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virgincels · 1 month

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(I COULD NEVER BE) YOUR WOMAN !

ft. og4!leon s. kennedy x fem!reader

tags. crossdressing, force fem, short instance of groping/harassment by some gross man, humiliation, dom!reader, a few misogynistic comments surprisingly not from leon, repressed homosexuality, leon n some unnamed cute guy, r slur is used ONCE by same gross dude, slight angst, implied/past sa very light tho, public sex, dub-con

note. title from white town duh has nothing to do w the fic. um unedited n quite bad not loving this but here u go.. 2000s clubbing.. I also want 2 say r slur is used by some dude who is just awful to leon in this.. not meant to be like . y’know there for shock value lol it’s a word I’ve been called a lot so that would be my last intention. um leon has some misogynistic thoughts but I don’t want them to come across as mine LMFAO I know that I do a very close pov so I don’t want my views to mix with the characters as people usually tend to think. comments n rbs greatly appreciated!

“You hate me,” Leon states like an upset child, one false lash deep into a murky pit he couldn’t even grapple hook his way out of.

“No, baby.” You shake your head, smiling at him like you hate him. “I love you very much.” The other lash is stuck on, black and spiky in kitchen knife points. He blinks and the heaviness does not melt away like sleep. “My sweet girl.”

“You do,” Leon says, he makes a vague gesture towards his attire, scooping nothing but air with his cupped hand, “hate me,” he adds after a second, the words hang heavy in the air like sopping wet laundry or a body from a tree. You’re busy giving him a once over, a small hand lightly grasping his chin to keep his head up. You’ve never held him so gently before, but this is how girls treat other girls, he supposes. With great care.

“What?” You use a lint roller to pick up loose fibre and tricky stray particles of dust. “Because I made you all pretty, honey?” You lean forward, and Leon, besotted, closes his eyes as if you’re going to kiss him. “I just did your makeup, no kisses, Leon.” Of course, that’s right, he forgot, no kisses. You lick your finger and smudge your work to give him that freshly fucked and wanting more appeal.

“Sorry.” He looks at his reflection.

Blink. Blink. Blink. His eyes make a tacky noise, as if each blink is unsticking them.

He looks ridiculous, not even like a drag queen, they are tasteful and deliberate in their art. He looks exactly like what he is - a man in a wig. There is no pretty way to put it because what he is looking at is not very pretty. The wig tickles his neck like a pale whisper. It is shining too brightly in the way all fake things do, plasticky in the buzzing bathroom light. Metallic shimmer dusts his eyelids like crushed stars, iridescent-pearlescent is all the rage nowadays, it’s barely visible past the thick black that lines his eyes like you’re actively trying to worsen his bags and push him into panda territory.

Leon thinks it is a good idea to think of nothing ever again, like ever. If he didn’t have that thought, if he didn’t sit opposite you at the dining table confessional-style, if he shut his mouth and never spoke a word—Then he would not be sitting here closer to tears than he ever has been, fists clenched tight enough to make coal into diamonds.

You thumb the corner of his glossed lips. “Ready?” You ask him, then turn to face him, pulling a smile that is so mean it’s somewhat ugly and out of place on a face like yours. “Don’t speak or you’ll ruin it, ‘kay?”

A bag big enough to carry a lip gloss tube and nothing else dangles on your pinky as you check your face in the mirror, usually your gloss would be in Leon’s breast pocket, or his back pocket. Whatever pocket he has available.

Today he has nothing of the sort, embarrassingly, you place a tube between his pecs and it stays. You tip your head back and laugh at him, swiping it away a moment later. “I’m only joking, Leon.”

A considerable amount of muscle has been dropped since he came back from Spain. Cooking is hard, eating is harder, and he only really makes the effort when you visit. You don’t pry, so it’s only now that he notices, filling out your dress too well, that his edge has almost completely been lost to softness.

