#the monstrosity of womanhood

[sirenscurse]

“Botanica no.23”, circa 2011

Painted by Gail Potocki

#artistic #art #symbolist painting #symbolism #gail potocki #paint #paintings #painting #the beauty of darkness #the monstrosity of womanhood #romanticism #the darkness of nature #the art of living #ominous #dark nature #darkness #dark art

[hauntedbythenarrative]

Why does tragedy exist? Because you are full of rage. Why are you full of rage? Because you are full of grief.

Circe invidiosa (1892), John William Waterhouse//Boyish, Japanese Breakfast//Medea, Euripides//Judith and Holofernes, Unknown Artist//Medea meditating on killing her children (1852)//Dead Blondes and Bad Mothers, Sady Doyle//Medea, Euripides//Circe offering the cup to Ulysses (1891), John William Waterhouse//Study for Lady Macbeth (1851), Gustave Moreau//John Singer Sargent (1889)

#web weaving #mine #womanhood #circe #medea #lady macbeth #judith #revenge #on female rage #fury #anger #female monstrosity #sady doyle #dead blondes and bad mothers #euripides #john william waterhouse #john singer sargent #quotes #words #poetry #violence #devotion #rage #judith and holofernes #gustave moreau #tragedy #anne carson #grief #hunger #danger

[ghelgheli]

Afab people can also develop a gendered subjectivity in response to transmisogyny, whether they've been victims of it or not, just as amab people can develop it as a result of misogyny. So, if transfemininity is also defined by this characteristic, afab transfem also fit into it. Your objection to this fact is just a bias based, at best, on ignorance.

-

It's is a bioessentialist prescription because you're adopting a conception of transfemininity that dictates that to be transfeminine, you have to fulfil to expectation of being male assignment at birth. this is no different from someone who uses the bioessentialist conception of womanhood which require female assignement at birth. Both are form bioessentialism that we should not perpetuate at our level, but rather we should re-thinking these gender categories in a way that doesn't align with bioessetialist conceptions

whoops! you caught me out aha. I forgot that afab trans people have subjectivities shaped by transmisogyny. I also forgot that cis womanhood is defined in large part thru transmisogyny: the fear of being clocky, constant affirmation by distancing from the tranny-object except when it's hot to have a bit of a jawline now, palatability as opposition to the monstrosity of being the shemale. I guess cis women are transfeminine too!

let's remember, while we're at it, that transmisogyny is the spectre that haunts the subject of the cis man. the gendered border policing lest one take a step too close to sissification, the prohibition on behaviour that could threaten to make him a girl—oh! cis men are transfeminine too!

in fact, we're all transfeminine! transmisogyny, as the recognition and attempted correction of the tranny-glitch that undoes the threads of gender, asserts itself against all of us. it is impossible to be a gendered subject without having contours shaped by the domineering pressures of transmisogyny, because that is what demands we all fall in line to the gendered nightmare. oops! all transfem!

but wait. a certain group, deprived now of unique identification, has just lost the ability to describe its gendered situation. it has been swallowed up by the seas of inclusive thinking or whatever. I guess that's okay :) I guess we'll drop our complaints :) we were a nuisance in the first place, weren't we? sorry. so sorry for existing this way.

listen to me. listen to me not as your fucking ephemeral gender oracle telling you what you want to hear before being thrown away, not as your bullshit mouthpiece granting you entrance to this mystical domain you want to claim for yourself, but as a god damn person for once—an impossible thing to ask of the transmisogynistic tranny wannabe, I know, but try!

you cannot escape hegemonic gender and its violent devices with flaccid platitudes about "re-thinking these gender categories" as though by changing the names of things you can change the things themselves. transmisogyny is the bioessentialism, and transmisogyny is why I am a failed man—the faggot embodied—something less than both man and woman—a gender traitor specifically against my assignment itself. and if you cannot recognize the unique ways that transmisogyny is deployed unrelentingly and irrevocably against the ones who will never be able to resort to birth assignment as a defense—against the ones who cannot throw their hands up and say, "I was never supposed to be a man in the first place!"—you have not understood the first thing about the root source of transmisogyny, and it is no surprise to me that you have no sense of transfemininity as a political category, a(n un)gendered class.

#ask answer #what is it with the tranny wannabes stuffing their heads so far up their own asses they become fucking klein bottles #no more patience for this nonsense #but to my moots who are girlies dolls transfems tma whatever i love u all

[bridgetotheskyyy]

snapshot.

summary: Deidara meets a superfan

warnings: Smut, 18+, rough sex, choking, pool sex, reader has a bit of a description, reader is complex, mentions of killing

word count: 6.9k

a/n: I had this idea shortly after conceptualizing Apprentice and while I was, like 70 or 80% done with that fic. And now we have this fucking 7k monster. I consider this to be a spiritual successor to Apprentice, maybe a oppositional series of events even? Idk, you decide lol. There are even some similar words and wordy allusions that you may catch haha. Hope you enjoy!

read on ao3 here. (recommended for extra notes)

Kisame’s wicked cackles reverberated across the cavern walls, summoned from the pit of his stomach; Deidara was sure he would pass out sooner rather than later. 

“It seems,” Pain began, eyeing the sculpture in the center of the room, “you have an admirer, Deidara.” 

Deidara’s brow twitched as a blush snuck across his face. His eyes roved over the sculpture ― the naked sculpture.

Tobi threw up his hands in laudation. “It’s so pretty! ”

Kisame laughed harder ― if it was possible. 

“I have taken it upon myself to apologize to (Y/n),” Pain continued over the cackling. “She’s one of our main contributors, after all; we would be amiss to upset her.” 

“When …” Deidara’s brow held a life of its own, “... did she send this?”

“No clue; I had Kisame retrieve it,” Pain explained. “Apparently, we sent the wrong member to entertain her.”

Kisame’s hand hugged the wall. “You’re damn right! ” 

It was as subtle a joke as could be achieved by Pain and it still wasn’t funny. Deidara’s eyes had not once left the sculpture since Pain had signaled for his attendance, saying it was of the utmost importance he appeared. One arm yawned out to the sky while the other snaked around and brushed against the meat of the breasts ― your breasts. One leg stuck out before the other, the fat of the thigh attached concealing the womanhood. 

Your womanhood. 

Both futile attempts to afford the piece some decency. Futile, Deidara guessed, was the point. It was coquetry. A shameless attempt at flirtation on your part. 

And just in case Deidara was too dense to get the message, you’d taken it upon yourself to leave him one, attached to the foot of the sculpture’s dais:

Hello! Please deliver to Deidara. Thank you.  

It even had a smiley face after the period.

Deidara balled his fist. 

What. The. Fuck.

“(Y/n) must be an incredibly beautiful woman!” Tobi admired the piece with fascination, a sparkling heart encasing his eyehole. “Look at the face, and the hips, and the feet ― ”

“Tobi!” Deidara was beet red. “Shut the hell up!” 

“Deidara,” Pain spoke again, unfazed by the cacophony. “I’m sure you’ll be undertaking a journey west? Since (Y/n) has clearly requested you specifically.”

Deidara’s eyes yo-yoed between their leader and the monstrosity of the naked sculpture. He debated it. Of course, all while fantasizing about shoving explosives down the laughing fishman’s throat and turning him into a pile of sardines. 

Tobi can taste one himself, while I’m at it.  

“What?” Irritation bit Deidara’s tone. “We’re fucking prostitutes now?” 

Pain raised holographic brows. “If it ensures peace, then yes.”

Deidara’s mouth dropped. The audacity of it all. How much was he expected to take? 

“We’re waiting, Deidara.”

A pause. He was no fool. This wasn’t a request, it was an expectation. 

“Fine,” Deidara sighed irritably. “I’ll go, all right?”

“You better,” Kisame said, at last recovering from his fit. “Better get those high heels out and start walking the streets, too!”

Deidara was ready to draw blood ― 

“No need to be crude, Kisame,” Pain’s backdropped against another fit of raucous laughter. 

