#do we understand how feminine gaze oriented this is about to be?

[jamminvroomvroom]

coming back just to tell you that lando breaking into fashion/fragrance WILL finish me off so actually this might be our last correspondence!

[frvnkcastles]

Hi! Could you maybe do something where the reader and Frank are hanging out(romantic or platonic idrc) and they run into a man who groomed the reader when she was a teenager? It doesn’t have to necessarily be that he assaulted her, but it could have still been an inappropriate relationship. The reader could like freeze up. I’ve been in a similar situation and it’s such a mix of emotions sometimes you can just shut down no matter how much you practiced this very scenario in your head. I feel like Frank might not understand at first but when he did would be pissed. I know you do more PTSD oriented asks, but I thought this might also be in your lane. Also I hope you’re doing good and even if you never respond to this I’ll enjoy whatever you write :)

ALL OF OUR SINS ➵ F. CASTLE

Summary: When you see a man from your past, Frank is the one person you can turn to.

Warnings: Past grooming, almost a panic attack, language, feminine nicknames

Word count: 1.3k

Author’s note: I am incredibly touched that you wanted me to tell this story, I hope I did your request justice. Thank you for being patient with me :) I’m sending lots of (consensual) hugs your way, I hope you are doing well <3

It hadn’t occurred to you that you should have your guard up after all these years. Especially with Frank by your side. But it seemed that the past loved the tendency to sneak up on you when you least expected it, ripping open old wounds that had nearly healed and faded into scars you tried to carry despite their weight. Or, at the very least, you couldn’t come to another conclusion when on a completely normal day, a perfectly unassuming Tuesday, you saw him.

You were walking down the street with Frank next to you, his hands in his pockets but his intimidating frame enough to ward off any potential evil-doers. You were under his protection and anyone with a sound mind understood as much from the mere sight of him towering by your smaller figure.

You supposed that dubbed the man from your past as anything but reasonable.

You heard your name first, and instinctively, you stopped walking and glanced over your shoulder. As soon as you saw him, your mouth ran dry and any life drained from your face — he, on the other hand, came up to you with a smile like you were old friends.

”Hey, there. It’s been, God, years, hasn’t it? You look great”, he began his tirade of pleasantries, all the while you ducked your head low and avoided his gaze. You murmured something in return, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out that whoever was talking your ear off right now was an unwelcome guest.

Frank had stopped walking, as well, and appeared by your side like a guard dog, standing proudly next to you with a cold stare in his dark eyes. Still, you could tell he was confused — it was no one he recognized, but the two of you had shared almost everything there was to know about each other.

Nonetheless, when the man standing across from you reached for your shoulder with his hand, Frank stepped forward to stop him, just as you flinched back from the touch. Menacing as always, Frank stared the older man down, silent but more than capable of delivering his message without a single word.

”And is this the boyfriend, huh? I did always wonder who the lucky guy would be, missy”, the man chuckled, stepping away with his hands held up in his own defense. Frank lifted an eyebrow at him before reaching for your hand and giving it a squeeze — though not quite as tight as the grip you closed his fingers in.

”Yeah, that’s right”, Frank spoke up when you didn’t seem to get any words out. ”And we ain’t lookin’ for a third. Have a… well, the day you deserve”, he decided simply before tugging you along and promptly walking you away from the man who stayed behind and watched you leave.

Fuck, how could you have frozen like that? Even now, your ears were buzzing and Frank’s concerned words didn’t manage to break through the blur, and as the panic inside you increased, tears threatened to pour out of your eyes. It was like ice-cold water had been dumped over you, like you had been slapped in the face. You hadn’t been prepared for that — God, you hadn’t even thought about the stupid, selfish, greedy man in so long and here he was, coming up to you with small-talk like he hadn’t done a single thing wrong.

Frank’s hand touched your shoulder and you flinched in a way that had his face twisting with regret and pain. You immediately moved to apologize, but before you could, he spoke up and dropped his hand from your shoulder to your fingertips in the briefest, gentlest little caress.

”You okay, sweetheart?” he grumbled in that worried, low tone of his that you knew all too well, and his care alone got you to smile a little bit.

”I’m okay”, you confirmed, even if you couldn’t hide the way you wiped your eyes. ”Let’s just go home.”

And agreeing with a quiet nod, Frank took your hand, no longer just strolling by your side like a shadow, but making sure you knew he had your back.

Still, neither of you could get the uncomfortable interaction out of your mind. Frank could tell from the way you kept zoning out throughout the day, and his own heart was gnawed by the need to do something about it. He knew you’d speak up about it if you wanted to, but when it was near midnight and you began preparing for bed, he took a headfirst dive into uncharted territory and stopped you with his hand tightly wrapped around yours.

”Hey, if I’m bein’ an asshole, you just tell me to fuck off, aight?” he started while holding your hand and sitting on the edge of your bed, and turning back to him instead of heading for the bathroom like you had intended, you chuckled. ”That was… shitty, what happened today. You can play it cool all you want but I see you, girl. And I think it could be really good to talk about it. So, if you wanna rant to me about that… man, then ’m all ears”, Frank continued, and with an exposed look, you glanced away from him but he reeled you in closer.

”Look at you”, you whispered, ”Frank Castle, the king of communication.”

Frank snorted. ”I’m tryin’, at least. For you, y’know?” he shrugged before licking his lips and locking eyes with you in the most irresistible way. ”Communicate with me, huh?”

With a thick swallow, you sat down next to him on the bed and traced mindless patterns on the back of his hand. ”He was a family friend. He was around a lot when I was a teenager”, you began, pursing your lips together as your voice got quieter. ”He was inappropriate with me, I guess you could say. I didn’t realize how wrong it was at the time, but looking back, I’m really lucky nothing bad actually happened. It was just… things he’d say, you know? The way he acted around me, just…”, you trailed off, and when you found the courage to look up at Frank, you saw him staring back at you with full attention but his eyebrows drawn together and his jaw clenched.

”I didn’t lead him on—”, you started again, but Frank cut you off with a scoff.

”Sweetheart, of course you didn’t. You did nothin’ wrong. That piece of shit? He’s an asshole. He deserves… he deserves to have his face beaten in, I swear to God, I—”, he tried, but you could tell his anger was getting the best of him. You placed both hands on his cheeks and shushed him, but he spoke up, nonetheless.

”I can’t tell you how fuckin’ sorry I am. That’s… you never should have gone through that, aight? That ain’t okay. He ain’t a safe person to be around and I’m… I’mma make sure no one else has to be in that situation with him again”, he swore, and swallowing, you nodded. You had figured he’d take matters into his own hands, and knowing him, you had no intention or willingness to stop him.

”Okay”, you breathed out, ”but stay with me first?”

Relaxing a little bit, Frank nodded and rested his forehead against yours. ”I love you, sweet girl. I’m sorry you haven’t always been treated right. I swear I’mma do my everythin’ to be different”, he insisted, and with a smile, you repeated his nod. He placed a kiss on your forehead and you closed your eyes, just breathed him in.

And when he slipped out later that night, you knew he’d be out doing his thing, and you supposed some of the big bad Punisher’s morals had rubbed off on you, because… you felt relieved. And more importantly, with him, you felt safe.

[they-them-that]

My conflicted feelings on femininity in Shoujo

I will defend shoujo like my life depends on it, even the ones I don't like, if somone uses it as a slight against girls and women. I am tackling issues within shoujo but this isn't an attack against the genre. Shounen has far more egregious issues with the difference being that shounen sets boys up to expect from women while shoujo sets girls up to meet those expectations for men. Shoujo writers, who are often women, are just products of social grooming that end up passing it on to the next generation of women. They're not the ones who created the problem and it's low hanging fruit to target shoujo just to condemn women's and girls' interests. There's also plenty of shoujo with strong and progressive writing that goes unnoticed or are treated like the exception. Also, as you can guess, I am tackling the CIS hetero-romantic aspects of shoujo but I'm well aware it's far more diverse than that, it's just that within this genre, there's a reoccurring problem I want to get off my chest. Finally, I hope shoujo-fans can interact with this post with an open mind but I understand that we have gone through a treacherous era of vilifying femininity and faux-feminism that's defined by capitalistic and masculinized achievements. It can be hard to critically talk about femininity (and particularly, the idea of "choice-feminism") but this isn't an interrogation on women, it's challenging the subliminal misogyny that permeates female-oriented media.

As someone who craves both feminine and feminist content, the way femininity is written in a lot of shoujo manga and anime can feel like a double edged sword. It's great to see feminine traits being valued and even essentialized but sometimes, there's stories that feel like its preaching to a patriarchal standard of femininity that is more aligned with the male gaze.

The "popular girls" in shoujo frames girls who prioritize their self-interests--like being into fashion, makeup and socialization--as selfish and vapid. There's a blatant vilification of women's confidence and assertiveness when the heroine is modest and insecure in contrast. She doesn't participate in indulgent hobbies unless a boy incentivizes her and even then, she still has to maintain her meekness to not come off as overzealous. One of the largest points I see shoujo fans make is how the feminine protagonist's strongest quality is her empathy which is definitely a good thing to have! But it feels questionable when her nurturing qualities are rooted in patriarchal expectations.

These female characters often talk down on themselves and put others first while still being dependent on others to be their protectors and source of affirmation. There's the well known stereotype of male love interests being pushy and entitled to the point it borders on harassment and even assault. Although it can be used to generalize and degrade shoujo romances (while shounen romances don't get enough vitriol), it is a reoccurring problem worth calling out. Girls should not be normalized to predatory and abusive behaviors from boys and men as gestures of affection, especially when the girls' love languages in the same stories are selfless and maternal.

Our definition of femininity is fuzzy because femininity itself is a social concept that takes on multiple meanings. Being feminine can be empowering but we have to acknowledge that a lot of what shapes our idea of femininity came from the patriarchy to instill gender essentialism for women to be subservient to men. Shoujo is very guilty of assigning heavily gendered roles in relationships--the protector (masculine) and the nurturer (feminine)--that can be problematic at most but just not very vindicating to consume at the least.

Shoujo protagonists tend to embody this level of stereotypical femininity that isn't even relatable or aspirational for girls and feels more like it's trying to convey what a "good, honest girl" is. There can be girls who do connect with those types of heroines but it makes it even more concerning when her ultimate reward for her docility is a man's attention. That doesn't mean I'm calling for more "girl-boss" heroines that puts masculinity on a pedestal but that we should redefine our understanding of femininity that doesn't exist in servitude to others. Femininity isn't a list of traits to begin with, it's a form of expression. We shouldn't shy away from prideful women like that's a "masculine" trait (or disavow masculinity in women at all tbh) and recognize femininity and self-care can and do co-exist.

[lunarticxenia]

Moon Signs Pt. 2

Hi guys here’s part 2 of the moon sign series! After I post this, I’m going to be focusing more on answering your questions, I have a lot to answer. Thanks so much for all the support! Without further ado, here’s Libra through Pisces moons! 

🌵Libra Moon: You guys LOVE attention, and you don’t even try to hide it LMAO. One of my good friends is a Libra moon and he literally loves to say outlandish things just to get a reaction from us and to get attention from us if we’re not talking to him enough in a conversation. Libra moons also love relationships and if underdeveloped they may feel incomplete without one. They can also be very dependent on their partner for happiness as well. However, they are romantic and in love with love. They’re also extremely sensitive and are very feminine. Even in men, it gives them a more feminine touch to their personality. They also hold their morals in very high regard. They have their set morals and won’t change them for anything or anyone. They also tend to hate conflict and usually shy away from confrontation. They’re also too nice, WAYYYYYY too nice. You guys need to be more assertive LMAO. They’re also extremely optimistic and if they don’t believe in that particular way they at least try to be optimistic with others. They’re always reminding you the glass is half full. Also, Libra moons are mad clingy. Even with those they’re not dating LMAO. My Libra moon friend whenever I try to leave the FaceTime Call, he’s like “Don’t go... :(”. They just love to be around the ones they love. They’re also in love with beauty, and all things beautiful in the world. They’re lovers of music, art, film, and literature. Libra moons also have a softness in their eyes, I can’t describe it. This girl I used to like has a Libra moon and her eyes were just so soft. They’re also extremely indecisive, they tend to flip flop between who they wanna be and what they wanna do. They also aren’t shy when it comes to compliments, they will compliment TF out of you. They’re the best hype man. They also put others before themselves a lot, and can be very shy upon first meeting them. However once they feel comfortable around you they open up. One last thing, I feel like they tend to like anyone who’s nice to them...don’t attack me. LMAO.  

🌵Scorpio Moon: I feel like Scorpio moons have about ten different playlists relating to their emotions and still won’t open up to anyone about how they feel. Scorpio moons I feel have such intense emotions that they just don’t deal with them and they tend to implode after a while. I relate to them a lot in that respect tbh with my Sun square Moon, because that’s how I am. You guys are also super passionate and super creative. Every Scorpio moon I’ve met has been really creative in some way whether it be makeup, fashion style, or artwork. I’ve also noticed that this is a very alluring placement, there’s this intriguing way about them, and like Aries Moons, they have a fire in their eyes. Their gaze is INTENSE. They’re also very selective with who they let close to them, they don’t let just anybody in. They’re also very good at reading other people and seeing people’s true intentions. They have an extremely good intuition. If underdeveloped this can be used to manipulate other people, as well as being compulsive liars. Scorpio moons are also very protective over the ones they love. If you mess with anyone they care about, they will kill you. End of story. Also I feel like every Scorpio moon I’ve met has been through the wringer, like they’ve really had some hard experiences, it’s so sad to me. Scorpio moons are also extremely stubborn, remember this is a fixed sign. Scorpio moons ain’t playing, once they’ve settled on something, they’re not budging. Also, can we just say, masters at investigating people. These are the friends you want stalking your ex’s social media. They will find out everything. They’re also really good psychologists as well, almost all the Scorpio moons I’ve met are actually Psychology majors LMAO. They’re very good at finding the root causes of people’s issues. I also feel like Scorpio moons undergo a lot of transformations in their lives. I’ve known a Scorpio moon for about 10 years now and he’s undergone so many different transformations in his life. Mentally and physically. They’re also extremely sarcastic and have a tendency to be pessimistic. They’re also mad scary when angry. I’ve seen them angry before, as an Aries moon, even I get a little scared.... love y’all tho. 

🌵Sagittarius Moon: The funniest people ever. Sagittarius moons always have me laughing my ass off. Their sense of humor is very diverse. They tend to stick with sarcasm and like to say outlandish things to make people laugh. Also, I feel like Sagittarius moons tend to go for science/math oriented careers or at least have an interest in those subjects. I know four Sag moons, and they’re all in STEM it’s actually crazy. They’re also extremely blunt and honest, especially when it comes to people they don’t like LMAO. They make it very clear when they don’t like someone, it’s so funny. They’re also just so much fun, like they’re genuinely so much fun to hang out with. I feel like I’ve never not had a good time hanging out with a Sagittarius moon. I feel like Sag moons however tend to struggle with asserting themselves a lot of times, until they get really fed up.  They’re very much go with the flow kinda people, and this can be to their detriment especially with the ones they love, they don’t wanna rock the boat. However, they also make really good mediators and are good at settling arguments. They also really like to travel, and likely have traveled a lot. All the Sagittarius moons I know have traveled to at least 4+ countries. They love traveling the world, and I’ve also noticed move or want to move far away from their childhood home. They wanna explore everything the world has to offer. My cousin who’s a Sag moon left her parents’ house to move a few states away and my other friend who’s a Sag moon wants to move to the other side of the country. These individuals also tend to like foreign culture as well. I’ve noticed Sagittarius moons tend to like foreign music or foreign tv shows. I feel like they also tend to ignore their emotions when they get sad and just don’t like to deal with their emotions. They also don’t like to talk about how they feel and will brush sad things off because it’s just too upsetting for them. However, once the emotions boil over, just like their anger, they will blow up LMAO. I’ve also noticed that they’re really good at teaching people things? Like my Sag moon friend explained this Chemistry equation to me I couldn’t understand and I got it after 10 minutes. Natural teachers. 

🌵 Capricorn Moon: Guys, it’s okay to open up. You don’t have to pretend to be so strong all the time, you’re not weak for showing your emotions. Anyway, Cap moons have high expectations for people, and will not tolerate any bs from people. I seriously commend them for that. I feel like Cap moons struggle with how their points are being expressed, they can say one thing, but it’s seen as something else. While Capricorn moons may struggle with expressing their emotions, I haven’t found them to be closed off or cold when meeting them. Every Capricorn moon I’ve met has warmed up to me very quickly and have been super nice. I feel like they’re very friendly and once they have a conversation with you they’re really warm and kind. Also, they’re not afraid of anything?? Except for showing their feelings maybe. But like, they’re so open to trying new things like scary rollercoasters and aren’t afraid to fight for themselves if they have to. Also, super fucking ambitious. I wish I could be ambitious. These people will really have like three jobs, be in school, and tend to household responsibilities. I don’t know how you guys do it. Now everyone says Capricorn moons are just analytical and systematic when confronted with conflict, and I personally haven’t found that to be true. If they feel wronged?? Nah. They’re not going to be systematic or logical or anything. They will go off. As for personal challenges, yes they’ll be more analytical. But I feel like everyone boils down Cap moons to emotionless and machine-like nerds, which I find to be very untrue. Capricorn moons are very soft once they’re vulnerable with you, and genuinely feel like they’re bothering people when they show their emotions and feel weak for showing them. Also I’ve noticed that their mom is a big motivator for their success. Their moms always push them to do their best in work and school. If poorly aspected, they could feel too pressured by their moms to do well. Also, they’re so underrated for being funny. They have a really dry sense of humor and it’s well developed. I also feel like they get overlooked for putting others before themselves, when it comes to the people they love they’ll do anything for them. Brb gonna go give my Cap moon friends a hug. 

🌵Aquarius Moon: You guys are just so unique. There’s something unique about each and every Aquarius moon, whether it’s a quirk or a hobby. These people are literally the best to talk to. It’s so easy to have a conversation with them, they really can talk about anything. I’ve also noticed that Aquarius moons tend to be interested in astrology and tarot and things of that kind. Every Aquarius moon I’ve met has been really interested in it, and even involved in it. I feel like they also have big dreams, and have big plans for themselves. Aquarius moons also love to get lost in their music and tend to use it as an escape. This can be a problem because they tend to avoid dealing with their feelings. They also go between reacting to things really heavily vs not reacting at all. It just seems like it goes back and forth. They speak up with things are unjust however only to their friends or online. They just don’t like to deal with face to face conflict in that regard. They also give really great advice. My best friend is an Aquarius moon and she always gives me the best advice. She knows me better than I know myself tbh. I feel like Aquarius moons relish in being unique LMAO. I’m 99% sure they had an “I’m not like other girls” phase. I feel like this placement always tends to space out and daydream a lot. They also aren’t the types to just lash out at people, their anger is more subtle (unless they have other placements of course). I feel like Aquarius moons also have a lot of friends but they tend to have a small group of friends that they tend to be super super close with. They’re also...really charming? I don’t know what it is, but like every single one I’ve met has been really charming and likable. They also have a really goofy sense of humor and love to do wild shit to make people laugh. I feel like some downsides of Aquarius moons are that they tend to be too analytical and rationalize things too much, and they inadvertently invalidate other people’s feelings. Aquarius moons are also super open minded to all opinions. I have a friend who I tend to disagree with on certain issues but they’ve always been open to hearing my opinion. They also love to travel too. I’ve noticed that as well. 

