#and when we talk about the shit that effects us as women. the fact that we refer to each other as girls is nowhere near the list

[snekdood]

i hope all the terfs looking at my blog rn are able to grab me a beer and maybe make me a sandwich perhaps while they’re at it

[tallymali]

Actually "gal" is the woman version of guy, girl is the woman version of boy. Stick to referring to us as women instead of participating in the infantilization of women please 🙃

lmaaoooo you clown

[thatneoncrisis]

i wrote a big long essay talking about tlt and how it engages with describing the skintones of brown characters its under a read more bc it is so long.

I already left a long comment about this on someone else post but I wish I could study tazmuirs odd little habit of dancing around the fact that Gideon and Harrow are women of color when she describes them, and how this kind of extends to other brown characters

We get a million descriptions for how sickly pale ianthe Silas and cytherea are, what a lovely golden tan corona has, the odd tannish yellow hue of colum, all imagined by her, in her own words, to be white. Then when it comes to Marta and Judith they're called dark like Once in the text. I don't think it's even mentioned for Jeannemary and magnus in the entirety of gtn though I will gladly stand corrected if I missed something. It's such a non factor for them, which normally I would overlook if it wasn't for the aforementioned specificity of how white characters are described on Top of one of the major themes of the book being how John, a Maori man, resurrected a largely Polynesian population and then proceed to rule them using the exact same methods that actively colonized new zealand. Like I just think it's really interesting that in many ways, the story is about two young Maori women completely stripped of cultural heritage, they can't even speak te reo maori they cannot even conceptualize the scale of that kind of loss. Theyve been to earth once and during her brief time there Gideon literally died on it's soil it feels so poignant

Back to them specifically being Not Pale, this is not me saying they would be "less" maori if they were light-skinned that's total bullshit and the entire paradigm exists as a product of European bullshit. My fascination is more with the fact that tamsyn has clearly thought of them as midtoned to dark skinned. I'm going to be really generous and disregard the Tommy Arnold covers- he is a talented artist but he's not the author and Taz stated in an interview that she didn't envision Gideon with an undercut either so he clearly has little liberties he can take and I'm fine with that get your coin dude. For these two I'm going to have to focus on Nona the Ninth, bc for the entirety of gtn, harrow is described as grey, and while I understand that's bc she's constantly under a mountain of white and black facepaint, we basically never get an objective description for either of them. Gideon stand out features are her build, hair and eyes, like a lot of characters, but it could have been pretty easy to throw in a line about how she seems less desaturated than what one might expect from a ninth cavalier, like a rich warm brown, possibly hinting to other characters that she isn't a ninth native

Htn also gives very little to work with, again harrows primary colors are the blacks whites and greys of facepaint and her hair and the reds of constantly sweating blood. The character who's darker skintone is Most remarked upon (also one of the few ever constantly headcanoned) as black, is g1deon. I've actually spoken to a few people about this and there seems to be some actual Mandela effect shit going on where people remember Taz saying he's black despite me never once finding evidence for this. However, this is not a case where I'd be overjoyed to be proven wrong, because g1deon being the one black guy in this entire cast, the one who's dark skintone is commented on the most, being the guy who barely speaks, tries killing harrow with a spear 14 times and then dies offscreen. Not good. Bad, actually

Finally onto ntn, in the beginning chapters Nona remarks her (harrows) skintone is the color of an egg carton. I assume she means the light tan, desaturated brown of the cardboard used in certain cartons, which is fitting for harrow, girls lived in an ice cave for 17 years. This is basically the only word we get on it. I believe a few times the text will say something about pyrrha's (g1deon's) brown Everything; brown skin, russet brown hair, rich brown eyes. that character gets to be viewed and constantly affirmed as a brown character in teh way gideon and harrow arent, it kind of others pyrrha. to contrast camillas hands are called tanned way at the beginning while recording nona's dream, then at the way end it says, "Her face still looked grey beneath its nice normal olive," olive being used to describe her once before in gtn as far as i can see. pyrrha's (g1deon's) skintone is one of her most notable features, its brought up to a noticeable agree the text wants you to keep it in your mind when you think of the saint of duty; "Most of Pyrrha was the colours of the building site: deep dried-out browns, dusty hunks of clay, rusted metal." "Pyrrha wouldn’t burn any colour other than her deep cool brown." "Nona took the water from Pyrrha’s brown, work-chapped hand and even sipped it" "Pyrrha had carried Camilla to bed in her big brown arms like Cam weighed nothing" "Pyrrha said, “Thanks, Nums,” and drained the whole thing. Nona,fascinated, watched the brown column of her throat move as she swallowed." its just notable to me when alternatively with nona you'll get a line like "Camilla didn’t say anything to that either, only rubbed her wrists where the tape had been. Nona’s skin was already back to its nice normal colour." like just the vagueness in nice normal color, we get one line about what shes supposed to look like in the beginning and thats it

towards the end during the broadcast, nona gets her first clear look at kiriona, described as: "warm-coloured skin that should have been a similar brown hue to Nona’s, except that there was something wrong with it." break out the champagne its official

Obviously, dying takes some color from you. If anything, gideons desaturation should make them More comparable given the egg carton comment and harrows general state of constant anemia. Has Nona gotten darker during her time on new rho? Was Gideon lighter than the cover led us to believe? We don't know. We well never know, which is odd, bc these books fucking love purple prose about people's appearances. We have like seven different synonyms for the shade of ianthes hair. New words for black have to be invented in order to convey harrows eyes which are Black, not the dark muddy brown of someone like ortus. It's less that I'm bothered by the text not hyperfocusing on their skin and more it picking and choosing when it will laser focus on a detail like that, and how often it's skipped over to the point that I like, constantly see people draw harrow as incredibly pale, which is very different from being light-skinned

Finally, I know people can dismiss this as like an audience interpretation thing. I know I actively draw harrow darker than Gideon which I know isn't canon. But this is less about Fandom response to the text and more the text itself and how it's like. Afraid to say brown. near the end of ntn i found One instance of it referring to gideons "slim brown hand" on nonas cheek and that is direct as it gets. even her other like, strongly non european traits are sort of danced around. her nose is "a nose that was the complete opposite of Nona’s nose, one that put her in mind of those big poison desert cats Born in the Morning was crazy about." a very fanciful description, you have to infer that nona means that its probably flat and wide, also giving us the information that harrows is most likely narrow and straight, possibly downturned. im not opposed to this, especially given the character talking about her is nona, but then you get the following paragraph:

"Her skin was very much dead-person skin, ashen and tinted the wrong colour around the nostrils and the mouth. But even if she hadn’t been dead, Nona was critical. Her eyelashes were very dark, but short and curly, whereas Nona thought all eyelashes should be long and straight (her own eyelashes were long and straight). The corpse had too much mouth and a dimple (nobody in her home had a dimple). You could not, at least, see the veins in her eyelids, which were heavy and cold and deep-set. But Nona thought it was going to be a shame to go from being so lovely as she was to being so—redheaded."

its a very frank description. dimple, curly lashes, red head, dead skin, probably a wide mouth. her nose is contrasted against nonas nose, which is also never directly described, and then compared to a fantasy animal we have never heard of until right now

kicks rocks. there isnt a point to this. the series is almost over, there is zero reason to like, knock on taz's door and ask why she did this or that. it doesnt stop me from loving the series, and the insinuation that noticing this means i must dislike the series is frankly insane (real thing that happened). if someone got the impression that harrow was white given how shes described i wouldnt blame them honestly, its most apparent she isnt in the third book (with the cover art being incredibly ambiguous) and a single blog post from taz mentioning shes maori, immediately followed by an "oh i dont care how you see the characters" addendum, which i think is like. an odd thing to tack on bc them descended from kiwis is like, very integral to the story, and gideon being the daughter of the maori man who took everything from her she didnt even know she could have and the (presumably, given her name and a very brief description) maori woman fighting to get that world back its like. damn. it feels a little important. that the audience knows theyre maori. like a little. it feels intertwined with the whole thing about john using european standards of imperialism and general aesthetics to hurt his own kid. actually.

[cevansbrat0007]

The Slam

Summary: Ari has had a enough of your TikTok foolishness...

Warnings: Mature Themes, Ari Being A Menace, Bickering, Brat!Reader, Prank Foolishness, References to P in V sex, Cursing, Minors DNI

A/N: Part of my Sweet Renegade Series. Semi-proofread, not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!

Now that you’ve gotten your first TikTok prank under your belt, you found you needed more. It was as if a beast – for lack of better phrasing – had been awoken inside of you. And it demanded that you served the world chaos.

At your man’s expense.

While you’d gone a little bigger the first time around, today you’d decided to dial it back just a touch. Lately you’d been watching videos of women slamming their boyfriend’s and husband’s car door after what seemed to be the most innocent of conversations. 

In retaliation, some of them yelled confused obscenities, or honked horns, others simply appeared content to stew in whatever resentment had already been brewing beneath the surface. 

Regardless, almost all of them were funny. And not only that, but you got the distinct feeling that Ari wouldn’t appreciate it. His truck was precious to him. 

Almost as precious as you. 

This morning you choose to test your luck when Ari is kind enough to drop you by your place so that you can switch out purses and grab your makeup bag before heading out for lunch. You can tell that he doesn’t fully understand the reason you need either of those things. 

In fact, when you told him what you needed, he’d been swift to grunt something to the effect of how you already looked “perfectly good to him as it was”. And although it had made the butterflies in your belly do their special little flutter that was reserved for when you received compliments just from him, you pushed him to make the stop anyway.

In part because you needed those things, but also because you wanted to fuck with him a bit.

“I promise I’ll be super quick.” You tell him, hastily undoing your seatbelt as he pulls up in your driveway. 

“Still don’t get why you needed to come here.” Your bounty hunter was hungry, and therefore also a little grumpy. “You’re already the prettiest little thing I’ve ever set my eyes on without all the extra froufrou shit.”

“You would really have me walk into a restaurant with you with a bare face?”

“Baby, real talk, I’d be proud to have you on my arm if you were wearing nothing but a paper bag.” Comes his quiet, but sincere rebuttal. 

It’s enough to make you melt.

 “You’re sweet.” 

“Uh huh.” He huffs, throwing his truck in park. “And women are weird. Besides, all that makeup looks better on my pillow anyway.”

“Pretty sure you’re not supposed to call us weird. Could’ve sworn you were supposed to be intrigued by the feminine mystique.” You tell him, poking him in the ribs for good measure.

“Weird.” Ari huffs again, clearly not moved by your response.  

“Mystique – you jerk.” Feeling slightly miffed, you decide to steal a sip of his water. 

“Can you please just go get the bag and war paint before I waste away from hunger?” You bat his hand away when he leans forward to open your door and usher you out his vehicle. “My stomach is literally trying to eat itself and you wanna fuckin’ argue.” 

“I am capable of opening it myself, thank you very much.” You hiss without any real heat before grabbing the handle.   

“Then I would very much appreciate it if you did that so we can get this show on the road.”

“Okay, okay.” You finally relent. “I’m sorry. Gimme a kiss and I’ll go–”

Ari’s mouth is on yours so fast it’s almost comical. He cups your face with calloused hands, stroking his thumbs across your temples as he does. But unfortunately, just as you’re about to sink into the kiss, he pulls away.

“Now get.” He growls, before opening the door and effectively shooing you out. 

“Fine.” Climbing out of his truck, you decide that this is your moment. “Be right back.” Closing your eyes, you give it up to the Lord before slamming Ari’s door hard. 

Actually a little harder than you intended. Ah, well. 

Grimacing, you begin to half walk, half run for your front door. After all, there was such a thing as being too brave for this world. And you’d actually felt his vehicle rattle with the force with which you’d put behind it. There was no way this man would not respond. There was no way–

“Aye!” Your shoulders automatically hunch of their own volition when you hear him throw open his own door in protest. You haven’t even made it to the front porch. ”The hell was that about?”

“What?” You try to play dumb.

“Bird. Stop.” 

It’s the calm authority in his voice that has you freezing in your tracks. It’s the same reason your panties are soaked too. Teeth sinking into your bottom lip, you turn around and face Ari.

