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genderkoolaid · 1 year ago

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Hi!

I (24 nb) am having a serious issue with girls my age being quite misandric and using radfem rhetoric in their speech.

The issue is I understand their fear and mistrust of men in patriarchy and with many of them having horror stories to share about bad heterosexual relationships. But i am deeply uncomfortable with misandry and i don't know how to effectively point out that no it's not good feminism to hate on men.

Do you have any resources you could recommend me to build a good argument? I want to be prepared for this kind of discussion because it keeps happening more and more frequently.

I know it's not the main topic you cover on your blog but as it is closely related to transandrophobia I was hoping you (or your followers) could still give me some advice.

I wish you a wonderful day

My advice would be to start with talking about the negative impact of misandry on women first (although don't use the word misandry, at least at first). Starting off with "it hurts men" in any regard will likely not go over well, but if you first bring up the issue in relation to a group they already really care about, they'll be more likely to listen. Also, I would reaffirm that having trauma or bad associations with men isn't the problem, they aren't obligated to associate with men in ways that make them uncomfortable or exhausted, and that they have a right to feel their emotions, be angry, be annoyed, etc. Affirm that your concern is with how their actions and attitudes could be causing real harm to others, and that anger being valid does not mean you don't need to take responsibility for how you choose to act.

Some potential talking points:

When women are perceived as manly or masculine, they tend to get viewed with the worst traits of masculinity: butches and trans women are seen as aggressive, violent predators who prey on sweet, feminine straight/cis women. The patriarchy doesn't just hurt women through their femininity, but through their (real or perceived masculinity as well.

Even inside queer spaces, butches are expected to fulfill toxic masculinity: they are expected to be sexually dominant tops, not be emotionally or physically "weak," not do feminine things, etc. Butches can get ridiculed by others, even partners, for not fulfilling these things. Things like balding and small penises, that are traditionally seen as failures of masculinity in the patriarchy, are also made fun of in queer spaces; it seems like queer spaces have issues with how they deal with (real or perceived) masculinity.

When spaces make jokes about hating men, put a lot of emphasis on gatekeeping men, etc., it makes it a lot harder for trans women and nonbinary people assigned male feel safe. Some trans women & genderqueers might not realize their gender because they are kept out of spaces that could've helped them realize because of how queer & feminist spaces act regarding men. Butch trans women and genderqueers often face heightened scrutiny because of their masculinity, from both inside and outside their communities. (Also, send them this article.)

^ As a result of all of that, maybe we need to be more careful with how we think and talk about masculinity. It seems like we are reusing a lot of negative patriarchal stereotypes about men & masculinity in ways which hurt marginalized people the most.

From there, you can bring up marginalized men: you can talk about how trans men, multigender/nonbinary men, men of color, Jewish men, fat men, disabled men, etc. are negatively affected by negative patriarchal stereotypes about men & masculinity- I emphasis that because its how I would go about referring to "misandry" or "antimasculism" without actually using a word. Since misandry (and anything that sounds similar) is such a trigger word for many, its important to set the foundation that there is a big difference between the MRA concept of misandry, and the transunitist concept of misandry. Transunitist misandry focuses on how sexism & genderism* is used to target marginalized groups (specifically trans* people). Transunitist misandry does not say that misogyny doesn't exist, or that men are oppressed in the exact same way women are; its saying that the patriarchy (as a part of kyriarchy) uses gender and sex to harm not just marginalized women, but marginalized men too.

My goal with this would be to introduce and try to convince them of the idea that Misandry Is Harmful Maybe, and then once they realize how its harmful, bring up the idea that this kind of stuff needs to be named. Once they generally agree with these ideas, I think it will be much easier to help them understand why misandry is bad even beyond marginalized men: because the patriarchy relies on harmful ideas and expectations for men, even as (dominant/non-marginalized) men have a different place and more rewards; because liberationist feminism must be concerned with universal liberation, and that means it must be concerned with everyone's wellbeing and liberation; because we cannot disnantle the master's house with the master's tools, and letting any patriarchal thinking in poisons the well of your feminist praxis; because it just makes you a meaner and shittier person. In my experience people who think in the ways you described are resistant (not necessarily for bad reasons) to any kind of criticism towards sexism/genderism towards men, so my tactic would be starting with areas (like women) that they are concerned with not hurting and show how misandry hurts that group. Connecting the harm of this way of thinking to something they care about is going to make them more open to seeing it as an issue in general.

*I use "sexism" to describe the system of oppression based on physical sex, and "genderism" to describe the system of oppression based on gender identity/presentation/roles.

#m.#ask box

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the-californicationist · 11 months ago

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The Devil's Summer

Konig/Reader TW: Rape, sexual assault, corpses, murder, violence

I am not being playful when I say that if you find any of these tags disturbing that you should skip this fic. Reading this story is not worth making yourself feel uncomfortable or causing yourself pain. Please take care of yourself first and foremost.

MDNI/18+ NO EXCEPTIONS

AO3 Link

A tall, foreign stranger comes to town with his masked crew of bandits. They rob the train station and the bank, but the big one… he has his sights set on a different sort of prize: you.

The summer had been like an open mouth, unbreathing, unmoving, but warm and wet and still in its bearing. The bayou lay like a lolling tongue over the swampland, and the sweetness of the azaleas could not make up for the stench of its lazy, murky flow. Bald cypress trees lined the river like rotten teeth, their graying, dull bark holding evidence of the cavities of selfish men, black bullet holes from selfish gunfire. The rope burn on the tall, gnarled bows left scars as if they were old wounds, and they were. Your brother’s innocent body had been the cause for one, and you were glad he wasn’t here to witness them today.

The Devil didn’t know how hot it could get, but you did. You could barely move in the high noon of the day, and as the cicadas screamed, so you wanted to as well. The air lay on you like an awful hand, pressing you flat with its damp, punishing palm. It kept you from sleep, and it threatened you with steady, unrelenting torment. Your skin grew pink and tight from the ruby-colored sun, gleaming and immutable as it sagged in the cloudless firmament. Like the tangle of Spanish moss that hung in the trees outside, swaying back and forth like strange fruit, your hair clung to your neck, vampiric.

Your father was dead, much good may it do him, as were most of the other people in your town. Since the early hours of the morning, you’d sat on your aching knees in the wet bank of Bayou Têche, providing sustenance for the mosquitos who feasted on your unguarded flesh. Your hands were bound with wire twine, and it cut into your wrists hard enough for them to bleed. The flies swarmed you, and you’d long since given up trying to fight them off. The man who had come to deliver this day to you and the other few inhabitants of your town was watching your future unfurl before you, as patient as the summer sun.

He hadn’t shown his face, but you knew he was a white man. Those pale, ice-blue eyes couldn’t have been borne from Creole blood. If you were honest with yourself, something in your chest told you that those eyes weren’t even human. They were situated behind a black, heavy hangman’s hood that covered him from head to neck, and it was stained with blood and all manner of other liquids. The humidity made it cling to his nose and jaw, and you saw the aquiline shape disturb the smoothness of the fabric.

The hangman wore a large-brimmed cowboy hat on his head constructed of fine, black felt. It was very much out-of-season, meant for a cool dry winter. Despite your suffering, you could imagine and empathize that his head and neck must be near boiling.

His body was immense. He looked like he was seven feet high, and he was as broad as a door. His heavy musculature moved slowly, teasingly, but you had watched him strike like a water moccasin, deadly accurate and blindingly fast. Atop his demonic draft horse, he looked like he was one of the Hessians that Sister Campbell had described to you in school, when you’d been allowed to go.

The Hessian was a fine shot. He’d killed most of the men in town by his own hand, picking them off like he was elbow-deep in a blackberry bush, choosing the biggest ones first to stain his hands in their sweet juices. Your father had been near the end, no longer a threat in his old age. The white hair of his beard was painted with red stripes, coughed up in those final moments of futility, and the dark skin of his cheek made the colors that much more vibrant. You wished his eyes were closed. You didn’t want him to see what may happen to you now.