🌵Pisces Moon: To think, I was almost one of you guys. No seriously I almost was, if I were born four hours earlier I would’ve been a Pisces moon LMAO. Anyhoo, Pisces moons are just so sweet. I don’t know how else to start, they literally are the sweetest people and give off this mystical type of aura. They’re very otherworldly. Also, these people daydream 24/7. They put Aquarius moons to shame in daydreaming. This girl I like is a Pisces moon and I always catch her daydreaming LMAO. They’re also extremely sensitive too and feel things so deeply. They try to hide how they feel from people, but you can see it in their eyes. I can always tell when my Pisces moon friend is upset just by the look in her eyes. They also tend to be introverted and it takes a while for them to warm up to someone. My co-worker is a Pisces moon and it took 2 weeks for her to finally start talking to me LMAO. They also have really vivid and wild dreams too. I feel like my Pisces moon friend is always telling me about some wild dream they had like that they were in a castle or in an ocean. They also can be really moody, they can be fine one second and then get really sad out of nowhere. Their emotions are like the ocean. I feel like another downside of Pisces Moons are that they can be very manipulative however this is really with any underdeveloped water moon/sun placement. I also feel like they tend to be escapists a lot. They don’t like to deal with reality a lot, and they see the best in everything and everyone even if it’s to their demise. They’re also super friendly and are nice to everyone they meet, even if they’re reserved they’re still very sweet. They’re also extremely creative too, I feel like every Pisces moon I’ve ever met has some sort of creative hobby. My co-worker who’s a Pisces moon is working on becoming a photographer and her stuff is AMAZING. I think that’s because they see the best in the world and the beauty in everything; and they know how to show that in their work so others can see the world like they do. They’re also super empathetic and are really good listeners. You can talk to them about anything and feel understood. :) 

So this wraps up my moon sign series! I hope you guys liked it! Again, don’t take offense these are just my opinions on each moon sign! Hope you guys enjoyed, and if you don’t see your moon sign here it’s likely in part one. 

[johneroserotica]

Two Participants

The soothing hum of an air conditioner drifts through the office, filling the void of the girl’s hesitation at the question.“No, not for over two years,” she finally responds.

The interviewer makes a note. “Any encounters within this period?”

“…Yeah,” follows the pause.

“If you care to say so, roughly, how recently was this?”

A rustling of paperwork fills the moment’s silence as the young woman averts her gaze.

“It was – um, about …uh, 4 months ago.”

“Lastly, have you been looking for any further partners recently?” the interviewer asks softly, making sure not to offend or embarrass the gentle looking girl before him.

Lifting her deep blue eyes to his, she firmly states, “No, just enjoying my independence,” before giving a warm smile.

The interviewer smiles back and turns off the sound recorder on his desk which separates them both in the spacious, finely decorated office room. Laying down his notes methodically, he addresses the girl.

“Thank you Kyra, I hope that wasn’t too invasive. We just need to collect as much data about our subjects as we can,” the interviewer beams at her, taking in the sight before him. Kyra’s long, silky, white blonde hair was radiant against her slender face. Her high cheekbones encompassed a smooth, pale complexion; all serving to cast an exotic impression.

“No, I fully understand, Dr Chain,” Kyra replies.

“Please, just call me Terrence.”

“…Terrence,” she repeats after him. “So what will the study involve?” she asks, trying not to let her eyes linger too long on his, which seem to pierce through his eye-length dark black hair.

He answers without taking his penetrating gaze from her, though his tone and expression is warm, “We are merely looking for your feedback to a new range of massage oils. I cannot give away any more I am afraid, as it may interfere with the results.”

“Oh, okay then,” replies Kyra, pressing against the armrests of her chair, a slight creaking of wood as she leans on them, preparing to be asked to leave. “When will the test take place?”

“If you remain in the waiting room outside while my colleague and I confirm times, we shall inform you shortly on when to expect it to take place. Also, payment will be received following the experiment, so you don’t need to worry about looking for a new job for a little while,” Terrence says with a smile before standing.

“Okay then, I can’t wait to take part in it all,” she responds sweetly and makes towards the door.

Terrence surveys her slim, petite frame as she walks away.

“You have a delightfully mellifluous voice,” he comments suddenly before she can leave. “I do look forward to hearing much more of it.”

“Oh… Th-thanks,” she replies, a little flustered as she partly opens the door, not truly knowing its meaning, though the little smile she notices from him gives her a warm, appreciated feeling nonetheless.

Jonathan sits in the waiting room, thinking about the questions he had been asked and quite surprised at how personal some had been, even delving into his sexual orientation. The way he was looking at the researcher though, he was surprised she even needed to ask. Jasmine was not the kind of person he had expected as one of the researchers; her laid back, flirty manner seemed to make it clear she knew how much he desired women. Also, her questions about his sexual history seemed to be more for her personal interest than for what the study must surely involve, though it didn’t bother him. Jonathan simply smirked to himself, picturing being back in the office room with her, that devilish grin of hers, those thin, black rimmed glasses that accentuated such suggestive eyes.

He is pulled from his daydreams by a slight girl entering the room.

“Hi,” she says sweetly with a gleaming smile. Jonathan does his best not to settle his eyes on the rest of her body, which is doing its best to draw his gaze. From her form fitting white top to her tight fitting jeans, her clothing succeeds in displaying every aspect of her physical femininity.

“Hey there!” he says as she sits beside him on the black leather settee. They share an awkward, silent moment as they both look around the plain, unspectacular waiting room, only a small table with a jug of water and several glasses adding a little diversion to it.

“It’s hot in here isn’t it?” she says aloud as if to break the ice. Jonathan nods before extending his right hand to her.

“I’m Jonathan by the way,” he says coolly, smiling at her warm demeanour. As she introduces herself as Kyra and shakes his hand, he begins to wish that he had made more effort in his clothing. Introducing himself to this stunning looking girl made him very aware that his baggy long sleeved shirt and black jeans hid his athletic build.

“So… You’re here for the study?” he asks, sitting back against the settee and watching her shapely lips as she replies.

“Yeah, but they didn’t tell me anything in particular about the study. Did they mention much to you?”

“No not really,” Jonathan replies, remembering some of the questions he was asked, trying not to smirk at the thought of whether Kyra was asked the same.

“So,” Kyra suddenly spoke a little louder, as if actively trying to snatch her own attention from the path their topic would lead, “What do you do?”

Jonathan clears his throat as if ready to reel off a well-rehearsed speech. “I’m still looking for work, hard to find anything out there at the moment. I did a course in sports studies but that hasn’t helped too much,” he ends with a wry laugh, but her warm smile and interested gaze implores him to carry on. “I’m really interested in working abroad. I have been teaching myself Japanese, somewhere I would love to go to teach.”

“Oh really?! I love anime. And the music… just adore Gackt. I’d love to learn the language!” she responds cheerily.

“So you can understand the lyrics?” he says with a laugh, but her sweet giggle in response alone makes him never want to leave the room.

“So that I can get a little more out of the country when I go on holiday there, bit of a dream destination, you know? It’s just such a difficult language. But what new language isn’t I suppose.”

“Yeah, just about having the determination is all.”

“Maybe you could teach me sometime?” she says with schoolgirl innocence, her brilliant white teeth shining like a beacon to Jonathan. He isn’t sure whether she is serious or not, so simply responds with a smile. So often had he been in this same situation, completely unsure whether a girl was flirting with him or just being polite, yet he always felt like even the slightest smile was a cause for flirtation. Alas, it was the trappings of his never ending duration of single life.

“Hajimemashita, Jonathan desu, dozo yoroshiku.”

“So what does that mean sensei?” Kyra asks with a grin.

“I’m Jonathan, pleased to meet you.”

“Hmmm… Hajimeshite Kyra dess, dozo yoshiku… I think I need to practice.” The pair laugh together.

“You’ll get the hang of it,” Jonathan says brightly as he leans forward and pours two glasses of water out. “Anata wa utsukushii desu,” he adds while handing her the drink.

“So that means?”

“You are beautiful. The first sentence I memorized.”

She smiles at him while he laughs, “Aww thank you… A right little charmer aren’t you. I bet your girlfriend must love all the compliments.”

“I’m single actually.”

“Really? I am surprised! Guess not all the hot ones are taken.”

The sentence catches Jonathan by surprise, and he finds himself not wanting this conversation to stop anytime soon. “How about you?” he asks.

“I’ve preferred the single life for a little,” she replies gently, “It’s more fun.”

“I agree, besides, you don’t get so tied down. At least, not in the good way anyhow.” He chuckles, hoping he hasn’t overstepped bounds with the remark, but her giggle in response reassures him while they both drink.

“So, were they asking you some, um… pretty dodgy questions in there?” Kyra blurts out, suddenly finding the courage to ask what had been on her mind while gazing into Jonathan’s oval face. His large brown eyes were drawing her in and letting her feel so much more relaxed.

“What kind of questions?” he asks slyly with a gentle smile, knowing exactly what she means, but wanting her to linger on it more.

She feels her face get hotter and her cheeks tingle as she answers. “You know… Like, sexual questions and all that,” she says quickly before diverting her gaze to the table in front of them, watching a bead of water tumble down the glass jug. The way it glides down the smooth curve of the jug makes her suddenly think of something so phallic, so erotic. She feels herself growing woozy and tired.

Jonathan feels his head spinning as he answers without even thinking about what he is saying

“Y-yeah… all about how often I masturbate and when I last had sex. I bet they asked you the same things?” The room started to get darker for him, all while thinking about nothing other than Kyra being asked the same questions. In a jarring flash he imagined her sitting there, masturbating herself in front of him.

“I think something’s been…” the petite girl begins, as the room starts to spin, quickly succumbing to a deep sleep beyond her control.

* * * * *

Jonathan slowly comes around, the sound of voices seeming so distant, trickling into his consciousness.

“Subjects: one male. one female. Both are in their late twenties. No sexual activity with a partner noted within a 3 month period.”

Jonathan’s senses start to return and instinctively he tries to rub his eyes against the light, but discovers he cannot move. The young man’s wrists are cuffed above his head. When he tries to twist his body he finds his ankles are also locked in place, leaving him standing upright with a strap around his midsection. The solid feeling against his back tells him that he has been strapped upright to some kind of table. He feels bare, with only the familiar tightness of white boxer briefs against his skin, but the heat filling the small, padded, brightly lit room is comfortable. Eyes now adjusted, the outline of numerous black monitor screens fills his vision. They are elevated in front of Jonathan on their stands, stark against the white padding of the otherwise bare room.

Jonathan’s throat starts to tighten, struggling to swallow or catch his breath as his fears go into overdrive, until suddenly the screens click on all at once. A single image materializes on them, and it makes Jonathan gasp.

His thoughts of Kyra quickly flood back as his memory restores itself; sitting alone with her, getting to know a little about one another. ‘The water, it must have been,’ he thinks to himself. However, never could he have comprehended that he would be seeing her like this: Restrained spread eagled on a table as he is, in a room just like his, but positioned lying down. Every screen was showing a different angle of her, though it was the centre screen his eyes were glued to, showing in profile the way her thin, fragile body naturally arched on the table. He could see her chest rising and falling quickly as she lay in wait, blindfolded and unable to see what looked like solar panels above her.

“Gorgeous, isn’t she?” comes a familiar female voice from behind which causes him to jump. Before he can speak, she continues. “You are both perfectly safe here. You see, we have our own particular ways of testing massage oils.” As she spoke, he recognized the sultry tone of that bespectacled, flirty and distractingly sexy examiner. Jonathan’s head was spinning in a way that had nothing to do with the drugged water.

“Now, if you look above her,” continued the woman, “Those screens are for measuring her sexual responses. You will notice the same array in front of you. In short, the readouts let us know just when someone is about to climax, whether or not they try to hide it.”

“What are – ?” Jonathan begins before being cut short by her.

“Hush now, and watch!” she says as she steps forward to stand beside him. When he turns his head to see her, that buxom figure standing out in that tight white researcher’s jacket, she gestures to the screen that her own eyes are locked on. Jonathan does as he is told.

They both watch, transfixed by the young girl on screen, writhing and calling out for help, for some kind of response. Her modesty preserved only by thin white lingerie. The shape of her mound outlined under the delicate fabric, as well as the low cut of the bra that only just conceals her nipples, is arresting. The little red bow at the top of her panties and the red trace along the bra straps completes this picture of sheer eroticism, leaving Jonathan to chide himself. He shouldn’t be feeling so aroused under these circumstances.

“J-Jasmine, right? Your name was Jasmine!” Jonathan addresses the researcher standing next to him.

She finally turns to him with a smile that would have him ready to pounce on her under different circumstances, something he thinks she must be all too aware of.

“That’s right Jonathan, Why don’t you enjoy this, while I help you feel a little more comfortable?” Her words are as soft as her touch. Those long fingers press against his chest; standing in front of him, Jasmine slowly drops to her knees, drifting her hands down his torso, leaving him to focus on the screens. She kisses down his body to his naval lightly while addressing him further, “You are both our subjects now,” she purrs, “We will let you go, of course, after we have had our fun with you. Things will be much more enjoyable if you simply relax and go along for the ride. You will both have a lot of fun,” she assures. Her caresses drift to his hips, she begins kissing lightly above his waist line.

Jonathan stays silent, watching a dark haired male approach Kyra, introducing himself as Terrence.

“Don’t worry; she is in the same position as you, though it can take a little longer for females to settle into the scenario,” Jasmine’s fingers trace across the elastic of his boxers, admiring the bulge held tightly in the soft underwear.

He focuses on the screen, watching as the male begins tracing a single fingertip down the centre of Kyra’s body, from her neck, slowly down her cleavage, down past the hem of her panties and over her soft mound. The last part makes her try to twist away, but the strap over her waist keeps her in place, letting him begin all over again at a cruelly methodical pace.

Seeing her straining against the cuffs, begging to the tormenter she cannot see to let her go, sends a feeling through Jonathan that he cannot explain. So often he’d watch such predicaments online, but to be involved in something like this, for it to be a reality, was beyond his comprehension.

“Enjoying watching her?” Jasmine asks quietly before kissing down his underwear, pressing her lips along the sides of that bulging manhood.

He struggles to keep his concentration, but does not respond, focusing on Kyra writhing as she is being massaged more thoroughly by the man, palms pressing against all the exposed areas of skin, of which there are many. Terrence continues to console Kyra; his touches are like that of a lover, so tender and delicate. Jonathan listens to the ensuing conversation, finding himself entranced by Kyra’s sharp little intakes of breath between every word. While she may be telling him to stop this, that it is illegal, that they can’t get away with doing this, Jonathan can almost hear the battle raging between the girl’s mind and body.

Only the long, lingering kiss which Jasmine suddenly places to his bulging manhood against the confines of those boxer briefs can shift his attention from the screen. When she pulls her head back and makes to stand, he realises just how desperately he wants her to do so much more to him. His own mental battle prevents him from voicing it.

“I think you are coping well enough. Let me go and help your pretty friend in there relax a little more,” she says before leaving Jonathan alone in the room to continue watching Kyra’s massage.

Jasmine suddenly enters the room on Jonathan’s screen, her fingertips eagerly joining Terrence’s. Kyra gasps, “Who is that?” at the new touch, but does not receive an answer.

Their four hands work in unison, gliding across each side of the girl’s body, making her writhe more and more. Her protests and pleas begin to wane by the minute, giving way to deeper breaths which beckon Jonathan to jump through the screen and take her, luring his eager manhood to strain ever helplessly against those tight fabric confines.

“Mmmmm, okay. Okay …. What do – what do you want?” Kyra raggedly asks once her pelvis begins to rock in a slow rhythm of need.

“Tell us where you want us to touch,” replies Jasmine in a tone that makes Jonathan want nothing more than to be in that room with them, tormenting the helpless girl.

Her reply does not come instantly, instead it is coaxed out of her by fingertips trailing painfully close to her most intimate places. They curl around the base of her cupped breasts but do not squeeze, merely applying the faintest pressure, making the girl raise her chest as best she can for more but to no avail. Terrence’s fingers slide along her inner thighs, his fingers brushing so painfully close to those tight panties, her body betraying her with a little patch of wetness. Even Jonathan feels her frustration through the screen.

Finally she gives in. “Please touch me a little more,” Kyra whispers.

The hands pull away instantly; wordlessly the pair exit, leaving Kyra to scream out after them. While she is calling out for them to let her go, Jonathan knows full well that she wants nothing more than for them to give her body much more attention. The very thought sends a surge of desire through him, making him want nothing more than to free his hands and masturbate to the view of the writhing girl before him.

Neither Jonathan nor Kyra sense the gas circulating the room, odourless and invisible, it affects them both almost instantaneously, sending them into the gentle arms of a deep sleep.

* * * * *

Kyra wakes as if wrenched from a cool stream, instantly hit by a sense of heat and urgency, like being awoken amidst a wave of oncoming traffic. Light strokes against her skin alert her body before her eyes can even adjust. Figures stand around her, each with brushes in hand, gliding the soft tips up and down across every inch of her not covered by the new lingerie. She has been tended to during her sleep, cleaned and changed into pink lingerie that hugs her intimate frame tightly. The thin material has a slight flowery pattern etched along the light pink fabric, clinging tight like a second skin.

She is standing, restrained as before, spread eagled, though mercifully not blindfolded. TV monitors stand in front of her, and the image on them sends a pulse of desire through her. The man she remembers she had been speaking to before, Jonathan, was standing the same as her in an identical room. He is completely naked and also not alone; two women are servicing him, though his sudden gasps indicate that he too had only recently awoken. The moment Kyra’s gaze fell upon his throbbing manhood, the pulse of desire sharpens to a surge, yet the brush strokes did not change pace.

Kyra realises that it is Terrence knelt between her open legs and administering brush strokes up and down her inner thighs. He isn’t the only one, though he is the only one familiar, yet before she can say a word, he speaks first.

“Relax again, my dear Kyra, and enjoy Jonathan being worked by my lovely assistant and colleague. Jasmine has been waiting patiently for this chance to take good care of him. Just watch the way she teases him, imagine it were you. Now that you are both willing to climax, our machines can truly gauge your pleasure.”

With that, Kyra noted the machines on screen above Jonathan, as they were with her, humming gently in the warm room, reading every sensation. There must have been five men teasing her with brushes, yet her view of Jonathan was never interrupted.

Kyra cannot take her eyes off Jonathan’s cock; two tongues slowly trace along from the base to the tip and back again, repeatedly yet never changing speed.

“Oh God!” Kyra hears Jonathan moan. She wants to echo his cry as the brushes keep lavishing her skin slowly, finally working just over her bra and panties, just grazing the outline of her sensitive points. They trail along her arms, down along her legs, across her stomach and chest, lacing her body with whatever oil the brushes are coated in, painting a soft, sleek trail sliding along her hot skin. Her cleavage rises and falls faster as they work her like artists practicing on their living canvas, her usually slightly small breasts heaved up so much more by the tight bra.

She hears Jasmine speaking to Jonathan, telling him to focus on Kyra. The young girl blushes even more, knowing he can see how vulnerable she is. Previously she may have been focused on her embarrassment, yet all she can now think of is how turned on she is. Watching the women on the screen begin to take turns engulfing his swollen length, moving their heads back and forth as they suck on him, makes her loins radiate with desire. Kyra throws her head back and moans out deeply from the pit of her stomach as brushes focus on teasing her; the oil making the lingerie cling to her even more, making it almost see through. They circle around her pronounced nipples, gliding up and down her now plump mound, up and down against the slight elevation of the girl’s aroused sex, the tightness and wetness of the panties not aiding in concealing it. She strains against the cuffs as if trying to control her level of arousal, sensing that something isn’t right, having never been this turned on in her life.