“What–”

“I’m gonna need you to walk your pretty little ass back over here, baby.” He quirks a tawny brow when your legs don’t immediately start moving. “Now.”    

“Beast, I need to go inside and–”

“Ass. Here. Now. Please.” Ari tacks on the last word when he sees you frown. However, the frown stays in place as you march back over to where he’s standing, or now leaning, against the side of his truck.

“Thank you.” He grunts before cupping your cheek, drawing you forward. “Now, is there a reason you’re out here slammin’ my shit and spikin’ my blood pressure? Does this have somethin’ to do with that whole feminine mystique business again?”

As he talks, you find it hard to resist the urge to run your fingers through his newly shorn beard. You’d hung out in the bathroom with him this morning while he trimmed it, wearing nothing but a pair of panties and one of his shirts. 

“No.” You breathe, your nostrils flaring when that same hand moves, gently lacing itself around your throat.

“You pissed at me for somethin’?” His electric blue eyes search yours for answers.

“Um…nope.” 

“You tryin’ to pick a fight?”

“Also no.” You tell him as your hand comes up to wrap around his thick wrist. “It was a joke I saw on TikTok and–.”

“Christ, I’m gonna stop you.” Ari blinks twice before forcing himself to take a deep breath. “Since you and I don’t have a problem, I’m gonna let you go inside and fetch your things. You have five minutes, or I’m comin’ in after you.”

“To do what?” You can’t help the pout that forms on your lips. Sometimes this man really had no sense of humor. “Because I‘m gonna need more time than that to put on my face.”

The look this man gives you lets you know that you are absolutely trying his patience – every last piece of it. 

“You got five minutes.” Ari repeats, his thumb stroking over your pulse point. “Or I’m gonna come in there and personally take my time making sure all that makeup ends up in its proper place where it belongs.” 

“But that’s not fair!”

“Neither is subjecting me to shit you see on that damned hickory dickory dock crap you watch all the time, and yet here we are.” He leans down to brush his lips against your forehead. “Now go.”

Ari finally releases you before pulling out his phone, and it takes him only a second for him to show it to you, letting you see that he’s started a timer. And it is quickly counting down. 

“You got five minutes, sweetheart.” He winks at you then, before breaking into full blown laughter when you turn to make a break for your front door. “Otherwise I’m comin’ in after you, and it’s gonna be what it’s gonna be.” 

Forget the purse. You decide you’re better off snagging the makeup and beating it back to the truck before the timer strikes zero.   

“Bastard.” You grumble under your breath – which only makes him laugh harder.

“You just lost yourself thirty seconds for that one. Better run, Bird.” 

END

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[morlock-holmes]

I recently found this article about Robin DiAngelo and it's really stuck in my head now. This woman is so instructive about the underlying psychological processes animating us in the early 20s, and it's totally unintentional, which makes her fascinating to me.

Partway through her presentation, DiAngelo asked us, “What are some of the ways your race has shaped your life?” She told us to give our answers to each other and added that if we were white and happened to be sitting beside someone of color, we were forbidden to ask the person of color to speak first. It might be good policy, mostly, for white people to do more listening than talking, but, she said with knowing humor, it could also be a subtle way to avoid blunders, maintain a mask of sensitivity and stay comfortable. She wanted the white audience members to feel as uncomfortable as possible.

In our group of three, Southern, who is white, went first. Like Woods, she was already steeped in DiAngelo’s ideas; Southern had led two church book groups in discussing “White Fragility.” She was fully persuaded that, as she said to me afterward, “we’re all racist in that we’re swimming in a culture that is racist,” and that “we don’t think, as white people, of white as a race that comes with all kinds of conditioning.” Yet, in the moment, in response to DiAngelo’s question, she struggled. She couldn’t articulate much of anything about how she’d been shaped by being white.

I went next. I, too, was ready for everything I heard from DiAngelo. In fact, I knew this very question was coming. Just the day before, I’d been to a session she ran for a fractious city department that agreed to let me watch as long as I didn’t describe the event; the department’s equity team had brought her in to spur white self-awareness. But I had failed to speak about my whiteness as formative. That is, I noted that my color gave me infinite advantages, but the words, while sincere, were passionless. I emphasized instead that three of my five nonfiction books were about race, that I thought about race constantly, that back in junior high my best friend was one of the few Black students in my school, part of an experimental busing program in the early ’70s, and that the way our friendship ended still haunted me, that I’d betrayed him badly.

At some point after our answers, DiAngelo poked fun at the myriad ways that white people “credential” themselves as not-racist. I winced. I hadn’t meant to imply that I was anywhere close to free of racism, yet was I “credentialing”? And today, after a quick disclaimer acknowledging the problem with what I was about to do, I heard myself offering up, again, these same nonracist bona fides and neglecting to speak about the effects of having been soaked, all my life, by racist rain. I was, DiAngelo would have said, slipping into the pattern she first termed “white fragility” in an academic article in 2011: the propensity of white people to fend off suggestions of racism, whether by absurd denials (“I don’t see color”) or by overly emotional displays of defensiveness or solidarity (DiAngelo’s book has a chapter titled “White Women’s Tears” and subtitled “But you are my sister, and I share your pain!”) or by varieties of the personal history I’d provided.

This is like some fucking 70s EST or scientology brainwashing shit.

Like, look at the list of responses to this question:

If you deny that being white shaped your life, that's White Fragility;

If you are too eager to show solidarity, that's White Fragility;

If you share personal history, that's White Fragility

If you talk about times when you were made aware of racism, that's White Fragility;

It seems like pretty much every single thing a white person could possibly say in response to that question is "White Fragility".

DiAngelo is clear that we're all inherently racist, but I want you to attend to the emotions that the author, Daniel Bergner expresses. He and his white colleague are eager to participate, and they know, and have heard, that their participation will be racist, but their primary emotions are anxiety and shame.

They are convinced that they have somehow shamefully failed at a very important task, despite the fact that DiAngelo is very, very clear that there is no way to succeed.

More than that, they feel shame at their desire to succeed, and anxiety at the idea of not trying to succeed.

Honestly as you keep track of the article watch how good DiAngelo is at subordinating people:

The surge of attention, DiAngelo told me, made her at once leery and hopeful. She worried that the posts were “performative,” the book “just a badge.” Yet, she said, “there’s a sense of scales falling from people’s eyes,” mostly because of the killings of Floyd and, before that, Ahmaud Arbery and Breonna Taylor, but also, she believed, because of the work she and her antiracism colleagues have been doing. She felt a similar mix about the ASAP emails from corporations. “The very urgency itself says you don’t have a very deep understanding of how hard this work is, and how long it takes and how ongoing it needs to be,” she said. “Racism is not going to go away by August, so how about we do it in August?”

Being too excited to start being antiracist is evidence of how bad you are at being antiracist!

This woman is a terrifying menace.

What struck me reading both White Fragility and this article is the way that this way of talking and thinking distracts extremely heavily from concrete action. Everything pulls into an increasingly subjective, and religious realm, and the question of what we're actually trying to do recedes back into the fog:

Singleton spoke along similar lines. I asked whether guiding administrators and teachers to put less value, in the classroom, on capacities like written communication and linear thinking might result in leaving Black kids less ready for college and competition in the labor market. “If you hold that white people are always going to be in charge of everything,” he said, “then that makes sense.” He invoked, instead, a journey toward “a new world, a world, first and foremost, where we have elevated the consciousness, where we pay attention to the human being.” The new world, he continued, would be a place where we aren’t “armed to distrust, to be isolated, to hate,” a place where we “actually love.”

Bergner, and basically everybody he interviews, have gotten so excited to tell us whether this is a good idea or a bad one that they have forgotten to explain what "this" actually is.

I want you to do something brave. For a moment, forget that you and I think that it is utterly asinine to devalue "written communication" and let's agree with Singleton, putting emphasis on it is an example of white supremacist thinking.

Let's also pretend that we are teachers. What are we doing differently?

What specific classroom policy are we putting into place?

Are we eliminating all written classroom material?

Are we allowing social studies students to choose whether they prefer to give reports orally or as a finished written document?

Are we doing exactly what we were doing yesterday but trying to keep in mind that we shouldn't assume that a student is stupid just because they struggle with reading?

You'll notice that the range of options goes from "Insane radical thing that the school will never do" to "Something so obvious that basically any sane person will agree that it's a good idea"

You'll also notice that it's like pulling teeth to get anybody to actually put things into concrete terms like that (None of the people interviewed for that article is capable of doing so).

Hell, you know what I didn't notice until just now?

During a training in January 2019 run by [Darnisa] Amante-Jackson , which Chislett recorded, Amante-Jackson...went on to present “some characteristics of whiteness,” prominent among them “an obsession with the written word. If it’s not written down, it doesn’t exist.”

During a later session a white employee causes a giant stir by... wait for it...

Refusing to write on a poster during a brain-storming session.

This is the powerful hypnosis these people are working; you and I can listen to them talk about "obsession with the written word" and it doesn't occur to them or us to ask why so much of their anti-racist workshop revolves around the written word, revolves around demands to use the written word, and grinds to a halt when people refuse.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

A Brute, An Angel... (König x F!OC)

Summary: König gets an order to make a female SpecGru sniper talk, but König doesn't want to hurt women.

Category: Smut 🔞, angst, fluff

Tags & warnings: Explicit mature content +18 audiences only, strangers to lovers (slight enemies to lovers), dubious consent, threats of rape, virgin!König, size kink, size difference, p in v, multiple orgasms, cunnilingus, squirting, hugs and cuddles, super fluffy ending. König will be named in later chapters. 

A/N: KorTac and SpecGru are rivaling military contractors, Conor is König's superior (and a huge villain), and I just wanted to write angsty smut featuring our favourite Austrian boi. 

Part 1/3 of Valkyrie

Read on Ao3

A Brute, An Angel...

"You're always yappin' about how ya can make prisoners talk. Now here's ya chance."

König tried his best to stand tall while Conor spat at him with a gruff accent he couldn't quite place. He could tell the man got off on this: getting a chance to order him around and making him uncomfortable. He concentrated on looking down at him — knowing perfectly well that it only pissed Conor off when he did that. As if König could will himself to be shorter.

"But she's a… She's a girl. Sir."

"She is an enemy, and we need that intel."

I highly doubt that, sir.

"What do you want me to do with her?"

"Make the captive talk. Ya don't have to do the usual. If y'know what I mean."

"Are you suggesting that I rape her, Conor?"

The fact that he used the Lieutenant's name to appeal to him on a more personal level should've spoken volumes. But it had little effect on the man everybody in the KorTac was more or less scared of.

"I'm not suggesting anything. I'm giving you an order."

If Calisto or Stiletto were here, Conor would be on the ground by now, begging for mercy. König found himself thinking what stopped him from gutting the man right then and there.

"Does the team leader know about this?"

“Never ya mind about that."

"Permission to speak, sir," Zero pushed in.

"Go on."

"This goes against the protocol-"

"Did ya give two shits about the bloody protocol when we were in Adal?"

The abrupt outburst almost made König flinch. Almost.

Zero didn't turn the slightly disgusted gaze away, but snapped his mouth shut.

"I - I can't do it," König muttered.

"You sayin' you refuse to obey an order?"

König straightened upon hearing the word 'order' but otherwise remained in confused silence.

"I suggest you carry on unless ya wanna get demoted to a fuckin' desk job. It's your call."

And with that, Conor turned and marched off. Zero followed suit, sparing a pitiful glance at König as he went.

He was left alone in the bunker hallway, illuminated by a lamp that produced an unnerving buzz.

Conor was only doing this because he liked to bully him. Somehow, somewhere, Lt had lost his humanity, but it wasn't supposed to be his problem. Not until Conor made it his problem.

Something in him made the Lieutenant tick. König didn't know whether it was because he was a relatively fresh recruit or whether it was the fact that he was a foreigner. Hell, maybe it was the mask, how could he know?

"Fuckin' jerry."

And he wasn't even; he was Austrian, but Conor didn't care, which meant that it was something else about him that got under his skin. The man had vehemently decided to hate him, and he could do nothing about it.

