#it's like women are being blamed and expected to answer but no the men

[radical-thots]

It’s very telling that Brie Larson was asked the Johnny Depp question but none of the men present were. 

[ozzgin]

hi! I'm the anon who said that Daitou is my #1 sweetheart, and I saw your post talking about time-skip Daitou kind in dilf vibes... I'm interested, take all of my money right now !!

also wondering how Daitou would react with a darling who wants kids 💭💭 imagine of she is having a hugeee baby fever ( not me projecting whattt)

Turning this into a general "Would the yakuza men want children?" and other bedroom habits. There's a more detailed answer for Daitou here. Content: female reader (pregnancy talk), mildly NSFW, fluff

You may think of Boss as old-fashioned, but he's seen a fair amount of depravity back in the day. Before gambling was deemed illegal in Japan, he'd owned several casinos in big districts like Ginza and Kabukichō, and consequently spent a lot of time in various parlors. Unlike many of his men, however, he never really cared much for adult entertainment. In his drunken rants he used to say that women would be his downfall, and no one would want to be involved with him, anyways.

He might be into you calling him daddy, although you should expect a lot of dad jokes to go with it. He’s a silly old man like that. Could be interested in shibari, because it takes a lot of patience and skill and he’d probably enjoy taking his time and gazing at you after each knot. It’s quiet and intimate, and he gets to tease you about it afterwards, especially if it’s an arrangement to go under your clothes. “What’s the matter, (Y/N) love? Tongue tied?”

His recurring humor around his age makes you wonder if he’d even be interested in children. When you finally bring up the topic, Boss is very casual about it. “Sure”, he’ll say with a grin, “whatever the missus wants.” You suspect he’s not taking you seriously, but after settling you on his lap and having a hearty laugh about it, he’ll conclude, this time with confidence: “Have a look outside this room. See all those rascals? I raised them! Ya think I can’t handle a bunch of kids?”

Daitou can be surprisingly (and unintentionally) kinky, especially if you encourage him to. He’ll apologize the day after for being too rough, even if you tell him it's fine and you quite literally asked for it (See Valentine's Day incident). Overall, though, I’d say it depends entirely on you. He can be dominant or submissive, according to your wishes. You can go all out with him, he’s sturdier than most and takes great pride in it. If you’re into more extreme hobbies like knife play, you’re certainly in good hands.

Daitou lives in the moment and hasn't really planned too far ahead. Such is the life of a yakuza: you never know when you might lose a limb or more in the next gang fight. He's therefore quite surprised by your proposal of having children in the future. Is it even something realistic for someone like him? On the other hand, it's hard to refuse that enthusiastic smile you're flashing at him each time the topic comes up. "Do you, uh...", he begins one day while looking at baby toys in the store. He fidgets with his prosthetic eye nervously. "Do you really think I'd make a good dad? Heh."

Kazuya can be quite kinky and loves teasing you in public about it. Last time you were hanging out with him and his underlings, you happened to pass by a park bench you'd recently used during your nightly strolls together. “This location is familiar”, he’ll hum with a smirk. “Isn’t this where we…ah. Nevermind.” Despite your frequent protests, he always struggles to keep his mouth shut. Can you really blame him for wanting to brag to others? You're an undeniable catch.

"Kids?" he repeats with a raised eyebrow. Good question, although something he's considered many times already. What, you thought he wouldn't notice your curious glances whenever some woman walks by with a baby stroller? He pretends to ponder your suggestion and declares after a long moment: "Well, you'd certainly make a great milf, and I obviously can't have anyone else do the honors." He picks you up with a mischievous grin on his face. "When do we start?"

[Main Story] | [More Yakuza]

[queenofallimagines]

Bruce Wayne x Fem reader

Shuffles in nervously 👉🏿👈🏿 hiii

A/N: listen,,, I’ve been writing fic fie the requests and then I was dragged kicking and screaming into Bruce Wayne’s arms. Nothing I love more than a tired depressed Dilf✨ got a lot more things sitting in the drafts because it’s SO good to do a character study on them and Damian is next I think he should have a cool stepmom. Bruce Wayne I can read your mind🗣️

Cw: ambiguous age but not explicable age gap so imagine what you will, the batfam are WEAK to black women but it’s pretty ambiguous in writing, fellow vigilante reader, Bruce is shit at feelings and can’t communicate, Fem reader, Bruce thinks with his dick before his trauma, his kids are nosey as fuck. oh and like mentions of aphrodisiac chemicals used but only once or twice.

Summary: Bruce could only internally groan at his predicament. He wasn’t to say he’s not sure how he got here but he knows exactly how he ended up here. He’s too grown for a one night stand.

Bruce Wayne:

"—told you they stayed the night!"

Bruce wakes to the muffled voices of giggling adolescents. Terrible timing. Dread settles into his gut as his bleary eyes snap open.

Bruce's biggest mistake was bringing you home. Blaming it on the chemicals he and his fellow vigilante crashed into last night would be convenient. But truthfully, both of you consented before those substances burned through your inhibitions, landing you in his king-sized bed, engaging in activities that his hyper-aware mind keeps replaying. Now is not the time to reminisce, not with the voices of his kids echoing outside. He swallows a groan. You'd think he trained all that boyish cheek right out of them, because that is not how one conducts reconnaissance. He'd do the shameful thing and sneak out, but alas, this grand manor belongs to Bruce.

….Maybe he can politely kick you out without incurring Alfred's wrath and enduring hours of lectures on dignity and respect—two things Bruce has little of at the moment. The scent of coffee and toast wafting in from the doorway indicates that Alfred set up a snack cart outside his door—a subtle reminder to behave. Bruce grimaces. Damned Englishmen and their inane concept of manners. Shifting on the bed, he keeps his eyes fixed on your head and not the bare expanse of your skin that he touched. A lot. He left—his dignity won't allow him to call them 'hickeys' because grown men don't do hickeys—various passion marks on your skin.

This time, Bruce can't quite stifle his groan. He's too old for a one-night stand.

"Christ," he grunts quietly, knowing divine intervention won't be coming.

No one said Bruce Wayne ever had a proper love life. Still, he'd take any endless rant from Gordon about Nightwing's countless motor vehicle violations over his children confronting him. At your groan, Bruce's tense shoulders relax slightly. Part of him expected you to be one of those people who woke up ready to take on the world—another reminder of Bruce's age. When you shift, his muscles tense again. Bruce clears his throat, voice gruff. "Morning," he rumbles, before he's tempted to do something less than honorable. The noise, followed by shifting sheets, pulls attention to you stirring. In the soft light, you look soft and relaxed in his bed, like you belong here.

He knows that's a dangerous thought to entertain.

Bruce says and does nothing as your eyes flutter open, blinking blearily and trying to piece together the circumstances of the previous night. He looks at you for a moment, contemplating whether he can get away with offering you money to keep quiet.

“Mmmmorning..”

That yawning stretch is both distracting and endearing. It's unfair. Bruce watches your movements, taking in every detail from the slight dip of your spine to the flutter of eyelashes. It's a sight he'd become intimately acquainted with.

"Sleep well?"

He asks, already knowing the answer. Even if you slept like a log, your body would be sore from being tangled in him all night.

“Mhm.”

If you weren't so drowsy, you'd notice his jaw clench at the sight of the sheets pooling around your hips, exposing your bare chest. Like most things, it's unfairly alluring to Bruce.

"You've got a choice of coffee or orange juice," he says, nodding at the cart a couple steps from the bed. His voice is still gruff.

“Orange juice please.”

Bruce rises from bed, unashamed at his own nakedness. He crosses to the cart, ignoring the faint twinge in his muscles, and pours you a glass of orange juice. A glance back reveals you sitting up against the pillows, wrapped in his sheets like a makeshift toga. He's never seen a more enticing sight in his life. Bruce ignores the impulse to push you back down and take you again.

"Here."

He returns to the bed and offers you the glass.

“Thanks.”

Bruce watches you drink. Another mistake. He can't help imagining how that mouth felt on other places, wrapped around and- Gods. Not the time. He should've given you a robe or something. Those sheets aren't hiding much and your sitting against the pillows has the fabric slipping lower and lower- He clears his throat, trying to rid his mind of dirty thoughts as he sips his coffee.

"You're welcome," he mutters. There's a satisfied, primal part of his soul that preens knowing that you're still in his bed, his sheets draped over you like a claim.

"Did you...have fun last night?"

He cringes almost immediately afterward. Bruce's pillow talk is abysmal.

“what…?”

The events slowly coming back to you, playing behind your eyelids like a movie. A noise of realization leaves your throat as you nod. Under usual circumstances you’d would be embarrassed beyond belief but after having slept so good and still being tired you can’t really find it to care

“oh yeah. I did. ‘t was ‘fuckin amazing.”

Bruce can't help it when his lips curve in response to your praise. You're still in his bed, still wrapped in his sheets, and now telling him he was amazing in bed—damn his ego for being so smug.

"Mm, I'm glad," he hums, taking another sip of coffee. He sets the cup on the bedside table and leans back against the pillows, eyeing you appreciatively.

"Are you... sore anywhere?"

“Nah, just all over.” Bruce can't help the satisfied smirk that crosses his face at your answer. Knowing he left you in a state of boneless bliss has that primal part of him preening again, like a pleased cat.

"Good," he murmurs, a hint of male pride in his voice as he gazes at you. "It... wasn't too much, was it?" Bruce swallows thickly, the urge to touch you growing. The kids are just outside the door. He shouldn't. He won't.

But maybe he can have just a little taste.

“It was, but in all the ways I like it so you’re good.”

Bruce can't stop the quiet groan that rumbles in his throat at your admission. You look a bit like a fallen angel, all debauched hair and sleepy eyes. The sight is almost too much for his self-control, more than you realized. He shifts subtly, adjusting himself under the sheets.

"I suppose that's a good thing, then."

He keeps his tone even, casual, but his gaze is hot and intense as he drinks you in. Bruce's gaze darkens at your answer. If it weren't for the kids and Alfred, he'd be on you in a heartbeat, pressing you into the bed, and leaving marks all over you that claim you as-- His jaw ticks at the possessive thoughts. No. Not the time. Later.

"Good," he repeats, voice gruff. Still, he makes no move to leave the bed. "You... don’t have anywhere to be?"

Bruce already knows the answer. It's a Saturday, after all.

“Aside from the mission last night my schedule is fully clear to my knowledge.”

Bruce nods in understanding, taking another sip of coffee. The image of your previous mission- that you both stumbled into- flashes in his mind: chemicals, a haze of lust, the taste of you on his lips. He pushes the memories aside as his gaze flicks to your exposed shoulder, then back to your face.

"So you can stay for breakfast," he says, keeping his voice steady even as he desperately fights the urge to pull the sheets off you and devour you. "Alfred is making pancakes."

“Mmm, I haven’t spoken to him in a while it will be nice to see his face again.”

Bruce's smile is a subtle, soft thing as you mention Alfred. The older man has served as a sort of parental figure in Bruce's life. Alfred and Bruce are like family, and hearing you mention his name sparks a warm sense of familiarity.

"He'll be happy to see you."

Bruce hesitates for a moment, a flicker of vulnerability in his gaze. "Do you... want to get up?" he asks, his meaning clear: ‘or do you want to stay in bed a bit longer?’

“….Not gunna lie I’d rather stay in bed a little longer. It’s so warm and comfortable the thought of getting up and putting on clothes sounds like torture.”

Bruce gives an almost imperceptible sigh of relief as you speak. Part of him expected you to get up the minute he mentioned getting dressed. But you don't. You didn’t. You want to stay in bed, and you have no idea how happy you just made him. With a smirk, Bruce reaches out, sliding his hand under the sheet, and grabs your hip, pulling you closer. He doesn't miss the way the fabric slides farther down your torso, revealing more tantalizing skin.

"You are very articulate in the morning."

“Mmm I’m like barely awake right now honestly. Less of a filter or any sort of shame.”

Bruce smirks at your admittance. You're clearly still half asleep, your guard down, and more unfiltered than he expected.

"You're normally more stoic, less open," he muses, tracing his fingers lightly over your hip. "I like it. It's refreshing."

His eyes take in every inch of skin visible to him, making a mental note of the various passion marks he left behind. It makes him want to see how far down they go.

“I’m more relaxed now. And in a hell of a good mood.”

Bruce chuckles, the sound deep and rich. His hand continues to explore your skin, mapping every curve and contour with gentle, yet possessive touches. His thumb brushes over a mark on your skin, and his gaze darkens a fraction.

"And whose fault is that?" he muses, his voice a low rumble, the sound more intimate without the Batman modulator.

“Yours obviously. Haven’t felt this sore in a while. didn’t know I needed an attitude adjustment that bad.”

Bruce's smirk spreads into a wolfish smile as you mention your soreness. A sense of pride swells in his chest. Knowing he made you feel so good last night that your entire body aches from it makes that possessive part of him purr.

Bruce's touch wanders to your thigh, his hand trailing higher and higher up your skin, his eyes fixed on yours as he speaks:

"I’d be happy to give you another one."

“Yeah? jeez going to tire me out before it’s even noon? Didn’t really expect that from you, B.”

Bruce’s expression is somewhere between a cocky smile and an affectionate smirk. It's almost like he's challenging you. The way you say his nickname in such a low, sultry tone is driving him insane. He continues stroking your skin, his fingers tracing a path up the inside of your thigh.

"If it gets you moaning and crying my name again," he murmurs, his voice dropping in register, "then I think it’s worth it. Besides..."

Bruce's other hand reaches out, his fingers gently grasping your chin as he looks you in the eye.

"You underestimate me.” he rumbles, his hand still stroking your thigh. "I have excellent stamina."

“Ooh wow just like that huh? Ready to go in the morning again? Can’t even enjoy the next morning soreness before you need to start all over again. I won’t be able to walk downstairs to breakfast if you’re that insatiable….Never expected you to be the frisky type. Aside from the sexual tension breaking in the air last night I never got that vibe from you.”

