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a-dinosaur-a-day · 8 months

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Opinions on owning pet parrots? I'm doing a degree in animal welfare and have pretty much come to the conclusion that the smaller species are fine if you can provide what they need but the larger birds like the greys, outside of being rescues, shouldn't be pets at all.

Okaaaaaaaay so time to make everyone mad at me again I guess

parrots have been human companion animals for longer than Judaism has been around, so, I don't think we can just say "it's wrong" and force everyone to stop doing a thing that's been done for that long. Like, this isn't a human randomly taking home a tiger, this is a long going process with many species of parrots now being near-domesticated in the strictest sense of the term

Parrot ownership is in fact ancient in many "tropical" areas and the idea that it's a new thing is... white supremacy! what a shock!

in the United States (I am not talking about other countries, just my own), literally no companion parrots are wild caught anymore. They're bred. Bred as companions. If we were to outlaw larger parrot ownership, many birds would be without a home, and that's morally reprehensible

in fact, the kind of backlash against parrot ownership that's risen up in the past decade has directly led to a shelter crisis. most shelters are overfilled and overstressed, which is a *lot* worse for the birds in many cases than home ownership

parrots are pets that have extraordinarily high care needs. They are not good pets for everyone. but no pet is! Every single companion animal has its pluses and downsides, and many of them have many more downsides than pluses. Doesn't mean they shouldn't have a home.

There are some people who are actually able to take care of companion parrots, adequately, in their homes. First of all, we've learned a lot in the past few decades. Second of all, there are lifestyles that work well with even larger parrots and their needs.

So, while the number of human beings on this planet who can adequately take care of large parrots is extremely small, it is not zero. Which means if someone thinks they can take care of a bird well, and has the space and resources and time, then they should be allowed to, if that's what they wish

Because birds in the USA are bred as companions, the vast majority of said parrots would be unhappy in any situation that doesn't involve close contact with humans. Admittedly, all my parrots are "small" (whatever that means), but I know for a fact that if you took them away from our home they would be significantly worse off, because they're bonded to us. That's how this whole flocking thing works

Also, our most recent rescues, who had been stuck in a shelter for 15 years, are definitely happier now getting more individual attention and space. Shelters are supposed to be temporary places for most birds, not permanent homes, because they can't get the adequate level of care and attention that they need.

also, I'll point out that being pets has allowed many parrot species to have thriving populations that are not threatened by climate change, which is something to their benefit. given. you know. climate change. not that pet ownership is conservation, but, it's not that far removed from it - the axolotl population owes a lot to both pet ownership and zoo captivity, for example.

like, it's a spectrum, right? And it doesn't really go along with size, at the end of the day. There are tons of extremely neurotic and high needs small parrots, and many larger ones that are exceptionally chill. So while the vast majority of humans on this planet should not have a parrot, that's not all of them; and while the number that can handle higher maintenance ones is even smaller, its not zero. And I think, given the fact that we have all of these captive bred birds in the states at least, it's not a good idea to tell people that there is no way to ethically practice husbandry with them.

and I'm not the kind of person who assumes I know everything about someone's life in order to tell them "no you shouldn't bring home that cockatoo", so I'm not going to. In fact, I give everyone on the internet the benefit of the doubt if they have a parrot unless a) that parrot shows signs of distress (like plucking) or b) there is clearly something wrong going on (like someone's smoking weed around their bird)

so, no, there's no commonly kept (and thus domestically captive bred) bird I think is a bad pet for every single human on the planet. And it's not my business whether a particular individual should or should not have a particular bird.

#parrots #pet parrots #birds #aviculture #parrot husbandry

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cryptocism · 2 months

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Since I think about clones like I’m getting paid for it, I've been rotating those alternate universe "what if Bart and Thad were actually raised together" scenarios in my brain, with Thad either post-redemption-arc or pre-villainy. Because adjusting Thad's character to fit an ally role while still keeping true to his core motives and personality is so so fascinating to me.

Like I think there's an immediate first instinct to slot Thad into a "bad" twin category: ie rebellious and prickly, doesn't get along with people, mean lil shit. And obviously it's not wrong bc we're outside the realm of canon, but the reading still feels a little left of center.

Because Thad is mean and prickly in canon. In the Impulse comics he belittles Bart and Bart’s friends/family constantly in his appearances. He loves to goad, and monologue about his own superiority and intelligence. He’s very Not Nice, and he causes many problems, and he even does it on purpose.

But, I think it’s important to consider the context. From the jump Thad knows very little about anything except which team he’s on and who he’s playing for. He gets his orders from an unseen authority and he carries out his tasks because success means his team wins.

For all his self-aggrandizing talk, everything he does is in service of an end goal that doesn't actually center him. He's trying to get revenge for grievances he's never personally suffered, retribution for actions never committed against him. Everything he does is on someone else's behalf.

Thad sees in black and white, us or them. Up until the final few issues of Mercury Falling, Bart and co. are Thad's enemies, of course he's not going to be nice.

So Thad's motivation seems pretty simple: Thawne Supremacy™.

But it’s in Mercury Falling where this starts to fall apart, and the real core of his motivation gets revealed. Thad pretends to be Bart and suddenly Helen is nice to him. Bart’s friends think he’s funny. Bart’s teachers are impressed with his grades. Max ruffles his hair and gives him hugs and tells him he’s done a good job.

If he was actually an inherently mean and standoffish character, if Thad actually had significant personal stake in the Thawne VS Allen conflict, the weight of such tiny acts of kindness wouldn’t completely break him the way that it does in canon.

Thad thinks his goal is superiority and revenge and Thawne Supremacy™, but he's chasing validation. Thad doesn’t have a personal stake in the Thawne VS Allen conflict. He wouldn't get much satisfaction if he actually destroyed Bart and his family. Thad's personal victory would be the recognition after the fact: the praise and attention from the other Thawnes (a group of people he has literally never met) for his success.

He wants validation. That's basically it. And the fact that he gets it so easily from Bart's family and friends doesn't align with how he's told himself things are supposed to work.

Actually tangentially, Bart and Thad’s respective relationships to authority is so diametrically opposed and tbh kind of subversive in a superhero narrative. Where the hero is the one carving his own path without regard to social or societal rules, no fucks to give what anybody thinks of it. And the villain is a chronic people-pleaser.

Just based on Thad’s reaction to simple praise and affection from Max I really think Thad’s motivation has more to do with the response he gets than whatever the details are of any given task. He has no actual personal convictions beyond getting positive attention, and whatever he did have crumbled as soon as Bart’s friends laughed at his joke one time. Which of course leads into the core of his whole conflict at the end of Mercury Falling. He cares too much about Bart’s friends and family now, he doesn’t want to kill them, but worse than that, he’s faced with the sudden realization that he’s on the wrong side.

The Allens gave Thad everything he actually wanted and needed, but his conception of himself is inexorably tied to the Thawnes: who gave him jack shit. These two facts are in opposition to each other, and he can’t reconcile the reality of it.

Anyway all this to say, in an AU where Bart and Thad are raised together or Thad gets an actual redemption arc etc etc, I think my personal take on Thad’s personality whether it be pre-or-post-villainy would be one that is extremely socially conscious. He is much more of a people-person than Bart. Whether he's actually accurate in assessing people's feelings and how to respond to them can be hit or miss, but he wants to behave in a way that gets people to like him.

Pretending to be Bart isn’t remarked upon as, like, a difficult task for Thad. In his internal monologue he’s literally bragging to himself about how easy it is. But what’s especially notable to me is where his act differs from Bart's typical MO. Everyone notices, and lots of people comment, and presumably if Thad didn’t have the excuse of Max’s illness to “motivate” Bart to do better he would’ve been found out immediately. And those things are, specifically: paying attention in class, doing his chores, staying on task, and being helpful around the house. The one thing about Bart he chooses not to emulate is Bart’s rebelliousness.

Thad wants to prove himself, constantly, to whatever authority he respects (probably Max in this scenario) and will do whatever it takes to make that happen. In contrast to Bart, who only listens to authority when the shit they're saying actually makes sense to him. It’s excessively difficult to convince him to go against his own interests. (And I think a key part of that is Bart’s security in knowing that no matter how much he fucks up or doesn’t listen, the people he loves will always love him back.)

Thad’s got the people-pleaser in him that has to deserve whatever he’s given. It’s why he’s happiest when he’s given a clear goal or objective to complete, because it gives him an opening to prove himself.

All this to say that if we are quantifying Bart and Thad as a "good" or "bad" twin, in the eyes of every authority: Bart is the bad twin. Bart is the bad twin, Bart is the bad twin. Bart is the one who doesn’t care about school and whose grades vary wildly depending on his personal interest. He’s the one who goes off to do dangerous shit for fun and gets in trouble constantly and doesn’t do his chores and is thoroughly unconvinced by any authority figure trying to sell him bullshit.

Thad is the one who needs to know all the rules just so he can experience the joy of following them. Relentlessly obedient. He'll put all his effort into doing all the right things that’ll endear him to whoever he wants to impress - meaning he’s the asshole who reminds the teacher about the assigned homework. Bart might be the most popular boy in school, but Thad is a pleasure to have in class.

Like Thad can (and should) still be high-strung and short-tempered and sarcastic and edgy and mean, because he is. But he can’t be doing all that without rhyme or reason. Colouring every interaction has to be that one-zero binary of ally or enemy. He needs to have somebody he’s proving himself to: a team he’s on and a team he’s against. He’s not an inherently rebellious character. He can go up against The Enemy, whoever he deems as such, but it has to be in service of a hypothetical future in which somebody eventually tells him he did a great job.

And in the interest of continuing to beat a dead horse, it connects to their respective upbringings. Thad and Bart were both raised in VR, but Bart’s experience had the side effect of basically hard-wiring him against insecurity. His world was a playground tailor-made for him, and he was never made to feel bad or insufficient about any aspect of himself. His first interaction with a real human person was Iris moving heaven and earth to save him, without him knowing her, without her knowing him, with no reasoning for the act needed beyond Being Her Grandson. Which is probably a significant factor in why Bart moves through the world with frankly atomic levels of autistic swag.

