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theluckychemist · 1 day ago

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In general, understanding radical feminism for what it is and why it appeals to many people requires an understanding that the greatest strength of radical feminism as a tool for understanding misogyny and sexism is also its greatest faultline.

See, radical feminism is a second wave position in feminist thought and development. It is a reaction to what we sometimes call first wave feminism, which was so focused on specific legal freedoms that we usually refer to the activists who focused on it as suffragists or suffragettes: that is, first wave feminists were thinking about explicit laws that said "women cannot do this thing, and if they try, the law of the state and of other powerful institutions will forcibly evict them." Women of that era were very focused on explicit and obvious barriers to full participation in public and civil life, because there were a lot of them: you could not vote, you could not access education, you could not be trained in certain crucial professions, you could not earn your own pay even if you decided you wanted to.

And so these activists began to try to dig into the implicit beliefs and cultural structures that served to trap women asking designated paths, even if they did wish to do other things. Why is it that woman are pressured not to go into certain high prestige fields, even if in theory no one is stopping them? How do our ideas and attitudes about sex and gender create assumptions and patterns and constrictions that leave us trapped even when the explicit chains have been removed?

The second wave of feminism, then, is what happened when the daughters of this first wave--and their opponents--looked around and said to themselves: hold on, the explicit barriers are gone. The laws that treat us as a different and lesser class of people are gone. Why doesn't it feel like I have full access to freedoms that I see the men around me enjoying? What are the unspoken laws that keep us here?

And so these activists focused on the implicit ideas that create behavioral outcomes. They looked inward to interrogate both their own beliefs and the beliefs of other people around them. They discovered many things that were real and illuminated barriers that people hadn't thought of, especially around sexual violence and rape and trauma and harassment. In particular, these activists became known for exercises like consciousness-raising, in which everyday people were encouraged to sit down and consider the ways in which their own unspoken, implicit beliefs contributed to general societal problems of sexism and misogyny.

Introspection can be so intoxicating, though, because it allows us to place ourselves at the center of the social problems that we see around us. We are all naturally a little self centered, after all. When your work is so directly tied to digging up implications and resonances from unspoken beliefs, you start getting really into drawing lines of connection from your own point of interest to other related marginalizations--and for this generation of thinkers, often people who only experienced one major marginalization got the center of attention. Compounding this is the reality that it is easier to see the impacts of marginalization when they apply directly to you, and things that apply to you seem more important.

So some of this generation of thinkers thought to themselves, hang on. Hang on. Misogyny has its fingers in so many pies that we don't see, and I can see misogyny echoing through so many other marginalizations too--homophobia especially but also racism and ableism and classism. These echoes must be because there is one central oppression that underlies all the others, and while theoretically you could have a society with no class distinctions and no race distinctions, just biologically you always have sex and gender distinctions, right? So: perhaps misogyny is the original sin of culture, the well from which all the rest of it springs. Perhaps there's really no differences in gender, only in sex, and perhaps we can reach equality if only we can figure out how to eradicate gender entirely. Perhaps misogyny is the root from which all other oppressions stem: and this group of feminists called themselves radical feminists, after that root, because radix is the Latin word for root.

Very few of this generation of thinkers, you may be unsurprised to note, actually lived under a second marginalization that was not directly entangled with sexism and gender; queerness was pretty common, but queerness is also so very hard to distinguish from gender politics anyway. It's perhaps not surprising that at this time several Black women who were interested in gender oppression became openly annoyed and frustrated by the notion that if only we can fix gender oppression, we can fix everything: they understood racism much more clearly, they were used to considering and interrogating racism and thinking deeply about it, and they thought that collapsing racism into just a facet of misogyny cheapened both things and failed to let you understand either very well. These thinkers said: no, actually, there isn't one original sin that corrupted us all, there are a host of sins humans are prone to, and hey, isn't the concept of original sin just a little bit Christianocentric anyway?

And from these thinkers we see intersectional feminists appearing. These are the third wave, and from this point much mainstream feminist throughout moves to asking: okay, so how do the intersections of misogyny make it appear differently in all these different marginalized contexts? What does misogyny do in response to racial oppression? What does it look like against this background, or that one?

But the radical feminists remained, because seeing your own problems and your own thought processes as the center of the entire world and the answer to the entire problem of justice is very seductive indeed. And they felt left behind and got quite angry about this, and cast about for ways to feel relevant without having to decenter themselves. And, well, trans women were right there, and they made such a convenient target...

That's what a TERF is.

Now you know.