Bruce laughs lowly in response, his hand still tracing over your skin. The sound vibrates through his chest. When your hair falls into your eyes, he gently moves it out of your face. He watches you through half-lidded eyes, his gaze dark and intense. Your words make him smile, and he leans closer, his thumb brushing over your jaw.

"You're a tease," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble. "You have no idea how much restraint it's taking me not to flip you over and show you just how frisky I can be..."

“Lord, don’t say that. My insides are getting flashbacks.”

Bruce’s laugh is sultry and almost sinister. Your words only feed his hunger. You’re right in front of him, skin bare and marked by his mouth, and still he can’t touch you the way he wants. The way he craves. He can’t give in. Not now. His lips brush over your neck, his breath warm against your skin.

"Mmm,” he purrs, nipping at your pulse point. "I can still taste you. All over my mouth. It's driving me feral."

“Jesus Christ B. You sure those weird chemicals we got hit with aren’t still in effect?.”

Bruce smirks against your neck, his teeth grazing over your pulse point. His hand continues to stroke your skin, his touch like a caress. His voice is low and rough with desire:

"I can promise you, it's all me."

He nips at your earlobe before pulling back, his gaze roaming over your marked body. He wants to add more. Leaving you marked, bruised, sore…

“With you talking like this, it’s a wonder we made it back here last night.”

Bruce releases a low, dark chuckle at your comment. The memory of last night, of stumbling into the manner, shedding clothes and tearing at each other’s skin, flashes in his mind. He doesn’t reply immediately, instead leaning down to press open-mouthed kisses up your neck. His voice is a warm, gruff whisper against your skin:

"It was a close thing, I won't lie."

“It still feels unreal almost, but you’ve got that same look in your eye you did last night. starving. I didn’t think my teasing would make you snap like that not gunna lie.”

Bruce hums against your skin, his lips trailing over your shoulder. The way you tease him is going to be the death of him. The sounds of your chuckles only add fuel to the fire. He can still feel the ghost of your nails digging into his skin, your moans echoing in his ears. He pulls back, eyes dark and glittering as he speaks.

"It took a lot of control, trust me," he says, his voice a low rumble. "If it were up to me, we never would have left that lab."

“Pfft, if it were up to you we’d never leave this bed.”

Bruce chuckles, his hand continuing to roam over your skin. The thought of spending hours, days, in bed with you is incredibly tempting, but he can't. The kids are right outside, and Alfred is waiting in the kitchen. Besides, he has work to do. He sighs, his thumb tracing a lazy circle on your thigh.

"I'd love to stay here forever," he admits, his voice low and rough, “But I'm afraid there are other responsibilities to attend to."

“There usually is-…. There are children behind that door.”

Bruce hears the hushed giggles and whispers on the other side of the door. He knows exactly what’s going on. He can feel the kids’ heartbeats through the wood, like a bat detecting its prey. They’re excited, curious. And they’ve likely been listening for the past hour despite him doing his best to keep his voice low to mask the conversation. Bruce sighs, his shoulders slumping slightly as he acknowledges the reality.

"Yes," he says, his voice dry. He glances at the door, then back to you. “There are kids behind that door.”

“I guess we have to get up then. Wonder if I can actually find all my clothes…”

Bruce’s lips twitch into a smirk at the thought of your clothes. His eyes trail over your naked form, taking in every tantalizing inch, then glance down to the floor. There is a trail of crumpled clothes leading to the bed. No doubt, you’ll have to walk through the minefield of evidence at some point if you want to get dressed. He sighs, sitting up in bed.

"Considering how fast we undressed, I’d say it’s going to be difficult.” He chuckles.

“Yeah I bet.”

Bruce’s eyes rake over your naked form, unabashedly appreciating the view as the sheets fall away. God, you’re beautiful. He has to force himself to look away before he snaps, ripping the sheets off the bed and pinning you back down. His voice is a gruff rumble as he responds.

"No fair," he mutters, reluctantly sitting up on the edge of the bed, his back to you as he tries to reign in his need to touch you all over again.

Chuckling you glance over your shoulder at him as you pick up your costume and start putting some pieces back on.

“Hey,don’t start pouting now. I agreed to stay for breakfast yeah? Can’t get rid of me that easily Bruce.”

His name rolls off your tongue teasingly. It had definitely been a surprise to find out Batman was Bruce Wayne last night but in the haze of trying to rip each others close off the surprise was lost. Even now looking at him like this you can’t help but see Batman and want to tease him. Saying his name felt forbidden in a way,making you want to say it more.

“Anyway, you should get dressed too.”

Bruce's shoulders tense slightly at the sound of his name falling from your lips. Hearing you say it is an odd juxtaposition. At this moment, sitting on his bed, he is Bruce Wayne, but the mention of his name has hints of Batman, Gotham, the mask. He glances over his shoulder at you as you get dressed. Bruce bristles at your teasing tone, his hands clenching into fists in his lap. The way you say his name in that sultry tone makes him want to throw everything aside and drag you back into that bed. But he doesn’t. He stays sitting on the edge of the bed, his back to you, his eyes fixed on the floor. He takes a deep breath before responding, his voice low and rough.

"Trust me, the last thing I want is to get rid of you.” he mutters, his jaw clenching. “I’m getting dressed.”

Bruce listens to the sound of clothing rustling, his back still to you. Part of him resents the fact that you’re getting dressed, leaving him here alone. He watches as you put on your clothes, covering up the marks he left on your skin. It sends a primal pulse of possessiveness through him. But he resists the urge to reach out and pull you back into his lap, or at the very least, make sure his mark is still clear on your neck. His jaw clenches as he speaks:

"I’m surprised they haven’t tried to barge in yet.”

“Hah! Even in a drug induced haze of lust I still remembered to lock the door. I wasn’t about to take that chance.”

Bruce huffs out a quiet laugh, a small smile on his lips. You’re as smart as you are beautiful. Locking the door was a wise decision. If you hadn’t, the kids would have been listening to a very different conversation for the past hour. He glances over his shoulder at you, taking in your now clothed form. It seems less appealing now that you’ve covered up the results of their night together.

"Impressive," he rumbles. You had the presence of mind to do that? While his brain was full of nothing but the smell and taste of you? He almost finds it adorable that you think you have such self-control. His lips twitch with a smirk, his voice a low rumble:

"You definitely have more control than I do."

“Once you have a situation happen like that once the anxiety never lets you forget. And doing it inconspicuously while not ruining the mood just was dumb luck on my part.”

Bruce snorts, a chuckle escaping his lips. You’re not wrong. One time was enough to learn that lesson. He knows that from experience. He should be grateful that you’re more reasonable than he is. It’s no wonder things with his previous conquests always ended the way they did. There’s a long, heavy silence as Bruce considers his next words. Instead Bruce sighs, standing up from the bed. He stretches his arms over his head, his bare chest on full display for you. He can feel the marks you left on his skin, stinging slightly in the air. He smirks at the memory of your nails raking down his back. He’s going to have a hard time keeping his hands off you in front of the kids, especially now that he’s had a taste of how good you feel. He groans quietly, running a hand through his messy hair.

“What’s up? I can tell you’re thinking thoughts with that look in your eye. Say whatever it is you’re thinking so hard about.”

Bruce notices your stare, the way your eyes drink in every inch of his exposed flesh. He doesn’t miss the way your eyes linger on his body, appreciating the view. His lips twitch into a smirk, a flash of possessiveness coursing through him. But he’s snapped out of his thoughts as you ask your question. He knows exactly what you’re asking. He looks at you, his gaze intense. He’s thinking of all the things he wants to do to you, all the ways he wants to touch you. But instead of saying any of that, he simply responds with a low hum. He should be grateful that you’re more reasonable and straightforward than he is. It’s no wonder things with his previous conquests always ended the way they did. There’s a long, heavy silence as Bruce considers his next words. He finally speaks, his voice a low rumble, his back still to you:

"You… You didn’t expect to see me again after this, did you?”

“Eh? I… don’t know what you mean?? We work together as vigilantes so it would be kinda stupid not to mention difficult to avoid you especially when you could find me anywhere I managed to hide in Gotham. You’re not exactly easy to run from. Even if it was some awkward tension i wouldn’t let that stop me from doing my job. I feel like that’s a dumbass question even for you B.”

Bruce clenches his jaw at your response. He knows you’re right. Working together as vigilantes would make it near impossible to avoid each other, especially in a city like Gotham. And even if you did manage to run, he’d find you. His eyes are narrowed as he looks at you, studying your nonchalant expression. He can’t tell if you’re being oblivious on purpose or if you’re just dense. His eyes searching your face for any hint of… something. What? He doesn’t know. But the way you answer his question with such plain honesty throws him for a loop. Usually, the women he sleeps with would want to forget about him. It was less messy that way. But here you are, talking about the work you do together like a conversation about the weather. Either way, his tone is a little sharper than he intends when he speaks.

“You’re not getting what I’m hinting at.”

“Please elaborate then because I didn’t understand that at all.”

Bruce huffs, rubbing a hand over his face in frustration. You’re being intentionally obtuse. It’s pissing him off, yet he can’t stop the surge of jealousy and possessiveness that he feels towards you. You’re still standing there, looking at him like you don’t understand what he’s saying. Part of him wants to grab you and push you against the wall, to make sure you understand his point clearly. But he doesn’t. You’re forcing him to be direct, to be open and explicit, and he doesn’t like feeling this vulnerable. He turns to face you fully, his arms crossing over his chest. His eyes are intense as he looks at you, his voice a low, tense rumble:

“You didn’t expect to still be speaking to me after tonight, at least not for anything other than work-related business. Right?” He lets out a long sigh, struggling to keep his voice even as he tries to make you understand.

He can just barely make out you tensing up in surprise for a second before shifting your weight to the other foot, expression not giving anything away.

‘You resist the urge to grit your teeth or give away any other actions on how you’re really feeling. It’s silent for a second before you exhaustedly roll your eyes.’

“Do we run into each other at all outside of work? I’m not changing my schedule.”

You’re internally sighing at the back of your mind. You’ve know better than to push against his typical self sabotaging nature. If he was going to push you away. You’d let him until he eventually comes back before the guilt of his actions eat him alive. You have seen him do it enough times to the people around him including the justice league and his kids. Mindful not to start an argument with his kids having their ears pressed up against the door probably trying their best to hear despite you both speaking lowly. You respond back in an equally sharp none keeping an air on nonchalance to mask the hurt.

Bruce clenches his jaw, a mix of frustration and jealousy coursing through him. You’re being infuriatingly stubborn, just like usual. He knows he should back down, let it go. But he can’t. Your words are like a barbed wire around his heart, tightening the more you speak. Your nonchalant attitude is irritating the hell out of him but also causing a wave of desire to shoot through him. How badly he wants to reach out and press you against the wall, to make you understand. But he doesn’t. Is it this annoying for others when he close’s himself off?

“No. You’re right, we don’t-“

“So then that answers your question. Wow you sure do overcomplicate everything.”

Your response only pisses him off more. He wants to grab you and shake you, to make you understand the point he’s trying to make. Yet, a part of him is surprised, impressed, and amused by your stubbornness. It’s just like you to take everything he says literally and not get the hint. His eyes narrow, a hint of annoyance and humor in his tone:

“You’re being deliberately obtuse. Don’t play dumb. It’s not a good look.”

“Boy, If you don’t speak plainly and make your point already.”

Bruce scowls back at you, not backing down from your glare. A part of him wants to back down, to avoid a fight. But the more stubborn part of him, the part that wants you to understand, won’t budge. He lets out an annoyed huff, his voice low and intense:

“I meant that, after tonight, I wouldn’t expect to see you again - on a personal level. As in-” He hesitates, struggling to find the right words. “Not just for ‘work related business.’ ”

“Wait you- Jesus Christ you are needlessly confusing and it’s so aggravating. That wasn’t my intentions at all. Like not even a little bit. At what point did you come to this conclusion in your own brain if I never said anything like that? I know your ass can’t read minds so who gave you this information? Because it’s wrong.”

Bruce scowls, his irritation peaking, his body tensing under your glare. His eyes narrow, the sharp edges of his jaw clenching. He’s annoyed by your stubbornness, by your inability to see what he’s trying to say. Your frustration makes his heart ache and his irritation flare. But your question catches him off guard. He doesn’t think before he speaks.

“No one had to give me that information. It’s just logical. How many of your one night stands do you see again afterwards?”

“Do you think you’re the same as them?? because this is a vastly different situation if you haven’t noticed.”

Bruce’s eyes narrow further at your response, his irritation growing. Part of him knows you’re right, that this situation is different. But his doubts and insecurities are flaring up, causing him to be more defensive and closed off than usual.

“It’s still a one-night stand, isn’t it? They usually end up not talking afterwards for a reason.”

“Bruce. This isn’t a regular one night stand. You’re jumping to hella conclusions, because I’m already thinking of the next time I can wake up in your bed.”

Bruce freezes, his body tensing at your words. He’s caught off guard by your bluntness, but also secretly pleased, excited even. He can feel something stirring in his stomach at the thought of you wanting to be in his bed again. He tries to hide it with a scowl, to keep himself under control. But your statement makes him want to grab you, to feel your body against his again. He doesn’t want you to see how much he’s affected by your words, so he grunts gruffly:

“Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“Aawww, don’t go shutting me out now! We just had a lovely night together followed by a soft morning after. Don’t start getting scared of being vulnerable now. I’ve already seen every inch of you nothing left to hide from me, love.”

Bruce huffs in irritation, his scowl deepening. He knows you’re right - you’ve already seen him in his most vulnerable state. His body, his scars, the pain and pleasure he’s felt in your arms. But he can’t shake off the feeling of vulnerability, of baring his soul to you. It’s not something he does lightly.

“I’m not scared, I’m being practical. It’s not healthy to get emotionally attached.”