Thad’s VR upbringing installed self-consciousness in his psyche before any other personality trait. As in: he is immediately made conscious of himself and his relationship with everyone he will ever encounter. He’s told two things: he’s a clone of someone else (inherently derivative, lesser) and that he was made to be superior (a status to achieve). Which is such an instant clarifier for Thad’s everything. Where superiority is a condition that everyone either has, or does not. It’s the one-zero binary again: are they better than me or am I better than them. Being above others is mandatory, and if his superiority is ever challenged by hard evidence or god forbid nuance Thad’s brain physically cannot take it. He needs to be better, to be worse is unthinkable, and there is no other way to be.

And this status of better or worse is, crucially, not up to Thad to decide. He needs The Authority to validate him. Bart never tries to prove himself because he has nothing to prove. Thad’s entire identity hinges on the self-worth he gets from doing a Good Job.

It is such an inherent part of his motives in the Impulse comics canon, which is why it always feels a little off when he’s interpreted as a jackass indiscriminately.

Like I don't think he needs everyone to like him. But I do think he has either one person or a set of very particular people that he needs to like him. Everyone else is either in that circle or outside of it.

(Which is why Bart is such a great foil for Thad tbh. There is no set of words or behaviors that’ll change Bart’s opinion of Thad, because Bart is unaffected by obedience or charm. So ironically Bart is probably one of few people that Thad doesn’t bother to put on even a little bit of an act for.)

While Bart goes with his instincts, his personal beliefs and convictions at all times, Thad is hyper-conscious of big-picture goals. They balance each other out that way. Thad's keeping track of whatever expectations he has placed on him, and how his actions reflect on him and the team beyond short-sighted solutions. He's a team player. AND he's an asshole.

#soapbox #dc #thad thawne #thaddeus thawne #inertia #bart allen #impulse #like he cannot be mean indiscriminately... u must interrogate WHY hes mean and to whom #if hes being raised with Max and Helen he would not intentionally do anything to make their lives more difficult #if hes being raised by Meloni same situation #he needs to be trying to get validation from SOMEWHERE u know #and of course he'll mess up and hurt the people he loves or wants to impress he is a human being #but while that can sometimes be the result #that is never the Goal u kno #not his Core Motivation #i feel like the more i talk about this the less sense im making

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tojigasm · 1 year

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Jake Sully x Reader ♡

Minors DNI

Cw: nsfw visuals, 18+, afab bodied reader, daddy kink, size kink, breeding, creampies, unprotected sex, squirting, cock hungry & pussy drunk supremacy

Anal with dilf Jake - "Doin' so good for me, kiddo," Jake coos, cock throbbing against your tight gummy walls as he fucks you into the bed. You've been begging him to fill your ass for days now, mind fuzzy with overstimulation. Jake pounds into you, thick cock stretching out the muscle of your puckered hole "You still with me, baby?" He chuckles, swirling his hips with a toothed grin

Jakes breeder balls - Jake's absolutely ruthless as he fills you, pounding into your pussy while your mind struggles to keep up. His thick length traces along your gummy walls, grazing the spot inside you that makes your vision blur, "Doin' so good fr'me, baby–oh fuck," you cum so quickly it sends white hot chills down your spine as you squirt onto his cock, letting him you with a groan

Jake being a gentle dom with human reader - "You got it, y'got it, yeah that's a good girl," Jake cooes from above you, big hands digging into the plush of your hips. You can hear the smirk in his voice, sending heat to your core. He's so big, stretching you open so deliciously you can't help but take everything he gives you, letting yourself bubble over with tears

Jake during breeding season - Jake has an obsession with filling you — any chance he gets, he's filling your tiny, soft and warm cunt to the brim. He's got you pressed into the bed after hes back from a long hunt, your walls spasming around his girth, pulling him in as he thrusts into you, "oh fuck, sweetheart, m'gettin close–" and you're whimpering beneath him, nodding your head into the sheets when his breath hitches above you, filling your cunt with a heavy groan, "fuck, fuck, fuck, m'cumming."

Jake fingering human reader - you're so small in his lap, thighs trembling and toes curling in your fluffy socks with a pitched whine, Jake shushes you with a hiss, fingers curling against into your tiny cunt. He can hardly fit two fingers, the rough pads of his digits grazing the spongey patch that sits in the hull of your cunt "hnngh!" You're sobbing into Jake's chest, "Shhh," he whispers

Jake filling you up - he's got you bent into a mating press, groaning and hissing in your ear as his thick length fills you to the hilt; heavy balls slapping against your folds as he burries himself within your tight cunt, "gonna fill ya up, give ya baby," he coos when you tighten around him, "daddy's gonna give you baby, sweetie." He moans above you, "Gonna fill this tight little cunt up, huh,"

#jake sully #jake sully x reader #jake sully smut #dilf jake sully #avatar #avatar smut

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meraxesmoon · 7 months

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Ok but imagine the adventures of Daemons Bastard!reader and grumpy grandpa Balerion!!!!

I’m seeing reader coming out and spending her first nights with Daemon and his fam sneaking out to gramps and curling up against him and just crying silently until she falls asleep😭😭😭

Then some random losers one day make fun of reader in the palace courtyard for being a bastard and gramps just pokes his head in and is NOT amused

Gramps just sensing when reader wants to leave somewhere and just yoinks her out of whatever situation she’s in

note: pap pap balerion supremacy

warnings: yandere content, but like, centered around bastard! reader and her dragon, if you squint readers mother is a sex worker, first time dragonrider, I'm obsessed with bastard (name), like she's my daughter tbh

┍━━━━━━━ ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗━━━━━━━┑

She absolutely hated Dragonstone, or whatever this cursed place was called.

It was dreary and cold, but she supposed that the weather matched her emotions perfectly. She had a good life before the Targaryen's entered it. She had lived peacefully with her mother and two younger brothers. They had a small hut away from the city, and it had been beautiful. Her mother had a love for plants, so they had a gorgeous, yet humble garden at the back of their home. (Name) thinks that she misses her cat the most, and her brothers.

Mostly her beloved mother.

Her sick mother, who could barely work and provided for them via means she did not appreciate. Everything had been fine until he had shown up. The day (Name) met her father was the worst day of her life. She had been looking after her younger brothers when a white-haired man showed up on their doorstep, and the way her mother's face contorted at the sight of Daemon should have been her first warning that the night would end up terribly.

And it absolutely had.

She had been devastated when she was dragged away from her mother and brothers, and she had been horrified when he loaded her onto his dragon Caraxes like it was nothing. It was, obviously, her first time seeing a dragon, and Caraxes had been huge, both in size and personality.

It had been horrible the rest of the night, because Daemon had forced her to meet his wife and children. Seeing Aegon and Viserys reminded her of her younger brothers, so she had wandered off to the shore once dinner was done to sob about the predicament she had found herself in. (Name) had always been tough, her mother would call her that all of the time.

Now she just felt vulnerable.

Feeling alone, she collapses against a mount of rocks, her small body shaking as she thinks about the circumstances that had led up to this. Except... the mountain of rocks started to shake and make odd sounds. (Name) shoots up from her leaning position and tries to look for a quick escape. Instead, she breathes heavily as the mountain of rocks becomes a very, very large dragon. He was about ten times larger than Caraxes, and he was so dark that the only clear thing she could see were his smoldering eyes, slitted and narrowed at her.

Now, (Name) may have not been around dragons her entire life, but everyone knew about The Black Dread.

"Oh, Gods..." she mumbles, her lips turned downwards in a nervous manner. (Name) looks at the ginormous creature in front of her and can't help but take notice of how beautiful he was. Once her eyes got accustomed to the darkness of night, she could see his black scales and his large snout. Balerion's nostrils flare as he glowers down at the small human before him, she was so tiny that she looked like an ant to him.

Wiping the tears from her cold cheeks, (Name) wonders why this fearsome creature hasn't burnt her to a crisp yet. She had woken him from a nap, and she knew how unpleasant that could be. Not only that, but she had heard that Balerion was the oldest dragon, even more old than the Queen of Dragons, Vhagar. He was well past two hundred at this point, and (Name) was surprised to find him here of all places.

Though... Daemon had mentioned something about his older brother dying recently and that the king was a good man. King Viserys had been Balerion's last rider, so maybe the dragon was just trying to find somewhere to rest. So, this had been her uncles dragon, (Name) realizes as she stared at the majestic creature in front of her.

Balerion lets out a loud sound, one that sort of reminds her of a sound a cat would make when excited, and he bumped her with his nose, knocking her over immediately. (Name) let's out an 'oof' before falling on her behind. However, a giggle left her lips as she did so, finding the whole situation quite funny. This dragon, who was about fifty times her size, just booped her with his huge snoot.

Balerion adjusts his weight, and his huge, battered wing comes down next to (Name), and he lets out another sound, this one more whistle-like. His crimson eyes connected with (Name)'s, and she freezes when she realizes that she can understand what he wants from her. It was like something just connected in her brain, chaining her consciousness to Balerion's.

Hesitant, she grabs onto one of the many horns sticking out of him and she starts to climb up Balerion's wing, her skin tingling as she felt his scales. Balerion had many scars and blemishes on his body, showing how experienced he was, and (Name) found that amazing. She makes it up to his back finally, and settles on a saddle, which was much too big for her. Her small hands gripped the steering straps and she nervously wraps them around her wrists, just to make sure she wouldn't go flying off.

(Name) didn't know High Valyrian, but she remembered something Daemon had said before Caraxes had started flying.

Steeling herself, (Name) shouts out the word.

"Soves, Balerion!"

And they fly.

i just made this a lil drabble of the first night, I'll do more parts bc i love this concept ♡ also I love dissecting how the bond between a dragon and rider works, it's so interesting to me

tbh vhagar being claimed by aemond is my favorite scene

#cw: yandere content #cw: yandere blog #cw: yandere #yandere daemyra #yandere daemon targaryen #yandere team black #yandere hotd #yandere house of the dragon #yandere imagines #yandere headcanons #yandere content #yandere #kay writes #rhxegal

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sepublic · 5 months

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People -and this did include myself at one point- really don't want to engage with the fact that Belos is modeled after white supremacy by trying to bury this under the lens of "Oh he's actually a lonely weirdo like Luz!!!" when Belos' superiority complex is the most important part of him and it's where all analyses inevitably must stem from. I think the problem is that people are too attached to their speculative fanon version of Belos and instead of letting go of that to rebuild their understanding of him from the ground up (since he's a mysterious character who is only gradually revealed bit by bit), they keep clinging to this sympathetic tragic villain as the core behind their interpretation of him.

