linen fabric. It meant nothing. Damian catches your gaze, and you hope to communicate silently that it meant nothing to you. Boredom took over and flowers were a common item to embroider. It meant nothing. You weren’t thinking about him then, and you certainly didn’t care that he was standing in front of you now. 

“You lot are dismissed for now.”

The ladies scamper out of the room immediately as Damian’s command leaves his lips. No back talk. No snide comment. If only they respected you half as much as they respected him, your day-to-day life would become so much smoother.

“Alfred mentioned that you called upon me.”

Your eye twitches. “Only to say goodnight.” You stare at him until it becomes uncomfortable. “So, goodnight.”

You turn around to get under the warmth of your covers. You pull the coverlet and bedsheet out as calmly as you can, even though a combination of anger and embarrassment courses through you. 

You want to lie back down fully, but Damian remains standing in place. 

“Can you please call my lady-in-waiting in here?”

“No.”

“No?” you scoff. “Why not?”

“We’re having a conversation, that’s why.”

“No, we’re not,” you huff. “I have had quite a tumultuous day. If you’ll excuse me, I will retire for the night.”

“You are angry with me.”

You scowl, but say nothing in return. You are angry. In fact, you are irate. Your marriage has just begun, and you already want to escape. 

“I’ve spoken with my father,” Damian interrupts the silence. “We will be staying here, at Wayne Manor. The castle is not the place for us.”

He exhales loudly when you do not respond. You are looking down at your coverlet, but can sense his movements closing in on you. He tediously sits on the farthest possible corner of the bed.

You shake your head in disbelief and face him with a glare on your face. “I do not bite, your highness, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”

His smile momentarily catches you off-guard, but his chuckles reignite your anger. “You look like you will,” he responds once he notices your fury. His attempt at easing the tension does not work.

“I truly apologize for what my mother said to you. It was not…appropriate to say the least. Here at the manor, I can assure you that no one will question our marital bed like she did.”

“Tell that to my ladies-in-waiting. You do know that they are your mother’s spies, right? They’ll report everything to her.”

He shrugs. “I have been known to keep a loyal household.” He winks at you. “I have my ways.”

You simply can’t stand it. He’s being so…friendly. It irks you.

“Thank you, your highness. T’is late. I will not keep you up.” 

Your attempt to dismiss Damian is ignored. He tuts and closes the distance between you two. His new position is right at your side. His thigh touches your own, with just sheets of fabric separating the two of you.

“You’re angry with me,” he repeats.

“What’s it to you?” You do your best to keep your voice steady. “It’s not like you care.”

“Of course, I do. Of course, I care.”

A humorless laugh escapes your throat. “I’m not stupid. I have not grown up with your fancy tutors or privileged background, but I’m not stupid.”

“I never said you were stu –”

“You don’t have to say it for me to know that you and everyone else think it!” you nearly shout. “Your highness –”

“We’ve been over this.” He rubs his forehead. “You are my wife. Refer to me as husband or Damian –”

“I am not your wife!” It’s unintentional, but some of your spit lands on his face. You fight to get the covers off of you, jumping out of bed. You can only stomp a few steps away from Damian before his arm grabs your bicep.

You’re pulled back towards him and he swivels you around to face him once again.

“I am not your wife!” you repeat.

“What are you going on about, woman?” His own anger is evident due to the bulging vein on his neck. “Have you hit your head and lost your memory already?”

You speak through gritted teeth. “Your highness, I am not sure why you have roped me into your lies, but clearly there is another motive behind our so-called marriage.” You rip yourself from his hands, and point at him menacingly. “I don’t think I care to know why you have lied to me, but just know I’m onto you. You cannot deceive me. I know that we are in a sham marriage.”

Damian’s eyes nearly transform to coal black, the green is no longer visible. You slowly drop your accusatory finger, mentally kicking yourself for your tantrum. His disposition is quite fearsome, you realize. You were admittedly terrified of Prince Damian, who comes from a long line of terrifying and tyrannical ancestors. 

“Careful there, woman,” he taunts. “You are speaking to your prince.”

“I thought you were just my husband,” you sneer before you realize what you said. You clamp your mouth shut.

His eyes narrow dangerously. “Same difference. Do you need reminding?”

Well, now you’ve done it. You were going to be beheaded come sunrise, weren’t you? Why couldn’t you have just shut up? Why did you have to believe the lies he said in the garden? Who cares, he’s a man – they all lie. What difference does it make that your man joins in the age-old tradition of lying?

Damian waits expectantly for some sort of response from you, while your mind races. 

“No…husband.”

Damian smiles, but you can tell it’s the coldblooded kind. He takes one step, then another, and then one more until he’s toe-to-toe with you. 

You look up meekly at your prince. He towers over you and it dawns on you just how precarious your situation is. It has been just a day since you’ve married. The marriage could easily be annulled, especially at Damian’s behest. You are replaceable. There are countless others you would kill to be the heir’s wife.

And who could replace Damian? Quite literally, no one. Your family would forever be disgraced. No one would want to interact with the family of the heir’s former wife. It would be an embarrassment. Not to mention, you would forever be the laughingstock of the kingdom. The day-old princess. 

He cups your face, and his thumbs brush your hot cheeks. His other fingers grip the back of your neck, nearly painfully so. “Well, I think you do.”

Your breath hitches in the back of your throat when he plants his lips on your forehead. They travel to your nose before one hand shifts the collar of your nightgown.

“Admittedly, t’is my fault.” He suckles the tender skin at the base of your neck. “I have not truly turned you into a wife yet.” The implications of his words make you shiver, along with the wet kisses he leaves up and down your neck. His actions leave you in shock. This was not the way you expected to be…punished? Reprimanded? You’re not sure what exactly Damian is planning.

He kisses the pulsing point in your neck and the sensitivity nearly makes your moan. You bite your lip in retaliation, but of course, he notices it. 

You want to retort, but his thumb rubs against your nipple. You breathe out heavily as he continues his ministrations, your fiery attitude withers away as your nipple hardens under his touch. 

His hands slowly make their way to your hips and he grabs them firmly to guide you in the direction of the bed. 

You yelp when he pushes you onto the bed roughly, nearly landing completely on your back, but you catch yourself by your arms. You watch in utter curiosity as Damian rolls your nightgown over your knees, exposing you the warm chill of the room. He bites his lip lewdly and sinks to his knees.

You yelp again when he pulls you closer to the edge by the ankles. 

“You can watch if you want.” He gives you wet kisses from your ankle till your inner thigh. When he reaches your thigh, you attempt to close your legs around his head. It’s simply too sensitive. 

He pushes your knees apart and begins the cycle again on the other leg. This time, when he reaches your inner thigh, he takes hold of your legs and spreads them as far apart as he can. 

You squirm and squirm as he continues kissing your inner thighs.

“Damian,” you whimper.

“The lioness suddenly cannot seem to roar, only mewl,” he teases.