Says the man who puts a naked STATUE in the room.

“ Honestly, ” Kakuzu spat. “Do the rest of us have to be here for this?” 

“I second that!” Hidan said with relief, “Finally, something we can agree on. ”

“Of course,” Pain said. “You were here in the event Deidara tried to refuse.”

Deidara ignored them all. He gave the sculpture one more scan before swallowing dry and awaiting the end of the call. He could not believe your gall. You were so … brazen . A simple love letter couldn’t have sufficed? No? A naked ― What the fuck was the matter with you?

Still, he was … intrigued. Curiosity was a hooking finger, beckoning him forth. Was that really … your body? Your lips? Your thighs? Your …

Deidara swallowed dry again, his tongue sticking to the top of his palate.

He’d go to the village and put an end to your games. 

And maybe …

He wouldn’t let himself go there ― even if his treacherous mind was wandering already.

<<<>>>

You sat in your museum of sculptures, head tilted up against the gods you had crafted.

The door creaked open.

“I just received Pain’s crow,” your assistant’s voice rang. “Deidara should arrive in another day or so.” 

Stars were in your eyes but you kept your back to her. “Great!”

Your grand plan relied on whether or not Pain, mysterious leader of the Akatsuki, was morally bankrupt enough to hoe out his members. At any point you could’ve been rejected with your sculpture returned swiftly to you. But it worked. You were thrilled. The first part of the plan had succeeded. 

You were going to see him again.

Your assistant’s footsteps tapped repeatedly over the polish floors upon which you now sat. 

“Hmm.” Doubt deflated some of your enthusiasm. “Do you think it was effective enough? You know, for him?”

Your assistant huffed incredulously. “What? Just because Deidara’s a shinobi means he’s immune to pussy? C’mon. You’re not one of those types that thinks all shinobi are noble and stone-faced, are you, (Y/n)-sama?”

  As if. You guffawed. Nobility wasn’t the issue; hundreds of people scoured the red light districts for carnal game. You told your assistant as such. 

“At least seventy percent are shinobi searching for quick thrills,” You joked. “If my math’s correct, anyway. It could be higher. And I know any one of them would be more than happy if a girl simply threw herself at them without need for reimbursement. But still …” You trailed, gaze tailing down the hardened clay of a kimono-garbed sculpture. “I only wondered. It’s been a long time since … I don’t know how dedicated he is to his little terrorist group, is all. He might not be as amused.”

“You answered your own question, ma’am,” your assistant said. “And even if he wasn’t a shinobi, he’s a man. It’ll go down without a hitch! You worry too much.”

You nodded. She was right: despite the years, you wanted to speak to Deidara in his language. Art. How could he resist such an enticement? How could any man, but especially Deidara, due to the manner in which you had sent your little gift. “Okay. Part one of the plan: Complete!”

“What’s the rest of the plan exactly?” You heard the pat, pat, pat and knew from your many years with your assistant that she was thumping her clipboard against her head. “Dinner? Walk on the beach? Or just … Fucking?”

Your smile was evil. “Yes.” 

You held Deidara in your mind’s palm. Blonde hair, gorgeous face .. . One of the most admired artists in Iwakagure ― no, the most. For  could rival Deidara? Even your knees wobbled in the face of his raw talent, even years later. He was still revered in the art community. Of course, his name grew to possess more notoriety than reverence when he started blowing up things ― and people. But, hey everyone was flawed. 

It was only when he went rogue and abandoned the village did you start your own search for him. Years passed and then … reports of a long-haired, blonde shinobi with profound arsonry acuity. Rogue. Affinity for birds.

Bingo. 

Your giggle was shamelessly girlish. “I’d love to woo him.”

Your assistant chuckled. “Aaand you’re not the slightest bit afraid of him? I mean, with all respect, (Y/n)-sama, he’s a criminal. He’s an arsonist. ” 

You licked your lips. “Love me a bad boy.”

“Right,” she said with a chuckle. “Forget I said anything.” 

“I will. Now, let’s get ready.”

<<<>>>

“We’re going to see the girl with the pretty feet, aren’t we, Senpai?” 

“I told you to shut your mouth, Tobi.” 

Deidara’s taller partner buoyed from foot to foot as he tailed behind. Deidara didn’t want to think about your body ― your incredibly artful body, artful in more ways than one … 

The sun crept from the sky as it vivified the color of peachskin. Deidara’s eyes darted hither-thither, collecting information. It was all he could do to not summon one of his explosive birds and fly over this entire, forgotten village. The urge to set it ablaze and go home was immense. A part of him had wanted to make such an entrance, but prudency would never allow it. 

Nor would Leader.

Deidara turned back to Tobi just in time to see him pose, a hand visoring his visible eye while the other landed on his hip. 

“Leader said the pretty naked lady would have someone waiting for us,” Tobi said. 

“Hm,” Deidara said. It was true; they would wait for someone to escort them to you. Until then, they remained lost in one of the village’s districts. The streets were alive with noise and peopled with busy folk. Deidara could tell the amount of businesses actually open were sparse.  Pain had called you one of their main contributors … She must be a big wig to have people doing her dirty work for her. Just who were you? And how were you so familiar with him to send such a thing to the Akatsuki headquarters? 

And if you were so rich, why did you squalor in the dirt with the likes of those in this village?

Thoughts bubbled in the back of Deidara’s mind― 

“Hey …!” 

Outside of a food stall a woman eyed them, holding a curtain back with manicured nails.

Bingo . 

“Tobi,” Deidara gestured. “C’mon.” 

“Okay, senpai!” 

Deidara neared the food stall.

The woman ticked her head to the side with a smile. “Enjoy your gift?”

Pink colored Deidara’s cheeks.

“So, you’re escorting us, right?”

The woman backed away to admit them into the food stall, where the people inside, dining on bowls of ramen and mackerel were too engrossed in their meals to notice the cloaked men enter. 

“You got me,” she winked. “C’mon.”

The woman led them behind the bar, where they slinked through the backdoor into the alley. 

“Don’t need anyone asking questions about the cloaks,” she reasoned. “Surprised you didn’t think of that, Oh Great Deidara of Iwakagure.”

“Of course I did!” Deidara said. “I look stupid to you?”

“No,” the woman’s eyes roamed on Deidara now. “You look cute . My mistress really didn’t lie …” 

Deidara averted his gaze as the woman snickered. Tobi gawked. 

“Does lady think Tobi’s cute, too?” 

“Uh,” she blinked. “Sure.” 

Tobi twirled with a squeal. Deidara rolled his eyes. 

“Whatever,” Deidara said. “Just take us to meet her, all right?”

“Sure …” the woman said. 

They traveled through as street lights blared to life, the sky a bruising purple as evening descended.

“I only wanted us in there to help us blend in a bit,” she guided them through the streets. “I hope it wasn’t too troublesome getting here.” 

“We can care for ourselves,” Deidara said, prickly. 

“You don’t have to be so defensive,” the woman said. “I’m just making conversation.”

“I said don’t worry about it,” Deidara snapped. “So … who is this woman? This mistress of yours?” 

“I’m one of her many assistants, yeah,” the woman said, leading them down a dark street, made darker by the light of day dying faster. “I started working for her years ago. I was so amazed by her art and so intimidated by her talent, I didn’t think she’d accept me. But, surprise surprise.”

“Yeah? So how she so rich? She sell her art?”

“Exactly! People come from all over the world to see her exhibits. She brings so much tourism to this ragtag village. She doesn’t even keep her wealth to herself; she donates so much. She should be much richer than she is! She’s a saint, really.”

So she donates to the Akatsuki, the deadpan of the thought laid flat in his mind. Deidara was silent, tailing shortly behind her. Some saint.

“You called me Deidara of Iwakagure.”

“ … Yes, I suppose I did.”

“So … Your mistress … she knows where I’m from.”

The woman was silent now as she led Deidara and Tobi down street steps to a quieter street, nearly bereft of people beside the occasional deadbeat smoker. 

“She from there, too?” 