He’d been staring at you for quite some time. Although he hadn’t been the one to tie you up, it was what he wanted. The will of his men and of your small town folded under his brutal control, and now that everyone was dead, he dominated the silence with comfortable ease.

You watched him swing a long, thick leg over the saddle, lowering himself to the wet ground with a thud. His boots were worn and filthy, not intended for walking through the black bayou waters and shores, and his spurs were sharpened into curled spikes. Each step was a promise. The gun in his hand would be your reward, you were certain of it.

Imagining all of your hopes and dreams seemed disgusting to you now. The shine of the gun was nothing like the glittering gold ring you’d wanted to wear to your wedding, if you had one. You’d wanted children, a whole litter of them, and you wanted to cook jambalaya for them and dress them in matching flour sacks, all lined up in a row. You wanted to braid their hair in the way your mother had braided yours, secreting away little prayers between each bite, locking them in place with an extra twist.

You would have none of that. The only thing for you now was this demon. Whatever he wanted had replaced your own desires. You waited for his wanting to find its end.

The dirty barrel of the gun pressed under your chin, its soot gritty and black against your skin, and your jaw turned up to the blinding sky to look into the coolness of his gaze. He looked like he was smiling at you, which was worse than his fury, and you held back the bile rising in your throat, burning you as hot as a brand.

“Fils putain,” you snarled without raising your voice, spitting on the gloved hand that had the gun to your neck.

You watched the spit bubble white across the black leather, his thumb as wide as a root, and you heard it drip into the mud at your knees when it ran in thick rivulets across his knuckles.

He smiled again with his eyes, removed the gun from you to lift his hand to his face. As he did so, he lifted the hood so that you could watch his mouth as he licked your spit from the glove, tasting the sour sting of your bile and vitriol. You saw his pale, ghostly lips, scarred and maligned, peel away from sharp incisors as he laved his tongue across the back of his hand, clad in shining silver like two daggers. The rest of his teeth were bright and straight and ready.

The pain you felt from the butt of his gun was sudden and shattering. The crack of your cheekbone exploded in your face like a collapsing star, white hot and dying. You felt like you were dying. You landed, face down in the mud, vomiting and coughing and crying. There was nothing more meaningful than your sobbing, and your body prioritized it over everything else.

Your assailant knelt in the muddy bank of the bayou with you, letting his boots dip into the shallow waters where minnows hoped to feed on the larvae that lay sprinkled across the surface like salt in a stock. He had removed his gloves and was cupping your face, gently soothing the wound that he had caused. That pale, bloodless mouth was kissing you, leaving a trail of little, soft contacts over the ruined skin on your face, and the blood from his cut was staining him crimson. He replaced the hood and picked you up off of the ground.

At first, you couldn’t walk, and all the blood that had been pressed out of your lower extremities was now flooding back in, making your bones ache from the inside out. You stumbled next to him, and he carried you like you were as light as his sidearm. One of his men approached you and spoke to your tall devil in his language, foreign and loud.

They’d robbed the small train station, killing Mr. Fusilier, and they blew up the track, stopping the sheriff from being able to send for help. Sheriff Guidry was dead, laying in the small graveyard next to the church, and you found it odd that he’d died laid over a headstone. You were sure there was poetry there, but you weren’t smart enough to know what kind.

Your captor handed you off to one of his men, a thin, wiry man with a large mustache. He smelled like sulfur and tobacco. His grip was weaker than the hangman’s, and there was a coldness to his touch that made you uncomfortable.

He was taking you back up to your house. You didn’t know whether or not it was worth it to fight him off. He was smaller than the other one, but your cheek still throbbed, fresh and mean. He sat you down at your own kitchen table like it wasn’t yours, like you hadn’t cleaned its worn oak slats every morning since you were old enough to hold a rag.

Yanking out a chair beside you, he sat, rolling a long cigarette, and leaving the twisted matchstick on the tabletop, marring the grain. You wanted to rail against him, to wail and scream that he was ruining it, that your mother had set all of her meals down in that very spot — crawfish etouffee, filé gumbo, rice and beans �� and that you missed her laugh and the way she smelled like white pepper and rosemary oil.

The cheek that had been hit couldn’t have throbbed any harder, and something twisted within you wished that the large man was still there, wiping away the hurt.

The one with the mustache spoke in a slow, Texan drawl,

“What’s your name?”

You rolled your eyes up to meet his, hoping that the hate you felt was loaded in them like the bullets in his gun,

“Eve.”

“Like the Bible?”

You didn’t reply. He grabbed you around your knee and pulled you towards him, your chair screeching across the floor,

“Bitch, I’m talkin’ to you. You think you’re too good for me, huh? Fuckin’ whore.”

You were on the table then, spread out and plated like a red fish, all meat and bones and sauce. He was going to eat you alive, and what could you do about it? Your bound hands bit into each other like the fangs of a snake. You kicked out, hard, but he caught you.

Then, you felt his hands ripping away the fabric of your cotton dress. There wasn’t much left of it to ruin. You wondered if the button you mended last week on the collar was still intact. You were never as good as buttons as your mother was.

Dirty fingers dug around between your legs, finding what they wanted to, shoving aside your bloomers and wetting themselves one by one, dipping into you brutally, soaking the pads over and over like a candle was dipped in wax, like a pen into a font of ink, and you hoped it stained him.

You screamed until he stopped you, planting a smelly hand across your mouth. You bit it, taking his bitter flesh with you.

“Ah, fuck! Son of a bitch!”

Clutching his wound, he backed away from you. Then, when he raised his eyes, he looked behind you at a horror you could not see. Then, he died on your kitchen floor. The bullet sliced through his dark brown eye and splattered his brain and face all over your kitchen counter. There were two big, flaky biscuits left over from your breakfast that morning, and they looked like someone had slathered them in a rich, fruity compote.

You wanted to see who had saved you, but you knew already. His huge boots made the table rattle beneath your burning wrists, and you could hear his enraged breathing, dampened by the mask. It was your Hessian.

He stood over you for a moment, looking disturbed by your appearance. You had disappointed him somehow. You were crying, but you didn’t stop for his benefit. It wouldn’t matter anyway, you figured. Might as well give in to the feeling.

Your body was being lifted, carefully, and carried to your father’s bedroom. It was the nearest to the kitchen, just off of the first hallway. A cross-stitch goose you’d made when you were twelve hung neatly on the wall below the lantern. You remembered the way the threads used to sound when they ran to and fro through the linen. The goose wore a little blue bow, and her beak was the most beautiful goldenrod yellow.

The giant man lay you on your bed, the blood from your wrists surely ruining your duvet. Was it still your duvet? Did you actually own anything anymore?

The mattress sagged under your weight, and it groaned deeper as it sagged under his.

He unbound your wrists and took a careful look at them. Then, he peeled away the ripped edge of your dress, shaking his head sadly,

“I am sorry, Liebling. My men should know better than to touch what is mine.”

You let tears and snot run freely down your face.

“What is your name?”

The same question. And why did it matter? Who gave a shit what your goddamn name was? It wasn’t going to help you.

“...E-Eve…”

“Eve...” He dragged out the vowels like he had dragged you into the house, slowly and against your will.

“I have been called many names,” he leaned down to your neck to smell your skin, whispering into it, “But, you may call me Kӧnig.”

When his hands ran up under your dress, they did not fumble, they were not brutal, and yet the pain of them hurt you anyway. He didn’t force you to open, but your body yielded to him nonetheless, wilting for him like a flower in the sun. You became pliant, and your sobs went from desperate to something laden with strife. You had not consented to his touch, and yet your body welcomed him in with open arms, eager to host the traitor at the gate.