König turned to the door leading to the interrogation room, grabbed the doorknob, inhaled deeply, and went in.

The girl was tied to the ceiling with a grey paracord that bit into her wrists as she hung there, barely able to stand. The bastard had bound her unreasonably tight. An ugly sight, that.

But she wasn't.

The thick braid was messy, her arms were more or less bruised, and her face had dirt on it, but she was, by far, one of the loveliest beings he had ever seen. She looked like heaven and hell, an angel of war who had fought for days against overwhelming forces and only wanted to sleep.

He swallowed, glad of the hood making the blob of his Adam’s apple invisible. She stirred and looked up, eyes dark with the burned out wrath of a cornered wild thing. She looked dog-tired, and scared. Beaten. And no one had even struck her yet. Not that he knew of, at least.

She pulled herself to her feet by the rope, although it was long enough to allow her to stand, and raised her chin.

"So you're the one they sent to break me."

-----

It was him.

The man that had gotten her in this situation in the first place.

She had been stupid enough to freeze for a few moments, the crucial little moments that meant the difference between life and death, escape and capture. And for what? To watch how this beast raged on the battlefield like it was his playground, to watch how he plowed through her mates while bullets showered around him. Seemed to evade him even though he was the largest possible target in the whole damn skirmish.

It didn't really help that his gear was gone. He was still one of the biggest men she had ever seen. If not the biggest.

The black hood was still in place, though, making him look like an inquisitor. Or an executioner.

She suspected he was here to make her talk. He could probably make anyone talk... But there was a particular threat present here. She was a woman in a helpless state, and she had a hunch that this mountain of a man wouldn't shy away from any methods that would humiliate and destroy her. He probably enjoyed it: getting a little treat after a nice day in the field.

The man strode to her, and it seemed that the only thing that moved as he walked was his hips. But the sound of his weight, the sheer mass that met the floor through combat boots, made her draw back in a futile attempt to disappear somewhere between her raised arms.

He stopped a generous few feet away, crossed his arms over his chest, then unraveled them again to his sides. He was all corded muscle beneath that black shirt, the fabric barely concealing the curves of a well-built chest. The poor textile stretched from the swell of his shoulders.

She didn't say anything. She expected a punch in the face, a knee to the stomach. Something to get things started.

He walked behind her, much more slowly, the thumps against the cold, hard cement causing the hair on her neck to stand on end. He stepped close, so close that she could feel his body heat against her back.

"Listen to me." She flinched at his voice, far more high-pitched than she would've suspected from such a beast of a man.

"I'm going to help you. But you have to assist me here."

The 'here' sounded more like german for 'hier'. Through her terror sweat and confusion, she found herself wondering how odd it was that the KorTac had some German guy working for them.

"We have to…" he cleared his throat from the falsetto his voice was climbing to.

And she only now realized that he was nervous.

The soldier was fucking nervous.

"We have to have intercourse," he continued, his accent bleeding thick through her senses like some goddamn ASMR she used to calm herself with. A guilty pleasure she succumbed to when she tried to reach sleep after a mission.

Only after she got past the fact that the enemy soldier's voice made her feel tingly, she understood what he had said exactly. What he was proposing.

She knew that nerves and adrenaline were a fucked up thing. You could get turned on during the most absurd situations when the survival instinct kicked in. Those situations could include getting a target on sight and pulling the trigger, or getting hit and receiving care under fire.

Turned out that it could include the prospect of getting tortured by a 6 feet something enemy merc who whispered in her ear with a thick German accent, gently like a lover.

Perhaps this whole set-up was just another kind of torture. A good cop, bad cop routine, in which he was both of the cops. He tried to tear her walls down and make her trust him, and when she refused to tell him anything, he would get to work. Tear her nails off, dislocate joints, rape her bloody.

"I'm not going to speak."

She announced it with a far less stern voice than she would’ve preferred, and heard him swallow. Either he was damn good at acting, or he was the most socially anxious soldier she had ever seen.

He rounded her and stopped only an inch or two from her face. Which only reached the man’s chest, broad and lean, covered in that black shirt and smelling of battlefield along with his sweat - the combination hitting her nostrils as an undiluted, masculine scent. He reached a gloved hand to prop her chin up, to force her to look at him.

It was her turn to swallow, and the angle he forced her neck caused the sound of her gulp to echo in the bunker. The tactical glove had cut-proof padding on the knuckles, and it scratched the delicate facial skin, even though his touch was more of a coax than a yank. But that wasn’t what caught her attention so vividly that it nearly made her knees buckle.

It was his ice-blue stare. The eyes stood out from the holes of his mask, from among the heavily applied black facial paint like two beacons. And they were gentle. Bordering on puppy eyes. The thought alone nearly made her laugh hysterically.

Even with her faltering knowledge of human character, she could’ve bet all in that this man would not hurt her. That he was far from a torturer.

And the knowledge made her even more confused. If he wasn’t the torturer, then who was he? What the hell did he want?

“You have to co-operate.” His voice was strained with something akin to despair.

“I can only help you escape if you co-operate,” he whispered, his voice so low it went straight between her legs.

Jesus, this was not okay.

He released her chin, but she didn’t turn her gaze away. Her eyes roamed his face, or rather, the black hood that covered it. She wondered why he wore it when other soldiers didn’t bother to hide their identities. The only other man she had seen wearing a mask was Lt, with the top of a human skull attached to his balaclava. And even he wasn’t this big. Albeit menacing and shrouded in mystery that came from all things danger, death, and pain, the man before her now intrigued her far more than even Ghost did.

Why did he hide his face? Why was he so… jittery?

And why did he try to escape her gaze?

He looked like the whole situation was too much for him. To say that the man was distraught when she merely looked him straight in the eyes when he told her that they needed to fuck, would be an understatement.

If she were to choose a man to torture someone with his dick, this would be her last choice.

“What’s the escape plan, then?” She asked, still not believing for a second that he would help her, even if he didn’t strike her as intimidating anymore.

"I, uh…"

"You don't have a plan?"

"Well, not yet."

"Why am I not surprised," she murmured into the stale, dusty air of the chamber. "Why would you even want to help me?"

"I don't hurt women," he said and took a step back as if to confirm that statement.

This was so fucking ridiculous. He was a mercenary in a filthy bunker with a bound prisoner, assuring that he was a gentleman. Was she on candid camera or something?

She had never been in a situation like this. She had never imagined being in a situation even remotely close to this. She would have laughed over the absurdity of the whole thing but couldn't, because her lower lip started to tremble.

He noticed it and instantly shifted weight from one leg to the other. He tried to direct his anxiety into the leisurely movement, and it caused his hips to sway from one side to the other, making her think of all kinds of stupid associations, such as lapdance and snake hips.

With those rather tight khaki pants, it was impossible to prevent her eyes from darting to the bulging thighs and the evident package he was delivering between them.

Jesus fucking Christ, pull your shit together…

"I'm going to get you out of here," he promised.

"That's cute of you," she tiredly threw in, getting far too much satisfaction out of the reaction her words managed to pull out of him. He blinked a few times, and the colossal chest heaved as if the man was trying to catch his breath. "Funny that you need to fuck me to be able to do so."

Another switch from side to side, a sway of those goddamn khaki-covered hips.

"I'm almost positive that the only surveillance they have on this room is that camera over there. The screen is in another room," he told her, sounding stupidly proud of his debatable skills in spying. She pursed her lips and raised an eyebrow. "But the guys there are usually watching tv," he hurried to add.

"I doubt they will today if your orders are to rape me." Again, he looked abashed, eyes darting to the floor and back to her. Was this guy thick in the head or something? "Probably got their beers popped and their pants down by now…" she said, and the man let out something close to a squeal.

"That is exactly why we have to… provide them with something until I come up with a plan."

She looked at him and almost smiled. Like one would smile at a daft dog that was far too eager to please.

"You just said you don't hurt women," she said.

"That is why I very much wish you would co-operate," he answered.

"You are the weirdest torturer ever."

"I - I am not a torturer. I'm just a soldier," he tried to assure her with that climbing voice. He was shitty at concealing his uneasiness. The man was completely flustered.

"Then why did they assign you with this… task," she demanded to know. It was yet again laughable: as if he was the one being grilled here. He wouldn't answer, and she cocked her head to the side.

"Ever interrogated with your dick before?" She blurted.

His hands were trembling. Slightly, but they were.

"Negative," he said, voice tight.

Was this guy….

Was he a virgin?

The twisted concept of some romantic chivalry, the nervousness, the respectful distance he kept, and the fact that his hands started shaking when she said a dirty word, all pointed to the possibility that he very much might be.

She thought he was picked because he was big, because his obvious blessings in the crotch department also held a promise of pain. But this guy certainly didn't know what the heck he was doing. And not only because he wasn't a torturer or because he didn't want to hurt a lady. She could almost swear, hand on Bible, that this man had never been with a woman. Not much further than the first base, anyway.

"Well, get on with it then."

She told herself it was only because it was useless to postpone the suffering that would eventually come anyway.

She told herself it was not because she was trying to break a Guinness world record of developing Stockholm Syndrome to this guy and his adorableness. She told herself it was definitely not because she kinda sorta wanted to see how he would act when he had to actually pull that cock out and touch her with it.

He stared at her, eyes wide beneath that oversized hood, and she could swear it was his heart, not hers, that made that thumping sound.

"I am going to touch you," he informed her. Like the dumbest moron.

If she ever got out of here, and if she ever, ever told this story to someone, they wouldn't be able to believe it.

He took his gloves off - why would he even bother to do that? - and let them drop to the ground.

His fingers were long, the fingernails meticulously cut. There were a few scrapes and scratches here and there on his palm, indicating his lack of coordination. Clumsy boy.

When he reached for her, she assumed he would go for her tits, or her waist, or grope her ass. But he didn't. Fingers cupped her face, trembling still, before they slid over her neck and grabbed her throat, not to choke, but to revel. Like she was a sculpture or something, and he wanted to know how the material felt. How soft she was.

She looked into his eyes, because eyes told everything; they would betray a flash of sadism or whatever else she still expected from this strange man. They roamed all over her, darted across her face, every now and then to her eyes, but mostly avoided her stare like the plague. He wouldn’t hold a gaze for much longer than a glimpse of a second. And there was still no sign of lust for inflicting pain. Only perplexed wonderment.

Her hands and arms were numb because of the position she was in, hands tied above her head, blood flow inhibited. But she paid it no mind as his hand traveled down her neck, caressed her collarbones, and then stopped right before he reached the gap between her breasts, free game in the white tank top she had been left with, along with her cargo pants and boots.

“Can I… May I kiss you?” He asked, his voice muffled and so thick that it was difficult to untangle what he had said.

It was such an odd request that her words left her, and she could only produce a whimpering sound at the back of her throat. He took it as a yes, and raised his hood, only enough to reveal a pair of thin lips among a light brown stubble. His mouth opened slightly, then closed, then opened again, as if he didn’t know how to proceed.

He bent down like the giant he was, not hinging at the hips but hunching over towards her, probably trying to appear smaller but ending up looking like there was a tower falling on her. The smell of gasoline and sweat hit her as his lips met hers, parted, and a shy flick of tongue swept across her bottom lip. She tried to remember how to breathe and ignore the rush of wetness that told her she would have no problem whatsoever with him parting her nether lips too. He captured her lip, sucked, then opened his mouth wider and hers with it.

She answered his kiss - just a little bit, and he instantly deepened it and moaned into her mouth. She fluttered her eyes open and saw that his were squeezed shut. He pressed a hand against her back and pulled her against his overwhelming body. All she could feel was muscle… and then some more. He was hard, the thick erection colliding with her stomach all but seductively. She went completely stiff, eyes wide and lips tight.

The man went even more rigid, if possible. He released her mouth with a grunt and buried his head in her neck.

"I can't -... I can't do this, I'm gonna go and tell him they need to find somebody else," he said in a strained voice, riddled with pain.

No. No.

The fuck he would.

If he would be replaced by somebody else, some crazy, blood-drunk soldier with cold eyes and a knife, some jerk-off who hadn't had a go with a woman since their last leave, she would fucking die.

"Please don't," she hushed and swallowed against him, the place where his hood and the collar of his shirt revealed skin.