And it’s still there—He’s still a man with a dick and balls first and foremost. His arms are big, and his chest juts out in the wrong way. Wrong. It’s all so wrong.

This thought is neutered by your hand on his too-big bicep, fingers curling to his shape as you guide him along the stairs in matching kitten heels, he clutches the bannister for support like he’s going into labour.

Today you drive. “Got to treat you like a princess,” you say, smiling at him. All teeth. You take off your heels and kick them beneath the seat where they’ll surely tangle in the cables.

Leon reclines in his seat, closing his eyes and breathing in and out, two minutes away from inducing labour. Dramatics, y’know? Because he’s a girl today, not because he feels like he is being gutted by a claw machine.

You drive, he tosses and turns and squints at the road ahead to hide his creased brow. You drive, and he wonders what led him to this very moment, what has become of him and his pity party life. But Simon Says and Leon does. You say and Leon follows blindly like a die-hard fucking fan of Jesus would. A disciple, he guesses, but in some way even that is too much credit. At least they were, like, on equal grounds. He’s too passive to be Judas, and too much of an unbeliever to be any of the other ones. He is just some fucking mangey street urchin suckling on the teat of a wild dog that Jesus patted once and cured and would not leave the poor dude alone.

Unfortunately, Leon takes instructions better than he does dick and that is his problem. Yeah, that’s what he was trying to say before it all got away from him.

The bouncer questions nothing, no ID is needed, which is both a relief and an insult to Leon. Does he look that old? This makeup, this dress, this stringy mop of a wig it ages him.

The bass of a thousand beating hearts rips through him.

If Leon was a girl he’d simply kill himself. It hurts too much. The dress is itchy and his chest is sweating and his full face of makeup is melting his skin into goop and his feet are killing him. He’s sorry for all those times he requested a girl keep her stilettos on during sex. He’s sorry to you for buying you shoes on all those anniversaries, birthdays and Christmases. He’s sorry for that time he requested a lap dance in heels on your anniversary, his birthday, and that joint Christmas. He is sorry to every fucking woman for the system that has been put in place that requires them to wear heels to work and to dinner dates and to pick their kids up from preschool.

“Are you hurting, baby?” You place a cool hand on his cheek, feather-light, ensuring you don’t smear his pasty foundation. When he nods, pitiful, you coo at him. “Oh, big ol’ Agent Kennedy, I’m sure you can handle it, sweetie.”

Leon shakes his head again, firmer and sadder. “You can handle it,” you tell him, smiling dropping as fast as it came. A hand comes to rest on his waist then slides upwards along his naked back, courtesy of the open back of his blue dress, gliding over his pronounced shoulder blades. Lily-white and spread sideways like lotus petals or something akin to angel wings.

The two of you end up in a booth with four men and a red-headed girl who is decently pretty. She talks too fast for Leon’s liking, and each time she opens her mouth, which is a lot of fucking times for a long fucking time, her spit flies out and lands on his face in beads.

There is a man who’s tall and strapping in the way Leon likes his men in the private fantasies he keeps hidden in the lonely gallery that is his mind. His experience with dick starts with Jack and ends somewhere before you. Jack taught him how to work a dick, and if Leon were to kiss and tell, he’d tell this man how much he wants to play with it, stroke it and love on it.

(Only if he was a girl, which tonight he is.)

You’re midway through telling a story, leant in for added effect, elbows on the sticky table. “And Leon says, she’s like—“ Your voice fades out.

Another guy, stout and ugly, sort of piggish in the face, asks, “Is it a dude?” He jabs his thumb in Leon’s direction. “That’s a dude's name.”

“What, no.” You frown, breezing over your blunder like fingers on silk. “It’s a nickname, y’know, from when we were kids, ‘cause she looks like a dude.” Laughter lifts into the air like plumes of smoke. Leon feels like he is breathing it in, tiny shards crystallise in his lungs and choke him.