He knelt. As he began to lick you between your legs, he smelled your scent, lifting his hood and letting it pool along your belly, cold as his hot mouth made wet contact with your skin. The way he suckled from you reminded you of the calves in the spring, pumping their mouths onto their mothers’ teats and filling their throats with her warm cream, selfish and relentless. His nose tickled the dark curls above your folds, and you wondered if he was being teased by them, if his nostrils could smell your fear and if they misunderstood it as desire.

“Mmm,” he hummed, pleased, “You are so sweet, my little Eve. So eager for me, hm?”

A growling sob escaped from your throat, and all at once you felt like you would vomit again. He caught your face in his hands before you did, lowering you to the floor and holding your jaw up to face him. Knocking off his hat, he pulled the hood from his face and you saw the gruesomeness there. It wasn’t as bad as you’d feared. Your mother had always told you that the promises of the darkness never amounted to much in the light. You wondered how true that was now.

“I will show you how eager you make me, Liebling.”

He pulled off the button fly of his cotton britches, and his heavy cock tumbled out of them, rolling into the center of his body, pounding with blood and want. He placed the tip at your lips, and although he could have ignored your volition, he begged you instead, providing you with the illusion of choice.

“Kiss it for me, Eve. Be a good girl for your Kӧnig, ja?”

You did not comply. You were your mother’s daughter after all.

He shoved your face onto his length with a calm sort of precision. You didn’t bother to make it easy on him, letting your teeth drag against the velveteen slip of skin, nor did you bite down. You were already dead, and you had decided to act like it.

“Are you not pleased, Liebe? I will give you what you want then,” he laughed quietly to himself, the curl of his smile broken into shards by his scarring, “Silly me. Playing my little games. I am such a tease.”

He pushed you to the ground, shoving your face into the floorboards, letting you look under your own bed. You saw small piles of dirt and a glittering ornament, lost from the last Christmas you’d had. You felt him preparing you from behind. Although you had not married him, you and an old beau had gotten this far. But, this was something else. The way he stretched you was like an intrusion. Your hip bones ached under his drooling rod, and you could feel the sharp tear of your thin skin.

“Oh, Scheiße! So tight for me. I want to come in you already, my darling.”

You let him fill you, and you tried to ignore the electric pleasure that he crafted in you, spinning a spell over you and forcing your orgasms with his cock and hand, one after the other, making you tremble beneath him, laughing all the time,

“So pretty. Coming for me just like a dream. Such a good girl, Eve.”

You were out of tears.

After he was finished with you, he carried you to his horse and put you in the saddle, climbing up behind you and taking the reins. You felt his come and your blood dripping out of you and onto the black leather, wetting you between your thighs, making you slide across the seat, back and forth.

The hot wind blew in your face as he rode you out of town, and you saw the smoke from all of the burning buildings floating high, high into heaven. And you wondered if God could smell the mesquite bark as it smoldered.

#call of duty fanfic #cod mw2 #cod mwii #konig call of duty #konig #konig smut #konig x reader #konig mw2 #konig cod #dark!konig

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heavenlymorals · 6 months ago

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I absolutely NEED to hear your thoughts on Bill liking Kieran your writing is so good

@escapingsin

Thank you so much ❤️❤️

I am but a servant of the people and I have been put on God's green earth to serve (cunt)- so of course!

Let's start off with the basics- Bill is gay. Though it hasn't been officially confirmed by Rockstar, it doesn't take a genius to see that that man is gay. He's the only male gang member with no female relationship or mention of a female relationship and his sexuality is implied multiple times by gang dialogue: "Arthur and Martha, or Bill and Phil." "Is he about to kiss that guy or punch him."

Oh and the hair pomade request. That was a lubricant back in the day and Bill is balding- doesn't mean he can't use pomade to slick back what he does have, but let's put two in two together, babes. He's messy, stinky (Dutch: "You could try washing"), and doesn't really take care of himself. I doubt he wants pomade for the sake of styling his hair, let's just get that cleared up.

And there is also his reaction to Arthur getting r**** in the swamp. I won't go too deep into it in this post but I have made a post all about it here :

But the main point of that post is that Bill is trying to test the waters to see if Arthur is also gay because I doubt Sonny would tell him what actually happened.

So yes: Bill is gay.

He's also gay in 1899 America, where homosexuality and homosexual acts can be met with jail time or even death. It wasn't a kind time period to gay people and Bill represents this by his general attitude. He's isolated and angry because of men. He hates them and he is attracted to them and that makes him act flustered and violent many times throughout the story. He can't properly express how he feels either about men because even in the gang, it wasn't accepted of him to be gay and it was treated as an out of sight, out of mind sort of thing.

So what does this have to do with Kieran?

Well, Bill likes Kieran, but what makes their dynamic interesting is that while the rest of the gang members, bar Dutch, Hosea, and maybe Arthur as the old guard, have the same status, Kieran doesn't. He is below them because of his former status as an O'Driscoll and any mess up or disrespect can very much end with him getting killed or punished in some way- the amount of characters threatening to castrate him is insane.

Kieran doesn't have the same protection as the other gang members, nor the respect, so Bill can get "close" to him without any real pushback because no one would stop him. And given the frustrations that Bill already has + the homophobia of the 1800s + the opportunity to hop on some "fresh meat", he wouldn't know how to express his interest in Kieran besides aggression and overly friendly aggression.

Like there is the scene where he tries to give Kieran a drink out of kindness. He starts off friendly, but when Kieran declines, he becomes aggressive, and Kieran being terrified for his safety, takes the drink and runs away, with Bill begging for him to come back, confused at the whole situation. He can only do that because of his seniority status over Kieran. Remember the reaction Bill has to Arthur being SA'd? He is playful, not aggressive, and doesn't get aggressive because Arthur, even though he aggressively tells him to get lost, has a higher rank than him.

And of course, you have Charles and Arthur talking about how Bill likes no one and then Charles says that he likes Kieran with both him and Arthur then laughing at it because of what it implies.

Bill likes Kieran but because of the life he lives and the attitudes of society and the gang in regards to homosexuality and just him in general, he can't bring himself to act normally with Kieran to express his attraction to him, which leads to poor Kieran getting terrorized the way he is.

Poor, poor Kieran.

#hope you enjoyed my yapping ❤️#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #bill williamson #kieran duffy #charles smith #period typical attitudes #character analysis #answered

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olderthannetfic · 11 months ago

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Oh, golly! A known youtuber was recently exposed for plagiarism also turns out to be an extreme misogynist?? Who could've noticed such a thing!

It's not like in multiple videos he went on rants about how female authors are big bads for writing about MLM couples and female fans are big bads for daring to enjoy those ships.

In his Killing Stalking video, he attacked women for enjoying the manga and (it's been a long time since I watched that video, and considering that he nuked everything, it's not like I can go back, but I'm pretty sure that he said that) we are raised with the belief that the abusive relationships between two gay men are ok to fetishize while we'd never read the same thing between a man and a woman (not only this is stupid and untrue, but notice how a third kind of couple is missing, here. Wonder why.)

Later on, he talked shit about the author of Love, Simon, forcing her to come out, then proceeded to keep addressing her as a "straight" woman, and whined that the book/movie erased the characters of any kind of sexuality despite the women wanting to see gay men do the nasty.

Later, later on, he rambled about Red, White, and Royal Blue, and this time he complained about that the evil women who fetishize gay men were against genuine displays of sex acts between two gay men (???).

For years, he blabbed about how women are the true enemy of gay-men-focused medias, and even then he couldn't keep his story straight (do we like to see these gay men fuck or not?? James, which one is it??).

Not to mention the fantastic take of "Queer women had it easier throughout history," because that's such a punch in the chest that we can't ignore it.

Guys, this shit was always in plain sight. He never tried to hide it, there was no need for a bald bisexual man to make us notice it. We gotta stop turning our faces to blatant misogyny simply because it's being expressed by a gay man.

Yuuuup.

I'm genuinely sorry for the people who didn't spot it, but I am not sympathetic. Somerton was not even a little bit subtle. He was a toxic, rancid piece of shit for many, many years.