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theluckychemist · 1 day ago

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met a woman today whose original real actual given-at-birth first name is "Vendetta." ma'am are you aware you are a videogame protagonist and/or a character in a skullduggery pleasant novel. real quick sorry to bother you miss but who exactly were your parents expecting you to avenge in their name

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theluckychemist · 2 days ago

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negan loves having power over you

(mdni 18+ dubcon, humiliation maybe ??)

Negan flips you roughly onto your back, looming over you with a wicked grin. He hooks your legs over his broad shoulders, pushing them up towards your chest as he adjusts his stance. You feel the head of his thick cock pressing insistently at your entrance.

With a brutal thrust of his hips, Negan sheaths himself back inside you, stretching you wide around his throbbing cock. He doesn't give you time to adjust, immediately setting a hard, driving pace. The old couch creaks softly beneath you with each powerful snap of his hips.

You start to cover your face with your arm, embarrassed that he was able to trick you into getting into this position so easily. However, Negan is having none of that.

“Hey, hey... none of that now,” he growls, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. “You don't get to hide from me, sweetheart. I want to see those pretty eyes when I’m inside you.”

Despite Negan's warning, you continue to cover your face, unable to meet his cocky gaze. This time, he doesn't just grab your wrist— he grabs both of your wrists in one large, strong hand and roughly pins your arms to your chest. His grip is like a steel vice, unyielding and inescapable. He leans in even closer, his lips brushing against yours as he speaks in a low, threatening growl.

“Didn't I just tell you not to hide from me?” he snarls. “Keep your hands where I can see ‘em, and look at me.” He punctuates his words with a particularly hard thrust, grinding his pelvis against yours, making sure you feel every thick inch of him buried deep inside you.

Reluctantly, you allow your eyes to meet Negan's intense gaze. As your eyes lock with his, a cruel, smug smile spreads across his face, revealing those deep dimples. His eyes bore into yours, dark and intense, daring you to look away. He chuckles low and rough, the sound sending shivers down your spine.

“See, there you go,” His grip on your wrists eases slightly, but he doesn't let you go, keeping your arms pinned to your chest. Negan's grin widens, turning even more wicked as he sees the embarrassment and reluctance in your eyes. He knows he has you at his mercy, completely under his control. He uses this power to tease you mercilessly.

“Look at you, all spread out and stuffed full of my cock,” he taunts, his voice a quiet, mocking rumble. “I bet you'd be mortified if anyone from your little community saw you like this— takin’ me like a champ.” His tip brushes harshly against that special spot inside you, making you gasp. His eyes gleam with cruel amusement as he watches your face, relishing your reaction.

“Don't worry, sweetheart. Your secret's safe with me.”

For now.

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theluckychemist · 2 days ago

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mega stockholm syndrome; dubcon; extremely implied/detailed coercion; reader is called “good girl” once w/ NEGAN SMITH

"come on, don't be shy. let me in there."

the tip of negan's cock nudges against your entrance, unable to slip in just yet due to the tension you're holding throughout your entire body. you could continue to put up a fight, close your legs and push him out of the way. you know he'll leave you alone, at least in this regard, but non compliance doesn't fly with negan. you've learned that it's better to get it over with and deal with the guilt and distaste in your mouth later.

except, you don't think there'll be any of that this time.

it's shameful for you to admit it, even to yourself, but you want this. for possibly the first time since being here, you want to feel negan glide his cock into you. you want to feel him through the thin barrier of a miraculously not expired condom. maybe you even want to feel him without the condom, something you've never thought you would ever want in a world like this.

with a forced exhale, you loosen your entire body and negan takes the chance he's given.

"there we go," he drags over every single syllable until he sounds like he's cooing. "there she is." he easily slides in, his eyes watching you take each agonizing inch of him.

you don't mean to let these sounds slip out of your mouth, you're just trying to breathe through it, but your breaths take on a pleasurable lilt, gentle whines and moans slipping out amongst the air.

negan grins, big and proud down at you, and you want to hate the look, the predator glint in his eyes, the cockiness shining off of his teeth. but something about it all makes pride bloom in your chest.

it only multiplies when he tells you, sincerely you think, "i'm proud of you, sweetheart. getting better and better everytime." because you know he's right.

you are getting better and better.

you're getting better at all of this. better at fitting him in, an action that was so foreign in the beginning that it felt like an intrusion. you know that it was, all of this was an intrusion, it should feel uncomfortable but day by day it becomes more and more secure. you're becoming better at being here with the saviors, more acquainted with violence and hostility that poured from every single pore of every single person in this place. you're becoming better at being his, better at being there for him. better at knowing what your job is.

and it's this. plain and simple.

you remember hershel used to say everyone had their jobs. you remember maggie and beth using different iterations of the mantra to keep themselves going. you picked it up then, reminding yourself that everyone has their jobs while you were living in the quaint community you all had created, and lost, in the prison.

