you're grabbing lunch with a nice man and he gives you that strange grimace-smile that's popular right now; an almost sardonic "twist" of his mouth while he looks literally down on you. it looks like he practiced the move as he leans back, arms folded. he just finished reciting the details of NFTs to you and explaining Oppenheimer even though he only watched a youtube about it and hasn't actually seen it. you are at the bottom of your wine glass.
you ask the man across from you if he has siblings, desperately looking for a topic. literally anything else.
he says i don't like small talk. and then he smiles again, watching you.
a few years ago, you probably would have said you're above celebrity gossip, but honestly, you've been kind of enjoying the dumb shit of it these days. with the rest of the earth burning, there's something familiar and banal about dragging ariana grande through the mud. you think about jeanette mccurdy, who has often times gently warned the world she's not as nice as she appears. you liked i'm glad my mom died but it made you cry a lot.
he doesn't like small talk, figure out something to say.
you want to talk about responsibility, and how ariana grande is only like 6 days older than you are - which means she just turned 30 and still dresses and acts like a 13 year old, but like sexy. there's something in there about the whole thing - about insecurity, and never growing up, and being sexualized from a young age.
people have been saying that gay people are groomers. like, that's something that's come back into the public. you have even said yourself that it's just ... easier to date men sometimes. you would identify as whatever the opposite of "heteroflexible" is, but here you are again, across from a man. you like every woman, and 3 people on tv. and not this guy. but you're trying. your mother is worried about you. she thinks it's not okay you're single. and honestly this guy was better before you met, back when you were just texting.
wait, shit. are you doing the same thing as ariana grande? are you looking for male validation in order to appease some internalized promise of heteronormativity? do you conform to the idea that your happiness must result in heterosexuality? do you believe that you can resolve your internal loneliness by being accepted into the patriarchy? is there a reason dating men is easier? why are you so scared of fucking it up with women? why don't you reach out to more of them? you have a good sense of humor and a big ol' brain, you could have done a better job at online dating.
also. jesus christ. why can't you just get a drink with somebody without your internal feminism meter pinging. although - in your favor (and judgement aside) in the case of your ariana grande deposition: you have been in enough therapy you probably wouldn't date anyone who had just broken up with their wife of many years (and who has a young child). you'd be like - maybe take some personal time before you begin this journey. like, grande has been on broadway, you'd think she would have heard of the plot of hamlet.
he leans forward and taps two fingers to the table. "i'm not, like an andrew tate guy," he's saying, "but i do think partnership is about two people knowing their place. i like order."
you knew it was going to be hard. being non-straight in any particular way is like, always hard. these days you kind of like answering the question what's your sexuality? with a shrug and a smile - it's fine - is your most common response. like they asked you how your life is going and not to reveal your identity. you like not being straight. you like kissing girls. some days you know you're into men, and sometimes you're sitting across from a man, and you're thinking about the power of compulsory heterosexuality. are you into men, or are you just into the safety that comes from being seen with them? after all, everyone knows you're failing in life unless you have a husband. it almost feels like a gradebook - people see "straight married" as being "all A's", and anything else even vaguely noncompliant as being ... like you dropped out of the school system. you cannot just ignore years of that kind of conditioning, of course you like attention from men.
"so let's talk boundaries." he orders more wine for you, gesturing with one hand like he's rousing an orchestra. sir, this is a fucking chain restaurant. "I am not gonna date someone who still has male friends. also, i don't care about your little friends, i care about me. whatever stupid girls night things - those are lower priority. if i want you there, you're there."
he wasn't like this over text, right? you wouldn't have been even in the building if he was like this. you squint at him. in another version of yourself, you'd be running. you'd just get up and go. that's what happens on the internet - people get annoyed, and they just leave. you are locked in place, almost frozen. you need to go to the bathroom and text someone to call you so you have an excuse, like it's rude to just-leave. like he already kind of owns you. rudeness implies a power paradigm, though. see, even your social anxiety allows the patriarchy to get to you.
you take a sip of the new glass of wine. maybe this will be a funny story. maybe you can write about it on your blog. maybe you can meet ariana grande and ask her if she just maybe needs to take some time to sit and think about her happiness and how she measures her own success.
is this settling down? is this all that's left in your dating pool? just accepting that someone will eventually love you, and you have to stop being picky about who "makes" you a wife?
you look down to your hand, clutching the knife.