Everything about Belos makes so much more sense when you explore him as someone akin to a lot of right-wing 4channers; A lonely young boy who was radicalized because white supremacy promised to rescue him from his isolation, and after buying into it wholesale, he very much chose to cling onto the need to be superior to the "NPCs" even when someone close to him actually unlearns and deconstructs for him why this is harmful. He sees firsthand how someone just like him is happier for leaving this mindset, and then kills them to eliminate that contradiction threatening his world belief; At which point it’s inaccurate to infantilize him as just a lonely and misguided kid, because he’s no longer a kid and he made a very cognizant and informed choice to double down and commit actual violence.

And everyone knows that by this point, such people are not actually being sincere; They’re not secretly misguided, you can’t simply attribute their harm to not knowing better because this is what their religion says or whatever. These people know they’re committing harm, but rather than help on “lesser” people’s terms, they ‘help’ the way THEY see fit, in the way that strokes their ego. That’s what separates Philip from someone like Gwen, who humbled herself to focus on what Eda was saying she really needed. So the Titan’s summarization of Belos as someone who only cares about being the hero in his own delusion, and fears what he can’t control is… hardly an oversimplification, it really gets to the core of Belos as a character, and the narrative he embodies. It captures the difference between wanting to help and having a savior complex, and is what ends up delineating the two at the crucial crossroads.

And I find it a little concerning to joke about how this type of character is “just a silly guy” when people exactly like him are on the rise and committing very real violence right now. It’s also why I don’t buy the justification behind a lot of salt about how villains need to be humanized in order to show kids how THEY can become villains, because the show is fairly outright about how Belos rationalizes atrocities under the guise of the ‘greater good’ and refuses to self-reflect, and it’s not as if we don’t have Luz learning to understand characters like Amity or Lilith, the Collector and even Kikimora (whom she DID relate to personally, yet Kiki still doubled down with or without Belos), while still having the show emphasize that they need to get their act together and can’t just depend on people to save them.

There’s also the very obvious theme of Luz realizing she doesn’t owe her oppressor anything, especially not when he won’t ever meet her or anyone else on their terms, but idk some people just seem to hate Luz for having boundaries I guess, even though she already put in the effort to be kind and understanding to Belos and she got hurt for it. Hell the Collector made that effort after being inspired by Luz, and Luz was murdered protecting them from that mistake!!! There are some very obvious stories and lessons being told here with the actual protagonists being the heart of those narratives, but the problem I’ve noticed is that a lot of the people complaining on Belos’ behalf are those who hyperfixated almost exclusively on the Wittebane aspect of the lore, going over it with a fine tooth comb and microscope to extrapolate an entire fanon from the littlest of details… only to just ignore the actual show and narrative and themes happening on-screen.

And that leads to many not understanding various narrative decisions because they weren’t really paying attention to the actual point they’re in service to, and then they blame the writers for their own chosen ignorance, and how the story wasn’t about their part specifically so everything else doesn’t count and the whole show is wasted potential, really. The way so many of said fans immediately turned on Luz after the finale and tried to drag her down to Belos’ level by acting like she wasn’t any better for also wanting things and 'demonizing enemies', claiming Luz had unaddressed ‘flaws’ while Belos deserved more sympathy, and framing Belos as a ‘better’ character who ‘worked harder’ while claiming Luz was retconned into an arrogant chosen one who never grew, is actually baffling.

A lot of them are just upset that Belos didn’t play the role in Luz’s arc that they wanted him to play, so they’ve opted to dismiss Luz’s overall storyline as badly written and even a reflection of Dana's 'Catholic complex' (which is a tasteless jab to make) because they neglected the nuance behind every other aspect of Luz that wasn’t directly tied to Belos, that didn’t set her up as the one person who understands him or whatever because that’s more important to them than addressing the sheer trauma and pain that Belos willingly inflicted upon Luz. Because god forbid this brown girl be angry against her white abuser, huh? God forbid the white guy be used to set up the brown main character, rather than the other way around right????? It’s really just a jealous complaint about the show’s choice of priorities and celebration, hidden under the false guise of ever caring about Luz’s arc for Luz’s sake.

And that’s how you get insincere arguments about how Belos should’ve been able to survive, that’s how you get AUs that undermine the lessons of canon to egregiously relegate Luz to being Belos’ sidekick, or even present her as an obstacle to him getting his much-needed redemption, as if that last part hinges on all of Belos’ victims getting over their pain to help him, because obviously he needs it more than they do! Because we gotta spare Belos’ feelings by giving him friends instead of consequences!!! Unbelievable. He is not Amity, not Lilith, and definitely not Hunter, and the people who forgave them had actual reason to do so. And even Lilith had to move in with her mother so she could be given reparations by someone who actually owed it to her, rather than her younger sister and two kids.

And there’s definitely a major difference between Lilith and Gwen’s dynamic and Philip and Caleb’s, especially since Caleb was also a child when he moved into Gravesfield. Even if you think Belos' bigotry was radicalized due to 'grief' over losing his brother to witches, that's just entitlement and control because it's not as if Caleb can't have more than one positive relationship in his life; Philip is no better than people who blame minorities for some incident in their life and use that as justification to become white supremacists, and there's nothing sympathetic or 'tragic' about that.

But the point is that Caleb ultimately wasn’t THAT important to Belos because he’d always be secondary to witch-hunting, Belos clearly chose his white supremacy over his brother, and any ‘takebacks’ that come in the form of the Grimwalkers are insincere given Belos does nothing to actually repent or regret his violence committed on the people of the isles; It’d have been one thing if he DID try to undo his mistake by choosing differently, by cloning Caleb and giving up witch hunting, but he still doesn’t (Note that Belos does not hallucinate the ghosts of the witches he killed; He still feels no remorse over them, because his fear of being wrong comes from a selfish place). And unlike Luz, Belos can’t have it both ways because one option explicitly calls for the extermination of the other; It’s the Paradox of Tolerance that Luz struggled with, except contrary to what Belos claims, humanity’s existence does not require the eradication of others.

Because yes there IS a meaningful moral distinction between Luz and Belos -don’t forget they’re not just parallels but explicit opposites- that occurs even before you get into the genocide, not that you should neglect that other part either because it’s incredibly important, being the starting point for this entire rant. Society already has a bias towards devil’s advocating bigotry as some big misunderstanding, and prioritizing the angst of white dudes who commit it over the victims of color; Can we avoid applying that to fiction?!??!? I literally saw someone complain that the show didn’t portray Belos’ grief from murdering Luz, and that Luz’s “glory moment” took away from a Wittebane backstory!!! At this point, people are just being racist.

#the owl house #emperor belos #philip wittebane #luz noceda #caleb wittebane #vent #rant

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buzzkillers · 10 months

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WHITE HOUSE DOWN

Pairing: Hobie Brown x Black!Reader

Summary: You and Hobie fuck after he kills the President of the United States: Norman Osborne.

Tags|Warnings: Happy 4th of July (sarcastic), public oral sex, cum facials, enemies to enemies that fuck, exhibitionism, bratty reader, graphic violence, bad British slang, UNEDITED

WC:4k

In under an hour Fascism, Capitalism and President Norman Osborne died in the same way: pathetically and in a roaring beat of gunfire and raging anarchy.

It was so punk metal that Hobie reckoned he could've cried.

Maybe even let out a blood curdling scream before he joined his mates in celebration; in a fight that continued to roar beyond the thick walls of this stupid building. Of the world's now fallen symbol of false freedom, colonization and white supremacy.

All of it was dead now anyway, all of it was gone. So yeah Hobie reckoned he should’ve cried; maybe he even was crying but he was too pent up on adrenaline and rock and roll to notice. Who fucking knew. Who fucking cared?

What mattered was that Osborne’s head was detached, that his guitar was covered in guts and brain and enough idiocratic bullshit that it had clattered to the floor.

His weapon stained against the fancy White House carpet. He didn’t mind though, it added to the decor. You didn’t seem to give a shit either. For you, blood still stained your locs and your lips stayed wrapped around his cock.

And well Hobie didn't follow rules. They were barely a suggestion in his radar. Yet apart of him knew this was off kilter, even for him. Even for Spider Punk.

Spider Punk, the not-hero and the now killer who instead of killing capitalist and fighting corporate drones was here. Here with black nails that dug into your back and wicks that kissed the skin of your cheek.

It felt good.

This reward, you told him as you guided him towards the pigs desk. Your hands already at the buckle of his jeans before you looked up at him; eyes hazy and murderously dark.

It reminded him of foggy London nights, of polluted air and days where he gasped for his inhaler. Something that tried to be something else. It made Hobe feel triumphant, out of breath.

And yet this was ‘His reward.’ You growled again as if this was normal and you weren't you but something different, something new.

At that, Hobie couldn’t help but laugh. It was a pretty comedy after all, a neat joke as your palm— shaking and slick with sweat wrapped itself around his cock and your knees dug into the floor. The blood stained floor.

He inhaled sharply, either from the adrenaline or the genuine need to breathe before his smile slipped into something wide, dangerous. You shot a glare at him.

"Something funny?" You mouthed, as if your eyes weren't muggy, as if there wasn't a revolution going on a wall away. Hobie of course simply looked down at you, his own eyes liquid dark, but alight with adrenaline and fire and everything that made a corporate pig like Osborne underestimate him.

“Fuck yeah,” he rolled his hips up.

"Everything's a bit funny right now, love"

Below him, you only scoffed as if what he said wasn’t sick given the circumstances.

As if this was simply another one of those nights; those long nights where this would be your signal to leave. To keep your distance from Hobie Brown, the Spider Punk with too much venom on his tongue and righteous anger in his every word. But you didn’t, you simply looked at him, calculative, nervous.

Around them, the war raged on and the sounds of corporate drones getting their ass beat made the floors vibrate. None of them aware of their leader's demise before his team crushed them into dust. Below him you sighed, that gleam still in your eyes. (murky puddles and polluted skylines.)

