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shig-a-shig-ah · 4 years

Text

LAYING CLAIM

» pairing: dabi x fem!reader

» cw: dubcon, revoked consent, noncon (we’re going on a journey, okay?), rimming, anal fingering, anal sex, crying, gratuitously fanon characterization. 18+, minors DNI.

» a/n: Started this months and months ago, and since I’m finally getting around to wrapping some WIPs, I guess you can have it now. Thanks @thebiggergroove for beta-reading!

» wc: 5.3k

» ao3 mirror

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The thing about Dabi is he's not usually a possessive guy. Fucking is fucking, as far as he's concerned—it doesn't really matter who is doing it with whom as long as everyone is getting off on it. But goddamn if there isn't something about you that makes him want to make you his.

And he's gotten that, more or less. It took some sweet talking and cajoling, and a few late nights where he made you come until you couldn't see straight, but you agreed not to go sleeping with anyone else. Sure, you've made him promise the same, but that's fine. Not that he's going to actually stop, of course, but he goes out on recruiting missions alone and he figures what you don't know won't hurt you.

That's all enough to satisfy him, at least for a little while. But then a few weeks pass and there it is again: that stupid jealousy and all those unbidden thoughts about the people you were with before him. People he knows. You never talk in too much detail about your past hookups, but he's not stupid, is all too aware that he's not the first one in this ragged band of miscreants that you've crawled into bed with. You've fucked Jin, and Shigaraki, and probably even Magne, god rest her soul—Dabi hadn't missed the way the two of you had huddled up giggling in the corner of the old bar one night, disappearing together unusually early, making those bedroom eyes at each other. And in theory that's fine. Nothing wrong with two girls having fun together, after all. Hell, bi chicks are hot and Dabi wouldn't mind taking advantage of that someday.

But first he needs to find a way to get the image of you with your legs spread for half the League out of his goddamn head.

If he's being honest, it's Shigaraki who bothers him the most. Magne is dead. Jin is a decent dude and, Dabi has to imagine, tame as a kitten in the sack. But Shigaraki, well...Dabi can tell just by looking at the guy that he's a freak, and the idea of you riding Shigaraki's dry, crusty dick, of letting him do who-knows-what filthy shit to you? It just gets to him.

And then Toga has to suggest that stupid game and go putting ideas in his head.

You're all sitting around the crumbling office space that passes for a hideout, drinking to celebrate the League's first successful double-amputation (because fuck that germophobic, transphobic prick), and blondie is just begging to play a drinking game. Normally Dabi doesn't go for that shit—why anyone needs an excuse to get wasted is beyond him—but he's in a good mood, and you make that adorable pouty face as you tell him that you played in college, that it's really fun, and somehow he finds himself sitting in a circle on the dusty floor with the rest of you losers playing 'I haven't' or whatever the fuck it's called.

It's all bland shit to start. Toga's never driven a car, Shigaraki's never gone to school. But, after you've made your way around the circle once, everyone seems to be loosening up and Spinner takes one for the team by getting to the interesting shit and admitting he's never slept with a girl. It spurs a moment of awkward silence made all the worse by his red face and obvious self-consciousness about being a virgin, but then Compress stage-whispers "Neither have I," before winking salaciously at the blushing lizard and taking a dramatic pull from his beer bottle. It's enough to lighten the mood.

After that, Dabi's forced to admit it's a decent game. There's not much he hasn't done sexually or criminally, and since those are the two topics everyone focuses on, he finds himself getting hammered faster than usual. It's a good thing too—his buzz makes it easier to ignore the look you and Shigaraki exchange when Jin announces that he's never tried watersports, easier to pretend his gut isn't twisting at the knowing smirk on your leader's face as he raises his beer bottle to drink and you follow suit.

That particular moment makes it all the more surprising when, on your next turn, you hide an embarrassed face behind your hand and announce that you've never taken it in the ass.