“This oil seems to be taking effect nicely, which is just what you are here for, my dear,” says Terrence in a pleased tone, before flicking the paintbrush tip up between the folds of her lingerie which clings to her pussy lips. Kyra lets out a yelp of pleasure, unable to control herself. This has an effect on Jonathan too, who lets out a cry of ecstasy before one of the women pulls her mouth from his cock fast.

“Please! I was so close,” he yells out, before Jasmine takes over and masturbates him, her hand dripping with newly applied oil. Kyra watches as his muscles tense, the smooth glide of Jasmine’s hand stroking his shaft rapidly, before letting go abruptly to leave his cock bobbing up and down in evidence of how close it was to release.

The slow strokes, the cruel administration of the oil, and the display of pure male desire all add to the whirlpool of craving.

“Please, more!” Kyra exhales as two paintbrushes slip up and down the outline of her labia, as if outlining a path to her clitoris, which is already aching with need for attention. She tries to close her eyes, trying to focus on anything else, but the moaning from Jonathan makes short work of her will. The pair of women with the straining young man continued to take turns lavishing his throbbing cock with attention, stroking and sucking it while massaging his balls, which are tight after being brought to the edge of orgasm repeatedly. The women appear to be wearing earpieces, being told just when to stop, keeping him constantly on the verge. The screen zooms in on his cock, dripping with a mixture of oil and precum, the effect of the oil mingling with the constant torture of stimulation making every vein bulge. If Kyra hadn’t already been dripping wet, seeing this throbbing display of manhood on show and twitching constantly in need certainly would have made her so. Feeling the wet bristles trail along her cleavage and coat her soft flesh is an incessantly erotic tantalization, and coupled with the show on the screens, Kyra is finding it harder and harder to maintain any semblance of control.

“It is an aphrodisiac,” Terrence says softly to her. The soft strokes do not relent for a second.

“Made to affect males and females just the same, it is a fast acting, easily applied concoction of pure pleasure,” he smiles up at her before brushing up and down the centre of those oily wet panties, making her shiver in the restraints. “It seems to be working on you both just perfectly. Do you want to come?”

“Y-Yes… yes, please!” she replies, not even considering the answer before it escapes her lips. Kyra watches Jonathan’s hips rock constantly, bucking as if in sync with Kyra herself, whose pleasure is never allowed to rise to that sweet edge, instead trapped on a pinnacle of arousal which never rose nor fell. As one of the women tormenting Jonathan licked and sucked the sensitive head of his cock, the other jerked the shaft back and forth, both pulling away at the same time to leave him to fuck the very air itself, trying to relieve the sexual tension in any way.

“Please! Please, I need more. Anything!” Kyra gasps, yet the paintbrushes do not falter in their speed, continuously circling and stroking at a deliberate pace. Suddenly, Terrence addresses her.

“We are curious to see the effects it can have without the implications of getting you to the edge like your handsome friend. Often just edging itself can be seen as a form of release. Well, more than what you are receiving.” He smirks before continuing, “I see it is already becoming a little too much for you. I think you are ready for the next stage.”

“OH FUCK! Stop teasing, please, I can’t take it…”

Two brush strokes sweep along her innermost thighs, where the line of her panties sinks against that sweet centre of femininity. The third, in Terrence’s hand, whispers across her slit, the thin pink panties, soaked in aphrodisiac oil, doing little to dull the sensations of the bristles swiping across her clitoris. Every inch of her screams for so much more, envying the relief Jonathan must be feeling from at least being brought to the edge. Seeing his cock twitching and dripping was driving her crazy. She wanted to feel it inside her, feel it throbbing within. The fact that it was his eyes on her, seeing her arch her back, wriggle her hips and cry out in need, would have normally made her want to sink away. But she adored every moment he gazed at her. Her inhibitions were broken; all that mattered was the raw, animalistic cravings that clawed to the surface.

The two of them moan, gasp, writhe and beg in unison, it seemed like there was no end in sight, lost in a timeless void. As instantly as it had begun, however, the sensations abruptly stop, leaving the pair panting uncontrollably as wordlessly the group leaves Kyra, leaving only Terrence alone with her.

“Tomorrow, you’ll get what you want,” he whispers to her, nibbling her earlobe. “You are going to be all his.”

Before she can respond, he is already gone, leaving her to gaze at Jonathan. His cock pulses with his heartbeat, constantly throbbing with need: the need for Kyra’s own juicy, full lips to wrap around them. She thrusts her hips out at the thought which had caused a rush throughout her body once more, thinking of how beautiful the sight and thought was, of how the harder he gets, the softer she gets. It was such a desperately erotic notion. The undetectable gas begins to fill the rooms as Kyra keeps her eyes fixed on that masculine frame, knowing that he is also watching her with animalistic desire. After several seconds of unknowingly inhaling the gas, the last image in Kyra’s view before falling to sleep is the pulsating length of manhood she so desperately wants within her.

* * * * *

“They are quite the perfect pair, Jasmine,” Terrence comments warmly to his colleague.

“Why else would I have chosen them?” Jasmine replies with a smile. “As soon as the girl put her name forward for the study, I had to see that sweet body of hers at its most intimate and primal. The same for Jonathan… speaking of whom, it appears the sedatives are wearing off, he is becoming erect again.” says Jasmine. Looking through the one way mirror and watching the unconscious Kyra and Jonathan slowly stirring, the scientists observed undetected from adjacent seats.

“Okay, I’ll turn on the cameras. I do hope the delay lotion proves as effective as the aphrodisiac,” mutters Terrance distractedly. The awakening pair are naked and covered in oil, their shining bodies seeming to pulse with the pent up need for sexual release. “Clearly the effects of the aphrodisiac lotion have remained potent,” he adds, flicking on the recorder once the pair inside the padded cell starts to stand.

“Shall we tell them about the delay lotion?” Terrance asks, not taking his eyes off Kyra, who stands in silence. The woman’s hands automatically clasp around her breasts and between her legs, feeling the heat and losing the fight instantly against her need to come. Words escape her as she realizes the stimulation of the last few hours remains built up inside, burning throughout.

“No, I think they’ll figure it out soon enough. Besides, I am curious as to how they are going to react, whether their base urges have consumed them.” Jasmine’s words are cool, contrasting the heated pierce of her gaze into the black padded room hazed with yellow light. She is intensely focused on Jonathan’s cock, transfixed by how it instantly begins to twitch and pulse to its fullest erection without so much as being touched.

“If all is as planned, the male variant administered will be longer lasting and more efficacious,” Jasmine adds just as the pair within the cell stops paying attention to their own bodies and notices one another. The scientists are on tenterhooks with anticipation as they watch Kyra and Jonathan, curious to witness just how they will react. The outcome makes them both smile with delight.

Kyra and Jonathan almost instantly spring towards each other, grasping one another with a deep, primal longing beyond mere physical attraction. The wet clap of their bodies meeting mingles with the slight, near inaudible gasps of them trying to communicate their need for physical attention, though with the recent sexual build up and continued pent up desires, they both know that their needs are beyond words. They paw at one another’s bodies, pressing together, feeling the hot sexuality surging through each other, wanting to explore the other desperately. The sound of heavy breathing already fills the room as both of their bodies screams out for the fulfilment that has been denied for what feels so unbearably long.

Jasmine licks her lips at the sight of Jonathan’s throbbing shaft sliding beneath Kyra’s entrance, as if ready to thrust into her at any second. The scientist imagines the heat of her sex against that manhood, imagines just how intense the anticipation must be for Kyra, who Terrence had established had not experienced any penetration from a male in months.

“Perfect,” whispers Terrence just as Jonathan presses his palms around Kyra’s waist. There is a second of motionless apprehension, then he nearly throws her against the padded wall in a display of complete dominance before pushing his body to hers, lifting her up against the wall.

“Please, f-fuck me,” Kyra exhales as Jonathan presses the tip of his penis against her entrance, already dripping with arousal down her thighs. Instantly, he buries himself inside her, making her gasp as he feels every swollen inch of his cock bore into her delicate folds. Jasmine and Terrence gaze wordlessly at the pair, watching as Kyra wraps her legs around the man drilling into her, listening to every squeal of joy and moan of pleasure.

“Oh God… oh God… oh God… please – !” Kyra whimpers in pleasure as she already feels the surges of orgasm course through her very core; with the way Jonathan’s pace was changing, she knew he was also very close. Jonathan presses his body close to hers, feeling her breasts squeeze against his chest, feeling her astonishingly stiff nipples press against his skin, wanting to hold her tightly when he comes. Even at a distance, Terrence can tell that they are both close, the way their breathing is escalating, the way those hard, wet sounding slaps of skin meeting skin seem to be getting shorter and sharper, the way they are pulling each other closer to one another, as if trying to feel their hearts pounding against each other’s chests.

“Fuck me harder… MAKE ME COME!” Kyra screams out, knowing that something is wrong, her heels resting on Jonathan’s rear, feeling his buttocks tensing and realising that he must be experiencing the same thing.

Jonathan’s breaths are ragged and deep. The tight pussy sucking in his cock, wrapped around him like wet silk, feels like heaven. Yet somehow he still hasn’t felt the gush of orgasm spring from him, even though he was sure he was on the verge after only seconds. Quickly he pulls Kyra from the wall and to him, making her wrap her hands around the back of his neck as she hangs elevated, her legs still wrapped around him. With his hands clutching her waist, he starts to thrust into her like his life depends on it. Kyra’s moans and squeals alone would be too much for him to take, yet somehow he still hasn’t climaxed.

“I think they are starting to realize,” Terrence whispers while the wet sounds of oily skin pounding against one another echoes through the speaker.

“It is so hot seeing these two suffer,” adds Jasmine, watching the young man pummel Kyra’s sex, every hard thrust so deep and fast it makes her breasts thump up and down while she holds on tightly.

“What… h-have… they… done?” Kyra gasps between thrusts, lost in horror at the sensation of not being able to climax even though it had felt like merely having his length slide into her would send her over the edge.

“I can’t come… I can’t…. come!” Jonathan yells out in desperation, though continuing to drill himself into Kyra’s swollen red pussy. With a final thrust, he stops, breathing deeply but not allowing himself any rest before placing Kyra on the ground impatiently, keeping the tip of his cock resting at her entrance. They look into one another’s eyes, seeing desperation shining back, both of their bodies glistening in a mixture of oil and sweat. With a sharp thrust, he drives himself into her; the wet slap of his balls against her ass cheeks with every thrust mingles with the frustrated moans.

“Please… please… Oh God oh God I’m still so close,” Kyra whimpers.

Faster and faster he pounds into her as juices drip down Kyra’s ass cheeks, both locked in a continuous cycle of need, constantly held on the edge but unable to peak. As more minutes pass, tears of agonised frustration trail down Kyra’s cheeks. With one final thrust, Jonathan keeps himself buried inside her, feeling her sex convulsing continuously around him as if responding to the constant twitching and pulsing of his length inside.

“We’ve… got to keep… trying,” he says breathlessly before sliding out, seeing the trail of her essence from her glistening pussy cling to the tip of his swollen cock, making him surge even more with overbearing lust.

Jasmine and Terrence give a knowing look and a smirk to one another before turning back to watch as Jonathan pulls Kyra to her feet. Without a word of notice, Jonathan quickly slips his fingers inside her, making her gasp in surprise before moaning in pleasure. Instinctively, she grips onto his length but is unable to do anything other than feel how much it throbs. She is seized in her own little world of ecstasy the moment Jonathan’s fingers start to explore her. The masculine feel and speed of his hand slamming back and forth brings her to the brink again in seconds. Her legs buckle but he holds her upright, determined to finger-fuck her to orgasm.

After a while, after hearing Kyra spend minutes begging that it is too intense, that the sensations are driving her insane, he turns her around and takes her from behind.

It seems like hours since they had woken, yet still neither had climaxed. The procession of intercourse had now become a base, animalistic need. The two researchers could see how now they were truly fucking one another with a machine-like furiousness.

No matter what angle Kyra was penetrated from, her overly swollen clitoris was always being stimulated; whether from Jonathan’s balls slapping against it, his pelvis pressing against it or his fingers manipulating it, her clitoris was constantly being tended to. The ache was desperately intense, yet anything to bring her closer to release was something to cling to. Finally, after surely a lifetime of unstoppable penetration, something seemed to be flooding through her system, a heat which seemed so familiar and so different at once. Somehow, she was certain that this would be her time to come.

Jonathan could see that something was different. While they had long passed the stages of speech, and having almost tuned out one another’s constant moans, shouts and screams of agony bound frustration, he could see in her eyes a sense of realisation, as if she felt something different.

He carries on pumping his hips back and forth, with her lying on her back while he thrusts into her from on top. Again her legs clench around him hard, feeling her heels press against his lower back.

“I… I… I think… this…,” she tries to speak, the new sensations of heat cutting through her consciousness. Suddenly, she lets out a scream of ecstasy so intense that even Jasmine and Terrence gasp and smile in response to. A sensation as if every orgasm in her life had been bundled in one and poured over her erupts from her body, through her sex, through her spine, through every inch of skin. Even as the scream subsides, her mouth hangs open as if there is not enough air in her lungs to vocalise the pleasure ripping through her. Jonathan feels her pussy tighten as if to push him out of her, but he stays inside, wanting to feel every convulsion. Her eyes closed, her mouth open still in tortured pleasure, he continues to pummel her pussy while she twitches, her body trembling from head to toe.

“O-okay… okay… pl – oh, oh… plea – …please!” Kyra finally manages to breathlessly murmur. “It’s… too much!”

Even while the shocks of her orgasm seem to surge through her with an unspeakable intensity, Kyra can do little to stop Jonathan’s relentless need to fulfil himself. Her entire body is on fire with oversensitivity, she would just want to curl up in a ball and not be touched or spoken to, to recover from such a monstrous climax, yet still she is being fucked like a sex toy.

“Oh God… stop… please… I can’t take anymore!” Kyra begs with no effect as Jonathan quickly turns her around and fucks her once again from behind. Taking her wrists, he holds her arms back, allowing him to thrust into her with brutal intensity while she hangs in his grasp.

“What a lovely sight,” Jasmine gleefully says to Terrence, who is admiring the scene and delighting in the little screams escaping from Kyra’s lips with every deep thrust.

Jonathan keeps pounding into her, feeling the soft cushion of her ass cheeks hit against his pelvis, growing more and more worn out with each second. Slowing down until finally he stops pushing into her, he speaks to the girl at last.

“Please, stroke me off, suck me! Do anything, just make me come,” he pleads.

Without a word, Kyra turns around to face him as he lies back. She slides her body over him, giving him the temptation to grip her and fuck her once again, though he stays in place and controls himself. Kyra unexpectedly turns, positioning her knees on either side of his head, letting him look up to her brightly swollen red pussy still shining with her juices. In this 69 position, she finally presses her mouth to his length and closes her lips around it, placing her hand around the base of his shaft. She can feel every beat of his heart echoing through his cock, pulsating in her mouth. She sucks him, teasing the tip with her tongue while her hand works up and down. The sensations are unbearable for Jonathan, who wraps his arms around her waist to pull her delicacy towards him. The moment his lips press around her hypersensitive clitoris, Kyra pulls her mouth away and lets out a sweetly pained scream. Knowing he won’t stop even though she can’t take anymore, she works him faster, stroking up and down along his stiff shaft, masturbating him at a much faster motion than sex could ever provide. It takes a few minutes and she feels the base of his cock pulse on the edge a few more times, but soon the thrusting of his hips falters. That lets her know that a different sensation is sweeping through him: the feeling that this time might be different.

As Jonathan becomes lost in the sensations, unable to focus on tormenting Kyra’s sex, he begins to breathe even more heavily, moaning in delight that this might be the last time. Kyra continues to rub him, sliding around so that she is now off of his body. While his balls could not get any tighter than before, Kyra can feel the swelling of his cock as his orgasm begins to flow through his shaft, every muscle tightening.

“FUCK!!!” Jonathan yells and continues yelling as his body seizes, his mind going blank for the moment that he ejaculates like a volcano, shooting up over his sweat and oil drenched body. The orgasm pulsates unendingly through his shaft and his essence drips down her hands while Kyra continues masturbating him, determined to give him every possible second of fulfilment. Jonathan throws his head back, his eyes shut tight as the fire of pleasure ensnares him, feeling like something buried deep within him all of his life is being finally unleashed. The surges of the orgasm continue as if echoing through his cock repeatedly every few seconds, with each throb, another surge of cum seems to be squeezed from his shaft. Finally, hearing the deep breaths as the echoes of pleasure seem to die down, Kyra’s motions also begin to slow and she knows that it is over.

Outside the cell, Jasmine presses a button and turns to Terrence. “I would consider that a resounding success,” she says while smiling, gas filling the cell.

“Yes,” agrees her colleague. “Though I am sure we will need to test it much more extensively before ever releasing it to the public.” He smirks as Kyra and Jonathan succumb to the gas, their bodies slumping into an instant sleep.

“Naturally,” replies Jasmine, “I’m sure after these results there will be countless willing subjects, though I always enjoy perverting those that think they are innocent of such desires,” she adds.

Terrence smiles absent-mindedly and responds, “A pity we had to ever let them finish.”

“Oh I’m sure they will find themselves always drawn to these pleasures now. Now that they have tasted it, they will always crave it.”

* * * * *

The piercing morning sun filters through the cracks in the curtains, spilling along the large hotel room like a liquid trying to rest at every surface. Kyra and Jonathan wake at almost the same time, facing one another, wordlessly they sit up fast. A glance around leads them to the conclusion that they are alone in this magnificent room. They both collapse back down on the bed, remaining silent as waves of both embarrassment and disbelief crash through them.

“That… that was… something else, wasn’t it? It was like a dream,” Kyra finally says, broaching the inevitable. With a deep breath and a sigh, Jonathan smiles weakly and agrees; the same sense of comfort he had felt with her before the ordeal, when they had just been sitting in the waiting room together, seems to come back. While avoiding the more explicit details, they spend much time discussing the events they had shared, speaking of it like it had merely been a cinema trip together.

After a little while, Jonathan notices two envelopes on the drawer at the foot of the bed, his eyes widen as he opens it before passing Kyra her own. Having undergone such a period of unspeakable pleasures, and having spent so long engaging in one another’s company, the pair had entirely forgotten about the reason they had taken part in the study in the first place.

The pair gasps and murmurs their joy upon opening the envelopes and seeing a higher payment than expected, nearly the equivalent of a whole year’s wages. In silence they each read the accompanying note…

‘Thank you very much for taking part in the study, with your help we have all of the information we needed. Your confidentiality and security is always our highest priority, therefore no recordings or records of participation will be kept other than that which is needed for research purposes. Please find enclosed your payment. We greatly appreciate your involvement and if you would be interested in taking part in future studies, or wish to inquire about any other associated research, please do contact us (contact details overleaf). Kind regards.’

As the two get dressed, they each read the note again, both with the same question in their minds. Jonathan is the first to ask it. “So… would you consider it? Would you be interested in doing any other research for them?”

Kyra contemplates for a moment. “I’m not sure. I don’t want to think about it right now,” she says softly, but smiles as Jonathan looks at her, letting him know that she isn’t trying to avoid him talking more to her.

“How about I go and order a taxi into town and we can make our way back from there?” he says to change the tone of the conversation.

“I’d like that a lot,” she replies, beaming at him.

“Great, we can get something to eat too. I’ll go to the reception and see when one is available while you can get ready and meet me there.”