You can feel his hot breath on your innermost parts. The intimacy of the situation makes you grip the bed, but once he latches onto you, your hands cramp in the air.

“Oh! Ooh! Oh.” You moan loudly while he deliciously eats you out. His tongue sloppily latches onto your sensitive nub, but he occasionally leaves you long, languid licks on the entire region.

His hand snakes up your body, shirking your nightgown up until it’s over your shirt. He tweaks your nipples, and you can feel your abdomen tightening in response. 

You can feel the cooling wetness when Damian finally releases his hold on your clitoris. You want to mourn the absence of his tongue, but the mourning period ends as quickly as it began when he starts to rub his thumb in firm, circular motions.

There are so many sensations happening simultaneously. His thumb on your clit. His rough shirt agitating your nipples. Wet kisses on your neck. His fingers occasionally swiping the wetness leaking from your hole and spreading it around. You couldn’t stop the tide even if you wanted to.

The only thing to hold onto is his biceps. It starts in small waves. A strange feeling arises in you, but you don’t want it to stop. It roils in faster and faster peaks. You bite your lip in anticipation. When it finally arrives, a sound escapes your throat that has never come out before. Your muscles contract as you reach your peak. 

Damian’s lips leave your neck to latch onto your mouth. You moan into his mouth as the feeling rides itself out. It’s so overwhelming that all modesty flies out the window. You don’t care how loud you are. You don’t care how you must look. All that surrounds you is the pleasure that Damian extracted from you. 

The kiss you share is unlike the one from the day before at your wedding. Your wedding kiss was short and sour. This one is long and sensual. 

You don’t want the kiss to end, but Damian takes the initiative to pull back. He maintains eye contact with you while he removes his tunic and pants. You obscenely take in the sight of his defined abs and strong muscles, but you stop once your eyes meet his hardened member.

You jump slightly when he suddenly spits on it. His hand moves up and down to spread his saliva around. The sight is so lewd that you turn your head to avoid it.

“Don’t get all shy on me now, beloved.”

His words force you to look once more at him. His pushes your shoulders down to where you lay flat on the bed. You crane your neck to at least look at what he’s doing. He holds your neck up with his hand to give you a better view once he realizes what you’re trying to do. 

He pokes at your entrance. “Beloved, breathe for me.”

You have no choice but to follow the instructions of the man that just had his face in between your thighs moments ago. You inhale, then exhale, and repeat the process.

The pain halts your breath. You hiss as the head of his penis is thrust into you. He shallowly inserts the tip in and out, and leans down to pepper your face with light kisses. Slowly but surely, your hiss turns into a whimper. In response, he thrusts deeper and deeper. He whispers tenderly into your ear.

“You feel amazing, my love.”

“This is what I should have done last night.”

“I am all yours.”

You don’t even realize you’ve shed a tear until he swipes it away. The gentleness of the moment wipes away the last month from your memory. All that exists is here and now.

It hurts, but there’s an equal amount of pleasure licking behind the pain. Damian’s ever-increasing groans only add to your own desire. He impales you with every thrust, but he does so as slowly as possible. You can tell he could be rougher if he wanted, as evident by his muscular figure. 

He leans his forehead onto your own, and closes his eyes. You keep yours open to watch him pant. There’s a glow on his skin that highlights every handsome feature about him. 

His breathing becomes erratic and so do his thrusts. His grunts are nearly animalistic until finally he groans loudly in delight. You can feel a gush of wetness around your entrance as he lazily thrusts himself in and out of you. He stills himself inside of you at last before practically crushing you under his weight.

You can hardly breathe under the pressure and feebly push upwards against his chest with your hands that are trapped under him. He pulls out of you completely and rolls over to your side, still panting heavily. 

He shifts you onto your side to face him and pecks your entire face with light kisses. You giggle at his show of affection, wishing that he would never stop. 

But he does. Everything good must come to an end. With one final peck on your lips, he rubs his hands up and down your back before getting up from the bed. The warmth of his body escapes you and you find yourself quite cold suddenly. The fireplace still burns brightly, but Damian’s touch provided a fiery heat that could not be replicated through any other means. 

Once he’s finally dressed, he leans down to give you a passionate kiss. You return the affection to the best of your naïve ability. 

“Our marriage is now officially sealed. Do you feel like our union is a sham still?”

You squirm in embarrassment. You recall the argument that preceded your intimate counter, but shame overcomes you at the way you behaved. 

You nod your head in response. “I apologize, Damian. This past month has just been a whirlwind for me.”

He gazes at you while tying his pants tight. “I understand.” He reaches down and kisses your knuckles, like he did when you first arrived in Gotham. “Goodnight, beloved.”

He strides towards the exit. “Damian, will we spend any time together tomorrow? I’d love a tour of the manor with you as my guide.”

“I don’t think that is possible. I’ll be very busy.” He attempts to walk away, but is stopped by your questioning again.  

“Can we at least have dinner together?” He doesn’t turn to face you entirely, but he does tilt his head in your direction. 

“Would that make you happy?” he finally says.

“Yes,” you immediately answer. You wanted what just happened to continue to happen. Not necessarily the sex, although that was a definitive plus, but the closeness. 

You felt so much closer to Damian within just a night of emotional intimacy that your negative memories of him from the past month shift towards the back of your head. Every kiss he gave you tonight replaced every snide comment made in your direction, the loneliness you felt, and the confusion regarding your relationship status.

“Then, we shall have dinner.” With that, he leaves the room, leaving you bare on the bed. 

His absence makes the pain and soreness in your abdomen and genitals evident. You clutch your belly in an attempt to soothe the cramps away.

Your door bursts open. You scramble to cover yourself with something, with anything, but it’s too late.

Honora glares at you as she makes her way towards the bed. The best you can do in your fumbled state is cover yourself with your arms and make yourself as small as possible. 

She looks you over, and then at the red and transparent stains on the coverlet. 

“Get off the bed,” she snaps. She exits the room and returns a few moments later with two servant girls.

“Hurry up,” she barks at the servants as they scurry to change to the sheets. “I’d like to get some sleep before the sun rises.”

[stardust-falling]

Having more thoughts about Shen Jiu because of course I am.

I don’t think he has the capacity for empathy or genuine selflessness.

He spent the entirety of his formative years deep in survival mode, and because of that, he evaluates people solely based off of how they might threaten or ensure his safety and/or comfort. As far as individual people themselves with their own perspectives… honestly I don’t think he even thinks of that.

Maybe a controversial opinion, but I don’t think even YQY is exempt.

Shen Jiu doesn’t have a moral code. When every day is spent on surviving, a moral code is a luxury.

And really, he just never got out of that mode. See, the thing is, once you’ve had enough adverse experiences it only takes a little bit to trigger you back into that mindset. Shen Jiu was used to being scolded and then beaten or abused, so for him, even a simple chiding is a precursor to abuse— even if he DOES recognize that nothing more will happen, his body and mental patterns will still go into that preparation time.