Dabi can't stop thinking about it the rest of the night. Obsessing over it, and the idea of being your first, your only, even if only in some less than conventional way. The thing is, it's downright tame in comparison to a lot of what you two get up to, so barely even kinky that it's almost impossible to believe you've never tried it. Sure, you've never done it together, but he'd just figured neither of you were all that into it, since it hadn't come up when you were doing lewd shit to each other.

That kind of sex is fine from his perspective, but only fine. He doesn't actively seek it out because in his mind nothing beats the feel of being balls-deep in a warm pussy, but that doesn't mean he hasn't done it. He's hooked up with plenty of girls that were into it and has always been happy to oblige; hell, he's even taken it more than once, on account of the fact that when it comes to the bedroom he's willing to try anything twice.

But doing it with you? Well, that thought sticks. The two of you finally go to bed and Dabi's so turned on by the idea of your virgin ass that he can't help testing the waters, prodding teasingly at that tight hole with one spit-slicked finger until you're squirming away and whining. He doesn't manage to convince you right then, but he makes those puppy dog eyes that are far more effective than they have any right to be, and you agree to give it a go in the future.

"Not here," you specify, the words fuzzy on your drunken tongue. "Someplace nicer, with a real bed." You already have your reservations, and you certainly don't relish the idea of undertaking that particular venture now, on a worn mattress in this falling apart building, with its paper-thin walls and complete lack of hot water. Between your booze-fueled haze and the seeming interminability of the League's poverty, you mostly forget about that casual promise by the following morning.

But Dabi doesn't. He picks up a small bottle of lube the next day and carries it around in his pocket shamelessly, a little reminder that he has something to look forward to besides roasting that prick Endeavor, and he strokes himself off to the idea more than he's proud to admit as he waits for the League to move on to better things. He can be patient, when he needs to be.

That patience takes a toll though, and the minute the League settles into their new digs in Re-Destro's sprawling villa, where there's actually privacy and clean, comfortable beds, Dabi shows up at your door with a cheshire grin and every intention of finally getting something from you that's just for him.

You grimace when you remember that promise, try briefly to talk him out of it even, but he isn't so easily dissuaded. It's made all the harder by the fact that you can't give him a specific reason why you've never tried it, beyond that it seems uncomfortable and you hadn't particularly enjoyed the couple instances when you'd allowed someone to slip a finger or two in there.

"C'mon, baby girl," Dabi coos, his breath hot in your ear as he pins you to the wall, working two unnaturally warm fingers into your cunt. "I'll make sure it's good for you. Be gentle, get you nice and warmed up first, all that sweet shit."

It really is unfair how persuasive he can be when he fixes those pleading turquoise eyes on you. The way the pads of his fingers are curling just right deep inside isn't helping either, and he teases you like that until you give in to his cajoling, though you still insist on waiting a couple nights so that you can do your research and make sure you're entirely prepared. Dabi demonstrates his appreciation by burying his face in your cunt and not surfacing for air until you've come three times and are begging for a break.

When the night finally arrives, Dabi's feeling positively giddy. He slips into your bedroom with a bottle of wine and a couple glasses he's brought, a little something to help you relax because he's a gentleman when he wants to be. It should be good booze too—he lifted it from Re-Destro's private stash, and he's certain baldy doesn't drink anything that costs less than ¥30,000. Of course, Re-Destro doesn't love sharing either, but the uptight prick is too scared of Shigaraki to complain about anything the League does. They all take advantage of that, because they can and because it's fun to watch him bite his tongue when they piss him off.

You don't make it easy for Dabi to focus on pouring the drinks though, not when you're reclining in that armchair by the window, freshly showered and fidgeting nervously. He was half-erect before he got here from just thinking about what he was going to do to you, and the sight of you acting like you're some blushing virgin spurs him all the way to rock-hard. By the time your glasses are close to empty, he's straining uncomfortably in his pants, and can't fight back his impatience any longer.

"What do you think, doll?" he murmurs, setting his glass to the side and standing up, shrugging his jacket off before leaning down to ghost his lips over your neck. "You ready to move this to the bed?"