Also, even the plagiarism accusations are years old. People just didn't listen because nobody youtube-famous had made a big video about them.

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hetaero · 7 months ago

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about me.

18 year old gentle mommy domme; trichophiliac. pretty much aromantic.

NOTE not looking for anything, but okay with discussing kinks platonically (for relatability. please no self-inserts/roleplay, I'm not looking to dom anyone). Do NOT MESSAGE ME about wanting me/wanting to talk to me sexually in any way. I also prefer to interact with people not more than 5 years older than me in general, since otherwise that would be a bit odd for me. It is ONLY OKAY to message me about objective questions and discussions about kink. No "you and i". Still, even then, I'd prefer sending me an ask first. I only reply if it seems interesting and if you specify what you want to talk about and you don't seem like you're trying to talk dirty to me. Also I'm really awkward/I have high functioning autism so don't expect me to be good at interacting💀

*this post is subject to periodic changes based on my experiences

things I'm into:

cutting boys hair (in a caring way)

watching boys have their hair cut

pretty much all things gentle femdom

light mommy dom/little boy dynamic (can include age regression or not; can include both sfw and nsfw activities)

gently pegging/fingering boys

extremely shy boys/virgins/inexperienced guys/nerds/sexually repressed dudes (I have issues)

Boys in skirts (NOT sissies. or non-cis men)

light bondage (mostly using hands to hold people down)

+ I'm also into cutting girls hair but with girls I'm not gentle at all like I am with guys, lmao

things im NOT into:

Vaginal sex. or giving oral. or receiving anal. Getting head is nice but thinking about it doesn't do anything for me. I'll do those things eventually but they just don't ... turn me on really

Older men 😐 if you're over 5 years older than me please don't interact with me directly

hard/rough domming/being a "mistress". not into the mean shit. No degrading either

hardcore bdsm of any kind (a little bit of bondage is okay)

being submissive in any way (I do like subs teasing me sometimes tho that's about it)

women or non-cis men

having my own hair cut. Oddly enough not my thing

extreme or bald hairstyles (hnts, extreme flattops, mohawks, mullets aren't for me)

Non-head hair play

any impact play/pain (other than light smacking or choking, which is fine, I'll do it if asked)

Hardcore abdl. Not into diapers really / I draw the line at feces 💀

Pet play/puppy play of any kind. The cat ears are as far as I'll go

findom

anyway. uh. be nice. this is just an outline but there's obviously more to my wants and icks than this so feel free to ask

#about myself #bd/sm kink #gentle fdom #gentle domination #undercut #buzzcut #domme mommy #mommy k!nk #bd/sm mommy #mommy k1nk

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gatheringbones · 8 months ago

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robert f. reid-pharr, from living as a lesbian, from Sister & Brother: Lesbians and Gay Men Write About Their Lives Together, 1994

["In 1985 Barbara Smith came like a fresh wind into Chapel Hill. She brought with her a vision of home unlike anything I ever had imagined. It was then that I began the process of being a lesbian. It is only recently that I began to understand lesbianism as a state of being that few of us ever achieve. To become lesbian one has to first be committed to the process of constantly becoming, of creatively refashioning ones humanity as a matter of course.

Coda

By becoming a lesbian, I have done nothing more nor less than become myself.

I had expected to end this piece with these words, forcing all of us, myself included, to reevaluate what it means to be labeled lesbian, gay, straight, bi, transgendered, asexual. And yet, this is not enough. For even as I recognize the difficulty of giving definition and meaning to our various identities, I also realize that as I struggle to lay claim to my lesbianism I am always confronted with the reality of my own masculinity, this strange and complex identity that I continue to have difficulty recognizing as privilege.

It was a Friday afternoon in September when I had my first bathhouse experience. I'm not sure what I expected, or wanted. In truth, I was compelled more than anything else by Samuel Delany's description in The Motion of Light in Water of his visit to the St. Mark's Baths in the early sixties. I thought that it would be exciting, that perhaps within this outlaws' territory I could throw off the stifling fears and anxieties that shape and constrain our lives, sexual and otherwise. I even felt that, given the name of the enterprise I was about to visit— "baths"— there had to be something intrinsically cleansing and healing about it.

Now I find myself asking if in the bathhouse— the most sacred of male enclaves, where my masculine body and affected macho style increase my worth in the sexual economy— I am still lesbian. Is it lesbianism that spills out of the end of my cock as bald-headed men with grizzled beards and homemade tattoos slap my buttocks and laugh triumphantly? Is it lesbianism that allows me to walk these difficult streets alone, afraid only that I will not be seen, accosted, "forced" into sexual adventure?

All my bravado, my will to adventure is caught up, strangely enough, with the great confidence I have gained from "The Lesbian." And yet, this confidence, this awareness of my own body, of my own independence, takes me to places where she dares not go. Perhaps then I am not a lesbian at all, but rather like a drag queen, by day a more or less effeminate, woman-loving gay man, by night a pussy, a buck, the despoiler of young men recently arrived from the provinces and the careful tutelage of their loving mothers. What I know for certain is that this self, this lesbian-identified gay man, is in constant flux. I live like a lesbian, as a lesbian, because I know no better way of life. Still, I live beyond her, in a province that continues to be reserved exclusively for men, all the while reaping the many fruits of sexual apartheid.

Me, I want to escape…. this dirty world, this dirty body. I never wish to make love again with anything more than the body.

Perhaps in my next life I will be done with these questions of identity altogether, will cherish fully the body that I am given, begin to see it neither as burden or weapon, but only as the vessel of my existence. Perhaps in my next life I will have given up finally this constant struggle to explain who I am not— not woman, not white, not straight, not you— and start to revel in the limitless of my boundaries. Perhaps each one of us will recapture that which has been lost, start again to accept and acknowledge the profound ambiguity and uncertainty of this existence. It is then and only then that we will find home.

In 1985 Barbara Smith came like a fresh wind into Chapel Hill."]

#robert f. reid-pharr #gay literature #lesbian literature #gender stuff #history stuff #terra preta #transcribed

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ch0wen · 2 years ago

Note

Could you please do a Tangerine x reader (who's his gf) where the two go out on a date and she gets catcalled by some men... so, what do you think Tan's reaction to his girlfriend being catcalled would be?🤔

Request: Catcalling - Tangerine x Fem!reader

warnings: mention of sexual content if you blink really fast

In the reflection of the restaurant's window, Tangerine smoothes out the misplaced hairs in his mustache. Unexpectedly, the sounds of bustling chatter abruptly cut off as fast as it broke out. This gave a sign that someone has also exited the building. Approaching footsteps indicate that a person is joining him outside. At this unspoken but designated smoker's corner.

He assesses the figure behind him through the reflection. Taking note that it was a balding man who was fumbling through his pockets for a lighter with a cigarette dangling from his lips.

Tangerine gives himself a final once-over before grabbing for his own lighter.

“Here, mate," with a thrust out of his hand to the other man. The recipient had already turned around when Tangerine spoke up. He let out a grateful hum while he lit his cigarette before returning it with a mumble of 'thanks.'

They both say nothing more. Breathing in their respective fumes. Watching their smoke mingle and then fade as one into the air.

Baldy has the bright idea to break the shared silence.

“Hey wait. You’re the one that walked in with the red dress. Jesus,” he dragged out. “What’s in that dress is a damn looker. You are lucky, brother.”

Tangerine gives a firm nod with a tight-lipped smile. He can agree that the new dress hugs you in all the right places. But he’s not keen on this sleazy man tossing out creepy compliments about you.

“I am certainly lucky. Speaking of, I should probably get back to her then.”

Without another word, he’s stubbing his cigarette off on a lamppost and striding back in to find your table.

“Have I told you yet that you look beautiful tonight?”

A genuinely warm smile graced his normally frowning lips as he gazes at you. You couldn't help but smile in return, as you grab for his hand once he was settled in his seat.

“Only eight times. Not as many as I was hoping for. But numbers one through three were during that quickie in the bathroom, so I’m not really complaining.”