So of course he never left survival mode, because even if nothing is actively happening, your mind will keep reinforcing those patterns.

For someone with a normal upbringing, as far as I can tell, empathy is something you learn and develop from those around you. Many seem to think it’s something innate and natural and if you don’t have it then there’s something wrong with you from birth. I think Shen Jiu falls into exactly this category of thought— and so he doesn’t even consider that he could try to learn and develop it as a skill he can perform, even if it doesn’t come naturally.

Of course, would he even try? He hasn’t been given any incentive. Any time he has tried to do something good, he ends up getting hurt (saving Yue Qi leading to being taken by QJL) or misinterpreted and admonished (the well ghost incident, keep in mind my earlier point about scoldings perpetuating the same patterns).

So he stays in that same vicious cycle, perpetually in survival mode and unable to escape, even in a relatively secure position (see: his paranoia).

Now, this is all relevant to the discussions of SJ’s feminism, misogyny, and/or lack thereof. I feel like a lot of discussions aren’t really getting the full picture.

SJ sees people, no matter who they are, as solely how they can affect him. Just because this isn’t exclusive to women, or because if comes from a reasonable place, does that really mean it doesn’t play into misogyny?

Let’s take another angle.

I think his abuse of LBH and other talented disciples also is rooted, deep down, in this same issue. He’s not just hurting LBH only to hurt him, his aim is specifically to stunt his cultivation. There’s jealousy at play there of course, but there’s a bit more layers to it too— SJ doesn’t think he’s capable of goodness. So reasonably, he’ll be a bad teacher. He already knows what happens when someone becomes more powerful than their oppressor. LBH may be a child now, but a part of SJ whether he acknowledges it or not sees him as a future threat that needs to be treated as such.

It’s rooted in fear— because everything is with SJ.

So does that mean it’s not actually abuse?

No. The behaviors he shows are still abusive, the reasoning just gives a lens for understanding.

Now, with his views on women— I mentioned in the tags of my original post that I don’t think he views women as people. This is based in that earlier idea of how he interprets others based off their risk and benefit to him. For women specifically, though, there’s another layer.

Shen Jiu grew up in a society where women are inherently lesser— and he grew up in an extreme version of this. He saw women being treated as property firsthand(both as slaves, as well as QJL’s views on his sister). Your worldview is shaped by the world that you view during those early years. Whether he agreed or not, SJ would still take on the patterns of his environment. This, though, is just the same as general societal misogyny and ingrained bias. I don’t think he’s any different than anyone else in this way.

But where SJ’s particular flavor comes in is that to him, women are a source of comfort. For various reasons— positive past experiences, less threatening (or at least don’t carry the dangers men do). He craves comfort— needs it really, because he doesn’t get it and his cortisol levels are always so high they’re poisoning his body. Women are the best source of that comfort for him.

It’s not that he likes them— at least, not any more than someone would like drinking water, or a coat in the winter. They’re fulfilling a survival need for him.

That is what the objectification is where SJ is concerned.

So… is it misogyny?

I’d say yes, in a way it still is. It’s not violent, and it doesn’t come from some inherent sense of “superiority as a man” but at the core of it all, he’s still not viewing women as people, and he has no interest in changing the status quo, because it benefits him to be able to go purchase comfort at a pleasure house, even if it’s not what people usually do there. The picture is bigger than just misogyny, but the traits taken as themselves are misogynistic nonetheless.

I could go into his specific relationships with women and how that informs his character, but this post is already long enough. We know that he mentally divides people by sex, and that distinction has a lot of weight in his judgment of them. Even if it comes from a place of trauma, even if it comes from a general worldview that applies to everyone, he still views women as a commodity— so on some level, and from an outside perspective, he is misogynistic.

In the end, though, it still all comes from him being stuck in survival mode. His lack of empathy, his viewing others as risks and benefits— these things themselves aren’t moral failings— it’s just a consequence of his environment. He’s a bad person because he won’t confront this, develop a moral code, and act on it, not because he doesn’t experience empathy.

But in his circumstance, there’s not really a chance for him to choose to be good. Because he’s still trying to survive, and goodness is a luxury he doesn’t realize he can afford now.

He’s scum, but pitiful, you know?

[creepykuroneko]

Real talk everyone needs to learn: it is possible for someone to be both a victim and an abuser even simultaneously.

You can be victim of childhood sexual abuse and still grow up to be a horrible person who abuses your own family. The cycle of violence is real people.

White women are victims of misogyny but they can also be perpetrators of racism, homophobia, transphobia, ableism, anti-semitism, islamophobia, classicism, sexism and abusive towards their families. Think about all those white women who claim to be feminists and looking out for other women but then still turn around and call the police on a black woman they saw in their neighborhood or a disabled homeless woman who was loitering outside a building. The term Karen exists for a reason and it is not about a woman who gets mad because her waiter brought her a tea instead of a coffee. It is a white woman who specifically targets black people and calls the police on them. There is a reason why white women have been fighting against social media to change the definition of calling a white woman a Karen. Saying the term was sexist didn't work (because misogynist don't believe in sexism) so now they try to claim that being a Karen is a superpower meant to stand up for the marginalized and get results.

Women of color are victims of both racism and sexism yet can still be guilty of racism, colorism, homophobia, transphobia, ableism, anti-semitism, islamophobia, classicism, sexism and abusive towards their families. Colorism is a really big problem amongst all the various poc groups. unfortunately WOC still hold up the same racist cast standards. Whether it's turning to skin lightening products, straightening one's own hair to fit with eurocentric standards, getting plastic surgery, or repeating the mantra lighter than a brown paper bag, a lot of WOC buy into the idea of what is the right way to look and what is not. Before any of you reactionist are quick to scream, " but if they don't conform to eurocentric standards they are not going to be treated like human beings!" Conforming to the status quo literally does not cause racist to stop being racist. Keep in mind that these women don't just view themselves in a negative light but everyone else who looks like them as well. What do you think women who use skin lightening products do to their children? Especially their darker skin daughters? What do you think happens when these women pray that their child will be fair skin but then are mad to see that they ended up with a brown or black child? Talk to any black, hair stylist, pediatrician, or dermatologist and they will tell you that many parents are so quick to hide their child's natural curly hair while they are still toddlers. that they want their child to have straight hair by age 3. What do you think that does to a child's mental state and self-esteem?