The way you chew at your lower lip anxiously before nodding makes his dick throb.

You empty your glass with one final, large swallow, your heart racing as you rise. You know it's stupid—you and Dabi have fucked countless times and a lot of it hasn't exactly been vanilla—but it's been a long time since you've actually tried anything new. His obvious excitement doesn't help either, paradoxically; it leaves you fretting about what will happen if you're somehow bad at this, or if you can't take it and have to stop. You've never really worried about disappointing him before, but now the thought weighs acutely on your mind.

It's with halting steps that you approach the bed and then, when you can't realistically drag your feet any longer, you finally tug the nightgown you're wearing off your shoulders, letting it fall to the floor to reveal what's underneath.

"Damn, baby girl," Dabi breathes, looking you up and down. You'd figured that since it was a special occasion you might as well dress up, donning a strappy bra and panties. They're little more than elaborate, crisscrossing pieces of lace, all white since he'd seemed so fixated on this pseudo-innocent, first-time act. His reaction doesn't disappoint, eyes lighting up as he stares at you hungrily.

You let yourself fall back on the bed, nestling against the many pillows. The look on his face has your stomach fluttering, and the wine has helped you to relax a bit despite your nerves, a pleasant warmth spreading throughout your body. It's joined by a different kind of heat when you feel the mattress dip beneath Dabi's weight as he positions himself over you, one knee resting between your thighs, just barely brushing against your center, a hint of what's to come.

"You look so good I could just eat you up," Dabi whispers hotly against your ear before tracing his lips over your jaw. Even though he wants to take his time, let himself savor this, it's taking every ounce of patience he has to keep the promise he made to get you worked up and ready for him, to not to tear those pretty bits of satin and lace off and have his way with you right then.

You whine eagerly when his mouth slants hungrily over yours, savoring the feel of those mismatched lips, the way the rough skin of the bottom one contrasts so deliciously with the top. Hot hands run over your sides as the kiss deepens, your tongues tangling together, and you moan against him.

When you finally break for air, Dabi moves his lips to your throat, his tongue lapping at your pulse before he sinks his teeth into you. He loves to mark you up, loves making sure everyone can see that you're indisputably his, and it's even hotter now that he knows he's going to fuck you in a way no one else has. You're shivering beneath him as he works, your hand tugging insistently at his hair, and Dabi lets out a low, throaty growl.

"Guess I'm not the only one who's eager, huh?"

Your hips tilt in response, pressing needily into his firm thigh, and Dabi can feel the skin on his cheeks straining against his staples as he grins. He traces one hand up over your ribs, cupping at your supple breasts, teasing your hardening nipple through the flimsy fabric of your bra. Those deft fingers work under the seam of your lingerie as he shifts his weight, increasing the pressure against your center while he pinches and tugs at the peaks of your breasts until you're whimpering, spreading slick along his leg even through your thin panties.

Dabi pulls away abruptly, rolling onto his back and tugging at you to change positions, shaking his head when you move to mount his hips.

"Come here, baby girl," he says, his tongue tracing over his bottom lip. "Like I said, I wanna eat you up."

The promise in those words sends a bolt of heat straight through your core as he guides you to straddle his face, hot breath tickling your inner thighs. One calloused thumb brushes your clit lightly through your underwear, blue eyes sparkling when your breath hitches at that soft touch. When he pulls that useless fabric to the side and runs his tongue over your already-damp slit, you shudder.

Dabi lets out a pleased groan at your reaction and gets to work more earnestly, lapping at your sensitive nub, licking and sucking until you're moaning and only then shifting a little so that he can lap at your insides, that same rough thumb replacing the pressure of his tongue on your clit. It strokes firm circles as he buries that hot, wet muscle inside you, the metal barbell there teasing your inner walls as you grind involuntarily against it. You can't help but whine when he withdraws it, but that disappointment is quickly replaced by you startling as that same wet muscle extends further back to tease at your puckered entrance.