Deidara went unanswered. 

Hm, so I’m on to something, Deidara noticed the buildings growing taller, treeing up as the raucous of the village slipped away. They traveled further south. Maybe Pain’s got this wrong; maybe this girl’s a fucking black widow and wants revenge on me for something. Figures, he’s sure he’s broken a few hearts in the past he’d long since forgotten about. But then … Why would she donate so much money to our organization? She clearly believes in it.

“We’re here,” the woman-assistant said.

Deidara raised his head ― and kept raising it. 

Shit . 

The mansion was immaculate, easily the tallest of all of its sisters. Its main building was flanked by towers with onioned tips and was encased in a giant garden, all of it shielded by a surrounding wall. 

Deidara stared, bug-eyed.

The doors to the gate’s entrance burst open and a gaggle of girls filed through. 

“They’re here ―!” 

“Ooh~! there’s two of ‘em!” 

“Mistress will be so pleased!” 

Girls stood star-eyed at Deidara while more hugged themselves to Tobi’s arms. 

“Tobi likes pretty girls!”

“We’ll entertain the other one,” the woman-assistant said with a wink. “You just follow us.”

The woman-assistant led them in where the cult of girls drove Tobi away laughing and giggling. 

“This way,” the woman said. 

Deidara followed her, looking around. From the inside, the mansion opened up like some grand palace from myth, folkloric and mysterious. Columns shouldered the brunt of a ceiling that raised into the darkness. The floors were illustrated scenes from what Deidara recognized as actual myths. Valiant samurais rescued princesses with flaring kimonos, dragons ribboned down hallways. The scenes on the walls diverged from the ones of nobility beneath them, were lavish with depictions of wild courtesans and … 

Deidara blushed. 

Begrudgingly, he had to admit you did have taste; the art was a lot, but wove together into one cohesive masterpiece. The hallways the assistant led him down were flanked by vases winking with sheen and overflowed with bell flowers, roses, sunflowers. The hallway widened into a foyer. Something winked in Deidara’s peripheral and when he looked upward saw that the ceiling domed into a orb of glass, giving way to the first few blink of stars. 

He had entered the lion’s den for sure.

“ Deidara … ” 

The sirenic voice compelled his head to a foyer alcove where a figure shrouded the threshold. 

His eyes widened. 

(E/c) eyes glittered at him. Long legs supported swaying hips. Elegant cleavage sinking into a familiar mound of breasts. Delicate hands, hickey-worthy neck … 

And lovely ― and lovely … 

Inwardly, he sighed, defeated.

Feet.  

The naked sculpture colored Deidara’s memory. 

“Deidara!” You parroted in awe. Your expression shifted as you came to smolder at him. “In the flesh. And just in time for dinner.”

Your kimono waterfalled as you left the alcove. Deidara gulped, speechless as you sauntered to him.

“It ―” Deidara’s cheeks grew hot. “It really is you …” 

“It really is me …” 

Your woman-assistant's eyes tennis-balled between you and Deidara before bowing respectfully. “I’ll give you two some privacy.” 

She hurried away down a different alcove. 

Deidara shook his head in a desperate attempt to reclaim his senses. Fucking hell, Dei, get a grip.

“So,” he cleared his throat. “I ―”

“I still can’t believe you’re actually here,” You began to turn, “Let me show you ―”

“Wait, I think we should discuss monetary terms first,” Deidara said in a futile attempt to hold some ground over the woman. 

“Hm?” You blinked. “Didn’t your leader explain things to you?”

“What do you mean?”

“The money comes after the evening,” you winked at him. “Of course.” 

Pain, you fucking ― 

“Deidara …” You revered, pulling the sleeve of your kimono back over your shoulder. “Before dinner, I would love for you to see the rest of my work.” 

“Your,” Deidara deadpanned, blinking, “work?”

“Yes,” You smirked at him. “You enjoyed the piece I already had you review, I presume?” 

Deidara fought to keep things on the issue at hand, but his eyes grew preoccupied with the twinkle in yours. The sky above the two of you had plunged into a chief darkness. Candles flared to life to douse the hall in tangerine light. 

Deidara turned a blind eye to it. “Your assistant called me Deidara of Iwakagure.” 

You eyed him. “Did she …?” you said coyly. “I’m glad she didn’t try and call you anything else; she’s got a mouth on her.”

“How do you know me?” 

You shied away. Your head dipped. Deidara tried to ignore the cuteness of it all. 

Focus, damnit.

“I’m guessing you’re from Iwagakure, too?” Deidara pressed. “What are you playing at?” 

You took your time. “Yeah, Deidara, we have a village in common.” You began to walk, crossing the columns to circle him. “Do you remember the underground competitions that used to be held there?” 

“Hm,” Deidara recalled and relished in the ego trip it afforded him. Dark rooms. Rowdy spectators circled around art pieces under makeshift stage lights like cavemen around fire. It was before he left the Iwagakure, when he was still itching to engage in the village’s indie art scene before growing bored of the whole thing. “I won most of them.” 

“I used to show up early and wait for you to showcase your things,” You glazed with memory. “You were always my favorite.” 

Deidara smirked. “Hm, naturally. So you’re, what, some kind of superfan Not like I’m surprised, but …”

You thread past a column to scoop up a candle holder. 

“You could say that,” you said. I have something to show you, if you follow me.”

He obliged, curiosity hooking him with a second finger. Candle flame lit like thin clovers to ward off the darkness. The flames illuminated the sway of your hips as he trailed. The sleeve of your kimono slipped past your shoulder again, revealing the skin of your neck and shoulder pad to him …

Why am I even noticing? 

You brought him to a room hidden behind a set of rectangular doors.

“This is where I keep them.” 

You pushed the doors open with a strength Deidara wouldn’t have expected. 

Deidara entered ― and stopped.

It was a museum of art; animal pieces blazed his vision; exotic birds in flight, elegant cranes, all shaded and hued with masterful care and, if Deidara hadn’t been who he was, he wouldn’t have been able to recognize them as pieces done with clay. There were apricot-colored foxes, a dragon head amongst a dragon bust. Deidara recognized a few self sculptures in the forest of pieces. Obscure structures too abstract to be assigned to names dotted space, esoteric symbols eluding even him …

“You inspired me to create my own art,” You explained as he gawked. You inched to him and brazenly took his hand in yours.

Deidara jumped from the sudden contact and found your pretty face in the dim light. Stop … stop. A part of him wanted to summon a tongue to taste the salt on your palm. 

“It’s how I’ve made my money,” you continued as you tugged him along the aisles of work like an excited child.

“So you’re that kind of fan,” Deidara said as he recovered. And, what do you want from me?” he chuckled in disbelief, “My critique?”

“Of course.” 

He wasn’t expecting an honest answer forthright. Sincerely, he roved eyes over your work. 

“Hm, well …” he approached one, taking inventory of it head to foot. “Give me the candle.”

You obeyed.

“You’ve got a great understanding of color, I’ll give you that,” Deidara examined. “Painting can be messy, especially on clay ― and honestly so many artists use colors so … bluntly; it makes the whole thing come off as garish.”

“I’ve noticed.”

He laughed at that. “Hm! … You’ve got a great eye. And I don’t hand out compliments easily.” He raised the candle to illuminate another sculpture. “How long did this one take you?” 

“Five weeks,” You answered before chuckling somewhere behind him. “It’s funny, I sketched and re-sketched this one so many times, it was technically seven weeks.”

“A perfectionist. I like that.” 

Deidara found himself smiling. Rarely did he get to talk to someone about art or its many processes. Deidara thought of Sasori and was touched with a tinge of respect for his fallen partner. But, of course, they’re philosophies so often chafed against one another. But you … An image of him helping you craft one of your pieces came to his mind: his hands guiding yours over unsophisticated clay, paint dashing your collarbone, maybe on your lips … 

“Deidara …?”

Your voice brought him out of his thoughts, only for him to realize you were now in front of him. 

“We could talk about this more over dinner.” 