Kyra cheerily smiles at him before he makes his way out of the room. After getting herself changed and ready to leave, she picks up her envelope and takes out the note inside while passing a bin. Instinctively she passes it over the bin, yet something inside her seems to freeze every muscle. Rooted to the spot, she glances at the piece of paper loosely held between her fingers. A second passes, then a minute. So many thoughts buzz through her head. Without a sound, she puts the note back into the envelope with her cheque and leaves the room.

The End

[ouyangzizhensdad]

I have to say, one of the oddest things about western fans who “hate” (idk how much you can dispose someone while actively engaging with all of their works) MXTX is this assertion that she’s just a fetishizing straight woman (a thought that trickled over from white—ha!—ppl in fujoshi discourse). Because even though I’m not Chinese or Japanese, I have friends who are, and they’ve said the reason why ppl who consume BL keep it under wraps is not only because they’re consuming gay content but also because it’s assumed they won’t be straight themselves. The Actual stereotype is that MXTX as a BL writer, within the context of China, probably wouldn’t be regarded as straight. So this whole anti agenda just reeks of western cultural hegemony and racism to me.

Hi anon, 

I am no expert on these topics which are quite complex and multifaceted, and certainly do not have possess the cultural context to comment on the everyday perceptions of people who engage in BL in Japan and danmei in China. But let me say that I do find a certain irony that the same people who will label BL/danmei as “heteronormative” to argue it is homophobic will absolutely ignore the tensions that arise out of the fact that as a genre mainly produced and targeted at women, BL/danmei disrupts heteronormative schemes of desire and norms. It is from there that the sense of “abnormality” or of disruption originates, the one that explains the existence of the term “fujoshi”. 

Originated in the 1970s, this now fully matured BL subgenre has been viewed as a way to express repressed female desire and create alternative narratives for women under patriarchal society by its bold utilization of the female gaze and its subversion of heterosexual conventions (Aoyama 1988, McLelland 2000, Nagaike 2003,Wood 2006).” (Wang 2019:47)

In her groundbreaking research on danmei fiction, Feng Jin demonstrated that danmei fans sought excitement in transgressing the boundaries of conventional heterosexual romance and undermining established gender and sexual norms. (Ni 2018:10)

So it is not really surprising that I, like you, have heard some Chinese diasporic people discuss that they do not feel like they can let their parents or family know of their interest in MDZS/CQL without risking bringing attention to their sexual orientation. That being said, and while I cannot talk to the everyday perceptions of BL/danmei fans in their cultural context, all the media studies works I’ve read on the topic tended to emphasise that the majority of BL or danmei fans are heterosexual. Of course, it is difficult to take these things as absolutely conclusive, because a lot of factors (such as stigma and discrimination) may influence this perception that straight women represent the majority of fans. 

The thing I think that is often forgotten is that depictions of homosexual love or even same-sex experiences are not necessarily always received as a real or at least threatening disruption heteronormative order. Lesbian porn, for instance, does not displace women as objects of male desire and of the male gaze: it is thus not transgressive and there is nothing that is felt to be abnormal about a straight male consuming these works. In another line of thought, sexologists in early modern Japan framed some same-sex romances between the then-new shoolgirls as a completely normal part of their development, as a “kind of rehearsal for entry into adulthood, that is, heterosexuality and motherhood” (Suzuki 2010:27). However, at the same time, “postadolescent ome relationships, in which masculine and feminine roles were visibly defined [between female partners], were considered ‘abnormal same-sex love’ (hentai douseiai)” (idem). Perhaps mind-boggling for the tumblr university of queer studies but sometimes, due to spatiotemporally-specific contexts, a relationship between two people of the same gender that reproduces the gender presentation and roles of heterosexual relationships can actually be felt to be more of a threat to heteronormativity (in this case because it showed a sense of gender ambivalence that precluded one of the women from entering into normal married heterosexuality and because it offered a plausible alternative to heteronormative institutions like the reproductive heterosexual family). So even depictions of homosexual relationships between men, generally made for and by women, may actually be received as a disruption to heteronormative norms in some contexts--partly because of how female desires are made normal or abnormal in that iteration of heteronormativity. Things are complex, specific and shifting. Nothing about the social perception of sexuality, desires or same-sex love is static or global. Neither are heteronormative institutions.

To me it does not mean that BL or danmei are genres above criticisms, or that the fact that they can represent subversive and empowering genres for women, some of whom are queer, means that they do not have the potential of being at times homophobic or even transphobic. At the end of the day, my take on this is simply that considering the complexity of the context surrounding BL and danmei (a context that can be difficult to access or understand for Western fans) is necessary for critiques to hold any weight, and that we are poorly served by an all-or-nothing mentality. Dismissing from the start a work of fiction because of its association with a genre, without actually looking at what is in the text, is just lazy and dogmatic? And yes, may reek sometimes of the entitled white attitude that they, unlike the backward Other, know a thing or two about queer representation. 

And those are my two cents to take, as always, with a grain of salt.

---

Ni, Zhange (2018) Steampunk, Zombie Apocalypse, and Homoerotic Romance: Rewriting Revolution Plus Love in Contemporary China(working paper)

Suzuki, Michiko (2008) Becoming Modern Women: Love and Female Identity in Prewar Japanese Literature and Culture. Stanford: Stanford University Press. 

Wang, Cathy Yue (2019) Officially sanctioned adaptation and affective fan resistance: The transmedia convergence of the online drama Guardian in China. International Journal of TV Serial Narratives (V:2): 45-58.

[sareesonscreen]

S1 E3: Sex and Sexuality in South Asian Media

In this episode, we will be talking about Sex and Sexuality in South Asian Media. This is in essence the first half of a two-part conversation. In this first half, we hope to address the broader discussions around Sex and Sexuality in the media in our region. And in our next discussion episode, the conversation will continue into an in-depth discussion around Queer Media.

It’s been empowering to see many people speak about sex so candidly today. This was nearly unimaginable even a decade ago. Unfortunately, open conversations around sex and sexuality continue to be taboo in our society, but it’s been great to see a segment of people start to chip away at that reluctance to talk about such a fundamental part of all our lives.

There are a lot of great podcasters and Youtubers who share their experiences on this (linked below). And we highly recommend you give them a listen (links below). While we absolutely value the importance of sharing lived experiences, in this episode, we will specifically look at the media we consume - how it portrays sex and sexualities of women and marginalized people, and how it shapes the greater societal conversations around these issues.

We wanted to highlight the importance of recognizing that sex and sexuality is experienced very differently and uniquely by everyone. There is no universal women’s experience or queer experience. The specific socio-economic and cultural locations that shape our identities empower and disempower us in different ways, also change how we engage with sex and our sexualities. 

The movies and shows we plan to talk about in this episode come from Netflix productions, slightly indie parts of Bollywood, and the West Bengali film industry. While the chosen media here vary in their representations of language, socioeconomic class, urban/rural spaces, and to a degree caste, a common critique for all the movies chosen (and of us as well) is that it mostly still looks at sex and sexuality through the imposed universality of an upper class/upper caste gaze. We did our best to make note of this as we discussed the issues pertaining to this episode. 

The AIDS epidemic of the 1980s was the first time that conversations around sex and sexuality were forced into the public sphere, outside its usual legal, medical, and demographic confines. Then in the ’90s, with the rise in access to electricity and televisions, a new brand of more explicit sexual imagery entered South Asian homes and media. 

It’s not that sex was invented in the ’90s, or that people in the subcontinent didn’t engage in sex or non-heteronormative sexuality (including gay men and sex workers). It’s just that it became a more constant presence in the media that we consumed.

In the 2000s, there was suddenly more “sex” on local television and movies. Still heteronormative, still patriarchal, of course. We were showered with the overwhelmingly hetero male gazes in Imran Hashmi movies and the item songs that accompanied almost every movie of that decade. In even worse scenarios, there was the inescapable plight of gratuitous violence in the rape scenes. 

Luckily, even through that period - healthier works were being created in more indie industries or regional media. West Bengal, amongst others, was prominent in producing more “forward” and mature depictions of sex and sexuality.

What’s unfortunate is because of how inaccessible these local healthier portrayals of sex were, a lot of us who had the alternative of having access to Western narratives of sex/sexuality, kind of clung to it. Our vocabulary around sex ended up being heavily shaped by a culture that we didn’t live in. When it felt like the words for sex and sexuality are limited to medical terms or slurs, it was easy to just assume the western alternative (added with our post-colonial hang-ups).  

It’s been very fortunate that the film industries and the artists within it continued to push for better media in this realm. In the last decade, we’ve seen some very prominent works that highlight sex/sexuality that made it to mainstream success. In this episode, we’ll be primarily tackling 3 movies that have done so - Lust Stories, a Bollywood anthology hit, Parched - an Indie movie directed by Leena Yadav and Rajkahini - a take on the partition of the Indian subcontinent through the setting of a brothel and the issues faced by the sex-workers residing there, directed by Srijit Mukherji. 

Through these movies - we hope to tackle some of the major issues confronting discussions around sex and sexuality.

Often discussion around sex and sexuality is looked at with a male-centric gaze, especially in their depictions of women - this was especially apparent in Karan Johar’s short in Lust Stories as well as the portrayals of sex workers in Rajkahini. Some of these portrayals used women’s sexuality for the sake of shock value and titillation and did not take into account the multiple facets of people’s identities that influence their sexual expression. 

Parched was refreshing in its gentler, more feminine take on women’s sexuality showing empathy, affection, and agency as necessary elements of fulfilling sexual experiences. However, even Parched failed to fully consider the “unsexy” elements of how sexuality is affected everyday lives - the women who were the protagonists in Parched were shown to be from a remote, rural village in India, and yet no discussion on their sexuality ever included the structural realities that rural women face in South Asia, like the lack of access to basic sanitation, water or even, privacy.

Any depiction of marginalized people when exploring their sexuality is incomplete without understanding their material struggles. The film, though shot from a feminine gaze, is unable to shed its upper-class/upper-caste romanticization of marginalized women’s lives. This re-orientalization of disadvantaged women’s struggles to be consumed by a privileged, upper-class/ Western audience is an appropriation of the challenges they face, packaged to be palatable (even enjoyable) to its privileged viewers. It is also made worse when the cast and the culture is a hodgepodge of people from completely different cultures than the ones being portrayed.

Rajkahini, while claiming to be telling the stories of ‘forgotten women’ ends up using the women characters as props for the overarching narratives of loss and displacement during the Partition of 1947. Only one character - that of Begum Jaan is given agency and individuality and even she becomes a stereotypical version of the soft on the inside, harsh on the outside, raspy-voiced Madame. The other women characters are only shown to be recipients of violence and abuse and the script and direction do very little to empower them.

Zoya Akhtar & Anurag Kashyap both attempted to make shorts on the sociocultural power dynamics that plague sexuality and sexual interaction in their contributions to Lust Stories. While Zoya Akhtar was more slightly successful in addressing perceptions of the economic and class dynamics between two sexual partners, Anurag Kashyap’s short woefully fell prey to a tired narrative of the “crazy woman” even though it began with a laudable commentary on the predatory relationship dynamic between older women and younger men.

Our main goal in this episode was to examine how mainstream and indie representations of sex and sexuality further (or set back) important conversations around these issues. While Parched and Zoya Akhtar’s short made some commendable efforts, most of these pieces of media were unable to take on a fully intersectional lens to these controversial, but extremely relevant issues for the larger South Asian audience.

In our upcoming episodes, we plan to address topics in consent and rape culture which we briefly touched on in this episode. We also hope to tackle movies from other parts of South Asia as we do this. This episode was so important to us, be sure to let us know what you thought of this episode!

Further Readings + Content

Singh, Asha. “Are All Women’s Stories the Same?” Round Table India. Oct 19, 2016. https://roundtableindia.co.in/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=8831:parched-and-feminism-are-all-women-s-stories-the-same&catid=119:feature&Itemid=13

Sander, Lalon. “Eleven Heroines Does Not A Feminist Film Make: A Review of Srijit Mukherji’s "Rajkahini.” The Caravan. Oct 31, 2015. https://caravanmagazine.in/vantage/eleven-heroines-not-feminist-make-review-rajkahini

Singh, Poonam. “Film Review: Parched, Of Women Thirsting for More.” Feminism in India. Sept 26, 2016. https://feminisminindia.com/2016/09/26/film-review-parched/

Ghosh, Stutee. “Review: Women in Radhika Apte’s ‘Parched’ Are Bruised, Not Bechari.” The Quint. Sept 22, 2016. https://www.thequint.com/entertainment/film-review-women-in-radhika-aptes-parched-are-bruised-not-bechari-ajay-devgn-surveen-chawla-feminism#read-more

Podcasters

Masala Podcast https://www.soulsutras.co.uk/masala-podcast/

Brown Girls Do it Too https://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/p08k5cp0/episodes/downloads

Chuski Pop http://chuskipop.com/

Liberating Sexuality https://www.instagram.com/liberatingsexuality/?hl=en

[im-not-looking-for-forgiveness]

How to Tommy Shelby react finding out woman he agreed to married to stop a gang war was bisexual?? Obviously, back then the word bisexual meant jackshit, but you know what I meant. I’m bisexual and I get bullied a lot and beat up for being by so... I wanted to know how my baby would react. Regardless of how it’ll make me feel, make it as real as possible!! (If you write it obviously) love you and your writing sooooo much xoxoxox

Bi The Way - Thomas Shelby x Reader

A/N: There's a few older requests that I'm still working on, but this one was particularly inspiring. I'm a pansexual gal myself and all three of my best friends are bisexual, so my heart goes out to you. I'm very sorry that you've been bullied for your orientation. It's disgusting that the world has such a hatred for the LGBTQ+ community. My only hope is you can find/have peace with yourself about being the Bi Icon™ that you are! 💗💜💙 🏳️‍🌈 If you ever want to talk/vent my dms are always open!

Taglist: @tranquility-or-chaos @captivatedbycillianmurphy @imagine-richards @hxnky-cat

*****

'Oh, she was gorgeous. God, why couldn't you have been forced to marry someone like her instead?' you thought, watching a woman walk across the street, 'Why not her instead of the leader of some razor gang who seemed to not even notice when you came into the room?'

You knew why, of course. No one in this day and age would marry you to another woman. In addition, your marriage to Thomas Shelby was a match born of politics, not love. It was such a shame, because he was by far the most gorgeous man you'd ever seen. He happened to also be the smartest man you'd ever met. He was always thinking five steps ahead, and you had a bit of trouble keeping up. Instead of trying to, you took to observing. Sometimes.

"Y/N. Come on." Tommy slid back into your awareness, flicking away his cigarette. Whether he knew you had been staring at the woman or not, you couldn't tell.

"I really don't see why you drag me along with you to all these meetings and things. You act like I'm a nuisance just for being in your house, despite the fact that I had no say in it at all! But right, just use me for appearances and never for my company." you told him scathingly, frustrated with the way your unspectacular life had turned out.

Thomas paused, then answered, "We'll talk in the car."

You climbed in, anger making your chest tighten uncomfortably. What was it going to take to be seen by the man you were married to? If you had to be his wife, you could at least try to get along! Why did he insist on ignoring you?

"Starting talking, Thomas." you urged, crossing your arms defensively across your chest.

A few moments after the car starting rolling down the street, Tommy said, "We were married to keep the peace. We both understand that. What I don't understand is why you'd be upset, when you being by my side is keeping up with appearances for the both of us."

"What!? What appearance am I trying to keep up with?" you demanded.

He turned his gaze from the road for a moment to check if you were being serious before clearing his throat and speaking, "You obviously favor someone more feminine."

You were speechless. He knew more about you than you'd ever guess, but he was also very, very wrong. Sure, you liked women, but you also liked men! You liked both! It was a secret you felt cursed with at times. You accepted it at a young age, but society would never follow your example. You suspected this would not be the case for as long as you lived.

"I like men, too." you got out, anger melting into nervousness. You blushed darkly, and wondered if you'd survive jumping out of the car.

"Your sister told me at the wedding that you fancied women." he answered, voice softer. Was he as embarrassed as you were?

You got annoyed again in a heartbeat, "That's because she doesn't understand me. I like both. She doesn't understand how that's possible, but it just is. I can love a woman just as easily as a man, and that's all there is to it."

Silence.

Oh, god, jumping out was looking better by the second.

Say something. Say something!

"Alright."

"That's it? Just alright?" you questioned, bewildered.

"I don't care who you like, or who you want to fuck." he shrugged.

"I don't want to fuck anyone! I just want you to treat me like a human being! I'm tired of being treated as though I'm some sort of mistake! I'm tired of being harmed for something I have no control over!" you shouted. You felt like screaming the same sentiment to the entire world.

Tommy caught your eye, "Alright, I apologize. Eh? I'm sorry."

Grumpily, you huffed, "Thanks."

"It doesn't matter to me who you like. Well, as your husband I do, but I'm willing to overlook that for the moment." he told you, shifting his gaze back to the road.

You almost laughed at that, but bit it back. Was he always this funny? You supposed you wouldn't know, for this was by far the longest conversation you had with Tommy.

"Let's start over, alright?" he asked gently when you didn't respond.

"Okay. Yeah, I would appreciate that." you told him, softening.

"Good."

"Good."

The rest of the car ride was spent in silence, with only the sounds of the city to fill in the gap. With each minute, you felt as though you grew lighter and lighter. You never thought that Thomas Shelby was the man who would have removed the weight of that secret from your soul. The fact that he accepted you as you were, when no one else had, was a very healing experience. The leader of the most notorious gang in England didn't care that you were bisexual.

[ochakourarakah]

long way down to the underground | chapter 1

Summary: It’s an old tale, except…Eurydice was already waist-deep in the Underworld when he met Orpheus.

Notes: Hawks x G/N Composer! Reader

Story: previous | next 

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。゜。°。°。°。 °。°。°。°。°。°。°。゜。°。°。°。 °。 °。 °。°。°。

This is the thirty-seventh (thirty-eighth? fortieth?) document you had to sign with your already cramping hand and you’re seriously considering tossing them all into a dumpster fire if fire wasn’t the reason you were in this mess to begin with.

The next few weeks after the accident (arson by some gang, apparently) are spent getting everything back on track.

You did not expect this much paperwork to come with it. 

Ugh.

You lean back and stretch in your chair, wincing at the audible pops your back made as you did, tearing your eyes away from your desktop screen.

With relocation still underway, you were instructed to work from home until further notice, corresponding through emails until a satellite office could be established.

It wasn’t really a problem; you lived alone and you had your own recording set-up if you wanted to work on a demo. Most of your work files were backed up on a cloud (thank God for modern tech, you probably just overreacted the day of the fire) and you still had basic instruments in case you wanted to arrange something.

You sigh. 

Okay, maybe your apartment was still on the small side (struggling musician and all) and what soundproofing you had didn’t block out everything (from construction machines across the street to neighbors fucking), but it was still your apartment. 

You had fridge magnets from the places you’ve been all over Japan. Framed and signed posters and album covers lined your walls. A bulletin board dedicated to photos, tickets, backstage passes and other paraphernalia from singers and other musicians you’ve worked with. 

Furnished just enough. Music is always playing, whether it was your own or someone else’s. Cluttered, cozy and lived in.  

It was home.

.

.

.

At home as you were, though, there were still insurance claims to receive, files to sift through, warranty policies to review and the last few weeks of work to salvage if not work on.

.

.

.

There was a whole orientation on this when you were first hired. 

Emergency Response and Recuperation. 

You should’ve known better. 

.

.

.

You glance at the to-do list you hastily wrote up in your planner, grimacing that the unmarked checkboxes still outnumbered the checked ones. 