"A-ah, Dabi, wait," you protest, your face heating up self-consciously almost at once.

Dabi pauses, shifting just enough to keep his reply from being muffled as one warm hand runs reassuringly up your thigh. "I don't think I can help myself, doll," he says, his slick-coated lips splitting into a wide grin, "you just taste too good."

That heat in your face worsens as he dives back in, not even waiting for you to respond before he's flexing his tongue to poke at that tight ring of muscle. You still try to squirm away, feeling unprepared for this. You hadn't even considered it among the possible activities were volunteering to participate in, but Dabi is holding you firmly in place with the hand not working at your clit, and when another whine of protest escapes you, it's weaker than the first. The foreign sensation of his tongue against your neglected hole has you hyperaware of the press of his thumb at your apex, and you can feel tension building in your core even as you writhe in embarrassment.

It's as though he knows, too, and you suppose maybe he does; after all, he's the one who's done this before. He thrusts his tongue a little deeper, rolling your clit between two hot fingers with enough pressure to cut off any further protests. A long moan is the only sound you can muster as you spill over the edge, your thighs clenching around his head and your hips jerking shakily as you ride out your climax with his tongue still buried obscenely in your rear.

Dabi's face is covered in your juices by the time he slides from between your thighs, and he wipes it away carelessly with one arm as he repositions you again, pinning you on your back and wasting no time peeling away your now-soaked panties. He grins at the sight of your glistening folds and swollen clit before stripping off most of his own clothes, kicking them unceremoniously to the side and relaxing between your legs, kissing at your still-trembling thighs.

He teases at your sensitive cunt with his fingers, coating them in your juices as you whimper. "Ready for a little more?" he asks, and you nod despite the fact that your cheeks are still burning from before and your stomach is knotting with nerves.

"Just...go slow, okay?"

"Of course, baby girl," he promises, "I told you I'd take good care of you." With that, he starts to work you open, dipping one finger into your tight hole just until he reaches the first knuckle, working it in and out slowly. His other hand toys at your clit, stroking and rolling that puffy nub again, making you mewl.

Dabi waits until you're relaxed before trying any more, pulling away from you just long enough to dig the lube from the pocket of his discarded pants, coating his fingers with it. He works that lone finger deeper this time, in and out until it's buried to the last knuckle.

The sensation is strange, but not entirely unpleasant; even if you think you'd rather have that finger curling in your cunt, the slight stretch is still adding to the faint throb already growing inside you, the one that worsens when his thumb returns to your apex.

"Fuck, you're so tight," Dabi growls when one well-placed stroke of his thumb has you clenching lightly around his finger. He ruts his hips against the sheets, trying vainly to find some relief for his aching member, but it's not enough—he needs to feel you, needs the vice-like grip clutching his fingers to be wrapped around his cock, and he needs it soon.

You feel him withdraw to add more lube, and then he's fingering you again, adding another digit to stretch you wider. It comes with a stab of discomfort when he forces his way past the second knuckle, and you reflexively try to pull back. "Dabi, that's too much."

He abandons his soothing attentions to your clit, one warm palm pressing you tight against the mattress to keep you in place, stroking soothingly at your hip. His breath tickles over your inner thigh as he chuckles softly. "If you can't take this, how are you ever gonna take me, hmm?" he says teasingly. "You're doing great, baby, just relax."

You will yourself to unclench, trying to picture Dabi's satisfied face once you're taking him, that adoring look he sometimes gives you, the one that you relish. Your efforts are only marginally effective, but Dabi keeps pushing deeper, fucking you slowly but insistently with those fingers, and when you don't complain again, his thumb returns to caressing your sex.

"That's a good girl." Dabi picks up the pace, cursing under his breath. "You're doing so good."

You're wriggling against his hand now, trying to increase the friction at your center, not quite minding the foreign sensation of his fingers and the uncanny fullness they bring so much now that there's heat thrumming in your core. "Y-yeah, like that," you pant encouragingly, and Dabi grins.