now, you use it to keep yourself afloat with the saviors. everyone has their jobs, yours just happens to be completely untraditional.

negan won't tell you that this is what he has you for. he likes to paint himself as morally superior in that way, acting as if you had a choice, acting as if you chose to be his little lapdog. he acts as if you do more than pleasure him when he pleases. according to his self-deluded words, you boosted morale—a reminder to everyone that life did have its pleasures, even in times like these. you think you're a reminder to the saviors that only negan could have his cake and eat it, too. and he eats it as much as he wants.

but you also know you're a warning to your group that no one is safe, and everything can be swept out from under them in a moments notice if they chose not to comply.

so compliance is what you have to do. it’s just coming to you naturally now, blending the line between compliance and sheer want. you don’t know what this is now.

when negan throws your legs over his shoulders and leans closer to you, you don't curl away from his body. when his free hand slinks up your stomach and rests over your tits, you don't feel uncomfortable. you feel the opposite when he sandwiches your nipple between his thumb and pointer finger, almost painfully tweaking the bud between his rough hands.

maybe this is some sick way for you to cope, or maybe you just genuinely want this. giving into your base bodily desires, arching your back and pushing your cunt further towards negan, trying to get him to give you more without having to ask for it, for verbally requesting him to use you would not only be too humiliating for you to come back from, but it would let negan know that you don't exactly hate him as much as you claim. or, at least, you don't hate all of him as much as you claim.

negan's lips part as if he's going to say something, but then he stops. you think he's going to make you tell him just how much you like this. you worry he's going to make you beg for an orgasm, and you'll either have to tuck your tail between your legs and leave here without getting off, or do as he says to get what you want. but he doesn't.

he nudges the tip of your nose with his, and for a moment you think he's going to kiss you and cross into territory that hasn't been explored yet. but he doesn't.

he may be intruding within you, but he doesn't go too far, and it's truly the bare minimum but it does something to you.

you move your leg from negan's shoulders and wrap it around his waist, making the choice to pull him closer to you.

the smile negan gives you is so big and full of so much pride that you can't help but feel a little bit of pride for yourself, too.

"oh?" he says, slowly letting his tongue glide over his bottom lip. he pulls back, taking your other leg and pulling it into the same position. he grips your hips and drives into you with long, deep strokes, praising you the entire time, calling you a good girl, telling you just how proud he is, telling you that he knew you would start to fit in here.

when he makes you come, it's to the sound of his cock slipping in and out of you and his voice—something that once evoked fear in you from the moment he had you on your knees in that introductory lineup that changed so much of your life, but now something that creates an inciting fear. a sort of fear that has you wanting to crawl back to him.

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theluckychemist · 2 days ago

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not to sound "woke" or anything (bc no one knows how to use that term properly) but it's tiring how exclusive fanfics are for black ppl. like when im reading a fic n the writer says something like "you blushed" or "she ran her fingers through your hair" even though it's a minuscule part of the story in the grand scheme of things, to me it is just a small reminder that im not accepted into these spaces or that my features aren't desirable enough to be described. it might be "just a fanfic" to u but all these little reminders build up over n over again n honestly it can js take the joy out of reading fics sometimes ngl.

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theluckychemist · 2 days ago

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Run | Negan x reader

word count: 2.1k

warnings: mdni 18+, noncon, unprotected sex, implied age gap, negan’s gross ofc, dddne

summary: after surviving another lineup, negan decides to have a little fun with you

Negan smirked as he observed all the frightened faces before him as he moved up and down the line. He'd been having problems with Rick's group for some time, and it was time to deal with it.

After attempting to fight earlier in the night, you were now exhausted, bloodied and broken. Your knees ached from staying in the same position for what felt like hours.

Negan watched as Rick completed the shocking task he had ordered, a grim smile spreading across his face. He couldn't help but feel a twisted sense of satisfaction seeing the once proud leader of this community brought so low. Turning away from the pitiful sight, Negan's eyes found you, kneeling amidst the crowd of terrified survivors.

Negan's grin widens, revealing a glint of cruel amusement in his eyes as he sees the fear etched into your features. He takes a step closer, the tip of his bat tapping gently under your chin to tilt your head back further.

“You know, I've got to hand it to you sweetheart, you've got somethin’. Most girls would be blubbering like babies by now, pissing themselves begging for their mama.” He leans in, hot breath washing over your face as he speaks in a low, almost tender tone that sends shivers down your spine. “But not you. No, you've got...spunk. I like that.”