He shouldn’t be humiliated, there is nothing to be humiliated about because he is what you say he is. He’s a dude. But he is humiliated, and it is driving him mad, he has killed himself in a hundred different brutal ways in his head while you talk.

“She don’t talk, she got a problem?” He says in his nasty, thick voice. “Is she retarded?” It sounds like there’s phlegm lodged in his throat all the fucking time. “Feminist?” Good lord.

“Oh my gosh, like, I don’t think you can say that,” the ginger smiles nervously.

“She just gets a little scared around guys.” Your smile is so cold it chills him to his core. “Bad experiences, y’know?”

Not exactly wrong. Leon is weary of shared showers, he is weary of urinals, of stalls with busted locks, and he is weary of other men, but he would never say it and he would never show it. But now, sitting here as a girl, as a woman, he trembles.

“Oh, yeah?” The dude sits back, spreads his legs to accommodate a dick he likely doesn’t have. Then he leaves it at that.

You kiss him to make up for the silence, you grope his tits—his chest through the fabric of his dress, you raise your Von Dutch tee to show off your cute heart-shaped pasties. None of it is for Leon, it’s for the guys sitting in front of you, because as a woman you exist for men, to perform and flash your panties and act like you’re into it.

Which you are, he knows your pussy is wet ‘cause of that look on your face, eyes glinting like marbles, you’re getting off on him being stretched past his limits.

An hour later, you push him onto the dance floor, watching through throngs of people and Leon is met with the pig-faced guy, he’s pink and sweaty like one too. Leon denies every advance he lays out. Then fingers splay over the round of Leon’s ass, and his flesh is gripped so tight it mottles how dicks purple.

The guy says something and everything and nothing but fluff. You uppity slut—You think you can—Speak up—Y’know, even the ugliest bitches have wet little pussies between their legs—

Leon really does not.

Leon could push him off. He could break his fingers, disable him, kill him in the middle of this godforsaken dance floor. But he just stands there and stares like a real woman.

(But he has always stood there and looked death right in the eye, it comes hurtling, barrelling into him at full speed like a shit-caked asteroid and all he does is stand there. He’s not had the energy to get back up lately.)

The handsome guy, the one that is taller than Leon, the one that he likes a lot, steps in and saves him. And this is what it must feel like, to be swept off your feet. To be princess carried and loved sweetly by someone worn and rough.

Christ, this wig has a mind of its own. Infecting Leon’s psyche with its mushy bullshit. He wants to go home. He wants a beer and a drag from your cigarette. He doesn’t smoke, but he will tonight.

“Are you alright?” The handsome man somehow manages to shout gently over the music. He is so nice, and so handsome it feels wrong to look at him. Leon thinks he knows, and when this man smiles, Leon knows that he knows for certain. “I won't tell.” He grins down at Leon again, soft and brilliant and kind.

Leon passes you on the way to the bathroom, he tells you that it’s getting stuffy in here, then he leaves to get stuffed with cock in the ladies room as all good boyfriends do.

The click of heels makes him suck in a breath, he plants two hands on the broad chest in front of him, tightens around the dick in him so hard he might cut off all blood flow, salty fingers in his mouth keep him from crying out.

Leon knows it’s you from the clink of your bangles. The source of chatter is the red-headed girl, you likely motion for her to be silent—He counts to twenty then meets your eye under the gap in the door. He whimpers around the fingers in his mouth.

“Oh my gosh, there’s totally someone in there,” you gush to the other girl who gasps, “I saw, like, two pairs of shoes, really cute heels.”

“She’s luckyyy, I hope she’s getting it good,” she sighs, “hey, where’d your friend go by the way, the blonde one?”

“Leon?” You seem to pause, weighing up your options. “She’s a total fucking slut.”

“No fucking way!”

“Yes fucking way, I bet she’s gone home with some guy already—I mean, she might be in that fucking stall, wouldn’t put it past her.”

In the stall, Leon shifts, back bumping the wall as he pushes his hips out, grinding down on his dick like he needs this over and done with.

