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mypoisonedvine · 9 months

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𝖇𝖑𝖎𝖓𝖉𝖘𝖕𝖔𝖙𝖘 | professor!jonathan crane x batgirl!reader

𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞 | it can be difficult, living a double life: spending your days as a scholarship student at gotham university, and your nights as batgirl, the legendary heroine, fighting alongside batman and robin. though it proves to take a toll on you mentally and physically, flunked term papers and missed lectures will be the least of your problems when you encounter the scarecrow somewhere in the shadowy alleyways of gotham...

𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙 | 7k

𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 | NONCON SMUT (18+ only; violent/rough sex, use of fear toxin, degradation, semi-public sex/exhibitionism, bondage), professor/student dynamic (therefore implied age gap), some angst and depiction of ptsd/aftermath, reader is dating robin/tim drake

“And so,” Professor Crane continued, looking towards the class from the board, chalk in hand, "this triggers the fear response, and all that comes with it. You're probably familiar with the symptoms of fear: heart rate increase, cold sweat, overall heightened arousal."

A few giggles could be heard at that, and he rolled his eyes.

"Not that sort of arousal, necessarily," he frowned.

Everyone else just brushed off the childish humor of the moment, but you narrowed your eyes, getting a sense that the word necessarily was doing a lot of heavy lifting in that sentence.

He returned to his lecture, drawing lines in chalk over his crude diagram of the human brain, explaining how each area of the brain contributed to fear and the fight-or-flight response. As he spoke, you re-read the handout he’d given today— and you chewed on your lip absent-mindedly as you reviewed the bibliography.

"Dr. Crane?" you raised your hand, interrupting his lecture mid-sentence. "I had a question about some of the studies you reference here."

"Yes?" he returned, turning to face you with a slightly confused expression.

"Well you cite a paper out of Berkeley from 2002, to support the conclusion that exposure therapy is the best response to aggressive phobias— however, if you actually read the paper—"

"I read the paper, Miss," he interrupted sternly.

"Then, if you actually understood the paper," you continued, a few students gasping and laughing softly at your insubordination, "then you would see that the conclusions indicate the perceived decrease in fear response comes at the expense of long-term stability. Don't you think that negates any positive implications?"

The silence in the room was tense: everyone was waiting for how he would respond to your critique. Instead, he just smiled at you slightly. "I think you may have more context for how research is conducted, and reevaluate your conclusions, when you get a chance to organize your own research— in about a decade."

"Actually, Professor, I'll be leading my own experiment this quarter," you corrected, just as he was about to turn away from you and keep lecturing. "I'm the recipient of the Wayne Enterprises Collegiate Scholarship— which pays for my education here and also comes with a fifty thousand dollar research grant."

“Ah,” he said, bitterness dripping from his tone as he set his hands on the desk and leaned forward a bit. “May I ask what topic you hope to explore with your research?”

“Crime,” you explained, “and criminal behavior.”

“Hm,” he nodded, frowning slightly in an impressed sort of way, taking his weight off the desk. “And it doesn’t bother you that you’re here studying psychology?”

You lowered your brow, confused by his question. “I’m sorry?”

“Criminology is a subfield of sociology, which is related to but distinct from psychology,” he explained.

“Would you recommend that I switch majors, Doctor?” you asked simply.

“Well, it’s no secret that you’ve set the curve on our last two exams,” Dr. Crane smiled, tilting his head slightly. “So, no— I think I’d rather keep you here.”

You straightened up slightly, taken aback by his wording.

“Plus, while you’re still in my department,” he continued, “I have a better chance of talking some sense into you.”

With that, he returned to teaching, and you noticed how the other students were watching you before you sighed and tried to listen to the rest of class.

You caught up with him on a long stretch of hallway, just as he stepped up to his office door. “Professor!” you got his attention, and he turned to you with a slightly smug look as he held his hands together.

“Ah, yes,” he greeted, “I see you’re here to apologize for how you spoke to me in class today?”

You knew he didn’t actually expect that, he knew better after having you under him for the last two quarters— um, so to speak. “Just as soon as you do,” you offered with a smirk in return, shifting your weight on your hip.

That was what moved your button-down slightly, and his eyes drifted down to your neck— when they did, confusion and concern suddenly painted his expression. “My,” he gasped a little, pulling on the collar of your shirt with one finger to expose a healing scrape on your chest; his fingertip brushed over your skin and the golden chain of your necklace, and you jumped away slightly. “How’d you get that?”

“It’s nothing—” you blurted out, blinking quickly, “I tripped, on campus, actually.”

“That wonky step up to the Commons?” he assumed. “I’ve filed two complaints about that loose brick…”

“Yes,” you agreed quickly, smiling. “Yeah, I wasn’t looking where I was going, and I didn’t catch myself well while holding my books—”

“Hm,” he nodded back, “that’s a shame. A girl as smart as you, forgetting the Commons building doesn’t have brick steps— or steps at all, in fact.”

You swallowed thickly, glancing away.

“You sure were eager for an explanation, though,” he smiled. “How’d you really get such a nasty scrape? It does look like concrete, but I’m guessing it didn’t happen on campus—”

“It’s no matter,” you assured.

“It wasn’t that boyfriend of yours, was it?” he pressed. “Mr. Drake, as I recall?”

“Wha— no!” you gasped.

“He’s not your boyfriend?”

“Well, he is,” you explained, “but he didn’t—”

“You know you can tell me anything, right?” Crane offered, lowering his voice slightly.

“Of course,” you sighed, “but there’s nothing to tell. Things are fine with Tim, I promise.”

“He shared your interest in criminal studies, didn’t he?” Professor Crane recalled. “Clearly, he didn’t share your scholarly aptitude, though, seeing as he’s dropped out.”

“H-he was smart enough,” you justified, “he left because of stress.”

“Ah,” the Professor nodded, “and he doesn’t take that stress out on you at all?”

“C’mon, Professor, Tim’s a good person,” you promised.

“I’m inclined to agree,” Crane replied, “but it’s the ones that act the kindest that have the most to hide, isn’t it?”

You knew there was another meaning to that statement, but there were so many possibilities that you couldn’t settle on one.

“You understand that if I suspect anything, I’m required to alert our student wellness services,” he reminded you. “They’ll have a counselor reach out to you—”

“Listen, Dr. Crane— I didn’t come here to speak to you about my personal life,” you reminded him, “I wanted to ask you about my performance in the class so far, in your opinion.”

He paused before sighing in relent. “I’m a little concerned, actually,” he admitted, “about your most recent paper.”

He pulled it from the folder under his arm and handed it back to you— covered in red ink. You blinked at him, biting your lip in confusion. “I thought these wouldn’t be returned until—”

“I worked on yours first,” he explained quickly, even though that explanation only brought more questions than answers. “It’s still very strong, but it’s not what I expect from you at this point. It feels rushed.”

Rushed— yeah, I remember this one. I wrote it all the night it was due because I spent the three days before recovering from that fight with Falcone’s thugs at the docks—

“I’ll let you rewrite it,” he offered, “if you can get it back to me before I return the rest of your classmates’ work.”

You laughed a little, looking at the paper in front of you, and Crane knitted his brows together. “You know, Professor, sometimes I can’t tell if I’m your favorite student, or your most hated.”

He smiled a little, glancing down briefly at the floor in a sort of self-effacing way. “I don’t have favorites,” he assured, unconvincingly. “You’re not my best student, or my worst— you’re an entirely different kind of student. You’re nothing like those other… juvenile, moronic co-eds looking in the exact wrong place for an easy A.”

Your eyes widened a little, seeing the way he let a little irritation— disdain, really— paint his tone. He snarled a bit as he spoke, his nostrils flaring; like he was holding it back, how much resentment he really had for your classmates.

As quickly as it came, he seemed to shake it off, and then he smiled again… but it was tight, and forced, you could see that just as easily. “You challenge me,” he finished quickly. “I appreciate that as much as I detest it.”

You smiled back, somewhat genuinely despite the icky feeling that suddenly wiggled in your stomach. “I suppose I feel the same way,” you admitted.

He opened his mouth, hesitating slightly, before tilting his head the other way and starting over. “Could you come into my office for a minute?” he asked suddenly, a strange glimmer in his eyes behind the thin silver glasses. “I’d like to show you my latest work— I think you’ll find it quite intriguing…”

He reached into his pocket, pulling out a ring of keys and started to unlock his office door, and you didn’t feel too excellent about it.

Just then, a group of students walked by, and you heard them talking amongst each other as one looked at a text message on her phone. “Oh my god,” one said as she explained to those around her, “my friend’s at the bank right now— she said someone’s holding up the place…”

“What?” another student asked, and you tilted your head a bit to hear them better.

“Yeah, the one on Main and 57th? The police aren’t there yet— she said they have guns…”

Your heart started to race. Sounds like a job for Batgirl.

Crane was in his own world, though, about to open the door. “Maybe I can even convince you to change some of your conclusions about the study of fear,” he posited.

You stepped back, motivated to leave just as much by a strange suspicion of Professor Crane as the opportunity to stop the nearby bank robbery. “I-I have to go,” you said, before you’d thought of a good excuse— and that hadn’t gone well for you last time, but hopefully he wasn’t going to quiz you on campus architecture again to trip you up.

He looked confused, a little sad even, as he turned to you again. “This won’t take long,” he promised, “I’d just like to show you—”

“Sorry,” you blurted out as you kept backing up, “I gotta… you know, um… buy tampons.”