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One of the most generally useful things to come out of Hbomberguy's plagiarism video and Todd in the Shadows' similar video on misinformation is how they bring transparency to the internet phenomenon of "I made up a guy to get mad at".
Seriously, I've seen people make up a lot of stupid shit on the internet over the years and it's often just a manipulative attempt to paint a group of marginalized people in a bad light.
That's the TL;DR version of this post.
ANYWAY here is the long version
Those videos are mostly about James Somerton's plagiarism of other queer people's work. However I'd like to talk about that 20-30% of Somerton's original writing- and oh boy. It's mostly about complaining about White Straight Women and misgendering well-known trans creators such as Rebecca Sugar and calling Becky Albertalli a straight woman while it's pretty common knowledge that she was forced to out herself as bi because she received so much harassment over "being a cishet woman who appropriates LGBT+ stories".
One thing that irks me especially is how in his Killing Stalking and Gay Shipping videos Somerton brings up how straight women/ teen girl shippers exploit gay men for their personal sexual fantasies. This gets brought up several times in his videos.
Being all up and arms about Somerton being a "White Cis Gay Who Hates Women and Queer People tm" is not that useful because the kind of rhetoric he's using is extremely common in fandom and LGBT+ spaces on Tumblr, TikTok and Twitter. We really don't need to bring Somerton's identity to this since he is in no way an unique example.
It's hypocritical to make this about an individual person when I've seen A TON of posts, tweets and videos where queer people talk about these Sinister Straight Women who are supposedly out there fetishizing and exploiting queer men. It's pretty clear to me that this is just an excuse to shit on women and queer people for having any sexual interests. At worst these comments are spreading misinformation about BL, a form of media that has been excessively studied by both Asian feminists and Asian queer women.
This all sounds really familiar and I think it's good that people are calling it out as what it is: misogyny and transphobia. I'd also point out the potentially racist motives behind being this hypervigilant about Asian media.
People can absolutely be misogynist regardless of gender or orientation. I really don't know why we need to create some kind of made up enemy to get mad at. I actually think it's almost sinister how "anti-fujoshi" people call Slash shippers and fujoshi misogynists or claim that they have internalised misogyny while being dismissive about women's interests and creative pursuits under Japanese obscenity laws, China's censorship, book bans in American schools and various other disadvances that are part of being a queer and/or female creator.
I think we shouldn't be naive about the bad faith actors who want to turn queer people against each other. For example Fujoshi.info mentions anti-gender (TERF, GC etc) movement using this kind of rhetoric as well.
Anyway if you want to read more:
- about the false info around BL fandom fujoshi.info
-There is the scholar Thomas Baudinette who studies gay media in Japan. Here is a podcast with him and the scholar Khursten Santos
-James Welker is a BL scholar as well. Here is a podcast interview about the new international BL article collection he edited.
-I've already talked about this Youtube channel by KrisPNatz and his great Killing Stalking video that actually engages with the themes of the manhwa
- There is also HR Coleman's thesis DO NOT FEED THE FETISHIZERS: BOYS LOVE FANS RESISTANCE AND CHALLENGE OF PERCEIVED REPUTATION where she interviews 36 BL fans and actually breaks down why fetishization has become such a huge talking point in the fandom discourse. Spoilers, it's mostly about young queer people and women being worried that they will get judged and pathologized for their interest in anything sexual.
-Great podcast about Danmei and censorship with Liang Ge
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dunno if imissed thurs thots bc time zone is an arse but i pilled an allnighter and needed some smit to keep going bc coffeee aint doing it job anymore so heres a copy paste of my idea from when i was actuallyawake
hallo! so taking a page from the spider verse movie, what if reader did yell out a safeword? there is an “aftercare for a red moment” hole in the fic community (or im just blinded by the algorithm who knows)
So this is a really interesting concept, and also a good way to discuss proper sex practices, so thank you anon!
For those unaware, the color system (Green, yellow, red) is typically associated with BDSM practices. Green is all clear, yellow is slow down/change tactics, and red is full stop, change into aftercare mode. However this system is not exclusively designed for kink related practices, it can be a useful tool for even vanilla sex. Please remember to always check in with your partners and obtain enthusiastic consent before engaging in sexual activities. I am not an expert in this area, so please remember to do your own independent research if you are curious about this topic.
(Warning: Uncomfortable sexual scenarios and use of safe words, please read at your own discretion)
The Color Red
(TF 141 reacting to you using a safe word during sex)
Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish
You’re not really sure what does it, but something inside you drops abruptly, without warning as Soap’s hand wraps around your throat.