"That doing it for you?" he purrs. "Think you can take more?"

You start to shake your head—the stretch now feels like all you can handle—but Dabi's already adding a third slick finger, shoving it in with less restraint than before. You feel more than discomfort this time when three knuckles breach your asshole, and it quickly dampens the arousal that had been steadily building. "Dabi, slow down," you gasp.

"Aw, are you sure you can't handle it?" His blue eyes meet yours, pupils blown wide with arousal as he looks you over with the hungry gaze. "'Cause if I'm being honest, it feels like you're trying to suck me in. Like this greedy little hole wants to get fucked."

The huskiness of his voice sends a shiver down your spine, even as another whine of discomfort escapes you. For just a second his expression darkens slightly, but then he's slowing his movements, twisting his fingers instead of thrusting them in and out.

"Better?" he asks, and you think you catch an edge of impatience in his voice.

It is better though, a little at least, enough that you can focus on the way your cunt flutters every time his thumb strokes over your clit. So you just nod; it's not like this wasn't bound to be a little unpleasant at points, right?

Dabi's smile stretches wider, his thumb working faster. A mewl slips from between your lips and Dabi takes that as encouragement, his fingers resuming their persistent thrusts. It's still uncomfortable, though not quite as bad as when he started, and your teeth sink into your lower lip to bite back your complaints. You let your eyes fall closed instead, trying to focus on his attentions to your hooded nub, on the heat that's pooling in your lower belly. You're inching towards another release, and you let a hand lift to your breast, tweaking at the pebbled flesh of one nipple to help yourself along.

"D-dabi, I'm close," you stammer, your hips bucking against his hand.

"Yeah?" His movements speed up, his voice breathy and excited. "Do it, baby girl. Come for me and then I'm gonna fuck this tight little ass of yours."

You swallow hard, trying not to dwell on those words for now—you can tell you've loosened up more, tolerating the jab of his fingers, but his cock is substantially larger than those, all too intimidating. Thankfully, it's not hard to remain distracted, to focus only on your approaching peak.

Dabi can feel that orgasm rip through you when it hits, your asshole clenching around his fingers as you keen, and it's then that he reaches the limits of his patience. He needs you now, needs the thrill of burying himself in your tight ass and claiming you for his own, of reaching his own release deep inside and then watching his seed spill out afterwards. What a satisfying sight that will be.

He scrambles up from between your legs to catch your lips with his, fumbling his boxers off as his tongue invades your mouth. When he pulls away, his eyes are bright, needy. "Ready for me?" he asks.

You're not, not really, but you can see the fervor in his eyes, hear the urgency in his voice, and you convince yourself that he won't be able to work you open much more with his fingers no matter what. Your agreement doesn't matter anyway—he's already rolling you onto your side and slotting his chest against your back, his straining erection poking at the cleft between your thighs.

"Like this?" you ask, surprised by the choice of position.

"Just like this," he pants in your ear. His teeth nibble at your lobe as he slicks his cock generously with lube. "Want you spooned against me so I can see those cute faces you make, feel you squirming when you take me."

And fuck, when he slips one hand back down to finger your asshole one last time, it doesn't disappoint—your body ripples against him when that invasion catches you off guard, and he can see the way your lips part obscenely as you gasp at his touch. His fingers abandon your tight hole almost as quickly as they'd entered, and then Dabi is aligning himself with your entrance, using the last of his restraint not to slam his hips forward and bury himself inside with a single thrust.

You can feel the spongy head of his glans, and the slick coolness of the ring that adorns his tip, prodding at your rear. One of his arms worms its way under your side, his hand groping distractedly at your breasts as you tense in anticipation.

"Relax, baby girl," he murmurs, but he doesn't wait for you to even try. He's already slipping in, moving slowly until he encounters resistance an inch or so inside, and then pausing.