Your hands grazed his forearms and for some reason he didn’t pull away. The alluring scent of your perfume flirted up his nose. 

Deidara’s cock twitched; he kicked himself inwardly. What was he? A fucking teenage boy? He had half of a mind to shove you away, end this … whatever this was.

But none of that happened. Instead, he agreed. And, taking his hand again with fingers threaded through his, you led him out of your museum. 

<<<>>>

You let him to the roof of one of your buildings, where moonlight bestowed diamonds over the still waters of your pool and the dinner table waited, illuminated by more candles. 

“You’re a real hot shot now, aren’t you?” Deidara said.

You blushed as he surveyed dinner. “Is it too much?” 

“Nah, if anything it’s just the artist in you dying to come out,” he shrugged. “I respect that.”

You moved to take a seat, Deidara following you. He stopped you, pulling out the chair for you. 

You sank to your chair with a mixture of surprise and thrill. “What a gentleman. ”

“Just showing my respect, is all.” 

You snapped your fingers and two waiters appeared to kneel before you, plates of food in hand. 

Deidara did a double-take. “Wow.”

The waiters displayed the food and took their leave. His favorite: bakudan.

“You think of everything, don’t you?” Deidara said.

“Yeah.”

“Hm …” he could not pretend as though he was not impressed, but he could try as he took his seat.

He remembered the art shows in Iwagakure. You were always there? Did he ever see you? Even if he had, you would’ve been little more than a nobody to him, another sycophant he rightfully deserved amongst a herd of fawns and nothing more. You’re telling me all that time … I had a groupie groupie?

“Hey,” he said. “Remember when you said you used to attend my showcases.”

You lowered your fork to raise your brows. “I remember ten minutes ago, yeah.”

Deidara’s own brow twitched. Cheeky cunt . Then kicked himself; he didn’t want to think about your cunt. He watched your tongue swipe your plump lower lip ― then kicked himself again. 

“Why didn’t you ever try to talk to me?” Deidara asked. “I mean,” he leaned back in his chair, dangling his fork, “not like I needed any encouragement, even back then, but what gives? If you were such a fan ―”

“I was shy, back then …” You said. You toyed with your food. You had turned bashful, like a schoolgirl. “Still am, to be honest.”

He scoffed. “Hm! Says the woman who sends naked sculptures of herself to people.” 

You waved your fork. “What can I say? You bring out the wild girl in me,” The glint in your eye turned seductive. “Always have …”

Deidara gulped. What did that mean? You play with yourself with me in mind? Is that it?

Thinking that was another mistake;  images of you sieved into his mind. Sweet, feminine hands sinking in between the softness of your thighs, fingers grazing your wet lips to ... 

What did you smell like? Did you smell as good there as you did everywhere else? 

He shook his head. Fuck . 

“So you’re telling me,” Deidara said just to say something, “you have absolutely no issue with what I do.” 

“I don’t know,” You coquetted. “What do you do?”

“Don’t play coy . You contacted Akatsuki. You know damn well what I mean.” 

You were silent. 

“Killing people,” Deidara said. “Blowing them to smithereens. Kidnapping. The gods know what else. You’re cool with all that?”

Your manicured hand wrapped around your wine glass. You raised it, but before bringing it to your lips: 

“Birds of a feather.” 

You drank. 

What? 

“Come again?” 

You smacked your lips. “You’re not the only one who’s killed a few.” 

A pause. You set aside your drink before challenging his gaze. 

“Care to elaborate?” he asked. 

“I had an assistant once,” you began. “She told me she was desperate for a job, but you wouldn’t know by the run of her mouth. She complained, took off without warning. But then it turned out she had sticky fingers; she tried to steal one of my pieces. I’d had enough.” You leaned over the table as though you feared Deidara wouldn’t hear. “So I killed her. Used her for my piece after the last.”

“And,” Deidara swallowed, “your current girl …”

“You’ve already met her,” you said. “She’s mouthy, too ― but not to me.” 

You had killed, not only that ― encased a girl inside your work. She had wanted your art, and she had gotten her wish. 

“That’s …” Deidara trailed. “... Amazing.”

You smiled. “So, you see, I have no problem with what you do. Who am I to judge, am I right?” 

“Do the villagers judge you?”

“This village has seen enough strife for a lifetime,” You said. “I don’t think they’d mind learning about indiscretion ― especially if they knew why I killed her.”

Deidara raised an eyebrow. “So you donate bundles of cash to clear your conscience?”

“My conscience is clear,” You said. “People shouldn’t have to suffer any more than they already do. I want this village to prospect. I donate because I want to.” You popped a piece of food into your mouth. “You never answered me, by the way.”

“About what?” 

“The sculpture,” Your eyes narrowed with coquetry again, a glint especially bright and beautiful in your eye with aid from the moonlight. “Did you like it?” 

Deidara’s heart beat especially loud in his ears ― and this time he didn’t kick himself for it. 

“... Yeah,” he relented. “Yeah, I liked it.” 

“And it’s been a long time since I’ve seen any of your work, Deidara,” You raised to leave your seat. “Why don’t you show me something?” 

Deidara’s eyes widened. Far was he ever from an opportunity to flex his brilliance, especially on someone so appreciative ― so 

deserving. 

“Sure!”

Enthusiasm straightened your shoulders. “Really? I mean, If you need ―”

“I don’t need anything,” he said, waving you away. “Just stand back!” 

You obeyed, eyes bright from the contagion of his excitement. So aptly memorized did he have the hand signs, Deidara didn’t care to glance at them. Instead, he watched you try to futilely follow his movements. 

<<<>>>

Clay spilled like milk from mouths on Deidara’s hands to form into creatures before your eyes ― you blinked furiously and each time you did another creature was born; small dragons, spherical creatures with eyes, birds, and one, growing piece of clay, raising meters above the ground. It looked like a snowman to you but, knowing Deidara, it was leagues more dangerous. 

You stepped back, overwhelmed by the breadth of Deidara’s creation, Deidara’s artistry . 

One of Deidara’s clay birds flapped its wings, swerved in the air and landed gracefully on the cliff of your shoulder. 

“So,” Deidara’s smirk brightened his face and sent a throb to your nether regions, “what do you think?” 

What do I think? You pet the bird’s clay-made wing. What do I think?  

You took a step. The roof crowded with his creatures to dab white ivory among the encroaching night. 

Surely, it helped being a ninja; Deidara possessed powers you could only dream of understanding. Still. Your mouth hung agape at the amount of things he could spring alive from the literal palms of his hand. Your eyes followed up at his bigger piece, more of a monument to you than a mound of clay. 

He’s a god. A god among men. A god of art.

“Hm!” 

Poof.

You startled. Some of the pieces began disappearing. They left the roof choking with smoke until only his large, snowman-like piece remained. 

“I see you’ve been stunned into silence by my art,” Deidara said. 

You didn’t reply, only began to step forward. 

“Hm!” Deidara looked away, crossed his arms. “It’s only natural, after all, to have your breath taken away by my artiste.” 

Another step. Another. 

“I’m sure our leader didn’t even tell you what I’m capable of.”

Another. 

“It’s a good thing, too ―” 

You were running now. 

“It would’ve spoiled the surprise ―” 

You pounced on Deidara. He cried out but you barely heard it as the force propelled you both backward, falling hard and fast into the swimming pool. 

<<<>>>

Bubbles spilled from Deidara’s mouth. He could feel your hands on him, somewhere, everywhere ― 

He looked to the surface of the water and swam toward it. He could not feel your hands anymore.

He came up for air, looking around for you. 

“(Y/n)!” 

Then you emerged ― but he had no time to register it as your arms came around him. You pulled him down toward you, your lips crashing into his in a wet kiss. 

“Mm …!” 

Your tongue ran over the hard shell of his palate. Your hands held his cheeks. Your legs hooked around his waist to trap him between your thighs.

“That was ― mm ― the most ― mm ― amazing thing I’ve ever ― mm! ― seen!”