“Ugh and here you go with that again. Humans aren’t meant to just go through life alone superhero or otherwise. It’s okay to admit you care about people. And too bad I’ve already gotten attached. After my attitude adjustment I’m going to be in the most pleasant mood for the next 5 business days.”

Bruce glares at you, his irritation growing with your nonchalant attitude. He’s frustrated by your stubbornness, your damnable optimism. He wants to push back, to make you understand the danger of getting attached. But your words cause his heart to skip a beat, his chest tighten with emotion. He clenches his jaw, struggling to keep himself in control.

“This isn’t a joke. Relationships don’t work for me. I can’t afford the risk-“

“Blah blah blah. Yeah, I know and I’m not letting your paranoia self sabotage yet again. Go ‘head and schedule me in for 11:30 on Tuesday by the way. You can’t escape me or my affections, not that I was stingy in giving it to you anyway.”

Bruce lets out a frustrated huff, his scowl deepening at your dismissive wave. How easily you just brush off his concerns, ignore his past experiences. He doesn’t want to admit how much he’s tempted to give in to you. To hold you against him, to taste your skin again, to feel your body writhing under his touch.

“It’s not paranoia, it’s experience. It’s logic, practicality. The city need-.”

“The city needs you to get laid. You think people wouldn’t immediately vouch for Batman to get his dick wet?? Like why jinx it? You and your annoyingly exhausting self sabotage destructive tendencies are truly tiring for everyone around you to constantly be the victim of. And then you feel guilt which makes you repeat the cycle all over again. You deserve to be happy too?? Not sure anyone’s told you that before.”

Bruce’s irritation turns to frustration as you list off his flaws. As if he’s not fully aware of his own issues, as if he doesn’t hate himself for them. As if it’s a choice. He clenches his jaw, his body tensing further as you continue your lecture.

“You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t know I’m the one that causes problems, that hurts people? You think I’m not living with the guilt every goddamn day?”

“Yeah and it’s making you go through this exhausting cycle. Allow me to at the very least snap you out of that for a while. Normalcy would be good for you….Also me and Alfred have been talking about you needing it for ages now-“

Bruce’s irritation immediately turns to surprise and embarrassment as you mention Alfred. Of course Alfred would be behind this. He can’t help but wonder what you’ve been saying to him and what you’ve been scheming. The thought of you two talking about his personal life causes his heart to skip.

He scowls, his voice frustrated, defensive, and mildly defensive as he crosses his arms over his chest:

“What exactly do you two talk about?”

“You and your shenanigans.”

Bruce lets out a huff, his irritation growing once more. It’s bad enough that you’re pushing his boundaries and questioning his decisions. But the fact you’ve been talking to Alfred about it, that you’re both ganging up on him behind his back, makes him feel outnumbered, vulnerable.

He glares at you, a mix of frustration and vulnerability evident in his voice:

“I do not have ‘shenanigans’.”

“Yes the hell you do. Also do you like dark blue? Or black better?”

Bruce’s scowl deepens at your persistence. He doesn’t like being ganged up on, and now you’re talking about colors? He looks at you, slightly bemused, still frustrated but also curious.

“What does it matter to you what color I prefer? How did that even come up in conversation?”

“Because I’m thinking of what to wear for Tuesday. So what color?”

Bruce’s irritation eases slightly at your question. He’s momentarily thrown off guard by the realization that you’re already planning for the next time you see each other. He looks you up and down, taking in your appearance, his gaze lingering on your curves longer than it should.

“Black.” he grunts out, trying to hide the hint of desire in his voice.

“Got it.”

Bruce swallows, his gaze not leaving your body. He notices the way your curves fit your clothes, the way your muscles move under your skin. He can barely restrain himself from wanting to reach out, pull you close, and feel your body pressed against his again. His voice is low, a hint of desire in it as he speaks:

“Why are you even asking me about colors?”

“Because. I want to wear nice lingerie under my clothes so I figured I’d ask what color before I go choose an outfit myself.”

Bruce’s heart skips a beat, his body tensing at your words. The image of you in black lace under your clothes is almost too much for him to handle. He swallows, trying to keep his composure but almost failing.

He scowls, trying to hold on to his stubborn resistance, his voice gruff and strained:“Why do you care what I think?”

“Huh? Because if I’m going to show up to get fucked stupid I want to at the very least look nice.”

Bruce lets out a huff of frustration, his annoyance returning in full force. He can practically hear the eye roll in your voice. How are you so damn confident and stubborn at the same time? It drives him crazy.

“You always look nice. You don’t need to wear fancy lingerie or anything for me.”

“Yes, but I rarely have a reason to wear them so let me have this and just enjoy it when you see it. And thank you.”

Bruce rolls his eyes, still trying to resist giving in to you. But the image of you in black lace is still stuck in his mind. It’s making it increasingly more difficult to not act on his desire for you.

“Fine. I’ll look forward to it. But don’t get too cocky just because one night together went well.”

“I’m confident the next night will be equally if not more electrifying.”

Bruce lets out a huff, his irritation fading once more. Your confidence and stubbornness are exhausting, but he can’t deny they’re also endearing. He’s starting to question his own resistance to this situation.

“Cocky, aren’t you?” he grumbles softly. His heart is beating too fast for comfort, his thoughts swirling with images of you, bare and writhing under him in lace.

“Absolutely. If you think I can’t feel your eyes burning a hole through clothes from here you’re dead wrong.”

Bruce doesn’t answer immediately. He’s caught, guilty as charged. His gaze has indeed been roaming over your body, taking in every curve, every muscle. He can’t deny he wants you again, badly. Your confidence just makes him want you even more, and it’s driving him crazy. He scowls, pretending to look away as if he wasn’t just mentally stripping you with his eyes.

“Shut up.”

“mhm, let’s go get breakfast. I’m actually hungry now and teasing children will not deter my stomach.”

Bruce grunts, still a little flustered and frustrated with your confidence and stubbornness. But he admits that he’s a little hungry too.

“Fine. We can go to the kitchen. The brats will be there and we’ll have to deal with their stupid comments.”

He stands and starts heading out of his room, with you following behind him.

“And quit calling them children. They’re like 18-26 years olds.”

“And yet they were outside the door giggling and whispering like 7 year olds.”

Yeah, this will be a long morning indeed..

This was the cute version. The other versions is longer and Bruce fucks you like a man possessed😔✊🏿 wasn’t sure if I should post that one or this so here’s a little snippet of that:

“Mkay…. next time leave it in when we go to sleep. Feels ‘snicer that way.”

Jesus Christ-.

Bruce's breath hitches, a low growl slipping past his lips before he can stop it. He forces himself to focus on your sleepy glance, watching you nuzzle into his chest like a content puppy.

He shifts his body, trapping your hips with one muscled thigh, his grip on your hip tightening.

His voice is roughened, filled with desire.

"That an invitation, sweetheart?"

“mhm. You can do it even when I’m asleep I trust you.”

Christ, you're going to be the death of him.

Your sleepy admission to trust him makes his chest ache, a pang of something he refuses to acknowledge hitting him right there. You sound like you mean it, too. Bruce lets a low, strangled moan slip, nuzzling your hair and wrapping his free arm around your middle.

He presses a kiss to the top of your head, his hand going even lower, possessive and greedy.

"Can I, right now?"

“Yeah.”

God.

He’s going to start calling you a vixen instead of sweetheart, with those bold little words. Every breath of yours against him feels like a flame to the gunpowder that’s his body. He lets out a hoarse sound, part of him still in disbelief that this is happening.

“You drive me insane,” he grumbles, his low voice filled with unbridled desire. But even after everything, even after a night of letting instincts take over, a night of being completely open and vulnerable with someone, Bruce hesitates.

He needs for you to be sure, for you to want this, even if you’re only half awake.

He keeps his hand on your hip, his other hand gently tilting your chin up so he can look at you, his eyes meeting yours.

“Tell me you want this, sweetheart. Tell me you want me.”

“Bruce if you don’t fill me up and stop waking me up from sleeping I’m going to be real irritated.”

His breath hitches. Hard.

Bruce grits his teeth as he growls, feeling the last of his self-control drain away. He can’t hold in his possessive desire anymore, not with you looking up at him, needy for him.

He’s not a good man, he might even be a bad man. But you look at him like he’s your everything, and it drives him over the edge. His grip on your hip tightens, his breath hot against your ear.

“Can’t have you irritated, sweetheart.”

His voice is deep, roughened, the sound of it sending shivers down your spine.

He grabs your leg, slinging it further up against his body. His eyes are dark, nearly feral as he kisses right below your ear, his teeth nipping your skin. His voice is deep, roughened, the sound of it sending shivers down your spine.

“I’m gonna take care of you, sweetheart. Gonna make sure you feel good.”

He tightens his grip on your hip, his other hand tilting your chin up. His lips brush your ear as he growls between ragged breaths,

“Close your eyes, sweetheart. I’ll make you feel good .”

“Bruce’s heart clenches at your sleepy little nod. How did he end up here, this morning, in bed with you, feeling more real than he has in years? He doesn’t know, but he’s not going to question it.

He tightens his grip on your hip, his other hand tilting your chin up. His lips brush your ear as he growls between ragged breaths, “Close your eyes, sweetheart. I’ll make you feel good.”

Your surrender, even in your sleepy state, makes his chest tight. He can’t remember the last time he’s felt this wanted.

He presses his lips against your skin, leaving a trail of kisses across your jaw, your neck, your collarbone.

“Good girl. Stay just like that.”

His hands glide and roam across your body, touching and caressing you, wanting to re-familiarize himself with the curves of every inch of you. He’s possessive, a bit rough, even. He needs to remember every inch. He needs to touch you, to make sure you’re real and not a mere dream that’ll disappear the moment he wakes up. His mouth never strays far from your skin, as if starved for the taste of you. He’s almost feverish in his desire, his hands and mouth working to find every sensitive spot that makes your breath hitch and your body arch. He’s hungry, needy, desperate to keep you in his arms, to make everything else fade away besides the feeling of your skin against his.

Feeling a familiar ache in his core he sucks more bruises into your skin. keeping your leg resting where it is he shudders as he reaches down to press into you. an unholy sound crawls out of his throat as his entire body shudders. it feels like his entire body is engulfed in flames and he doesn’t mind burning up. Biting down on his lip hard as he feels you react in your sleep, he distracts himself with kissing your scalp and holding you close. He can’t comprehend how you’re so cute and So sinful hair a mess on his pillows and you dead asleep.

His teeth leave dark marks on your skin, claiming you as his. His fingers dig into your hip, holding you close, anchoring himself to you as the fire burns hot between his legs. He can hear his heartbeat in his ears, the sound of your name on his lips like a prayer.

“I can’t… I need…” He doesn’t even finish his sentence. He just moans, low and guttural, his breathing ragged and rough. His teeth leave dark marks on your skin, claiming you as his. His fingers dig into your hip, holding you close, anchoring himself to you as the fire burns hot between his legs. He can hear his heartbeat in his ears, the sound of your name on his lips like a prayer.

“You’re so good, sweetheart. So perfect. So goddamn mine, whether you realise it or not.”

He nuzzles your hair, his eyes closed as he relishes the feeling of your warmth against him. He nuzzles your hair, his eyes closed as he relishes the feeling of your warmth against him.

[femsolid]

Sometimes I answer to someone commenting on a post of mine and they respond with the most idiotic and out of touch response and I'm like oh yeah, there are men on this website I forgot. I just keep assuming I'm talking with women so I expect a meaningful exchange with intelligent arguments and advices and keep getting shocked by weird sociopathic responses that make me remember that men exist. It's the tone, the writing as if their feelings are facts, the systematic gaslighting, the over-explaining because they assume you know less than they do, this baby tyrant attitude, just looking around distributing judgement and imaginary punishments, the victim blaming and the overused talking points we've heard our entire lives because their personalities are interchangeable. Robots. That's what it feels like. Like talking to a robot. Genuinely. I feel like my intelligence is being insulted just reading their mediocre thoughts and opinions. And they have thoughts and opinions about everything don't they? Blah blah blah. Beep beep beep. Someone pulls the plugs on those robots for goodness sake.

[nayatarot777]

Unpopular opinion:

Pride and ego is NOT a bad thing when you correct it and when you build it healthily. There’s a reason why so many women are willing to act like someone they’re not, let a man tell them who they can and can’t be, etc. Who in tf are you in this world? YOU control the answer to that question. And the longer you don’t know who you are, the longer you’ll be manipulated, moulded, and played into being someone else for someone who doesn’t even love you for you. Your ego is your protector. Hence why it’s a natural part of childhood development, around the ages when you get more social interaction with the outside world. So if you’re walking around without much of an ego, you’re walking around with little to no protection. That’s the equivalent to living in a house without locks. Or leaving your car unlocked at all times. Does that sound smart to you? And could you be surprised when you’re an easy victim for others to invade your space and take from you? No. You couldn’t. So for those of you who lack ego and pride and are always taken advantage of: what tf are you surprised or shocked about? You’re literally allowing yourself to step out into the world unprotected. Despite knowing how dangerous the world can be. You’re not a perpetual victim to life. Life/God doesn’t hate you. You’re just a vulnerable person who has, for some reason, kept yourself vulnerable in a place full of danger. Can you be surprised when people view you as someone who’s easy to take advantage of and use? No. And don’t mistake this for being blamed for other peoples actions. That’s on them. But you definitely can be blamed yourself for your actions (or lack thereof), such as: NOT putting in boundaries, NOT protecting yourself, CHOOSING to keep yourself vulnerable.

With that being said, how can someone “love you, for you” when there is no core “you” to show them? And that’s exactly what your ego is. Who you are as a human being that you show to the world. It’s your strengths that you put on the forefront when you’re manoeuvring through life. It’s also a fraction your authentic self as a human being - hence why people who are not authentic have such fragile egos. They’re easily hurt, right? Easily put down and diminished without much confidence left afterwards. The people who either don’t fight back against injustice towards them, or they do, but they don’t know how to fight back effectively. It’s quite illogical to expect for people to love you for you when you wouldn’t even be able to tell/show someone who you truly are - simply because you don’t even know who you are. Or because you don’t think that who you are is good enough so you’re willing to pretend to be someone that you’re not.