There’s not even any pressure, just a heavy grasp that circles under your jaw but it’s enough to make something in you rise in panic, blood chilling and breath seizing inside your chest
He’s still hunches over you, your legs wrapped around his hips, brow scrunched in pleasure, voice dragging as he tries to angle himself just right to graze against the soft spongy part of you he knows will make you go boneless in his arms
Whatever pleasure was tightening low across your hips dies as a cold, fearful wash of dread takes its place, the world spinning as you drop fast.
“Red.” You croak, voice trembling, abruptly, entire body going rigid with panic.
It’s over in an instant. Soap knows what the word means, is trained to respond at the first instinct of discomfort, and within a blink his hand is gone, his weight off of you
You curl over onto your side, eyes wide and shoulders trembling, wetness still on the inside of your thighs but air rising sharply as hyperventilation threatens to take over
Soap’s weight is off the bed, giving you space, but when he notices your breathing he kneels beside you at once, eyes brimming with worry
“Hen, sweetheart, it’s alright.” He coos softly, words echoing as a steady stream, a reminder to his nearby presence. “You’re safe, we’re done. Breathe for me, You’re alright.”
“Johnny.” You gasp, reaching for him, and he obliges instantly, maneuvering you both so he sits against the headboard and puts your head into his lap, positioning a pillow underneath it.
“I’m here.” He reminds you, a hand stroking along your shoulder in soothing circles as you try to control your breathing, listening to him breathe alongside you. Deep inhale, hold for 4, out for 7. Repeat.
“What do you need, hen?” He asks after a few minutes, after the panic has faded to a dull bite, once you stop shuddering and instead curl into an exhausted heap at his side.
You sigh out a shuddering exhale, feel his thumb graze across the top of your shoulder. Gentle, patient, devoted.
“You, Johnny.” You tell him at last. “Just you.”
Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick
“Red.”
You gasp it out unexpectedly in Gaz’s bed, hands secured above your head as he bends over you, three fingers curling inside you, smug smile plastered over his face as he tries to wring another orgasm from you despite you telling him you can’t, and him finding another, another anyways
Now, however, it’s finally too much, and when he presses just right the sensation it summons is less pleasurable and more aching, stretching an overworn muscle that leaves something twisting unpleasantly inside you
“Oh shit, doll.” He gasps at the word, and slowly withdraws his fingers to not cause you additional discomfort. You whine, but the sound catches in your throat, pleading and tender. “I’m sorry, shh, take a breath for me.”
He reaches up above you, pulls at the rope and it comes loose easily, allows your hands to sink into the pillows and reduces the strain on your shoulders.
“Hey, hey, I got you.” He murmurs as you shudder, face contorting at the unpleasant ache inside you
He drags you into his arms, and you don’t complain at all, curling into his steady frame as he tucks you against his chest
“You did good.” He tells you at once, reassuring, gentle. “Promise you did good. Just take your time.”
You nuzzle against the coarse, curly hair of his chest, feel him stroke a hand against your back as the ache inside you dies to a low murmur
“I’m okay.” You tell him after a few minutes, taking all the time you need to fully relax into his embrace “It just…it was so much.”
Kyle exhales then, a breath you didn’t realize had been holding. His form goes a little lax against you, relieved by your words
“I’m sorry, doll.” He tells you at once. “I should have stopped sooner.”
You shake your head a little, remind him gently “That’s what the colors are for. I’m alright, just-” and you wince. “Tender.”
You feel him smile into your hair, mouth tugging just an inch, his body warm, solid, reaffirming against yours
“We can fix that.” He tells you softly. “How about I run you a bath and get you cleaned up, hmm?”
You nod, pause, and then crane your head up to plant a kiss against his lips
“Sounds wonderful.”
Simon 'Ghost' Riley
Sex with Simon can usually be an intense, emotional affair, an experience where you try and carve space within each other through touch, seeking a balm to the brokenness, soothing to the fear and hurt
Yet there are also times when you both just need release
Which is where you are now, face down, his hands hauling yours behind your back, hips slapping against your pelvis with a rapid, brutal intensity that’s going to leave you pleasantly sore for days
His voice is a grinding, rumbling presence that doesn’t allow you to drift entirely off, forcing you back into the presence of him. A hand tangles in your hair, presses you down into the sheets as he growls lewd, filthy praise down at you
Yet there’s a hint of malice to it, and normally you’d welcome it, send it right back to him, teeth bared and spirit a bright flame that burns against his darkness
Now, however, each word seems to puncture through you, as he hisses ‘Slut. Pretty little whore.’ down at you
You want to take it, want it to feed the coiling need as he buries himself inside you, but tonight it sounds almost like Simon means it.