Deidara’s hands found you ― and immediately met skin; your kimono, having not been able to withstand the pull of the water, slid dangerously past your shoulders, the folds opened wide so he could feel the full cushion of your breasts against him. 

Oh, fuck.

Just as he began to play with your tongue, you broke away.

You faced him with heavy-lidded eyes, drops of water falling from your abused lips. 

“Let me make good on my promises to Pain,” Your hands hooked behind his neck. 

“Wha ― what?”

“Fuck me, Deidara,” Your voice was thick with lust. “I told him the quantity of my donation was completely dependent on how hard you fucked me. It would be an honor to be fucked by such an amazing artist!” 

That sent something to his dick. 

The surprise dissipated. He smirked. “Really …? Is that so …” 

He gripped your throat and hoisted you above him. He heard you gasp and tightened his grip, feeling the twitch of his cock in response to the  victimized sound. 

“Beg for it,” he ordered.

“ Oh … ” You whimpered. Your head fell back as Deidara’s hand served as a brace. 

He reached downward and tugged at the wet bow of your kimono. He yanked it and reveled in it coming apart to reveal the rest of you.

“ Beg. For me .”

Everything you did and had done was a plea for him, he admitted, but the idea of you begging vocally made him painfully hard. His eyes drank in your naked form still half submerged in the water. Wet tits in his face. A droplet of water fell away from a nipple. 

“Please …” came your breathless voice. “Please, fuck me ― oh … ” 

He thumbed at the tempting nipple, pert and so responsive to his touch. 

“ Nothing underneath, ” he feigned chastisement, pinching the nipple between his fingers. “Fucking slut .” 

He tightened his grip twofold and was pleasantly surprised with the moan you rewarded him with. The strict fit of his pants was becoming too much to bear. You jerked in his hold, tits jiggling in his face. 

“ Please, fuck me, Deidara!” 

Satisfied, He set you down and watched you bounce in the water before yanking you forward. He pressed his mouth against yours once again. You reached for him to no avail; he spun you, your back now pressed hard against the side of the pool. He released your mouth to dabble kisses at your neck, biting at pieces of skin. 

“ Fuck …!” You arched and Deidara fell into the dip of your curve.

You gripped his hand to bring it to your face. He stopped kissing you to look at what you had in mind, his tongue still present at his palm. 

Your lips traced his palm and began to kiss the tongue there. 

“Mmm …”

Deidara laughed as you tongue-kissed his hand. “You really are a fucking weirdo, aren’t you?”

The tongue slithered over your own. You released a moan and closed your mouth over the tongue, a flushed red tainting your cheeks. Your hand pressed behind the back of his hand, forcing it to deepen the kiss, to nibble at his tongue. Deidara hitched a breath. You sucked it further into your mouth. 

“ Ah ― y … you wanna suck on something so badly …” Deidara murmured. “MaybeI should give you something more legit, hm …”

You mewled in approval. His tongue retreated from your mouth and he felt a twinge of triumph when you gasped for air. He approached you. A hand ghosted over your neck before ramming you hard against the wall of the pool, the force with which he’d done it so hard he was sure its cement edge imprinted on your upper back. With his other hand he tugged his trousers down. 

You met his eyes.

“Take a deep breath.” 

And he plunged you into the water.

He looked down, watched the water dance as your squiggly reflection gripped his cock and fit it into your mouth. 

Deidara groaned. His head fell back as you hollowed your cheeks and took him in. The water did nothing to stall your mouth; you bobbed your head, stroking what couldn’t fit into your mouth. 

Deidara steadied himself with a hand at the pool’s edge, entranced by how your tongue rolled back to lick his head each time you pulled away, only to take him deep into the back of your throat when pulling in ― 

“ Nargh …! ” 

A hand palmed at his balls while another tightened around his cock. Deidara reached for your head in the water to thread fingers into your head and force you harder onto his cock. 

“ Aah … shit! ” He wanted you to choke on it. He wanted to own your mouth. 

And apparently you wanted that, too; you popped him from your mouth a few times. You hadn’t come up for air once since he’d submerged you, his cock now your only business. He yanked your head up. He forced a kiss, the taste of himself in your mouth driving him mad.

“Enjoying dinner, I see, hm, hah …” he quipped, eyes heavy on your hand still stroking his cock. “What a pro. ” 

“Only for you, Deidara-senpai. ”

You hand abandoned his cock and you licked him off your palm. Without his help you went under, fitting his cock in your mouth a second time. Deidara kept your hair from your mouth as you sucked him. His cockhead hit the back of your throat and, oh , you didn’t choke, only took more, more. Greedy cunt. 

He imagined you practicing this for him, only for him, your senpai. Your mouth hungering for what wasn’t truly there. Deidara squeezed eyes shut; close, close. You were sucking his cock as though his was the only one in the world, worshiping with your mouth and tongue. He imagined your lungs desperate for air, screaming for them, yet your mouth too transfixed to care. 

A fucking servant for him, obedient to his cock. 

Deidara’s cock twitched. His groan was low and rumbling as he spilled his seed into your willing mouth. You sucked hard, jerked him into your mouth. Your mouth slicked with his cum and grew impossibly warm. Saliva and his own seed coated his cock. 

“Aaah-ha- ahh …! ” 

He scalped you as he emptied into your mouth, cum guzzling down your throat.

At last, you popped him from your mouth and emerged before him, mouth and lips thoroughly abused.

Deidara’s gaze cast down on you. He caught his breath in the seconds absent of words. 

“I could use a girl like you,” Deidara exhaled. 

You popped your lips, eyes dreamy and narrow. “I think you just did,”

“Hm! An apprenticeship, then?”

You recovered immediately. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted.” 

He smirked at his own prospect and pulled you to him. “C’mere.”

He emerged from the pool before helping you follow suit. He removed his black fishnet shirt and flung it away. He drank you in. Naked, in the flesh ― and wet, right when he thought you couldn’t be improved upon.

You settled atop the dinner table and waited for him. Deidara came to you.

“Spread those legs.” 

 You acquiesced. He licked his lips at the sight of your puffy, glistening cunt.

“You wouldn’t be my first,” You said, “but you’ll be my last.”

He slotted into the space you afforded him. He caressed your vulva before giving it a firm slap. You yelped and his lip upturned at the sound. He slid a finger between your folds, encouraged by your appreciative mewls. 

He gripped the fat of your cheeks and forced you to look at him and not his adventurous fingers. 

“Your best. ” 

You hooked your legs behind him as he geared his cock grazed your folds ― 

And thought he might cum just from the sound of your drawn out moan when he slid inside you. 

He bucked from instinct, the firm grip of your twat clouding his senses. Again he went for your throat, the appendage becoming its permanent resting place. 

“This is what you wanted, right?” Deidara breathed out, thrusting hard. “Leader’s gonna get his fucking money’s worth …” 

Hands gripped his wrists tight as he began to fuck you, the table wobbling slightly underneath your mewling body. 

“Yes …! Ye―Yes, oh!” You clung to him, Deidara’s hands upholding you. “ Fuc ― oh, Yes! I owe Pain my life ― oh! ” 

He released your throat just to bite at it. He sunk his teeth into your skin while his hands committed to making scarlet red prints against your ass.

“ Fuck, you’re ―” Deidara stammered. The feel of your cunt swallowing him was too much. He recalled Kisame’s threat to fuck you himself. Not on your life, sharkman . And he felt himself thrust hard just to affirm you were his. He’d set the entire world ablaze before anyone else could experience the wonderful grip of your cunt. “You’re mine. ”

You tugged him to your lips again and kissed him. A moan from you vibrated against his lips. He reached downward to tease your clit and your legs trembled at his sides.

“ Fuck, Deida ―” You flung your head back. “ I’m ― ”

He knocked you onto the table and lifted your legs over his shoulders. He began to pound you, relishing in the bounce of your tits. Plates fell to the floor and shattered as he wrecked your cunt. 