Please understand, ladies, this world will chew you up and spit you out if you ALLOW it to. Define who you are and stick to that, and don’t ever change unless the change is what YOU want. More men do exactly the opposite, and that’s why you can’t tell men shit about themselves. For better or for worse. They know who they are a lot more than we do and they stick to it. The ones who don’t are the ones who are taken advantage of by others - just like many of us.

I could never understand how so many girls and women around me were so willing to ALLOW a man to tell them how they should/shouldn’t dress. Who they can and can’t be friends with. Where they can and can’t go. How they can and can’t act - especially in relationships. It confused me and, I’m not gonna lie, I thought that it was just stupidity on women’s part that played a part in that. But I had to check myself and identify the difference between women that I knew who were like that and women who weren’t - instead of just boiling it down to mass idiocy through my own ignorance. I was raised around a lot of brothers, and a Jamaican family in general. Jamaicans are known for being quite prideful (ngl, in more toxic ways), but my brothers would also never allow me to let other people tell me who I should and shouldn’t be. Thats when I came to the conclusion that the major difference is pride and ego (which is heavily linked to self respect and self esteem). Thats when I realised that it wasn’t stupidity - it was brainwashing and conditioning. And I believe that for centuries, men broke down the egos of women because they know the truth about being egotistical. They know that when you’re egotistical, you’re not going to allow someone else to impose on who you think that you are, for the sake of pleasing them. You’re going to be confident in yourself and not put yourself as a lesser being to someone else, which only leads to you becoming a complete people pleaser or a doormat. Basically the perfect victim for those who want to control and manipulate.

There’s a reason why so many women who have acted like doormats feel so much shame after all is said and done. Thats your ego and pride telling you that you deserved better and you knew it deep down the whole time. That you haven’t acted in a way that you can even be proud of yourself (because of your lack of pride). And that you put up with bs that you should’ve cut off time ago. Think about it.

[valrvn]

Survey Results pt. 2

Sorry about the wait, I had a six day work week.

Please Note: Many respondents said they weren't sure of the cause of their fetish, and could only offer suggestions. So again, some of these answers are guesses on the part of participants, and should be taken with a grain of salt.

Also, a couple of these graphs are breakdowns by percentage, these are indicated with a '(%)' next to the title

Reported Causes of Respondents' Fetish (%)

*Most respondents who said their fetish stemmed from encountering a pregnant person were young children at the time, a handful were teens. None were adults. Most pointed to pregnant grade school teachers and family members. Only a few cited complete strangers.

*"always had it" refers to respondents who claimed they had an unusual interest in pregnancy for as long as they could remember. Some of these cases started as a more general interest in large/round bellies that later crystalized into an interest with pregnancy.

*"kink osmosis" refers to those who developed their pregnancy fetish through other similar/connected fetishes.

*"didn't know" refers to those who claimed to not know (obviously) and offered no suggestions or guesses.

*"association of pregnancy with sex" refers mainly to those who first made the connection between pregnancy and sex in their childhood/early teens. Things like the first picture of a naked woman they ever saw being of a pregnant woman, leading them to subconsciously associate pregnancy with sex/sexuality.

*"playing pretend" refers to those who reported developing the fetish after playing pretend (either with dolls or with friends) as young children. NOT TO BE confused with those who claimed they would explore their interest/fetish through play, but didn't actually derive it from said play.

Types of Fetishes Which led to the Development of the Respondent's Pregnancy Fetish

*Many cited just a belly kink without going into further detail

Kink Osmosis (When Developed) Breakdown (%)

*As expected, only a small minority of respondents who cited kink osmosis as the source of their pregnancy fetish reported developing their pregnancy fetish during childhood.

*People who developed their pregnancy kink in adulthood are hugely over-represented in this category.

Types of Media Cited in by Respondents who Blamed Media Exposure (%)

*Many people specifically cited cartoon episodes where characters would get fat/round/inflated.

*Media cited by multiple respondents included Birth Stories 2000-2004 (a Canadian documentary TV series), A Baby Story 1998-2007 (an American reality show that ran on the Discovery Channel and TLC), Birth Day 2000- (an American TV series), The Fairly Oddparents 2001-2017 (specifically the episode where Cosmo gets pregnant), Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (which adaptation was never specified), the Aliens franchise, Men in Black II (2002), and The Sims.

Breakdown of Responses by Those who Stated that the Interest in Pregnancy was Always There

Gender of Respondents who Cited Fear as the Cause of their Fetish

Gender of Respondents who Cited Their Gender as the Cause of their Fetish

*Cis men reported their fetish as stemming from a need to prove their masculinity/male identity, cited a lack of confidence in said masculinity

*Trans women often cited gender euphoria associated with fantasies of pregnancy

*most trans men, AFAB NB people, and cis women cited a discomfort or fear regarding their ability to become pregnant, though a few trans men and AFAB NB also claimed that transitioning led to them reclaiming their reproductive abilities.

Types of Experiences Among Those who Cited Personal Experience as the Cause of their Fetish

A FEW NOTES

*two people specifically cited the art of metalforever on DeviantArt as the cause of their fetish

*YouTube was cited by 13 people, specifically birth videos, and in one case, those Elsa Spider-Man content farm videos.

*fanfiction and fanart were also a common source of people's fetishes

*6 people pointed to a parents/close relatives or family friends who were medical professionals who worked regularly with pregnant patients (midwives, nurses, doctors, OBGYNs).

*23 people recounted 'playing pretend' as young children and acting out scenarios involving pregnancy and/or birth.

[fellshish]

I’ve been thinking a lot about whose responsibility it is to tell others about predatory men. If you know someone is dangerous, is it your duty to tell everyone? Or anyone? Without context, I guess many would say yes of course. You must tell. Shout it from the rooftops. If you know someone is dangerous you must make sure everyone knows. But.. what if (for example) the dangerous man is a family member who you cannot get away from? A person who would turn their anger on you if they found out you’d been warning people they were dangerous? What if, in telling others about this dangerous person, you were endangering yourself? And your child? Would the choice to tell everyone about them still be obvious?

Part of this is about some of the stuff I’m seeing directed at NG’s ex-wife Amanda Palmer. A lot of people are VERY angry at her, calling her ‘complicit’, yelling that SHE KNEW (what Neil was like, what he had done) and she didn’t tell anyone. She didn’t warn any of the women to stay away from him… she only warned HIM not to touch them. She didn’t do enough to stop him from hurting other women. And that (in the eyes of many, it seems) makes her just as bad as him. Equally guilty. She let it happen. She should have warned the nanny, she should have gone to the police, she should have published an article letting everyone know what she knew about him.

Now, I think about a person I know. A family member. And I wonder; do I have a duty to warn people about him? He has a history of violence and perversion. Longstanding explosive anger problems. And he (like NG) is not interested in changing or seeking therapy for his issues. (He thinks himself above that.) Is it my place to publicize this fact? Should I email the woman he is currently seeing to make sure she knows he is not who he seems at first? That he can be dangerous? Should I do that? It is my place? Given what I know, is it my duty?

It’s very likely he would find out if I did tell anyone. And it’s likely he would be very angry at me and I (and my kids) would be in danger. He would never forget, never forgive.

But should I still do it? To protect the woman he’s seeing (who I don’t know)? Am I betraying the sisterhood if I don’t? (Does it make me a bad feminist if I don’t want to warn other women because I’m scared what the repercussions will be against me? Is that very selfish?) I don’t know her. I don’t know what kind of relationship they have. Maybe she is okay with his anger. Maybe she likes the same violent things he does. Maybe he has not (yet) revealed that side of himself to her.

I really don’t know. But the blame and shit that Amanda Palmer is getting thrown at her right now because of what her ex-husband did is making me think. Am I responsible if he hurts someone and I never warned them?

Can anyone really ask me or expect me to put a strangers safety above my own and that of my kids? I don’t know. I really genuinely don’t know. :(

i think the things amanda is being accused of right now, go beyond that. but your ask is of course about your difficult situation. i am leaning towards finding an anonymous way to warn those women… but honestly i feel super unequipped to answer your questions. i am not a social worker, not a lawyer, just a human on the internet. perhaps a follower can help you out more so check for comments / reblogs. best of luck 🫶

[velvetvexations]

--- somehow i don't think the trans radfem movement thinks aphobia is a fine word to exist

It's almost quaint. Almost.

Why is there a wave of trans radfems defending 4chan boards

I'm going to need to be pointed to this if only because I'm going to get dinged for spreading malicious lies about trans women being "Nazis" otherwise, but lmfao if true.

wtf kind of hill is txttletale dying on now?

I mean she's still a tankie fuck but apparently now she's also getting in on the transmisogynistic harassment campaign game.

isn't "doll" specifically a fetish term? that is really not something people should be applying to other people without making sure it's ok first.

No, it's a Black ballroom term that trans women started running with.

People on this site are taking pissing on the poor to a whole new goddamn level “telling people that this person is/has sexually harassed someone who was a minor is calling everyone with their identity a pedophile”, I’d blame the school system but that really was a choice not to actually read and relay

it's definitely malicious

joan jett in the mv for i hate myself for loving you is like, unbearably beautiful

so true

it’s so obvious that these people choose to isolate themselves in a dimension crafted out of their own self-hatred that they care more about hurting their oppressors (and people who don’t even oppress them) than uplifting people hurt by systems of oppression. sometimes i think i’m bad but then i come across people like that and realise i’m relatively well-adjusted

inspiring innit

post addressed to trans women from a trans woman about trans women –> trfs in the notes: “why are you telling me to be nice to trans men?”

they have their priorities

absolutely wild to say that transunitists are 2010-reddit-style mras and then say things like "afab privilege." yeah those afabs with their wielding of power. and i bet they get free drinks at every bar and their bosses promote them for being pretty, huh.

they get upset at having their logic compared to MRAs because it's implicit misgendering (never mind that they directly call random trans men MRAs and radfems as well) but I'm not sure what they expect when they talk at length about how all of those fucking evil AFAB bitches are just waiting for their chance to screw you over with a false rape accusation

"pick me" is AAVE, and, like all white girls, they're overusing and misusing it until it has no meaning left 🙄

I actually wasn't aware of that. Neat. Disputed? See replies.

a lot of this going on is just reminding me once again of the intense monogenderism that really never gets worked on. It’s super awkward as a multigendered individual and an intersex one

it also just really feels so fucking tone ignorant the way people talk.

society still calls traits of men or masc, some even actively choose to agree while still being a counter to it gender but obviously real trans women don’t so attacking those things would never hurt them, and multigender trans woman who are also men? Obviously fake.

the English language is so fucking insufficient

I honestly wish every asshole who seems to think the ability to mask as complete cis and definitely just your assigned gender is a privilege had to live in my head for the holiday season. I am entirely in the closet with my family because of bigotry I have no other choice than living with my family for multiple reasons I just spent the entire winter holiday pretending to be a woman answering to my deadname being called aunty and sister and daughter and not being able to say jack shit about it without even being able to retreat to the solace of my friends afterwards because they are all busy with their own families. I want those assholes to experience the emotions and thoughts I just went through and come out the otherside and see if they still think that this is a fucking privilege.

Love you anon. <3

that anon telling on themselves so hard saying transmisogynys "far deeper" than transphobia. literally why on earth would you phrase it like that if the point was anything besides "my *special* oppression is way more poignant and meaningful than your boring regular oppression"

lmao right though it's so obviously just trying to mark their thing as having more dramatic flair

do you keep a backup of your blog with a program like tumblthree? there's a lot of valuable posts on it, and tumblr is almost distressingly transitory.

I don't, but noted.

[mrspark7777777]

i love how all the km blogs have been avoiding the behind the scenes "we all live alone" question like a parasite or smthing, bc none of you are are actually confident about anything, you just dont wanna leave your fantansies or open your mind a little to other options/facts/opinions. that is not called being insecure but a person who looks at all angles. you all just dont have anything to support your thoughts so just laugh and say okay its your opinion, i dont share it or ask someone else, or some other way of diverting the question labelling all as insecure. guess everything always works out for you or you usually get what you want, so you dont need to even look at other options or think from a broader perspective. also even if some people are insecure whats it to you, to answer each of thier questions. i was always firm in my belief that though they have some special friendship they arent dating bc of so many past inconsistencies, but i have always seen km blogs find the wierdest and farthest explanations for some things to suit thier purposes. bc come on a person you are intrested in or care about as much as you all think they do or jk does, and doesnt even know about all teh content or doesnt even know that jm's face music show performances ended, srsly?! my best friends boyfriend who studies at diff university, still knows more about her even when tehy are both extremely extremely busy. Even if Jm ever says he doesn't like men or he likes women, you all will still find a hidden meaning to it.like srsly someone had to admit it that majority of the km blogs dont have any idea or reasoning behidn ehat was said to suit thier purpose and will still cling to it, by diverting the other opinions as insceure jikookers, or that we have a diff opinion, but i have not even heard that so called diff opinion. bc you all dont have one

Jimin was basically living with pdogg when creating FACE. Which clearly means he was avoiding any distractions. His boyfriend looks like this ffs.

Can we really blame the dude????

We are talking about a guy who was begging to go to Jimin's while he was half naked in bed

Surely this explains why Jimin needed to stay away, no?

JK was going through Jimin withdrawals during FACE era. Like hard. So no, I personally wasn't surprised he didn't know when Jimin's promotions ended. Not if Jimin was keeping him in the dark.

As for Jimin saying we all live alone, why is this a big deal? He does live alone. Jikook haven't cohabited since 2020? When did they stop sharing cars? That's when they stopped exclusively living in the same house. So, Jimin lives alone, wbk. They completely laid low last year and kept any time they were spending together a secret. We now know it was coz they had applied to serve together but again, idk what u want us to say here when even we agree Jimin lives alone???