"I want it to be you," she continued to whisper in his ear, meaning to say If it has to be somebody, let it be you, but choosing to deliver a sentence as persuasive as possible. As inviting as possible.

So that he wouldn't leave her in the hands of someone with no mercy.

"Scheiße…" The hot air brushed against her skin, even through that hood.

"If only I could touch you too," she said, regretting it immediately. She was acting a little too enthusiastic in the midst of her panic. Trying desperately to prevent him from leaving.

But the hand on her back moved down a bit, and long fingers splayed over the small of her back, pressing gently.

"Don't tease me," he huffed, panting although they were both quite still.

Jesus Christ… at this rate, the KorTac could hire her to do the interrogations.

She wondered whether the surveillance team was looking at the scene, which was far too intimate and loving to be an interrogation. What kind of a man would try to pry information out of someone by embracing them gently? Kissing them hesitantly?

In a way, this was torture: she didn't know what would happen to her after… whatever this was. She didn't know what procedures would follow when the others found out he had no intel for them to tell.

Let's get this fucking over with.

"What's your name?" She asked, hoping that the puppy boy wasn't naive enough to tell her his actual name.

"They call me König."

King in german...

"König…-"

She meant to ask him to touch her so that this horrible, awkward mess would come to at least some sort of an end, but couldn't find the words. His name on her tongue seemed to do the trick, though. He ground his hips against her, and had she not been tied to the ceiling, the movement would have toppled her. The hand on her back went behind her knee and raised it to his hip. Then another hand slid down to do the same to her other knee, pulling her from the ground like she weighed nothing at all.

The strain on her arms was released, and the relief was heavenly. For that alone, she could've let him do whatever he wanted to her.

"You're so klein… small," he commented with her raised to straddle his lap and her face finally on the same level as his. "Small people make good snipers," he declared with a hint of longing in his voice.

She had a terrible urge to sling the bundle of hands over his head. And not for self-defense reasons.

"I'm not that small, you're just big," she said, like a beauty to the beast, like it was a cute scene in a movie where everybody was nice to each other. Her gut feeling of the man being a virgin only increased by the minute. He was so… blameless. It was downright unintelligible that he was a soldier.

But she had seen how brutal he was on the field, how he had struck holes in her teammate with a combat knife like he was playing tag and didn't quite know the rules. Didn't know that one stab in a well-picked spot would have sufficed.

She had seen him haul a grown man with 100 extra pounds of tactical gear on him up like the poor man was a barbell, and bring them down over his knee. The sound of a breaking spine would probably haunt her dreams for the rest of her life. She had simply gawked at the display of utter, brutal violence before her. Normal men, even soldiers of a special forces tactical unit, simply didn't do stuff like that. Hands-on, down in the mud, barbarian kind of stuff from medieval times.

And now the same man was fondling her like she was his sweetheart. Like he was about to carry her in the bedroom full of roses and other syrupy valentines shit.

"And what do they call you?"

The accent was really doing things to her, along with the few german words tossed here and there, absentmindedly like candy. He was an enigma with his colossal body, croaking voice, and gentleness that surpassed even the violence.

"Valkyrie."

"You've got to be kidding me," he said, astonished.

"My team found out I used to do fencing, and I'm blonde, so…"

It was silly and the swords weren't even that big. One could hardly call them swords at all, the pointy little things they were.

But the situation indeed had taken a turn into a sick fairytale. Like, come on. Valkyrie and König? Some stupid hippie would've loved that: how it was meant to be, destined, even, that the two of them had met. That she was a damsel in distress, and he was here to save her from the ring of fire.

She stifled the urge to shake her head, to snap out of where this was spiraling into.

Affection.

They barely even knew each other's codenames. She was in a modern version of a dungeon, lit by a single light bulb, about to get raped by some edgy, mentally unstable goliath, she reminded herself. While perhaps psychologically interesting, he was not okay. This was not okay. She had been trained for situations like this.

Except that she wasn't. She was trained to withstand torture, battering, spending days in a cell where the lights never went out. She knew methods to draw the mind away from constant pain. But she hadn't received instructions on what to do in a situation where she wasn't even being questioned. Not even on the sly. Her call sign wasn't much of a secret. They probably knew who she was before they brought her to this room.

"There are many stories of valkyries in my Heimat," he prattled on enthusiastically.

"Yeah, I know the Nibelung saga," she said.

"Very heroic, very German tale."

"You ought to know."

"No no, I'm not German, I'm Austrian," he said.

This was turning into an odd conversation.

"König." She said in an attempt to bring his attention to the present moment. He fluttered his eyes, long lashes batting over that innocent-looking stare.

"Don't. Just… don't," she tried not to stutter.

He had lied to her about not being a torturer. Chatting with her like they were on their first date, discovering that they were actually intrigued about one another... It was insufferable. Although she was the one who had started it by asking his name…

"Right. Getting on with it," he said like he had been given an order. Her heart stung. Tears were welling up from the absurdity of this whole situation, from his silliness, from her having felt rather comfortable and safe in his hold. Fucking safe.

She should quit the army when she got out of here. If she got out of here. She wasn't right in the head to continue with this job.

"I've been an idiot," he told her.

You're damn right.

An idiot she could imagine herself falling in love with in another situation, but an idiot nonetheless.

"You should put on more of a fight, and…" he trailed off.

And you should be rough, you dumdum, she thought. Again, in another situation, she would've probably loved him to be rough.

"Roger," she said to him and heard him chuckle, saw how a few wrinkles appeared in the corners of his eyes. He lowered her down to the ground, and she hissed when her arms extended against the rope again. He let her go, gently, like it was his fault that she was attached to the roof.

"I would help you, but -"

"It's ok." She gave him a weighted look that told him to stop speaking. To get on with the action so that she wouldn't get attached even more than she already was.

He grabbed her by the throat again, doing a shitty job at trying to make it look like he was manhandling her. His eyes landed on her chest, and she could almost hear the wheels turning in his head, thinking about whether he should tear her top. Apparently deciding against it, he went for his trousers instead, pulling the belt buckle open with a click.

It had been a while, what with all the stress and the sleep deprivation not being an ideal combo to get her juices flowing. But nothing could prepare her for the surge of wet heat when the front of those light brown pants practically gave way for what must’ve been the largest bulge she had ever seen. It was almost vulgar, even more so when the fabric of his boxer shorts stretched at the sudden throb.

She realized her mouth was hanging slightly open, and she closed it carefully, but her lips parted again when he continued to shove both of those pants down. He didn’t even bother to take them off, and they were left somewhere mid-thigh, with belt buckle dangling in the air.

And God, he was huge.

It wouldn’t even stand up properly, even though there was no doubt that he had a full-on erection. It jerked between them like a threat, or a dare, but mostly it was just a long, thick, veined baulk that couldn’t support itself because it was just so goddamn big. He was uncut, but the foreskin had drawn back from the arousal, and the tip of his slit glistened with precum.

And he was flustered again, misinterpreting her stare as a sign of fear instead of awe.

"I promise I'll be quick," he whispered, and the first thing that her mind chirped back was Please don't. And not because it would probably be painful. But because she desperately wanted him to slide that monster in inch by inch and take his beautiful time with it.

"Uh-huh," she managed to say before the man codenamed King stretched his fingers toward her pants.

With trembling digits, he opened them and started tearing them down before realizing she could not spread her legs without him taking the pants off. And then he realized he couldn't take them off without taking her boots off.

So what happened was that her panties and pants were halfway down, and the Austrian hulk kneeled in front of her with his hooded face in level with her pussy. He turned his head to the side and leaned a bit on her thigh to unlace her boots, but she was pretty sure he did it mainly because he was embarrassed to look straight at her cunt.

She helped him as much as she could, raising her feet one by one for him to take the combat boots off. He tossed them somewhere to the side and tore her pants down, all the way down, and over her feet, leaving her in her tank top and socks.

He rose, his cock brushed her thigh, and she jerked like she had been scraped by some sharp object. It bounced at the contact, bumping against her again, sweeping a wet streak over her skin.

"Sorry," he mumbled like it was somehow worse than what he was about to do next. When he would shove… that thing inside her.

He picked her up again, almost in a hurry. Her heart was ramming against her ribcage and her mouth was dry as her feet left the ground. He was hard against her belly, flesh hot and throbbing and slick with precum that pushed out from the tip and left wet stains on her top.

This time she did raise her hands over his head and let the arms come down to rest on his shoulders. Her intuition told her she would soon need the support.

He moved her around like she was a doll, letting the erection drop between them to position himself against her slit. Her folds parted without effort as he slid against them, once, twice, before halting.

Don't comment about it, don't…

"You're wet," he grunted with delighted surprise.

"Yeah?" She said like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Just fucking do it, she yelled in her mind, lips drawn into a straight line so that even a dumbass like he could see that this was not the moment for hesitation.

And he didn't hesitate.

He searched, adjusted himself, adjusted her, spread his stance, grunted…

And it was pretty clear by now that he didn't know what he was doing. Her nipples brushed against his chest as he searched for the right spot with her in his arms, and she hoped he would've taken his shirt off so she could feel skin instead of cotton.

"There," she helped him with a whisper as he hit the right spot. He returned, probed, and she guided him. "Now up…", and he bent his knees while raising her slightly. The angle was right, and he finally drove in, slowly but surely.

The stretch was phenomenal. It hurt more than a bit after he had passed the entrance, and the delicious feeling turned into a burning sensation.

"Wait.." she begged, and he stopped immediately, panting like a runner.

"Back up a bit."

He did, pulling out almost completely before she bucked her hips to let him know he could push back in. And when he did, she gasped, and he moaned, so tight and so glorious that the sound that erupted from him was laced with pure need.

"Ach, you're tight.. soft…"

She clenched around him at his shameless commentary, and he let out another broken sigh.

Of course it's tight when you're so big..

He wouldn't go fully in, and she doubted whether he ever even could. She had never been this filled. But more was coming.

He withdrew again before thrusting back inside, deeper still.

"Oh Jesus," she gasped, "yes, just like that.." the words escaped her lips and she noticed his eyes were directed at her, drunk and half-lidded.

"Yeah…" he echoed, his voice shivering like a leaf. "Das gut?"

If her hands were free, she would've torn that hood away, buried her fingers in his hair, and pulled until he would expose his fucking throat for her to kiss and lick.

He began thrusting with a steady pace, shallow but intense, going deeper every now and then when he slipped. His hands shifted, one by one, to grab her by her butt to glide her up and down his length. It was fucking hot that he didn't need his hips to fuck her, that he could just move her around with his hands and slam her against it if he wanted to. Her ankles hooked around his waist on reflex, and her fingers flexed in the ties, trying to grasp onto something but finding only air.

"You feel so good," the short, agonized 'good' coming out more like 'gut'; and her pussy tightened, pulled, and sucked him like he was the best thing ever.

"Sch…shit," he breathed laboriously, taking a moment and thrusting even deeper, eyes closing like he was on the brink of losing consciousness..

He hit a spot that was both familiar and unfamiliar, and she was pretty sure that if someone was looking at the surveillance material, they couldn't tell whether the look on her face was of pain or pleasure. She couldn't keep herself in check, couldn't seize control anymore. She was so soaked at this point that the evidence of her arousal was heavy and loud. So audible that it made her cheeks hot.

"I wonder what you taste like," he mused, his hood shaking in sync with his thrusts. "Honey and raindrops, eh?"

"Mh," she sobbed, her thighs quivering. She wanted to spread them more, to let him see her and have a taste, to present herself for him to do as he pleased. But she couldn't move much in his grasp. It was like she had been propped up on a machine, buckled to a seat reserved just for her.

He took a wider stance as if hearing her thoughts on wanting even more of what he had to offer, and she held on to him as he shifted like the continental plates beneath her. He proceeded to fuck her while leaning his head against the side of hers, and she held on to him as he breathed into her neck. The occasional moan sounded more like a sob as his cock slid in and out, in and out, slick with her wetness.