He choked you again, sure there would be a greater hand-shaped bruise once he was through. He flicked your clit, thumbed it. Your scream rumbled under his grip as his balls slapped your ass. 

Your moans grew shrill, and you clenched ―

“ Fuck …! ” Deidara lost himself in your tight cunt. He slapped your clit, grip dangerously tight at your neck―

“Yes, please!” You called out as you came, “Dei― Deidara!”

Spurts of cum left his cock and sucked into your cunt. You convulsed and convulsed. You showed him the whites of your eyes as you came. Deidara held you to him by your thighs. A few more weak thrusts and he gave out on top of you, his chin hiding in the crook of your shoulder.

A few moments passed. Deidara raised his head, caught you over the corner of his eye. “So … everything you wanted?”

“And more, ” You sang.

He maneuvered to place a kiss at the heart of your collarbone, still so fascinated with it. He removed himself from you before assisting you as best as he could. 

“Did you mean it?” You inquired after a few moments more.

“Hm?” 

“About me being your apprentice?” 

“... Hm,” Deidara shrugged. “Well, I’ll have to check my schedule. But, if it all adds up, I wouldn’t mind having you by my side.” 

You squealed, engulfed him in a hug. 

“Ah, ah!” Deidara fought you off. “Okay, okay, whatever!”

“Oh, I’m so excited! ” You bounced. “So, so ― wait!” 

You pulled back, smirked up at him.

“I almost forgot,” You said. “Your payment … ”

<<<>>>

“Two million yen,” Pain said. “All in a single donation ― our highest to date. I assume it went well?” 

“Hm!” Deidara said. “Very!”

“And Miss (Y/n) tells me she’ll be requesting you monthly from now on,” Pain continued. “Each time with the same donation or higher.” 

“Are you telling me Deidara’s dick is going to fund all our expeditions from now on?” Kisame mocked. 

“And the rest of our lives,” Kakuzu’s voice tipped in interest, “if this goes on …”

“Don’t get any ideas, Kakuzu!” Hidan barked. “We’re not whoring ourselves out.”

“Shut up,” Kakuzu bit back. “I’ve never even thought about it. Unless …”

“What girl would wanna fuck you? ” 

“A satisfied and wealthy client means less worry over how we secure our money,” Pain said, ignoring the bickering, “so, in a manner of speaking, yes. Deidara will aid in contributions― as we all should.” 

“Well, then, we’re all set!” Deidara said. 

“There’s just one thing that irks me about this whole endeavor,” Pain said. “... Where is Tobi?” 

“...”

“... He didn’t come back with you, did he?” 

“... No.”

“...” 

Pain sighed.

“... Go back and get him, Deidara.”

#my work #deidara x reader #please reblog #deidara x y/n #deidara smut #deidara x you #naruto smut #naruto x reader #naruto x you #naruto x y/n #naruto fic

[radfemfox5]

you just hate trans men bc we decided to reject our womanhood. you want to be us, and your projecting insecurities.

kys, you absolute buffoon. stay in your fucking lane and bow down, bitch.

I don't usually respond to any anon threat, as this just gives them more attention, which is what they want.

This one stood out to me because I think I know who sent this. That's not super important, I mostly wanted to address this specific point:

you just hate trans men bc we decided to reject our womanhood. you want to be us

No, I don't want to be you. I had sex dysphoria and body dysmorphia as a teen, and it was awful to put it mildly. I don't envy you for having sex dysphoria to the point that you've transitioned. You must be suffering every day, to the point that you write messages like this to other women to try to make yourself feel superior. It's sad, truly. I'm not even trying to be condescending, though it may seem that way.

"Rejecting womanhood" is an odd way of putting it. You can reject womanhood all you like, that doesn't negate the fact that you're a woman. That's like if I rejected my humanity. I'm still human, no matter how much I'd like to be an eldritch monstrosity.

It's weird that you think womanhood is inherently flawed in a way that can't be fixed, to the point that you believe I wish I were a man to escape it. Acknowledging that women are oppressed on the basis of our sex shouldn't be seen as resignation, but rather a call to arms.

#radfemfox #radfem #radblr #rad fem #radfem safe #radfems #radical feminism #radical feminist community #radical feminists do interact #radical feminist safe #radical feminists do touch #radical feminists please interact #radical feminists please touch #radical feminst #peak trans #trans cult #trans exclusionary radical feminist #terf #terfblr #terfs #terfsafe #gender abolition #gender critical #womanhood #anon #ask #tif moment #gendie brainrot receipts #tra receipts

[euniexenoblade]

Trans women are in fact seen *male* inhumane monstrosities. Society never becomes sex-blind; it always recognizes people's birth sex and shapes their existence according to it.

Incorrect! Trans women are not afforded any relation to "male" and are treated as subhuman. We are called "male" as an insult to deny us our womanhood but we are not treated as "male" or seen as "male."

#i dont know what youre trying to go for but i dont trust people who say male like that

[lullabyes22-blog]

Jinx embodies the parallels between womanhood and monstrosity in a violent coming-of-age story. 

In this essay, I will...

#arcane #arcane netflix #arcane lol #arcane league of legends #arcane jinx #arcane silco #jinx #silco #jinx and silco #arcane meta #arcane textposts

[sheep-and-lykos]

Against the Grass & Snow: Farkas x Fem!Reader (NSFW)

Werewolf sex really is a specialty here huh

Song Recommendation: Pass Out - SPF 1000

You didn’t know what sent better vibrations through your body; The feeling of the icy grass and snow beneath your searing naked flesh or the hulking monstrosity that was your lover above you. Lupin eyes were entranced by your naked body against the snowy foliage, clawed hands snatching up the earth to avoid sinking the onyx claws into your soft skin. His thick, inky black fur clung to your skin as if it were your own.

It’s not like yours wasn’t scratching and clawing you from the inside to want out, but something about Farkas transformed fucking you while you remained as you were was something that got you all hot and bothered under the armor collar.

It was near pitch black outside, the moon was only half-full and illuminated the melting snow, winter was coming to a screeching halt. You and Farkas had taken up a request from Windhelm, a troll was terrorizing the farms just outside the wall. You both had been riled up by the fight, Farkas especially seeing you huffing as you dislodged your sword from the troll’s corpse. It was on the walk back that you both just couldn’t calm down.

And before you knew it, Farkas’ armor had shed and fallen to the ground and when you turned back, there was the werewolf you loved so much standing there, hunched and licking his maw as he stared you down where you stood, naked yourself in the wilderness.

Farkas wasted no time and lunged, pinning you to the ground in a feat of his power.

He licked a stripe up your chest, along the beating column of your neck to your jaw. His hot breath made your cheeks heat up, a soft moan parted your lips. You hands reached up to his fizzy shoulders and slotted your fingers in the thick, wiry hairs, nails biting into his bulky flesh just beneath.

Farkas snarled at the pricks of your nails, snapping his jaws as he tried to control himself.

You could feel his cock brushing against your womanhood, you were dripping with wondrous slick heat for your nethers you swore you were lit ablaze from the inside.

Farkas leaned closer to you, pressing his cock firmly against you now. He rubbed the head of his cock on your slippery womanhood, pressing firmly at your passageway. You winced, burying the back of your head in the snow at the pressure he was causing. Farkas huffed through his nose, steam billowing out into the cold night air. With a jerk of his hips, his cock speared right into you. You gasped, grabbing at the hair on his shoulders and yanking.

It was tight inside of you, almost like he was about to split you open should he start fucking, you felt so full inside. Farkas was a well-endowed Nord, a thick cock you swore it could inspire a knock-off to The Lusty Argonian Maid where she gets fucked by a big hulking werewolf instead of some wealthy man or whatever it was about. As a werewolf, however, you’re never sure on how he manages to fuck you, it’s longer and thicker, it was perfection to get fucked by it.

Farkas didn’t hesitate to start moving, pistoning his hips like a Dwemer machine, he fucked you hard and fast in the wilderness. He stayed hunched over you, acting like a blanket in the snow, protecting you from the biting winds and shielding you from the eyes of anyone and anything that would be watching.