"Of course you'd make this hard,"

"Can't just let me suck you off and shut up huh, SP?" You muttered, and you see Hobie would respond. There was always an excuse to be barked, a word to be said. But music still thrummed through his veins, the air was singing (screaming) and you were here.

Not with Osborne. Not in a lab, cooped up but here.

He smiled. "I'm not known for consistency,"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," you rolled your eyes, "I've heard the speech,”

"can't be consistent, can't be bought, can't shut up,"

Shut up?

He licked his lips and tasted the metal, the blood. 'Im gettin’ tired of your mouth, boy.’ Osborne had sneered before Hobie broke his face in.

Yeah, he didn't listen to him either. He shrugged his shoulders. "Nah, I don't think so,"

You rolled your eyes. “Spider-”

“Aw, am I ruining your fantasy love?" You cut him a look.

“Catchin me off guard like this, you must’ve planned it, no?”

Your grimace deepened. Which was cute. Very cute. “So you’re just gonna keep talking?”

“—I mean I'm not against you knowin' your onions and all that, but between you being stuck in your lab and arguing with us who knew you had the time,” he whispered, before your eyes went sharp and your nails dug into his thighs. A warning, that only made his cock hard and his hands crack the lip of the desk. Cute. He thought again.

So bloody cute that he blinked and his heart raced like a drum, like a rip of his pick against his guitar.

‘Lay on your back’ you said, ‘drop the guitar.’ and he did.

You had demanded it with a trained nonchalance. Completely unbothered as if he didn't hear the way your lungs sharply inhaled when his guitar separated Osborne's head from his spine. Cartilage, tendons and a thick spinal cord crushed into dust beneath his rebellion before you pounced on him.

You gave him that same look now and it was wicked hot. He couldn't deny it. A fun mix of cheekiness and nerves before you cocked your head and, “You know what, fine,”

In a blink, his back was shoved harder against the desk. His hands twisted into your locs, while your mouth wet, hot and slick like honey, like blood enveloped him, turned him inside out and made him want to curl over and actually cry.

Not cause it felt good or spectacular or amazing but because it was you. Only cause it was you.

Below him you sucked him off like you had something to prove. Like it was a challenge. It would be a crime to look away. To not match rebellion with rebellion, your hatred with his faux indifference while your lips remained dry, your handwork sloppy and your rhythm off. It was honestly the worst blowjob he’s ever had.

But you were enthusiastic and you looked up at him as if you expected more. Like Hobie was supposed to fall to his knees and thank you. Of course, a flicker of frustration came out when he gave you the opposite: a slick smile and his eyes wide in wonder.

"Leave it to you too give someone an angry blow job," He cocked his head, "Reckon you’re overthinkin’ it, love?”

You choked in response. Your mouth off his cock and looking as if you were about to spit on the floor before you paused and Hobie watched you swallow instead. Something hot shot in his core.

“Never,” you sneered as if this was just another part of the battle, your own personal fight.

Hobie just snickered, a gleam in his eyes even as you went still, embarrassment hot on your face.

“Yeah that's what I guessed," he whispered, before gloved hands gripped your jaw. Tight and restrictive.

“Quick tip? You’re too rough with it love, let me guess didn’t watch enough videos?” he teased, before he realized where exactly his dick was.

You gave him a sharp smile, "want to repeat that?" No, not particularly. He rolled his shoulders.

“Slow down,”

“Where's the rush,” he teased before there was a thump and a scream and oh, he guess they've found the bloke's head. Took them long enough.

If Hobie remembered how hard he kicked it correctly; The fuckers skull was three rooms away with thick walls and flimsy doors in each of them.

His smile turned giddy, "We all the time in the world,"

"Please tell me you're joking," and there it was again, that look. That need for order and propriety. Hobie patted your cheek.

"What, getting nervous?" Your eyes shot to the door. To the distant footsteps that only got closer to the currently unlocked room.

"Hobie,"

"Fine," he shot the hinges up with webbing. It wouldn't last. But you didn't need to know that.

"See? Good,"

Quickly, your shoulders relaxed; your nape warm beneath his hand, prickled and covered in sweat till he gripped it harder, guiding you down until your mouth was on him again. He shuddered.

“Make it wet,” you looked confused, your eyebrows twitching before your mouth went agape and he felt it.

Something hot and sticky that dripped down his cock. Your lips were now sheen, a messy mix of precum, sweat and everything that would never normally be in a pretty mouth like that.

Of course, you still managed to glare at him. And yeah nah, he wasn't gonna think about why that made his mouth dry before he angled his hips up and up until the tip of him was at the rim of your lips; he took a deep breath.

“Grip the desk for me,”

You frowned again, harder if that was possible. And Hobie couldn't have that.

"Wh--" in a blink he's already bullied his thumb passed plush lips and sharp teeth. Expertly, rubbing his painted nails against the soft flesh of your cheek until drool and spit slicked down his wrist and,

"That's wicked," he whispered.

"You’re so fucking pretty like this," You shot him a look. Your eyes still shakingly looking towards the door. The soldiers have gotten louder, they've must've bursted pass the first room. But Hobie only sighed, unbothered

“Is this why you've been so nice to me lately? Been wanting to give me this," he rambled, his eyes back on yours before his smile melted into a smirk. The last thing Osborne ever saw, before his head rolled down the stairs.

Now, the funny thing about trying to tell a punk what to do was that you shouldn't actually expect them to listen. Osborne learned that the hard way. But you weren’t like the rest of them. No matter what the team said about you turning your back on your upbringing for the cause. You weren’t like them. Clean and simple.

It was written in the cracks of your face, in the corners of your eyes. That want for order that battled with the need to rebel and make things right.

It's probably why you continued to look at him like that; your eyes slitted, red and angry.

You hated it but you wanted it too. Which meant that it took no effort to grip your jaw, keeping it still as you moved to chop your teeth onto his thumb. Light work.

But it was another thing to dodge the whistle of your studded fist and the gleam of spikes on your knuckles before they're webbed to the dead Pigs desk. You were smart not to try again. Still your face stayed twisted in anger.

Hobie couldn't help but laugh again, all sharp teeth and youthful indignation in his voice.

“I'm not good with mixed signals love, you hate me, you don't, you want to give me a reward about a job well done and then whine about it,”

“This is still a reward right?” he whispered, his voice deep and molten. It dragged you into a spell, made you nod. “Good,”

"Now, why don't we start stickin’ to our words, yeah," you made no room to reply, just continued to look up at him with that fire in your eyes that reminded him of madness, of a man whose body could be found in various parts of this makeshift castle. For the first time, Hobies face went stern, his body hands suddenly on your nape gripping tight.

"Yeah?" He repeated.

That madness in your eyes only take a moment to flicker, a moment to wick and out before your face twisted again, "Yeah,"

"There we go,"

You made no room to stop him. As his prodded his cock against your lips again, against that slick heat, hellfire, glory, his reward that was found in the tightens of your throat. "Good,"

He gripped the back of your neck tighter. “There we go,”

“Breathe through your nose,” Then you squeezed your eyes shut, prepared to choke, for Hobie to bruise your throat, for your jaw to ache while he used you like you prepared to use him.

Then he hummed, like a thrum of his guitar, like the flutter of a hummingbird. It was your only warning before he brought you down, slow, sluggish. He made you feel the weight of him, the way it pressed against your tongue, expanded your throat.

You couldn’t help it really, the way your eyes closed. The hazy sensation that made your vision blur. Hobie fucked your throat as if he had all the time in the world. As if a world leader wasn’t rotting in the next room.

And this would be a great time to joke. For Hobie to make you regret bringing him here and not give the secrets to ruining him but nah, this was better. This was more satisfying. Worth the shock in your eyes as you tried to keep them open. Your cunt not so subtly grinding against his boot.

“Don't look so surprised love”

“Let me guess, you expected me to go hard?” he whispered, voice ragged.

“Wanted me to bruise your pretty throat?” He dragged himself out again. Withdrew his hips, until your lips were once again at the tip of him. A thick residue of spit left behind.

Good.

Perfect even.

But below him you struggled to remain composed. Your mind was a fog that thickened, and your ears roared with the music that was Hobie Brown. The sounds of his shockwaves still in the air. On a better day, you'd remain aloof. You'd look at hobie with bored eyes and tell him to do his worse.

Clearly, that day wasn't today.

Your eyes were still closed after all, and the taste of him still stained your throat. You wanted more. You wanted-

His hand tightened on your neck.

“Now when did I say you could do that?” You blinked up, teary eyed with more of Hobie’s cock in your mouth than he previously allowed.

Suddenly, your cheeks burned and Hobie watched embarrassment wash over you. Watched you drown in it, in an attempt to cover up the desperate move before you just sat there, unable to go forward, unable to move back. “Cute,”

And then he jerked forward, cock hitting your throat until tears brimmed in your eyes and well Hobie was only a man at the end of the day. He unwebbed you, “Use your hands wrap them around me,”

Quickly, you complied. “Yeah love like that,"

You didn’t need further instruction. You continued the slow tempo he set. And for a moment, it stayed like that: you swallowing him with a sloppy mouth and tears in your eyes, your hands now slick with well, everything. Snot, spit and tears.

He laughed again, a bit more choked up and bit more delirious as your tongue dragged against the undervein of his cock. Sharp pleasure blinded him, he felt like it was too much, not enough. Like his heart was gonna burst from the adrenaline, the heat.

For a moment, he craved something on his lips too. Something just as hot and slick and you. He reckoned you'd like that. Want to shut him up with your thighs locked around his head and your cunt slick on his studded tongue. If you were gonna do this, you might as well do it right, do it in the worst way possible while Osborne's corpse rotted in the next room.

Below him, you gripped him tighter. Suckled your lips at the head of him until he shuddered and groaned. His palms slicked in blood gripping right at your face. If he knew this would be the reaction to winning the war— he'd bring Osborne back to life himself.

Let you watch him kill him again, again and again if it meant you looked at him like that. Like a drunkard, like the feeling he got when he strummed his guitar just right, just perfectly against his pick. Until you were like this: your lips, tight and harsh. Sucking him off as if it was another fight, your eyes red hot with anger and tears.

He was close.