"You're what they sing about in Rheingold," he kept talking that romantic bullshit in her ear while stuffing her with that long Austrian cock that would make most women squirt if he kept at it long enough. "Und Walküre…"

It was so good she wanted to cry. She thought about letting a tear or two slip and saying it was just for the show if he asked. Virgin or not, König was doing a pretty decent job in making her a writhing, weak mess. He was not too quick, not too slow, but set just the right, rigorous pace that would send her into oblivion. He became the fountain stone, the buoy in the storm. He was the man that would send her over the brink and the man to hold her unwaveringly as she fell.

"Not much longer," he informed her light-heartedly, like he was in the middle of a mission about to be completed. Completed to the fucking full.

She couldn't even begin to tell him that she was already there, because everything suddenly coiled and burst, and she was arching her back, making him reach even deeper, almost fully inside her, the heavy balls slapping against her ass as her toes curled and her body went completely rigid…

The sound that broke out was not a yell, nor a scream, it was a violation of her vocal cords. She had never sounded like this — like someone falling and meeting the ground with a strained, lewd groan. Like someone who had the orgasm of their life.

He startled, almost quailed from her. Not because of the screaming, nor the sounds she made after… but because she came, hard, while he was banging her like a battering ram.

"Genau so…" König rasped, taken aback but trying his all to cover it. He slowed down on instinct, letting her greedy pussy suck on him like it was giving him a blowjob, telling him he was a good, good boy… because her words had left her.

He moved a little, and she could see the flash of those eyes from within the darkness of the hood, knew that he was watching her intently as she swam in ecstasy with an open mouth and pinched nose and eyes that wouldn't focus.

"Schön," he continued, sounding fragile. Weak. Vulnerable…

She couldn't for the life of her look at him, look in those eyes that must've told her things she wasn't strong enough to deal with at the very moment.

Her head dropped and her thighs went slack, but König held her, steadfast like the most gallant knight. He resumed his earlier pace with caution and care, breathing distinctly with his mouth open under that black mask. She was limp in his arms, trying to hold on as best she could while listening how the cock drove into her again with moist, sloppy sounds.

The moans that followed didn’t suit a man of his build at all. She had expected brute strength and hoarse grunts, not pinched, needy sobs and a head softly pressed against her. Forehead against fucking forehead. And he probably didn't even know what it was doing to her because he was such a stupid, adorable little — ugh, big dumbass.

She wanted to grasp his shoulders, slide her hands under his mask and raise it, kiss those moans straight from his lips, and run her fingers all over his stubble, the chiseled jawline she had seen only once. She wanted to feel him, all of him, not just his hands and his cock, even though they were good. Or fucking best. It almost made her cry; the post-orgasm need to cuddle for a bit but not being able to do so because her hands were bound to the fucking ceiling of a fucking dull grey bunker.

"Can I… cum..?"

Was he asking her permission to…

"Can I cum inside… Please, I'm close," he panted.

"Yeah… Yes.."

He slowed down the pace as he drew out his own upcoming release, relishing the last thrusts like he was sampling the finest cuisine. She finally dared to look at him and saw that his eyes were open and full of naked, helpless adoration. Devotion, even.

She must have been imagining: they were only the eyes of a man who was about to nut good. But damn if that fevered, helpless stare didn’t succeed in touching her very soul. To her horror, he wasn't shy this time, but held her gaze, held it, held it — until his lashes fluttered and he went over the brink with a cry.

It echoed from the damp concrete walls, just a single, prolonged wail that eventually broke and ended in miserable panting.

She could feel his cock throbbing, shooting the load inside, emptying the whole magazine in her. How the seed welled up, unable to go anywhere before he would decide to pull out.

König laid his head on her shoulder and pulled her against him, and she was not suspended only in rope but in time and space as well. His shoulders moved up and down with the heavy breaths, and she pulled her tied hands to awkwardly brush his neck as he came down from heaven.

He was shaking. Shaking, and let out a whimper against her skin, and for a fleeting moment, she was sure he was crying or on the verge of doing so.

"König?"

He shuddered a sigh, taking a moment to himself.

She felt hollow. Not raped, not assaulted, not abused. Just hollow, knowing what had happened between them would not be a recurring thing. That there was no 'them', not really. Not in the real, actual world.

"You can let go of me now," she whispered, although that was the last thing she wanted him to do.

But he did as she proposed, lowering her down and sliding out of her only after her feet had met solid ground. He pulled out carefully, gently, like he was leaving his beloved. Warm fluid descended down her left thigh in a streak, indicating that it had been a while for him.

Her head was full of dumb thoughts, such as whether he had a girl waiting for him somewhere back home. In Germany perhaps — no, in Austria. And if he had, just how lucky that person was.

She wondered if he had found someone here, and if they were in the military or not.

She wondered if there was no one, if he was alone, and if he curled up in a fetal position every night before he fell asleep in some bed that was too small for him.

And whether he would get into trouble for violating orders.

"You were," he started, eyes directed to the ground, "magnificent."

Was I your first, King?

"You weren't that bad yourself," she complimented him back, and he huffed.

"You liked it?" He asked in a way that made her heart squeeze tightly in her chest.

"Wasn't it obvious?" She couldn't help but smile. Couldn't… Wouldn't.

"Ja," he chuckled while looking down at his boots with an interest that was totally born from shyness. "I'm glad I could please you," he said before tucking himself demurely back into his trousers.

She wondered if he was as aware as she was of the fact that neither of them had played out the part they were supposed to. It had all gone out the window the moment he had touched her again. Practically thrown out, as if they were defying death itself together.

He gathered her boots and helped her step first inside her panties and then the cargo pants. He had to go around her back and reach from behind to zip her up and put her belt on, and it was such a mundane, cute act that she thought that this was indeed the cruelest form of torture she had ever witnessed. He hovered over her after he was done, and stole a brief caress of her waist before crouching to lace up her boots.

He rose, and came back in front of her, and the silence between them stretched to a short eternity. There were so many things she wanted to say, things he probably wanted to say, thoughts buzzing in both of their heads like bees as his seed cooled down on her thigh and made her pants stick to her skin here and there.

She thought about thanking him for being gentle, but what was she really thanking him for? Raping her tenderly? With the attentiveness and passion of a lover?

Was it rape if she had enjoyed it? If she had had one of the most powerful orgasms of her life?

He was… she had no words for him. The way he had unraveled her in mere minutes was shocking. Devastating, to say the least.

"I will find a way," he promised for the thousandth time. "I will not let them hurt you."

She nodded slowly, continued to do so while looking at him, her eyes welling with tears.

“Hey, kleine Süße, don't worry.” He brushed her cheek with his knuckles, soft and sweet. "I will be your Siegfried."

She didn't have the heart to remind him that both Siegfried and the valkyrie died in that story.

Part 2:

[curvykittyyssmutfics]

Womanizer ft. Geto

womanizer!Geto is very much aware of how fine he is. Struts through the school with his head and nose way to fuckin high in the air. You think the hungry way the girls look at him might actually feed his energy, he seems to literally level up from it and its absolutely ridiculous. But don't think he doesn't notice how your burning gaze rake over him before you pretend it has no effect on you.

womanizer!Geto even though he's hella cocky, still has a soft heart; just doesn't want anyone to about it. Whether it's of monetary value or not, he'll help any way he can. Suguru might be sex on a stick and confident as fuck but he isn't heartless. Only Saturo knows this side of him.. Till one night when he tried to play match maker and end up spilling the beans to you.

womanizer!Geto isn't just a pretty face, so doesn't like his girls brainless. Unless its cause of his cock ofcourse. He doesn't keep em long but expects to get a bit familiar before he tries to hit. Doesn't think anyone not pursuing a higher knowledge is really worth his time. Interesting lil fact: of all the years Suguru's known you, he swiftly peeps how intelligent you are and always been.

womanizer!Geto obviously loves attention from the ladies. Like waaay too much. Turns you off matter fact. And he notices. Which is weird. Cause he usually only notices when women throw themselves at his feet. "Goin to Geto's party inna few weeks? Come on, hang with us? Could use another pretty face there." Suguru over hears Satoru ask you after class. "Hmmm.. Maybe. Though I think you two horny sluts have enough eye candy on the menu." You answer with a eye roll. "Me? We? Sluts?" He feigns ignorance as you shake your head laughing. Meanwhile, Suguru wonders when in the world has he ever thought bein called a slut was arousing cause.. His dicks startin to chub.

womanizer!Geto isnt really into easy women. Most of the cute lil thangs from school put out just watchin that talented tongue swipe across his bottom lip. Knows he doesn't have to do much work and sometimes that puts him off. He doesn't even like to talk with a woman if he doesn't think he's gonna hit but nothin gets his dick softer than a girl that open her legs to him before she even knows his name. Funny though.. Suguru notices you don't date. At all. Kinda wonders what it would take to get a chance with your pretty ass. So he asks you one day while you guys practice sparring. "Y/n, how long have we known each other?" Straightening from your fighting stance, absolutely befuddled as you answer. "Bout 5+ years, as you already know. Why?" Suguru steps closer, trailing his index finger down your cheek. "Cause I wanna know why in the 5 years that you've known me, you've never given me a chance." You tsk at him. Is he serious? "Boy, ya dick been in every one under the sun." You're response throws him off, makes him chuckle as he thinks about your words. You ain't lyin. He uses protection though.

womanizer!Geto has always had a high sex drive. Except lately. He just doesn't know why he can't get it up when he's not thinkin about you. Hasn't been interested in any of his usual conquests lately. To add to the madness, jerking offs become a pain in the ass if he doesnt let you swim into his thoughts. So he sulks and pouts about it in class one day- till he sees heading to your seat. Suguru's dark eyes are glued to how your tits slightly jiggle in your robe as you walk. Man, would bet every single penny he had that you're fuckin gorgeous everywhere. "Hi, y/n" "Hey, Sugu! Wassup?" Oh shit.. No, no, no, no.. Cute way you say his name, moist pretty plump lips, and that fuckin body.. His dick. His dick is definitely what's up right now.

womanizer!Geto usually has a harem of cute girls following him around like puppies. Not the night of his party, he trails after you like one instead. "Come on y/n, just gimme a chance." He a bit tipsy so you continuously evade him. You're soakin wet from dodging Suguru's advances, his nasty words and exploring fingers. So you head into the kitchen to poor yourself a drink and gets some space. Unfortunately for you he meets you there and you groan at his persistence. "Geto, quit it. You're just horny. And there's plenty of fuck toys round here for you to play with. So beat it." You grumble. Suguru whines at your rejection, cornering you as you try to side step him. "Don't like when you're mean to me. Or when you call me that." He lies through his teeth. Only one of those two sentences are true. "Fine, Sugu. Happy? Now go find one of your playthings. Fuckin manwhore." Okay now hes perplexed, your mean words having the same effect when you called him a slut. Suguru thinks you should know since it's your fault. He pins you to the counter, pressing his hard dick into you. You gasp, fingers gripping into the sides of his shirt, havin to fight not to let your eyes flutter shut at his bulge pressuring your tingly clit. "Can't, y/n. Dick never gets hard for them anymore. Have fucked in weeks. Can't even cum without you on my mind. Help me out, baby pleeaase." You've never seen him so desperate, pawing at your backside as he sticks his face in your neck. Won't stop dry humping and licking you as he inhales your scent. "Sugu-" He cuts you off, pleas wearing you down real quick. "Promise I can make you feels so good. Know how to make that lil kitty purr, baby. Lemme show you?" You're eyes trail off over his shoulder as you think about it. Fuck, why not? He's the most wanted attraction in town, how could not get a ride too? You accidently catch Saturo's gaze. Grin wide when he does a peace sign, sticking his tongue between the two fingers and wiggling it. He points at Suguru and gives you a thumbs up, signalling how good his BFF's pussy eating skills are. Shit, that seals the deal; you def need a demonstration. "Fine, Sugu." You feign irritation, pushin him back and pullin him towards his bedroom. "Better not disappoint me. Not gonna get another chance, playboy." Promises of your pleasure spill from Suguru's lips as you drag him by his t-shirt, him secretly hoping you'll continue your lil mean act while riding his cock.

[that-one-kiddo-in-the-back]

Fandoms creepy obsession with torture... Lily doesn't understand depression or trauma.