He gently squeezes your hand as you share a laugh.

You both share a few fleeting minutes of flirtatious smiles and whispered compliments before the mood shifts for the evening.

Baldy breezes by your table. Tangerine immediately notices the way his eyes scan over your toned, bare legs as he passes. And much to his dismay, the man joins a woman seated at another table within earshot.

Your moments of romance proceed to be followed by scenarios that make Tangerine apprehensive.

Baldy's wife, based on the pathetically sized ring on her left finger, smooches his cheek while making her way to the washrooms. The movement had Tangerine lose focus on your story for a beat. He tunes in to the activity since it's in his line of vision.

Baldy's eyes are lovingly following his wife's trail but then stop short on you. A look that was once filled with admiration for his wife now reflects nothing but hunger. He'd devour you if he could.

"You have an amazing pair of legs, honey. What I'd do to know how they'd feel wrapped around my head." He says over his beer glass before taking a swig.

He looks to Tangerine next. A chuckle playing in the crinkling of his eyes. Indicating that he thought that comment would get you hot and bothered, while your man would just sit there and wholeheartedly agree with this stranger. He continues,

"You really won the damn jackpot."

Baldy really cannot read the room or the grimace on your face. His idea of cat-calling has you shifting in your seat to try to cover up. Preventing him from stealing another look. Your obvious discomfort paired with Baldy's ignorance has Tangerine fuming.

In a blink, he is scuffing his chair back. Approaching the half-unoccupied table. His hand landing on Baldy’s shoulder with his back to you. He bends forward with a lowly murmur in his ear.

“As I said. I undoubtedly agree that she’s lovely. Nevertheless, I don’t appreciate you speaking about her like she’s an object. She doesn't find your remarks complimentary, brother."

Tangerine gives him a harsh squeeze then yanks the chair opposite him to sit down.

“To be frank, if I hear you say one more thing about her, I will gouge your eyes out and fix them to this fucking table with a fork.”

He playfully acts like he is deeply considering another idea before fixing him with a glare. His hand grips a fork. That is the only physical sign of his rising anger.

“Or I can take one of your slimy eyes into the kitchen, have the chef À la mode that shit, and serve it on a God damn platter to the lovely woman you’re dining with. And when she requests for the chef to come out and tell her his secret, I don’t think she’ll enjoy finding out that her main course was her husband’s eyeball. And it would be all because you can’t enjoy what’s right in front of you. Instead, you have been eating up my partner with your looks."

As he sat back in the chair, a grin spreads across his face. Giving Baldy an eerie juxtaposition to his threatening words.

"If you disrespect me or her again by talking like that. I'll break you. Are we understood?"

Baldy is the color of the cheap pearls which draped his wife's wrinkly neck. Tangerine takes his silence as a confirmation. Harshly patting his cheek before sauntering back over to your table.

You have a fixed scowl on your face while Tangerine bears a shit-eating grin. Knowing he stirred up trouble with you by terrorizing a stranger. You couldn't help but overhear the entire exchange.

Tangerine was not worried about dealing with your irritation. Not only does he believe his reaction to the catcalling was justified and that angry sex is arguably the best version of sex.

But tonight has confirmed that he can be very persuasive. He’ll be sure to ask for your forgiveness between your legs.

#requests #asks #tangerine x reader #tangerine x fem!reader #bullet train 2022 #bullet train #aaron taylor johnson

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babiebom · 1 year ago

Text

Would I give them head?

A/N: I am so sorry for this I'm writing it at 3 am and I couldn't get it out of my head. I've been giggling for the past 10 minutes like a 7th grader. Also if you are reading this let me know if I should do something special for 50 followers. I know it's not a lot but I am so grateful! If yes let me know what I should do!

Tw: sexual content. Not explicit but it like look at the title. Cursing.

Genre: headcanons nsfw

Wc: idk it depends on which person. Probably 2+ for each.

This is including almost every male stardew character(obviously no kids) plus ridgeside plus expanded but not all because I cannot remember every single character and I don't wanna research rn.

Masterlist

Sebastian

Duh no doubt about it

He is the love of my life (well one of them)

I would give him the best head wymmmmm

Sam

Yes boy deserves it

Golden retriever coded guys deserve good head idc

Shane

Love sad men it's a yes

Kinda wanna make him cry because it's so good.

Maybe I can cure him

Elliott

Sorry it's not that I dislike him he's just not my favorite?

Maybe once as a treat but no other time than that

Harvey

Yeah he's the doctor for a small town

I gotta

Maybe he will stop billing me everytime I die

Alex

I am not attracted to this man he is more bestie coded to me

If he asked i would allow him a handjob I guess

Gus

Nope

Maybe he gets a Lil handjob as a treat because his food is good

Gunther

Maybe?

He kinda-

But not enough idk....

George

The reason I am writing this r n

The answer is no but the thought of doing it made me cackle

Lewis

Absolutely not

Fuck you old man

Pierre

I hate this lying ass bitch I give you a kick

Willy

No sorry

He prolly smells like fish and salt and I am not fond

Love him tho stinky man

Kent

YES

would give him the sloppiest toppy known to man

He deserves it he needs it i want it pls bless me

I could beat Jodi's ass if it comes to it idc

Victor

Yes

I find him quite cute overlooking his slight classism.

Also for standing up to his mom for himself love that him

Demetrius

I'd rather give Robin head

He deserves no head for being crappy stepdad

Marlon

As much as I like him he probably does not shower

Also he is for the marnie's only

Clint

I wanna punch him so bad

Mr Qi

Maybe?

I don't find him attractive

But at the same time I find him mysterious and the might just be enough to convince me

Grandpa

HAAAAAAA

no what is wrong with you

Andy

Prolly tastes like battery acid

He also gives off racist vibes

Wizard

Yeah

He's chill he can get some head

Morris

Maybe for a discount

Im equating Joja to Coke and I like coke

So only if he promises to give me a discount on stuff I want

Phillip

YES

Another love of my life

It was unexpected for me to love him but he is so cute to me

June

Yuperoni pepperoni

We love a man who is talented

Could easily convince me to give him head if he plays the piano for me ngl

Jeric

Maybe

I love but also hate him

He also gives off bestie vibes

Shiro

Yeah

I feel like he needs it:(

Ezekiel

I do however wanna smack his bald head

Not in a mean hateful kid of way I just wanna smack it

Lorenzo

Dilf Ngl

Maybe its because of his name idk

Answer is yes

Kimpoi

It was here where I started looking up characters bc i felt bad for leaving them out

No thank you I will not

Lance

Don't know much about him but I think hes cute so yes

His hair is cool

Isaac

Again don't know much about him hopefully he is not a child

But yeah he's cute so he gets a Lil head from me

Ian

If he takes a shower yes

Otherwise no

Kenneth

Yeah

I like his hair and I think he's cool for being an electrician

I know nothing else about him

Sean

Yeah he's cute so he can have some head

Im so sorry for not knowing im too busy simping over Seb and Phillip ngl

Anton

Uhhhhhh

Uhhhhhhhhhmaybe?

Im not attracted but unattracted to him so sure

Bryle

He reminds me of family

Like his face

Jio

Yea

As I have said before I love a mysterious man

Love a man with a sword

Zayne

I have no idea what this is

But I guess??

Have no reason to hate him so sure

Bert

He looks stinky :((

I also feel like his wife would beat my ass

Freddie

He is for the Lola's only

I also feel like he wouldn't be able to feel it

Mr Aguar

I do not enjoy his face

Pika

Simply because im assuming his food is good

I'll say sure simply for free food

Richard

So sorry

But no

Sonny

I will give him a platonic handjob

He deserves it bc he's a butler and probably does not get a day off with this family

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sl-newsie · 1 year ago

Text

Mature (Dr. Spencer Reid x College Student)

(Summary: The BAU gets a case that takes place near a college campus, and one student seems to catch Reid’s attention. There is a bit of an age gap. This is based during the end of Season 6. Warnings: Talk of cannibalism, gun violence)

“Remember class: Monday’s exam will have 150 questions and no makeups. Remember to study hard!”

