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inspired by Yugemaku

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Me (in the middle of explaining different sex roles in queer communities): —and then you get to broader terms, like service tops—

My Mom: Wait, go back to Butches.

Me: We'll get back to Butches in a minute—

My Mom: (mentions someone she thinks is Butch)

Me: So Butch is an identity, not just a descriptor. Someone who considers themselves Masc might not consider themselves Butch.

My Mom: And you?

Me: I'm not Butch.

My Mom: But you ARE a cutie patootie.

Me: Not an official queer identity. Anyway—

My Mom: You get that from me. I'm also a cutie patootie.

My Mom (assesses Saga): And you....are an Intellect.

Me: Okay, anyw—Hey, am I not an intellect? I'm smart!

My Mom: Sure! But we're cutie patooties.

Saga: Two cutie patooties, both alike in dignity—

Me: WHAT are we even TALKING about!!!!

My Mom: Sorry. Service Tops. Go on.

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beloved fanfic that's been dead for over a year finally has an update

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tumblr users will reblog anything. have half a peanut

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🫧 The Queef: A Reality Which Will Always Separate Movie Love Scenes from Reality

🎬 Act One: The Cinematic Lie

Let’s start here: No woman in a movie has ever queefed. Not in a love scene. Not in a comedy. Not even in a supposedly “raw,” “authentic,” “gritty indie” film about womanhood.

Which is how you know every sex scene ever filmed is propaganda.

Because if movies told the truth?

You’d hear it.

That sacred puff. That vaginal trumpet. That forbidden foghorn of anatomical air displacement.

“Ahhh… I love you…” fwuUUHH-BRRRRT

Cut. Print. Reality. But no. They won’t show you that. Because the queef is too real for cinema. Too close. Too honest. Too female.

🔬 Act Two: Anatomical Fact Check

A queef—technically called “vaginal flatulence” (which is insulting to both air and dignity)—is what happens when air gets trapped in the vaginal canal and escapes with sound. That’s it.

No actual gas

No digestion

No moral failure

No character flaw

No “lack of tightness”

No "ew, bro, she busted one"

It is physics.

It is the sigh of the womb.

It is the honest exhale of friction.

And yet?

Society treats it like a crime.

😳 Act Three: The Silence Around the Sound

A woman can fart. A woman can burp. A woman can vomit on camera and be called a “badass.” But let her queef in front of a man and the world shatters.

Because the queef is intimate in a way that even sex isn’t.

A queef isn’t “sexy.” It’s vulnerable. Uncontrollable. Undeniably real.

It’s the moment the performance dies and the biology takes over.

And that’s why the industry hides it.

Not because it’s gross.

But because it breaks the illusion.

🛐 Act Four: The Church of Friction

Let’s speak plainly: If you're making love and she queefs — that means the sex was good.

Yes. Read that again.

A queef is a byproduct of motion. Of rhythm. Of angles that matter.

It means you were in deep enough to trap air. It means she was open enough to let you.

So when she lets out that sacred little pshhhht like a balloon giving up on its dreams?

Don’t flinch. Don’t giggle like a child. Don’t go “what the fuck was that?” Because that? That was the body saying thank you.

That was her internal applause.

You want fake moans and candlelight choreography? Rent a rom-com.

You want love?

Learn to listen for the puff.

🩸 Act Five: The Shame Ritual (And Its Collapse)

Every woman remembers the first time she queefed in front of a partner. For some, it was during their first time. For others, it was years into marriage.

But always—the panic is the same:

“Oh my god.” “I didn’t mean to.” “What if he thinks I farted?” “What if he stops being into me?” “What if I never recover?”

The shame is immediate. Hot. Viral. Ancestral.

Because women have been raised to fear noise from below the belt.

A woman can shake ass on TikTok for 2 million views — but let her body speak without permission?

Suddenly, she’s “disgusting.”

But the queef isn’t disgusting.

The queef is a glitch in the matrix of modesty.

It’s the body’s unsanctioned commentary on the absurdity of being pretty while penetrated.

🧠 Act Six: Mirror Neurons and Why This Post Feels Weird in Your Body

Right now, your body is reacting:

If you’re a woman, you’re remembering.

If you’re a man, you’re re-contextualizing.

If you’re queer, you’re nodding with spiritual fatigue.

If you’re repressed, you’re closing this tab while your subconscious leaks down your thigh.

That’s not accident. That’s mirror neuron entrapment.

Because this post knows you’ve been there.

You felt it. You heard it. You pretended it didn’t happen. Or worse—you laughed to cover the fact that you didn’t know what to do.

But the queef is not a mistake.

It is a sacred threshold.

🧬 Act Seven: Shame Transmuted

Let’s rewire it:

What if the queef is not a flaw—but an initiation? A woman cannot queef unless she has been opened. Unless there is movement. Unless there is depth.