It hurts.
It forces you to drop so fast it gives you whiplash, mind reeling and you have to remind yourself to say the word that bleeds across your tongue.
“Red.”
Simon stops instantly, removes his hand from your hair like he’s been burned.
You barely even notice, caught in your own turmoil of thoughts, trying to find your way out of the labyrinth. You don’t even notice as he pulls out from you, but the sudden emptiness only feeds the fall, makes a sob curl in your throat as you try and fail to swallow it down
He’s gone from the bed, you notice, and if anything it makes you panic more.
“S-Simon.” He try, voice wavering, and as if you’ve summoned him he appears back at your side, his voice gentler now but strained, guilty
“Here, pet.” A hand against your spine, a feathering touch given only as a mild offering before you give him permission to touch you, to which you gasp “Please.”
The touch becomes firmer, fingers pulling at the rigidness coiled in your frame, and after a moment there’s the cool touch of a washcloth that wipes the sweat from your skin.
“Y-you didn’t mean it, did you?” You try at last, not moving yet, knowing he’d only hush you back into stillness, make sure you didn’t push yourself too fast too soon
Simon takes a moment to process, realization washing over him at why you invoked your color.
“No, never.” He tells you, voice a little distant, and you know the faint unhappiness that colors his own voice isn’t for you but for him, tearing at himself for causing you hurt
You take care of him too, knot your fingers between his in tender reassurance, reminding him that even as he hovers at your side, you stay beside him too
Captain John Price
You’re trying to soldier through it, the pain that wraps around your thigh as he hauls it over his shoulder, braces it on the broad planes of his frame
Your hands are fisted in the sheets, chest heaving as Price forces his tongue into your cunt, fingers digging red marks into your opposite leg. There’s pleasure coiling n your core with every stripe of his tongue, dragging whimpering moans from your throat
It’s soured, however, by the wrapping on your thigh, the stitched bullet hole radiating pain. The sharp ache drowns any potential pleasure that rises inside you and you try to grit your teeth against it, force it down in pursuit of the warmth of price’s breath against your folds
You can’t. You can’t do it, not with tears beginning to well in your eyes and the sounds coming from transitioning into whimpers of pain.
“John.” You manage, strained, and for a moment Price is so absorbed in his task he almost doesn’t hear you. “J-John, red. Red.”
Price’s head shoots up, his ears attuned to that word specifically, and when he does you see slick coating his chin, his eyes flickering brightly in worry.
A sob bursts from your chest at the sight, dragging with pain, eyes hot and wet as you press a hand to the red blossoming bandage.
He surmises the situation quickly, and instantly he’s rising off you, nearly vanishing from you entirely, giving you a bit of space before sitting back down beside you and gently bending your leg onto his lap
“Shh, it’s alright love.” He reassures you, a hand reaching up to stroke at your sweaty forehead, against your brow bunched in worry. “I’ve got you, you’re alright.”
“I’m sorry.” You blurt out even as his fingers knead into your calf. “I didn’t- it hurts.”
“Never apologize for using your colors.” The captain tells you sternly, and he holds your eyes on him, levying you with a disciplining stare that ensures your compliance. You nod, sniffling, and it makes some of the grimness melt from his eyes, tendered with affection
“Where are your pain meds?” He asks then, a hand gently tracing over the bloodied bandage, and you nod to the bedside drawer.
He nods absently, one hand still braced on your leg, the other reaching past you to withdraw the bottle from the assembly of items there
“You’re going to take these.” He tells you without question, drawing your gaze back to him once more. “We’ll get you cleaned up, and then get something warm in your stomach so they go down sunny, yes?”
You sniffle and nod at him, still feeling a little embarrassed, still in pain. Yet it’s softer now with his touch as his eyes turn to you fondly.
“Might even get you some hair of the dog for good measure.” He offers, and it at last summons a shy but warm smile from you
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Again, if your partner every signals they are uncomfortable during sex, stop, talk, and proceed as needed. If anyone ever disrespects you signaling you are uncomfortable or blatantly ignores your safeword, do not engage with them further. Stay safe, stay sane, and stay consensual
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