My dental hygiene professor finally releases us, signaling the beginning of the weekend. It’s currently 5:30 on a sunny but crisp Friday in October. Nothing special, but the lack of leaves and chilly frosts makes it one of my favorite seasons. But I can’t take too much time to watch the weather- I’ve got work to do.

Of course I’m the only student who dares to sit in the front of the lecture hall, and I take my time to gather up my things as the others start filing out.

“You going to the game tonight?” One guys asks his friends.

“Yeah it’s gonna be sick! You’re bringing the beer, right?”

“Sure am! And what about-” He whispers: “The pot?”

Their conversation dies away as the walk out of the room, leaving me to shake my head in disappointment. No doubt their whole weekend will involve drinking, getting high, and possible sexual content. More than likely they’ll fail the exam.

“Merrian! Are you coming to the game?” I hear one classmate, Regina, ask.

“No, I can’t. I’m going for a jog and then starting my flashcards for the exam.”

Regina, one of the more popular and *cough* snobby girls gives me a fake smile. “Oh you never go to any social events! Why not give that brain a break and be a college student for once?”

I just shake my head and continue to look through my notes. “I am being a college student, only I’m being a smart one and actually trying to get through this class without depleting any brain cells through alcohol abuse.”

But my insult flies right over Regina’s head. She just keeps smiling, turns and walks away, leaving me (no surprise) alone again. But it appears today has something else in store, because the door opens and my professor walks back in leading a group of people who look way too professional for a place like this. The one that appears to be the leader is tall, dark-haired, and is wearing a traditional business suit. The man following next to him appears to be of Italian descent and is wearing a dark suit similar to the leader’s. Next is a blonde woman wearing- quite honestly, one of the most unique outfits I’ve ever seen. It’s a purple and blue patterned dress, hot pink heels, and a big purple bow with her hair in pigtails (it almost puts my current Veronica Sawyer gray skirt and blue blazer outfit to shame). Another man is bald with darker skin and a more athletic build, wearing a more laid-back style of clothing, obviously the muscle of the group. And last behind him is- huh. He’s a lot younger (and much cuter) than the others, one might say a few years older than me. He’s dark-haired like the other men and wearing slacks with a white shirt with a gray vest and blue tie, almost matching me. But what stands apart from his attire is the pistol tucked in a holster attached to his belt. It’s almost like the one I’ve got tucked under my skirt (for protection, of course). Are these guys from the police station? They don’t look like local authorities.

But sadly I’m still in the front and am caught looking.

“Who’s the model?” The blonde with pigtails asks, making me turn pink.

My professor finally notices me. “Oh yes. This is Merrian, one of my students. She’s just packing up-”

“On the contrary, it might be nice to have a younger person’s opinion on this matter,” the Italian agent speaks.

A younger opinion?

“By the way, I love your blazer!” The blonde squeals and rushes over to get a better look.

I title my head. “Not too bad yourself, Barbie.”

But the leader doesn’t seem too impressed. “At ease, Garcia. Remember why we’re here.”

The blonde nods and backs off, leaving me facing the group head-on.

“Is she trustworthy? We need to keep this as confidential as possible,” the athlete says.

My professor nods her head. “Merrian is one of the most dedicated students I have. I guarantee she’ll give you her best effort.”

“Very well.” The leader steps forward to shake my hand. “I’m FBI Agent Hotchner of the BAU. These are Agents Rossi, Morgan, Garcia, and Dr. Reid.” He points to each agent, and when he introduces Agent Reid I can’t help but notice his body language shifts. He keeps playing with his hands and changing his footing, and isn’t as relaxed as the other agents. Maybe he just drank coffee.

I give a small wave. “Hello. So, what is it you guys do? Obviously you’re a government department but I’ve never really paid attention to that stuff.”

“Don’t you watch the news?” The blonde ‘Garcia’ asks.

“Nope.”

This answer gets me surprised reactions, especially from Reid.

“Why not?”

Yes, he’s definitely younger. His voice reminds me of the smart nerd type, but with my educational history I’ve never actually been able to meet many smart guys so it’s very new to hear this.

I shrug. “Ignorance is bliss. I figure if there’s something that’s truly important that’ll affect me then I’ll hear about it sooner or later. I try not to let the fear that strands from current events control my life.”

“Ok. Then to catch you up, we have a potential threat that’s been sited near the edge of town. There’s a man who’s been catching people in hunting traps and then eating them.”

Uh- Oh my! Was not expecting that.

I try to keep a steady face. “Alright. So what does this have to do with me?”

“Your current study of dental work, plus the unsub seems to prefer female victims,” Reid speaks up. “There’s one witness who managed to escape his trap, but not before he bit her. We’ve been able to analyze the teeth marks, but it doesn’t match the correct dental records. They show the unsub’s supposed to be someone who died 10 years ago. We checked the death certificate and sure enough the body’s buried in a nearby cemetery. Do you have any ideas why?”

I take a deep breath and try to piece together what I’ve learned so far. I’ve only been in this program for a year, but that doesn’t mean I’m useless.

“Take your time,” Agent Rossi assures. “It doesn’t have to be much, just anything we might have missed-”

I snap. “I got it! Have any of you guys ever seen the movie The Whole Nine Yards with Bruce Willis?”

Most shake their heads, but then Reid seems to follow my idea.

“Of course! Why didn’t I think of that? Brilliant, Marrian!”

“Excuse me, mind letting us in on your inside joke?” Agent Morgan questions.

“At the end of the movie, they modify another body’s teeth to match Bruce Willis’ character and then burn it in a fire so the mafia will think he’s dead. What if this unsub had dental work done so he couldn’t be traced? ” My explanation starts the agents sparking up new conversations, leaving me to believe I might have actually just helped solve an FBI case.

“I know it’s not the type of professional answer you might have wanted.”

“That’s just the kind of insight we were looking for,” Agent Hotchner finally addresses me. “Thank you, Merrian. We’ll be sure to stay in touch and inform you if this threat is neutralized.”

He walks out, followed by Morgan. But the others linger for a moment.

“You’re taking all of this surprisingly well,” Rossi points out. “Ever consider becoming a profiler?”

I chuckle. “I did once, a few years ago. Sociology is one of my favorite subjects to learn, but I’ve just used that as a hobby. When I looked further into the job description I decided I wanted a career that wouldn’t take so much out of my free time. So for now I’m sticking with dental hygiene.”

He nods. “Well if you change your mind, here’s my card.” He hands me his contact info and exits after the other 2 agents.

“Tell me- where did you get your shoes?” Garcia asks when she points to my feet.

“Oh. Um, Goodwill actually.” I’m a bit embarrassed to say I’m a thrifter, but in college all money must go to classes.

“They’re so cute! I’ll email you my list of favorite thrift websites later,” she remarks as she walks to the door.

“B- But Agent Garcia you don’t have my email-?”

“I’ll find it.” She winks. “And call me Penelope!”

She gives Reid a smirk and shuts the door, leaving me alone with the last agent.

“I gotta ask, how old are you?”

My blunt question doesn’t seem to be new to him. “30.”

I was right!

“Sorry for asking, but it’s just very different-”

“To see someone like me on a government bureau team,” he finishes. “It’s ok, lots of people ask. I could say the same thing about you.”

I frown. “What do you mean?”

He mirrors my confusion. “Aren’t you close to my age?”

“I’m 22.”

Reid’s eyes widen. “No way! You look- I mean, you seem- Um… you don’t act 22.”

I chuckle and go to grab my backpack. “I get that a lot. My mom says I’m more mature than most people my age, which means I have to be forced to associate with immature peers. I just hope other people never assume I’m the typical college type. You know, drugs, drinking, sex, procrastination. I’ve never even gone to one party. I apologize for the idiots you might come across here.”