Hoping something that awkward would get him to stop asking questions, you turned on your heel and darted off down the hall, looking for the best way off campus and to a secluded spot where you could pull your Batgirl get-up out of the false compartment in your bag and get to work.

“I don’t like you going out there alone,” Bruce said flatly, not looking up from his hands clasped in his lap.

“Wow, really?” you rolled your eyes, feigning surprise. “News to me.”

“You’re too young, and it’s dangerous,” he continued anyway.

“Doing all the greatest hits tonight, huh?” you smirked. “Next you’ll say you need to keep up your identity better, study hard so no one suspects you and then finish it off with don’t touch the Batmobile.”

He sighed and shook his head. “You can touch it, you just can’t drive it.”

“Right,” you agreed flatly, sighing as you adjusted in your spot on the couch. You’d taken up shop here in the Wayne Manor private library: something about your interaction with Professor Crane yesterday made you want to study off-campus for the afternoon…

You knew Bruce had a point about working alone— you didn’t really want to be alone, you were certainly safer when you had Batman by your side. The problem was that you were too safe… Bruce protected you so well that he hindered you; you’d accused him of wanting you to just stay behind and patch him up after fights rather than actually helping. He denied it, obviously, but actions speak louder than words— and there was such a difference in the way he treated you and Robin was obvious.

In fact, that itself had driven a wedge between you and your boyfriend— one of many reasons Bruce had implored you both not to get involved in that way, but it was sort of unavoidable. You can only do such high intensity, high pressure work alongside someone for so long before the tension is too much to bear…

Then again, that very tension that made your relationship with Tim threatened to break it, and you knew that— you felt that, even now, as he looked at you with a sympathetic sort of stare. You cleared your throat and focused on your book again.

“Please don’t go out without us again,” Tim asked— softer, sweeter, lacking that father-figure-sternness Bruce was always trying to muster.

“I think the people in that bank are pretty happy that I did,” you replied with a snarky smile.

“We were on our way—” Bruce began.

“It was a one man job!” you insisted.

“There were seven men on that heist team— and two more parked outside,” Bruce explained, getting more frustrated as this discussion continued. “It doesn’t matter. We work as a team.”

“Except when you go out alone,” you reminded him.

“I’ve been doing this longer,” he explained, standing up, “I’ve been doing it better, and I’ve been doing it on my own since you were still in high school.”

“Then why did you take me in?” you returned sharply, knitting your brows together in confusion and frustration. “Why did you train me, why did you bring me here and tell me the truth?”

“Because I saw your potential,” he answered as he began to walk away, “not because you’re ready to save the whole fucking world by yourself.”

You shook your head in frustration— almost disbelief, except of course he would do this— as Bruce shut the door behind him. Conversation didn’t go his way, he just left— that was normal. Ironic, for a man who interrogated criminals on the street almost daily.

“He’s right,” Tim informed you after a pregnant pause, and you glared at him.

“Would you excuse me? I have to study,” you explained sharply as you motioned to the textbooks and notepads laid out on the table, as you’d had them before you were interrupted by these two, “because apparently the best thing Batgirl can do is not be Batgirl.”

“Hey,” Tim sighed, “he doesn’t mean it like that… he just wants you to keep focusing on your studies, that’s all.”

“I just think it’s funny—” you began.

“I bet it’s not gonna be very funny,” Tim noticed with a frown.

“— that Bruce thinks it’s so important that I keep my grades up so nobody knows what I’m doing at night— so nobody knows that I’m not getting any goddamn sleep— but you got to drop out and that apparently wasn’t going to make anybody suspicious?” you noticed. “You know, I had a professor ask me about you today— wondering what was up with you leaving so suddenly. Why is nobody worried about that?”

“We worry about you because we care about you,” he explained.

You tossed your books aside, standing up to face Tim properly. “That’s bullshit,” you spat.

“You think I don’t care about you, seriously?” he asked.

“I know you care about me, but you don’t respect me,” you explained, “neither of you do. You two go off and do what you want, you’d rather me be your nurse than actually be out there— when you know damn well that you need me!”

“I need you,” Tim promised, “in so many ways. That’s why I can’t let anything happen to you—”

“Well, things need to happen to me sometimes! Isn’t that what life is, things happening to you?!” you laughed exasperatedly. “I mean, shit, why do I go to school at all? Why don’t you guys just lock me at the top of Wayne Tower and I’ll never ever leave and you can just climb up my hair when you wanna come visit!”

“Christ,” Tim groaned, “you are so fucking ridiculous sometimes— what are you trying to prove? Why do you need to be out there every night beating up bad guys, whether Bruce tells you to or not?”

Instead of answering that, you simply accused: “He obviously likes you better than me.”

“Is that really what this is about? You want Bruce to like you?!” Tim scoffed. “Are you that shallow?”

“I want him to trust me!” you clarified. “I want him to understand what I’m capable of!”

“You know what you’re capable of,” he replied, grabbing your shoulders. “I know. Is that not enough?”

You let out a long breath, looking down at the floor.

“I love you,” Tim sighed— but it didn’t sound very sweet when he said it like that, it sounded sad.

“I love you too,” you replied instinctively, but it felt oddly hollow leaving your lips.

“Please,” he breathed as he pressed his forehead to yours, “please stay safe. You’re stronger than me, you can take a lot more than I can.”

You were about to ask him what he meant by that, since you both knew he was physically stronger and more resilient than you, walking away from fights that could’ve put you in a stretcher. But before you could ask, he spoke again.

“My heart can only take so much.”

But that only proved your point, though you didn’t tell him out loud: that what him and Bruce wanted you to do had nothing to do with your strength, and everything to do with their weakness.

In your defense, you took the night off.

But the next night, you had to get out there— Bruce and Tim told you to stay behind so Batman and Robin could go save the day, and you? You were holding down the fort, keeping the couch warm. What a fucking waste; there was more evil in this city than two men could purge— there was more for you to do. As tempting as it was to meet them at the rendezvous location they’d figured out and try to help clear out the gangsters there buying an illegal weapons shipment, you knew that would just lead to the same fight again. This time, the plan was to go out, kick some criminal ass, come back, and leave Bruce none the wiser.

You scanned police radios patiently, waiting for just the right thing— small enough to fix on your own, big enough to matter. You wished, sometimes, that you had less to choose from…

Units respond, units respond — 10-79 reported at West Main and 88th.

Bomb threat. That felt manageable, and you were pretty handy with defusal in case that threat had any credibility. You turned off the radio and stood up, looking down over the city from your vantage point on a highrise fire escape. It was beautiful, in its grimy Gotham way: a light rainfall coated everything in a fuzzy static like old film; it made the concrete reflect the neon lights a little clearer, the whole skyline sort of slick and steamy.

Running and jumping to the next roof, you made a path to your destination and navigated the city unseen, like any good Bat-person would.

You were nearly there when you stopped on a roof above an abandoned manufacturing plant— well, that’s the thing, it wasn’t as abandoned as you thought. There was a glass sunroof, and even though it was dark and rainy, the light inside brought your attention to a group of men inside. Not to profile or anything, but 4 bald guys with guns standing around is usually a good sign that someone’s up to no good…

Trying to get a better look at what was going on inside, you carefully lifted one of the glass panels and slipped inside, sneaking around the metal scaffolding as the sound of the rain was muffled and replaced with distance, echoing voices.

You crouched in the rafters, watching with narrowed eyes as the group of men faced against a figure you couldn’t make out with the shadows and pillars in the way.

“So, are we good for this deal, or what?” the leader of the group asked.

A modulated, deeper voice answered: “This is half of what we agreed.”

“My team had some… road bumps, trying to bring this to you,” the man explained, stepping forward slightly. “We lost some of the compound. This is what we’re offering, take it or leave it.”

“I’ll take it,” the shadowy figure agreed. “How much for what’s left?”

“The same price we discussed.”

“For half the amount? How does that work?”

“It’s a flat rate,” the smuggler— that’s what he must have been, right?— explained with a smug smirk. “In fact, I should charge you more— call it hazard pay, for what my men had to go through to get this here.”

“I see,” the deeper voice replied. “How about this: I kill all of you, and take it.”

Your eyes widened; isn’t this guy alone? He’s sure got some balls…

The group of men paused before beginning to laugh. “You?” the leader repeated. “This skinny guy in the suit is gonna kill all of us?”

“I can do worse than that— I’ll make you beg for me to kill you.”

Feeling the tension of this discussion reach its breaking point, you realized you needed to intervene now: leaning over to make sure you had the right spot under you, you took the grappling hook off of your belt and pointed it down.

Firing it with a metallic whooshing sort of sound, the device grabbed one of the men and yanked him up into the shadows of the ceiling with you. Everyone on the ground looked up in shock and fear, pointing their guns aimlessly into the darkness. Before he could even really react to what had just occurred, you dropped the man back down— onto one of his friends, of course, which incapacitated them both but saved him from a much worse fate than if he’d landed on that concrete warehouse floor.

“What the fuck?” the leader of the group yelled as he tried to fire indiscriminately up at you— but you were already running along the steel beam, following one of the men as he tried to make a dash for the exit.

A blast from your long-distance taser gun brought him to the ground instantly, and as the last one left searched for the source of your attacks, you jumped down to the ground just behind him, landing in a crouched position. As soon as he’d turned around to face you, you’d grabbed a loose metal pipe from nearby and hit him over the head with an oddly-satisfying bong noise.

You knew the other man was still somewhere in the dark nearby, and you called out for him: “Whoever you are, stop hiding in the shadows: that’s kinda my thing,” you informed him.