I've been sitting on this one for a while, so let's dig in. Today's word of the day is "Martry," a person who is killed for a belief.

Right off the bat, Lily starts talking about how we as a fandom is obsessed with the torture of WOC using Korra, Luz, and Anne and an example for a dark joke she made in her moon girl review and in this video she's only gonna be using Korra, Luz, and some She-ra.

She starts with Korra and the torture she experienced with the red lotus, the group that's been trying to kill Korra ever since she was born, and how in her Korra is garbage she was pretty harsh for how it portrays her trauma at the final season. She then goes on to explain the torture scene, how you saw everything in all its gory detail, makes a small insult towards Korra's VA, then how she's tossed around like a rag doll then almost suffocated with the end of all that being shown Korra weakly reaching for her father before she passes out... "a heartbreaking shot that is under cut by the sheer sadisticly glee the writers had when the tortured Korra." Something I found kinda funny was that in her long ass Korra is garbage video, she complained that you didn't see a dictator...acting like a dicktator. Korra is the main character in a made for teen show made in 2012, so yeah, you're gonna see the poor girl getting beaten down. In the 2010s, a lot of shows that were aimed for teenagers showed a bunch of main characters getting beaten down with barely any psychological effects. Teen wolf, young justice, the fosters, your name, and Chronicle all shows during the 2010s that displayed pretty horrific scenes of torture or just getting beaten up and that wasn't because of the fandom or the writers being fucking weird it was more of a trend that started out of nowhere.

Lily then decided to call that all torture porn all because Korra's trauma is erased, with there still some mercury in her body. She then goes on about "how people said that Korra's behavior is realistic because that's what people think trauma looked like you being sad and demotivated." She continues by explaining that trauma is deeper than which is true to a degree. That fact is trauma is not one thing. You can be depressed and not even want to get out of bed, which changes how you think. Lily thinks that just because Korra was able to slowly pick herself up that she's back to normal and not bothered by almost getting killed to which I say Lily did you really want to see Korra have panic attacks and constantly hallucinat? Because it sounds like you do.

At the end of her talking about Korra, she finishes it by saying that the torture wasn't necessarily and a big fuck you to character development and that it was just the writers getting off to the idea of torturing women... now to Luz.

Lily starts out by saying that Dana terrace is really into depressing and the macabre, but on a fan girl surface level and still thinks creepy pasta is cool (keep that shit out of your mouth Lily) Lily really can't help herself but to drag women/nb/transmen creators through the mud in her Korra section she didn't name drop or even show a picture of the creators or writers even though she said the men where showing off their creepy "torture fetish" before watching this I watched her video on Catra and Adora's relationship and how abusive Catra is and Lily called ND Stevenson a Creep and an abuse fetishist and I think this all comes from a place of jealousy because they were able to make something amazing and be green light for shows where no one is a right mind would trust Lily with a five dollar bill.

After Lily was finally able to pull herself away from talking shit on female creators, she finally started talking about Luz's trauma, bringing up how, in the last episode of the first season after Eda was dragged away she starts to fight Lilith and says that was her trauma response which it's not really. Eda being captured was the beginning of the traumatic experiences Luz was gonna go through. As the show went on, you can see more of Luz blaming herself for things out of her control. Even when it was the smallest thing, she'd go way out of her way to make it up. Luz's trauma response is trying to fix what she broke she's the kind of person that would bring treats as an apology and tell the person she wronged how sorry she is for a week.

Lily then goes on to complain that in season 3, she doesn't do anything she mops around instead of trying to fight like in season 1, but a lot has happened between 1 and 3 Luz's trauma and depression all falls from her blaming herself for everything that happened.

Eda being captured, seeing her mother and the promise she made, failing to attend her father's grave, seeing all of the past golden guards empty helmets, watching Hunter get dragged under by belos, finding out she help belos met the collector who in turn gave him the draining spell, and the final nail in the coffin being King sacrificing himself to protect her resulting in Luz and her friends being stuck in the human realm with no idea if their parents and family are alright. Who the fuck wouldn't be depressed after all that?! She says she wanted a scene where Luz talks about her trauma which she already does she talks to her mother she knows that everyone else isn't having a good time either so she doesn't want to talk about it. If you found out all of your friends were not doing so hot, would you really want to bother them with your problems? That's the thing with deep deep depression it makes you think the world would be better off without you. That you're a pest to your friends and family and that they would be happier without you, which isn't true, and even when you know that you can't stop thinking that anyway. Lily talks about depression like it's something easy to get over with, that if Luz just really sat down and talked about it, she'd instantly feel better and go back to her ass kicking self but that fact that she didn't Luz is now a terrible girlfriend.

Now, we all know how Lily deals with people who have crippling depression which to say she kicks them to the curb and dusts off her hands of the situation. Remember Lily broke up with someone who was in a horrible state of depression saying that she was being toxic and a waste of time, and to that, I say what kind of a cruel person ditches someone like that?

She calls Luz a shit person for having crippling depression for not talking about the root of her self blame. Luz has been keeping her role in helping belos with the mass genocide and other things a secret and lies because she believes the truth would hurt them more she's not being a shit person on purpose. Luz never expected her friends to paddle her bad behavior or to even shower her with affection she's expecting the opposite. She thinks that if she tells them the truth, they will look at her with disgust and leave her, you know, like the mind trap the collector put her in that showed her worst nightmare. That you would have known if you watched it!!!

Lily once again blames Dana for not having a crying scene when her show was canceled, and instead, we got a realistic depiction of crippling depression. She goes back on calling everyone in the fandom creepy fucks that like our slow burn hurt with no comfort fics and how we like it even more when it's with women and black people. Now I like my edgy fan fiction, and it's not because I like seeing black women getting tortured. I simply like it as an outlet. I like seeing strong men and other characters at their lowest. Seeing how people write out how they would react most of the stuff I read, I would never want to happen to me or my loved ones. Hell, if my friends tell me their in a depressed state, I'm not gonna leave them to dry (like some people).

Lily also really has the biggest balls to call professional writers bad when she only writes fanfiction she's done it with RS, ND, and Dana. As if she could do better. I write fanfiction, and I would never put myself up there with actual show writers and published authors she brings up her shit Star Wars fic, saying how her fan base around the story wanted to see the angst that she scrapped out then proceeded to call them all racist and sexist for wanting angst. This shows that her fic is so boring that people want to see more things happen.

And now we are finally towards the end of this garbage video, where she brings up how, in her personal life, she used to like being called names, and her "friends" told her it's just a kink and it doesn't mean anything but her therapist told her it's a problem she then goes onto say that she was making herself worse until she met people who loved her and that kink went away... now I'm glad she was able to fix her own problem, but that's not a universal thing. Some people need outlets, and kinks can sometimes help. It's not for everyone but to call people liars, freaks, and judge them for their own outlets is a fucked up thing to do.

Lastly, no writer has the intention of having their audience of kids jacking off to torture scenes. I think that says more about you, Lily, if that's what your conclusion was. The writers weren't freaks because you thought it was hot.

Do yourselves a favor and don't take mental health advice or writing advice from Lily.

[gryficowa]

The strangest thought came to me, related to "Islamist Terrorist Attacks", without further words: Depression

You're probably wondering what's the connection between depression and terrorist attacks? Well, depression can have many faces, including one where someone can kill someone or take other lives with them, along with the WTC, Islamophobia intensified, which led to the frequency of terrorist attacks, those who have experienced discrimination know, that one of its effects is mental problems such as depression, so yes, society has led people to a tragic mental state and washed away the guilt, instead of taking it too, because it's better to put it on the victim (Who may have done something unforgivable, but still, they created I)

Society, through its discrimination, has caused a person to have a bad mental state (And although I don't like it when people defend the torturer for this reason, the fact that people blame the Islamists themselves and deepen this problem changes the perspective, because if there was a white boy instead of the Islamist, then people to feel sorry for him and yes, white privilege… And misogyny, because in the case of women there is not as much sympathy as towards men)

Unfortunately, a chain has been created that we continue with our Islamophobia, leading the discriminated person to a critical mental state, which leads him to commit unforgivable acts, which leads to us blaming the entire group, and so it becomes a circle that does not want to end

As long as Islamophobia does not end, there will be terrorist attacks, we as people fuel it ourselves and blame God on innocent people, instead of taking some of the blame on ourselves and thinking about what to change in society to prevent it from happening (No Islamophobia, because she is guilty of it)

Islamophobia is not just a problem for Muslims, it is a problem for all of us

We must end this chain before there are even more victims

Since the WTC, people have dehumanized Muslims, which unfortunately can be seen today in what is happening in Palestine and Burma (And on the Polish-Belarusian border, yes, I will not stop mentioning it because it is sick), has shown this problem more widely (Which is ignored by people, because they must have a chochoł, because they can't live without it)

This thought reached me especially in Europe, where this shit has reached, and with it terrorist attacks, Islamophobia is a beast that lurks and then I wash my hands when something bad happens, seeing Islamophobia in my country (And being terrified by it, because even though I am an agnostic raised in Christianity, such hatred towards people is terrifying for someone who knows the history of the Holocaust)

No one deserves such hatred, and the worst thing is when this hatred comes from a group that was the victim of the same thing, yes, I'm talking about Jews, specifically Zionists, there is nothing more disgusting than a victim of discrimination that discriminates against others (Like gays discriminating against trans people, like Asians discriminating against black people etc…) and spreads propaganda itself, which is not true about a specific group

What is happening today to Islamists is not much different from what was done to Jews and it should terrify us, not be a reason to be proud, it is sick that we strive to dehumanize people and we are proud of it, it should not happen

Unfortunately, we still have constant victims of discrimination that are not new… LGBT+ people, people use Nazi rhetoric (Yes, calling gays "Unnatural" is one of them) and I see it in Poland, which is horrifying because of the context of the Holocaust, and many Poles are denied other victims than Jews and Poles, which is terrifying

We let fascism come back and it's fucking terrifying

[emblazons]

Saw this post and article (not for the first time, but for the first time related to Stranger Things) and started thinking.

Thinking about how M*leven's relationship (at least at the start) is the full embodiment of the "Born Sexy Yesterday" trope in the way that even its existence is a play on the relational and sexual insecurity of nerdy and insecure young men.

Thinking about the way Mike kissing El when she has no idea what romance means is literally this trope watered down because they're younger...and you can't deny its rooted in insecurity either, because even the pitch of the show says that Mike has a lot of insecurities he thinks will be resolved by the presence of a girl.

Thinking about how a lot of people who struggle with social relationships and romantic endeavors for the same reason have projected the same fantasy of "Born Sexy Yesterday" onto Mike and Eleven's romance...even though The Duffers have repeatedly made clear their plan is to subvert the trope by giving El autonomy and independence...and showing us that they don't view women as a means to cure insecurity in men...even in science fiction.

Thinking about how the reason people don't want Mike to be queer or M*leven to break up is because Mike is the one who represents the "gets the girl in spite of his rampant lack of desirability" in science fiction, and Mike not getting the girl means that a show they've projected onto is throwing a mirror in their face and saying "this wasn't right when he did it, and its not right when you do."

Thinking about how the more Eleven gains autonomy--the more she hangs out with Max (which also leads to Mike feeling insecure)--the more their relationship crumbles, because El no longer needs the insecure boy to lead her, or to give her insight into the world....which is core to this relationship trope's survival.

Thinking about the way the only thing Mike says about El is that she's his "superhero," because he never learned to view her as a whole and autonomous person--the exact same way this trope does to its female love interests. About how we know this for a fact, because Mike coming to terms with the fact that the naive girl he tried to use to fill his insecurities no longer exists or needs him is what the entirety of his first digression monologue to Will is based on in the van...including the line that made this explicit, though its been moved to the subtext again in the show itself.

Thinking about media illiterate people who think the "trope subversion" in Stranger Things is El being the one with powers isn't a subversion at all, because science fiction has been doing that shit for half a century by making women entirely out of men's leagues their partners by making them naive to the world...which is why people expected the same from Mike and Eleven after Season 1.