Lets see, what else do you have an issue with? Inconsistencies? Nah, bro. Jikook have NEVER been inconsistent. Ever. Its the one thing they've got going. Its the biggest reason why we believe they're together. Consistency. So I've no clue what you're on about there

If Jimin ever says he has a girlfriend, I believe I speak for many Jkkrs when I say we will accept and support that. However, we shall not be blindsided, we will have picked up on the Jikook break up by then. So, this won't be happening any time soon 🤷🏽‍♀️

And yes, anon, of course we always get what we want. And we shall continue to get what we want. We don't predict, we just talk about what we expect Jikook to do or to have done because they are a couple. When those things come to fruition, then yeah, we end up getting what we wanted because of course we do. Couples are predictable. Jikook are a couple and so they do couple things. That's why is seems like we are always right.

We don't explore other options because we didn't come to the decision to support Jikook as a couple lightly. I personally looked and studied all of Jimin ships before concluding him and JK were it. So no, there is no more exploring. We believe what we believe and are quite comfortable with our decision. If you get frustrated that we refuse to be shaken, thats on you.

I think I have addressed all your concerns. Thanks for stopping by

[biblio-smia]

the last thing i need — three

warnings: twd content warnings

pairings: glenn rhee x reader

[one.] [two.] [three.]

Glenn's absence weighed heavier on your shoulders than you'd anticipated. Occasionally, you'd look behind you and expect to find him there, eyes on you, only to find no one there. Every time you turned to look ended with a shake of your head and turning back to whatever was in front of you.

Perhaps the feeling was as outwardly obvious as it was strong, as Jacqui looked at you with pity in her warm brown eyes, inviting you to sit with the women.

They had taken a break from laundry to sit and chat, but you thought that picking up where they left off would keep your mind off of Glenn.

It didn't work very well.

You blamed one of Glenn's shirts that came up with stains that would never come out. Nevertheless, you tried, taking your time and being extra gentle with the piece of clothing. Even while he was away, Glenn got special treatment from you — and you hated it.

The mission the men departed on should've been calling your name. It did at first, at least for a little while, enticing you with an opportunity to escape the camp you found yourself on.

The desire to go vanished once Glenn revealed he would be going, too.

The brief conversation you had with Glenn weighed on your chest, a feeling too thick to swallow stuck in your throat.

You acted hastily then, overcome with an emotion you didn’t want to admit. Now it was just you and your thoughts, trying to come up with an alternate, much more reasonable explanation.

You told yourself you didn't try to join in on the mission because it'd be harder to separate from the group in the city filled with walkers. There was space to move here, space to slip off quietly if you were more careful than last time.

It wasn't because of the was your lips pulsed after meeting Glenn's cheek. It wasn't because of the way your heart pounded at the thought of him back in the city you barely escaped.

Solitude was familiar. Although it was never true, not with all the walkers you encountered, it was all you'd known for a while. You tried to keep up with it even now at this camp bustling with life, isolating yourself from the women just a few feet away — but the company was tempting.

And stubborn.

Andrea turned to wave you over, patting a spot near her. The rest of the women followed her lead with warm smiles that shone on the darkest parts of you, filling you with an unwilling joy.

You abandoned Glenn's shirt and accepted the invitation, although you were quiet for the most part — save for the little laughs the girls pulled out of you.

The five of you watched as the water glistened in the sunlight, exchanging stories and laughter as they confessed what they missed most about the old word.

"Speaking of things we miss... what's up with you and Glenn?" Andrea inquired with a grin and a bump to your shoulder. The rest of the women were silent but you could tell the question was on their mind, too — they just weren't as straightforward or bold to ask it.

"What?" You asked, feeling a little embarrassed at the question. There was really no reason to, but you couldn't help but feel like the tiptoeing around your own emotions was useless if suspicion of anything between you and Glenn was this high. "No, there's nothing up with us," you shook your head.

"Really? Cause I could've sworn you went into his tent the first night you got here—" Andrea spoke, earning a few gasps and small laughs from the other women.

Oh. She meant that.

Now you were really embarrassed.

You didn't have time to form an answer as a man approached — Carol's husband. His expression was humorless as he pressed for details of your conversation, pushing your group closer and closer to discomfort and defense — namely, Andrea.

You didn't blame her for it. You didn't blame her for calling out Ed's laziness and his abuse towards Carol, the news making your eyes widen and your body move in front of Carol defensively. Your hands weren't enough to stop Ed in the commotion, not as you saw how tightly he was gripping on to Carol.

No, Ed didn't stop until he was beat to a pulp by Shane.

You could hear your heart pound and feel the anxious sweat on your palms as you and the rest of the women did your best to comfort Carol, trying to focus on helping her rather than the violence you'd just witnessed.

Ed deserved it, undoubtedly, but it did not make you any less weary of Shane. Something about the man was off-putting. Something about him made you uneasy but you couldn't figure out what. No one else seemed to pick up on anything strange, so you kept quiet and kept your distance.

But one look at Ed's face told you that maybe you'd have to look out for the living more than the dead.

-

A stupid part of you waited anxiously for Glenn's return, knowing his presence would ease you even if he was unaware of your caution. It was awful, this feeling — one you'd felt before, but never quite this intense. This feeling would make you stupid if you let it — part of the reason you'd wanted to abandon ship at first hint of it.

There was no time for things like romance anymore, no matter how badly you craved it. It was about survival now.

And yet, you couldn't help but remember how you felt when Glenn's hands were on you, his lips on your neck —

You shook your head. This was no time for that.

Night was beginning to creep up and Glenn still had not returned. That feeling in your throat almost made it impossible to breathe.

The night was eerie despite the soft chatter of voices and crickets, the light of a fire illuminating faces with golden warmth. You took a plate of food and sat off by yourself, taking the opportunity to gather your thoughts. All the plans you'd previously had were in shambles. No next move you thought of felt right. Your fingers tapped on your knee nervously, teeth chewing up your lip in thought.

Maybe, if you hadn’t been alone for so long, you wouldn’t have picked up on the low groans from behind you.

You stood and pulled your knife in one swift motion, plunging the blade into the walker’s head, feeling the blood splatter on you. Another walker replaced the fallen one immediately, a small hoard in pursuit, pushing you towards the others.

The others.

“Walkers!” You called, distancing yourself from the pack just enough to turn around.

But you and your familiarity with being alone were not used to fighting with others. It had been too long since you have had to fight for anyone. Your warning was too late and there was nothing you could do but watch as a walker bit Amy.

Self-preservation is what you know, your attention snapping back to the problem ahead of you just in time. You know these movements better than anything - push them back, stab the knife into their heads, just enough to hit the brain - but the walkers don't stop coming.

All you are aware of are the screams behind you, begging for your attention as your heart lurches with the urge to help families trying to find each other in the chaos that has suddenly taken over camp.

You try to focus, try to convince yourself that helping yourself is helping them, that each walker down is one less walker able to bite and infect.

Gunshots ring out from behind you, next to you, all around you as walkers take over.

“Get to the R.V! Go!” Someone shouts over the sound of the bullets.

The crowd was at least thinning out now. Your arm was tiring from the repetitive movements, but you didn’t dare stop.

Not until there was only one walker left in front of you.

Even in the dim light of the camp, you can recognize her. Your heart feels heavy in your chest and guilt clogs your throat.

What was left of your sister dragged her body towards you, mouth ready to bite.

-

Your arm fell limp by your side. Your breath caught in your throat. A bullet hit your sister (no, not your sister) and someone screamed. Maybe it was you.

You dropped with her, stationed on your knees as you watched your sister reach for you.

Most of her was missing and the last time you saw her flashed in your mind. She’d yelled at you not to look back at her but you couldn’t help it; Now you were left with the image of her caught in the mouths of walkers, all desperate for a bite.

She’d sacrificed herself for you to continue on. To live.

And here she was now, because you couldn’t bring yourself to shoot her back then.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

Your face was wet. Was it blood, sweat, or tears?

-

Glenn was sure he’d hit a walker with his bullet, but your scream made him doubt himself as he ran. Rick, T-Dog, and Daryl cleared the rest of the hoard, but Glenn’s only worry now was you.

His footsteps slowed as he spotted you, cradling a body that hadn’t been alive in a while. Though the body had stopped moving now - Glenn noticed the knife you plunged into the back of its head.

Glenn called your name softly, kneeling on the ground to join you. His hand came to your shoulder and he could see the tears drip off your face and make silent splatters on the zombie in your arms.

“We can bury her,” Glenn said quietly. “We do that for the ones we love.”

You nodded and your face found Glenn’s chest, your arms letting go of your sister, cold and dead, and clinging on to the warm body next to you. Alive.

You couldn’t be more grateful.

-

The aftermath was chaos. The bodies, littered everywhere, were unnerving. The children cried and Andrea sat over her sister’s corpse all night.

You knew exactly how she felt. You made sure she knew it, too. She didn’t speak a word as you cleaned as much blood from Amy’s body as you could. Her gaze never left her sister as you cleaned her own hands.

“There,” you said. You looked back at the rest of the group watching you, some desperate to put a bullet in Amy’s brain. “You take all the time you need. Don’t let them take that from you.”

You expected the lack of response as you stood, unwavering as you stared Daryl down, watching as he shook his head and went off to keep dragging the bodies.

-

You didn’t speak when you heard footsteps follow you to the edge of the woods. You knew who it was, and what he was doing. You wished you could hate him for it.

“Let me help,” Glenn offered from behind you as you looked at your sister’s body. It laid exactly as you’d left it before, but the daylight revealed the horrific state she died in.

You accepted Glenn’s help wordlessly, taking her shoulders while he grabbed her feet.

“Had to fight Dixon to bury our people. I mean, he just wanted to burn them!” Glenn shook his head, eyes glancing up to yours.

He was too good. That was it. That was what you hated so much.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“No, no, I did. For her. For Amy, too. And everyone else back there. We still have to have some humanity, right? Or else we’re just surviving, not... not living.”

Glenn’s words rang in your mind as the two of you carried the body through the thick Georgia heat, sweat dripping down every part of you.

Living. Not just surviving.

Your sister’s last words. Her last wish. For you to live.

You looked back up at Glenn as the two of you dropped your sister in the “Bury” pile, watching as he adjusted his cap and wiped some sweat off his brow.

Live. Not just survive.

Maybe Glenn could help you figure out what that meant.

-

Soft chatter surrounded you as you sat off to the side, knees pulled up to your chest. You sat away from the group, as you always did, keeping an eye on the people and another on the woods.

There was talk of going to the CDC. You weren't sure how well that was going to work out if the CDC looked like the rest of the world.

But there was something in the group as they spoke to each other, even after everything that had happened today. There was hope, small sparks of it glowing like the embers of a fire.

Maybe you'd let yourself have some of it, too.

"Hey," a voice spoke, pulling up a chair next to you.

"Hey." You glanced up at Glenn, watching him run a hand through his hair, his cap in his hand.

The sun glistened off his skin, making his hair shine as he turned his head to look at you. There was a trace of a smile but an even bigger hint of a question on his lips.

You knew what the question would be. But you still weren't quite sure of your answer.

"What happened in Atlanta?" You ask, hoping to buy yourself time and realizing that everything that had happened after Glenn's returned had prevented you from asking about it sooner.

"Atlanta." Glenn repeats, the place seeming so foreign to him now. "Well, we got the guns." He laughs, sounding too forced, eyes wandering over the faces that remain. You're quiet, feeling the guilt you share heavy in the air.

"But we ran into some guys."

Your eyebrows raise at this - you don't know strangers nowadays to be particularly friendly. Glenn was rare.

"And you just handed over guns?" You didn't mean to sound accusing, but you were trying to paint out what had happened.

"Well... kind of? I mean, we worked out a deal."

"What deal?"

Glenn hesitates, trying to work the story without having to mention the more embarrassing details.

"They were taking care of a whole bunch of elderly people. They were just... abandoned."

You seem to relax at this, at least slightly. "They could've just shot you and taken everything." You're only half-serious but Glenn doesn't quite catch that.

"They really wanted to. Especially Daryl, he had-"

Glenn cuts himself off but he's already piqued your curiosity as you lean forward in your seat, urging Glenn to continue.

"Well, it was a little bit of a situation," Glenn starts exasperatedly. "They had taken one of us, we took one of theirs... It just- It happened really fast!"

"They kidnapped you?"

How bad of a liar is he? Glenn stutters but his lack of a coherent response is enough to fill in the blanks for you.

Your chest hurts strangely, your fingers messing nervously with the hard surface of your nails. You've begun to avoid looking at Glenn just as he glances at you, a heavy silence that a part of you is desperate to fill, nervous it will make Glenn stand and place his chair elsewhere.

You had been saved from answering questions from others about Glenn earlier but nothing was able to halt the constant thoughts you had about him. You're not sure how much longer you can keep running from it - you're not sure how much good it'll do.

"So, the CDC?" You asked, hoping Glenn's answer would help guide you towards one of your own.

"Rick thinks it's our best shot."

"And you trust him?" There was no mockery or accusation in your voice — only genuine curiosity.

Glenn looked down at his cap, nodding a little. "Yeah. Yeah, I think I do."

"You just met him," you noted quietly, knowing very well Glenn had met both you and Rick on the same day.

"You don't need to know someone for years to know you can trust them."

You looked up to see Glenn staring at you. Clearly, he wasn't just talking about Rick.

"That type of thinking could get you killed," you say quietly.

"Or it could save my life."

Live.

Your knee bounced anxiously as you thought about it. About what going with these people would mean.

It'd mean companions, for starters. No more nights fighting to stay awake, watching your own back. It'd mean splitting supplies. It'd mean strength in numbers.

You looked at Glenn again.

It could lead to something else, too.