I expect the FBI agent to leave it at that and go off to find his team, but instead he jogs up behind and walks with me down the hall.

“No I don’t see you like that, it’s just… you’re definitely more mature, and seem more clear-headed than the other students I’ve seen here so far.

I hold my head back and laugh. “Oh, no. By no means am I as smart as you might think. I have what I call ‘selective knowledge.’ I never picked just one topic I like, so I find bits and pieces of information about all kinds of topics. But not too much in depth that I’m an expert. With what I know about you so far I’d say you’re way more smart.”

He looks down. “Yeah, kinda.”

“Spill it. What’s your education background?”

“Um… I’ve got PhDs in mathematics, chemistry, and engineering. Bachelor’s in psychology, sociology, and in the process of one in philosophy.”

I stop dead in my tracks and turn to look at him with wide eyes. “And you’re downplaying that? Jesus, you’ve got more knowledge stuffed in your brain then I’d ever have in 5 lifetimes! Why choose a job in the BAU?”

He considers this. “I find that I do some of my best work under intense terror.”

I nod. “It’s nice to know what type of job works best. I’ve jumped around different jobs, and still haven’t found one that fits right. As for the terror thing, props to you for dealing with that on a daily basis.”

Dr. Reid seems surprised. “Hm. You don’t mind crazy talk, do you?”

I stifle a laugh and hold the next door open for him to pass. “‘Crazy talk?’ What’s that?”

“Talking about subjects that any random passerby would find odd, like murder or psychological disease.”

“You’re talking to someone who watches The Conjuring as a comfort film. I don’t call that crazy talk, I call that enjoyable conversation,” I smile cheekily as he walks past me through the doorway. “You gonna go find your team now?”

Reid clears his throat and bites his lip. “Well, um… Since the unsub’s been sighted near the city I should make sure to get you to your dorm safely.”

This unsub must be pretty dangerous for him to be this anxious. Or is it something else that’s got him so worried? I must say it feels nice to have a smart guy to talk with who’s actually taking the time to make sure I’m safe instead of daring me to chug a beer.

“Aw, that’s sweet. But I don’t live in a dorm, I live in a small rented room downtown.”

“Really? I guess you really aren’t like normal students. So where are you going now?”

Is he asking professionally or out of curiosity?

“There’s a secret spot I have in the theatre lab. Dark and quiet with a nice table. Good for studying.”

He perks up. “Dark? Do you think you could show me?”

I shrug and start leading him to the lab, pushing my sleeve back to check my watch. “Sure, just don’t tell anyone. I like having a place where stupidity is at a minimum.”

Reid gets a wide grin on his face and follows eagerly. “Your secret’s safe with me. It’s kind of embarrassing but lately I’ve been dealing with- Oh my gosh! Are you hurt?”

I follow his gaze to my arm, which has gauze wrapped around it. I’m surprised he noticed- usually people don’t give it a second thought.

“Wha-? Oh, no. I donated plasma earlier today and have to keep this on for 2 hours.”

“I see. Do you get paid?”

“Yup. If they’re willing to pay me to sit in a chair for an hour, money is money. Gotta pay the college bills somehow. So what have you been dealing with?”

“Right. Um, I’ve had these headaches for a while now and none of the doctors I’ve seen can tell me what’s wrong. They’re triggered by bright lights, so that’s why I like to find dark places to think.”

Hearing this makes me sad, especially since a nice guy like him shouldn’t have to go through something like that.

“Then don’t have me keep ya waiting. Here we are!”

Now we’re at the theatre lab and when I open the door to let him in, Reid . “So then how are you liking your dental hygiene clinicals?”

I set my backpack down and switch a small light on. “I like it, but it’s more of a job that pays well and allows me free time. Next summer I’m looking into a program that gives me a certificate in culinary pastry design-” I stop myself before I start ranting. “Sorry, I don’t mean to talk your ear off. People don’t always listen this long so I usually just talk to keep away any awkward silence. Americans are intimidated by it, you know.”

Agent Reid just nods and sits down on a nearby stool. “I don’t mind. I like hearing you talk.”

“But it’s not as intellectual as you’re used to.”

“Maybe not, but- how should I describe it? You’re like a funfetti cake.”

Reid’s analogy makes me giggle and give him an odd look. “Um, thanks? How so?”

“Because you’re not just one flavor. You bring a sprinkling of all different topics, and none of them are boring or immature. Go ahead, continue.” Reid sits back as if he’s sitting in for a lecture, and I’m the teacher.

“Um… ok. So anyways, between work, school, and all my other hobbies it’s no surprise when I keep telling my mom I haven't gone on a date-”

“Wait, seriously?” Reid interrupts. “You’ve never gone on a date?”

I try to ignore the heat rushing to my cheeks and go turn on the music speaker. “Never got a chance to. Back in high school I was more introverted and read all the time. Now no one wants to be around a boring, mature college student who dresses… like this.” I gesture to my unusual outfit.

“Hm. I’d think you would’ve been able to find at least one decent guy.”

I’m not sure if he’s kidding or just trying to be nice.

“Don’t make me laugh. Even the few guys I’ve talked to see me as a colleague or acquaintance, not even friendship status. I’ve steered clear of all the red flags and bad habits college kids typically get into, and it’s gotten me this far. All I’ve got is some family, my cat, and my brain.”

Reid doesn’t say anything, and a part of me is glad for it while the other half is a nervous wreck. While I don’t want to really get into the details of my miserable social life, at the same time I’m strangely anxious about what the handsome doctor thinks of me.

“It’s the musical season, isn’t it? I can tell you’re a fan.” How does he-? “I’m guessing on account of the Newsies sticker on your water bottle and your outfit that resembles Veronica Sawyer from Heathers.”

A smile grows on my face. “Oh! A profiling genius and a theatre fan! You’ve got quite the brain, Dr. Reid.”

“I actually only recently got interested in it after watching one of Garcia’s plays- oh! You actually remembered!” Reid scratches his head and smiles. “Thanks, that means a lot.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“People don’t always address me by my full title. So what’s on your agenda now?” He seems to rethink and adds: “Not that I’m being nosy!”

His curiosity isn’t uncomfortable for me. If anything it’s nice to have someone take an interest.

“I was going to practice for musical auditions, but since you’re here I’ll just do some homework.”

“Oh I don’t mind! Really! I won’t laugh, promise,” Reid says sincerely.

“No, no. I do my best work alone, as always.”

He frowns. “That’s not a healthy mindset.”

I chuckle darkly. “I’m not exactly the ‘teamwork makes the dreamwork’ kinda gal. I’ve always done best on my own, so I don’t argue it-”

“Attention, attention!” The intercom starts blasting an alarm overhead. “There has been a potential shooter spotted near the edge of campus. All students, staff, and visitors are to head immediately towards a sheltered area. This is not a drill. I repeat, this is not a drill!”

Agent Reid immediately goes alert and checks his pistol. “We better get to a more secure location. Come with me!”

He goes for the door, but I don’t see a reason to leave.

“No, you go find your team. I’ll stay here. It’s a hidden spot, anyway.”

But Reid shakes his head with concern and takes my hand. “No, I can’t allow that. If the unsub is here he’ll go after you. You’re his type, Marrian, and I won’t let you get hurt.”

Wow. I’m sure he’s just doing his job. Still it’s becoming incredibly difficult to ignore the growing affection for the geeky agent. And it doesn't help that normally I’m a very anti-touching person.

He pulls out a cell phone and dials a number. “Hotch, this is Reid. What’s your location?” After a few moments he says: “Yes, I’m here with the student we interviewed in the theatre lab. We’ll meet you there. Yeah I know, we’ll be careful.” Reid seems to notice my slight reaction to his physical touch and his hold tightens. “I need you to stick close to me, understand?”

I nod and follow him out. “This is… definitely not what I planned for a regular Friday evening, but as my mom always says I need to stay open-minded. Lead the way, Dr. Reid!”