Thinking about why people pointing out that S4 "showing the cards" meant of Mike and El's crumbling relationship, El's full fledged autonomy combined with her now losing (removing the superhero effect even more effectively than her losing her powers did) on top of Mike having feelings for another guy is so angering for people--

--because the characters they thought were filling their toxic trope fantasies were actually turning into something else: a girl with a full independent identity and autonomy...and a boy who learned how to view his partner as an equal...once he realized he was actually in love with another boy.

The only way to deny this is to either be entirely unaware its happening or deny the subtext of this trope being turned upside its head...which is also why they probably hate people talking about subtext, right before screaming "its not that deep."

But I mean. You didn't hear it from me. ☕️

[sophieinwonderland]

pissgenic changed their URL to syscourser-against-misinfo jsyk.

they posted something about DID being trauma based when (shocking ik /s) that's fact and what people are arguing is that one part of the disorder of DID is not exclusive to DID (aka SYSTEMHOOD).

like, yeah, no shit ofc trauma makes you have worse memory and big amnesia barriers that give you the criteria of DID. if you're a system but dont have trauma then you dont have the disorder.

i want to scream atp

Yeah, even as someone who believes DID can exist without trauma, my own opinion is that it's going to be so rare as to be statistically insignificant.

I do think the biggest stickler there is going to be the amnesia criterion as you say. There just isn't any research into systems, including OSDD systems, who don't meet that criterion.

I want to note a few things myself from that post in addition to your points.

Math Stuff

The percentage here is 1% of the general population. If we assume Tiktok as a perfect representative sample of the general population...

There should be 1.35 million Tiktok users with DID from the United States alone. This isn't including OSDD or Partial DID. Nor other forms of plurality.

Between January and March of 2023, 14 billion videos were uploaded.

This means, statistically, 144 million TikTok videos should have been made by DID systems in that three month period.

Putting this into perspective, the number of Tiktok videos made by people with DID (assuming that 1% of Tiktoks are made by people with DID) would be the equivalent to the entire population of Russia. In that three month period

"AFABs"

I don't understand why they pointed out this demographic when that's the demo most likely to have DID.

Different studies show different ratios, but with women (most of whom are AFAB) always being more likely to develop it.

By the way, Tiktok also leans female!

This means that this variable should increase the percentage of TikTokers with DID compared to the general population.

The Big Bang

I'd argue the only big bang is in awareness. If 1% of people have DID, then I think DID systems might be underrepresented.

If there's an increase in the number of people identifying as having DID, but that's still less than the 1% of the population who have it, then maybe that just means more people with the disorder are becoming aware earlier and more willing to talk about it openly.

And if a disproportionate amount of what you see on your home page is system content, as you suggest, this can easily be attributed to the algorithm.

People not in the system community would probably see little to no DID content.

This is really semantics.

John Locke defines a person as "a thinking intelligent Being, that has reason and reflection, and can consider it self as itself, the same thinking thing in different times and places."

I believe the explanation of alters in the above quotes meet that definition of a person under Lockian philosophy.

I also disagree with the idea that viewing alters as people is harmful. Viewing them as separate people can hypothetically foster both increased communication and empathy. (People tend to be kinder to others than they are to themselves.) This could aid in treating down dissociative barriers with the right mindset.

Current treatment does push parts philosophy, but treatment that leans into using person-philosophy to build empathy between members of the system hasn't yet been tested against it.

Personally, I'd love to see a person-based treatment plan devised, and an experiment conducted to determine which was most effective for the most people. As of this moment, any speculation as to which is healthier is based on opinion.

What?

The paper isn't supporting the sociocognitive model???

The sociocognitive model is the opposite of the trauma model, claiming all DID is created through fantasy! And it's clear from the moment this quote starts off calling it the "so-called" sociocognitive model that the paper isn't supporting it.

What I think they're thinking this is about is so-called "Imitated DID", which I've discussed the numerous flaws of extensively and in great detail:

Both of these are deeply flawed constructs. But DO NOT GET THEM CONFUSED!

They are incredibly different beasts!

The former claims DID isn't caused by trauma, while the latter was invented by psychiatrists to protect themselves from lawsuits from misdiagnosed patients.

[prince-liest]

Dr Prince! You have very effectively infected my brainslug with ‘Lady’s First’ (fire name, btw. the meaning hit me in the face when typing this and you would only know when checking the spelling) I can’t stop thinking about it.

Sorry beforehand, this may bully your inbox with a wall of text.

There are so many things I want to write and analyse about this, but right now I’d like to focus on Vox:

(also: feel free to ignore this if my insane ramblings go off the rails, lol, they tend to do that)

So I find it fascinating how both of them interact in this. Clearly they were talking about emotional and personal things way more than male Alastor. It’s very hard for me to put into words, not gonna lie. Vox, I feel like, has experienced a very different kind of ‘hell-socialisation’ in this version. Since it’s not ‘my gender is eldritch monster’ Alastor he’s looked up to but Alastor the woman who also happens to be the mighty Radio Demon, things turned out very different. 

We can all agree that friendships between men and friendships between men and women are different. We can’t forget that Vox is also playing a role here. His presentation is carefully crafted to be the ‘man’s man’. He is all ‘I’m going to present as toxic masculine as I have learned men to be during my lifetime’ -> probably very much imitating the way that his boss used to present. Because that’s what a man does, of course(lol)! The competitive edge, so to say, is missing that would be present between ‘old-boy’ male friends. This is laced with the fact that Vox is also queer as Hell and not immune to his own upbringing. So he was able to clock Alastor’s insecurity IMMEDIATELY and tried his best to dispel them (even though it was for different reasons than one might think initially). Because he’s probably been subject to the same thing when he was alive. (Again, ignore if I’m being stupid about this, it’s just my own interpretation and I’m INSANE)

Also it kinda feels like talking about feelings is something that comes more naturally to Vox and thus, things like him being transgender and them having talked about his vast collection of dildos beforehand is interesting but I also can’t quite put my finger on WHY, exactly. Is it because a male Alastor would have absolutely snooped around Vox’s room as well, taken note of the dildos and just not given a shit? I don’t know! And Vox being so soft and considerate throughout the whole thing hit me in the face out of left field, not gonna lie.

Now, coming over to Alastor for a moment. You can almost see the gears turning in her head that led to this decision. All the little hints beforehand and the interactions throughout. As you said: socialisation as a woman dictated to her that if she wants to have a meaningful friendship with a man, it is expected of her to give herself over. She clearly likes Vox enough but I think there are also other layers to this. There is also that “choosing a partner” vibe. She is just as curious and wanting to try things as her male counterpart. She also already knew she probably wouldn’t enjoy sex but she’s not above trying it out nevertheless -> combining all the things: Vox being a friend that is near and dear to her heart that she also doesn't feel ‘weaker’ to, if that makes sense. Vox can’t ‘take’ her power or perceived status away the same way a non-Overlord would in this scenario. I interpret/project a lot of “men sleeping around are heroes, women sleeping around are sluts” into this. Then there is Vox being trans and having had very similar socialisations during his lifetime. It almost created a safe space for Alastor. If it was going to be ANY man she was ever going to try this with, it would be Vox. (Of course that notion of ‘safety’ is a very flimsy and badly worded descriptor that goes out the window the second we bring hypnosis and the fact that they are DEMONS in HELL into the mix but I’m very bad at describing my thoughts in this otherwise) 

Phew. ok, so that was so many words to say: I love this stuff! 

Now I wish that it was a series but my brain already can’t comprehend how this masterpiece even saw the light of day so….

Thank you so much for this!

HENCHY THIS ASK WAS SO LOVELY <3 No apologies, I love long comments (though for continuous conversations I tend to start putting things under a cut, haha).

I think you're very on-point with a lot of this, especially with Vox feeling like a safe enough option that Alastor was able to get far enough as to try this in the first place. And it's not just because she thinks Vox understands where she's coming from, having experienced life "as a woman" (in Alastor's eyes, though that's not precisely actually true to the trans experience), but also because they're from similar enough time periods that she thinks Vox has a proper understanding of how things should be. Vox in this fic has been historically actively more respectful to Alastor in a very gendered way because he's socially canny enough to pick up on the fact that Alastor expects him to be, and he cares enough about what she thinks of him to continue behaving that way even decades after they met when it's not actually the 1950s anymore.

Chivalry is dead, but they're both in hell with it!

And talking about his feelings comes more naturally to Vox in this fic because he's talking about them to a woman rather than another man, so a lot of society's "men shouldn't have soft squishy feelings (unless it's to their mother or female significant other)" bullshit doesn't register, especially to a guy who, y'know, has a vested interest in performing masculinity "correctly." If that makes sense! >:D

Anyway, thank you so much! I didn't expect the sheer amount of interest and positive response that this fic would garner and it has brought me a lot of joy. I'm really happy that you enjoyed it!

[winns-stuff]

LO REMINDER:

Forever will absolutely despise both Hera and Hecate heavily because they were never the girl boss feminists that everyone believed them to be and they quite literally take the sides of men rather than their female peers. They’re the number one dick riders for Hades and both of them failed in actually supporting and taking care of Persephone.

Hecate was studying on Demeter’s land and utilizing her own resources from that said land and knew that Persephone was not supposed to be anywhere near Hades or the Underworld. Not only did she not reach out to Demeter once when her own daughter ran away, got stuck in the Underworld, and had a place to hide away from the feds but she also allowed this grown ass man to sniff around the very naive and gullible 19 year old Persephone. When Persephone was hibernating due to all of the stress and cold temperatures that both Hades and the Underworld brought her she never talked to Hades about cutting ties with her or supplying Persephone with an apartment by herself where she can get away from all the stressors she kept her near Hades at all times. She was also the second in command of ruining her social life, she encouraged Hades to do that dumbass eye pulling thing over someone he had no business knowing in the first place and she didn’t even apologize to Persephone at all. Hecate is the biggest op ever to Persephone, she never cared for her at all and she quite literally is just Hades’ hunting dog when it comes to vulnerable women.

Next is Hera, we all know why she failed Persephone multiple times but I’m gonna repeat them anyways because the amount of shit Persephone lets Hera get away with is actually criminal. First off we have to talk about the infamous match making thing, first of all she doesn’t even know anything about Persephone? She met her once at a party while she was drunk and another time when she was literally a fucking baby that’s the only flashbacks we have of her and Persephone interacting together so why would she be in such a rush to do this anyways. Besides the fact that Hera is literally picking Persephone’s own love life for her, the girl is 19 years old Hades even said so himself that she isn’t even old enough to handle the effects of magic why the fuck are you trying to hook up this (mortally) freshly new 19 year old with someone who’s old enough to be her uncles and great grandfathers? Another thing is the fact that Hera single-handedly forced Persephone to work in the Underworld despite not having any real friends, family, or other people there was actually fucked up of her in the first place. Once again, Persephone doesn’t have street smarts and she knows nothing of the Underworld and she’s a nature goddess as well, she’s literally made of fucking plants if she doesn’t have any sunlight she’s not going to do well which is why Persephone (used to be) is always cold when she went down there in the first place. Hera did not give a flying fuck about Persephone and she quite literally only used her as a puppet just so she can get over her own fling. Not only that but the fact that Hera was actively trying to find out what happened to Persephone by discussing it with other people and not even trying to question her is wild as well. Persephone’s assault is her business and if people that Hera questioned started to catch on and question Persephone about it I can imagine that that would probably trigger her. If Hera didn’t even want to see anyone while dealing with Kronos why not give Persephone that same privacy? Don’t even get me started on the dress thing too, I swear Hera acts exactly how everyone wants Demeter to act like. You cannot tell me that Hera isn’t Persephone’s overbearing mother who forces her to do things she doesn’t want to, puts an unbelievable standard on her, doesn’t let her make her own decisions, and keeps her in the dark about things.

Anyways, moral of the story here is that along with Hades these two deserve to be up there with the true villains of Lore Olympus because they’re quite literally just like Thetis but maybe even worse honestly. They both show us where their loyalty lies and that they care more about Hades’ feelings rather than Persephone so much so that they’d throw her under the bus without remorse if he asked them to.

[ovaryacted]

Now that I’m less…cranky…I do want to say a few things with a logical brain that I didn’t get to say before because all I’ve been doing is being upset so…this might be the last time I’ll talk about the aftermath of the election on here but we’ll see.