He has to struggle to keep his composure. Even like this, with not even the full head of his cock in your ass, his balls are tightening, just the thought of what he's doing nearly enough to send him over the brink. He waits until he's sure that won't happen and then starts moving, pushing insistently to work you open around his length with shallow thrusts.

"A-ah, Dabi, g-go easy," you stutter, already squirming. You can feel your body resisting the intrusion, so much larger than his fingers, and it aches slightly every time he tries to breach that inner ring.

"I am, baby, don't worry. I'll take care of you." His cheek is nuzzling against yours, his lips kissing and sucking wherever he can reach, but his motions don't change at all even as he murmurs so sweetly. He only slings one arm over your hips, toying lazily at your clit. That attention helps you relax, helps distract you a little, but it's not enough to prepare you for when he drives himself in further, finally surging past that taut band of muscle.

The invasion brings a sharp pain, one that has you crying out. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, your body reflexively contorting to try and escape the cause of that hurt, but his arms tighten around you, holding you in place as he continues to work himself deeper with every thrust.

"Dabi, that hurts." Your words are sharper this time as each stroke sends another unpleasant throb through your overstretched hole, but his only response is to plunge the fingers rubbing at your clit into your dripping cunt.

"Shh, you're doing great." He curls his fingers, stroking against that spongy spot deep inside. It makes you writhe, but that does nothing to address the pain between your legs as he fucks you.

"Dabi, don't, that's not helping, I—"

"It's okay, baby girl, you're taking me so well," Dabi coos. You'll adjust, he knows you will—you're usually up for anything, of course you can take this. And fuck, there's no way he can stop now, not when it's even better than he'd imagined—hotter and softer, your pillowy walls enveloping his length every time he plunges into you, the exquisite tightness of your entrance massaging his shaft with each thrust.

"I'm not— I don't— I don't want to do this anymore." You can hear the desperate edge in your voice now. Your heart is racing and there's a cold sweat forming on your skin as tears of pain and confusion start to leak down your cheeks. "Dabi, stop."

"Shh, shh, you're fine. You—fuck—you feel so amazing. 'S never been this good with anyone else, fuck."

"I don't care, I don't want this." You can't understand what's happening, why he's not listening. You twist your head to look at him, pleading with your eyes, but he's barely even focusing on you. His blue eyes are glazed and half-lidded as his lips wander over your shoulders and your neck, all the while murmuring those useless reassurances against your skin. You're thrashing now, your feet scrambling for purchase on the sheets as you try frantically to pull away, but he keeps his tight grip on you, one of his legs hooking around your own to hold you in place. "Dabi, I said stop!"

He shushes you again, rutting into you harshly, and a choked sob escapes you when he bottoms out inside you, his hips flush against your backside as you struggle against him. You feel sick to your stomach, and it only worsens when he pulls out until nothing but his tip remains, then drives himself back in with one agonizingly rough thrust.

You keep begging, pleading, wracking your brain and trying every past safe word you can recall, but he only continues to pound into you, his breathing erratic as he pants in your ear. "It's okay, baby. You're taking my cock like such a good girl. You're—ngh—making me feel so good."

The ache between your legs is diminishing slightly as you adjust to his girth, your body entirely unconcerned with whether you want that or not. He's still fingering your sopping cunt too, his palm grinding against your oversensitive clit with each plunge of his long digits, the lewd squelching sound of those attentions mingling with the sharp slap of his hips against your ass as he fucks you.

"You like this?" he asks, but you know he's not really asking. "You like knowing I'm the only one? That I'm making you mine, just mine, just like how it should be?"

"Dabi, stop. Please stop." Your appeals are feeble now, far more for yourself than for him as you continue to utter them between quiet sobs. Dabi's somewhere far away, awash in the tight heat of your ass and the satisfaction of finally staking his claim on you, aware of your supplications but not hearing them, not really.

You slump, still sobbing, and let him take what he wants. His attentions to your cunt have a coil tightening in your gut, but when your climax hits it's perfunctory and mechanical, no real pleasure to be found even as your hips jerk and your holes spasm, a joyless whine passing from your lips.