His stern face lightens by a fraction. “Um, you can call me Spencer if you want.”

Is- Is he trying to flirt? Seriously, I wouldn’t know. Somebody tell me!

“Isn’t that less professional? I thought you FBI guys were all suits and no humor.”

He doesn’t answer and triple-checks the hallway before signaling the all-clear. We quietly make our way to the main office, and the whole time I’m trying to ignore Reid’s hand clutching mine.

“We'll be able to-”

“Look out!” I push Spencer out of the way just as a bullet flies past my head, but I’m not too lucky with the second one. It buries itself in my left shoulder blade and the sudden force sends me crashing to the cold floor.

“Oh my God!” Reid shouts and kneels down to address my wound.

“Well hello, my pretty,” a deep sinister voice chuckles. A figure in a black hood lurks out from the corner, with a hunting rifle pointed directly at Spencer.

“I’ve gone too far this time, too far to disappear. But I’ve got one more chance, right? That’s right.” He points at me, the gun wedged pointed on his shoulder. “I’ve been watching you, girly. And I like you. Your healthy diet is most delightful, and…” He gets a twisted look with a sinister smile on his face. “Such a pretty face…”

“You leave her alone!” Reid speaks sternly.

I turn to find him pointing his pistol at the unsub, but the man just laughs.

“My my, Dr. Reid. You’ve grown quite attached to this woman. I’m almost sad to have to kill her and end such a blooming young love.”

Love? I don’t know who this guy thinks he is, but he’s creeping me out! Still not what I planned for a regular Friday evening…

The unsub starts to creep closer, and before I know it I’m backed against the wall with Spencer at my right.

“Don’t you touch her!” Reid shouts. “Stand back or I will shoot!”

“Oh no you won’t, Dr. Reid!” The unsub turns angry. “You won’t, or else I will skip my evening meal and blow a hole in this girl’s brain right now!”

He’s going to kill me… Eat me… Oh God. But I can’t let him hurt Spencer. His life is worth a thousand times more, and I couldn’t stand to see him get hurt.

The unsub is still focused on Spencer, so while he’s distracted I slowly inch my hand towards my skirt, almost to my concealed pistol-

Bam!

The unsub fires what seems like a warning shot and in the sudden chaos Reid fires his gun too. Reid doesn’t get shot, and instead his own bullet buries itself in the unsub’s calf. He stumbles out of sight around the corner.

“Quick! In here!” Reid pulls me into a nearby classroom and shuts the door. “Are you in pain?”

Yes! Every inch of skin in my shoulder is screaming at me and the adrenaline is starting to wear off, allowing the pain to escalate. But I need Reid to focus on the task at hand.

“I’m fine. I’m fine…” My head starts to feel dizzy and I put a hand to my shoulder, pulling it away to find it covered in blood.

“No you’re not fine. Here-” Spencer takes off his tie and does a makeshift tourniquet near my acromial region. “It won’t last long, but it’s the best I can do.” He kneels down and starts searching through his pockets. “I’m all out of bullets!”

“My… my skirt. Under my skirt…”

He lifts the fabric up to reveal my pistol. “When did you get that?”

“Since I turned 21, but I’m too dizzy to shoot it. Take it!” Reid removes my pistol from its holster, using careful hands to show modest intentions. “Now go. Go stop him.”

“But if you don’t keep appropriate pressure on it then you could bleed out!”

“Just go! I’ll figure it out. I don’t care if I pass out, you gotta go stop him and end this.”

I’m pretty sure Reid’s now speaking through panic mode. “No you can’t die! I still need to ask you out!” Did I hear that right?

“You- what? I think I’m starting to blank out. You need to what?”

But Reid doesn’t answer. He just rubs a hand through his messy hair in frustration, while all I can do is slowly slip in and out of consciousness. When he’s decided his next move he leans down and kisses my forehead, and if it weren’t such an unusual situation I’d actually have butterflies in my stomach.

“I’ll be right back, Merrian. I promise.”

And just like that he sprints out. I don’t know how long it’s been, but soon I hear gunshots in the hall and all I can do before I pass out is pray that Spencer’s ok…

“She’s lost a lot of blood, but she’ll live.”

“Quiet an injury. She’s lucky you were with her.”

“And where is she going to?”

My mind buzzes to life and I start to become aware of my surroundings, opening my eyes to find myself in a hospital bed. My arm has an IV. More than likely they’ve given me morphine for pain control. But the biggest relief is when I see Reid talking to one of the doctors at the foot of the bed.

“Spencer… you’re ok,” I croak through a groggy voice.

He notices I’m awake and quickly rushes over to give me a gentle hug. I see he has no wounds, another relief.

“God Merrian, I’m so sorry. I was supposed to protect you-” He whispers into my hair.

“No, don’t worry about me. You did all you could, Spencer. Is the unsub taken care of?”

He nods repeatedly. “Yeah. I shot him dead right after I left, but by the time I got back you’d already blacked out-”

“Excuse me sir,” the doctor steps forward. “I’m afraid she has to be transferred now.”

I look up with wide eyes. “Transferred? Where? What do you mean?”

“The bullet nicked one of your main arteries,” the doctor explains in a calm voice. “We don’t have the proper tools or expertise to perform the surgery on your shoulder, so you are being transferred to Grand Rapids.

“Then I’m going with her,” Reid pipes up.

“I’m sorry sir, but unless you are a guardian or next of kin then you cannot accompany the patient-”

“She’s the victim of a BAU unsub. That makes this a government matter so I should be able to find an excuse to go-”

“No you can’t, Reid.”

We all turn and find Agent Hotchner, along with the rest of the BAU team, walking into the room.

“We’ve been called back to Quantico. I’m afraid you need to say your goodbyes now.”

Spencer and I exchange disappointed looks, but I figure good things must come to an end. All this unsub business is enough excitement to last me a long time, even though I am sad to see the handsome agent go.

“I’ll be fine, Spencer.” I give him a small smile. “Go do what you do best.”

He nods, seeming to debate something in his head. “I- I’m glad I got to meet you, Merrian.”

I chuckle. “I should be the one saying that about you, the great Dr. Spencer Reid.”

Spencer returns my laughter and takes my hand again. “Feel better. I know from personal experience that recovering from a gunshot is no easy task. I’ll come visit as soon as I have free time. And… I’d like to take you out sometime, maybe someplace where you won’t get shot?”

His question is asked as if it’s a simple classroom inquiry, but it’s making my heart jump (unfortunately shown by the heartbeat monitor). I can tell Reid’s nervous just as I am, but I know it’s all part of the dating ritual.

“I’d like that.”

He cocks his head. “What part?”

“The not being shot part is definitely a perk, but I’d like to finally go on my first date. With you.”

Spencer gets excited and I can already see the wheels spinning in his head just as Agent Hotchner calls for Reid to get going.

“I- I’ll see you later, then! Hope you won’t mind me ranting about literature by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle?”

I squeeze his hand just as the paramedics start to get me ready to leave. “It’s a date, Spencer.”

Reid’s POV

The ride on the Jet is quiet, and as usual I chose to read alone in a corner. This time I’ve chosen Hallowe'en Party by Agatha Christie, most appropriate for the upcoming holiday in a few weeks.

“Hey loverboy! You gonna join us for a card game?” Morgan smirks from the table. “Or is your head too fuzzy thinking about your new friend?”

“You do know I could still beat you, right?” I ask matter-of-factly.

“Screw cards! I wanna hear all about the boy genius’ new girlfriend!” Garcia giggles.

I just shake my head and turn back to my book, ignoring their gossiping chatter. I won’t let their teasing get to me. Ever since Emily died my mind’s been in a fog, but meeting Merrian seemed to snap me back into reality. Give me something to hope for. All I know is I can’t wait to get time off so I can see her again…

#criminal minds #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #aaron hotchner #penelope garcia #derek morgan #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau #david rossi #criminal minds fandom

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