"I'll go with you. To the CDC," you start softly, watching from the corner of your eye as Glenn's head snapped toward you, clearly in disbelief. "It sounds promising."

You barely knew Rick. You barely knew any of these people. But Glenn trusted Rick and you trusted Glenn. That's the only thing you were sure of now.

Glenn looked at you with a boyish, handsome grin and the corners of your lips raised to mirror his.

Your hand reached for Glenn's, interlacing your fingers with his. Your hands found his over and over — throughout the night, in the morning, as you packed into Dale's R.V. and towards the CDC. As you left Jim behind. As you almost died outside of the fortified building. As you finally made it inside.

The building was large and seemed safe enough — there was no way Dr. Jenner could have made it this far if it wasn't. But it wasn't until a large table full of food and drinks was set, laughter chiming in your ears, did you finally begin to relax.

A smile spread on your own face as Carl tries wine for this first time, his face morphing into one of disgust as the rest of you laughed. This mood, light and playful, was one you haven't experienced in who knows how long. There's a thick feeling of appreciation in your throat, hot and heavy in your chest. You're almost emotional, thinking of every sacrifice it took for you to be here, today, laughing and talking over dinner again.

But Shane, always solemn, can't seem to stand the uncharacteristic liveliness that has found the group tonight.

"So, when are you going to tell us what the hell happened here, doc?" The laughter is killed instantly, an uncomfortable silence falling on the once chattering table.

'We're celebrating, Shane," Rick starts, the tension between the former best friends particularly prominent. "Don't need to do this now."

Eyes flicker between the two with an occasional flicker to the doctor in the room, but downward gazes and quiet sips of wine offered neutrality from most.

"Woah, wait a second. This is why we're here, right? This was your move... Supposed to find all the answers. Instead, we found one man. Why?"

"Well, when things got bad, a lot of people just left. Went off to be with their families. And when things got worse, when the military cordon got overrun, the rest bolted."

"Every last one?" Shane asks dryly, suspiciously.

"No, many couldn't face walking out the door. They... opted out. There was a rash of suicides." Most shuffle uncomfortably, looking at anywhere but at Jenner. "That was a bad time."

"You didn't leave," Andrea notes, one of the only ones still invested in learning about Jenner. "Why?"

"I just kept working. Hoping... to do some good."

It's a good answer for most, no matter the somber tone. It's enough for you; you just hope that Shane's poking and prodding won't push the man that has seen too much too far. The last thing you want is to be kicked out now.

"Dude, you are such a buzzkill, man." Shane avoids Glenn's stare and you cross your arms, decisively done for the night.

Jenner gives you a small tour of the facility, mainly of the rooms you'll be occupying. A piece of you wonders what else there is, but the majority of you aches for a peaceful night.

Jenner has disappeared into a different room and the group has stopped in the middle of the hallway.

"Hot water?" Glenn glances to the rest of the group before his gaze lands on you, standing behind him.

"That's what the man said," T-Dog grins.

Glenn's smile is contagious, creeping up slowly despite you missing what Jenner said. But if Glenn is excited about it, it's got to be worth it.

The hot water on your skin completely is.

You try to savor each drop of water, relishing in the steam curling off the water. You can't remember the last time you had the luxury of hot water but you resign, letting everything roll off of you along with the water.

You scrub at your skin, mindlessly and too roughly, thinking about everything that has happened in the last few days. Everything about the last few months.

Your sister was dead. The guilt in your throat wasn't any easier to swallow.

Something had happened between Rick and Glenn on their trip back to Atlanta. Glenn stuck out his neck for Rick on that very first day that your paths had all crossed, so Rick risked his own for Glenn. At least there was someone else in the group that would do that for him.

Atlanta. Nothing in that overriden city could've prepared you for the overwhelming company you now found yourself traveling with. There was no ounce of you that imagined you might find someone to love again.

You shut the water off once you're sure you've scrubbed every crevice of yourself, your skin rubbed raw in a few places.

The towels you've been given are rough, thin, and terrible shields against the cold air that blasts through the facility but you don't mind. Nothing matters other than the feeling of the fresh clothes Jenner has managed to scrounge up, missing all the dirt and blood that's stained your clothes for months.

A part of you, as you settle into the first empty room you see, wonders how long it'll be until the clothes you're wearing now will be bloodstained again.

You've taken to cleaning off your knife, in the spirit of the fresh scent of soap sticking to your skin and the pristine condition of the garments on your body. You're careful not to stain anything with the shades of red and brown of your knife, barely lifting your head when you hear someone enter the room you've claimed.

"Sorry, didn't think anyone was in here..."

Glenn trails off when he spots your smile, your hand waving him over to the spot next to you. He takes it, body tense as he tries to keep his eyes off of you.

Glenn thought you were perfect before, but without the layer of grime on you, all he wants to do is stare.

Glenn thinks he's being sneaky until your eyes meet his, Glenn's already flushed face reddening even more.

He's too terrified to make a move, still wondering where it is he stands with you. You're not lovers as far as he's aware, though it's a losing battle on his side. Glenn thinks he'd do anything to get inside your head and see for himself what it was you thought about him. He wanted you to like him, desperately, his body aching for contact with yours. He wanted to kiss you until he memorized you and every one of your smiles.

But he'd take whatever it is you wanted to give him. He'd hold your hand whenever you reached for it, on your own terms, right up until you pulled away.

The sudden arrival of man-eating freaks had forced Glenn, for the most part, to mature; to learn how to fight, to look out for others in ways his shitty job as a delivery boy had not yet taught him. From one day to the next, he had outgrown the red uniform that always seemed to smell of food no matter how many times it was washed. Though no one cared to ask about the person Glenn was Before, he liked to think he was the same Glenn who had, with his own will, made it through high school and to college, on his own.

But, in some ways, Glenn still felt immature. All that time he had spent working and studying had left him with little free time for personal indulgences. He had never prioritized romance and now that it was here, in front of him, he found himself on his ass more often than on his feet.

The door opens again and Glenn’s head whips towards it like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t, his flushed face not doing him any favors. But it’s just Shane, so Glenn’s shoulders relax, eyes glancing over the man and landing on the bottle of bourbon in his hand.

Shane spares a sideways glance, eyes stuck on you as he takes a swig from the nearly empty bottle. Glenn’s eyes follow Shane’s and eventually fall on you, too; notably, the knife in your lap, practically shining from how much you’d been wiping it.

"You're a real whiz with that knife.” Shane props himself against the doorframe, probably to keep from stumbling. There’s a sudden smile on his face, too wide to put you at ease. “Good thing I stopped ya from leaving that first night, huh?"

Shane grins through his words as he takes another swig, eyes still stuck on you as Glenn stands. He’s turned towards you, eyes searching for any indication that Shane is just drunk, or out of his mind; but you’re stuck, eyebrows drawn and lips set in a straight line as you stare at Shane right back.

Glenn steps into Shane’s line of sight, effectively breaking the wordless confrontation. Shane’s eyes move to him now, trying to slip past Shane wordlessly. Shane shifts, blocking Glenn’s way. But before he can speak, Glenn has shoved his way into the hallway.

"I'm just looking out for you, man!" Shane calls behind him before his lips find the top of the bottle again.

You’re in front of Shane before you can help it, eyes trying to follow Glenn. But just as he did before, Shane has turned toward you, his large build blocking any easy ways out.

"Why didn't you just kill me that night, then? I know you wanted to."

"That's not true.” There’s a grin on Shane’s face that tells you he’s lying.

"Yeah."

The look of amusement on Shane’s face drops. He has learned from last time and fights back when you try to push past him. One of his hands keeps you pinned to the doorframe, pressing painfully on your shoulder.

“You’re just another mouth to feed,” Shane drawls, his breath reeking of alcohol. “You don’t deserve a guy like Glenn.”

There was more to it, you were sure. Glenn had told you that Shane was their leader and wasn’t fond of newcomers. Especially when one wanted his wife and kid back.

You could tell Shane felt challenged by Rick despite their history. Maybe Shane thought of you as a wildcard, neither loyal to him nor Rick. But if you would stick with Glenn, who would clearly follow Rick anywhere, weren’t you a threat?

You pushed Shane’s arm forcefully, the alcohol in his bottle swishing as he stumbles.

“You should’ve killed me,” you say, smiling suddenly. “You’re not getting another chance.”

Glenn moves down the hallway briskly, his feet taking him further and further away from you. There’s that feeling in your chest again, the same one you felt with Glenn back at the camp you had abandoned. It was fear, but it wasn’t the familiar kind that you’d spent months fighting along with the walkers. This one was thicker, heavier, putting a pressure on your chest that made it difficult to breathe. Unfortunately, you had come to care about Glenn Rhee.

And as Glenn walks away, he feels as though he has, once again, found himself on his ass.

[militantinremission]

Collard Greens to go: Kamala Harris' Historic Defeat still reverberates

The Harris-Walz Ticket's historic loss to the Trump- Vance Ticket still has people talking. I wanted to get a feel for how People were reacting before commenting. Political Pundits & Democratic Shills have been experiencing near meltdowns on Camera, following Donald Trump's historical Comeback. MSNBC & CNN have posted significant declines in viewership; Losses of up to 54% for Programs like Joy Reid's 'The ReidOut', 'Alex Wagner Tonight', 'All In w/ Chris Hayes', & 'The Last Word' w/ Lawrence O'Donnell have Liberals literally scrambling for answers. The two Networks hint at impending layoffs, but it appears to be the New Normal in the weeks following Kamala Harris' embarrassing loss.

The Conversation started with What Happened?! Several Political Polls had Harris in contention, if not up Nationally. Even 'Presidential Predicter', Allan Lichtman was befuddled by Trump's decisive win. The Talking Heads were unraveling in Real Time. Democratic Shills took to the Airwaves with a laundry list of reasons for Kamala's Defeat. It was a Collective of Racists & Misogynists that had No Regard for a Woman's Right of Expression. It's no surprise that they wouldn't vote for a Woman Of Color to be President. The Groups that were singled out were:

Hispanic/ Latino Men

Arab Americans

Young Adults

White Women

Many glossed over the role that Black America played in Election Returns, but they can't ignore the low Voter turnout in Philadelphia, Atlanta, Milwaukee, Chicago, & Detroit. Democratic Shills like Sunny Hostin & Angela Rye are doubling down on DNC rhetoric; but others like Charlemagne (Da Clod), Joy Reid, & Roland Martin are trying to pivot to Black First Politics. We're hearing that the 'Black & Brown Coalition' is an illusion, & People Of Color didn't stand with Blackfolk in backing the Harris-Walz Ticket. Ironically, NONE of the Groups blamed showed any real interest in Kamala Harris. Turnout at her Rallies was lower than Trump's, & she has been accused by many of bussing Supporters to her Events.

The Democratic Party is in full Spin Mode. Alexandria Ocasio- Cortez was dumbfounded by Bronx Voters that voted for her AND Donald Trump. Jason Black, Jimmy Dore, & Sabrina Salvati were among the first to point out that AOC removed the 'pronouns' from her Social Media Pages. The Woke Agenda is being spotlighted, & Progressives are redefining what that means. We can expect Democrats to shift back to the Centrist Politics of the Bill Clinton Era, but Blackfolk are hip to that tactic. We have drawn a Line in the Sand, & Dems really don't know what to do about it. As I said before, Black America sits in the 'Catbird Seat'.

Democratic Shills say that Kamala did everything she could, but did she? What about showing her Supporters at Howard University how to be graceful in the face of Defeat? Harris couldn't be concerned with saying a few words to those College Students who waited hours for her to make an appearance. This act sparked conversation in the Grassroots about how Kamala doesn't have ANY regard for Black America; especially after getting 'molly whopped' by Trump. She blatantly ignored Black Specific Issues, & rolled out Celebrities to shame Us into supporting a Campaign that had NOTHING for Us.

As bad as Kamala's defeat was, her Campaign Expenditures have sparked even more conversation. Harris raised more than $1B (upwards of $1.5B according to Fox News) from donors, but her Campaign is roughly $20M in debt. That may explain why they are STILL asking for donations after the fact. How did the Harris- Walz Campaign spend over $1B in 100+ Days? Monty Brewster has nothing on Kamala Harris! According to Reports, Kamala's Campaign spent:

Nearly $50M on a Text Message Campaign

$10M for Beyonce's 5 minute Speech

$5M for Meghan The Stallion

$2M for The Urban League

$1.2M for Eminem

$1M for Oprah's Harpo Productions

$500,000 for Al Sharpton's National Action Network

$350,000 for Roland Martin's Black Star Network

$100,000 to construct a (temporary) replica Set for her appearance on the 'Call Her Daddy' Podcast

This is on top of spending Hundreds of Millions on Mainstream Media Ad Buys, along with reports that Social Media Influencers were being paid to post Pro- Harris Content & attend the DNC National Convention. Clearly, Harris' Presidential Campaign was a Money Grab. Rumors of embezzlement are growing. Conservatives are talking about taking Legal Action. Meanwhile, Harris Loyalists have been Radio Silent. Rumor has it that Barack & Michelle Obama left the Country; Barack is said to be disgusted with Election Results. I think that Barack backed a Candidate that he knew wasn't ready for Prime Time. He threw his Social Capital behind her, only to lose The Election & his Legacy at the same time. Barry's not alone; that Old Guard of The Clintons, Nancy Pelosi, Chuck Schumer, Maxine Waters, Jim Clyburn, et al are probably feeling the same as Obama. All of them lost Political Influence.