A white physically disabled person will face discrimination for being disabled but still perpetuate racism, homophobia, transphobia, ableism, anti-semitism, islamophobia, classicism, sexism and abusive towards their families. There are some physically disabled people who rely on social safety nets whether it be food stamps, disability, Social Security etc etc and yet they believe that these programs should be more strict on who is allowed to receive benefits. Even though they themselves have complained about having to prove to their case worker that they are still disabled. They honestly believe that other people in need are fakers who just do not want to work. Because many families cannot afford to have a private nurse come over to assist their disabled relative, oftentimes people will care for their disabled relative despite having no medical training or knowledge. Well this is not the case for everyone, sometimes the family member they are taking care of is abusive towards them. They don't want them to leave the house, have friends, significant others, or even just a little bit of time to do something for themselves. They do abuse their caretaker, throwing things at them, calling them names, tearing down their self-esteem, and threatening to tell their caseworker that their caretaker is abusing them if their caretaker does anything they don't like. Yes this does happen in the real world.

The neurodivergent community is extremely guilty of ableism, especially towards other neurodivergent people. People will complain about how they have every right to exist in public and stem however they want, but then turn around wish that other neurodivergent people disappear. They call other disabled people normal or neurotypical for doing something that they personally do not like. The action in question is something that literally other neurodivergent people do. Think about how many posts you've seen on Tumblr where an autistic person complains about being triggered ( often times they don't even use the term trigger correctly) because their "neurotypical" coworker keeps talking very loudly and fast. Do you know who else talks very loudly and fast sometimes? Other autistic people and people with ADHD. The neurodivergent community seriously needs to stop diagnosing everyone around them as normal. Oftentimes when people try to hold neurodivergent people accountable, the neurodivergent person in question will try to completely manipulate the situation and say things like "my brain doesn't work. I don't understand did I do something bad?", " I can't be held accountable because I'm mentally disabled", or " ableism! How dare you treat me like this!". I had a former coworker who had a form of down syndrome. She would wait until management was not around and then scream in the faces of our other co-workers (often fellow neurodivergent people themselves) and literally call them stupid. When management would ask her about her behavior, she would immediately begin to cry on the spot and say she didn't know she was doing something bad. When he would leave the room she would stop crying and bragged to me about how she knew what she did. Please note she was a disabled white woman calling other disabled mostly black women stupid. For other cases of neurodivergent people being horrible people just look at Chris Chan or Jupiter the hybrid. Apart from believing that they are the only disabled person in the room, racism is also extremely common amongst neurodivergent people. White autistics also love to call the police on disabled brown and black people. If an Asian or black person announces that they are autistic, they are often met with skepticism by white neurodivergent people. I really do not have time to get into it but look up the racist history between who gets diagnosed with ADHD and who gets diagnosed with Oppositional Defiant Disorder (ODD). This very much plays a role in how neurodivergent people determine who is a "valid" neurodivergent person and who is not. Remember folks just because someone is neurodivergent that does not mean they are not upholding racism, homophobia, transphobia, ableism, anti-semitism, islamophobia, classicism, sexism and are abusive.

Trans people can face discrimination for being trans but then they themselves are also guilty of being transphobic. Just take a look at the trans men's rights activist movement (TMRA), the tramsmed community, and the huge rise of anti-feminist trans people. Please note I am not talking about trans people who are anti-terfs and serfs, but trans people who are anti-feminism in general. For some reason the TMRA movement also believes that every single trans woman is a terf? I refuse to go down that rabbit hole to see their "logic". Unfortunately for the trans community large chunks of the community still hold on to their same Conservative Christian values they were brought up with and it's very telling when you see people talk about who is a valid trans person and who is not. There are also trans people who are homophobic. They believe homosexuality is a sin. Take a look at trans influencers who make fun of gay people, especially those who do drag, and talk about how they find drag offensive despite the fact that the trans community has a long history with the drag community. Don't believe me? Take a look at trans influencer Nikki Secondino's anti drag comments on her platform before she was arrested for murdering her dad. As with the other groups the trans Community is still guilty of homophobia, ableism, anti-semitism, islamophobia, classicism, sexism and abusive towards their families.

Gay and lesbian people are victims of homophobia but also dish out the same bigotry. There is a huge problem of acephobia, biphobia, transphobia, and discrimination towards intersex people within the G & L community. Think about all the posts you've seen that come from gay people who say that they are gay but they're normal about it unlike the more stereotypical gay people out there. They are looking to conform to their conservative values. They want the approval of the society they were brought up in even though that Society does not like them. They want the benefits of being white, christian, middle-class, and they don't want queer people "messing it up for them". They want to prove to conservatives that they are still conservative just like them they just happened to be gay or lesbian is all. Not a surprise they are really horrible to their fellow gays, queers of color, and trans people. Some people like to joke about the man who has the public life with the wife and kids but then in private is a closet homosexual who goes to the hotel with a sex worker. The thing is though that is a reality that still goes on today. It's not uncommon for them to beat or even kill their lover. Think about all the gold star lesbians and gold star gay people out there and pay attention to the terminology they use. How proud they are to have never had sex with someone of the opposite gender or someone with X genitalia. Well some people may know and accept early on their sexuality that is not the case for everyone and that is not a bad thing. This type of ideology is extremely sexist, biphobic, transphobic, and homophobic. Clinging to these out of date views will not help the lgbtqia+ community in the long run. Another thing that the community does not like to acknowledge AT ALL is the domestic violence that happens amongst queer couples. Look up the tragic case of Lyndsey Vaux, a queer woman who was murdered by her lesbian girlfriend if you need proof that queer people can also be abusive domestic partners. Ask any asian, brown, or black member of the LGBT community their experiences and they will tell you they would rather hang out with cishet asian, brown, and black people than with a white group of the lgbt+ people. Because they are more likely to be accepted by straight members of their same race then they are to be accepted by the white queer community. I know I didn't touch on it but the gay and lesbian Community are also guilty of racism, ableism, sexism, classism and more than capable of abusing those they love.

Poor people tend to really hate other poor people especially in america. I loosely mentioned it above about how disabled people want social safety nets to be harder for other people to obtain despite the fact that they also need them. It's not just disabled people who are guilty of this though. I've met a lot of people who are on food stamps but at the same time think that food stamps should not exist because it "encourages the lazy bums to leech off the system". When you try to point out the fact that they are also receiving food stamps they try to justify it. They think of themselves as a good person who didn't intend to end up in this type of situation but clearly they are the only exception, everyone else just doesn't want to work. Look at the people who are anti-free lunch programs, anti-affirmative action, anti-affordable healthcare, and anti Universal basic income, anti homeless shelters, anti-free birth control, Pro Redline laws, Pro business, pro profits over people, the entire libertarian movement. Many of these people are in fact poor and working class themselves. They just cannot admit that. Hell even amongst homeless people there is judgment and discourse. Some homeless people really do believe they are better than other homeless people because " my situation is different from theirs". The YouTube channel invisible people is a heartbreaking Channel where the interviewer pays homeless people to interview them and share their stories. The guy who runs the channel used to be homeless himself. His goal is to humanize and try to help homeless people. Every once in awhile one of the people he interviews will be in complete denial about themselves and their situation. Bigotry is a problem with poor people just like every other group.