He stepped forward in the cool, gray light: a man in a torn and tattered suit, with a burlap mask that had massive stitches like scars. Batman had just warned you about this guy, what was his name again?

"My," he purred with pleasant shock, his voice clearly deepened electronically by something in that sack on his head. "If it isn't Batgirl. Nice outfit, very… shiny."

"Yours looks pretty rough," you noticed.

He shrugged. "It does the job."

You smiled back, remembering finally who you were dealing with. "Not with me. I'm not scared of you, Scarecrow."

"You will be," he promised.

You swung first, a roundhouse kick right at his head, but he ducked and came back up at you— he tried to grab you but you slipped away.

Instead of going after you again, he ran— grabbed one of the suitcases off of the palette nearby, whatever this ‘shipment’ was, and bolted for the door into the alleyway. You almost laughed, impressed that he thought he could outrun you, but then again this was the guy who threatened to kill four armed men straight to their face.

You chased him right out the door, but as you dashed into the alley behind the manufacturing plant— the one that faced the northern street— you learned a moment too late that he hadn’t run at all, but was waiting for you there.

He sprayed something in your face, and you coughed as a cloud of vapor filled your lungs. You assumed it was pepper spray at first, but it didn't burn— actually, it smelled a little sweet, sort of herbal. But the effects were almost instantaneous, the pounding in your chest and the sinking feeling in your gut, the world spinning around you.

The fear response: heart rate increase, cold sweat, overall heightened arousal.

Instantly you felt old memories rushing in— awful, horrifying ones, and even worse than you remembered them. For a moment, there was fear with no real object, just the feeling… until he grabbed your face and forced you to look at him, at the wicked mask that seemed impossibly close— that seemed like it could swallow you whole. You screamed, trying to turn away or shut your eyes or something, but nothing assuaged the terror.

"Please," you sobbed. "Make it stop! Please!"

“Nothing can stop it now,” his voice returned— even rougher and darker than before, the deep bass of it making you shiver. “This is who you are. Give in to the fear.”

If nothing else, he had a point that fighting it wasn’t proving very useful— but giving in meant letting the world collapse in on you, letting the darkness pull you back… the darkness you’d fought so hard to make into an ally was becoming your enemy again.

He grabbed your mask and tugged it away; even overwhelmed with primal terror, enough logic remained for you to reach up and try to cover your face.

But he simply grabbed your hands and shoved them away. You heard a laugh behind that horrible mask, just before he suddenly took it off.

The toxin changed his face, too— his smile was wider and his teeth sharper, his eyes totally black— and you couldn't recognize him at first. Only when he addressed you by name did you finally put it together; "Professor Crane?" you realized with a horrified gasp.

"I imagine you haven't finished rewriting that paper yet?"

"Oh god," you sobbed, "you— you're— how can you do this?"

You struggled against him again, but he held you back effortlessly. “I said I liked you because you’re a challenge,” he remembered with a laugh. “But out here, you’re no challenge at all. Just a stupid little girl in a mask.”

He slapped you hard across the face, making you stumble even more as you lost your balance, colliding with the damp black asphalt.

He descended onto you, turning you on your back when you tried to hide your face in your arm as an escape from the terrifying visions. “I’ve been waiting for a chance to put you in your place,” he admitted with a growl as he started to pull your armored clothes off of you roughly. “You act a little too fearless for my liking… good to know it’s all an act.”

You cried, shaking and flailing beneath him, but you couldn’t actually put up a fight like this— the darkness throbbed around you, shadows reaching out to pull you into their abyss. “Please,” you begged again, “no! Stop, please!”

You weren’t even sure yourself if you were talking to him or to the hallucinated, anthropomorphized energy in the dark, but neither stopped. He struggled at times to get your clothes off, they weren’t exactly designed to come off quickly but you shuddered violently from the cool night air when your chest was exposed. You heard a deep growl from him, and you whimpered loudly as his hands ran over your skin. “What are you so scared of?” he asked, sounding amused— but in your mind, those hands were claws that could shred you to pieces at any moment, and you breathed so fast that your chest just spasmed and quaked. “I think you’ve been needing this for a while…”

He roughly turned you onto your stomach, face down against the street, and started to tug down your pants. You were too scared to even beg him to stop, to try to bargain or reason with him— you just shuddered and cried, hiding your face and hoping for relief from the dread.

He smacked you on your bare ass, once it was exposed, and chuckled to himself at your whine in response. The next thing you heard was the sound of a belt opening, a zipper unzipped…

Was it the toxin that made you afraid he would rip you in half, when he pressed his erection against your thigh? Or was that just common sense?

You grimaced when you heard him spit into his hand, but it fell into a whining cry as he pushed his tip against your opening. With your pants only down to your knees, you couldn’t even spread your legs at all, making you feel even more like there was no chance he could fit. The sick, anxious fear felt a little different now— maybe not as strong, but mostly just something new… something deeper and subtler and heavier. It wasn’t visions of monsters or memories of suffering, it was just this inevitable violation and the sureness that you were completely helpless.

He pushed his hips forward sharply, making you scream out and instantly reach back to try to grab his hips and push them away. He ignored it and kept going forward with a low groan. “Mm, you can take it,” he promised gruffly. “Fucking take it.”

You cried as he put a hand on your shoulders, keeping you pressed down painfully into the ground, as he slid the rest of the way in.

It stung, it stretched you in an awful way and went far too deep… but you were wet, you could feel it. Overall heightened arousal… not that sort of arousal, necessarily. He obviously noticed as well, growling a bit. “You like this, hm?” he accused.

“N-no,” you managed to slur, but it was hard to even breathe with his weight pressing you down. You pushed back harder against his thighs through his undone trousers, but he growled and grab your hand to pin it down above your head. He brought the other up beside it, and quickly pulled his belt out from the loops to tie around your wrists. “Professor,” you pleaded under your breath, feeling your warm tears mix with the cold rain on the ground.

But he was already inside you, it was too late for that— and with your hands conveniently out of the way, he breathed heavy as he started to pull back and shove back in.

There was no build-up after that, he just fucked you as hard and fast as he wanted with no regard for how you cried and struggled under him. He grabbed your hair and forced your head back awkwardly as you sobbed.

“Say my name,” he ordered, apparently irritated by the title of ‘Professor’ — but you didn’t know for sure if he wanted to be addressed as Jonathan or Scarecrow, and you feared the consequences if you chose incorrectly.

Still, you blurted out the first thing that came to mind: “J-Jonathan,” you spat out hoarsely, and he grinned happily before dropping you back onto the ground. You struggled against the belt around your wrists— not actually expecting to get out of it, and not having any plan if you did, just mainly out of instinct. All it did was dig the sharp edge of the leather into your skin, making you cry harder.

It rocked you back and forth on the ground, those rough thrusts— the friction inside you was hot and fast, and each time he slammed all the way in, you heard the clapping of skin on skin and felt his tip ram against the deepest places inside you. You didn’t even realize it was possible to be bruised inside like that, but you knew you would be by the end of this.

He didn’t slow down, really, but he changed his rhythm slightly and found an angle to go even just a bit deeper into you, until you whined pathetically with every pump into you. It seemed like the toxin was wearing off, in that you weren’t seeing things anymore, but there was still obviously a sick feeling in your stomach, and an unreliable beating in your chest, and a deep throbbing in your ears.

“You’re getting even wetter,” he noticed with a low chuckle, and you whimpered as you hoped not to have to acknowledge that. “Fucking soaking me— poor girl, I don’t think you can help it…”

At least it made this hurt a little less, but no amount of wetness could prevent him from holding your hips painfully tight and fucking you so forcefully it seemed hateful. You whined loudly with every movement, fingers curling into shaky fists even when it was useless with his belt restraining you.

When you turned your face to the side, you saw figures at the other end of the alley— not hallucinations, nothing scary, just passersby on the street— and you reached out for them instinctively as hope flooded your chest. Blinking the tears from your eyes, you could see them clearer: a man and woman, older, well-dressed. “P-please,” you croaked out in a broken voice, “please, help me— call the police—”

They heard you, and they turned and looked at you, only to grimace and turn away; the man pulled his date closer, shuffling her away with him as they kept walking. You whimpered pathetically, and Crane laughed above you. “That’s Gotham for you,” he mused. “No one wants to get involved. These are the people Batgirl wants to save?”

They weren’t the only ones who saw, either; later, a small crowd of young men in bandanas and baggy pants passed by— some of them looked young enough to still be in high school. You prayed to anything that would listen that they would move along without noticing, but one of them saw and pointed at you two with a scoffing laugh. Feeling as if you could throw up, you shut your eyes tight and heard the chorus of jeers as they realized what they were seeing. They laughed and hollered; what the fuck, dude! and ohh shit and hey, she’s pretty hot declared in juvenile voices between raunchy chuckles. You saw flashes of light when you blinked your eyes— were they taking pictures of this with their phones? You wondered if Jonathan would be forced to stop them, if he was concerned about evidence, but he didn’t react at all… he didn’t even slow down.

Once they’d gotten an eyeful and the sight had lost its shock, they wandered away— you could still hear their voices echoing around the buildings for a moment until it all faded in with the ambient sounds of the city: sirens, horns, footsteps, and that perpetual Gotham drizzle.

“I can feel it,” he whispered to you suddenly, “it keeps squeezing me. Such a needy fucking cunt.”