He couldn’t even be embarrassed, if they knew what a pretty picture you made no regular bloke would be either before he felt it. That liquid hot build up; like something molten that grew and morphed and dripped in his belly before his thighs trembled, his fist cracked the desk and you looked marvelous.

He tried to draw away, cause he was proper and raised right but he couldn't get far. Not against someone who looked like they wanted to prove something. You started this for a reason after all. So of course, your hands pressed into his hips, kept him still. Fucking brat.

Before the room became an echo chamber of gasps and whines and— he lurched forward, hands on your shoulders, a sharp cry of your name.

The orgasm was just as violent as the murder. It ripped through him and rearranged his insides until it felt painful, overwhelming. Like he was stuck in his own shockwave, pulled at the seams, the points of musical notes at his ears.

Then he whimpered, sharp and inaudible. But it made your eyes glitter all the same before you pulled off him with a satisfying grin as the violence in him transcended to a soft shudder.

Both of you didn't talk for a minute. Just let everything settle. Until slowly the world trickled back in and Hobie watched half amused and half delirious as across your face, emotions flickered too fast for him to dissect.

What he did know was that you were looking at him, at the floor and then randomly at the door. Oh yeah, the goons. He should focus on that, but you were still on your knees, looking pretty and fucked out and well Hobie couldn't help it. He suddenly had the taste for something sweet.

"Up, c’mon"

You looked at him, leg kneeled. "Fuck you,” you coughed, throat dry. “Where do you think I was doing?"

He shook his head, and with little effort, he towered over you. You looked up at him, eyes wide, lips plush and the corner of your mouth twinkling with beads of white and shit, shit. Hobie did not wait for you to get up.

In a blur of red white and blue, the two of you switched places. It was like carrying a stack of paper, a bag of groceries before you plopped into the desk; your eyes wide, legs spread and cunt wet through your trousers.

"Hobie come on—"

His thumb dug into the seam of your jeans, ripped them in two until you were cunt hit cold air. You dripped on the desk. "Don't be selfish,”

“I thought this was a reward,” And then hobie’s tongue was on you, desperate and hot.

Studded fingers pressed into your hips, digging,digging and "Hobie, what-” Hobie pressed you further into the desk.

His tongue was slick and sticky against your folds. The pleasure that was white and hot grinded you to a halt. Your brain morphed into mush. You weren't going to last. This, you can admit with a certainty as your thighs wrapped around hobie’s head anyway.

You looked towards the door, but Hobie with his freakishly long arms gripped your jaw and forced your eyes back on him. Pay attention, they said. Until your eyes went wide, frantic; and your hips fought the battle of jerking away from Hobie and against him while he flicked your clit; his finger prodding against your entrance.

It's almost embarrassing how fast you came.

Even worse how you tried to hide it. With teeth the bit into your wrist, and moans that you tried to choke down while your hips moved on him with a grind that only made it worst, made it last.

You grunted and swore, the flat palms of your hand slammed into the desk. Once twice and then Hobie got up, looked at you splayed out on Osbornes desk, jeans pooled to your knees, the hairs of your cunt glistening.

"Good?”

With a gasp, you could only focus on the sound of the door as the screams of soldiers bulged against the doors frames.

Your blood was pulsing but you couldn’t feel your throat. Couldn’t feel the scratches and bruises that later you won't be able to tell was from Hobie or from the fight.

The wooden door bent beneath the weight of the army. Before eventually it popped and you threw the spider a smile.

“Good,”

#hobie brown smut #hobie brown x y/n #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown x black!reader #atsv x reader #atsv x black reader #atsv smut #hobie brown lemon #tw: smut #hobie brown imagine #spiderpunk smut #spider punk x reader #spiderpunk x y/n #spiderpunk x reader #spiderpunk x you

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farfromstrange · 6 months

Text

Lizzi's Kinktober 2023

Day 15: Mask Kink

October 30th, 2023

Main Masterlist | Kinktober Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Summary: Matt really loves to eat you out.

Warnings: EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT (18+ MINORS DNI), black suit Matt supremacy, Dom!Matt, mask kink, unprotected p in v, fingering, orgasm denial, slight spanking, bondage (use of ropes), use of "good girl", praise, not proofread

Word Count: ~2.5k

A/n: This is dedicated to @sunaspotato because her mask kink made my mask kink worse. And since she’s on this hellsite too now and wanted to read this, here you go. (Also, I hope you can still look me in the eyes after this. If not, I sincerely apologize. It’s different when one of the people reading this is someone I know irl so I hope I didn’t disappoint with this.)

The air coming in through the half-open bedroom window brushes coldly against your heated skin.

You never thought you would end up in this position. So… vulnerable. Hunted like prey. It was never your intention. And yet, here you are now. Your wrists are tied to the bedpost with a harsh, greyish rope that isn’t yours, your sheer nightgown torn to shreds and discarded somewhere in the room.

You’re helpless. Hopeless, also. Your friends have told you time and time again that you trust too easily, and maybe that is true. You can be colorblind to the existence of red flags. When you look danger in the eyes, you tend to gravitate toward it and not away, which has put you in trouble more times than you can count. You have shit judgment, to say the least, so it should come as no surprise that you are in this position.

He has walked you home before. A few nights ago, a man tried to mug you after you missed the last bus of the night on your way home from work, and even though you cooperated, you had a bad feeling you weren’t going to make it out of this alive. He was about to steal all the money you had left in your purse, your phone, and everything else dear to you.

Out of nowhere though, a dark figure emerged. He wore a mask made out of some sort of used fabric, a little white peeking through where it kept his eyes hidden from the world. His lips caught your attention right away. They were curled up into a smirk. He looked as if he had no emotions left in him, he only saw red where you saw none, and he beat the man trying to steal from you to a bloody pulp right at your feet.

You should have been terrified, but the fear turned into a quick thrill, and it made you more careless than it made you careful.

“You shouldn’t be out here on your own,” he said to you.

Foolish of him to think he could tell you what to do, but he was right. He shouldn’t have been out there on your own.

Next thing you knew, he offered to walk you home. Him on the rooftops of the city, you below. And you felt safer. You agreed; you talked to him, and you let the danger right into your life.

From the second you first laid your wide eyes on the stranger, there has been something so forbiddingly arousing about the image in your head. His plump lips, his tongue, his sharp jawline, and the chiseled chest that he keeps hidden away underneath a tight, black shirt. Not to mention his thighs and the ass he is definitely not hiding in those pants.

It is so arousing, you have not uttered a word about it to anyone. If you told anyone the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen saved your life and belongings a few nights ago and has walked you home from work every night since then, they would surely call you crazy. Perhaps you are, but you have no shame about it. You are ashamed that he does something to your neglected soul, something a stranger in a mask should not do, but you are not ashamed that you haven’t told him off. Maybe you should be, but you can’t possibly find an ounce in your that cares.

Even though it wasn’t planned and it took you off guard, you let him in when he knocked on your windows tonight, begging you to stitch him up. His panting and the way he groaned whenever the needle threaded through his skin didn’t help with this strange attraction you have been harboring.

He noticed. You’re not sure how, but he noticed that you were getting turned on by his presence, and it was only a question of time until he would snap. In the end, he did about half an hour into your putting bandages on his battle scars.

Now you’re tied to the bed, naked and vulnerable to the man in the mask at the foot of your bed, but your heart is not beating out of your chest out of fear. It’s the pulse between your legs that is the most prominent, and the danger only sends the pleasure you’re experiencing to new pinnacles.

He isn’t going to show you his face, he told you as much. Lucky for you, you do not want or need him to. The thought of getting fucked by a man you have no idea what he looks like is as arousing as it is exciting. The mask on his face only enhances the feeling of being completely exposed to the prying eyes of danger, and you don’t want to miss this feeling again for the world. If that makes you perverted or mentally deranged, you don’t have a problem with that. You’ve been told that your delusions will be the death of you one day, so maybe it’s time to live your truth.

The man paces around your bed. Eventually, he opens those plump lips again. He asks, “Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?”

“What I’m doing to you?” you question, your voice barely above a broken whisper. He’s got you right where he wants you.

“You’re supposed to be scared of me.”

You want to sit up, but the ropes keep you locked in place.

“You were supposed to run away,” he says. “But you didn’t.”

“I don’t scare easily,” you tell him.

He chuckles. “Yeah, I’ve noticed.” Why he sounds so bitter all of a sudden, you’re not sure.

You let out a shaky breath. “I’m not scared of you,” you say, a lot surer this time.

The stranger bares his teeth for a moment, then closes his mouth again. God, those lips. He hasn’t even kissed you yet, and somehow you already miss him.

“I can smell you, you know. I can smell how fucking wet you are for me. Do you have any idea how hard it is for me to control myself when you’re so wet?” he says. It’s a rhetorical question. “You want me to fuck you so badly, and you don’t even know me.”

You blush beet red. You’re not sure how he can smell that you’re wet, even with your thighs clenched so tightly together. There are a lot of things you ask yourself, and for a second you wonder if you made a mistake, but if he knows that you are desperate to be touched by him, there is no chance in hell you will be able to lie your way out of this.

You want this. You want him. And there is no denying the obvious; he wants you, too.

His cock is straining against his pants. He is packed, you can tell. You wish you could see him, even just a small glimpse of skin, but he keeps himself hidden away. That’s how it’s going to be. He’s not going to give himself away, and you’re not going to protest, no matter how wrong this may be.

You want him to fuck you, and he wants to fuck you. There is only one way this is going to end.

The bed creaks. His gloved hand meets your bare thigh, and you shudder. Your mouth falls open. The rough texture hiding his fingertips rubs against the sensitive hairs on your body. It makes your toes curl.

“Don’t move away from me,” his mouth is suddenly so close to your ear.

“I’m sorry, Sir,” you choke out. He has a chokehold on your lungs and the oxygen that is supposed to pass through them.

His teeth show when he chuckles this time. It’s a breathless chuckle that sends even more shivers down your spine until you can’t feel anything but him. His breath, his hand, his body—you are completely consumed by him.

“Matthew,” he whispers in your ear. “My name’s Matthew.”

He told you his name. Does he trust you enough not to ask questions? Not that you have it in you to do so, but it throws you off for a moment.