This post is not meant to divide the different marginalized groups but rather acknowledge the problems that already exist. If you consider yourself left leaning in the slightest but this post made you mad, it probably means you have some issues you need to work on. The reality is we live in a very bigoted society. It does not matter if you're a disabled, queer, non-binary, stunning creature, you still have to check yourself for any bias you learned growing up. White people in the lgbt+ community get mad when issues like racism are brought up and accuse queers of color of trying to divide the community. In reality it is the racism that divides the community not the acknowledgment of.

This is where I'm going to end this for now. I know there's a lot I didn't touch on but let's be honest this post is already too long. If any of my fellow marginalized people want to share their experiences about bigotry and discrimination within their own communities please do so.

[thorne1435]

I keep getting shown transmasc posts and I actually love that for one reason in particular: a lot of trans men are talking about issues that affect men in general.

I see a lot of pushback against the idea of "transandrophobia" and maybe I've missed something, but fuck it, I'm gonna throw my name behind that movement because it *sounds* correct, from all I've seen so far.

It bothers me that there would be pushback at all, actually, because that indicates that we're still not willing to discuss how patriarchy oppresses men. And if you just scoffed at that, you're part of the problem.

In general, patriarchy upholds a role for both sexes that don't work for an actual human being:

Women are reduced to sex objects. They are emotional and weak, and they can't be trusted with anything outside of child rearing and household chores. This is misogyny, and it's the part you know.

Men are reduced to working bodies. They are emotionless and cold. They keep the family alive, they come up with the ideas, they worry about everything, and they do it all alone, stoically. This is misandry, and it's the part people will laugh at.

You may think the description of men's role is too positive, but I think that means you've never experienced it yourself. As a trans woman, I have. I can tell you with some certainty that the reason why men are "like that" is because they're required by society to be emotionally isolated and expressionless. If they don't go through life "like that" (even to the extent that being "like that" harms women or perpetuates patriarchal oppression of all genders) they're emasculated and shamed and ridiculed relentlessly until they feel worthless. But remember, they can't express that feeling of worthlessness either. It's a vicious cycle, and it's what oppresses men.

Humans weren't made to be like that, and encouraging anyone to behave in that way is misandry. Reducing the male struggle to one of a ruling class is misandry. And yes, assuming they're all predators and misogynists is misandry.

Tying it back to transandrophobia, if you start talking to a trans man as if he's a misogynist for feeling dysphoria from something that would give a *cis* man dysphoria (i.e emasculation), you've really missed the issue. But from the look of things, trans men haven't missed the issue. You just dismissed them like you would any man before the issue could be breached.

That's not constructive, and it's not going to lead to female empowerment any time soon. It's just going to stall men's lib.

[ghelgheli]

From Domestic Heteropessimism, Sarah Brouillette, 13/07/23:

Some number of the performative disaffiliations that characterize domestic heteropessimism, which critique patriarchal norms shaping the household, fail to look beyond the couple-based household of "equal partners" toward any fuller social reorganization, just as they ignore the material determinants of patriarchy and couple-based romantic and domestic forms. In this light, domestic heteropessimism is perhaps one of the contemporary cultural forms that, in trying conditions, help reconcile people to the idea that the relationships and family situations that they are in simply cannot be reordered in any deeper way. This is the heterofatalism, as Seresin calls it, underlying everything else, combined often enough with what Hannah Wang elsewhere in this cluster terms "anesthetic feminism," a shielding of oneself from seemingly inescapable "quotidian indignities of misogyny." Heterofatalism would have us accept that teaching men how to live up to your heterosexual desire for them is enough, the only real goal, itself sufficiently utopian, because scarcely imaginable. Meanwhile, the destructive force of the industrious, resource intensive, isolating, often lonely, exhausting, harrying, single-family household — the very institution through which heterosexual misery is perpetuated — remains obscured.

Of course, the couple-based heterosexual household, built upon a gendered division of tasks, not least via the naturalization of particularly intensive mothering, may very well be improved by teaching men to be more attentive partners and more active participants in the organization of the home. But equality in orchestrating what is an increasingly untenable way of living hardly seems sufficient, as it will leave in place a serious constraint on any kind of contended coupledom, heterosexual or otherwise: the simple reality of being overburdened with work and worry about financial security and children's unfolding lives in isolated homes that are incompatible with planetary futurity.

Far from imagining the possibilities for human connection and intimacy that might unfold in totally new conditions, domestic heteropessimism seems designed to help people want what there is, it would seem, no choice but to have: a heterosexual partner and children in a family home. It evinces a form of longing for equitable couple-based interpersonal relationships that eschews the promise and necessity of communizing care via overcoming capitalist social relations.

My simple point again, then, is that heteropessimism is limited to the extent that it stops at "reinforcing the privatizing function" of the couple, to return to Seresin's language, by treating the puzzle of women's desire for men as the main issue, by failing to identify the role that the couple-based family household itself plays in personal and planetary misery, and then by fathoming transformation within the tiny unit of the couple as the only grounds for any progressive activity. One can identify with aspects of heteropessimism and still be engaged in looking toward the revolutionary horizon, of course. Yet so many of its expressions do the opposite, rooting people even more in the social worlds that they already inhabit, offering the consolation of complaint about what is hardly, actually, unmovable.

From Domestic Heteropessimism, Sarah Brouillette, 13/07/23. In the Heteropessimism essay cluster.

[goondah]

If this rap discourse has done one thing its remind me how white this website is. I have also seen a concerning amount of "I am not racist BUT..."

So, my beloved white mutuals, white followers and any other white tumblr user who sees this, this is a call to action. If you would consider yourself not racist but have found that these posts about rap make you feel angry, disgusted or threatened i suggest you ask yourself the following questions:

Have i actually adressed any of my existing racial biases or preconceptions?

How aware am I of the history of different racial groups in my community and how this impacts the political situation today? (this applies to non USAmericans too)

How do i feel when i see a stranger of a different race to me in public? How does that compare to a stranger of the same race to me?

How often do i interact with non-white people? How many of my friends or important figures in my life aren't white?

How often do i engage with art created by people of a different race to me?

Am i actually not racist or do i just think i'm not because i don't call people racial slurs?

It is a well understood concept that a man who does not harass random women (and therefore would not consider himself a misogynist) can still perpetuate misogyny by having patriarchal values and ideas. It seems that many of you have not also applied this logic to race.

This post is not meant as a callout to anyone specific, i just want to challenge what seems to be a blind spot for many tumblr users and hopefully encourage some introspection.

(white people are welcome and encouraged to reblog this post)

[writing-for-life]

Nuance in (The Sandman) Fandom

Send me asks about everything Sandman-related!

I thought a lot over the past few days, partly prompted by discourse on here, partly due to a couple of “interesting” asks and messages I received (the type you don’t answer). I *think* they might have been prompted by engaging in discourse on topics like anti-blackness/racism, misogyny/sexism, TERF characters etc in The Sandman.