And it wasn’t like you were deep in the woods, just barely off the beaten path. Anyone with a good set of eyes with a lantern could see you two fucking.

The thrill of getting caught was exhilarating, sending your brain careening over a mountain as you allowed yourself to get lost in bliss.

You let out a low moan, your chest feeling like someone was sitting on it. Your loins were on fire, your core was curled up so tight you swore they were as hot as a blacksmith’s forge. With every thrust into you, Farkas just worked that coil tighter and tighter, knowing well that soon you will climax onto him. He leaned his head down to lick at your neck, loving the taste of the salt in your sweat. He bayed and snarled as your sweet scent filled his nose and housed there forever into his mind. The hairs running down his spine stood up with excitement as he pounded into you mercilessly.

You came with a soft scream, arms falling limp off of Farkas’ body. You suddenly felt drained, your head was swimming in a sea of ecstasy, your body felt like it was floating on a cloud. You felt drunk with pleasure, like you had gone a few rounds at the tavern.

Farkas howled as you grew tighter around him for a moment, your climax had your walls fluttering tight as he dug up the dirt and snow next to your head, dagger claws breaking apart the earth. 

He slowed down his thrusts to savor how tight you were. His eyes were such a furious shade of yellow, his pupils were dilated so small they were lost in the sea of gold. You could see your reflection in his eyes as he stared down at you.

He huffed and groaned, you felt his dick twitch inside of you as he suddenly started up again quickly. He fucked you roughly against the dirt and snow, massaging your raw walls with his big dick. He chased his own climax like he would a deer.

He came all of a sudden with a roar, claws sinking into your hips as he buried his cock as deep as it could go inside of you. His seed flowed freely into you, filling you with warmth as his thrusts came to a halt.

You don’t know how long he stayed like this, hunched over you with his cock still buried inside of you, but eventually he parted from you. His seed had mixed with your slick climax, spilling from your womb onto the snowy ground below. Farkas had saw and snarled softly, snatching at your ankles and started to lick at your heat.

Farkas lapped at the mixture that leaked from your wrecked womanhood. The feeling of his hot, wet tongue licking and cleaning you up only to know that he is only going to fuck you again and make an even bigger mess sent thrills down your spine.

The beast blood inside of you cared not that it was cold now, you were still blazing warm in your loins and a coating of sweat lined your body still you knew Farkas would lick off a bit here and there.

The tip of Farkas’ tongue dipped into your passageway, a whine unhinged your jaw as you turned your head.

Your heart froze as you saw in the distance just up the road where you came from Windhelm was a torch in the distance through the trees. You could smell horses drawing closer, the smell of the mead reeked from that direction.

“Farkas,” you whispered with urgency. Farkas didn’t pay you any mind, he continued to lap at your dripping heat with your ankles bound by his hands. “Farkas, someone is coming!”

Instead of moving, he snarled, the vibrations sending an amazing feeling up your spine into you head causing you to moan out softly. You slapped a hand over your mouth, suddenly scared of who was coming. Was it a guard? A mercenary? A member of the Silver Hand?

“Who’s out there?” a commanding voice boomed out into the woods.

Farkas’ ears had perked up, his yellow eyes looking up from your nethers to look where you were looking. He sniffed the air, smelling what you smelled, he growled softly and drew you closer to him, covering you with his body once more.

Whoever it was, they were persistent.

“Who’s out there?” he called again.

The horse drew closer to show it was an imperial guard, a higher ranking one from the helmet he wore. He swung the torch with his head, searching the woods until he suddenly gasped. He saw Farkas, he didn’t see you under him.

Farkas snarled, and stepped over you, sending the horse into a frenzy. The poor thing cried and backed away, eventually rearing it’s front hooves up and tossed the poor imperial soldier on the ground. The horse galloped away, leaving the trembling soldier before the beast.

Farkas snarled once more, ears twitching before huffing through his nose.

He bolted back to you and snatched you up by your hips. He threw you over his shoulder and bounded off deeper into the woods.

“Where are we going?” you ordered.

Farkas threw a glance at you, almost as if telling you that you wouldn’t be going back home to Whiterun tonight.

#farkas #farkas skyrim #farkas x reader #The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim

[bluebangsthepirate]

feminine rage and consumption 

i've been thinking a lot about books about womanhood in relation to consumption recently because of all the amazing literature i've read (the vegetarian by han kang, a certain hunger by chelsea g. summers, nightbitch by rachel yoder)

spoilers for all the books:

in the vegetarian, yeong-hye stops eating meat. throughout the course of the book she becomes malnourished, and eventually stops eating at all. the book follows a sort of transformation (metaphorical/literal). i interpreted as our existence being so linked to violence, whether that be the act of eating meat or the ways in which we treat one another.

in a certain hunger, dorothy is described to have always existed as someone who operates differently. she doesn't really empathize or care for others in a normal way. the act of killing men and eating them is her way of honoring the relationships she had with these men and the love they shared. but it is also born of the rage she feels as a woman existing in this world. and the most important relationship she has is with her friend emma. the conclusion of the novel is truly beautiful and heartbreaking, knowing the camaraderie and love between them, not even in spite of all the monstrosity that has occurred.

in nightbitch, the protagonist is also fueled by an anger that only women, more specifically mothers could understand. nightbitch grapples with the modern ideals of motherhood, giving up her job to be with her son, but also losing a part of herself. the animalistic instinct of wanting to be with your child but also the resentment of the unpaid labor and destruction of who you used to be. this is explored through her magical transformation into a dog. it manifests itself through the killing of animals and eating meat, still raw.

while these books all take very separate approaches on existence and womanhood in relation to consumption i found this underlying theme really interesting. whether it be to abstain from the violence as a form of protest, or to indulge and rejoice in the destruction. all take on an element of horrific but also beautiful. i have no conclusions as to what this all means, but i am curious as to others interpretations on the why of it all.

#nightbitch #rachel yoder #a certain hunger #chelsea g. summers #the vegetarian #han kang #bookish #feminine rage #literary analysis

[sirenscurse]

Princess Taraknova, circa 1864

Painted by Konstantin Flavitsky

#konstantin flavitsky #old art #history #old poem #old poetry #artistic #circa 1864 #the monstrosity of womanhood #the beauty of darkness #the beauty of the 1800s #the beauty of the 1700s #vintage beauty #vintage art #vintage painting #old paintings #symbolism #symbolist painting #old architecture #realism painting #realism #women in art #classic art #oldpoets #ultra despair girls

[hauntedbythenarrative]

Dead Blondes and Bad Mothers, Sady Doyle

#dead blondes and bad mothers #sady doyle #quote #womanhood #feminism #women in horror #female monstrosity #lilith #tiamat #motherhood #giving birth #childbirth #melusine #mermaids #lamia #pregnancy #monster

[randomquizzesilike]

#uquiz #medea #the murderer

[notchainedtotrauma]

(I hate that motherfucking new editor visually) Anyway, I haven't been posting anything but I have been writing a lot of things. This is the music video analysis to Own It by Rico Nasty, exclusive to my Raspberry Lemonade patrons (1$), my Iced Tea patrons (5$), my Black Coffee patrons (10$).