You didn’t know if the ‘cunt’ was referring to your anatomy or to you as a person, and either option made your throat a little dry— but dryness was the least of your problems between your legs, in fact you were pretty sure you were dripping now, you could feel how slippery and sticky you’d become. Your thighs were coated, it was even running down over your swelling and neglected clit.

He lowered himself a bit, resting his arms beside your head and breathing close to your ear. He even brushed some of your hair out of the way with his hand, wanting to get a better look at your face, and you shut your eyes.

Increasingly loud groans and sighs above you made you realize what was about to happen, just as much as the throbbing feeling inside you.

“F-fuck,” he let out in a scratchy voice. “Fuck!”

You whimpered yourself just as you heard him choke out a sort of high-pitched, shaky moan, and his thrusts went from erratic and desperate to slower and uneven. He twitched inside you, and you felt the flood of heat in impossible contrast to the cold ground under you.

“God…” he groaned, his hand on your shoulder tightening and digging a little too deep into your skin. Then he laughed a little as he finally came to a stop— breathless, light, almost making him sound impressed. With you or himself, it’s hard to say; it sounded like a laugh of relief.

A lump formed in your throat as you considered what you were supposed to do now— he’d just come inside you, raw, and it made your stomach sink (but it made your walls clench unexpectedly, too). As he carefully pulled out, you whimpered at the way it reawakened the sting of his first entrance— especially when he first pushed inside. He sighed heavily when he finally got himself out of you completely, and then his hands— hot, a little clammy, and strong— came into view to free your aching wrists from his belt.

He stood up over you, and you heard him readjust his trousers before zipping them up and putting back on his belt. “Was it good for you?” he asked with a quiet, but smug, chuckle.

Bringing your hands nearer to press against the ground, you tried to lift yourself up on shaking arms. When your torso was only a few inches off the pavement, Jonathan put his polished shoe on your back between your shoulder blades and pushed you back down. You whimpered as he looked down at you, tilting his head while he admired your helpless form.

“Stay down,” he ordered.

Finally taking his foot off of you, he picked his mask up from the ground, sighing as he shook some of the raindrops off of it and put it back on.

“Well,” he began with a sigh, his voice modulated by the sack over his head again, “I’ll see you in class. I look forward to seeing what you do with that paper.”

You didn’t watch him leave; you just heard the warehouse door shut again. Your eyes were looking blankly forward, blinking away stinging tears, looking at the way the neon lights of the buildings across the street reflected in the puddles on the ground.

You jolted, much more than necessary, when someone knocked on the bathroom door; it made the water in your bath ripple, though the fluffy white surface of the bubbles was hardly disturbed. “Can I come in?” you heard Bruce’s voice.

“Yeah,” you answered, but he stopped when he opened the door.

“You’re not decent,” he noticed, turning away.

“There’s bubbles everywhere, you can’t see anything,” you sighed, and he stepped the rest of the way in. A pause that both of you pretended wasn’t awkward occurred.

“Tim told me that you came back roughed up,” he said eventually.

You said nothing.

“I told you not to—” he began.

“I know.”

He sighed; you kept staring forward at the white tile wall in front of you. "What happened?" he asked simply.

“I know Tim told you already— two guys, probably Falcone’s— they went at me in a tunnel by the Southside,” you explained with a sigh. “I was just following a stolen van, I didn’t know who took it— I would’ve called you if I knew. I just wanted something I could handle on my own.”

You knew the story didn’t add up; Falcone’s men would’ve probably given you a black eye, maybe a broken nose, and bruises on your stomach from kicks and punches. Instead what you had were concrete scrapes on your cheek, fingerprint-sized bruises on your hips and thighs, and thin abrasions all around your wrists. Not to mention the jitters and auditory hallucinations from working Crane’s toxin out of your system— his voice, still in your ear: just a stupid little girl in a mask. You’d stopped looking over your shoulder by now, but your heart still raced every time.

You knew the story didn’t add up, but you knew it didn’t matter, because Bruce was going to buy it. He wasn’t ready to imagine the truth yet. This time, when you heard Crane’s voice, it wasn’t a hallucination but a memory: you sure were eager for an explanation.

Bruce nodded and began to walk out of the bathroom. “Alright,” he said. “Rest up.”

You scoffed to yourself as he left quietly— for a detective, he still had a few blindspots. Surely, we all do.

Left alone in the bathroom again, you were surrounded by silence once more. In silence, it was easier to hear his voice in your ear. Just a stupid little girl in a mask.

The shrill sound of your cell phone startled you, and you awkwardly leaned out of the tub just far enough to grab it off of the pile of towels you'd left it on.

"Hello?" you answered, irritation obvious in your tone.

“Hello, ma’am, this is Tracy from the Gotham University Student Wellness Center,” the sweet, lilting voice came from the other end of the line. “We recently received notice of concern that you may be experiencing domestic violence. We’d love for you to come into our office to discuss this and receive complementary counseling, when’s a good time that we could—?”

You hung up and tossed the phone away, sinking down into the water.

#cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy fic #cillian murphy x reader #scarecrow smut #scarecrow x reader #jonathan crane x reader #jonathan crane smut #jonathan crane dark fic

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kinsey3furry300 · 1 month

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Disney's Robbin Hood marries Maid Marian at the end of the film. Since marriage between commoners and aristocracy were illegal in the time period, we can infer then that Disney's Robbin Hood uses the cannon from Richard Grafton's 16th century Chronicle at Large or latter, when Robbin Hood goes from a yeoman to a member of the aristocracy, either the Earl of Huntingdon, or the later lord Locksley.

This fox is, and always has been, a member of the aristocratic 1% defending his inherited wealth, power and privilege. His vendetta against Prince John and his denouncement of him as a tyrant is personal as Prince John infinged on the rights and privileges of the Nobles, which was illegal, and lead to him taking up arms abd leading a guerilla campaign, and as soon as a Absoulute monarch he personality agrees with returns, he bends the knee in exchangefor a pardon, the restorationon his estates, and a policaly benifical marrage.

Behold the friendly face of Absoulute hereditary power!

In DnD terms, this verson of Robbin Hood is Lawfull Evil, fighting to uphold his own legal power and staiuts against an usurper.

Sad to say it given, he gave me my sexual awakening, but this fox is, and always has been, a fascist.

I mean I'd still fuck both of them but the sex with Rob would be far angrier.

This fox, this guy right here:

He's just a depressed millennial with childhood trauma running a gig economy job. He's not even doing anything particularly illegal, as shown by the only thing Judy (a frighteningly effective cop) can find to charge him with is tax evasion. He's a high functioning borderline genius level guy running street scams due to racial profiling barring access to higher education and better jobs, and once someone gives him an in he proves very very good at solving crimes. He had no ideological stake in this, he's in DnD terms true neutral tending towards chaotic neutral, but he does risk his life to stop and actual fascist coup that was happening hidden behind a facade of public safety (looks at canera), which is something. He's an everyman antihero who sells out for a job with helthcare and/or bunny boobies at the first chance he gets, very relatable.

This Fox, is and always has been, Moray grey.

and he fucking knows it, the sexy beast.

In conclusion, Disney has always been a Conservative company filled with left leaning creators, and Sometimes thier furry kink critique of the current system leaks out and they are at their best when it does.

#disney #Robbin hood #Disneys Robbin hood #zootopia #zootropolis #nick wilde #Nicholas wilde #Nicholas piberius wilde #judy hopps #maid marian #ace attorney #fascisim #shitpost #humor #furry shit

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dried-mushroom · 7 days

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Omg can you please write about Lee Russell being mean to you in front of Gamby as like a power display or something but then when y'all get home (y'all are like Secretly dating since you're just a teacher) he's all nice and romantic to apologize?

YIPPEE I found another lee Russell lover! don't judge please I'm Australian so I have little concept of American education. I hope you like it.

Warnings: Lil angsty and implied sex

Be mean to me

Lee Russell x reader (well Christine sucks so she's not in this story)

Life was pretty peachy as a history teacher in North Jackson high school, you were stuck teaching from a range of boring topics to your either half asleep, barely listening or teacher pet students, except you were sleeping with the vice principal, Lee Russell. You couldn't resist that southern charm radiating off his tongue when he spoke those words on your first day as a teacher, in the parking lot.

"Mornin' Sweetheart, are you lost? The names Lee Russell, Vice principal of this very high school and you're way too fuckin' pretty to be a high school teacher."

After taking a good look at the lanky man who called himself the vice principal, you couldn't help yourself, and after promptly introducing you to your fellow teachers, he briskly walked you to the janitors closet where you both spent all morning. Obviously, you both knew this had to be kept a secret, boss and employee dating is a no-go, although that did not stop you both from being affectionate when no was watching, sharing a peck when you went to visit him at his office or the grasp of his hand on your thigh under the table at meetings or after work, where it was safe to be yourselves and you could lay together watching borderline cheesy romcom movies whilst Lee critiques his heart out.

You sighed contently as the bell for seventh period rang, the mingled voices of your 6th period ancient history class rushed out the door to their next useless class and you could finally relax and start lesson planning for the next 45 minutes. You let your hands run down your thighs, smoothing out your new dress (this but more teacher appropriate). You brought this specifically for Lee, you knew of his love for colours, hence his usually eccentric clothing choices, you knew he'd love the pattern on you. You couldn't help but smile giddily and walk out of the classroom, you knew you could easily finish the planning later and you'd rather spend the last of the school day with Lee.

You swiftly walked down the hall to administration, smiled sweetly at Swift, because you knew how rude Gamby was to her for no reason, and she didn't deserve that, like Gamby seriously needs a reality check in your opinion.