Meanwhile, Donald Trump is filling Cabinet Positions faster than he did in his 1st Term. Matt Gaetz may have been too controversial (for obvious reasons), but Trump is fulfilling a Promise to stack his Administration with like-minded individuals. Elon Musk, Tom Holman, RFK Jr, Tulsi Gabbard, Vivek Ramaswami, Linda McMahon, Pete Hegseth, Scott Turner, Sebastian Gorka, Brooke Rollins, & Scott Bessent are Trump Loyalists. These were the folks On Stage at MAGA Rallies. Trump Supporters are excited by these picks; as excited, as Democrats are terrified. Dems have good reason to be concerned. The GOP had a pretty good Election Cycle:

They won The White House

They hold a majority in the U.S. Senate

They hold a majority in the House of Representatives

They may have another opportunity to appoint two (or more) Supreme Court Justices

Trump's pick of Matt Gaetz for Attorney General could be his way of Testing the Waters. We ALL know how Donald Trump moves. He's coming strong Out the Gate, & appears to be testing the extent of his influence. At his core, Trump is a Builder. He knows the importance of a strong foundation. In this case, that means putting people he can trust in positions that will push the Trump Agenda. His alternate choice of Pam Bondi for Attorney General shouldn't come as a surprise. Bondi has been a passionate Trump Loyalist over the Years. She's the former Attorney General of Florida & carries less baggage than Gaetz, so she has a very good chance of getting Confirmed.

Kamala Harris has been keeping a low profile, but judging from footage of her at Public Events, Kamala is bitter about her defeat. She hasn't spoken with Tim Walz, & it appears that there's friction between her & The Bidens. Black Alpha Network says that Doug Emhoff may be bowing out of their Marriage. His indiscretions played a role in her defeat, but Doug appears unwilling to Ride the Storm. Safe to say that the Gravy Train has been derailed. Democratic Shills are scurrying like roaches to avoid being tagged as a 'Paid Political Operative'. It makes me question the Democratic Agenda.

I have said that America has been determined to get Black Hands dirty, since Our Great Grand Parents returned Home from WW 1. Jaime Harrison is the face of the DNC, so he gets the blame for the Democratic Party's lopsided loss. The Congressional Black Caucus pushed Kamala's Platform, knowing that there was NOTHING for their Constituents. They tried to strong arm Us into accepting an Agenda of Illegal Immigration & Rising Tide Policies that will further marginalize Us. Black Uplift means shifting the current Balance of Power, & NONE of Kamala's Policy offerings did that. This past Election put ALL of them On Notice.

Mainstream Media would love to blame the GOPs Election Day Trifecta on Black America, but doing so would be complicated. We're depicted as unsophisticated & childish, so they don't want to present a scenario where We acted with intellect & intent. They keep a keen eye on Black America, so they see the budding renaissance unfolding. They fear throwing gas on the fire, so they're fixating on Donald Trump's Cabinet Picks. According to NBC Exit Polls:

White Men voted 37% for Harris, 60% for Trump

White Women Voted 47% for Harris, 53% for Trump

Black Men voted 77% for Harris, 21% for Trump

Black Women voted 91% for Harris, 7% for Trump

Hispanic/ Latino Men voted 43% for Harris, 55% for Trump

Hispanic/ Latina Women voted 60% for Harris, 38% for Trump

All Others voted 48% for Harris, 46% for Trump

It's hard to blame Black Americans for a Democratic Loss, when We continue to vote Democrat at the highest percentage. That said, State Results show that Black Voter numbers were down. Nationally, they were down roughly 5%. I have said that it only takes 4% of the Population to start a Movement. Donald Trump lost Georgia in 2020 by '11,800 votes', but he won by over 115,000 votes this time. It's the Same Story in other 'Urban Centers'. We can't attribute Trump's Win to Arab or Muslim Americans, because their numbers are too small. Hispanics/ Latinos as a Collective, voted for the GOP at the highest percentage since George W. Bush in 2004. That said, Hispanic/ Latino Voters have an established track record of voting Democrat for a couple of Elections, only to shift over to the GOP.

This Election has raised a few questions. 1st & foremost, is the size of the Black American Population. Mainstream Media keeps Us at 12%- 13%. This goes back to Emancipation, but it's pretty clear that Our numbers are higher than that. Millions of Us 'Rode the Couch', & it shows up in the State Exit Polls. Black America IS a Political Power Base. Democratic Shills underestimated the Political Maturity of this Base & not only lost big, they awakened a Sleeping Giant. Young Family got to flex their muscles, & discovered their hidden strength. Moving forward, Dems will have to engage Us like EVERYONE ELSE, or risk future losses. Gavin Newsome is priming himself for a 2028 Run, but his betrayal of Black Californians on Reparations has doomed his ambition before it can begin. Josh Shapiro should take note.

As for Kamala Harris, her political career is likely over. Sonia Sotomayor refused to retire, so she won't be placed on the Supreme Court. A Democratic Shill suggested that Joe Biden should retire, so Kamala could be the 1st Woman President. At this point, I doubt that she could win in California. Harris may end up teaching Law at Howard University... While others wring their hands over Donald Trump, the Black Grassroots are taking a Victory Lap. The Democratic Party played Chicken w/ Us & learned a hard lesson. We aren't looking for recognition, or tokens of appreciation. We want Real Tangibles! We're just rolling up Our sleeves, so folks should get used to the New Normal. American Politics won't be the same.

[nopeferatu]

something that confused me in the bbm short story was jack saying he was cheating with the rancher’s wife and john twist later mentioned that same rancher (?). i know jack lied about being with other guys when ennis said it’s only been him. so did jack lie again about the rancher wife bc he knew ennis would react differently if it was another man? i sincerely couldn’t tell. my media literacy: c average

Yeah, Jack was lying to cover for the fact that he hadn't been seeing the ranch neighbor's wife, he'd been seeing the ranch neighbor, himself :c

I think it's a little less clear in the short story than in the movie, so I don't blame you for being confused. The movie adds a whole new scene that doesn't appear in the novella, where Jack and his wife Lureen are at some sort of fundraiser dance event and they're at a table with another married couple. Jack and the husband keep making eyes at each other in the dance hall, then later in the scene, the two are pictured sitting outside on a bench making small talk about the ranch operation the other man works for. Then finally the husband gets the courage to say:

"Yeah, Roy, he's a good ol' boy. He's got a little cabin down on Lake Kemp. Got a croppie house, little boat. Says I can use it whenever I want... We outta go down there some weekend. Drink a little whiskey, fish some, get away... You know?"

Jack pauses for a moment, opens his mouth to answer, but before he can he is interrupted by their wives coming out of the dance hall to go home. When this story has previously established that "fishing" and "getting away" between men is code for "having an affair", you understand what it is this rancher is asking of Jack.

And it makes sense that Jack would lie about it to Ennis, given the fact that when Ennis finds out he's been going to Mexico to hire male sex workers, he reacts like this:

"I got a say this to you one time, Jack, and I ain't foolin. What I don't know," said Ennis, "all them things I don't know could get you killed should I come to know them."

Ennis is so jealous and angry over the idea of Jack being "unfaithful" to him that he LITERALLY threatens to kill him if he ever gets concrete confirmation of any of these suspicions. If if isn't clear enough that this is the intent of those lines, Jack confirms it in his own monologue:

"Count the damn few times we been together in twenty years. Measure the fuckin short leash you keep me on, then ask me about Mexico and then tell me you'll kill me for needin it and not hardly never gettin it."

If Ennis is already reacting this badly about Jack "gettin it" from sex workers every once im a blue moon, imagine how he'd react if he knew he had a neighbor just down the street from him who he could "get it" from regularly and often?? So he tip-toed around the idea by admitting to having an affair while lying about who it was he was having the affair with, because Jack implicitly understands that sleeping with another woman isn't a threat to their relationship in the way that sleeping with another man is.

There's a small section of one of my favorite BBM fics, Through the Red, that I think does a really great job of explaining why this is so:

"Why don't you care none if'n it's a woman?"

The question loops lazily up towards the ceiling and disperses among the gray cobwebs shrouding the beams. The mattress murmurs as Ennis shifts. Jack isn't expecting an answer, really. He knows the answer; he knows because he's in the same situation.

Women are different. They mean something different, because a woman can't be for Jack what Ennis is, and a woman can't be for Ennis what Jack is. A woman can't give them what they crave, can't be what they need. There'll always be a distance, a membrane of separation between men and women, minds and souls, responses and reactions inexplicable to the other.

Because Ennis is the only one he's found true passion and feeling with, because Ennis probably feels the same, and neither have ever felt this for a woman, it isn't hard to jump to the conclusion that it's only with another man that they will ever feel this — and so a relationship with a woman means nothing, isn't a threat. It isn't real.

However, another man…

"I ain't gonna make excuses. I haven't done nothing wrong," Jack says to the floor and the dust and his feet. "Haven't done nothing."

He's never felt guilty about stepping around his marriage vows, the vows and relationship that God and men call inviolable. He and Ennis don't even have that, can never have that, and, yet, something writhes nauseatingly in the core of his stomach.

I think that the inclusion of the ranch neighbor also does a lot to make Jack's death more ambiguous, right? Like. By the end of the short story, we now know that Jack was sleeping with a man down the street from him and that he was fed up with Ennis' lack of commitment. So when Ennis hears from John Twist that Jack went to his parents house talking up a storm about this ranch neighbor of his leaving his wife and moving up from Texas with him instead of Ennis, all Ennis can picture is that Jack wasn't being as careful about hiding his sexuality anymore, and he was killed for it. So was it a freak tire changing accident? Or was it a hatecrime? Sadly, both are realistic scenarios in the world they live in.

[shipskicksandgiggles]

dialogue prompts

hi! I’m Ellis, I’m a college student that that apparently keeps landing myself in bizarre situations and I cope by making prompt lists out of them. they’re usually hilarious and great for short fics, so feel free to send me a number with a character/ship/dynamic, or even just a fandom that you think fits

“Is this about the fax machine? Because if it is, my vote is we put a bullet in it.”

“I don’t need to hear about any of your sex lives. I’m talking to you specifically.”

“Why are you all in the hallway? Is that a dog?”

“Do they remind you of someone?” “Yeah, me when I was that age, I was hoping you wouldn’t mention it.”

“I’m going to steal someone’s kneecaps.”

“Someone just barked at me in the grocery store parking lot.” “Go see who it is.” “You asshole.”

“Why are you standing like that?” “They’re autistic, leave them alone.”

“It’s been like three months. Why are you a different person?” “Catastrophic change and trauma, babe, don’t worry about it.”

“Every day my interests become more and more like a middle aged father’s.”

“Do you want to come build a chair?” “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“Why do you talk so much about cannibalism in this class?” “Your guess is as good as mine.”

“Everyone gets excited about boobs!” “I honestly don’t think that’s true.”

“Do you need the heat pack more?” “I wasn’t going to bring it up, but you limped home, I think you need it more.”

“Some guy just mistook me for a cis man, this is the best thing that’s happened to me all week.”

“You went to Catholic school? I would have thought you’d gone to public school and then taken a hard left into satanism.”

“Did you have a Voltron phase?” “No, why?”

“You know how I would literally rather die than ask for help?”

“Do you have time for me to have a gender crisis on you or are you too busy?” “Oh, no, this is happening.”

“Dude, they took your door.” “Your door privileges have been revoked.” “What the fuck?”

“Oh my god, quit it with the mother henning.” “If we lose the kid I’m blaming you.”

“Do you have a reason or are you being a nasty cynic?”

“So he’s better than you.” “I’m okay with that.”

“Did you just call me to tell me the person who won Jeopardy! has my chronic illness?”

“I regret asking.” “Why would you ask an autistic person about their hyperfixation when you don’t want an in depth answer?”

“Insane question, but can I put you in hell?”

“If one more person gives you public recognition for a thing I think you’re going to set yourself on fire.”

“Holy shit, you’re like a vampire.” “In all seriousness, you should see someone about that, that’s not normal.”

“Did I just sleep for 16 hours?” “Roughly, yeah. How are you feeling?” “About how you’d expect.”

“Where are you? Oh you’re having floor time.”

“Your taste in men is seriously questionable. If you only want his dick I’m sure we can figure out something else.”

“You need to crash your car right now.”

“Don’t make me pull rank at 6 in the morning again, I’ll die.”

“Are you crocheting right now? God this is such a weird group of people.”

“I got called an anarchist again.” “By the same person as last time?” “Nope.”

“Are we going to talk about what happened back there?” “No, why, what happened?”

“My mom has apparently kissed more women than I have.”

“You goddamn whore!” “What happened?” “She lied to me!”

“Of all of us, I think you’re the most likely to be a vigilante. Like a journalist by day, crime fighting hero by night.” “Like Spider-Man?” “Exactly like Spider-Man!”

“What’s going on?” “There might be a squirrel in the building, let me get back to you.”

“Don’t flirt with me while I’m holding a knife.”

“So imagine you’re a bisexual woman and you want to go to a strip club.”

“You scare people.” “I’m literally the nicest person alive.” “I watched you yell at someone last week.” “And?”

“The group chat is rioting.” “Oh my god.”

“We’re stealing your dog. She’s ours now.”

“I’m going to use my powers of being everyone’s favorite to get out of this.”

“I don’t associate myself with my birth name because no one called me by that name growing up.” “Have you perhaps heard of therapy?”

“My professor thinks I need an emotional support bird.” “No, I know you need an emotional support bird.”

“Okay, so they’ve got some trauma they need to work through. What’s driving the rest of you?”

“I ended up with the straight up rainbow one. Maybe straight is the wrong word. Anywhom-”

“You met this man a week ago, what do you mean you’re in love with him?”

[renaultphile]

That Bunny car scene

Hi there @telltaleangelina I just wanted to think a bit more about the scene with Bunny and Laurie in the car scene on the back of your ask/answer.

I think you really got to the heart of it with that line ‘the practiced inflection’.  Laurie uses his intuition a lot (sometimes without even being sure what he is picking up) and it’s just such a creepy line, indicating how Bunny seamlessly adopts that tone.  Although I suppose there is an analogue with Ralph giving Bunny ‘the straight look’ for the first time back at the flat.