He told you his name. The masked stranger who refuses to even take his gloves off told you his name. Your mind reels. You’re interpreting too much into this, but how can you not? You are completely infatuated.

You’re infatuated with the devil.

The heavy leather of his gloves thuds to the ground next to the bed. When his bare fingers touch you, you’re almost halfway on your way to heaven.

You let out a soft moan that sends the heat to your cheeks. Your heartbeat pulsates in your ear. You can hear your blood rushing. Can he hear it too?

“Tell me it’s okay.”

You blink at his demand.

“Tell me it’s okay to touch you,” he says. “I need to hear you say it.”

The words elude you for a moment. “I–” You swallow as you look at his covered face. “Yes,” the consent rolls off your lips softly but surely. “I want you to…touch me.”

He lets out a sigh of relief. This is the most human you have seen him. “Thank you,” he says.

You open your mouth again to respond, to tell him that he has nothing to thank you for, but he shuts you up by thrusting two of his thick fingers into your tight cunt all at once.

Your words turn into a loud moan that bounces off your apartment walls. You struggle against the restraints, wanting to wrap around his wrist, but you have nowhere to go. Your walls clench around the intrusion, but he pushes through, his fingertips brushing over that one sweet spot that has you seeing stars within seconds. And once he has found that spot, there is no going back.

The lewdest cacophony of wetness and heady moans turns into a crescendo. He is playing your keys so delicately, your entire body locks up. The wave keeps on building until it has turned into the size of a tsunami, ready to destroy whatever is in its path.

He moves his digits in and out of you, brushing against that spot every time he thrusts back in, and he pushes even deeper until he’s filled you up completely to the brim. He reaches parts of you that you never knew existed, and he does it over and over and over again until there is not much more you can take.

His free hand grabs your chin, forcing your eyes to meet the darkness of his mask. Somehow, that makes your walls clench ever harder around him. He smirks. Oh, that shit-eating smirk is going to be the death of you, you’re sure. At the same time though, you want to wipe it off his face.

“Look at me,” he says.

You have no choice but to comply, as ironic as it sounds.

“Good girl.”

The subtle praise makes your nails draw blood from your palms, the robe rubbing against the sensitive skin of your wrists and probably doing just the same. You’re going to be bloody and bruised tomorrow. You’re going to carry his marks.

You’re his now.

“Are you gonna come?” his breath tickles your ear.

All you can muster is a weak nod.

“Good,” he says. “Don’t.”

You must have misheard him. “What?!” you stammer. “But–”

“No.”

Fucking with danger is as hot as it is frustrating, it seems.

His fingers pull out of you suddenly, roughly—you are left with a gaping emptiness that makes your thighs clench, and your throat emits a whine that you are not used to hearing from yourself.

“Please,” you beg. You never beg. Not like this. “Please, Matthew, I… I’m sorry.”

What are you sorry for? You haven’t done anything wrong. But he makes you feel like you did. He makes you feel like you deserve to feel so pathetic, and that he owns your orgasms.

He owns you.

Well, shit.

The ropes around your wrists disappear for a moment. A moment of mercy, you think, but he is quick to flip you onto your stomach. The bed creaks again. You catch a glimpse of his smirk again. His mask. His body. His cock. It looks like he touched himself while he fingered you, his cock pink and weeping as it stands tall against his stomach. You want to reach out and touch it, a rare beauty, a rare sight, but once again, you are disappointed.

He flips you over, and he ties your hands back to the headboard. You’re once again trapped.

A series of cries, “Please, please, please!” Passes your lips. You kick your feet, you say his name, and you moan when his lips travel down your exposed back. You would do anything for more, and you try to, but he won’t let up.

This is what you get for making foolish choices.

“Patience, sweetheart,” he rasps. His hand collides with your backside, and you cry out. The pain turns into the sweetest pleasure, making your clit throb in need. You can’t withstand him. “I’m far from done with you. You asked for this, remember?”

The way he says it sends shivers down your spine.

When his thick cock penetrates your tight walls, forcing your legs to stay together as he pushes his way forward, you surrender. Your jaw slacks in a needy moan. He’s got you wrapped around his finger and his cock, and the feelings he elicits in you are so inhuman, you get addicted. He’s a drug. He’s dangerous.

But danger has never looked so fucking good before.

Besides, you brought this upon yourself when you let him into your bed. When you asked him to fuck you like no one has ever fucked you before. When you gave him consent to touch you. And when you let him take you like this, you surrendered yourself to him all over again. All of you. Your mind, body, and soul. You gave it all to him. You’re his now.

His. His. His. It keeps repeating in your mind as he pounds into you, and God, it is good. It is so good, you lose yourself, and you never want to go back.

The stranger in the mask is what you need. He is all you will ever need.

You asked for this.

You made a deal with the devil and now you have to pay your dues.

Matt Murdock Smut Tag List: @acharliecoxedfan @gpenguin666 @linamarr @mcugeekposts @itwasthereaminuteago @ravenclaw617 @mattkinsella @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @etanordoesbullsh1t @thychuvaluswife @harleycao @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch

Also tagging: @blackshadowswriter @1988-fiend

#matt murdock #daredevil #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock smut #daredevil x reader #daredevil smut #black suit supremacy #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #lizzi writes #charlie cox

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noroi1000 · 11 months

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Honored One Shot no. 6 - @deadlytemptress

"Batty~"

•°NSFW with vampire Gojo°•

"Do you want to play again, Little Batty~?" you murmured, placing your hand on his head as he placed his cheek against your shoulder.

His chest was pressed against your back as you stood in front of the bathroom mirror.

"I'm not a bat." he said into your skin.

"Vampires can usually turn into bats."

"Only in the movies."

"You can fly and you don't have wings. But as a vampire, you're Batty. You don't turn into a bat, but a white bat with black glasses is what you would be. Or a cat."

"Just call me by my name, baby."

"Does Batty bother you?"

"No, but I'm not a bat."

"If you say so..." you murmured. "But sometimes you are like a bat."

"And what about this?" He said with a smile.

You saw his sharpened fangs.

"If you're hungry, I'll let you bite me if you admit you're like a bat."

"You are unfair. Little Girl-Boss~." He pressed his nose to your neck.

"And you are always hungry." You laughed and pointed to the light bite marks on your neck. "I'll bleed out if you don't stop. You're eating me and normal food."

"I can eat you now if you want~" he whispered in your ear as his hands reached for your hips.

"And you won't bite my thigh? Somehow I don't believe it." You turned to him and placed your hands on his cheeks.

His lips kissing your wrist.

You were surprised that you were still alive with his hunger pangs.

He then either eats everything in your fridge or reaches for you.

There are two ways for him to eat you.

One way is to drink your blood.

The second is to put your head between your legs.

If you agree, you can expect either his teeth under your skin as he drew your blood, or his head between your thighs.

Now he meant the latter. Because he reached your hips.

"Will you let your vampire eat you, queen?" He reached for your thighs with the same smile.

He lifted you to sit on the sink.

He stood in front of you, his fingers stroking your thighs as his mouth reached yours.

You placed your hands on his cheeks, dominating the kiss.

The fight between you for supremacy. Neither of you win or give up. Something that always turns into a wild, breathless kiss.

You ran the tip of your tongue lightly over his one claw, feeling the sharpened tip. But before you could hurt yourself, you pulled away, kissing the corner of his mouth.

To see his smile.

Light pink on his ears.

He pulled you to the end of the sink cabinet and reached over to take off your pants and panties.

Taking the fabric down to your knees.

And then he knelt down, spreading your thighs open so he could put his head in there.

You couldn't move your legs freely because of the pants and panties in your knees.

But what he meant was that your thighs would be around his head as he ate you like he had nothing else to eat.

Pulling you a little closer, he blew cold air over your sensitive core, watching the slight wetness that appeared.

He kissed the inside of your thigh, looking at you with those blue unnatural eyes.

Eyes that are so beautiful and inhuman. Because he's not human.

You ran your hand through his white hair, tugging lightly on the strands. He grunted into your thigh.

A sign that he likes it.

That he can be dominant, but you also like to be in control.

He loved your power bottom game.

The way you tug his hair lightly as he fucks you. Or you bite his neck or arm. It's like you scratch his back and leave red marks there. This is how you hold his hips telling him not to stop. The way you tell him about the pace he wants to give you.

There was such power in your words.

And he liked to be called a good boy while he did what you wanted.

All you had to do was tell him how you want him to fuck you and he did it.

His lips were suddenly pressed against yours, and you let out a contented sigh as his tongue found your hole, wriggling inside, teasing your walls.

As his lips covered your clit, you put your fingers in his hair, feeling him suck on your sensitive bud, holding your thighs in place.

But suddenly you pushed him away from you as you felt the prick caused by his tooth.

"No teeth... Toru..." you groaned, clearly feeling your pulse speed up.

He rested the side of his head on your thigh, with that smile that anyone can think of whether it's cute or irritating. Innocent or dark.

Simply put, his smile is unpredictable.

Nobody knows what that might mean.

But that smile suits him. Because your boyfriend is very unpredictable.

"Fine. No teeth." He chuckled but didn't turn his head back between your legs.

He stood up, lowering your pants and panties to your ankles.

Your legs now wrapped around his hips, with no way to escape from him.

But for Him it was a very comfortable position.

Your hips at his groin. Your legs wrapped around him with no way to change that position.

He took off his black T-shirt and licked his lips from the rest of your juices.

"I don't know which is better. Your blood or this." He said with a smile as he untied the drawstrings of his sweatpants to pull it down and let his hard cock out.

"No teeth." You said, placing your thumb on his lips, wanting to pull him into a kiss.

But he playfully caught your finger between his teeth, biting lightly.

"My dick has no teeth. But it bites when it sees my girlfriend's nice tight pussy."

He let you pull him into a kiss as you spread your thighs to give him a little more space.

He blindly found your entrance with his tip.

Pushing into you inch by inch.

You dug your nails into his muscular arms, feeling the stretch inside of you.

He also purred into your mouth.

like a cat...

He hadn't hit bottom, but he was already moving his hips back and forth, establishing a steady pace. Which you wanted to change.

"More..." you moaned into his mouth.

You wanted all of it.

"Deeper..."