"Afternoon Miss Swift, I hope you're doing alright and Gamby isn't giving you a hard time, I was hoping to see Mr. Russell, I had to discuss long service leave with him."

"Oh, thank you miss l/n, vice principal Gamby is albeit rude, but I think he's getting better, and of course let me get the door for you."

You knew she wasn't stupid, and you assumed she knew about you and Lee secretly dating, but it was better to come up with an excuse and be safe rather than sorry. Smith quickly opened to door and shut it behind you.

"Well, hello there honey, I was expecting you- and what's this? isn't this a pretty thing?"

He shot up from his desk chair and sauntered over to where you stood, he placed his hands on your waist and whispered in your ear.

"I can't wait to rip that off you gir-"

Suddenly the door swung open, and Lee jumped away from you, 'of course Neal Gamby, you had to come fuck everything up." you thought to yourself, now awkwardly fiddling with the hem of your dress.

"Russell. We need to talk. Why the hell are you here Miss. l/n? I thought Wednesday 7th period was your planning lesson."

Before you could reply to Gamby, Lee interjected,

"Exactly, Scram Miss l/n, I don't need nor want you here, I have better shit to do, plus what the fuck are you wearing? you look like a fuckin mess, pick a goddamn colour."

Your heart sank, an uncomfortable tightness sat in your chest as your face flushed in embarrassment. You knew Lee being a dick to you was only a ruse to throw off other teachers and admin but, fuck it hurt, it hurt so much to have him speak to you in that way. You nodded your head and headed to the door,

"Open or closed Mr. Russell?"

Gamby responded for him, responding in a curt 'Closed.' leaving you to silently shut the door behind you. You walked out of the administration office before your eyes welled with tears, but you waited until you reached your classroom until you broke, sobbing quietly at your desk. You just wished you and Lee could act like a couple instead of the cold shoulder act he'd be giving you. With the mixed signals and nausea swirling through your brain, you grabbed your left-over paperwork and bag before leaving. Usually, you and Lee would leave at the same time, but you couldn't bear to see him at the moment, all your hard work, making yourself pretty for him and resulting in him publicly humiliating you was just too much.

The short drive home eased you a little but when you had to walk up those steps of your shared home, it just brought back that sickly tension. You unlocked the door and set your handbag down (another reminder of Lee since it was an anniversary gift). You kicked off your heels and headed upstairs to your shared bedroom. You didn't bother to change and slumped into bed, fresh tears coming to your eyes, you didn't care whether you were quiet or not, sobbing yourself till you couldn't keep your eyes open.

Lee's POV:

He regretted the words as soon as they came from his mouth. He saw the hurt on your face, and he felt his stomach twist into a tight knot. He hated being a dick to you, hated it so much he hated himself for doing it. He realised he went way too far this time with you, and he really didn't want to lose you and couldn't help but fidget with his hands whilst blatantly ignoring whatever bullshit Gamby was bitching about.

"Sorry Gamby but I gotta run, not like you'd know what that is though. We'll talk about Brown tomorrow, now get the fuck outta my office."

Neal sighed, muttered some regurgitated insult but ultimately left. Lee rushed to grab his belongings and ran out the door, Smith tried to ask where he was off to in a rush,

"Sir, you can't just leave! where are you even going???"

When he pulled into the driveway, 'Thank God' he thought as he saw your car parked there. He got out, left all his belongings in the car, not a care. You were more important; you were the most important thing in his life. He opened the door and called;

"Shut the fuck up Smith, I can leave whenever the fuck I want and its none of your business where I am going."

Smith squeaked a reply, but Lee was already down the hall, he went to your classroom and groaned when he noticed a lack of you and your belongings. He ran to the parking lot, got into his car as soon as he didn't saw your car, without a doubt it was always parked next to his. He gripped the steering wheel tightly, knuckles turning white, he shakily exhaled, he knew he had fucked up and was hoping you were at home.

"Y/n baby, where are you? I'm so sorry about what I said."

The silence was nerve-racking, so after checking all the other rooms for you, he headed to the bedroom to check. There you were, peaceful and asleep, he couldn't have been happier. He walked across the room to the side to the bed you were facing, and sat gently on the bed, softly stroking your hair.

Your POV:

You slowly awoke out of a dreamless slumber to someone touching you. You flinched when you realised it was Lee, and you remembered everything that happened today. He felt your reaction and immediately pulled his hand away. He saw the tear streaks on your face and sighed,

"Y/n I am so fuckin' sorry; I should have never had said those hurtful things to you, you didn't deserve that, God, I don't deserve you. I didn't even mean them, I need you so much, and you do so much for me, and I take that shit for granted, please forgive me y/n, I love you."

You saw the raw emotion across his face and sat up, you could see the tears in his eyes, and you couldn't help but wipe the one away falling down his cheek with your thumb. You smiled softly and leaned into him,

"I forgive you Lee, and I love you so much. I don't think you meant it but what you said really fucking hurt, and this hiding our relationship is really hurting us, so please can we finally go public and not have to worry and hide anymore?"

"Thank you so much and fuck it! who gives a shit if you and I are together? whoever doesn't like it can suck my dick, I can't lose you honey."

You smiled, finally knowing you'd and Lee would finally be able to be yourselves without having hide and sneak around.

"You aren't losing me Lee; I wouldn't do that to you. Now kiss me, you idiot."

He didn't hesitate a second before crashing his lips into yours, your hands finding his neck before climbing into his lap. His hands sneaked around your waist bringing you even closer, you could feel his erection under you, and you couldn't help moaning into his mouth. He broke the kiss to whisper,

"Well now how about I make do of my promise from earlier?"

The End

I hope this was good! please leave comments or asks if you enjoyed :)

#vice principals #lee russell #neal gamby #walton goggins #cooper howard #lee russell x reader #cooper howard x reader

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olderthannetfic · 10 months

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How do you feel about social justice critique of media?

It's fine if it's performed with media literacy...

So that leaves out 99% of Youtube.

I thought Dan Olsen's A Lukewarm Defence of Fifty Shades of Grey was a fun watch. Dan combines a lack of squeamishness about sex with a great command of cinematic language and good research skills.

The problem with a lot of so-called critique is that it boils down to "People need to think about X" where X is something that has been discussed to death for decades. It ends up being little more than sealioning—that thing where you take up all of people's time and energy with stale arguments to try to badger them.

Fundamentally, some people being impressionable and bad at reading shouldn't bar the rest of the world from consuming art. Social justice critique of media needs to take this into account or it's worthless.

The kind of thing that's worthwhile is analyzing the cinematography of some show to explain how it subtly sidelines certain characters of certain demographics despite them being more or less equal in the script. That gets at relatively objective facts while also plausibly educating the audience who may have sensed these things but not known how to articulate them in film terms.

Taking potshots at problematique romance novels, like half of youtube does, is fundamentally worthless trash. Tacking on the words 'rape culture' doesn't change that the fundamental motivation is clickbait driven by the subconscious misogyny of the audience.

Didactic art is boring. Critique that asks art to be more didactic is shit.

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suzannahnatters · 1 year

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IT'S TIME YOU ALL HEARD ABOUT MY GIRL ARCANGELA TARABOTTI, SALTIEST NUN IN CHRISTENDOM

So, I first heard about Arcangela Tarabotti while I was doing the study for my novella THE CITY BEYOND THE GLASS, which is set in Renaissance Venice and inspired by a real historical practice: At one point during the sixteenth century, nearly sixty percent of all the noble women in Venice lived in convents. And the vast majority of them were there against their will.

For complex dynastic reasons (or basically…money and prestige), only one son and one daughter in each generation of Venetian noble families were permitted to marry during this period. The remaining sons resorted to the famous Venetian courtesans to find the companionship which was denied them in marriage, while the spare daughters were locked into convents. The system was unsustainably wasteful and had to be abandoned within a few generations, but by that time it was already too late - many of the old patrician families of Venice were already going extinct. (You can read more on this in Jutta Gisela Sperling’s book Convents and the Body Politic in Late Renaissance Venice).

While it lasted, the system had plenty of opponents. In 1619, Patriarch Giovanni Tiepolo said, "More than two thousand patrician women…live in this city locked up in convents as if in a public tomb. …They are noblewomen, raised and nurtured with the highest delicacy and respect so that if they were of the other sex, they would command and govern the world."

Even when they have suffered oppression, women throughout history have challenged the status quo, and the women of Venice were no different. Arcangela Tarabotti is the foremost example.

Arcangela was just 11 years old when her father sent her to the convent of Sant'Anna. He considered her to be unmarriageable because she had a physical disability, which she had in fact inherited from him. She would spend the rest of her life there, taking vows as a nun in 1623…a fact about which she was in a white-hot fury.

"Why, then, do you defy the works of the Most Just One by decreeing that many women should live all together, alike in dress, dwelling place, food, and conduct, when the Lord of Lords makes it a miracle of His infinite wisdom for all things He created to be different? Why do you want to bend to your whim contrasting wills created so by nature? It is nothing less than wanting to change and correct the deeds of a Creator who cannot err."

During her early years in the cloister, Arcangela gained a reputation for rebellion and outspokenness. At one stage, it took a direct command from the Patriarch himself to force her to cut her hair. Despite this, Arcangela was able to access a high standard of education at the convent and became a philosopher and writer, corresponding with an impressive network of the thinkers of her day. She wrote multiple works critiquing the misogyny entrenched in Venetian society - including a scorching expose titled Paternal Tyranny.