Fandoms are always getting super sensitive if someone shines a critical lens on their favourite works, authors and characters. So to make this clear (in case it isn’t already obvious from my brain-rot blog):

I love The Sandman. I love Neil Gaiman. I have an extremely soft spot for Dream (and Desire btw, who deserves a lot more character analysis than just being summed up as “villainous, sexy bitch”. One day, perhaps ;)).

I can read The Sandman and just get lost in the story, even after decades and many rereads. 

But I can also view it through a critical lens—these things aren’t mutually exclusive.

Not critical enough or too critical?

As fans, we can get trapped in certain thinking patterns, like:

“My blorbo can do no wrong”-syndrome 

“Characters with flaws are inherently problematic and imply authorial endorsement of those actions” 

“Characterisation and problematic subtext are one and the same” (aka overanalysing and looking for problems where there are none is the death of every story, but failing to see problematic patterns where they are clearly visible is a problem, too).

Don't say anything bad about my favourite character

I think this doesn’t need much further exploration. It’s not my personal way of looking at stories through permanently rose-tinted glasses (I always feel it stalls my experience, but my experience is not everyone else's). Some people prefer that type of escapism, and I’m good with that (although the downside is of course that by not willing to engage with issues, we can unwillingly perpetuate them). Live and let live, ship and let sail. But please, for the love of god: Don’t insult people via their inboxes or messages just because their opinions and preferences don’t align with yours. I’m not going to sugarcoat it or phrase it “nicely”: It’s infantile (and a form of bullying btw), end of.

How can you even like a character who's so horrible? And that author must be equally horrible, too

We have to separate flawed characters, even those who are written to be really problematic, from real-life endorsement of these actions. 

Author, narrator and character are three fundamentally different things, and don’t overlap as much as some people seem to think. 

We can write vile, despicable characters to make a point (for me, Thessaly was always a prime example for this, and I explained why here). We probably hate them as we write them. I don’t know what else to say, but this facet of writing seems to get more and more lost on people, and it’s a worry. Crying for sanitised characterisation is one step away from censorship. We explore what is problematic about people and humanity through story. That’s how we process and learn. It’s nothing new, but it becomes impossible if we can’t write flawed and even disgusting characters. 

Face value…

Since I’m mostly in The Sandman fandom, I often read that its ending is hopeless, and that’s supposedly the entire message. 

It is agonisingly sad, yes. But is it truly hopeless? I personally see it as quite the opposite, but of course that’s my opinion, coloured by my life experiences.

I also get that show-only fans often haven’t read the comics, or at least not the whole arc. And as such, their outlook from what they’ve seen so far (and choose to focus on) has to be different by default. I also understand that many people are quite new to the comics, even if they have read them in their entirety. I’ve sat with them for 30 years, and I still find new things on every reread (and I read it more times than anyone should 🙈), and I still don’t feel like I’ve understood it all. Perhaps because I still haven’t fully understood myself (and it’s unlikely I ever will). If there’s one thing The Sandman isn’t, it’s one-dimensional and easy to grasp in its whole depth.

I just wrote a ginormous meta on it, if you’re interested, it’s here:

Subtext, (not so) glorious subtext

This is where it gets complicated:

We shouldn’t mix up characterisation and story subtext. Overanalysing every line to death will always make us find something that’s “problematic”, when it really isn’t in the wider context of the story.

Zooming in is NOT always a good thing. Sometimes, we actually need to zoom out. 

But subtext *can be* (accidentally) problematic. Even in stories we love. And none of this negates what I previously wrote.

Stories have real-life implications of sorts, and we need to be able to talk about it. That’s where those slightly flabbergasting, hostile inbox messages come in, and I want to expand on that "topic of contention" a bit:

Neil himself confirmed that the Endless basically warp reality, and that this is why, after Dream’s failed relationship with Nada, many black women in his vicinity suffer terrible fates (Ruby and Carla in particular). And that this spell is only broken when he dies, and that it is the reason why Gwen doesn’t suffer the same fate. And said Gwen then gets used as a plot device to basically absolve Hob (who canonically really is a problematic character, whether show-only fans like it or not) from his slaver past. Once again, very clearly: No one is making this up. Neil confirmed it (for the comics, and that was over 20 years ago. It remains to be seen if his stance has changed as we move into that arc in the TV show).

I don't think it is correct to imply that Dream as a character is racist (I've read that, too) because he logically can’t be. He holds *all* the collective unconscious. He is also, strictly speaking, not white. He is everything and nothing, and he shows up in many different ethnicities throughout the whole arc, depending on who looks at him. But Neil played with a subtext here (reality warping due to a bad relationship which then affects everyone with similar physical traits) that will read very differently to a black person than it reads to a white person, and we have to understand why that is an *extremely* slippery slope.

Plus, we are supposed to see Hob, who *was* a racist at some point (you can’t not be if you’re a slave-trader—it’s impossible by default) as redeemed. And yes, he *does* regret deeply, good for him (and if I were saying this aloud, you would hear the sarcasm in my voice, because it is indeed all about him. We are to sympathise/empathise with him and his character growth while there isn’t much mention of the people he maltreated). But also: it was a black woman who basically forgave him (with dialogue that personally makes me cringe). And that black woman who offers forgiveness is not truly a black woman—she is a character written by a white man. And as much as author and character are not the same (see above), there is an inherent sensitivity in that power imbalance that we can't brush under the carpet.

I don’t think Neil is racist. Probably quite the opposite, and I can even see that his intentions were good from a storytelling point of view. BUT intention and impact are two fundamentally different things, and telling the story this way (comic version) betrays blindspots only white people have. Just like women have blindspots when they tell stories about men, and men have blindspots when they tell stories about women (and there are a few of those in The Sandman, too). And and and…

As storytellers, we can’t always speak from lived experience. It’s impossible. And that also means we occasionally make mistakes that look bad in hindsight, even if our intentions were good.

I guess the proof is in the pudding: What do we do when people who *have* that lived experience tell us it looks bad? If they inform us why it is hurtful, plays into old stereotypes etc?

Are we willing to listen and yield (both are the foundations of allyship btw), or are we insisting that our viewpoint as someone *without* lived experience is right? That lived experience extends to all lived experiences (sex/gender, sexual orientation, age...), and from all we’ve heard from Neil so far, it seems important to him to rewrite what he sees differently today. Whether they’ll always get it right for the show—we’ll see. At the moment, it looks a lot better than in the comics, and certain issues are already being handled with a lot more sensitivity, but a few problems remain.

Pushing back on criticism that comes from people with lived experience is problematic—I’d encourage us to think about what it looks like if a white majority in the fandom is basically saying that the opinions of POC are essentially “overreactions” (and yes, that happened).