.

.

.

Ugh.

You really should’ve known better. 

The clock on your phone screen told you that it was roughly half past five.

You groan again, getting off your office chair. 

A much-needed break was in order. 

You save whatever files were open on your laptop before shutting it down. 

And dinner too, if you could help it. 

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。゜。°。°。°。 °。°。°。°。°。°。°。゜。°。°。°。 °。 °。  °。°。°。

Another one of the perks your apartment had to offer was that the complex was within walking distance of Fukuoka’s shopping district, giving you a variety of places to eat.

You take your time on the streets, earphones in and music up as you make your way and map out your night. 

You’ll take your time with dinner, and finish the reimbursement form for your work laptop then call it a night. Tomorrow morning you’d follow up on Ishikawa from accounting and maybe add to the latest song you were writing, if inspiration allowed for it. Maybe get some groceries later this week, too.

Your eyes narrow at the crowd clogging up the sidewalk on the other side of the road. 

Rallentando.

Maybe there was a hero?

And it took you tiptoeing to see above someone’s head to catch a glimpse of crimson wings.

Oh.

He was on patrol. 

In your area. 

Even with your earphones on, you can still hear a few feminine squeals and childish cries, excited voices from people of all ages as they surround the Number Two Hero.

You glance at the scene a beat more before continuing your walking, shrugging off the idea of joining the fray. 

A tempo.

You may be grateful to Hawks for saving your life, but you were busy and hungry and not in the mood to wade through all the people for someone who wouldn’t even remember you. 

It was all in a day’s work, you recall telling yourself that day.

.

.

.

Did his job also entail calling you Songbird, though?

.

.

.

You stepped into the alley that led to your favorite izakayas in the district. It was thankfully empty, and from the restaurant’s windows, you can tell they weren’t as occupied either.

Your steps go from andante to moderato. 

Then there was a gust of wind and a shadow overhead. 

Caesura.

And then Hawks was right before you.

You manage to take off one of your earbuds in time to hear him say, “Hey, Songbird.”

You blink at him. “You remember me?”

“Of course, it’s only been a few weeks since you jumped out of a building and into my arms,” 

If you were flustered at that, you don’t show it. “Right,” You look around. Maybe he had to check out all the alleys before he could call it a day. 

The alley was still empty. 

He’ll be off in no time. 

You give him a smile. “Thanks again for that, by the way.”

He waves you off. “Don’t mention it,” 

For a moment, you just look at him. You’ve only seen his face in short glimpses, in passing billboards and magazine ads, maybe even the occasional skippable YouTube commercial. 

(Which you, admittedly, have opted to skip more often than not.)

And on the day of the fire, you maybe saw him up close for one, two minutes before he took you to the ground then sped off into the sky?

Now he seems more relaxed, hands tucked into his pockets. His wings were another story completely, though. 

They seem bigger, even if they were folded behind him. His feathers look plush and supple. 

If he noticed you staring, he doesn’t mention it. Instead, he gives you a lazy grin. Almost cheeky. 

“You work for Hayashi Records, right?”

You snap your gaze back to his face and nod. “Yeah,”

Were you caught staring? Most definitely yes. 

But he’s probably used to the attention, anyways. 

“So what do you do?” he cocks his head to the side.

“I’m a composer,” You were about to add to the answer when you realize that he didn’t leave right away like you thought. 

He was still here. 

Why? The street looked pretty safe. 

“Do you do anything else?”

You don’t understand why he was still talking to you. 

Didn’t your acquaintance end as soon as the villain attack was over?

You nod anyways. “I’m a composer, but I’ve done just about everything, really.”

You busy yourself by unplugging your earphones and tucking them into your pocket with your phone.

Is he always like this? Did he always follow up on the people he saved?

When you look back up, you ask him, “Don’t you have other hero things to do?”

He only gives you that grin again. “I do, but I have some time to kill.” he gestures around him. “And besides, this place is the last area on my patrol.” 

“I see,” you say slowly. 

How the heck were you supposed to respond to that?

You clear your throat. “I’ve been working from home all day. Emergency Response and Recuperation and all that. A lot of paperwork,”

You’re rambling. 

“I got hungry and my head was starting to ache so I’m taking a break for dinner.” you nod over to the izakaya. “One of my favorite spots.”

Oh my god, kill me now. 

Hawks raises a brow. “You were going to dinner? Well so am I.”

Wait. 

Is he..?

“How about it?”

He is. 

Holy shit. 

You barely manage to follow behind him as he strides over to the izakaya. 

He even opens the door for you. 

“After you, Songbird.” 

You walk in the restaurant in a bit of a daze. 

Who were you, that you were about to share a meal with the Number Two Hero?

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。゜。°。°。°。 °。°。°。°。°。°。°。゜。°。°。°。 °。 °。  °。°。°。

It’s after you’ve settled into a private booth and ordered that Hawks spoke again. 

“So how long have you worked under Hayashi?”

“About two years,” you take a sip of your water. “That’s including my unpaid internships,”

Then you’re both silent. 

You swallow, and the air feels like a chord that was a microtone off. 

Not completely off key, but not right either. 

Just...off. Strange. 

A little jarring.

Hawks must’ve noticed that you were uncomfortable because he shifts in his seat. 

“Be honest, did I come on too strong?”

And here you thought you were the one overstepping your boundaries. 

You shake your head. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m just surprised that you’d have dinner with a random person you rescued.” 

“I uhh,” he rubs the back of his neck. “I’m actually familiar with your work,”

“What?”

“I thought I recognized your name somewhere so I looked it up. You worked with Ayapeta on an album?”

He was a fan. 

Again, holy shit.

He looks up at you. It’s then that you realize his usual visor was on the table. “I’m gonna ask you again, am I coming on too strong?”

You shake your head. “I just never really had a fan approach me before,” 

You were far too used to the singers getting all the credit for the songs you wrote. 

It actually feels nice.

The waiter arrives with your orders and you give a small thanks, getting your bowl and chopsticks.

“Itadakimasu.” The two of you say in unison.

A due.

You smile at him before digging in.

Yes, the ramen you ordered was exactly what you needed.

You look across the table to see the yakitori skewer he was helping himself to. “Isn’t that cannibalism?” you ask after swallowing.

Hawks stops mid-bite. “In case you didn’t notice, I’m a hawk.”

You shrug. “Still a bird.” 

He chuckles. “What can I say, chicken’s pretty good.” 

You roll your eyes at him, and taking another good slurp from your ramen bowl.

Hawks adds, “I try to avoid chicken wings if I can help it, though. Can’t be too cannibalistic now can we?” 

After swallowing, you meet his eyes from across the table.

Amabile.

And this time, you chuckle along with him. 

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。゜。°。°。°。 °。°。°。°。°。°。°。゜。°。°。°。 °。 °。  °。°。°。

Hawks was a celebrity. You know this much. 

While you weren’t aware of any dating scandals or affairs on his end of the showbiz spectrum, you knew that he was considered an eligible bachelor by the press. 

So what was he doing here with you? 

The curiosity gnawed at you so insistently that, when the tab’s been paid and you’re out of the restaurant, you ask him, “Why’d you come along with me?”

He stops in his tracks. “Can’t I share a meal with someone who seemed nice?”

You purse your lips. “You barely even know me.”

Granted, even if you were a villain, you were pretty sure he could beat you in a fight anytime. 

The silent dissonance is back again.

You watch as he nods his head, just a little bit. “I feel like I’ve always known you.” 

You raise a brow. “Do you say that to everyone you hit on?”

“Nah,” He shakes his head. “Only for songbirds that fall into my arms.” He starts walking again. You follow suit as you roll your eyes, retort ready and then he speaks again.

“How about it, we go on one date?”

You furrow your brows. “Wasn’t this a date?”

He grins, shaking his head again. “Close, but no cigar.” he tucks his hands into his jacket pockets. “Sadly my favorite place burned down in the last Nomu incident.”

You nodded, remembering seeing it on the news the day it happened. You watched the carnage unfold from bay windows in your studio building, then you were told to evacuate to the lower floors before the fighting escalated any further. 

Maybe I didn’t have it so bad...

“But I know of another place I can take you.”

You smile at him. 

Then a phone rings. 

But it isn’t yours. 

You hear Hawks curse under his breath. “Hey listen Songbird, I’ll be busy the next few days and I bet you will be too with your Emergency Recuperation whatever,” he winces as his phone kept ringing. 

“But I’ll come find you when I’m free so we could set a date.”

You barely stutter out an affirmation when Hawks spreads out his wings. “I’ll see you soon, Songbird.” 

And then he was off. 

Leaving you staring up at the sky yet again. 

.

.

.

You walk home in a daze.

Did tonight really just happen? 

You shake your head. Maybe this was just a one-time thing. 

That seemed about right. 

You were just in the area. 

He’d probably forget when he rescues someone else. 

.

.

.

This doesn’t stop you from blushing all the way home, though.

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。゜。°。°。°。 °。°。°。°。°。°。°。゜。°。°。°。 °。 °。  °。°。°。

All thoughts of Hawks are banished when you get back to work for the next few days. 

It was all probably just by chance. One of those once-in-a lifetime things that might as well happen to you because real life was weird that way. 

And real life was also taxing because Ishikawa hasn’t looked over your statements yet and you were missing a few more requirements for your insurance claim. 

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。゜。°。°。°。 °。°。°。°。°。°。°。゜。°。°。°。 °。 °。  °。°。°。

A few days later, you find yourself trudging home from the grocery store as planned.

You're carrying a whole tray of eggs in one hand while your other groceries sit tight in the reusable bag hanging off your other shoulder.

Even though the night is peaceful, you were still stressed.

You still had some forms to fill up and lost equipment to canvass for and a meeting with one of the bands and-

“Hey there, Songbird,”

-and you yelp at the voice, dropping the carton and spilling eggs all over the pavement. 

You look up at the sight of an equally shocked Winged Hero.

Oh. 

He didn’t just not forget about you. 

He came.

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。゜。°。°。°。 °。°。°。°。°。°。°。゜。°。°。°。 °。 °。  °。°。°。

A/N: in case the whole basis for this fic isn’t enough to go by, i’m also a musical nerd. i’ll try updating this weekly, as well. 

thanks for reading!

[svnarintaro]

Dia duit (hello in Irish), I was wondering if I could get a bnha matchup? I'm an 15 year old Taurus oriented aroace genderfluid ambivert. An avid reader and the standing monarch of satire, sarcasm and sass. I am trusting almost to a fault and talk to most people like a mildly comedic diplomat. I enjoy rollerderby(being in the races), preforming in all kinds, stargazing, and learning about other people. Later in life I want to become a teacher, writer and campaigner for equal rights. Despite my confident exterior I'm very anxiety ridden and touch sensitive. If you don't feel comfortable doing oriented aroace matchups I completely understand. 🐉💛

~~~ 

@genderkwerfirebird 

bruv.... irish is so cool- 

anyways i would love to do a aroace match up !! i just hope you like it i tried my best,,

~~~

i would match you up with...

midoriya izuku !!

- i feel like he would want to know more about the aroace community. 

- he would have a major crush on you but would not want to make you uncomfortable in any way shape or form

- he made the idea of giving you pink, purple and blue bracelets 

pink for feminine

blue for masculine

purple for both/neither 

- would 100% read monarch of satire for you so you can talk more

- he is open to having whatever type of relationship with you, he just wants to be around you

“hey you want to watch this movie together?”

“want me to make a snack run for you?”

“how was your day?”

- he gets flushed when you say when you get sarcastic 

- he kinda finds it cuter if you use it on bakugou

- he supports you in rollerderby 

- he will go feral in the stands when he watches you do a successful panty pass

- will watch you do your face paint and he will assure you that you look great

- he knows how anxiety feels like, and will help you with whatever you need help with when you feel too anxious to do anything

- he would love to go star gazing together and talk about life underneath the stars

“do you think that we can ever change the world?”

- he uses words and would never touch you without consent 

- he usually does air prompts

air high fives

air hugs 

air fist bumps

“you don’t need to touch me, you can take your time,”

- he too has to be a teacher in the future (with his quirk he needs to teach someone about it) 

- he would suggest that you two go and volunteer at the library and help kids read so you get used to teaching.

- he will respect you with all his heart

- he would do anything for you

- he strives to have a strong relationship with you, platonic and everything..

[queermediastudies]

Priscilla, Queen of the Desert and Self-Exploration

The movie I chose to review for this assignment is The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert (1994). This movie follows two gay men and a transgender woman who all work as professional drag queens as they travel through rural Australia to perform a four-week residency at a resort. Tick (aka Mitzi) is the one who booked the residency because it is his wife’s resort, where she lives with their son. Tick needs a change of pace and to address his history with his wife and son. He is accompanied by his fellow performer Adam (aka Felicia) is young and adventurous, he sees the trip as an adventure and a chance to fulfill his dream of climbing a mountain dressed as a drag queen. Lastly, Bernadette is an uptight transgender woman who has recently lost her younger husband and decides to accompany the other two on their journey. They embark across the Australian outback in a rundown bus that they christen Priscilla, Queen of the Desert. The three queens meet many new people along the way and have various positive and negative experiences throughout the trip. During this trip they address their own personal problems and bond as a group while truly experiencing an adventure. This movie is a comedy of misadventures and feeling like a fish out of water in rural Australia. Told through a queer perspective and utilizing camp aesthetics this film questions identity, sexuality, and stereotypes with humor and a flair for the dramatic.

This film covers a lot of ground and looks at many important themes and topics throughout the film. The four key themes identified in this film are identity, sexuality, queer culture, and camp. These themes are explored through aesthetics, dialogue, and experiences that cause us, the viewers, to question our understanding of what it means to be queer.

This film looks at identity in a unique way. It shows queer identity through the actions and personalities of Tick, Adam, and Bernadette rather than explicitly stating that they are queer. This is demonstrated the most in Tick’s fluid sexuality. Tick has a wife and a son, who was born after he began performing as Mitzi, and they have been living in a small community while he has been living in the city. This journey begins because Tick’s wife calls him and asks him to come perform at the resort she runs. Bernadette and Adam do not know this at the beginning of the film. When they learn about Tick’s past they question his sexuality, specifically whether he is bisexual or gay, and Tick refuses to label himself. “Queer theory posits that sexuality is a vast and complex terrain that encompasses not just personal orientation and/or behavior, but also the social, cultural, and historical factors that define and create these conditions for such orientations and behaviors. As such, queer theory rejects essentialist or biological notions of gender and sexuality, and sees them instead as fluid and socially constructed positionalities” (Benshoff & Griffin, 2004, p.1). It is later revealed that Tick’s wife is also sexually fluid and has dated women in the past. Another interesting identity category employed in this film is urban versus rural cultures. “Identity may then be understood as the interface between subjective positions and cultural situations” (Andersson, 2002, p.4). This film portrays rural communities as white, uneducated, and masculine. The only friend the group makes on their journey is with a man who often talks about how he has traveled throughout his life before settling down. This is a common portrayal of rural communities across media.

The three main characters in this film all work as professional drag queens. They transform into alternate personas through the use of makeup, costumes, and wigs. Throughout the film Tick, Adam, and Bernadette wear wigs made from a myriad of materials, costumes that speak for themselves, and makeup that completes the illusion. These three individuals embody camp aesthetics and fierceness. “By fierceness, I mean a spectacular way of being in the world—a transgressive over-performance of the self through aesthetics. This over-performance works simultaneously to change the dynamics of a room by introducing one’s sartorial, creative presence into the space as well as it is to crystalize, highlight, and push back against limiting identity categories” (Moore, 2012, p.72). To these queens there is no such thing as too much, or being extra, they aim to create an illusion and entertain not just with their performance but with every aspect of their existence. These over the top performances and costumes set them apart from the people around them, especially as they enter the rural towns in the Australian outback. Their appearance itself questions what queerness, masculinity, femininity, and identity mean. “To be fierce is to transcend and to unravel, to self-actualize and to return the gaze. Because of its transgressive potential and deep connection to showmanship, fierceness allows its users to fabricate a new sense of self that radiates a defiant sense ownership through aesthetics” (Moore, 2012, p.72). Drawing inspiration from their favorite divas Tick (Mitzi), Adam (Felicia), and Bernadette challenge the perceptions of everyone they meet, bringing a flare for the dramatic and snarky humor everywhere they travel.

While this movie shows many positive views of queerness that break down some of the dominant ideologies held by the majority of audiences. It also includes some problematic representations and subplots that conform to those dominant ideologies. This includes representing AIDS as a gay problem, transphobic jokes, and problematic portrayals of people who are different from the three main characters.

In the film Tick, Adam, and Bernadette stop to spend the night in a small town. Tick lost a bet to Adam and so they enter the town in full drag and get a room at a motel. They then choose to go out to the bar where they have a tense encounter with a butch woman who says they do not belong in the town and should leave. After Bernadette insults the woman and “puts her in her place” they end up getting drunk and partying with the towns people. The next morning, they leave the hotel to see that someone has painted “AIDS FUCKERS GO HOME!” on the side of Priscilla. This is clearly a homophobic statement against the only obviously queer people in the town. This moment is starkly different from the camaraderie experienced in the bar the night before in the bar. Using AIDS as a way of attacking queer people shows the view that AIDS is a gay disease, and that their mere presence will spread the disease to this town. “Such diverse conceptualizations of AIDS are coupled with fragmentary interpretations of its specific elements… stereotypes about homosexuals generate startling deductions about the illness” (Treichler, 1987, p.34). This view is a harmful stereotype that negatively impacted medical policy and puts lives at risk. In the early 90s when this movie was made the AIDS epidemic was still a concern for many individuals. Using this as a way of demonstrating a homophobic attack on the main characters uses that stereotype and knowledge as a way to demonstrate ignorance in the community. Despite using the stereotype to display ignorance, it still uses AIDS as a synonym for gay. “We cannot effectively analyze AIDS or develop intelligent social policy if we dismiss such conceptions as irrational myths and homophobic fantasies that deliberately ignore the ‘real scientific facts’” (Treichler, 1987, p.34). The stereotype of AIDS as a gay disease cannot be dismissed or used simply as an ignorant view held by uneducated rural communities. AIDS has a much longer and damaging history.

One of the three main characters in this film is a transgender woman named Bernadette. In the beginning of the film her trans status is only mentioned I reference to how hard to was for her to find her partner, who has recently died. As the group embark on their journey through the outback there is more attention on her identity. Many people in these rural communities are not used to seeing a group of queer people and they often do not accept them. This film utilizes transphobic jokes to demonstrate this. However, the main person who insults or critiques Bernadette’s identity is Adam a cis white gay man. Adam routinely calls Bernadette by her dead name, Ralph, as a way to get a rise out of her. It upsets her every time so he does so throughout the film with little regard to how it makes Bernadette feel. Many members of the LGBTQ community are not accepting of transgender individuals, especially when they fail to pass as cisgender men and women. This is a current problem in the community, and a film that is targeted to that community should not use a person’s gender identity as a punchline. It is somewhat obvious that Bernadette is transgender and this causes many people to ask her about her trans status, including very personal questions surrounding her body. “Particularly emphasizes the performativity and social construction of identity by referring to transgender as people who move away from the gender the were assigned at birth, people who cross-over the boundaries constructed by their culture to define and contain that gender” (Fischer, 2018, p.94). While Bernadette is good natured about these questions and willingly answers them it still reduces her trans status to her physical biology. Bernadette is a tough woman and displays this in multiple tense situations throughout the film, but she is largely used as support for the other characters or as the spokesperson for the transgender community. She even plays a mothering figure for Adam after he is almost assaulted in a town for going out dressed as a woman and flirting with straight men. Despite Bernadette’s kindness and support Adam continues to invalidate her identity and use her dead name as a joke. “Scripted and fictional content engaging trans characters often reasserts heteronormativity rather than challenging or subverting gender binaries in efforts to appeal to dominant, cisgender audiences” (Fischer, 2018, p.98). This shows a lack of respect for an already marginalized community, who routinely face threats of physical violence, and reduced trans identity to biological essentialism.