“Only hell itself bears a likeness to the suffering of these enforced slaves of Christ," Arcangela wrote concerning the Venetian women imprisoned in nunneries. "Over the gate of Hell, Dante says, are inscribed the words ‘Abandon every hope, who enter here.’ The same could be inscribed over the portals of convents.”

Contrary to the polemicists of her day, Arcangela maintained that women were fully equal to men and even argued that they should be able to become lawyers and judges. "Both male and female were born free, bearing with them, like a precious gift from God, the priceless bounty of free choice. If in God’s eyes woman is not less privileged than you with respect to her physical or spiritual qualities, why do you wish her to seem created with such great inequality, you enemies of the truth, proclaiming her to be subject to your impulsive, mad whims? In short, woman is deserving of less respect than you only when you have reduced her to this state by your scheming."

"When women are seen with pen in hand, they are met immediately with shrieks commanding a return to that life of pain which their writing had interrupted, a life devoted to the women's work of needle and distaff," she argued.

Tarabotti maintained that she did not condemn all men simply for being men: "Stricken by a guilty conscience, some men will say that I speak with excessive temerity about all men in general. They are greatly mistaken. If they behave justly, they will be protected from my attacks and those of others. I separate the just from the wicked (who are the subject of my discourse), since not all men are bad and not all women are good."

As a keen amateur historian, I’m accustomed to wincing when people assume that all women living before about 1920 were ignorant, oppressed, and unable to inherit or control property (as if world history was not long and diverse and filled with creative, bold, and influential women). For a limited time during the Renaissance, however, things really were incredibly bad for Venetian women. To find out more about Arcangela and her times, I highly recommend Letizia Panizza's translation of PATERNAL TYRANNY, published in 2004 by the University of Chicago Press!

#history #renaissance history #venice #venetian history #women's history #renaissance women #historical fiction #renaissance #17th century #1600s #medieval women #women in history #feminism

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mygwenchan · 6 months

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Since I still see people complaining about the sex scenes in Playboyy:

The stark contrast between artistically crafted shots of non-sexual scenes (some of those truly look like they could be art installations) and sex scenes that seem unaesthetic, hasty, somewhat badly performed and sometimes even comical, highlights the conflict between what we expect and dream of versus the true nature of interpersonal relationships.

Dream versus reality is one of the big themes in this series. We can see it in the way the characters expect certain things from their relationships, only to be repeatedly confronted with the fact that they won't get what they want. Teena dreams of sleeping with a virgin, but both his feelings and Zouey's hesitation get in the way of it. Zouey wants to conform to society's expectations about sex, he really does try. But in the end sex repulses him for some reason. First dreams of running away from home to have a steamy affair with some hot guy, but he learns that Soong isn't really into the idea. Soong seems to like First, but he is hit with the reality that affection won't be able to buy you dinner and it won't pay your rent. And then we have Nont who tells himself that his brother is still alive, while deep down he already knows that something bad must've happend to Nant (I'm delulu about that too, so I feel you Nont!)

Likewise the viewer is also forced back into reality. The dreamlike sequences end abruptly and instead quick humping and bad audio (the Japanese!) is thrown at us. Did you expect something kinky and hot? Did you expect romantic kisses in the rain? Well, you won't get any of that! In Playboyy sex scenes are used as a tool to make the viewer look beyond the dream. Sometimes sex is used for educational purposes or it tells us more about a character and sometimes it makes us think about our own relationship with kink and sex.

In addition, I believe it is also a direct critique towards the majority of BL series that are out on the market right now. Because those shows usually try to ascend sex between two men onto a higher plane. They only highlight the dreamlike romantic aspects of gay relationships and ignore real life issues, even the really small things (how many sex scenes have we all seen where they don't even use the lube and simply go straight at it...). Sex is not soft background music, slow motion shots, perfect hair and pretty make up, the right pose at the right time... Instead it can be messy, funny, weird, with sweat pouring down your face and smeared mascara.

#playboyy the series #playboyy #playboyy meta

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genderkoolaid · 11 months

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What do you think about the concept of "since kink and porn is an art form, you should be able to critique it like an artform" (but like, with actual critique rather than just kink-phobia AND ALSO don't critique someone's specific piece of art if they didn't ask you to, like we're still applying the basic rules of art critique to this).

In the same way you would examine and criticize someone animating a character saying something violently transphobic, you would criticize someone for making violently transphobic porn. (Of course there is nuance to this, just because a character says something violently transphobic doesn't mean the creator is transphobic in that and same with violent transphobic porn)

But I guess in order to get to that point, we need to get past the "it's not morally pure" and "you're gross for liking that" type shit in order to do that in a healthy way. Because I believe there is a healthy and honest way to critique porn and what kind of message people are putting out into the world with porn (oddly enough, porn can be used as propaganda), but I don't think we as a society are ready to do that with the current state of puritanism.

I would say, one, that kink =/= porn. I think it makes sense to critique porn like an artform, but kinky sex in private is, y'know, private, so it would be weird to try and artistically critique someone's sex life. Not all kink exists for public consumption & it private kink shouldn't be judged like its inherently meant to be consumed by the public. Porn, on the other hand, is meant to be viewed (for purposes of arousal), and that includes kinky porn. (Also, we can critique the way people do kink, but I don't think that should be compared to how art is critiqued yk? Like there's a difference between artistically critiquing movies about sports and critiquing the way sports are played. And when it comes to interpersonal relationships it should really be left to people actually involved in the situation since they know their needs best.)

I definitely think there's merit in critiquing porn in an artistic sense. But it definitely has to be done from a perspective outside of "this is depicting a Bad Thing and making it seem like a Good Thing, therefore its Bad." Personally, I think more should be done to emphasize the kink aspect of kink- a lot of CNC porn removes the context of kink, which is extremely important for not only engaging in but just understanding CNC. If you listen to people who have rape kinks & engage with them in healthy ways, its very clear that part of the arousal is the fact that its in a kinky context, and the knowledge that you either have power taken away or are given power based on mutual trust. I said this before in another post but I think a lot of the negative things attributed to kinky porn itself comes from people consuming it without having any kink education to put that porn in context. But this has to come alongside systemic changes to how we approach kink and sex in general, and make it easier for people to get educated about these things in an open way. I very strongly feel that we should have some kind of at least surface level kink education in sex ed- by "surface level" I mean, at the very least, getting the concepts of "scene" "safeword" "soft/hard limits" "SSC/RACK" "aftercare" etc. into the general consciousness.

Anyways, the point is that if your critique only goes as deep as "this makes rape seem good, and thats harmful!" then its not a very good critique. But something like "the choking method used is dangerous and shouldn't be encouraged" or "this video showed the discussion of safewords and limits before the actual scene, which emphasis that its a scene & encourages good communication" could be very helpful.

But also, why limit porn critique to that? I wanna see people writing articles about the camera angles & the talents of the performers.

#m.#ask box #rape tw

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westeroswisdom · 20 days

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Among other reasons, George R.R. Martin implies that he includes detailed food passages in his writings to stretch out scenes and facilitate dialogue. Is he implying that The Winds Of Winter will feature nonstop food orgies? 😋

When it comes to Game of Thrones author George R.R. Martin's writing, there is one fairly common critique of sorts: the author often includes "gratuitous" food scenes in his work, with some critics even commenting that his books might not be quite as long if it weren't for the various "gratuitous" feasts — among other so-called excess scenes — packed in them. It's not criticism that Martin is bothered by, but now he's explaining why there is so much food in his work. In his foreword for the new The Official Game of Thrones Cookbook (via Polygon), Martin says that, for him, the food matters because the journey is as important as the destination. "When used in the context of literary criticism, 'gratuitous' usually translates to 'more than I wanted' or 'did not advance the plot' And you know, often that is true," Martin writes. "Was it necessary for me to mention that the minor knight who just entered the lists bore seven golden hedgehogs on a field of dark green? In that sex scene, couldn't I just have tumbled them into bed and cut to 'the next morning'? And the feasts, oh those feasts, surely the only thing that mattered was what the characters were saying, not the honey-roasted duck they were eating as they said it? Well, no. Not for me."

Maybe by now he feels that readers are expecting such passages. 🤔

He continued, "It's not the destination that matters to me, it's the journey. I have been a voracious reader for as long as I can remember. A reader of fiction, specifically. Fiction is not about getting from point A to point B as fast as possible. It can educate, but it is not educational at heart. For that, nonfiction is infinitely superior. Fiction is about emotion. The heart, not the head. Fiction gives us vicarious experience. It takes us beyond ourselves and the world around us." Martin goes to write that he wants readers to "live with my story, not just read it. When they sit down at my table, I want them to taste the food."

I wonder if the length of the food passages increases whenever GRRM is hungry when he writes.

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fairybonesandstardust · 7 months

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Sex Work Is Work

I am more than a little pissed. Why is it that every fucking time you need to make your "sexy little asshole" an asshole who is such a little fuckboy ceo you have him fucking full service workers. Every time he's with full service workers he is degrading them, he is treating them as something subhuman. All to show how his little lover is so perfect and different.

A serial rapist and abuser was in the news a few weeks ago and i don't remember his name just that he was rich. Why was the "hot take" that he should've hired sex workers? Why are we deserving of being raped and abused?

Every time you write full service workers into your little fics or books we're either STD ridden villainous whores, uwu babes who need to be saved and liberated, or just plain degraded.