It’s complicated. The Sandman was written in a different time, and I think we have to distinguish between things that weren’t really problematic at the time but have aged poorly (again, Thessaly springs to mind, and I have lived experience as a queer person during that time, so I can see it in context while at the same time acknowledging that I would make changes to bring it to the present day), and things that were always a problem due to blindspots. They were a problem in 1990, and if they don’t get changed, they are still a problem today.

This fandom is generally so much more open and nicer than others I know. But that doesn’t mean it’s infallible, because it’s full of humans. 

Nuance is sorely needed, in both story interpretation and interaction between said humans.

[angryracoon92]

I've been reading ACOTAR again these last days and I can't stop thinking about Elain, as a person, and Elain with Lucien. 

I've been out of the fandom for a while, and I think we're completely missing something big with the ship war going on with Elucien and Elriel. I think SJM has an insane opportunity to give such a message to her readers. I'm mature enough now to take some steps back on the story, but it might not be the case for everybody. At least it wasn't the case for my younger self. 

Elain gets a lot of hate because of misogyny, right? Because she's traditionally feminine, loves her flowers and her baking, is a very social person, and isn't a strong empowered warrior protagonist. I'm not saying those carcters are bad. They are necessary to break gender stereotypes and inspire girls to do what they want in life and  not to be afraid to be themselves if they don't align with the stereotypes. But I've noticed that this type of caracter has become so mainstream now that it has lost its meaning and is no longer a perspective of choice but an expectation. 

This ship war reminded me of Twilight. If I remember right, Bella says at some point that choosing between Edward and Jacob is more about choosing what version of herself is the one she wants to be. So, of course, she chooses an extraordinary life, rebels against the norms, and becomes a vampire. That's good for her. It carried the right message at that time. 

But with Elain, SJM can completely change that message around. If Elain chooses Azriel, she chooses an extraordinary life too. She gets to become an active member of the Night Court, probably will be trained as a warrior or a spy at some point and become a revelant political figure with her seer abilities. That's an attractive life, and would probably allow her character to evolve a lot. But it once again perpetuate that idea that you have to become a very warrior type of character for you to have some value. So we're teaching teens that they have to be extraordinary for people to love them and value them, putting a lot of pressure on them, and encouraging them to, in the end, embody the new stereotype of women that we have created. 

All the beauty of the idea lies there. If Elain chooses Lucien, she won't have to have that dark, alluring life but can choose an ordinary one. She won't be expected to stop her gardening, to act or speak differently. She doesn't have to completely change her personality, and she is still loved and cherished, but for exactly who she is. Even if she can become that super cool person, but not in alignment with herself. It could show that you can be loved even as an ordinary person with an ordinary life. That quiet lives are just as important as epic ones. And that a simple life can still be filled with happiness and beauty. It's a tolkienesque idea, but it's so important to celebrate ordinary lives.

If SJM writes Elucien, she can create a whole spectrum of representation. You can be a queen, a warrior, or a lover, and each of them is just as good as the other if it feels right to you.

And, by writing all of this, I don't even want to take part in this Lucien vs Azriel thing, or even go deeper in the characters. It's not about the characters themselves. There are a lot of amazing people who have done precise analysis of the canon text already. I just felt that it was important for me to share it somewhere, and I've seen no one talking about it already.

Please don't hesitate to interact with this post because I would love to talk about it with someone. Thanks for reading if you made it that far :)

[yuri-for-businesswomen]

cheerleading is a demanding and underrated sport actually. it takes so much discipline and team spirit and different kinds of physical skill, you need to learn choreography, be able to dance and move, learn acrobatics, be strong and have full control over your body, the shows are extremely high paced. the pyramids?! insane what women can do!

but its always reduced to pretty girls with pom poms and its a shame that even the youngest have to go on stage in full makeup (the girls look like they are partaking in a child beauty pagant not a highly competitive and demanding sport) with tiny outfits.

i know the origin is women cheering on men who are the real ~heroes~ while they are just side characters to their story and it still partly is like that - but cheerleading has also become its own impressive sport and doesnt get the recognition it deserves because of the misogyny perpetuated within the sport, in its origins and from the rest of society and their misrepresentation in media.

[justslowdown]

Accidentally peeked into a radfem cesspool of people angry about trans fem people making videos about their transitions, discussing the changes they've experienced on HRT. Wonderful folks who are helping inform about the spectrum of what may happen.

Just really nasty shit being said because these trans women and nb people are "perpetuating harmful stereotypes about women" and "justifying misogyny" when they discuss things like changes in emotional states they personally have experienced.

Sometimes life-saving ones.

"Allergic to testosterone" is what one of these trans creators said, which got me thinking about my own long term experiences with HRT, on the other side of things.

And I realized I've seen transmasc and nb people on this website make the exact same accusatory arguments when people on T are honest about their individual changes.

And I just think there's a BIG space between transmedicalist assholery, and complete denial that hormones do anything besides changing your visible characteristics/voice/etc.

There's a sense on this site (or in my corners? I avoid online trans discourse like the plague though, it's been like, ten years since I came out, I'm tired......)

that if your mental and emotional state is different on testosterone, you're having, what, a psychosomatic response to gendered stereotypes? That you're justifying men's behavior now that you benefit from misogyny. Or that you're newly enabled to express your anger, now that you have a masculine social role, and that's why you're experiencing it differently.

Sure, let's talk about the roles those things may play in our own individual experiences. But while we do that, let's maybe...... not be so vitriolic that people like me are afraid of saying a word about our own lived experience on hormones.

I was on low dose T for years, off it for a couple years due to isolated life circumstances, now back on it (still low dose) for coming up on a year soon. It is at least partially responsible on a physiological level for changes in my mental functioning, and in my experience of anger and activated emotions vs self-contained emotions. I am grateful to feel anger, now, as hard as it's been to learn how to handle.

Pretending otherwise or keeping quiet doesn't help anyone. Talking about it so even one person won't be as caught off guard as I was... might? But I sure as hell won't be saying anything more public than this because of the response I've seen others get. Again: I'm .... tired.

...

People assumed I was a man in that middle chunk of time when I had an estrogen dominant system but had already experienced voice change and facial hair.

My social experience was different from my physiological one.

If all the emotional and mental changes I felt between being on and off testosterone were attributable to social positioning and misogyny...? that middle chunk of time wouldn't have been the outlier in between when I was on T, in terms of ability to feel anger and some other complex emotions I really don't have the vocabulary for.

And in terms of my literal ability, full stop, my ability to just not have thoughts for a moment. When my system is estrogen dominant, I have sleep disruptions because of racing thoughts--when I'm on T, there's a quiet flow place I can sometimes access. It reminds me of that "allergic to testosterone" thing, but in reverse.

My mental state requires this hormone to function how I need. This isn't about gender and hasn't been since my voice changed. I'm just. fucking tired of keeping quiet about that so I don't sound like a transmedicalist. Who are complete dipshits and just flat out wrong, if that wasn't clear. But again can we PLEASE open up that middle ground for discussion......?