1. I truly do not understand why straight white women in particular are starting to talk about the 4B movement and supporting it when just the other day they were talking about “canceling their husband’s votes”. I’m so sick of this fake performative behavior that comes from white women concerning feminism when they know something will directly impact them. Obviously, this is a generalization because I know not all white women wanted Trump and sure I get some people are married to spouses due to financial reasons or are in abusive situations I’m not talking about them. But the fact that 53% of white women indiscriminately voted for that man for god knows why and NOW is when they’re scrambling is crazy lmao? Like what did you think was gonna happen? They’re always behind on things that Black women, indigenous women, and women of color have already been doing or warned them about. They’re too damn male-centered to acknowledge that they’re victims of the patriarchy and historically have prioritized their whiteness above all else.

2. The concept of Latinos for Trump quite literally doesn’t make sense to me. These dumbasses, probably mostly white Latinos at that because they hate Afro-Latinos, crave to assimilate themselves with white supremacy. But it’s so stupid it’s almost laughable I mean. These people don’t realize that they just gave up any chance they may have to get a path to citizenship, but because they think they’re the “good Latinos” and used the “legal” channels of immigration that somehow they’ll be saved. The problem with the possibility of mass deportations happening is that they won’t be able to tell who’s an immigrant and who’s a citizen. Latinos are so diverse, the dialects and cultures are all different across the board. Plus, they’ll only be going for the ones that look “Latino/Mexican” enough to deport them, they definitely aren’t going towards the Europeans that immigrated here on work Visas tho! Latine people sometimes are so ignorant it makes my head hurt, they’re willing to shame and snitch on their own families and relatives and put them in danger, but god forbid they actually get deported or worse now they wanna cry wolf? Okay. Don’t even get me started on the conversation about birthright citizenship, I’ll save that for another day.

3. I know a lot of people are joking and saying that they’re planning on leaving the United States and I get it, everybody is scared and they should be able to do what they think is right. But it’s just the fact that they’re saying this from a place of privilege, most people are one paycheck, one emergency away from being homeless or disabled. Most individuals don’t realize how expensive it’ll be to pack all your shit up and leave an entire country where you have no connections or safety net, and we don’t even know if other countries will start making it harder for Americans to travel abroad or just full on closing their borders to them. It is a luxury to leave, and people are here recommending Germany where literal Nazis are coming back? As if fascism and the imminent global catastrophe is inescapable. You can’t escape American imperialism and the destruction of the empire, it will be a domino effect all over the globe because the U.S. is everywhere, and we won’t know what will come afterwards. People have a right to stay here and fight for their livelihoods and they should, because really, where else is there to go?

I’m done chatting for now, I’ve been annoying all day sure and maybe I apologize for that. It’s been a very stressful, heartbreaking, tense day and I haven’t spoken to anybody about it so I’m talking about it here.

[failing-to-write-again]

Imagine Confusing the Sakamakis using Optical Illusions

"Vampires are basically an evolved predator species, so their eyesight is pretty different to ours. Turns out that if you put a big geometric shape right up close in their field of vision, it confuses the shit out of their brains and, you know, makes them panic" -Trevor Belmont.

So what Trevor speaks to there is motion dazzle, a theory as to why zebra have vertical stripes. Basically vertical stripes tend to confuse predator brains more than horizontal ones due to how our eyes work. And think to what crossed used to look like when Christianity was fancy:

[photo above of potential iron age stone cross, note the intricate geometrical knot design]

[Above is an example image of vertical stripes like a zebra being hard to look at for long periods of time]

Vertical and geometric patterns which could confuse predator eyes as they do not know where to focus for a few minutes. It's not a repellent more a delay of sorts. See how even human eyes can start to make weird splotches of ovals or shapes when looking at the vertical stripes?

So from what I know of the Sakamakis they were born around the time wooden crosses were more common for poorer folk, crosses which would have less of an effect. So they probably haven't actually interacted with a cross like that which could confuse em. So imagine a sacrificial bride showing the boys optical illusions and them realising maybe some of the vampire myths hold some weight. You are already starting to get Shu and Reiji to warm up to you. For simplicity’s sake below is the motion dazzle optical illusion you’ll use.

Shu

Slowly two blue eyes peak out at you when you plop down in the hallway across from one very sleepy blonde. “I wanna make a deal.” You sat in front of the sprawled out boy holding some paper, waiting for any indication it was safe to keep talking or to leave him to his music.

After a short stretch of silence you receive an eyebrow raise, leading you to push onward. “Can you look at a picture for me and tell me what’s in it? Same return as always you can suck my blood and I won’t struggle.“ A harmless task as always for a simple favor, a comfortable habit formed not long after your arrival. Shu was hardly complaining, you were certainly less dense than some of the other women sent by the church and knew not to ask too much from him. Slowly removing an earbud and shifting to not be as slouched against the wall behind him, Shu nodded finally giving full attention to the girl across from him.

Flipping up the card revealing the image, immediately you saw his eyes begin to dart about and his eyebrows furrow in confusion. You begin to smile realising you were right.

“Remember when I said how I was interested in why myths about vampires existed? You though it was all just nonsense but thanks to my biology essay we now know where the cross thing comes from.” Slowly lowering down the card and allowing his brain to calm down you explain.

“Your eyes are more like a predator than mine so optical illusions that match camouflage patterns like zebra, it scrambles your brain for a few minutes because your eyes don’t know where to focus.“ You looked awfully proud of yourself in Shu’s eyes. He almost had to admire the fact you had figured something out he had not yet experienced. You had not yet given up on trying to find small human joys or entertainment, it was almost cute,

You didn’t get much of a response though, already getting pulled into his lap allowing him to even the playing field with his fangs...

Reiji

Three gentle knocks sounded followed by the squeaking of hinges as Reiji opened the door. “You are on time,“ a simple statement neither praising nor scolding, but the best you could hope for from the bespectacled man. Tea times had once been a cause for much more fear than now, cups laced with potions being given to you once a week when you first came to the manor. However, after a failed potion allowed you to drink and converse normally with Reiji he had since lessened the drugging to a minimum. You weren’t daft enough to question his change of heart.

Sinking into the large armchair closer to the window you politely waited for Reiji to introduce that day’s tea. “I decided to go for a simple pomegranate tea after you mentioned not having an expansive fruit palate, if we are to continue these meetings your knowledge on beverages should be improved.” You thank him for his thought behind his choice as always, allowing the backhanded complement to pass by you.

From there conversation begins as to Reiji’s recent workings and the going on of the household until coming to your current reading.

“Well, as I mentioned before I want to look into the differences between humans and vampires and why so many myths you’ve said to be false have been made. I have actually made some progress on both in the library recently,“ you begin.

“Do go on, I am more than content to correct or verify any claims made in the library.“ Reiji sets down his teacup and crosses his legs, he looked both intrigued and unimpressed at the idea of you knowing details as to how he works.

“To put it simply, motion dazzle. The myth of the cross helping preventing vampire attack began back when Catholics made very ornate crosses for their churches, these would cause motion dazzle which could be confused with being God’s will. A simple cross won’t do much but I believe your predator based eyesight would potentially be distracted by these designs.“

“I highly doubt something that simple could confuse a being such as myself, I would remember to not shape your knowledge to fit our bias.”

“Well may I ask you to see if I am right at all?“ Pulling out a piece of paper and passing it face down to Reiji you simply wait for a response. Slowly taking the paper and turning it over, Reiji immediately gets a reminder as to why he stopped drugging you. You were not dull, you were sharp and would not believe something without proof and the way a headache was beginning to form between his eyes and his inability to focus fully on the image was certainly disproving his statement. A hand coming in to block the image allowed Reiji to snap out of his thoughts. You weren’t smug however, much to your benefit, not saying anything as you moved to sit back down. At least that was what you attempted before you were moved faster than you could process to be sitting in Reiji’s chair as you hands were pinned to you sides.

“You’re lucky you at least asked before pulling such a stunt. However, I cannot excuse you trying to act above your station. You are a human, you are easily toyed with and you obviously need to be reminded of this.“ Leaning forward and burying his fangs in your neck, you knew better than to argue back while his ego was bruised like this.

Yet it didn’t elude Reiji how he had not bitten as hard as he could, and his knee hitting the floor as he drank leaving him in a position he would rather be caught dead in. Kneeling...

Well I cannot write anymore tonight. If this is interesting enough to anyone to want more of the boys I can certainly try to write more. I just thought this was a neat headcannon lol.

[louisisalarrie]

Hii... Hope you're well:)

So i was wondering about louis' fanbase. From what i've seen a lot of them, even if they believe freddie is his kid, don't seem to care that much about his sexuality no? Like in harry's fanbase most girls want him to be straight and believe he is. However i haven't seen this happen a lot in case of solo louies.

heya!!! hmmmm I would have to disagree with this one, I think. also this turned into a bit of a welcome to the show moment. so, anon, welcome to the show!

believing F is Louis’ kid is an acknowledgement of his sexuality being anchored, somewhat, towards women. Some may believe he is bisexual/fluid and accept that, but there are a lot of louies who are straight up just against the idea, and some that are pretty neutral. Their main argument is that he does have a kid, which means bbg did its job, and proved to be effective with a new, and expanding, audience that didn’t see him grow throughout 1d.

I’m not in any way suggesting that I strictly for a fact know that Louis isn’t bi or doesn’t have an interest in women, because that’s not been disclosed. However, I would lean towards the fact that he is only interested in men, due to the things I’ve heard, his obvious contrast of behaviour when around them, the amount of and degree of stunts including the party boy louis push, and his mannerisms compared to when he’s around women. So, not only do I believe he doesn’t have a kid, but also that he’s not interested in women.

And I do think there are neutral solo louies who are just like “yeah he could be queer, but that’s none of my business”, but there have been a lot of louies who actively attack people even entertaining the thought. Also, it’s more the idea that he’s ever been with Harry, that they reject. Which is bizarre, like, you believe he may be interested in men, but god forbid it’s Harry?? They pair him with absolutely anyone but him. I’ve had them in my inbox, it’s chaos hahaha.

And same goes for solo harries. There’s this toxicity around the idea of larry, but a lot of them seem to be fine/neutral with the idea of Harry being queer. Though, he again, could never be with louis. It’s truly just… baffling, but also, a lot of these folks didn’t watch them through their journey, a lot of them even refuse to acknowledge 1d because it’s still “not cool” to love a boyband. I’ve seen some absolute gross shit said about both louis and Harry’s time in 1d, but these people don’t care. They’re focused on their fave solo career.

Anyway, this also relates to the very stark contrast in Harry and louis’ images right now. Seeing louis smoke, both pot and cigarettes, and drink, in comparison to Harry who we never really see that side of, is a divide between “wholesome and healthy”, and “laddy and rock and roll”. It’s dark tracksuits and singlets, and it’s bright colours and more feminine/non traditional outfits. It’s louis not talking a hell of a lot on stage to show his personality more, and Harry blocking out parts of his show just for crowd interaction. It’s Harry waving rainbow flags and louis not doing that. It’s louis “having a kid” and not being super active in his life, and Harry not having that extra weight on his shoulders. People seem to take louis’ image at face value a fair bit, and solo harries use that against him. So I’d say it’s a little bit more of the opposite of what you’ve said above.

I dunno, at the end of the day, we’re not gonna see the truth of these fans and how they react, until there is a coming out, in my opinion. Some people will turn against them, some will just be like “ok cool”, and some will rejoice. It’ll all come out in the wash.

Louis being stunt free, apart from bbg, for a while, has been good though. Once they drop that from his career, it’s a slow seeding. It’s the last thing they need to do before a CO. and if they drop bbg, get the boys (Harry particularly) back involved in louis’ life to “support” him through such a wild time, it’ll just be growing to a CO from there. Particularly now that Harry’s publicly single now. It’s the last step, and they can do it positively for louis, and in turn, positively for Harry, and combine the fandoms a little more which will HOPEFULLY stop so much aggression between us and the solos.

Anyway sorry this kind of evolved into something else but thanks for the inbox, anon! <3