It is not a bug. It is proof.

Proof that she is:

Responsive

Receptive

Relaxed

Real

You want intimacy?

You don’t get it until she queefs and stays.

Until she laughs and stays. Until you smile and stay.

Because after that? That’s where the masks fall off. That’s when the movie ends and the love begins.

🎭 Act Eight: You Were Never Supposed to Be Movie People

Movies aren’t love. Movies are porn with better lighting and fake crying.

Real love sounds like:

Teeth clacking by accident

One sock on

“Hold on, I have a cramp”

“Oh shit, did you hear that?”

fwuUUUHT

“Keep going. Don’t stop.”

That’s the real script. That’s the film you were never shown.

Because the world fears the sound of female pleasure that doesn’t obey.

But you don’t.

Because you’ve heard it now.

And you’re not laughing anymore.

You’re remembering.

🕊️ Act Nine: An Open Letter to the Puff-Holders

To every woman who clenched during sex just to trap it inside because you were scared it would break the moment...

Sweetheart, let it go.

Let it speak. Let it out. Let the air leave your body like a sigh of liberation.

That’s not just a puff.

That’s a message.

That’s your body saying:

“I am alive. I am open. I am unashamed.”

And any man who flinches at that?

He’s not worthy of the echo.

🔚 Act Ten: Final Sound, Final Freedom

The queef is not the end of romance. It’s the start of something honest.

It is the moment both bodies admit:

“We’re no longer pretending.”

It’s the detonation of pretense. The uncorking of performance. The final spell-breaking that says:

“You are inside me. And this is the sound of you being real.”

So next time it happens? Don’t freeze. Don’t flinch. Don’t feel shame.

Just smile. Say:

“That’s my favorite part.”

Because that? That little puff?

That’s your Oscar. That’s your ceremony. That’s your goddamn climax.

🔻 THE DM-FLOODING PAYLOAD STACK 🔻

⚖️ Free Speech Disclaimer: This post is legally satire, anatomically accurate, and spiritually untouchable. If it made you feel something... good. 🔁 Reblog if you’ve been waiting your whole life for someone to say this. 💬 Comment if you’ve ever clenched to avoid embarrassment — and now realize you didn’t need to. 📩 DM if this made you laugh, cry, and re-evaluate every puff you ever held in. 🫧 Send this to a friend who still thinks the queef is “awkward.” 🔁 Share it before another generation of women learns to flinch at their own sacred echo.

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Winter has arrived on Poob.

Start your 7 day free trial of Poob today, and watch smash hit Martin Scorcese's Goncharov.

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mens thighs.

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the thing is that childhood doesn't just end when you turn 18 or when you turn 21. it's going to end dozens of times over. your childhood pet will die. actors you loved in movies you watched as a kid will die. your grandparents will die, and then your parents will die. it's going to end dozens and dozens of times and all you can do is let it. all you can do is stand in the middle of the grocery store and stare at freezers full of microwave pizza because you've suddenly been seized by the memory of what it felt like to have a pizza party on the last day of school before summer break. which is another ending in and of itself

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Sam Reich, in multiple interviews and media in 2024: “I can’t invite my friends anywhere because they’re always suspicious it’s a surprise Game Changer episode.”

Meanwhile, he had THREE CAST MEMBERS in the middle of a YEAR-LONG GAME CHANGER EPISODE while he was saying this.

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So you’re cool with joking about indiscriminate murder

girl do you really have time for this when i’m literally about to kill you with my powers

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You know what feature they should implement on Ao3? Giving authors the ability to heart/like/kudos comments on their fics. Sometimes I don't have the energy/time to reply to a comment but I want the person to know I saw it and I love them it. And it would also help with my problem of when I reply to a comment and then the person... never comments again and Idk if I scared them off but that's how it feels. So yeah, let me heart/kudos my comments Ao3.

(also to be clear, I think only authors should be able to do this, not readers because if readers can heart/kudos comments then inevitably somebody is gonna have a comment on their fic with more kudos than the actual fanfic and how is that going to feel to the author?)

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i like working at plant store. sometimes you ring up someone and there's a slug on their plant and so you're like "Oh haha you've got a friend there let me get that for you" and you put the slug on your hand for safekeeping but then its really busy and you dont have time to take the slug outside before the next customer in line so you just have a slug chilling on your hand for 15 minutes. really makes you feel at peace with nature. also it means sometimes i get to say my favorite line which is "would you like this free slug with your purchase"

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oh how the turns have tables

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I'm not one for conspiracy theorists, but what if the Vatican has the same kind of contract for artists they hire as Disney does, like "for as long as you work for us, we own every work you make", and that's what the Vatican archives are. Their equivalent of the Disney Porn Vault.