And don't come here and start running your mouth about how you support sex workers but not the industry, or offering your critiques. You don't get to have an opinion on an industry you are not struggling to survive in.

Y'all love to use us as an aesthetic, as a little plot point but where the fuck is the solidarity. You refuse to see us as human beings.

Did you know that police have been known to use "No human involved" in cases of dead full service workers?

No human involved.

We aren't considered human. We have no protection.

You keep spreading harmful propaganda on us. You're all for sex workers until it comes to basic human rights or treating us as humans. Stop fucking degrading us. Stop using us as a solution to rapists and murders.

With the way our work is conflated with abuse materials, with the way we are losing visibility. Every fucking thing matters. If you want to support us. Then fucking listen to us, build solidarity with us.

I am a human being.

I am somebody's sibling.

I am somebody's child.

So for the love of all things holy listen to sex workers and educate yourself. And stop fucking dehumanizing and degrading us. Saying we should be raped instead of a civilian is not the hot take you think it is.

Before i dip:

Nobody should be raped whether their a civilian or a sex worker.

No one is saying sex work is empowering (our work shouldn't have to be empowering for us to receive basic human rights or the ability to come home safely)

I'm not the most eloquent or the most intelligent so if you want to learn more about what you can do to support us or to educate yourself. checkout @/juicypomma on tiktok. they have so many playlists you can check out.

If you can't treat us with respect or even basic human decency then keep our names out of your fucking mouth.

Sex work is not fast or easy money. It requires work.

Every where i turn we are being degraded or demonized.

I'm tired idc if this is well written or not as long as the basic gifs are understood

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chaifootsteps · 2 months

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Oh my god, finally! I've been wanting to post here for a few days.

I'm the author of that infamous fanfic. And I wanted to say, unrelated to Hazbin, that the documentary and Drake's story, coupled with his new music video "I Kinda Relate" is the most heartbreaking and empowering thing I've ever seen. I bawled my eyes out the entire day that I found it.

In the first 28 seconds, Drake heavily implies, but doesn't show, his abuse that he suffered at the hands of his rapist, Brian Peck (who also was penpals with none other than John Wayne Gacy.)

I wanted to do nothing but hug that poor little boy, and to hug the man he is now. I want to tell him that he's beautiful and strong and brave for coming out. Male CSA victims rarely ever do. Could you imagine telling Drake then or now, that he's a *loser*? Could you imagine going about his abuse the way Viv did with Husk and Angel? He literally made his own music video that was much more tactful and empowering than Loser Baby ever will be.

I also have dirt on Dan S and that whole fucking pedo ring (I know a LOT of people in this industry. I also helped take down an ACTUAL ZOO AND PEDOPHILE with a decent amount of power a few years back.) And for anyone still confused about Drake, the girl he messaged lied about her age and he never did anything physical with her. He still acknowledges he's fucked up (please watch his hour long interview and music video) but he's "bound to make it right".

I also just want to say, to a CERTAIN PERSON, that comparing the objectively fetishisized abuse (I'm a CSA victim and into noncon), to fucking SEX ED FOR CHILDREN, is the absolute most fucking garbage and vile take I've ever seen. Poison is NOT educational. It is fetish content for Viv and Raph and others like them. If survivors and fans can turn something objectively negative into something subjectively positive, all the power to them.

Again, into noncon and a CSA victim. I also don't want to see stans taking this and telling me I'm invalid for critiquing Viv and Raph (already dealt with that in my damn fic.) I have been raped/sexually assaulted/groomed/groped/strangled/pinned down/dragged around as a child and NO ONE is ever going to tell me I'm a hypocrite or that I'm wrong for my feelings on this issue. Especially when I also have friends and my own mother as SA and CSA victims as well.

Someone like myself, or like Drake Bell, do NOT need to see how explicitly horrid our abuse was/is to understand how bad it is. I personally had panic attacks watching the episode, and having the knowledge of Raph being an unapologetic rape fetishist, was all I needed to know that that entire episode was fetish content. It's basically an adaptation of Raph's Red Smoke comic. Nearly word for word too. I've written and consumed so many stories over the years to know exactly what's going in their heads.

You know how you actually help a victim? You have friends and family and a therapist help you get out of that situation. Husk "helping" Angel was not the way to go about it.

And I've seen fans argue whether or not Viv is a rape fetishist (she is), but if she wasn't, why is she so adamant on keeping an unapologetic rape fetishist on her staff? He's confirmed to be working on season 2 (God I'm gagging thinking about it) and why does she like so much art (no hate to the artists) of sexy, fetishisized, hot, and sad art of Valentino? If he's supposedly based off HER abusive experience, why does she coddle, woobify, and downplay and sexualize him so much??? I wouldn't base a rapist character or write a rapist character as a fucking "high school Mean girl".

I'm sorry this got so long, but fuck man... it's so fucking disgusting.

Anyways, please watch this. It's got more tact and heart than fucking Poison will ever have. Drake Bell, my heart goes out to you. CSA victim to CSA victim. I hope you get better and can heal. And that goes for all victims as well. 💜🫂 (You too, Chai.)

And Brian Peck, and any and all other rapists, can burn alive in a grease fire. Val included.

https://youtu.be/I5gh8rAVLkI?si=B2eny2U4GZRgDZ7t

https://youtu.be/nSzk-MsVKqA?si=6D4rEihu89Yom7YG

Well said as always, Anon, and thank you for this.

Also, definitely seconding Brian Peck burning up in a grease fire.

#Anonymous #viv stuff #actual blog post #vivziepop critical

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kaythefloppa · 2 months

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Wild Kratts - Fish Out of Water Review [Spoilers]

April is finally here, and with it, three new episodes have been released on the PBS Kids Video App ahead of their release. At the time I'm posting this, it is midnight and the one hour special "Our Blue and Green World" is yet to air on televison and streaming, so I will get to that when I get to that. Given that I have already reviewed No Name Dream and Backpack the Camel, I'll give a review to this episode as well. Spoiler warning and opinions ahead under the cut

First New York, then Hawaii, and now a goddamn University on the list of areas I would never expect these guys to film. Bros are everywhere.

As someone who is about to graduate high school, I feel IMMENSELY jealous of the college students who saw the motherfucking Kratt Brothers filming an episode on campus. I can already begin to see the floods of social media posts bragging about this on Tumblr and Twitter threads.

Ok I feel bad for being a bit salty earlier, I actually think it's really sweet how these people outside of the show can share their interests and expertise in biology and physics to help children educate. The entire live-action opening where they study the locomotion of mudskippers is honestly really sweet, and we haven't even gotten to our main animal yet!

God these are such cute animals. But beyond that, the term "fish out of water" could not be a more fitting title. They have joints like we do, can adapt to different environments, and can swim and climb like we can. This is probably my favorite live action segment because of how well structured the clips and movements are and just how fun it is seeing these little blorbs move around the place.

I should talk about how it took us half a decade to see a mudskipper on the show, and 13 years overall to get a focus episode, but so far, up to a great start and definitely worth waiting (for the most part).

Oh so is it like the Hermit Crab episode where in all of the official releases they leave out the determiner but in the actual episode it's there? This has no overall bearing on the episode but I just felt the need to point it out.

I should check off on my S7 bingo card about seeing the old inventions again because holy shit it's been almost a decade since we saw the Butterflier XT

Also can anyone identify those butterflies? I know for a FACT that those motherfuckers aren't monarchs because of their patterns (the only pattern variation in butterflies is sex-linked, and while I'm aware they live in Asia, this again, does not look like a match) but they also aren't viceroys because they lack the line around their wings. I only ask this to bring up my next point.

I thought the Butterfly Disc we saw in Season 1 was specifically programmed based off of Monarch Butterflies. But as established (until proven wrong), these are not monarch butterflies. So unless Aviva retrofitted or reprogrammed the disc to be multi-familial, as in they can touch any butterfly regardless of classification and activate accordingly (like with the Crocodile, Dragonfly, and Gecko Discs), the activation should not work. I only ask this because while it seems miniscule, Chris' decision to bring out the disc is what sets off the plot - It's what causes him to loose the discs in the butterfly swarm, so I feel like, while not a critique, it's a legitimate question as to the direct programming of the discs vs. the animals used to activate.

Man, Zach wasn't even in this episode and somehow they STILL lose their discs? (Actually, I am pleasantly surprised that they didn't take the opportunity to have this be a Zach-related episode).

You think they'd put a tracker on the collection or encode a chip the actual discs so that they wouldn't get lost this easily. This again, sounds like a nitpick, but earlier seasons set up a firewall for the Creature Power Discs and a tracking device/rocket-device on the Creature Power Suits and gloves because of how frequent these types of contingiences are, so there's really no excuse for this.

(Suck my ass PBS Kids Video App, I'm still able to get high quality snips even with your bullshit formatting!!!)

They really went all out with the "other-wordly" vibe that the mudskippers' territory gave off. Once again, we waited two years for this to be put to animation and to see come air.

I've made enough jokes around these situations in the show, so I think we'd all benefit if I just changed the subject: That front-facing mudskipper is fucking hilarious.

*Martin's voice* - Slimy Skin-breathers!

Okay, but I actually did not know that. At all. Even 10 years later, this show is still teaching me new things about animals in the most beautfully unexpected ways. This is one of the many reasons I will never give up on the show.