“I could never do that…” The redhead says, “It’s, like, so icky in here…”

“I don’t think Leon minds,” you muse, “I mean, like, don’t tell her I told you, but she gets on her knees in club bathrooms, like, she’s dirty.”

“Gross!”

“I know!” You burst into giggles. “I told her that’s, like, way too far! I mean they don’t even clean these places properly, they send some underpaid dude with a Kleenex out to do the job.”

Leon’s knees ache with the guilt of sucking dick on his knees in a Kleenex-cleaned club bathroom. The dick inside of him throbs, a single push and it spills into the rubber.

The click of heels fades out as you and your newfound friend exit the bathroom.

“You let your friend talk about you like that?” The man asks, smiling still.

“She’s my girlfriend,” Leon says meekly in a voice that is not his. He has never been meek or scared or anything of the sort. Leon has guts, too many maybe, they make him stupid. That’s what he gets by on. That’s why Leon returns home. Because he tries not to make a place for feelings.

“I know.” The guy shrugs, he spins Leon around so his back is facing the mirrors. Leon twists his head to look. The striated planes of his back. Your nails in his skin.

“Oh.”

Leon gets in your car and apologises.

“Aw.” You pinch his cheek, uncaring of your heavy hand now that his lipstick is smeared in rings around another man’s dick. “I know, baby, my girl just wanted to have fun.”

My girl, my girl, my girl. He’s not your girl. You’re his girl, and he’s your man and that’s the way Leon likes it. He likes to drape his arm over your shoulders in place of a coat when it gets windy, he likes to pay the bill on dates, he likes to drive you around and he likes to hold your shopping bags. Because that is good and swell and—It’s normal.

You drive him home without saying a word, letting him sit and drown in the weight of his problems until you help him inside, he’s hindered by 1.5 inch heels.

When Leon tries to take his dress off, you stop him. “Princess,” you coo, his teeth rot and he smells the cavities, “I want to play with you.”

“Not like this,” he begs, gazing up at you through his false lashes.

“Yes, like this, baby.” You sit him down on the couch, you take off your heels and then bend down to unbuckle the strap on his. That’s his job. Leon should be doing that for you, a tender grip on your ankle as he threads the metal through the needled holes. “Look at these.” You stand back up, taking the seat beside him, one of your small hands grabbing the underside of his thighs and spreading him open, a leg thrown over yours. “These cute tits,” you say, kissing his neck as you shove your hand down the low-cut neck of his dress, grabbing at his chest in pinching handfuls.

“Don’t call them that,” Leon says quietly, his ears pink like the pucker of his hole.

“I’ll say what I want, princess, okay?” You kiss him hard, teeth knocking into his and your wet tongue running over his front teeth like you want to scrape the plaque from them. “I’m going to fuck you like a girl,” you tell him, pushing his legs as far as they go, his toes curl.

“I don’t like that—“

“I don’t like your dick or your stupid sex talk and I don’t like being fucking pile drived, do you think I like being folded like origami you stupid fucking oaf?” It’s said in the same measured tone of voice you always use, the one that makes him feel stupid. “This is what it’s like being a girl, baby, gotta do what I want.”

Then you lift your hips, skirt shed and panties to the side, puffy pussy swallowing the tip of his cock as you sit on it, taking it inch by inch by inch by inch. All four of ‘em. You hold onto his ankles as you fuck yourself on his cock, a soft squelch everytime his cock bottoms out, slick dripping down his thick shaft and balls.

Leon doesn't like this. How you have him. How you’re taking him, but it doesn’t stop him from feeling good. Your pussy is wet and warm and it squeezes around him, gripping his cock like it’s all you’ve got to live for. You reach between your thighs to rub your swollen clit, but Leon beats you, wanting to make himself useful.