The gifs above best visually describe the music video analysis. Here are some excerpts to whet your appetite:

Rico Nasty is weaving a visual architecture of the Black feminine grotesque and repulsive, in keeping with her constant play with horror, glitching technology, focused violence, and scream rap. She gluts the first frame with the sliver of canary yellow leather that sharpens her elongated, jewelry studded body. It's a bareness that's saundered by a diamonted stabbed mask, the characteristic, iconic pair of glassy red lips; BDSM left only with the luxuriousness of self-mortification, a melodramatic performance in and of itself. The canaries and the claws not only signify as visual pun, but hint at cannibalism and butchering, a future horror show in plastified high heels with an artificial tiger as an avatar. What better to deserve the pain than to inflict it ?

and

The fridge is empty, emitting an alienating green neon light, the stove has never been used. But the monstrous resides in the shrimp extended nails and the chicken feet supporting the performer. If this is about domesticity through the kitchen, then the cooking happens through Rico's body, and this requires the scandal of a human animalization of Blackness, and within it Black womanhood, recoils from. The fifth tableau references and repeats Rico Nasty's oft used visual effect, her flattening within the world of the collage, and thus, her regular insertion into the absurb. She basically inserted herself into a close up of a 60s food advertisement, with the jello salad and the cocktail shrimp. And here she is, looking like a miniature and exquisite shopping basket, ready to be plucked and used.

and

Musically, Rico Nasty tunnels a manifesto for intentional, riotous, feeling into the song. Visually, Rico Nasty both affirms the grotesque, the abject and the monstrosity of the Black feminine, while putting it in tension with white feminine iconicity, one that is narrated as wounded and suffocated by patriarchy as a material reality, but also one that demands and requires the consumption and the flattening of Black womanhood. Rico Nasty also cites (hi)stories about disappearing as slaughter, when it comes to having a necklace of headless white legs: she of course might be referring of the careless cruelty of some children with their dolls, but somehow, there is also laying somewhere the horror movie performance of an upturning of erasure. Acting out the horror of the grotesque, animality, ungendered violence and unbearable monstrosity becomes a vessel towards recognizing the Black feminine, paradoxally, as whole.

#my brain is writing #moving gif

[goddessrisen]

“ Pour water over each wound. What about the wound inside me, the wound I was born into    ??   Where do I pour when I am the wound    ??   I am what wounds me. ”

#GODDESSRISEN    [ . . . ]    an independent, private   &&    highly selective    original   character.   blog is 21+ as NSFW / triggering themes are explored. please refer to the rules if there are any questions. features verses from various fandoms, including LEAGUE OF LEGENDS, BALDUR'S GATE 3, JUJUTSU KAISEN,    &&   MORE.

revered by luna , twenty-five, est.    &&    dominican/american. est. 2019 — revamped 2022

a study in godhood, primordial beings   &&    the horrors examined within, rebirth, womanhood, never being enough, that constant ache for something more, and the tragedy of becoming a monstrosity to protect those you hold dear   . . .    godhood is just like girlhood: a begging to be believed.

affiliated with:   @empyreous / @withinchains , @ofovertime , @attroxx , @deadn30n , @mellodiies

carrd  /  nsfw blog  / pinterest  / inbox memes  / interest tracker

#✦ — • pinned • #do not reblog #mutuals only #// it's done #// i will add more affiliates/mains in the near future #// but here's where we're at

[girltharsis]

🦷 ... !

a carefully fleshed out and intensely crafted with sheer admiration, women in horror multi-muse, celebrated and written by the queen of women in horror isha herself. implementing themes of the monstrosity of girlhood, the monstrous-feminine, and the wronged women making the best villains into each portrayal, this multi-muse is dedicated to focusing on feminine icons of horror in all their glory. mutuals only, highly selective, + only follow if comfortable with gore and strong horror themes regarding sexuality.

welcome to a hub where phallic panic is dismantled, the celebration of monstrous womanhood reigning supreme in all its catharsis. here's a playlist for the essence and mood of this blog and the faces that decorate it. / muse list below + rules from @jennifercheck, #girltharsis.

film. ( * to emphasise high muse.

asami yamazaki, audition (1999) / faceclaim: eihi shiina.

marie, high (haute) tension (2003) / faceclaim: cecile de france.

casey becker, scream (1996) / faceclaim: drew barrymore.

cici cooper, scream 2 (1997) / faceclaim: sarah michelle gellar. *

kirby reed, scream 4 (2011) / faceclaim: elisha cuthbert. *

jill roberts, scream 4 (2011) / faceclaim: mila kunis.

karla wilson, i still know what you did last summer (1998) / faceclaim: brandy norwood. *

nancy downs, the craft (1996) / faceclaim: gabriette bechtel.

victoria sutherland, twilight franchise / faceclaim: sibyl buck.

tamara riley, tamara (2005) / faceclaim: jenna dewan.

rachel newman, american psycho 2 (2002) / faceclaim: mila kunis. *

ginger fitzgerald, ginger snaps (2000) / faceclaim: katharine isabelle. *

rose o'hara, dr sleep (2019) / faceclaim: liv tyler.

clear rivers, final destination (2000) / faceclaim: ali larter.

carrie white, carrie (1976) / faceclaim: sissy spaceck.

maxine minx, x (2022) / faceclaim: mia goth.

dr. sadira adani, the exorcism of emily rose (2005) / faceclaim: shohreh aghdashloo.

theodora, the haunting (1999) / faceclaim: catherine zeta jones.

dawn o' keefe, teeth (2007) / faceclaim: jess weixler. *

elaine parks, the love witch (2016) / faceclaim: samatha robinson.

lux lisbon, the virgin suicides (1999) / faceclaim: kirsten dunst. *

jennifer, revenge (2017) / faceclaim: matilda lutz.

television. ( * to emphasise high muse.

jackie taylor, yellowjackets (2021) / faceclaim: ella purnell.

cordelia chase, buffy the vampire slayer (1997) / faceclaim: charisma carpenter. *

blair waldorf, gossip girl - adapted into american horror story: coven (2013) / faceclaim: leighton meester. *

#pinned. #high activity!

[berattelse]

[...] The qualities we hail as heroic in Western culture -- courage and fortitude, selflessness and nobility, steadiness of mind and will -- are not unique to men. Arguably, they're not even characteristic. But in the male-dominated myth, folklore, and literature that defines our culture, they've been annexed as "masculine" traits. We're still struggling to create or consume stories about valorous women, unless they also display the "feminine" virtues: passive sex appeal and fragility that requires rescue. In a hero, these are flaws. Thus, any heroine who tries to embody both contains the seeds of her own undoing. The female hero can hoist up the shackles of femininity and take them with her on adventures, but that's not the same as breaking free. [...] In college, I was a particular fan of Edmund Spenser's "martial maid" Britomart, who gets to wear armor and carry a spear and go on quests and even rescue maidens -- but eventually, even Britomart gallops back to her role as a princess, a wife, and the mother of a race of noble Britons. Her whole mission, in general, has been to find the man she glimpsed in a magic mirror and fell in love with. The rescuing damsels part was just a side quest. [...] And if the heroine truly slips the constraints that her femininity is supposed to place on her, the very heroic virtues she embodies often mutate into monstrosity. In the Old English epic poem Beowulf, the eponymous male hero is described as an aglæca, a word for which we do not know the exact meaning but which is usually translated as something like "hero" or "warrior". Beowulf's antagonist, the monster Grendel, also gets described as an aglæca, which in his case is usually glossed as "demon" or "monster" or something similar. What the two have in common is the sense of being awe-inspiring or formidible, so that's probably more or less what aglæca means. But the word has a feminine form, aglæcwif, and the ancient text contains an aglæcwif too: Grendel's mother. There is no abiguity to this word, not in the way it's come down to us; aglæcwif is translated as "monster-woman," "troll-lady," "wretch," or "hag." In other contexts, "wif" (which is also attached to other descriptors of Grendel's mother) specifically denotes a human woman, and yet -- like it's not indignity enough that she's always called "Grendel's mother," as if the bards were Grendel's schoolmates who didn't realize mothers had names -- the aglæcwif is assumed to be subhuman and bestial. She's just as much an aglæca as Beowulf, and just as much a wif as the other human women to which that refers, but the combination inspires not awe but horror. The monstrousness of Grendel's mother, the factor that makes her a hag or a troll or a wretch, comes from her stepping outside the slim strictures of womanhood into the realm of aglæca, of formidability and awe. In another world, she would have been a hero.

Zimmerman, Jess. Introduction to Women and Other Monsters: Building a New Mythology. Beacon Press, 2021.

#jess zimmerman #women and other monsters #women and other monsters: building a new mythology #beowulf #grendel's mother #on female monsters #excerpts #nonfiction #prose #*