It suddenly occurred to me that cars are so symbolic of male power at that time, and it evokes that horrible trope of men taking women out and expecting some kind of ‘payment’.  I wonder if Bunny is just so cynical that he assumes Laurie is paying Ralph back in kind for the lift, and decides he wants a piece of the action.  Or he thinks Ralph is being ridiculously gentlemanly about Laurie and wants to bring him down to his level.

I realised the scene provides a contrast to the earlier car scene with Ralph.  I know we love the little knee touch in the 1953 version when they are parked up at the scenic spot, but to me, she took that out for a reason in the 1959.  It shows the high level of tension (not just sexual!) between them and the way both of them are being hyper-vigilant – Ralph trying very hard to judge the moment with Laurie, and Laurie trying very hard to be respectful of the fact that Ralph has a boyfriend.  And also, Laurie sits in silence to avoid attracting Ralph’s anger when he hits the traffic.  And he is so uncomfortable with being dependent on Ralph – the number of times he tries to leave the party to get the bus, and he tries it again at Bunny’s.

I also realised that it almost doesn’t matter whether Bunny would have followed through with his threat or not.  It just conjures up the horrible thought that he is used to getting what he wants, and most of the time, people don’t stand up to him.  So perhaps this is a neat way to show Laurie’s strength of character in a crisis.

The other thing that is quite disturbing, if not surprising, though, is that Laurie then plays it down with Ralph.  Partly because he fears not being believed (a bit like Alec silently taking the blame for Bunny’s gossip for a quiet life), and partly to spare Ralph’s feelings.  I realised he would be very influenced as well by the ‘no snitch’ rule in school, where telling on another boy would be considered worse than the original offence.  But it is cowardly too.  I wonder if his anger on the staircase is partly fueled by his frustration at being put in that situation, the suggestion that Ralph is so inured to that kind of behaviour that he doesn’t even notice any more.  And in a way Ralph is responsible, because even if Bunny spiked his drink, he still chose alcohol over tea.  But Laurie is also too passive.  In the end Ralph ends it with Bunny without knowing for sure what he did.  Unless he knows because Bunny has form.  In which case why is he with someone like that?  Either way, Laurie’s horrible accusations on the staircase have the ring of truth.

And finally I can’t go without mentioning that other linked car scene – Ralph kissing Laurie on the first night at the party (very heavy hint anyway) when he is dreaming about his mother kissing him!!  And Ralph sitting there having a cigarette while he waits for Laurie to wake up is so sweet.

[yallemagne]

Having to pause every five seconds in this episode to scream at VH for being such an old bitch.

First up the newspaper: You're telling me none of these kids are capable of pronouncing the word "Beautiful", really? Were newspapers really like this in Victorian England? Just constantly misspelling something as a bit to make fun of people's pronunciations? That's obnoxious. Also damn the writer of this article fucking hates kids, damn.

Our correspondent naïvely says that even Ellen Terry could not be so winningly attractive as some of these grubby-faced little children pretend—and even imagine themselves—to be.

calm the fuck down, they're playing pretend. how are you seriously gonna get pissy with children roleplaying as a "Beautiful Lady".

Mina worries VH will blame her for Lucy's death and I screamed SHUT UP MINA. Oh my god Mina literally what. No, you are not even at partial fault for what happened to your ADULT FRIEND while you were away with your HUSBAND. Read my post on the matter, Mina. I swear.

VH: "Hey, can you tell me what happened in Whitby?"

Mina: "Of course."

VH: "Are you sure? Women are too stupid to remember important details."

What the fuck is wrong with you sir. What the fuck. What the fuck is wrong with you. God, he's so fucking annoying. Oh my goooood. You came to her to ask questions, you are not allowed to follow up your plea for answers with "but I don't expect you to know anything since you're a ditzy woman."

And instead of ripping him a new one, Mina tells him she has a journal. But he already knows about the journal. He knows that Mina was writing everything down the same way he knows Lucy started a diary to imitate Mina. So, it's even more than "Your puny woman brain can't possibly hold that much information" it's that AND "I know you keep a journal, but women only write silly women things in their journals, nothing worth reading"

rrrrgrrrr i'm fucking strangling him to DEATH bro

Mina gets to prank him a bit, but the message doesn't stick. Giving him her shorthand diary is a "don't fuck with me" that he greets with "haha can you read to me like a woman does?"

And the entire time, when he isn't insulting her for being a woman, he's trying to flatter her because he thinks she's a vain child. He did the same with Lucy. Mina tells him off passively "you don't know me" and he insists that he's studied the behaviour of men and women, so he does know her, and any drop-of-the-hat judgement he makes of her is fuckin God's word.

ugh there's just too much to say. Van Helsing's benevolent sexism is practically more offensive to read than malicious sexism. At least malicious sexists can admit they're bags of dicks.

[lafcadiosadventures]

Madame Putiphar Groupread. Book Two, Chapter XL

various instances of Rembrandt rejecting the tradition of depicting rape in visually pleasing or erotic ways. clockwise from top: detail of Susannah and the Elders, sketch for the same work, and a sketch for the Rape of Ganymedes.

{ @counterwiddershins + @sainteverge }

brace yourselves bc there's A LOT i found interesting in this chapter, Lots of fascinating rhetorical choices by the king, who in this chapter is portrayed exclusively by how he talks. Deborah continues to be assertive and smart and attempting to fight back openly, instead of being a hypocrite or a pretender/diplomat. She is moraly incapable of using the strategies of the court for very long.

-in the beginning the king pretends to be the baron of Gonesse. the false persona allows him to persuade Deborah that his power is limited. Deborah pretends to believe him for a while, even humors him with some moderate language of seduction (“I languished, I waited ardently for your arrival”) This doesn't last, as soon as The king enquires about her mourning arm ribbon, the memory of Patrick and the hope that the king is humane enough to be touched by her story, she speaks like the Deborah of old. She even calls her abduction an abduction to his face. No sugar coating or diplomacy from her. She accuses Villepastour and Pompadour openly, and expects the King to help her avenge herself. But the King is currently pretending to not be the King. Deborah's intrinsec belief that all people share her human decency + some idealizations of the role of the king as assigned by god, cloud her judgement. Not only the king knows the women are abducted, he doesn't care -to understand this classist mentality, Sade's letter are especially illustrative. Men of certain standing deserve to have women of lower status abducted for their fun, there is no solidarity because he doesn't even consider the women to be in the same species as he, the whole divine right idea ennables this mentality-

-the role the king plays as Gonesse is that of a busy diplomat -as opposed to his reality in this novel as a diletante-who is forced away from gallant affairs by diplomacy on the borders. He paints himself as a romantic soldier and politician, longing for love while busy defending the frontiers of his nation. He admits having abducted Deborah, and pretends to think abducting people is wrong and not something he does on a daily basis, but what was he to do, the love he felt was too strong, and he has his whole life to attone and make it up for her.

-the word abduction is thrown back at him by Deborah when asked about her mourning arm band.

-When “Gonesse”claims to not be an all powerful man, Deborah asks him to speak to the King, to which Gonesse answers with assorted cynic ideas on men and women and conquest, she lost a lover but earned two, and if that is bad, women should take better care of their lovers. In a rhetorical move worthy of Benvenutto Cellini's manipulations of the Pope, Deborah paints a more flattering picture of the king: He would never say those things to an abducted widow in mourning, because he hates crime and is a paldin of justice. To which the King can only say he is flattered, tries to brush it all off saying she will be “satisfied”only now it's not the right time to talk of those sad things, since Gonesse is a very susceptible to melancholy and fits of terror (we see slowly how the king's formidable appearance in his grand entry, that which drove deborah to her knees crumbles down. His performance of power is weak, when inflamed by desire he can only rely to two strategies, not more sofisticated than those of Villepastour, distracting Deborah with stories -remember Villepastour pulling out a porn pocket volume out of his Green redingote?- or, physical violence, something the woman is blamed for forcing the men to resource to. As we will see, these are the two paths the king will use in this whole Seduction Scene(tm). Fiction and story telling are a mirage, violence is what lies behind the embezzlement-even within it, we will see what kind of images the King's imagination summons.

-even in this initial verbal phase, violence cannot be separated from his royal sexuality. He cannot praise Deborah's beauty without saying how -if he were the King of France- he'd quickly annex Ireland and live there if all women were as beautiful as her. This is the kind of thing you can picture a king saying casually, as a joke, without batting an eyelash. Deborah being who she is, she cannot let this pass. And not diplomatically either, calling him a hammer, a yoke, an imposer of the law of the strongest.

-The king jokes that once she knows him better she would never call him any of that, nevertheless he is flattered and not insulted. The king's speech continues to be peppered with sexism, reifying Debby by asking her not to move once she asumes a facial expression and pose that turns him on-interestingly, a pose of sorrow and pain- he asks her to become a statue, because this pose highlights her white shoulders and her breats. He makes some veiled allusions to cannibalism -never shipwreck in Tovy-Poenammou- making his speech once again, etnocentric and colonial, and comments on his taste on women's clothes, the incresingly low necklines and wide decoletages can stay, but the neck ornaments and gauzes are annoying obstacles that women wear emmiting thusly a double signal of provocation and mock prudery. The word choice once again, is very, very interesting: women are shrouded in bandages, like an open sore, the image is vaginal and violent. Has this man ever pleased a woman or does he only know how to cause pain?

And the subject of gauzes makes the king wonder into his next piquant story to distract Deborah and get her in the mood for love. This is what the king meant when he inived her to talk of love for a while, sadism and colonialism. Even when thinking he's making pleasant small talk the violence of his role just drips through.

The story is about two women who seeked to satisfy both “reason and customs.”by riding a carriage through the Tuileries gardens, naked under white sheer dresses, people gazing at them like melons are savoured with the eyes through the glass bells containing them. The connection to Deborah is only through the gauze on her neck, revealing the king's no longer thinking much with the head between his shoulders. Indeed, he declares to be in a fight between reason and his education, whic is what keeps him at bay from devouring Deborah, like a cannibal. Through their dialogue only, we see how the king wants to get things in motion, and Deborah attempts to defend herself. The dialogue is really succesful here, Deborah accuses him of acting unworthily of the role that God has bestowed on him. But Gonesse is only a man! A man, yes, but he acts like a dog, retorts Deborah. The not-King protests, (i can imagine his surprise at being spoken like this, even while acting as Gonesse he's still playing the part of a noble) Deborah too wants to get her own plot in motion, admits she knows he is the king. In return, he claims she is dreaming, and his touch becomes forceful. Deborah replies:

““Is this the hospitality a foreign girl finds in your Kingdom! her husband is murdered, and then she is dragged in a nameless place, and she is fattened up for the King’s pleasures, and the King rapes her. (...)”

tr. @sainteverge

the rest is about the kind of good kings Patrick and Debby idealize, she asks him if he is not ashamed for acting in ways that would displease them (which is fun because these kings were as much colonial brutes as the more modern, supposedly decadent ones...)

{--Also, spanish speaker moment: the word engaissé in french, which Debby uses for fattening, has a double meaning in french that engrasado in spanish doesn't share, which made me check if french kept the “greased up”meaning, and it does, it means mainly fattened, but also greased, so it's an interesting if secondary allusion to lubrication --}

Anyways I strongly appreciate Borel not going for an euphemism for rape here. The book boldly dares to call the king a rapist, no excuses, no attempt to soften facts.

Deborah continues with her rhetorical mastery while trying to appease the previously loquacious king who is no longer verbal but exclusively physical now in her attempt to overpower her:

“You want pleasure: I am no more than bramble, than a thorny bush of which the leaves and flowers have fallen with the wind of misfortune. I am only a pleasure-less and awkward foreigner, sad, mournful, wilted, her heart full of poison and loathing and dejection, regretting her native mountains, weeping her mother whose grave is still freshly stirred, and her spouse whose blood is still steaming.—Mercy, mercy, Sire! let me go: you are asking pleasures from an urn, you are asking caresses from a cypress! Look! I am cold and icy like the dead!—Please! please! humanity, Sire! my womb is full: do not give the orphan whom I am bearing a prostitute for a mother!... ”

As the narrator had done before, Deborah likens her body with hostile botanical and geographical terms,her body is arid and spiky like thorny bushes of her motherland.

She is an urn, a cypress, the tree you can find in every cemetery, even her body is cold, she is partly dead because of the triple mourning of her husband, her mother and her motherland. (there is nothing appealing in this inactive/inert/dead nature, as opposed to other romantic texts)

Deborah also subverts nobility related rhetoric: his rape will render her a prostitute. The king corrects her, he is Zeus abducting Ganymedes. His touch ennobles, if any of them is abasing themselves, it is the king, by touching a lowly creature such as her.

The king truns to persuasive talk once more, making her believe she can be the next Pompadour. If she lets him rape her, she can rule his heart, she can have every luxury, yada yada, fame, even her revenge, even Cockermouth Castle can be moved to France if she misses it.

The king's description -paying her yielding with goods, social status and revenge-convinces Deborah further that she is being put into the role of a prostitute, and that is, according to her deeply religious and influenced by sexism beliefs, a dishonourable role. (while it should be enough for her to think, I don't want to have sex with you, I am so disgusted by you I cannot bring myself to do it even if I don't want to, because you kidnapped me and are unmoved by the fact that I don't want to have sex with you. The end) Her liberty is owed to her, she wants it back. The king insists, Deborah resists, she begs desperately on her knees, the king, we asume, pulls his dick out, Deborah's refusal of it and her insulting him as a king: (“King, you are infamous!”) has him accusing of being a Lucretia, who was brought up on analysis of book one, the allusion is perfect, because her fighting back after her rape by Tarquinius ended a monarchy and inaugurated the Roman republic.

The most memorable line of the book is uttered by Deborah, and with it ends book three. Recalling to the defeats that are covert victories Montaigne speaks of in his des Cannibales, we can say this desperate cry is not that of a beaten person, but a war cry of someone who will bounce back after the ordeal.

“Tarquin! someone shall avenge me!” “Who?” “God and the people.”

dieu et le peuple. We shall see how Borel shows this fated revenge on later chapters......