“Good girl,” you praise, eyes rolling back into your skull as you slow your pace, coming to a halt as you place a hand over his, urging him to rub you raw. Then you cum as he presses his thumb into your tiny bud hard, cunt spasming around his dick, letting out a gasp and toppling forward into his chest. Leon’s cock slips out of your cunt, rock hard and lonely, he holds you as his legs drop to the floor, feet on the floor where they belong.

“I didn’t… I didn’t get to…” Leon looks at your face and then his stiff dick, pouting almost.

“I know, baby.” You kiss his head tenderly, so tender he nearly forgets why he’s upset. “But you’re a girl now, right?”

#leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy imagine #leon s kennedy smut #leon s kennedy angst #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x you #leon kennedy angst #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #resident evil angst #resident evil smut #resident evil x reader #resident evil x you

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radicalfembabey · 10 months

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I'm starting a radical feminist literature podcast!!

It's called "Radical Feminist Reads" and there are currently two episodes available on Spotify! In the future I hope to be available on more platforms, but since I have literally no experience with podcasting and started this yesterday, that's still a work in progress. You can find the first episode here!

The first work I'm reading is Dworkin's Right-Wing Women. I'm hoping to finish that in the next few days before moving to a weekly upload schedule - probably every Sunday or Monday. After RWW, I'll be reading Pornland by Gail Dines, and then - we'll see!! I'll put a poll at the bottom with some popular texts to see if there's any preference.

Also - I feel it's important to mention that I am absolutely not profiting off of this in any way. It's just something I wanted to do to increase accessibility to feminist texts!

If anyone has any advice, suggestions on which pieces to read, or anything - don't hesitate to tell me!

#Spotify #feminism #radical feminism #terf #terf safe #mine #adult human female #radfem #lesbian #terfs please touch #radical feminist reads

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boba-beom · 1 month

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All your posts are making me like 🫠 I think I reblogged all three keke

I need to shout about this... In the Miracle tiktok where Taehyun is dancing while SoobKai film with ILLIT... I don't know if he's eating or chewing gum but it looks like he's chewing gum and why is it so attractive to me. Now I've combined this with basketball Taehyun, thinking how hot it would be to watch him doing a solo practice, shooting and doing dribbling drills while casually making conversation with you, chewing gum the whole time. Am I crazy? Maybe, because before now, I'd probably say gum is gross.

WAIT but now I'm imagining this scenario is the first time you hang out after he sees you fraternising with the enemy (Yeonjun) and he's trying to act like it doesn't bother him that you gave him your number, only that you were clapping for the wrong team OKAY stop me and my imagination 😅 I love Taehyun

and I love you, so glad to see you're still around 💕

CEE I love you too! and I'm happy to see you around also <3 you have no idea how much I've been giggling to myself from your tags hehe :> thank you for the rbs and reading your reactions were fun too 🤭 and you saying that I make sport-centric fics fun for you to read is truly a huge compliment to me omg, I always get nervous because I'm not 100% sure about what I'm writing most of the time, so thank you ilysm 🫶🏼

ALSO reading this made my jaw drop because you're literally onto something with that omg. I noticed that too during soogyu's tiktok with ILLIT— it's the way taehyun does it so nonchalantly with the subtle chewing and it is kinda hot. I used to find people who do that quite obnoxious lmao, but like I can't stand if they're really smacking their gum, ygm? ANYWAY—

jealous bsf!taehyun x gn!reader, dialogue heavy

okay so, the first time you and taehyun hang out after the game is a couple of days later. he'd agreed to hang out with you at the park since you both had checked the weather in advance; it was sunnier than usual. you both decided to meet each other at your regular spot and you're not surprised to find taehyun already there, sitting on the grass and on his phone. usually he'd notice you when you walk up behind him, but it was almost like he'd purposely ignored you and waiting until you had to announce that you were there.

"tyun?" you sit beside him slowly leaning in to give him a usual hug when you greet each other but he gave you a lazy side hug. damn. "been waiting long?"

"no."

that's all you get? he pockets his phone, palms against the grass as he leans back chewing his gum nonchalantly and looking at the busy field in front of you. there seems to be a group of high schoolers training for soccer.