In The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert almost every character is white. There are only two scenes in the movie where people of color are shown, and they are used exclusively to further the storyline or feature the three main characters. First, there is a group of aboriginals having a party in the middle of the desert. The adults in the group are shown drinking and talking with some playing music, while there are children sitting on the ground. After Tick, Adam, and Bernadette get there it is awkward at first. The band playing finishes their song and Tick, Adam, and Bernadette get into drag and perform for the group which is embraced. This is a very different from the reaction of a group of white townspeople who see the group in drag near the beginning of the movie. This is a moment of community, however, there is no interaction outside of this moment. Rather the aboriginals are used as an audience for Tick, Adam, and Bernadette without having any lives or personality outside of this moment. “Much depends on how common ground is defined, and in recent years an important multicultural critique has shown that too often the middle ground has been assumed to be that of relatively dominant positions: white, males, and middle-class” (Warner, 1991, p.16). This moment of community only happens because they are with other people who fall outside what is considered the norm. Instead of being queer they are people of color. The only other representation in this film is an Asian woman, Cynthia, living with her husband in a small town. This representation portrays her as negatively, she speaks in broken English and is looked down on because of her past as a sex worker. Her husband expects her to be submissive and when she is not he ignores her or verbally reprimands her. Then when she chooses to leave him, he is given the sympathy of the group while she is considered crazy. Cynthia is used as a foil to show that performing as a drag queen is not morally wrong compared to other forms of entertainment, like Cynthia’s performance. Cynthia is used only to show that Tick, Adam, and Bernadette are moral and respectable compared to her. “Queer struggles and those of other identity movements, or alternatively of other new social movements, often differ in important ways—even when they are intermingled in experience” (Warner, 1991, p.18). Cynthia is used as a pawn to further the respectability of the three, white, main characters.

My identity as a white cisgender bisexual woman allows me to both appreciate and enjoy the movie while still questioning its problematic traits. My identity influences how I view all media texts because identity is built through an individual’s environment and experiences. In this section I will look at how my race, sexuality, and gender influence how I experienced this film. This movie centers on white individuals with only a few scenes that include people of color, and they are represented in potentially damaging ways. This is a common problem in films that center whiteness. It is also a common problem for films made in the 1990s when many white people were less socially conscious of bias and stereotypes for people of color. The people of color shown are exclusively used to either further the storyline for the three white main characters or as a joke that serves to relieve some of the tension built up in the narrative. These portrayals are damaging especially for the marginalized groups represented. This film was widely popular among white gays and negatively portraying other marginalized groups furthers racism and discrimination within the gay community.

This movie addresses sexuality in a unique way. Instead of making sexuality a clear binary it is shown as a spectrum that can shift throughout an individual’s life. This is an important representation considering how prominent binary thinking is even today. The main character Tick has a wife and son, while he has also had boyfriends. He refuses to identify his sexuality and says he is not bisexual or gay he is with people. It is later revealed by his son, Benji, that Tick’s wife has been in relationships with women as well as men. This shows that sexuality does not have to be defined. While this concept is explored they also prominently feature a transgender character in this film. While there are some transphobic jokes and Bernadette does not pass as a cisgender woman, the only romantic storyline throughout the film centers on Bernadette and Bob (a mechanic in a small rural town). Showing a romantic relationship between these two characters challenges how transitioning is understood, Bernadette has had a gender confirming surgery but she does not pass for a cis woman, and the stereotypical portrayal of rural communities shown in the rest of the film. As a bisexual woman I appreciate sexuality being shown as fluid rather than in binary terms. Bisexuality is not always accepted in the queer community and many people see it as a stepping stone to becoming gay or as a pit stop before going back to heterosexuality. This film challenges that notion and even states that sexuality does not have to be defined or proven to anyone else. I like the portrayal of trans womanhood in this film because it questions beauty standards and focuses on how comfortable Bernadette feels with herself. While the movie discusses stereotypes of transness it does not make that Bernadette’s entire identity.

This film is enjoyed as a celebration of queer aesthetics and renowned for its costumes and pays tribute to camp; it also has a lot to say about queerness. It wraps up its critiques and challenges in comedy but, it still questions the dominant ideologies surrounding identity and social positioning. This film has flaws, many of which are not uncommon for a 90s movie, and these must be recognized however it also has important social critiques that are still relevant today. The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert utilizes queer aesthetics to examine identity politics and question dominant ideologies.

Reference:

Andersson, Y. (2002). Queer Media? Media Research in Progress, 1(1), 2–10.

Benshoff, H., & Griffin, S. (2004). General Introduction. In Queer Cinema: The Film Reader (pp. 1–15). New York, NY: Routledge.

Fischer, M. (2018). Queer and Feminist Approaches to Transgender Media Studies. In Terrorizing Gender: Transgender Visibility and the Surveillance Practices if the U.S. Security State (pp. 93–107). Lincoln, NE: University of Nebraska Press.

Moore, M. (2012). Tina Theory: Notes on Fierceness. Journal of Popular Music Studies, 24(1), 71–86.

Treichler, P. A. (1987). AIDS, Homophobia, and Biomedical Discourse: An Epidemic of Signification. AIDS: Cultural Analysis/Cultural Activism, 43, 31–70.

[irenedonati]

Why Wanlov the Kubolor's "Swim" is the most relevant piece of content we have experienced in Ghana in a while and why we should talk about it.

Wanlov The Kubolor, Ghanaian rapper, songwriter, producer, video maker, and performance artists  recently released a new video and a song called “Swim." 

I don't want to spend too much time talking about who decided, for instance, to report the content on Instagram because their susceptible soul was insulted by the nudity portrayed in the video. Can we blame people for not understanding? Or should we blame a system that keeps brainwashing people through religion and politics so they do their dirty job for them of silencing any voice that sounds too loud?

I realized that we shouldn't draw more attention to ignorance: as Eckhart Tolle says — “Whatever you fight, you strengthen, and what you resist, persists.” So I am not going to spend time strengthening ignorance; I will spend time on what deserves attention, strength, and power.

I have admired Wanlov's work for many years, way before we connected in real life, and now I am able to understand him more as well as explore his energy. I consider him a friend and an ally in the fight for human rights, especially LGBTQ and women’s rights.

I feel Wanlov’s work is becoming more profound and even more fascinating. I recently had some long conversations about him with a friend who is a performance artist. We started tracking analogies that helped me explore the beauty of Wanlov's work and message.

After days of research, thinking, and re-writing from different angles, I realized that we could compare Wanlov’s work to many performance artists who used their bodies to make political statements. I am not comparing to validate. Wanlov doesn't need validation. It is however quite interesting to realize that artists from very different backgrounds and circumstances have ended up using a similar form of expression for related messages or fights. Again, I am not comparing to validate but to show how far from mental freedom those who keep finding offense in a meaningful artistic expression are.

Even though it's an unusual type of performance I watch "Swim" and I think "SOMETIMES DOING SOMETHING POETIC CAN BECOME POLITICAL AND SOMETIMES DOING SOMETHING POLITICAL CAN BECOME POETIC," which is text from the inspiring work of Belgian artist Francis Alÿs and is a poignant description of "Swim".

"A compulsive wanderer, Francis Alÿs is known for his in-depth projects in a wide range of media including documentary film, painting, photography, performance, and video. Many of his works involve intense observation and recording of the social, cultural, and economic conditions of particular places, usually conceived during walks through urban areas".

Even though it's an entirely different performance, "Swim" is something poetic that can become political. It's also indeed political and still incredibly poetic: the statement of swimming naked in an ocean of plastic in a country that is very good at having politicians taking selfies with celebrities, but can't seem to solve fundamental issues like the filth on our streets and shores; to the tone of the voice pronouncing the lyrics; to the music.

I could stop here and you would already have enough to think about.

But I want to go deeper because Francis Alÿs performances are not directly comparable to Wanlov’s, if not by intention. Pushing an ice block through the streets of Mexico City until it melts might look extremely different from swimming naked in plastic or walking barefoot everywhere around the world, but is it that different?

Is Wanlov's use of his naked body different from Ana Mendieta's use of her nude body?

Ana Mendieta is a celebrated Cuban-born artist who used her body as a statement for her entire career. Body Art is an expression that has always forced "the audiences to partake in oftentimes violent, jarring, shocking, or unimaginable experience, asking its viewers to consider the role they were playing in the dark and uncomfortable spaces between innocent bystander and culpable voyeur."

Ana Mendieta started using her body to make statements about the political abuse of bodies of women and about rape. She used her naked body in contact with water, earth, and other natural elements (including blood) to express her pain and her rage and to denounce sexual abuse/violence.

Is it that different from what Wanlov keeps doing in the fight for women’s rights and gay rights? 

The reason why we are disturbed or moved by naked bodies in a non-sexy or non-pornographic state is that they represent the vulnerability of human nature. And we don't want to be vulnerable because vulnerability is considered a "feminine or gay issue:" Naked men are supposed to send dick pics or show their sexual power ( the wrong way ). 

Wanlov is swimming naked in a polluted ocean. Wanlov is making his body look more feminine with clothes and makeup to dissolve gender roles. Wanlov is not afraid to show his naked body in a non-sexual way. People will whisper: "He must be gay," or comment on social media “Stop being gay.”

Is he so different from artists like Ana Mendieta swimming naked in her "Ocean Bird" performance? And is Mendieta applying male facial hair on her face different from Wanlov using makeup and jewelry and clothes to deconstruct gender?

Untitled (Facial Hair Transplant), Ana Mendieta, 1972 Source: Galerie Lelong 

Wanlov: backstage “Mr. Casanova” 2020 - Shooting in Madrid w/Alvar Alonso

The "vagina has always  expanded opportunities to unravel the feminine mystique and multiple voices as a loud and reverberating denouncement of the traditional male gaze." But this was 20, 30, 40, 50 years ago when this work could simply not be produced by a man. 

We have now learned that the intrinsic definition of gender is an issue. So can’t a man use his body to make a similar statement and, at the same time, help to protect the over-sexualization of female bodies, which is an unintentional consequence of some expressions of the feminist movement?

Can a vulnerable male body be leveling the playing field and help to break gender barriers? I have no doubt that Wanlov’s body is carrying a feminist message.

We are recently learning that a body is no more the expression of gender. Trans women and men have taught us that you can be born in a body and not be what that body supposedly represents. In this scenario, Wanlov's sexual life and orientation shouldn’t be the subject of the conversation.

Still, somebody always tries to make it the only part of the conversation so that we don't focus on the critical message.

I am even more keen to believe that Wanlov's work is genius and authentic because of his spontaneity and because, like many true artists, he does it because he feels it, not consciously thinking of all the layers that I am now deconstructing.

"Swim" is offending people because it's telling us in a raw and familiar way that we are bystanders and voyeurs in the destruction of the Ghanaian shores, nature, forests, and with them, the people, the cultures and the dignity of many human beings.

And so it's easy for people just to dumb him down as the weird guy who walks barefoot and without underwear and showed his penis on TV, so they convince themselves that he's not a great artist, but just a controversial lunatic. I find it funny (non-literal please) that we still think we have to use the adjective “controversial” to define artists. All artists should endeavor to be controversial enough to spark a conversation. Or should music artistes simply be “yes” people?

What about being barefoot as an artistic expression? Being barefoot, besides being part of almost all traditional cultures (definitely apart from the Inupiats), is a symbol of innocence and pure energetic exchange with the earth. There's a reason why saints, gurus, and spiritual leaders are usually portrayed barefoot. 

And let’s not forget the children as well. I think Wanlov's inner child vibrates very high.

The same people who are offended by nudity will never understand that walking barefoot is not an action supposed to make them laugh. In a recent conversation with Wanlov, he randomly said something that almost blew me away and sparkled the idea of Wanlov being a Synesthetic artist. 

Could it be that his walking barefoot and continuously experiencing the world with an uncovered part of his body is transferred in his art in a synesthetic way?

Are his music, poetry, performances result of sensations that travel through the constant contact of his skin with the earth?

Is he a sort of superhuman because he's been able to feel and experience the world in ways that we ordinary human beings cannot?

But being myself a believer of energy exchange with the Universe, I find an act of extreme courage the ability to allow yourself to feel so much, especially in a world where desensitization and detachment are a new way of surviving. Preservation at a maximum level is what is guiding individuals who hide behind ridiculous concepts of self-care and self-expression to justify any selfish and stupid act.

Is this form of body art telling us that our level of detaching ourselves from the Universe is indeed creating monsters and destroying human interconnections?

Is he so different from artists like Regina Jose Galindo and her work "Quien puede Borrar las huellas," in which she walks barefoot whit his feet soaking in blood to criticize Guatemalan violence coming from the misconception of morality and gender?

Why is Wanlov's use of his body barefoot with makeup and female clothes and jewelry not awarded and glorified as the Galindo one at art Biennales, as the men who uses his body to criticize the abuse on women and members of the LGBTQ community in Ghana? Is it because he's not a woman? Is it because he's not gay? So he has to be considered funny or weird or crazy?

And I could write for another day if we decided to start talking about his music, his lyrics, and his music videos.

Because Wanlov comedy is Monty Python's deep. I hardly laugh for more than a couple of seconds, and, after a couple of seconds, I squeeze my face, and I think "sheeeit that was deep."

If I have to draw another parallelism, imagine Dave Chapelle barefoot, in a skirt, with makeup and jewelry sending low blows to politicians, religious leaders, foolish humans, and useless institutions. 

And using Pidgin English to dignify a language that could unify the African population, being at the same time hilarious but extremely serious. 

My point: you have not seen anyone like this. And that’s why the way this Ghanaian artist is underestimated is highly disturbing.

I wish we lived in a world where people had the chance to be more receptive to something different and not classified in categories created to make us feel comfortable.

Being attacked for saying truths people don't like to confront and not conforming to what I’m expected to say as a woman in the presence of men and “bosses" has cost me professionally and emotionally. I feel slightly deformed by the systematic punishment put in place via a very subtle system of oppression perpetrated equally by men and women. I had gone into hiding because I felt my courage and vocals chords shrink. So when I see a fellow human being with the courage to keep their voice loud and stay principled no matter what, I can't avoid feeling deep admiration, gratitude, and love.

Thank you Emmanuel Owusu Bonsu aka Wanlov the Kubolor. We need more people like you in the world, and we need more people in the world to know about you.

( Thank you, Guildor Gallo, for the conversation that inspired my words. http://guildor.com/  )

[zaheela]

So on a lancaster centric server I did a Chose your own adventure thing.... their first time around didn’t end so well....

-----Story Start----

A plume of dust idly floated away as Jaune stood by the road, sword stretched out in front of him. The tip was unsteady in his hands now, muscles screaming in his exhaustion, but part of him wanted to continue swinging his blade. The now memorized instructions  echoing from his scroll however reminded him to take a break, and almost methodically, he did. The group would have another long day ahead of them, the next town easily being 2 days away, even by wing.

“Though, thinking about it, they would be able to get there faster if I wasn’t so slow.” He muttered to no one, bitter chuckle under his breath as he let his doubts take control of his tongue. With a vicious shake of his head, he banished the thought, they were a team and a team never left someone behind; Ruby would be the first to tell him that.

He left it at that, heading back into the campsite and using the familiar task of removing his gear as a way to drive off the dark thoughts lurking in the back of his head. Flexing his hand, he savored the feel of hard calluses appearing on his palm. Jaune remembered fondly his grandfather’s hands, rough to the touch and as tough as leather to his little hands. He couldn’t remember what his grandfather had said then, but he like to imagine the powerful man promised that one day his hands would be just as strong as his own, holding up the family sword and shield. A shield that - Again he shoved back the dark thoughts and ran a hand through his hair, sweeping aside his bangs. The shield stared back at him, the bright arced shapes drawing his gaze, and next he knew his hand was brushing against the vivid red feather hidden under a wing. His heart ached as the loss chilled him again, but then he realized something else was amiss. Ruby’s sleeping bag was empty. He shot up, ready to wake the others when he noticed that  while her breastplate was still there, her beloved Crescent rose was also gone, most likely settled against its master’s back.

As quietly has he could, he moved to her sleeping bag. It wasn’t worth checking if it was still warm, it wasn’t even used. Most likely she had left the camp after he snuck off to do his training. It had been hours, which made his stomach sink. Grabbing Crocea Mors, he found the one trail, other then his own, that did not lead toward their temporary privy. Following it quickly, he found Ruby not 5 minutes away, perched on a low branch above a clearing, hair down and ornamental feathers missing. Her head whipped up as he approached,  arms unwrapping from their hugging around her knees and moving to both grip the wood and reaching behind her. Owlishly, she blinked at him.

“Oh, uhm….” She fidgeted a little, before looking sheepishly to one side. “Did I wake you?” Her voice warbled a little, her expression pinching into a grimace as she realized how stupid her excuse clearly was. 

“Ah, no, obviously. I mean, Ruby what are you doing out here?” He blurted, eyes darting every which way before settling on just staring at her. The moonlight behind her framed her face, dimming her normally childlike glow and letting the delicate, feminine features take stage. It wasn’t a surprise to him anymore, their journey gave him ample time to watch her and see the lovely young maiden that had blossomed from under her seemingly cherub like shell. His gaze lingered on the pale column of her neck, then trailed upwards, before zeroing in on her tired eyes. There was that look he saw in his own reflection, someone lost, but it looked wrong on her.

“I thought I heard something a few minutes ago so I check it out. Didn’t find anything, and then I couldn’t sleep. Must be all that adrenaline.” She chirped, giving a serene smile and hopping off the branch, and waving a free hand wildly. Before he could call her out, he bit the inside of his cheek, a useless hand frozen half way out toward her. There was that perfect, happy mask again.

---------------------------------

♦ A) Impulsively, Jaune moved to confront her; This couldn’t be the first time. B) Jaune’s eyes narrowed, but he let his arm fall back to his side. There had to be more to this, but he needed to make sure she wouldn’t have an excuse the next night.

--------------------------------- 

His body moved before his mind could stop him, hand completing its momentum to place itself on her arm. Mouth opening, he froze as he realized what her body language was screaming at him, Do not touch. Her wings clamped down tight against her back and he could feel her muscles jump at his touch, but he had to give her some credit, she didn’t do much more then that. The smile remained as she, after a moment of awkward silence, to pat his hand reassuringly. 

“It was nothing, just doing my job as the watch.” Ruby said soothingly, but Jaune’s own mind filled in the gaps. It was true, she did have the second watch, but then why didn’t she bring up that he hadn’t been at his post when she woke up? It then hit him, she knew about his nightly practice. It wasn’t anything to be ashamed of, he always remained close by in case of any grimm came too close, but why she always insisted on taking second watch now made more sense. She was covering for him, though honestly if Ruby knew, then both Nora and Ren did too most likely. He stared blankly at her moving lips, before she smothered a chuckle at his expense. 