Negan's free hand reaches out, calloused fingers brushing a stray curl behind your ear in an almost gentle gesture. The contrast between his rough touch and the tender action makes your heart race.

“Tell you what, sweetheart...you be a good girl and do exactly as I say. No funny business. And maybe, just maybe, you won't end up like that little shithead over there.” He jerks his head towards Rick, still trying to recover from being beat down.

Negan's eyes narrow as he points Lucille towards the dark woods behind you, a sinister glint in his gaze. “Now, I want you to get that cute little ass of yours movin'.” He takes a step back, giving you room to stand, but keeping the bat trained on you.

As you rise on shaky legs, Negan's eyes rake over your form, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “You've got a real pretty walk too. Nice and slow, sweetheart. Don't make me tell you twice.”

He points towards the tree line, indicating for you to start walking away from the group. The night is pitch black beyond the flickering light of the campfire, the sounds of the forest, the rustling of leaves, the distant hoots of owls— taking on an almost ominous quality.

After a short distance, he suddenly stops, grabbing your arm in a vice-like grip. “Here we are.” He turns to face you, his features obscured by the shadows.

“Listen up, because I'm only gonna say this once. You've got exactly five minutes to run, sweetheart. Five minutes to hide. And if I find you…”

He lets the threat hang in the air, his grip on your arm tightening for a moment before he releases you with a rough shove. “Better start runnin' now, darlin'. Your time's a tickin'.”

With that, he steps back, melting into the shadows. The darkness engulfs him, but you can still feel his presence, the weight of his gaze on your back as he watches you.

Negan's voice cuts through the darkness, sharp and commanding. “Go!” At the sound of his bark, you spring into action, your legs pumping as you race through the underbrush. The trees loom over you, their gnarled branches reaching out like claws in the shadows. The air is thick with the scent of earth and decay, the dampness clinging to your skin. Behind you, the sound of Negan's footsteps fades for a moment, only to be replaced by an unsettling silence. The absence of his pursuit is almost more terrifying than the knowledge of his chase. It leaves you wondering if he's closing in on you from a different direction, lying in wait to ambush you in the darkness.

You stumble over a fallen log, your hands scraping against the rough bark as you catch yourself. The pain shoots through your palms, but you barely register it, too consumed by the fear coursing through your veins.

After allowing you a brief head start, Negan begins to leisurely walk in the direction you fled, a wicked grin spreading across his face, revealing the deep dimples that would be charming on any other man.

It's not long before you start to hear his mocking calls echoing through the dark forest, your heart clenching with dread at the sound of his voice drawing closer.

Negan's voice rings out, dripping with false cheer. “You can't hide from me, sweetheart. I'm gonna find you, no matter how far you run.” He pauses, listening for a moment. A branch snaps somewhere in the distance, and his lips curl into a smirk.

In a panic, you spot an old, abandoned truck nestled between two large oak trees, its rusted metal frame blending in with the dark foliage. Seeing an opportunity for a hiding spot, you quickly and quietly make your way towards it, your heart pounding in your ears. As you approach the truck, you notice that the driver's side door is slightly ajar. Holding your breath, you ease the door open just enough for you to slip inside, the hinges creaking softly in protest. You tumble into the cab, landing hard on the dusty, cracked leather seat.

You curl up in the tight space, trying to make yourself as small as possible. The musty smell of old upholstery and motor oil fills your nostrils as you hold your breath, listening intently for any sign of Negan's approach. Then, you hear it. The crunch of dead leaves and twigs beneath heavy boots, growing louder and closer with each passing second. He's getting closer, circling around the abandoned truck like a shark scenting blood in the water.

“You know, I thought you’d be a lot smarter,” You hold your breath as you hear his voice, squeezing your eyes shut as if that could somehow make you invisible. “But this— this is just pitiful.” Negan's footsteps stop abruptly just outside the old truck, and you hear him speak again.

“You gonna come out?” The silence stretches on for what feels like an eternity, your heart hammering against your ribs. He waits another beat, as if expecting an answer. When none comes, he lets out a low, dark chuckle. “No? Alright.”

With a sudden, violent motion, he swings the truck door open, the rusted metal screeching in protest. The door slams against the inside of the cab, and you flinch, pressing yourself back against the far side of the seat.

“There she is.” Negan's tall frame fills the doorway, his silhouette stark against the faint moonlight behind him. He leans in, his head cocked to the side as he peers into the dark interior of the truck cab. “Come on, don't make this difficult.” Negan's hand suddenly closes around your wrist in an iron grip, his fingers digging into your skin hard enough to bruise. Before you can react, he's wrenching you out of the cab, your body tumbling onto the hard-packed dirt and dead leaves below. You land hard on your back, the breath knocked out of your lungs, your head spinning from the sudden movement.