"um, are we good?" you ask quietly, heart pounding in your chest and a little afraid for the first time in forever.

he hums, eyes focused on the ball being passed from player to player.

"yeah, why wouldn't we?" his voice monotone but knowing taehyun, that was normal. "how's yeonjun. are you guys like text buddies now or something?"

now that wasn't what you were expecting. well shit. taehyun's mad and you don't know if that's all he has to say about it.

"no, tyun. he didn't even call me so I don't even have his number. I'm assuming he's busy is all. I wasn't really expecting much." you nudge his shoulder playfully, craning your neck in attempt to be in his visual field, but to no avail, his vision doesn't budge. you sit back in your original position, also watching the ball from afar. "does it bother you?"

you best friend scoffs, apparently he finds something humorous that you possibly missed.

"it doesn't. why'd you even talk to that guy anyway, you know he just does that to boost his ego because he lost the game." taehyun finally turns his head to look at you and you look at him within a fraction of a second, eyes holding eye contact for the first time that day.

"I'm sure he had good intentions-"

"good intentions." taehyun scoffs again, almost chuckles after he repeats it again. "that guy never has good intentions, ___. and I thought you were there to support me, then I catch you clapping for his three pointer."

your stomach churns a little from the guilt. you didn't know he saw that. and what do you even say? you thought it was impressive? you had a feeling yeonjun shot that shot for you?

"don't even try and think of some lame ass excuse because you know damn well I can tell when you're not telling me the truth." his voice assertive but his gaze on you softens, wanting you to be comfortable with him like you usually are.

you let out a deep sigh.

"he looked at me before that moment and I assumed he did that to impress me..." your voice trails off, trying to look at taehyun through your peripheral, not wanting to look at him directly. "I don't know tyun, he seemed pretty genuine and he's kinda cute too."

after explaining as honestly as you could, the air was filled with a short silence between the both of you and distant shouting and birds flying by.

"I can be kinda cute too." taehyun grumbles under his breath and you swear it wasn't some sort of auditory hallucination. that is what you heard, right?

"hm?" you turn to him, tilting your head to the side waiting for him to hopefully repeat himself.

"why'd you want him when I've been here all this time." his rhetorical reply left you blinking a couple of times, processing what exactly he's inferring. "in short, you have me. and I have you."

your chest starts heaving slowly. taehyun, your best friend, really said that. his fingers gently caresses yours, also supporting your weight on the grass while you both lean back.

the train of thought in your discombobulated mind is disrupted by him calling your name, now in a softer tone.

"so, what do you say? I'm willing to risk this friendship and try something more with you, ___. if you let me."

his says his confession, almost as if he's been yearning for you to be his for a while, but is it wrong that you still can't stop thinking about yeonjun?

"taehyun," you sit upright, holding his hand in yours. "I'm going to be honest with you, but promise me don't get mad."

the hope in taehyuns eyes disappears, feeling his heart sink to his stomach ready for your rejection. he nods.

"I love you, and always have, but that's because you're my best friend. and at the moment, yeonjun left quite the impression on me so he's still on my mind, but there's nothing much that helps him in his favour."

"so what you're saying is?" your fingers interlock with his, your thumb rubbing the back of his.

"is that I'm willing to try this with you, because, unlike you," you tease, "I like to give people chances."

you prod at his side as he exhales and rolls his eyes playfully.

"I couldn't risk you being whisked away before I even made a move on you." taehyun defends himself the best he could.

"no but really, from time to time I have felt like I've loved you more than a friend. so that's why I want to try, but can we take it slow?"

"yeah, of course. I'll just have to push yeonjun out your thoughts first." his comment makes you laugh.

taehyun's singular dimpled smile returns and it's contagious, he has you smiling back at him too. you didn't realise when you two ended up sitting closer to each other to close the gap, but you took the opportunity to lean your head on his shoulder.