“Wow, you must be tired if you didn’t hear me. You really should get some rest, we’ve got a long day ahead of us!” Teasing him as she pushed her hand off her shoulder, Ruby moved away, wings springing open. “I’m still on watch, don't worry! Night Jaune!” She gave him a quick wave and stirring up a blinding cloud of dust, launched herself into the air. His eyes narrowed as her take off wasn’t as smooth as normal, she struggled to muster the normally smooth, powerful strokes, and almost crashed into a higher branch as she landed. Ruby had purposefully chosen a branch too thin and too close to the other trees for him, effectively declaring that the conversation was over. 

---------------------------------------------------------

♦ A) This wasn’t over by a long shot. He’ll make her talk tomorrow. B) Ruby is smart; It may take a bit, but I’m sure Ren and Nora will help him make sure she can’t wriggle out of it. C) This battle isn’t one worth fighting. Best to just let the topic die.

---------------------------------------------------------

If Jaune was thinking logically about it, he would of remembered that Ruby was stubborn as well as team orientated. But to his defense, girls were hard to understand and contradictory at times. So while Ruby would be quick to talk and support others, she was absolutely as stubborn as a mule when it came to herself.  It was how he found himself metaphorically chasing after a elusive Ruby, who in turn was trying her damnedest to turn all his attention and attempts off to other issues. Endlessly chatty, she played him like a fiddle, turning his own questions and attempts to ask about her mental being against him with innocent commentary and happy smiles. The same smiles a day before wouldn’t of alarmed him, but today he was straining to hold himself back from dragging her off and forcing an answer out of her, leader to leader. Thankfully his own experience with a gaggle of sisters had taught him that such methods were a surefire way to falling flat on your face, if nights of slammed doors and wails of oblivious or bullheaded boyfriends was any indication. Problem was, he knew the cause, but how to avoid that kind of thing was as clear as mud to him.

It worried him, how the corners of her mouth were stretched too tight and the faint tilt of her head, she was still strung up for some reason. He tried waiting for her to leave camp, but she must of predicted his move, staying unmoving in her own sleeping bag, shadows hiding her face until her watch came. She didn’t stray from the camp, diligently tending the fire and keeping watch until he couldn’t keep awake anymore. Jaune could tell she still wandered though, the appearance of a freshly skinned and prepared hare clued him in. While Ren was skilled in many of the culinary arts, the art of skinning and gutting a kill was not one of his skills, and Nora didn’t have the equipment. With a low exhale, he stood up, ready to resort to something that would most likely result in a slap across the cheek, but he was mostly sure that Ruby would forgive him eventually, when a hand slammed down on his shoulder. 

“Hey Ruby!” Nora yelled, momentarily deafening one ear, “Race you to the next town!” before she shoved him back, glancing over one shoulder, then launching herself into the air, with Ruby on her tail. Left behind, he could only stare at the two girls darting through the trees before Ren gave him a comforting pat on the shoulder. “We need to talk, I’m afraid that Ruby’s tendencies are worse then what you think…”

--------------------------------------------------------- 

♦ A) After hearing Ren out, once again, we need to end this quickly before Ruby can get herself in trouble. B) Ruby’s going to get herself hurt, but the others are right, maybe we need to handle this tactfully. C) … 

--------------------------------------------------------- 

Thoughts swirled through Jaune’s head as he motioned the other two to head back to rest at the inn as Ruby gathered up a list of supplies. Ren mentioned how both Nora noticed her sporadic sleepless nights, diminished appetite, and nightmares that plagued her on nights that weather ended their journey early or arriving into a town, as well as her habit of keeping things focused on everything but herself. He got the impression that Ren and Nora wanted to say something about his own… habits, but for now they spoke of caution. “Ruby is going through a lot, give her time.” Ren suggested, his tone soothing and pleading. He gave it some thought, Ruby was struggling, but she was just a little girl, it would just be better for her to get it off her chest and leave the more painful brooding to her elders. 

They always went in pairs to resupply, so Ruby didn’t see much to worry about it, though she kept ahead of him as they walked. Watching her finish her internal debate over Fine grade or extra fine grade fire dust rounds, he took a steadying breath. “Ruby.” He kept his voice firm, like any leader should when confronting an errant teammate. When she glanced at him, he faltered before at the trusting look on her face, but he was a leader, he needed to stay firm. “Ruby, we need to talk.”

“Jaune, it’s not that big of a deal. Maybe some other time, but…” She trialled, unconsciously gripping herself in a self-hug as her mind raced. Again he followed, making the feathers on her wings rose up, as if to make herself bigger, before she turned away to storm off. 

“Ruby! Don’t walk away from this!…Pyrrha!” That made Ruby pause, before standing her ground and staring at him. Her eyes were cold, as if the tables were changed; He was the child and she the adult. His stomach sank as she gave him a piting look, as if she didn’t know what to say to him and his own pain.

“Jaune, I know you miss her… we all do… But…” She doesn’t finish before ignoring his orders, before letting lose a sigh and handing over the bag of supplies. “For now, head back to the inn, I need some time to think.” Before he could say anything to stop her, she turned a corner and disappeared. For a moment, he just stood there, guilt curling in his stomach, in the middle of the street. 

This had gone horribly wrong.

-------------------------------------------------

“Ha, my luck has been really bad lately…” Ruby muttered and then laughed mirthlessly. Mercury only cocked his head before giving her a haughty grin.

“Thems the breaks, brat, but if it makes you feel better, this time this wasn’t planned.” Which was true, he had been sent to pick up a package when Ruby had almost slammed her face right into his chest. They both had reflexively jumped back, her scythe in hand as he removed the safeties off his boots. He shrugged before falling into a defensive stance. Ruby’s muscles tensed, her anger simmering under her skin. Memories of Penny’s demise, his cruel taunts, and then Pyrrha’s anguished screams of pain made her want to hurt him, end him. The wounds were too fresh, her anguish too deep, all she felt was pain upon seeing his face, and all for what? To make a statement? Seeing him here let all her pain and anguish focus her; whoever was behind all of this, to Cinder, she would send her own message. 

For his part, Mercury could feel the blood lust, as rich and vibrant as her scarf, roll over him. It made him shiver in both fear and, in a perverse way, anticipation. The thrill of battle, the humbling of the proud and naïve, made him feel alive, almost savoring the taste of battle. His fists clenching and relaxing he contemplated his opening choices. Offensive or defensive? If he knew Ruby, she would more likely take a defensive stance, most likely offering him the chance to run. It was this wait, this tension, the natural lull in the flow of time that made his blood sing and rush pleasurably down his spine. Now all he needed to do was wait for her to start her noble speech and he’d…

He wasn’t expecting her to reach up and pull off her iconic shroud. Was it some kind of limiter or perhaps she thought it would be used against her? While the latter was true, he had never seen her do this in a fight, hell she’s never seemed to take it off ever! 

The crimson cloth fluttered down to the ground, neither one of them taking their eyes off the other. She shifted, arms lowering as she pulled the scythe back to the side. Her wings spread wide, the vivid red and  soft, downy gray a surprisingly stunning threat display. However, he noticed her left leg slid to the side as she got ready to launch herself. When she did, he would raise his guard to block the blow, giving him ample time to counteratt- He froze as she suddenly let go of her scythe, scattering the contents of an open casing of a bullet, the fine red dust arching towards him. Before he could launch himself backwards, she flapped her wings, sending the dust cloud forward into his face, the impact of the gust setting off the fire dust. Momentarily blinded and disorientated as the air around him exploded into heat and flame, he felt the sharp edge of a blade sink into his side. Only his instinctual need for self-preservation saved him from being bisected. Skidding back, he blinked away the smoke and confusion and scanned the alleyway before him. He caught sight of her again, far out of sight and staring down her scope. Diving for cover, he felt the bullet ricochet off the wall right where his head had been, startling the crowd nearby into running back toward the town. 

It was then he realized she wouldn’t fight like usual. Noble intentions traded for ruthless efficiency, her natural aversion of taking other lives gone. He couldn’t see her face, but he’d bet Emerald’s stolen lien that it’d be looking into a mirror. Cold, focused…Would she also be experiencing that sick thrill of hitting the mark? Doubtful, she was still too pure and innocent to know that, but he didn’t want to find out. He needed to get to her before she managed to off him. He hadn’t survived this long just to die cause some brat felt understandably vindictive. 

-----------------------------------

Falling to the ground, Mercury pushed himself off the floor and kicked her body away as it fell with a heavy thud to the ground off his boot. Gripping the stub where his arm once had been, he laughed. Luck had been in his favor as a small nevermore, attracted to all the dark emotions had dived down towards the woman, giving him an opening he exploited immediately, leaping up and firing a shotgun round point blank into her chest. Her aura had shattered and the pellets inside the shell ripped through her. She lost blood quickly, but was sure she was dead, now all he had to do was somehow stop the torrent of blood pooling around him and escape before her companions found her. Funny, the world was swirling and for some reason he felt the need to laugh as their blood mixed and turned the ground red. 

He stumbled as he remembered she had cut off one of his legs as well as his arm, and finally fell back. He lost too much blood, and Emerald was back in the castle. Letting his head fall back, Mercury focused on the thudding of his heart in his ears. Suddenly the sky above him was no longer unblemished, a small black shape diving down until the bird exploded. Black feathers twisting and expanding until a man replaced it. Mercury felt the cold rush of dread replace the haze of death as he recognized the man, the stink of booze filling his nose. Unlike when  he had run into him while battling the fall maiden or seeing him in the crowd, Qrow’s aura was oozing off of him, as red as blood and as furious as a blade. The bastard said nothing, only stared for a moment. Then a weapon had sunk into Mercury's stomach before the pain hit him. With a twist, he could feel the metal vibrate as hidden gears began to shift, only to have the sudden segmented blade ripped out of the wound. 

“If you think your death is going ot be quick, I’d bet against being the lucky.” The raspiness of his voice made Mercury’s spine shudder. And true to his word, Qrow made sure he kept his promise. At least he could send his beloved niece off with an escort to oblivion, but he had to make sure the shit was properly broken before sending him with her. —Bad end---

[willpowerbutch]

Willpower Butch: In Profundis

Dawn clambered over the LA quarantine like a wearied soldier storming a hill – the hill that has become the burning bosom of the Gay-Transgender. Since NASA identified God in the night sky, flying toward earth to assess His children, society has been thrust into a state of nihilistic chaos. The Christians rejoice, and the Gay plot on how to turn Him over to their wickedness. The Transgenitalists, banned from public restrooms, desecrate suburban streets with their bodily fluids in an expression of protest, making neighborhoods where once children could freely get hit by cars while playing Pokémon Go into a biohazard.

(God, who is due to arrive this summer, is shooting through space right now.)

Morning threw these degenerates into relief as they staggered over the pavement of Duplass Avenue and into oncoming traffic, waving stolen underwear on long strips of decrepit building vinyl: the art gallery spinsters who invented Mitski; adults who cosplay as memes; “grandfathers” who loiter in the Youth Bibles section of book stores; and, most troublingly, the bodies of fallen straights, levitating up through the storm drains on the wands of gay necromancers – in short, the entire Green Party – were only the first denizens I encountered along the harrowing road to James Franco’s homo-cidal circus. Everywhere, there were the remnants of bar food and suspicious in-laws. All this was the plutonic vision which greeted my trusted correspondent and I as we strode heterosexfully down the block.

Paragon Shag beside me had not been the same since our eviction from the House of Those Motherfuckers Who Wear Sandals. Only the whiff of pedicure oils on a passing European businessman would send him into such extravagant declamations on the aesthetics of marginalization that I would be impelled to beat the fuck out of him.

“Shag,” I spoke unto him as we arrived at our destination, the Villa de Hermaphrodita, that crypt of human bipedalism. “What is this stench wafting from your chest?”

“Deodorant,” said he.

“I fear for you, Shag. You are aware that deodorant is a witch’s brew intended to inculcate children into the homosexual lifestyle.” He knew as I did that those who use it too much become ravenous beasts, mere British culture journalists, addicted to the scent of Orientalism and male crying.

“Precisely so. We cannot allow ourselves to be overtaken by those limping nancies. With this, we shall confuse their predatory instincts.” And just then, a furious piss communist passed us by, navigating by the odor of listless pretension to James Franco. “You see?” said Shag, turning to me suddenly. He took my arm in the manner of the Romans, up to my elbow. “We are brothers, Mr. Butch, and not in a YouTube Red sort of way, nor in the sense that two different-looking male roommates claim to be, nor in the manner of college boys who make out at strangers’ house parties and tell everyone that it’s part of their fraternity hazing ritual, nor like bohemian male friends who have a large age gap in a hot way, nor indeed like the Quakers, who we all realize developed oatmeal as a gateway to eating spunk.”

He spoke prettily, and I could do nothing but convert my doubt into glorious masculinity. We had come to investigate Franco, after all, whom we suspected of creating twinks to try to turn himself gayer.

We entered the villa -- and there he was, directly before us, barefaced and shockingly confident for a man who looks like a toilet squeegee, licking chocolate off the thighs of a servant boy. James Franco: provocateur of the Gay and war poet of their slick uprising against biological persons.

“Wow,” he greeted us running a hand through his hair. “This is, like, crazy. I haven’t been tag-teamed by two bears since I was on the set of Milk. Did you come to see how I kidnap women and transform them into twinks to make myself gayer?”

We were speechless before this display of arrogance, but Franco’s attention had already been diverted. The servant boy’s epaulet had come unbuttoned.

“Well,” said Franco, hooking him by the shoulders, “the evidence is piling up, huh?”

“Sir?”

“Tell me,” Franco mewled in a squalid attempt to sound erotic, “while you’re existing in a state of, like, untroubled happiness because of straight privilege, do you ever wonder how it feels to have ornery fetish sex with glamorous-yet-blasé strangers every second of your life like the Gay-Transgender are expected to do?”

“No, sir.”

“Well, now you’ll have nothing but time for that, man – as the newest member of the Heterosexual Circus.” Turning mercurially, as if astonished to discover that Shag and I had not moved, Franco addressed us. Raising his arms, he shouted, “Birth is Death! Reason is Treason! Empiricism is Imperialism!”

We could not bear to witness the poor boy’s torture by being forced to be bad at dancing in front of gay perverts. As Shag and I shuffled back onto the street, idly kicking the shit out of a taxi that had parked on the sidewalk, I was emasculated by a notion unrelated to the sweating power of my manhood: that we had not heard the last of these frightful slogans.

*******************************************************************************************

It did not take long for us to find a trap door at the other side of the villa, under a cypress tree. It was locked, but not for a man. Reducing it to smithereens with a mere touch of my beard to it, we descended into a lively disco club where, clinging to the shadows, we moved about curiously. There was in one of the dance-floor cages a sight which startled us.

“Gayflame!” called Shag. “Reddie Gayflame!”

“It’s just Sexchaynge now,” she whispered above the music, on the verge of tears because her body was undergoing a dramatic change.

“But, Sexchaynge,” Shag advanced fretfully, leaving enough distance so as not to be endangered by her femininity, “I thought you were a Gay as well.”

“I was, but I gave it up. You see, I believe in doing things as hard as I can, like Hugh Dancy -- but I knew that I would never be the gayest of all. Not while Ben Whishaw still has a career as an international sex fae... So, why not become a transgender instead, I thought to myself, since there’s less competition?”

Shag nodded sagely.

“Anyway, there is somebody else here that you ought to meet. Follow me.”

My correspondent and I were led into the adjacent hallway, where loomed a misshapen yet familiar silhouette. Suddenly recognizing it, I cried out, “It is the Lord of Lust, the fluent horizontal dancer ‘himself,’ Ben Whishaw! You fiend! You devil!”

But when the vampire stepped into the light, it turned out to be only Twinkathee Charlotterampling, who is merely probably an insatiable fairy.

He threw himself into Paragon Shag’s arms, weeping. “I knew you would never go back to Italy, so I came here to find you. Oh, please say that we can stay together, Daddio. Listen, I can even help you out: Gay Franco isn’t only turning women into twinks, he is then cloning the normal homos! Next, there will be enough fit gay guys to have sex with each other, and Franco will be our only option. Then where will I get any action with men who don’t look like a rejected Muppet? It’s a direct assault on bottoms, and not the fun kind, like when Benedict Cumberbatch gets turnt on Corvo and tries to turn my ass into Christmas lights,” spoke Timpani, gulping. “It’s against my huwoman rights.”

The dimensionless sex balloon’s discourse rained down upon me the spume of flaccid object permanence, and I was forced to rebuke him. “You skinny-jeaned Socratic, you purveyor of gay lies. Humans are not women. And the only right you have is to stop dangling your driftwood in front of every sailor you lay eyes upon. Knave!”

We resumed our progress down the hallway, the two of us and our limpid sidekicks, who stopped every so often to slather their tongues over errant broomsticks. At last, we cruised into a large room, which contained in its rear a glass chamber that held a strange, dark machine within.

“It’s the TRANSporner,” said Timpani Gayparade.

Turning to Shag, I asked, “What do you suppose it is, my macho companion? I cannot well understand the cartoon elf’s French.”

“It must be how Franco transfigures women into the Gay. My God,” Shag exclaimed, “it’s full of emo music.” Grabbing Gayparade’s weird jaw, he brought him into his line of sight so he could address him. “You – What else has Franco created?”

“He has an entire lab devoted to cloning the Gay,” Timpani laughed drily. “And it’s completely, like, impenetrable. Any man who goes in there is brainwashed into Franco’s horde. Only a woman could do it.”

“A woman?” we shouted together.

Twinkathee nodded.

“But we have so few in our warehouse. What if Franco merely kills them? We cannot afford to risk one,” Shag bemoaned.

“You see this?” Twinkathee peered up at Shag and shook his head despondently, pendulating his curls like Quentin Crisp’s spinal column. “This is only the first step. Once Franco masters cloning, the gays will be able to have orgies with themselves, and then they’ll spend eternity competing to see who can suck the most of his own dick. We can’t let God know that we ripped off twincest from Leviticus; he’ll think that we’re total fucking nerds. Shag,” Timpani huffed Frenchtastically, “I know this is the last thing you want to hear–”

“Silence, you animated meringue.”

“—but Ben Whishaw is the only homo who still dares to manufacture women. We need him.”

(A diagram of some of the unique anatomical characteristics of women.)

There was little sound then – nothing but the shaking swallow of breath and a distant applause, floating down from the circus where Franco was, variously, receiving his latest recruits. Tears of frustration had sprung up to rim Gayparade’s eyes. There was something accusatory in his gaze at my friend; such a look might have paused me in my celebrations of erectile power, if it had been produced by a man and not by a melancholy bagel fingerer.

Twinkathee lifted his chin, which surprised me because most homosexuals lose executive function of their necks by his age. “You know I’m right. And you know that you have to make him come.”

“He already has,” I interjected, “Whim Bitchaw, Colin Firth, Tom Tykwer, Patrick Stewart, and Judi Dench all at the same time. Oh, you mean come here.” I turned unto Shag, who shirked his eyes. “Why, Shag? What can this eroticized bungee cord mean?”

Slowly and with great shame, Shag reached into the pocket of his suit jacket, right above his heart, and pulled out a condom. “This – this is how we summon Ben Whishaw.”

“With a condom?”

I was surprised, but my skepticism soon changed to heroic terror as Shag tore at the wrapper with his teeth and emptied its contents onto the floor.

“Ben cannot resist the scent of a condom that is left unused. He will come now whether we want him to or not.”

Soon, Ben Whishaw came.

He came – in a flourish of glitter and sharpie tattoos -- attended by his insidious Cummunists: nudists brandishing firecrackers at uncomfortably-pretty busboys, male lingerie models, lions mounted by braless Valkyries, weeping Bavarian youths, the entire population of Barcelona, Michael Shannon, and a parade of cats, all singing “Cake” by Rihanna at the top of their lungs. BBC4 was empty that day; all the mouthwash Mary-Janes were on earth, rutting against children’s harmonicas, instilling fear in all but the most excellent specimens of manliness.