He stands over you, his head tilted to the side, a cruel smile playing on his lips. “Didn't I tell you not to make this difficult, sweetheart?” He takes a step closer, his boot hovering over your chest. For a terrifying moment, you think he might stomp down, crushing the air from your lungs. But instead, he presses the sole of his boot against your collarbone, pinning you to the ground.

You can't help but let out a soft, frightened whimper as Negan's boot presses down harder on your collarbone. The pressure makes it difficult to breathe, your lungs screaming for air. Tears prick the corners of your eyes as you stare up at him, your heart hammering wildly in your chest.

“Poor, stupid little girl.” His tone is mocking, dripping with false sympathy. He grinds his heel down a little harder, and you gasp, your back arching off the ground as you try to ease the pressure.

Without warning, he removes his boot from your collarbone, only to roughly grab your shoulders, flipping your body over and slamming you down onto your stomach. You let out a yelp of pain and surprise, your hands scrabbling at the dirt as you try to push yourself up. But Negan is quicker, his knee pressing down hard on your lower back, pinning you in place.

You lie there, dazed and struggling to catch your breath, you feel Negan's rough hand groping and squeezing your ass through the fabric of your pants. You try to squirm away from his touch, but his knee pressing into your back keeps you firmly in place. Without warning, his fingers hook into the waistband of your pants and underwear. With a sharp tug, he yanks them down to your knees, exposing your bare skin to the chilly night air.

“I bet this pretty little pussy is just aching for a real man's touch, ain't it?” You whimper and try to clench your thighs together, but Negan just grinds his knee harder into your back, pinning you open and vulnerable. He pulls your arms behind your back, forcing your elbows to bend at an unnatural angle as he pins your hands to the small of your back. You cry out at the sudden pain, but the sound is muffled by the dirt beneath your cheek. Tears spring to your eyes as Negan leans down, his weight now fully pressing you into the cold, unforgiving ground.

You lie there helpless, your pants and underwear around your knees, Negan keeps your wrists pinned tightly behind your back with one large hand. With his other hand, he makes quick work of his belt buckle, the metal clinking loudly in the silent forest. Your eyes widen in fear and revulsion as he unbuckles his pants and shoves them down, along with his underwear, freeing his hardening cock.

“Been waitin’ to get my hands on you girly.” Negan growls. He grinds his hips forward, the head of his cock pushing against your entrance. You let out an anguished cry as Negan thrusts his hips forward, pushing your head against the cold, damp ground.

But even as you sob and beg him to stop, Negan feels your body beginning to betray you. Your once-tight, dry walls start to flutter and clench around his pistoning cock, growing slick with a reluctant, shameful arousal.

“You’re clenchin’ around me like you never want to let it go,” Negan taunts, his voice a low, dark rumble. “You're fucking loving this, aren’t you?”

“Fuck you.” you grit through your teeth. Negan just laughs, a dark, cruel sound that sends shivers down your spine. Your pleas only seem to spur him on, making him thrust into you with even more brutal force. The wet, obscene sound of your arousal fills the air as you take him, your cunt growing slicker with each passing second.

“Come onnn, don’t act like I haven’t seen the way you look at me when you think no one's watchin'," Negan sneers, his voice a low, cruel murmur in your ear as he continues his relentless assault. “You could’ve just asked.”

You cry out, your back arching as a intense, unwanted orgasm crashes over you. Your inner walls clench and spasm around Negan's pistoning shaft. He follows soon after you, hilting himself deep inside you, thick ropes of his cum paint your insides, flooding your already dripping cunt with his seed.

“Fuck, thaaat’s it.” Negan snarls, grinding his pelvis hard against your ass as he empties his heavy balls inside you. His pubic hair, matted with sweat and the combined fluids of your shared climax, presses against your sensitive skin.

After a long, humiliating moment, Negan finally pulls out, his spent cock slipping from your abused, dripping cunt with a quiet, wet plop. He takes a step back, tucking himself away and refastening his pants with casual, almost bored movements. You remain lying there on the cold ground, your legs splayed open, your pants still around your ankles. The night air feels icy on your exposed, sticky skin as the reality of what just happened sinks in. Tears leak from the corners of your eyes, cutting trails through the dirt on your cheeks.

Negan looks down at your broken, used body sprawled in the dirt, a look of cruel satisfaction on his face. “I expect to see that pretty little face of yours in the morning,” he says, his tone almost conversational. With that, he turns and walks away, leaving you lying there in the dirt, half-naked, used, and utterly desecrated. The night closes in around you, the forest falling dreadfully silent once more.

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