"and you are kinda cute."

#cee ᡣ𐭩 #mapofthemazeinthemirror ᡣ𐭩 #[ 🪴 ] — asks.#[ 🧸 ] — mutuals.#I got carried away lmao #again probably took a different turn #but :>#I love taehyun too hehe #taehyun soft thoughts #taehyun soft hours #taehyun fluff #taehyun angst

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historicity-was-already-taken · 4 months

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Welcome New Followers Post xiv

gonna make this bullet points of Things to Know because deadlines, but hi! welcome!

-this is not a jewish identity or a jumblr blog. i am a jewish person and a holocaust historian, so my content often overlaps with those realms of tumblr

-this is first and foremost a public history blog. public history and public historians do history for the public. we're passionate about transmitting complex historical topics from the academe to the people, and we're in constant (one-sided lmao) conversation with entities such as: film writers and producers, textbook writers, government bodies, journalists, etc regarding the construction of public memory, and the responsibilities that entails

-you don't have to ask if something is ok to reblog. I appreciate the thought, but unless I turn off reblogs or specifically ask people not to engage in certain ways, you're fine, that said:

-I do see and read all tags, replies, and rbs. I consider them public, and I often respond to them as new posts. If you want to engage with me and don't want others to see, then send me an ask which includes the words "please respond privately"

-You can should disagree with me and tell me when you think I'm wrong! Now, I won't lie, years of existing as a young-appearing hyper feminine (i like skirts and bows and sparkly shoes it is what it is) female, Jewish historian have made me defensive and bitey af, and I often misread neutral tones as "coming for me" tones and respond in kind. I apologize for when/if that happens to you, and I assure that, once I realize you're not coming at me in bad faith, I will feel horribly guilty.

-There is a learning curve here. I don't have any desire to gatekeep my blog (it's the opposite tbh), but I do use high level terms which can have multiple meanings in different contexts. I actively try to avoid using impenetrable academic jargon in this space, but sometimes that jargon is the only appropriate phrasing available. In those cases, I urge you to do some research and poke around and then, if you still don't understand what I mean, DM me.

-I am a white, American woman. I am actively anti-racist, and anti-bigotry in general, but there will be times when I do or say something clueless or privileged. If you see that and you have the energy, please tell me! I want this blog to be a welcome place for all,* and I appreciate call-outs as an opportunity for (un)learning.

-Building on that, this is an anti-bigotry space which I'd like people of all demographics and identities to feel comfortable engaging with.* That said, I don't play nice when some random corner of tumblr rolls up in here and barfs their shit all over my posts.

-I am a cringe millennial. I started this blog in 2011, when I was 21, had just finished college, before I'd heard back from any graduate schools, and before I had much resembling a career. I am currently 34. It's fine. But a lot of you are in your teens and 20s and are just starting on your careers, so like, please don't negatively compare yourselves to me or get self-deprecating when/if you want to contact me. We all learn and achieve at different paces and that's ok.

-My book, The Girl Bandits of the Warsaw Ghetto, will be released in Fall 2025. Trust me I will be screaming from the rooftops and you will not miss the announcements lmao.

-If I don't reply to an ask or a DM, it's not because I hate you. There are 800 reasons why I may not reply, and none of them are personal.

and finally

-I am not your Good Leftist Anti-Zionist Jew. I am not here as a rhetorical cudgel for left-wing anti-Semites who seek out Jews with politics similar to mine to then use as a weapon against other Jewish folks. Don't fucking do it.

*That does not mean that everything I post here will make you feel comfortable. History isn't supposed to make you feel comfortable. Sometimes, it can and should make you feel actively uncomfortable, because that discomfort/cognitive dissonance means you're learning (keep your cognitive dissonance temper tantrums tf away from me, tho). It does mean that I, as an individual, want you all to feel that this is a space where you are welcome to learn and ask questions.

i tried to use bullet points to keep this short, and i failed miserably. on brand.

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