love when men cry about body hair bc "it's hygiene" and yet 15% of cis men leave the bathroom without washing their hands at all and an additional 35% only just wet their hands without using soap. that is nearly half of all men. that means statistically you have probably shaken hands with or been in direct contact with one of these people.
love when men say that women "only want money" when it turns out that even in equal-earning homes, women are actually adding caregiver burdens and housework from previous years, whereas men have been expanding leisure time and hobbies. in equal-earning households, men spend an average of 3.5 hours extra in leisure time per week, which is 182 hours per year - a little over a week of paid vacation time that the other partner does not receive. kinda sounds like he wants her money.
love that men have decided women are frail and weak and annoying when we scream in surprise but it turns out it's actually women who are more reliable in an emergency because men need to be convinced to actually take action and respond to the threat. like, actually, for-real: men experience such a strong sense of pride about their pre-supposed abilities that it gets them and their families killed. they are so used to dismissing women that it literally kills them.
love it. told my father this and he said there's lies, damned lies, and statistics. a year ago i tried to get him to evacuate the house during a flash flood. he ignored me and got injured. he has told me, laughing, that he never washes his hands. he has said in the last week that women are just happier when we're cooking or cleaning.
maybe i'm overly nostalgic. but it didn't used to feel so fucking bleak. it used to feel like at least a little shameful to consider women to be sheep. it just feels like the earth is round and we are still having conversations about it being flat - except these conversations are about the most obvious forms of patriarchy. like, we know about this stuff. we've known since well before the 50's.
recently andrew tate tried to justify cheating on his partner as being the "male prerogative." i don't know what the prerogative for the rest of us would be. just sitting at home, watching the slow erosion of our humanity.
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BTHB 2023 - Fill 17 - Water Torture
Sometimes I just want to explore traumas that I figure out a character has, and sometimes I also want to explore the idea of "god, you know, yeah, I think that would make Mariano Act Like That as an adult"
TWs: Torture, water torture, near-drowning, whump of a minor, institutional abuse, child abuse
Shuddering, gasping coughing filled the room. Unforgiving fingers tangled in the trainee mage's dark hair, the only thing keeping the trembling boy from collapsing back into the pool. Diego waited.
The dark eyes of the instructor and his trainee met. The instructor nodded. Diego dropped the mage back under, mid-gasp. At this point, it took more strength to grant the boy air than it did to restrict it.
The mage's arms flailed, still struggling to try to push himself closer to air. The instructor wrote something down, his face still unreadable to Diego even so far into his training. He had no idea if this one was doing well, or failing. Sometimes it seemed like the criteria changed--were teenagers even really capable of passing all the tests otherwise? Some instructors had to be giving them slack.
Just as the mage's struggling began to slow and his back began to hitch, the instructor nodded. Diego brought him back up. Was his face red from the oxygen deprivation? Was it from stress? Was that water from the pool running down his face, or tears?
Diego didn't know why his chest felt tight at that thought. If these kids were almost old enough to destroy towns and spearhead invasions, they were old enough to understand the consequences of getting captured by an enemy. They were old enough to learn what enemies would do to get information. He supposed that they were old enough to learn what happened if you couldn't keep yourself safe.
Half an hour really wasn't very long at all, to the torturer of an enemy kingdom.
Down, hold, then back up. Down, hold, then back up. Diego repeated this until his shoulder began to ache. His instructor kept his gaze locked on him. He could feel him searching for any crack in his expression. Any ounce of pity, or remorse. Or guilt.
Diego made sure that there wouldn't be any.
His own son was the same age as this mage. Down, hold, up. He supposed it was just lucky that he'd been born without magic. Down, hold, up.
The little mage's struggling got weaker and weaker with every repetition. The minutes continued to tick by. Frantic coughing and gasping turned to desperate, deep breaths turned to smooth, silent breathing. The boy figured out how to subtly hold his breath, how to conceal his instinctive reactions. He stopped fighting. He began to focus on enduring.
The instructor checked his pocket watch. He wrote something else down. Down, hold, up. The boy's glasses had long since fallen off into the water. There was no attempt to grab them.
Finally, when the boy's eyes stopped even trying to flutter open, his breathing calm and even when he was pulled from the pool, the instructor capped his pen. He motioned his head towards the door.
His instructor's eyes never left his as Diego let the boy fall backwards to the unforgiving stone floor, finally releasing his grip. He did not wince at the sound of the boy's head hitting the floor. Turning, the instructor began to lead the way out. Diego risked a glance backwards as he left. Half-lidded eyes stared after him, slowly blinking.
Diego knew. The boy knew. They'd both learned the lessons that the instructor wanted to teach.
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