“Rejoice,” Ben Whishaw sang as his silky knees folded to the ground, chafing immediately. “Rejoice, you who have beheld the bawds of my bedchambers, the Greeks of old beachfront restaurants, the harbingers of fantasy sex tours like Ezra Miller’s career. I have come, and so shall you.” Swanning over to address Shag, he bit his lip. “Darling, I am here for you! What do you need, hot stuff?”

“Women!” he shouted manfully.

“What for? You aren’t still trying to figure out which hole is the mouth, are you?”

“Nay,” he replied, “my brother Butch told me. We need them to infiltrate Gay Franco’s hideout and destroy his cloning technology.”

“And you,” the hunch-hip padded towards me, “this is your brilliant plan? You send women to do your dirty work for you? What are you afraid of, big boy, and what can I do to ease that stress?”

“Naw, son,” called out Michael Shannon from afar, “do you want a garden salad with that skewer, or should I just serve you a knuckle sandwich?”

But Whishaw held up a slim, delicate wrist, jangling his fetish jewelry, silencing him. “I will say it to you strai—” he hacked painfully, “directly. I will give you my women, whom I had intended to use to lure fathers into a gay orgy, thereby undermining their paternal confidence. This, of course, would homosexualize the youth. But I will command them to join your cause instead... for a price.”

“Speak, elongated child!”

“Your beard,” said he.

I was struck silent.

“I need your beard,” he repeated, endless tears gathering in his eyes. “It’s for my play. The director is afraid that I’m not hairy enough to be Marilyn Monroe.”

“Why,” I puffed my chest, but it didn’t look gay or like breasts, “of all the evil perversions your kind have committed against man, this is the one that I shall never entertain to forgive.”

“That is the deal, Comrade Butch: your sublime brush for my women.”

There was no canon fire, there were no memorial barbecues where suburbanites play a game of subconsciously adulterous cat-and-mouse over the grill, for the sacrifice I made that day. Dear reader, it is a day that shall be marked forever with infamy, for that is the sin that hangs over whatever circumstance impels a straight man to give any piece of himself over to a queer Nancy. Do not mourn for Faust, do not pity Dante the Pilgrim for his travails in Hell; in the flash of a scalpel, I fell into a greater damnation than those dramatic homos could ever conceive.

*******************************************************************************************

When he had his ill-gotten prize, Ben Whishaw parted our company as he has left each of the tens of thousands of men he’s seduced around the world, with a lachrymose little smile, a wiggle of the ass, and a soliloquy on the transient beauty of tricking straight men into thinking you’re a woman until they’ve already removed their pants. Being a consummate phallic god, I was immune to his European witchcraft; Paragon Shag, I’m afraid, was somewhat awestruck by this coy display. But there was no time for either of us to dwell on his fabulous sorcery. The deal was done, and there awaited before us creatures yet almost as feminine as that enchanted nymph.  

“So,” I said, stalking around their strange mass, “these are the notorious ‘women.’” A slim shadow fell across my face, and a chill entered my heart. “Shag, what do you make of all this?”

He proceeded to inform me, “It is supposed that women were invented by the early Catholics, at the decree of the Pope.”

“The Catholics?” I interrupted him. “But what do those queers need from women? They themselves gave rise to the two cruxes of gay culture: old men who sort of cross-dress, and bottoms who think they can top.”

“Like Michael Kors,” added Shag, “but with less herpes.”

“So, what, by God, did they want with women?” Yet Shag could only shake his head. “Women!” I shouted unto them, for their ears ring incessantly from all the cock they swallow. “What are you for?”

They seemed to consider my question. “We like Shakespeare!” shouted one. “We create life, and we perpetuate culture,” replied another thoughtfully. Said the third, “We’re trying to eliminate baby-faced depressives from the gene pool.”

“Then you’ve certainly backfired on the Catholics.” I stroked the remnant of my beard and turned to Shag. “Sir, we should waste no time in bringing them to the safety of our suspicious roadside barn. Send Gayparade back through the TRANSporner and let us put a plug in James Franc’n’o in a firm and impressive way.”

Shag nodded apprehensively, taking the marionette by the elbow and helping him toward the entry port. “Fear not,” he advised the waif, “for soon you will have no rap career again. Iggy.”

“Iggy,” Gayparade murmured after him. “Iggy, Iggy.”

They came upon the threshold of the TRANSporner, its dilated cavern of unnatural lust that had given Iggy Azalea talent and genitalia so many years before. The twink gulped, appraising it, unsure of how to proceed.

“Timpani?” Shag inflected. “What is the matter?”

But the twisted, hollow-cheeked spaghetti said nothing, impelling Shag to grip him by the hair, repeating his query in a low growl.

“Oh, Paragon!” cried the gimp at unimpressive length, “I can’t do it, brother! Being a girl is bullshit!”

“Truly,” said Shag. “I’ve read Nietzsche.”

“I won’t go back into the TRANSporner,” he wailed. “I would rather die than look like an adult human.”

Shag leant down, menace in his eyes. “Then we must leave, Timpani, quickly -- before Master Butch is able to transfer sufficient power from his penis into his legs to follow us.”

“You mean...?”

“Yes,” my noble friend, my eternal companion responded, turning to me. “I am prepared to accept my animal nature, the amoral truth of my life: there can be no more good taste, because that is for the straights. I am a total gay forever.” And thus, Shag tore the bomber jacket from his shoulders, and it fell away like his erection, revealing a strapless silver gown and taffeta stole. Rising by fabulous vampirism, he glared down at me; nevertheless, I could discern a cold and implicit sadness in his gaze, the gaze of young man after the golden summer of 1914.

“Shag,” said I, my loins quivering, “get ahold of your senses. There is no future in the Homosexuality. Every country where gay queers establish their warrens, penises shrink. This is because the Nancy makes healthy public arousal impossible by constantly bringing up Madonna.”

But he had already vanished, along with Gayparade, into a vortex of passionate mid-century female friendships.

The silence that prevailed in his wake was deafening; it was interrupted, at last, only by the genital whir of the TRANSporner and the soft, incomprehensible chattering of the women. And after much prayer, my noble witness, I still cannot say which of us in that final instant had been more the queer Dorothy: Shag, his crystal-blue eyes darkened with looming cocks, cutting loose to spend his life spoon-feeding treacle to a preteen girl’s gay skeleton; or myself, at the realization that, more than my box of horse condoms, more than my brass knuckles, more than even my beard, I needed Paragon Shag with me. It brings me shame to confess this, but we live in such times as make masculine pride scarce, and I do not foresee Western civilization’s return to glistening worthiness until the metrosexuals have been pounded back into almond butter and adult coloring books.

I crossed myself, still in a state of disbelief, and turned toward the threshold of hell, where Sexchaynge stood waiting. She had pressed her cheek against her fist, and her gaze lifted to me sympathetically. “What are you going to do now, Master Butch?”

In a supreme display of muscular eminence, I diverted my erection away from the heart of the sun, boring it into the ground, quaking the earth with my righteousness. “I must pursue Shag, and I must put an end to his delirious transsexual rampage at any cost. Even at the cost of his life. Before he encounters God and offends Him with Sapphic literature.”

“Take solace,” Sexchaynge whispered. “I don’t believe it will come to that. Shag has become a gay slut, so you will always know where to find him...” She smiled sadly as I considered her words. “And lucky for you, sweet-meat sandwich, I know just the ‘man’ to get you in.”

To Be Continued

 About the Authors

In preparation for the BAFTA ceremony, Admiral Willpower Butch is studying how to act prissy and entitled by sitting in on liberal arts film classes. His former beloved companion, Paragon Shag, hasn’t been seen in public since he scandalized a group of children with a flamboyant Broadway medley at their school vape bar; now, he prefers the privacy of the abandoned crime scene he shares with Timpani Gayparade and his twenty-two hot brothers. Their secretary, international murder victim and street gastroenterologist Dead Summer Days, will never get into heaven, but he will loiter around the gate smelling of weed.

[woman-earthsally-blog]

Gender

In Banet-Weiser’s article, “Empowered: Popular Feminism and Popular Misogyny” she comments on the popular feminists mandate which is to be “confident” in part as “a response to generations of relentless messages about what the ideal of femininity is, what girls and women should look like. The standard of beauty that was long ago called the “tyranny of slenderness” (Chernin 1994) has become even more tyrannical in the contemporary moment, in part because of the dramatic increase in images of the body that circulate, endlessly and abundantly, through social media.” I think this perfectly encapsulates my personal issue with “popular feminism.” I don’t think it is particularly bad to “inspire” women to be confident and happy no matter how they look, however the way it is being done is completely contradictory. Through the scope of popular feminism, women are told to be “body positive” and social media is pushed to be a place to express that, because of the reality this platform holds in society. Yet, like Weiser says, social media is inherently a breeding ground in which society’s unattainable idea of femininity is force fed down our throats.

The objectification of women has become the subjectification. The most popular images on social media are connected to the male gaze which is connected to what sells, because women are still being told to look a certain way, pleasing to men. The reason these images are so present can really be boiled down to capitalism. In theory, capitalism is what keeps social media alive and really these days, vice versa. Capitalism is what subordinates women, keeping them thinking they are always imperfect, always needing change, always needing to buy something to fit into these confines of unattainable perfection. It hurts women, the environment, as well as marginalized people as a whole.

The state of popular feminism, this post feminism ideal, who is it for? What does it do for anyone who doesnt find a way to fit in the lines of societal perfection? The answer is nothing. Popular feminism is connected to classism, racism, and a slew of other very marginalizing points. The page @odeandiefreude, run by an ecofeminist from the UK states in a post “Regular' feminists need to consider the way environmental factors aid or challenge their work. If you're the type of feminist fighting for more women in CEO positions, you might be fighting for women to join the ranks of those keeping classism and white supremacy pumping. This is not, to put it mildly, nice to people who are poor or not white. But it is not only not nice in terms of race and class. It's also not sustainable in terms of the environment. We need structures that are not plundering the Earth. Climate change is real and needs to be addressed and if your feminism is seeking for women to be part of the climate change problem rather than its solutions, you need to reevaluate.” There are more important things to worry about and work on. Gill states, “One of the most striking aspects of postfeminist media culture is its obsessive preoccupation with the body.” The focus on the female “body” is an interesting part of this era of what is feminism in the popular sense, postfeminism. It has become a tool so far gone that women think this is the way to break through the subordination but it amplifies it and pushes popular misogyny.

Makeover shows are all about this body focus. They are extremely popular, mixing the misery of another, the ideal of “necessary change” of women, and of course broad (white) audience oriented stories. “As Hellen Wood and Beverly Skeggs (2004) have argued, the ubiquity of...[makeover shows] produce ‘new ethical selves’ in which particular forms of modernized and upgrade selfhood are presented as solutions to the dilemmas of contemporary life. The scenarios are profoundly classed and gendered and, as Angela McRobbie (2004a) points out, racialized too (if largely through exclusion)...” Not only does popular feminism advocate for the intense participation it presented capitalistic needs (wants, things that aren’t needed, unnecessary), but it is extremely exclusionary. The notion of popular feminism basically makes little sense, is contradictory to itself, and only promotes popular misogyny.

Ecofeminists take the ideas brought forth by the capitalistic feeding white washed popular feminist ideals and turn them right on their heads. @odeandiefreude posts a history of ecofeminism saying, “Ecofeminism, established by French feminist Francois d'Eaubonne in the 1970s, is a relatively new form of feminist theory. It caught the eye of feminists, environmentalists, and peace activists as a result of its aim to break down the structures and institutions limiting feminism as a philosophy. Ecofeminism addresses phenomena that affect contemporary society, particularly gender equality and environmental preservation, to understand oppression as a structural process in order to eliminate domination. The theory argues that society has been constructed to prioritise the dominance of patriarchal values and acknowledges that the union of groups who are oppressed can deconstruct the current social hierarchy to create a more inclusive society. The theory utilises intersectionality, that is the interconnectedness of identity traits (race, class, gender, sexuality, etc.), to recognise similarities between the oppression of the environment and the domination of women. The ecofeminist movement concludes that humans' need to control the environment is identical to men's need to control women, elites' need to control the poor, and 'whites' need to control 'blacks'.” This feminist theory speaks so much in opposition to what encommpases popular feminism. It in intersectional, applicable to all women (including Mother Earth), it takes our bodies back by ignoring the obsession and seeing the natural as important (That’s not to say that the female body is not a beautiful powerful thing, however, obsession with perfection is the problem brought on by the patriarchy), identifies capitalism as a detriment/distraction, and focuses on the real problems.

[kieranconveyma]

9.Theories of 'race' and gender: diversity and inclusion: Notes

Today’s aims:

■Exploring theories of gender

■Exploring theories of race

■Introducing the idea of intersectionality

■Addressing the concepts of ‘othering and the ‘other’:

The male gaze

Orientalism

No knowledge is universal, no one is impartial

Feminist epistemologies highlight the importance of reflecting on the context of the production of knowledge (Haraway, 1988 and Harding, 1992)

Claims of ‘universality’, ‘truth’, ‘impartiality’ and ‘objectivity’ are still the product of a particular socio-cultural and politicalcontext.

Whiteness and white culture are notthe universal standard (but they arepresented as such).

THEORISING GENDER

WOMEN, MEN, FEMALE, MALE,FEMININE, MASCULINE: WHAT IS IT ALL ABOUT?

What do we mean by ‘woman’?

“What is a woman?”

Simone de Beauvoir, 1949  The Second Sex

■Not something ‘other’ than man (woman as other)

■Not a person with breasts, ovaries, a uterus and a vagina, not a person who menstruates (woman as a womb)

“One is not born,but rather becomes,a woman”

Simone de Beauvoir, 1949  The Second Sex

SEX

Biological 

Natural

Being

Body

Fixed

Female and Male

GENDER

Socio-cultural & Historical

A construct

Doing

Mind

Evolving

Woman/Man, Femininity Masculinity

SEX AND GENDER IN FEMINIST THEORY

Since the 1960s feminist thinkers have largely separated the concepts of SEX and GENDER. This distinction has become a key notion in Western feminist theory and is now widely accepted in society and culture.

Different ways of doing femininity and masculinity (e.g. different kinds of femininities), rather than having a ‘right’ one.The oppression of women is socially, culturally, politically and historically contingent rather than fixed in nature (sexual difference has no necessary socio-cultural consequences).

ON THE OTHER HAND

It doesn’t mean that gender is not real

Gender has an enormous impact on our lives

From a very young age,children are socialised to meet gender expectations

How we (are expected to) dress and act, what we are expected to enjoy and look like

“She wears the trousers”

“In today's media it is possession of a 'sexy body' that is presented as women's key (if not sole) source of identity. The body is presented simultaneously as women's source of power and as always already unruly and requiring constant monitoring, surveillance, discipline and remodeling (and consumer spending) in order to conform to ever narrower judgments of female attractiveness”.Gill, R. (2007) Gender and the Media.

GENDERED CONSUMPTION AND ADVERTISINGIn contemporary consumer culture, practices of consumption play a key role in the shaping of one’s gender identity.

What kind of man and what kind of woman? What ideals, what standards what expectations? Objects and images contribute to produce and reproduce particular notions of man/woman and masculine/feminine. Culturally-produced notions are taken for granted, normalised and naturalised.

GENDER AS A CONSUMER PRODUCT

■Is the sex/gender distinction even that helpful?

■Is it biologically deterministic and essentialist?

■Is sex a social construction like gender?

“If the immutable character of sex is contested, perhaps this construct called sex is as culturally constructed as gender; indeed, perhaps it was always already gender, with the consequence that the distinction between sex and gender turns out to be no distinction at all” (Judith Butler 1990, 8).

Understandings of sex are always socially and culturally produced. It’s gender roles and expectations which shape our beliefs about sex.The ‘natural’ body is constructed, through repetition, by the discourse which describes it.

“'Sex' is an ideal construct which isforcibly materializedthrough time. It is not a simple fact or static condition of a body, but a process whereby regulatory norms materialize 'sex' and achieve this materialization though a forcible reiteration of those norms.”(Butler 1999, 236).

We become male or female, man or woman, through therepetitionof particular performative acts that re-create and conform to the existing norm.

It can thus be argued that both sex and gender are important concepts in our society and culture but have no foundation in nature and no essential reason to exist.

Female masculinity as a silenced form of masculinity, alternative to dominant masculinity.Halberstam, J. Female Masculinity. Durham: Duke University Press, 1998.

Cassandra Character

“Her hook is her power and authority. So then the trick was merely to use visual language to tell that story.  I no longer had to justify what I thought was attractive.  Her face became all about her aggression. Through the angle of her facial structure to the angle of her ears. It all became about giving her a strong aggressive forward visual flow. Rather than picking this nose and that mouth, I started designing her feeling not her beauty”

Contemporary popular culture is increasingly open towards gender and sexual identities that deviate from the female/malebinaryand heteronormativity.

Agender

Genderless

Genderqueer

Genderfluid

Gender non-conforming

Non binaryetc.

Steven Universe intersex characters

THEORISING RACE

‘Race’ is:A modern invention Not a natural object. But it is ‘naturalised’ as suchAn ideology used for social, political and economic purposes

“Slavery in the Caribbean has been too narrowly identified with the Negro. A racial twist has thereby been given to what is basically an economic phenomenon. Slavery was not born of racism: rather, racism was the consequence of slavery” (Williams 1964: 7).Williams, E. (1967) Capitalism and Slavery

An open political construction whose meaning is fought over.‘Race’ can be a  powerful means.E.g. Solidarity created in the name of ‘race’ Paul Gilroy (1987) There Ain’t No Black in the Union Jack

INTERSECTIONALITY

“ignoring differences within groups frequentlycontributes to tension among groups. ... [Although]racism and sexism readily intersect in the lives of realpeople, they seldom do in feminist and antiracistpractices. And so, when the practices expoundidentity as “woman” or “person of color” as aneither/or proposition, they relegate the identity ofwomen of color to a location that resists telling. ...the experiences of women of color are frequently theproduct of intersecting patterns of racism andsexism”Kimberlé Crenshaw, “Mapping the Margins: Intersectionality, Identity Politics, and Violence Against Women of Color,” from The Public Nature of Private Violence, Martha Fineman and Rixanne Mykitiuk, eds (New York: Routledge, 1994).

Danger and Eggs

THE ‘OTHER’

he ‘other’Woman is the other of man, animal is the other of human,stranger is the other of native, abnormality the other of norm,deviation the other of law-abiding, illness the other of health,insanity the other of reason, lay public the other of the expert,foreigner the other of state subject, enemy the other of friend(Bauman 1991: 8).

Otherness and unequal power relationsSomething is established as the ‘self’ and the norm and something else as the ‘other’. E.g. man and woman; white and non-whiteNotions of superiority and inferiority are implied.

The Male Gaze Laura Mulvey “Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema” (1975)Cinema has a patriarchal view pointWomen as a fetishised object of themale look “the gender power asymmetry is acontrolling force in cinema andconstructed for the pleasure of the male viewer, which is deeply rootedin patriarchal ideologies and discourses”

Harley Quinn Scenes Part 1

Edward Said - OrientalismNon-Western people are commonly seen as ‘others’“as an ‘object’ [...] stamped with an otherness [...]  passive, non-participating, [...] above all, non-active, non-autonomous, non-sovereign with regard to itself” (Said, 1978). 

The exoticised ‘other’