He lifted your hips up, keeping you on his body as he stood.

Letting your body slide all the way down to his cock.

Moving that steady pace inside your walls. He let your hands run over his body. You could leave as many nail and finger prints as you wanted. he wanted it. For his beloved princess to do so. He moved his lips to your neck, his fangs scratching at the sensitive spot he had found. And he started to suck the little blood that appeared there.

"I love you..." he moaned between breaths as your thighs tightened on his hips, holding him close to you.

You placed your lips on his pulse in his neck. Feeling the pleasure.

Your fingers tugging at his hair as your other hand's nails grab your arm.

"M-More... Batty..." You moaned into his ear smiling. It sent a nice shiver down his spine.

#jujutsu kaisen #gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #jjk x reader #jujustu kaisen #gojo #gojo satoru #jjk x you #jjk #honored ones event #vampire gojo #gojo smut #gojou satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru smut

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decolonize-the-left · 3 months

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Hi I've had an influx of followers again so I wanna say hi and tell y'all a little what I'm about.

So hi, I'm decol. I'm a grown Ojibwe leftist living with my trans gf and my kid ❤️

You may have noticed I posted a lot of politics. Lately it's been Free Palestine but thats because it became my new normal. Before I became so focused on Palestinians liberation tho, I posted a lot more other things. Human rights, trans rights, women's rights, Im mentally ill and AuDHD and post about mental illness stigma, landback, calling out white supremacy, decolonization, etc. My blog has been political for along time but always on the side of human rights and fighting oppression. But that's just liberal stuff. What makes me a leftist is that I don't believe states or borders are good for people.

Let's get into why that is.

I support life and believe that a state or government fundamentally opposes life.

I also support whatever means necessary the oppressed seek to gain freedom. I don't think it's my place or anyone else's to say liberation can only look one way. Especially when it's often from privilege and a myopic view of comfort that most us speak.

There wouldn't be so many people being oppressed if there weren't so many people dedicated to their own comfort instead of liberation. Nobody should have to Vote to have human rights and if in fact any oppressed people had allies we would not have had to march for them either. We shouldn't have to earn our human rights from a majority that didn't want us to vote in the first place and nobody should have to do it now.

I think voting therefore is also a fundamentally flawed system that no amount of voting blue will change because it is not the Votes that must change, but the people who are casting them. It's the people in the majority who are not demanding equality and the people in the majority who are leaving others to fight for themselves.

But I do unfortunately live in a society that continues to use and weaponize that system anyway for their bi-annual puppet theater where they watch BIPOC fight and bid on who will give us more rights .

I think few people see this for what it is and even less are willing to demand the change necessary to give all people a proper and equal voice. Such is the nature of the majority is it not? They may pretend to hate injustice but remember that myopic view of comfort they have? Injustice is included with it, free of charge.

So yeah, you will see me advocate for certain things on this blog that may contradict the views I've stated at first glance. But It's just me working within the framework that I have been given.

For example I'll push for presidential candidates despite the fact that I support Landback and believe voting is flawed and the country is fascist. Because I know we are far from an organized revolution full of intersectional solidarity and realistically I must work within the framework I have. Which is a shitty voting system and a population who doesn't even fully realize why it's so shitty.

Or you'll see me support violence when I support saving lives. And that's because I also believe the language of the oppressor is violence and likewise that anyone who's ever tried catering to their "better conscience" has found that oppression wouldn't exist if the oppressors had a conscience to appeal to. Violence is the answer sometimes and I've found that sometimes it's the only answer that a state will understand.

To that end...I don't want to hear about any state military anywhere. Every single military on earth has done some seriously fucked up shit. I know this. You know this. I don't support any military anywhere. Period.

I don't think anyone is innocent either. As I've gotten older I've realized it's been made clear that race and religion are part of everything including our headlines today and that's it's been that way for a long time. Even freedom and liberation and oppression have been racialized and as a native 'leftist extremist' I've seen that firsthand. I've learned that both sides will lie to make the other look bad without taking accountability for whatever awful thing they did themselves.

Power corrupts. And it's why I support principles and ideas behind a movement and not necessarily the specific people of it or even the movement itself and it's why I will ALWAYS disregard any attempt to undermine a movement because the people leading it were found to have flaws. Of course they did. And of course they're being politicized. Such is the reality of the Us vs Them political landscape. Anything to make the other guy look bad.

It's up to us who were going to stand behind despite their flaws. It's up to us to decide what principles matter to us. And I refuse to let perfection be the enemy of progress. Because I understand a lot of people in 2024 have been spoon fed puritan ideas that have made them believe most movements are not good enough to support. Either they don't follow their ideology perfectly or their tactics are too aggressive or their goals are "unrealistic." It's always something.

I don't subscribe to this puritan 2.0 logic. Nor do I believe that it should apply to everyone. I didn't ask to be held under a microscope for example. I'm just a Tumblr blogger. Yeah I blog about a lot of politics and such but that's because I like politics and such lol I'm not a representation of anything but myself, but you'll find I too have been politicized in ongoing race and theological wars. "Why would you say x if you support y?" says anon in another attempt to make all supporters of Y look unreliable and bad for their opinions on X. As if my singular bad opinion is somehow a representation of everyone else who supports Y and not just my opinion specifically on x.

I also want to be very clear that I'm still learning :)

I don't know everything about everything yet and as such I'm sure I'll fuck up or say the wrong things or use the wrong terminology sometimes.

Please just give me a heads up. Don't be a puritan about it and make a whole post about how ignorant and harmful I am or something, especially when it's been made clear my intentions are not to offend or exclude anyone and I would Never intentionally do anything like that.

I try to educate myself on topics before I speak about them but lots of the things I discuss on my blog require a lot of knowledge to be spoken on in confidence. I am often not confident lol. As a native tho it annoys me to no end when people use the excuse that "well I didn't know enough about the topic so I stayed silent and didn't share opinions on it at all ever" because that's also a puritan act thats detrimental to movement and helps to maintain our status as 'Irrelevant Concern.' So I try to educate myself and show support, tho sometimes it isn't as well worded or educated as it should have been.

All I ask is you have some grace when that happens as I have good intentions. Additionally if I ever fuck up Please tell me. I do not ever want to make someone feel like shit cuz or singled out cuz I said something ignorant I shouldn't have.

Some people choose comfort and don't acknowledge when they fucked up. I try to pride myself on Not doing that and correcting myself where others can see and learn from it too.

Not everyone wants to learn tho. Those are the people I don't understand. Those are my opposers; the people standing indifferently in the way of progress while oppressed fathers beg for them to move aside. And what is he to do with the child dying in his arms? Just allow this man to keep being the only obstacle to saving them? Of course not.

And so I aggressively and vehemently stand by the opinion that self defense in this way is never wrong. Let all the ignorant white supremacists die if they have to and let all their allies cry about it. I don't care. White supremacists fundamentally oppose life which I support. And so I fundamentally oppose white supremacy the same way I do a state and as such I openly call for their destruction as well.

This is getting long so I'll wrap it up.

TLDR:

Human rights are to be taken by any means necessary if they were not given to you. The people with-holding them don't get to complain about how you get them and either does anyone else especially if they aren't helping you get them now. Additionally, people should be given room to grow but choosing not to grow is a choice too so don't tolerate the intolerant who stands in your way. If you can cut him down then do it.

PS:

My asks are always open. I get a lot of mean, bad faith asks and so I answer most asks with this mindset and I'm trying to be better about it but if you send one in good faith and my attitude sucks, please don't take it personally.

P.p.s

I share a lot of politics and upsetting things and images on my blog. I don't feel the need to tag every post because So Many of them are this way..

However, the posts that are especially bad ARE tagged

My trauma/trigger tag is: decolstw

This is a catch-all tag. Gore, white supremacist violence, historical hate crimes, and the like are all tagged with this.

#decols post #decols opinion #my post #you can reblog this im mostly just mostly sharing this for new followers who are confused and lost if my asks are any representation lol

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a-dinosaur-a-day · 10 months

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Tumblr, We Need To Talk

So multiple times now, posts that I have written, completely free of any sense of anger at all, have been interpreted by folks here - not just as angry - but as malicious. It has now happened enough times that we need to address the biases at hand here.

I am three things that are relevant for this discussion: I am Jewish. I am Italian. And I am Scottish.

These are three cultures that feature "loudness" as a positive trait. What do I mean by that?

I mean arguing, debate, discussion at my home growing up was louder than a kindergarten field trip to the zoo. Louder than a metal concert's mosh pit. Louder than the conure room at a bird shelter.

I am a loud, boisterous person. That's just who I am. With those three cultural backgrounds, I can't even help it. On more than one occasion, someone has interpreted my tendency for the dramatic, my eagerness, and my enthusiasm as being "too much". In fact, it is quite a point of trauma for me, the number of times that specific rejection has occurred.

But to me, I wasn't doing anything wrong! I was acting as my family acted, as people from my culture acted, as those around me in other situations acted. In Judaism, arguing is even seen as emotion-free, because interpersonal debate is how we learn and grow. Even the most stringent and austere Jewish groups will feature a loudly arguing table of scholars in the Beit Midrash. Italian dinners are filled with singing and shouting for joy. Being Scottish means yelling at everything and then yelling at it again. This was, and is, my life. It was loud. It was emotional. It was excitement.

Online, tone indicators are even worse, with many people easily being misunderstood in a given situation. Hell, there are probably those of you reading this now who are reading a higher level of emotion and anger into my words than is actually there. That added complication has now lead to multiple occurrences of this misunderstanding.

This isn't limited to the cultures I come from, of course! The anger and excitement and enthusiasm found in Black culture has been weaponized against it for as long as racism has existed (y'all can ask @ladyraekingmaker more about that). In fact, lower class Black Women in the United States were often perceived negatively for being loud and having their private lives carried out in public (because they did not have access to private spaces). Same for different cultural norms in other places, from Persia/Iran to parts of Latin America and more.

Indeed, loudness, anger, and tone are heavily tied to how different cultures are perceived. Calmness, stoicism, and a lack of "emotionalness" is a highlight of WASPy cultures, famously - "white anglo-saxon protestant" if you're not familiar. Being more "low key" and less expressive was considered high class, being less so was low class. And that still continues today - from the snide comments of tumblr anon's and ex friends, to the literal policing of impoverished communites of color for their celebrations and community gatherings.