[baeddel-txt]

it's very concerning to me when i see people denounce baeddelism but not analyze any of the reasons why it's such a harmful ideology and instead pivot it back to how the original baeddels were cultlike.

like, yes, that's an extremely important thing to acknowledge. but we also need to take a step back and analyze how it's a flawed ideology that does nothing but hurt people.

trans people, as a whole, are almost never in a place of gender-based privilege in our modern society. never. it doesn't matter what sex you were assigned at birth or what gender you transitioned to. ultimately, none of us fit within the bounds of cisnormative society. it is impossible to transition into privilege because the act of transitioning itself ensures that, once again, you will never fit into what is deemed acceptable within these societal standards. it doesn't matter if you're fifty years down the line from the start of your transition- if the wrong person finds out your assigned sex at birth you still run the risk of violence. there are hundreds and hundreds of cases of trans people freely living their lives in stealth only to be outed and erased posthumously.

the entire baeddel movement hinges on the idea that, as opposed to the currently existing systems that perpetuate violence against trans people, the ultimate enemy of transgender women is AFAB trans people. this is absolutely untrue. the only world in which transgender men would hold any kind of gender-based privilege is in a hypothetical in which trans people are always treated as their preferred gender post-transition- and in this world, it's doubtful that transphobia would even exist in the first place. bigots do not look at a transgender person and determine what direction they are transitioning in before enacting prejudice. and while yes, some of this can definitely stem from misplaced transmisogyny, we also need to acknowledge that transgender men face their own unique form of oppression that serves as an intersection of transphobia and misogyny. the infantilization, erasure, and corrective violence that transgender men and similarly-aligned trans people face are, in fact, a form of prejudiced oppression!

this isn’t to say that afab trans people can't perpetuate transmisogyny. anyone can, because our society is inherently transmisogynistic and it falls on the individual to recognize and analyze their own unconscious prejudices. (this goes for all forms of bigotry.) what i'm saying is that this is absolutely not something unique to afab trans people. and once again the systems in place to perpetuate violence against trans people are a much bigger threat.

i think the reason i haven't seen much deconstruction of this is how this sort of rhetoric still echoes around online trans spaces to this day, with the most prevalent example being the established TME/TMA binary and scaremongering about any discussions of transandrophobia as inherently transmisogynistic. i never thought that i would have to explain in the year of our lord 2024 that transgender men do, in fact, face misogyny, but here we are.

other trans people are not your enemy. stop drinking the radfem kool-aid and fight alongside your brothers, sisters and siblings for a better future for us all. amen.

(apologies for any bad wording, this was written very late at night. i hope this was a good analysis of this topic.)

.

[therealdesitalk]

hi!!! since we're questioning stuff, i wanted to say this, it's been on my mind for a while now.....

what is bollywood trying to do making AND promoting films like 'animal' and 'kabir singh'?????

they are clearly promoting toxic masculinity and violence which is affecting the public sooooo much......and they got the nerve to defend it as well????!!!!!

there are sooooo many films now which promote violence......ranbir kapoor is an excellent actor, yet it's sad to see his most successful film was 'animal' and not 'barfi' which is actually touching.....you know why?? because this is exactly what people want to see, violence, uncontrolled rage and madness......

the uneducated section of the society is very influenced by this and this is pretty well known, then why make films like this???

why not make more films on moving topics THAT ACTUALLY FUCKING MATTER and cause people to change their mentality????

people are much more affected by movies than by books, especially in our country, where sadly, a large population still does not have access to books and education.....what's worse is that learned and educated people also don't actually fucking care and promote this kind of bullshit......

please share your opinion and also reblog.....i wanna hear more about this from different people as well......

Thanks for reaching out i appreciate you taking the time to ask a question, And i am happy that every girl is asking such questions to support each other

So namaste everyone

In my view many directors in India focus on making movies that make a lot of money. These movies often include things like sex, violence, and negative portrayals of women which have been popular for a long time. Unfortunately people have gotten used to these kinds of movies and directors care more about making money than about the impact their movies have on society however not all directors are like this. Some directors want to make movies that show women in a positive way It's important to support these directors and their movies so that we can have more respectful and inclusive films. But people don't give much attention to good movies if we create good marketing of good movies and make their good scenes go viral on the internet maybe it's possible that more people will watch good movies This way directors will also realize that people's preferences are changing

The Impact of Such Movies : Movies that glorify toxic masculinity and perpetuate misogyny can have a detrimental impact on society. They reinforce harmful gender norms, normalize abusive behavior and contribute to the marginalization of women. Additionally they can influence audience perceptions and attitudes shaping societal beliefs and behaviors. It's crucial to critically examine these movies and engage in discussions about their implications while also advocating for more socially responsible and inclusive storytelling in the film industry.

👉🏻 So Let's Jump On Some Questions 👈🏻

Why Male Directors Make Such Kind Of Movies?

Male dominated industry : The Indian film industry is largely controlled by men. This means that the stories being told are often filtered through a male lens and women are frequently portrayed in one dimensional or stereotypical ways.

Audience demand: There's a perception that a large section of the audience prefers these kinds of films. Masala movies with over the top action romance and violence have long been a staple of Bollywood and filmmakers may be reluctant to deviate from this formula for fear of losing box office revenue.

Societal factors: Sexism and misogyny are deeply ingrained in Indian society nd this is reflected in the films that are produced. Films often mirror and reinforce existing social prejudices making it difficult to break the cycle

👉🏻 So, What Can Be Done To Reduce Sexism In Indian Films?👈🏻

Encourage more women in filmmaking: Increasing the number of women in key decision making roles, such as directors, producers, and writers, can help bring about a more balanced perspective in films.

Because guys! if movies are made from a female perspective there will be significant changes seen in the movie industry so encourage your friends and cousins to talk about these things

Make Everyone Aware! Aware! Aware! :

If someone in your house talks about movies like "Animal" and "Kabir Singh" and says it's just a movie sit down and explain to them that what you watch is not normal. Even if you receive negative feedback you know what your job is - make everyone around you aware of this issue. Don't let these movies be normalized which people have modernized.

Take Advantage Of The Internet : Promote Media Literacy educate the public through internet especially young people about media literacy and critical thinking skills teach them to analyze and question the messages portrayed in movies on Instagram, Twitter (X) Reddit , Facebook , Blogs including recognizing and challenging harmful stereotypes and representations

👇🏻👇🏻

Last note : And we should keep hyping movies like women empowerment on the internet. We have the internet in our hands so let's make good use of it. Otherwise what's the point of sitting and thinking about what's happening in society? Don't just think do something even if it's a small step like what I'm doing with my blog. I know that not many girls will reach it but those who do are a big number for me. So, spread women empowerment movies and their scenes everywhere on the internet whether they are old or not just make them viral and spread awareness through social media and blogs

Thanks everyone. Please Reblog this. 🪷🦢🐚