[Unexpected angst in bagging area - Also, with the inclusion of No Name Dream, which will air two days before this episode, that brings our Krangstt quota to #2]

Okay so I really like the set-up here, and it genuinely was a surprise seeing Jimmy angst in this episode as a subplot in a series that rarely operates on A-plots and B-plots (unless you count the villains' schemes which are usually just A^2 plots) like most shows. And as someone who legitimately was going through rough times (S7 was actually one of my few reasons to keep going), I heavily related to Jimmy. So yeah, a Jimmy angst episode? Can totally buy. What I'm not gonna buy is how they execute it with the ending, because that and the implications.... yikes...

C'mon! "Mudspitter" was right there! Right there!

Ok, here is where my main problem with this episode's subplot is. If I could boil it down to one word, it would be: Incomplete. Jimmy feeling inadequate based on an observation he made is one thing. Him immediately leaving afterwards on a whim moments after said observation is completely another and doesn't align that well.

Like, this would only work if Jimmy had attempted to be a fish "IN" water. If he tried to help Aviva and Koki with the data-research and inventing, but he failed, and they politely turned him down. Or if there was any basis as to why he suddenly disregards his piloting skills or teleporting, whether he doesn't care or doesn't think them to be enough for him to fit in. Like, he wants to be in on the action because some part of him doesn't feel like sitting around by the teleporter is enough. What I'm saying is, there is no pathos. I personally find it to be relatable, but on a narrative level, it doesn't work. I know the "character feeling left out so they leave" thing is cliche'd, but there's a reason it's a cliche, and that's because it follows a lot of writing beats that this particular episode doesn't, so on top of being cliche'd as fuck to begin with, it feels very awkward. And this is going to be apparent both here and in this episode's climax (which I also do not have many kind words for,) so I had to use my allotted time to talk about why this doesn't work.

Could... could they not call him on his Creaturepod? Could the brothers not call him on his Pod? Did he even have his Creaturepod?? Again, there are so many plot-holes in this B-story that could've easily been written around with a change of dialogue or scenery. Have Jimmy's Creaturepod be shown left lying around which makes them realize they have no way of getting him back to the teleporter in time. Jimmy would have no reason to even bring his Creaturepod on his adventure, so that just raises even more questions. Like, this isn't an active diss on the writers, but I think there should've been more proof-reading of the script since this is a massive oversight.

I think now is the time for me to bring up this question I've had for years now; How exactly does the teleporter work? In several episodes, we've seen that there is a coordinate code in the teleporter that allows it to be sent to the target. Koki's "the communication queen" as Aviva puts it, so she'd likely be able to triangulate the brothers' location. So I'm not sure why the show presents this as a struggle for Koki. This isn't the only example, so I won't hold it against the episode, (they have this be the case specifically to emphasize the point that they need Jimmy, which I can forgive) but it's another piece of lore that I should probably theorize about lmao.

Also

YOU HAVE LITERALLY TELPORTED THE CREATURE POWER DISCS FOUR TIMES.

TWO OF THOSE TIMES BEING IN A ROW.

AND ONE OF THEM WAS FOUR EPISODES AGO IN THIS EXACT SAME SEASON.

This whole episode spent the past five minutes making its main characters look incredibly idiotic for the sake of its B plot.

Once again, this episode's spitting facts that I didn't even know.

This is actually a neat seguay, having the brothers figure out the abilities of the mudskippers while exercising their own cool abilities. It feels really natural, and again, is an inventive way to show off the locomotive abilities of the mudskipper.

I feel like this falls very well between "accurate enough to be admirable" and "uncanny." I can (maybe on my deathbed) get used to this suit's design (though I'm partly glad Chris doesn't activate it because spoilers, he doesn't).

I've given this subplot a lot of flack, but credit where it's due, even with its misses, it does hit with the emotional beats.

Very conflicted on this:

On one hand, Jimmy actually taking the initiative to miniaturize is pretty ballsy. The show, despite not being serialized, does develop its characters in a way that you can sense a clear difference of them when you compare the modern seasons to the earlier ones. And this can be seen as a positive development for Jimmy, since it's his "Creature Adventure."

On the other hand.... back to what I was saying about consistency. Why did Jimmy bring the miniaturizer?? What was his prompting?? Was he planning on shrinking himself down the whole time? Like, he left his friends for god knows how much time and is now out of nowhere shrinking himself down to fish size because he feels inadequate? Uhm, Jimmy, ever heard the idea of therapy?

Also, again, very weird presentation of the episode. They don't at all put any attention to Jimmy's coms and whether or not he has them, (which would easily solve a bigger issue of why he's not contacted), yet they have him carry the Miniaturizer with him. Now, the latter is plot-relevant, but so could've been something about the Creaturepod.

This [from what I interpret] gets Jimmy out of his slump, making his "scientific discovery." Not realizing that his job of piloting and teleporting are equally important. Again, this is structured poorly. I like what they were going for, but it shouldn't have been the only thing that altered the trajectory of this subplot. Again, he can teleport discs to the brothers and pilot and while those are mentioned later on, it's not something he comes to himself in an "oh shit" moment. So this just feels unearned and weird. I really hate how harsh I am, since it's a Jimmy centric episode and it was the #1 requested thing on all the chat-boards during the hiatus, but this is one of those things where it has to be done right if at all. This isn't done right, and the fact that it takes up 50% of the episode just... ugh.

You can't tell it through screenshots but with the way Aviva says it and the scene cutting to her and Koki laughing at it, I'm 98% inclined that this was a specific innuendo, and ngl, I kinda laughed too.

Oh look, it's Kenge's cousin! [For you Lion Guard fans that also recognize Wild Kratts] - [I was inclined to make a reference to Jessie, but that felt in bad taste considering y'know]

Ok, but that has to be an Asian water monitor. Correct me if I'm wrong. What I'm definitely not wrong about is that their bites contain venom; To a human it's not lethal, however to small prey, including mudskippers, or anything around that size, it's lights out. So yeah, Chris and Martin are fucked.

Ok this line is absolutely badass.

Also, grey?? Grey?? I thought Jimmy's signature color was orange/yellow? Or red with the implication of the tail episode? Great, now there's another color that'll be in the debates for his future Creature Power Suit.

Once again, this arc feels weirdly put together. This notion comes up specifically at the climax when it should come up beforehand as Jimmy realizes his worth. Because otherwise, it gives the implication that he knew this all along and yet still felt like a fish out of water, which doesn't mesh together properly (it could, if the episode actually tried to do so which it didn't).

The episode, Sea Otter Swim, does this plot so much better. We see Jimmy's doubts, and we see how he overcomes said doubts in a way that is presented clear to the audience, and the climax where he actually realizes what he's capable of feels earned. This is not earned. So even though I am rooting for him to win, this whole thing just feels messy.

So is nobody gonna ask why Jimmy left his post? Is Jimmy not gonna tell everyone why he left, or at the very least ask why nobody bothered to call for him? Is nobody going to at least let Jimmy know that he can't just... abandon his post without warning because of the fact that they need him? Is Jimmy not going to come to that conclusion himself? Is anything in this episode gonna be earned??

This entire ending feels like an ass-pull: First off, Jimmy and the brothers had enough time to head back to the miniaturizer and then the Tortuga, and in none of that time, did Jimmy ever give them the Power Discs? Why? Yes, it was for the sake of the fake-out defeat/joke, but was there any reason why Jimmy just kept the thing hidden waiting to give it to the brothers?

The entire emotional climax to this episode is basically everyone putting Jimmy on a pedestal. It's unsatisfying because there wasn't any acknowledgement or follow up to Jimmy's conflict at the beginning, nor is the lesson learned in the right way, and the conclusion just overreacts by hyping up Jimmy instead of just having a reasonable "We're a team!" thing, or through any self-actualization of his good qualities that Koki pointed out. None of it, friggin' none of this is earned! Now it comes across as Jimmy being uncharacterstically boastful and cocky and the others just kissing his arse. That's probably not the intent but it was the result.

That is actually like, so fucking cool. I have massive respect for all of these people, like legitimately (also, considerning that's the exact opposite of what Zach does on an ethics scale, I find that really interesting). But beyond that, I think this episode has the best live action segments ever, they are so ingenuitive. I could easily see someone at my high school showing a clip of this episode in robotics' or biology class.

CONCLUSION:

PROS:

The live action segments.

The info dumps about the mudskippers.

The Kratt Brother's adventure with the mudskippers.

The animation

The background music (a lot of which is recycled from earlier seasons)

CONS:

Everything else (specifically the B plot). I feel like the writers wanted to give Jimmy his own storyline, either out of interest or seeing how popular the character was in chat-boards, but they didn't know how to do it so they just went through the motions without really connecting anything at all, so it's a lot harder relating to the exact conflicts in some cases, and you feel disatisfied by the cimax. It reminds me of what they did with Vitani in the Lion Guard finale, a case of giving this one character the spotlight, but hitting all of the wrong marks that does the character and the audience a disservice and leaves a bitter taste in the viewer's mouth by the end credits.

This is the first episode this season that has made me cringe, primarily off of its premise, not just a particular scene, a dated pop culture reference, or a weird-looking Power Suit. It is the first to make me cringe because of its story, which again, the B-plot takes up 50% of the episode, so it's constantly in your face. It's definitely not bad, not hateable bad, and it's far too early in the season to call it the worst, and there are definitely worse episodes out there, ones that have aired and ones that probably will inevitably air, but I can safely say, thus far, it's the one Wild Kratts episode that I enjoy, but only to an extent. The live action segments were by far the only thing that I got extremely engaged in, but other than that, and the other pros, it's not that good.

Final Ranking: 6/10: Above Average, but Needed Improvement.

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