The perception of emotion and passion as a "bad" thing is 100% tied to white supremacy. Full stop. In fact, policing people for being "angry" at certain things was a great way to shut down discussion of many important issues, that deserved anger - things like racism, sexism, and homophobia. Anger is a good, important, and necessary emotion - and being emotional in general is a way many people use to emphasize their own points and indicate how much they care about a subject. It's necessary, and it's good. Anger, emotion, excitement, these are good things.

It is better for someone to be angry and up front with you, allowing you to learn and grow as a person, than to bullshit you and mollycoddle you into a state of complacency.

So, that means that for many people reading this, you probably never really thought of how your reaction to loud, or emotional, or dramatic, or excitable people was related to upholding social norms. That's okay! It's not a big deal! We are all born with blind spots and things we are ignorant of that we have to understand and tackle. Growing up is something we never stop doing.

But I'm not magically going to stop being excitable, loud, and emotional. And I'm not going to magically stop being myself. While in person, my tone and facial expressions would help others to at least see that I am not mad but excited; here, you're going to have to take me at my word.

If I am angry, you will know it. It will be extremely, painfully obvious. I might even explicitly say it. But the fact remains is that, every time I have gotten (frankly, condescending) anons in my inbox telling me to "calm down", I haven't been angry at all. And that is a cultural bias a lot of you have to examine in yourselves. By policing how people - not just me - on how they talk and express themselves, you are upholding white supremacy. And you need to stop.

I am too much for some people. That's okay! If I am, you are free to go. No one has to follow me. But I am not going to minimize myself just to make some people comfortable, especially when I am doing nothing wrong. And if you continue to insist that I am, you are missing the point of this post.

Stop worshiping the empty alter of stoicism, of emotionlessness, of quietude. It's not how most humans act. And it shouldn't be, because emotions exist for a reason. That reason? Is communication.

And if you're still not convinced, just get invited to a Pesach seder. Good luck with that being anything close to "calm".

~ Meig

#emotion #logic #cultural differences #white supremacy #tone policing #not dinosaurs #this post is cosigned by my friend who is a cultural historian thanks

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yoddhasblog · 25 days

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Mahabharat is and will always be my favourite tale to reflect upon and talk to people about. This book was immensely hyped up along with the author. I have now read three of her books. The Last Queen, which admittedly I adored. Then, the Forest Of Enchantments, the book I'd been looking forward to for such a long time. That one left me in a rage.

I went into this book expecting to be pissed off and disappointed. And I wasn't let down on that assumption.

The Palace Of Illusions is a retelling of the great Indian epic-Mahabharata. A tale incorporated so deeply into our hearts that everyone has their own takes and beliefs and opinions about it. I sincerely believe that you cannot write a retelling without angering a number of people. Well, I'm one them.

The writing style:

I didn't have too many issues except i did not get why there were so many rhetorical and philosophical questions? Literal, paragraphs that were nothing but questions.

Draupadi, the enigma, the fire-born, the one person I would fight for as long as there is life in me, why was acting as though she was a little more than a sullen child? In the book that was supposed to be from her point of view, the person, the author did the most injustice with was-Draupadi.

The plot assassination:

As I mentioned above, most of everything in the plot of the epic was butchered and mangled to fit into the author's narrative of women, good-men,bad. It is common knowledge that women's position in society was as downtrodden as depicted here. Don't get me wrong, horrific crimes happened against women and justice was also delivered adequately but the author pulled apart the entire social structure only to be able to say that every bad thing happened to Draupadi was because she is a woman.

~ In the very first chapter, Draupadi said it was egoistic of her father to give her a variation of his own name when her brother, Dhrishtadyumna got an original name. In Vyas Mahabharat, her birth name was Krishnaa but like many people in Hindu beliefs, she was also known as Draupadi, though that is the most commonly used name. So, no points to the author trying to convince everyone that this was sexist.

~ Draupadi was highly educated and trained in many things including economics and she was the one who was in charge of the treasury of Indraprastha. She was a finance minister of sorts. So, saying that King Droupad refused to let her train because she is a woman is stupid.

~Also, I've grown up listening to that Draupadi stepped out of the fire as a young woman. She wasn't a child. Some sources say she was around 16 some say around 25.

~ Are we still stuck about 50 years ago that we're going to be okay with authors portraying that all women in power are evil? Kunti and Draupadi viewed each other as rivals? Draupadi throwing temper tantrums over other women? wtf

~ Draupadi as a pick-me? Half the book Draupadi's internal dialogue is nothing but I don't know how to socialize with other women, they're jealous of each other, they're always giggling, I won't survive the world of women, I can't dance, people don't find me pretty because of my dark complexion(where did white supremacy even came in this conversation) but suddenly out of nowhere Draupadi just knows that every woman is envious of her. She adores the saris and jewellery that she used to find impossible to handle.

~ Maharishi Vyas giving Draupadi Divya drishti to see the battlefield of Kurukshetra came out of nowhere. It felt a forced action done only to show Draupadi's emotions about the deaths.

~ Draupadi harbouring hidden feelings for Karna and him secretly returning those feelings felt like a teenager's fever dream. A teenager who's hellbent on sexualizing everything they come across.

~Bhagvat Gita was witnessed by everyone on kurukshetra including the Virat roop? Again, it felt like a move forced that was done in order to show Draupadi's internal dialogue. How did the author even think she could fit Bhagvat Gita in half a chapter?

~The Pandavas just had no personality whatsoever outside of being obedient to their mother and scared of Draupadi's temper tantrums.

~Krishan ji was told to be this charismatic, carefree, silvertongued diplomat but he was simply shown as someone who randomly showed up and gave unsolicited advice.

~And I don't know what that ending was but you can't be serious telling me that Karna and Draupadi somehow end up together in heaven?

~WHAT WAS THE AUTHOR'S PROBLEM WITH RESEARCHING ABOUT MAHABHARATA???

There was no way the entire plot of Mahabharata could've fit into one book. She tried too but this book sucked. I understand it's a retelling and sometimes had to change but everything here felt so forced. The author broke everything in context to fit into her supposedly feminist ideal. Don't get me wrong, i dislike the Pandavas, the Kauravas and their elders with all my heart but they all had one dimensional personalities. They had caricature-ish depositions. I had no emotions attached to anyone in this book whatsoever. This was a headache.

#the palace of illusions #draupadi #mahabharata #kurukshetra #hinduism #hindublr #desi blog #desi life #desiblr #being desi #desi tumblr #desi tag #desi teen #desi academia #desi dark academia #desi shit posting #arjuna

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fishyyyyy99 · 9 months

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OK, I seriously can't believe someone actually thinks this about season 4 of Never Have I Ever:

"In 2023, the message of the show suddenly turned into *"racism, white supremacy, patriarchy, and class inequity doesn't exist anymore. Devi did a Bollywood dance, got into Princeton, and a racist white guy said he loves her at the last minute, so everything is going to be okay (for Gen Z)."*

This is the opposite of the premise that the show started with in 2020, which acknowledged the brutal unfairness in the world."

Firstly, it wasn't a Bollywood dance. They danced to the Tamil dubbed version of a song that is originally Telugu. Tamil cinema is known as Kollywood, and Telugu cinema is known as Tollywood. Maybe people who comment so much on racism should learn a little more about not clubbing all of Indian culture together. As a Telugu woman who lives in Tamil Nadu, I'd like to say that I was really happy with the dance number. I was especially happy because it wasn't a Bollywood dance (season 1 just used Hindi songs, and that really annoyed me because Devi is Tamil).

The show literally acknowledged that Devi ("our little hothead from the valley") was happy in that moment. There was no claim about everything being okay forever. It's just that she is better equipped to deal with problems now. She will continue to grow non-linearly, just like she did throughout the show.

Of course, the show became less about dealing with intense grief as it went on - time heals. But they did portray that grief still lingers, despite that.

Also, the portrayal of familial relationships was great - Devi talking about how it's cool to live with three generations of women in her house, Nalini having to deal with empty nest syndrome, Nalini talking about her own struggle with having to start over in the US after being a top resident in India (but of course, the last season does not acknowledge how brutally unfair the world is /s) and how she was just trying to protect Devi from being devastated, Devi setting her mother up (showing how much she had healed and grown since season 2), Kamala being too attached to her family to move away and Nalini telling her that change is good (and even Kamala's coping mechanism of becoming overprotective of Nirmala), Kamala and Devi's sweet moments, the family's acceptance and joyous celebration of Nirmala finding love again, Nirmala calling Nalini out for being mean to Devi, and of course, the heartwarming scene of Nalini helping Devi pack and telling her she's proud of her. Devi's final monologue focused primarily on how much she cares about her mother. Did all of that mean nothing to some people?

Never Have I Ever is not an unproblematic show. But I still can't believe it's being reduced to this. I. Seriously. Just. Can't. Devi was so much more comfortable in her skin than when the show started, and was no longer obsessed with external validation. Her relationship with Nalini had improved greatly. She embraced her culture so much more. She was okay with not getting into Princeton, and realised that she'd always be connected to her father no matter what. I don't mind that she didn't completely give up on her Princeton dream. I don't think she needed to, to show that she had healed. She was able to tell her dad's story in a way that felt true to herself, and did not feel exploitative (she reclaimed her power from a racist white guy). She was truly happy when she prayed to the gods before leaving to Princeton. She was surrounded by people who cared about her and loved her, as she said. And she was happily in the middle of a fun game of Never Have I Ever before Ben showed up. She had learned to love herself and her life. The show having a happy (for now) ending does not equal them saying that everything is going to be okay forever. The world is still brutally unfair. Devi is just a little better at dealing with it.

I don't know who needs to hear this but Never Have I Ever had a TEAM DEVI ending! Just because Devi was not single at the end of the show/ended up with someone you dislike, it doesn't mean that the ending wasn't a win for team Devi.

TEAM DEVI FOR THE WIN! AND THAT'S WHAT WE GOT.

I'll acknowledge that there were issues with the show throughout all four seasons. But I can't see such an empowering show being dismissed in such a ridiculous way.

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