No real pleasure for you, at least. But fuck, the feel of you squeezing around his cock as you come is what Dabi has been waiting for, your insides massaging his length as though desperate for him to decorate your walls with his cum. It's a gift he's glad to grant—he rocks his hips more urgently, keeping his thrusts shallow now so that he's sure to get it all deep inside.

"Fuck," he groans against your neck. "Gonna make me come, baby girl. That what you want? Want me to fill you up?" You shake your head, but his movements are already growing spurtive and erratic, his grunts louder and throatier, and then you can feel his cock jerking inside you, a hot rush of cum flooding your guts.

Dabi doesn't stop then, either, keeps fucking his seed into you until he's softening, not quite able to work himself in and out of your tight, abused hole any longer, and only then does he finally pull out, a dribble of cum leaking obscenely down your thigh.

You're sniffling, drawing shaky breaths, and you try to pull away the moment his arms relax around you. They only tighten again, his lips planting soft kisses along your temple.

"Shh," he murmurs. The sound of his shushing makes you want to scream. One hand lifts to wipe at the tears on your cheeks. "You were so good, baby girl, there's no need to cry. You were fucking incredible." He means it too, doesn't think he's ever come so hard in his life as he did now, making you his.

Dabi can't wait to do it again.

#dabi x reader #dabi x you #dabi x y/n #mha dabi #bnha dabi #dabi #dabi smut #dabi fanfic #fanon dabi #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha smut #bnha fanfic #bnha reader insert #reader insert #tw: noncon #tw: dubcon #tw: crying

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spritenightbabygorl · 3 years

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How Gotham Rogues Would Be Queer Icons At Pride Because Fuck You:

Riddler: ole riddle boy would confuse transphobes and homophobes with questions every day of the month and educate people about Pride History on live tv.

Scarecrow: scaring important political people into saying nonbinary people exist. Terrifying the shit out of homophobes specifically, if you are queer you don't get fear gassed this month.

Harley Quinn: Spreading general cheer about Pride and making her pets wear customized pride merch. Patrolling the streets in Gotham with her giant hammer for anyone trying to harass queer people at night.

Poison Ivy: she's an ecoterrorist lesbian she doesn't need to do anything. But she does shower rainbow colored flowers all over Gotham during the parade!

Joker: offering his services to any teens who needs their parents/adults/teachers to be murderered/maimed. Helps Harley patrol(begrudgingly) but gets distracted a lot.

Two Face: no cops at pride because Two Face has dirt on all of them so they won't show their faces. Makes actually good pride merch with his insane fashion skills.

Penguin: pays for everything. he's really tired and kind of broke for a bit after June but it's worth it. He also kisses Riddler on live tv for press.

Bane: doesn't understand what gay is, but will beat homophobes up. Helps keep the parade safe and tries his best! he also killed an acephobe :)

#yeah whatever my opinions #bane #dc #joker #riddler #the penguin #riddlebird #harley quinn #poison ivy #harlivy #bane is on the ace spectrum because i said so #two face

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wonderfulworldofmichaelford · 2 years

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Michael in the Mainstream: The Passion of the Christ

At what point is it okay to separate the art from the artist, and at what point is doing so simply impossible? Let me give you a few examples to illustrate my thoughts.

In the case of H.P. Lovecraft, I think it’s okay to enjoy his stuff. Yes, the man was virulently racist and xenophobic, and yes, it does tend to bleed into his writing from time to time… But here’s the thing: He’s dead. He’s not making money off this anymore, he’s not naming any cats racial slurs, and he’s thankfully not on Twitter. By reading his stories and using his public domain creations in your own works, you’re not lining his pockets or pushing his agenda. Of course, I believe acknowledging his bad views is important, but I also don’t think buying a Cthulhu plushie means you hate black people.

In the case of JKR, it’s not okay. Rowling is a miserable, virulent TERF who uses feminism and her own past negative experiences as a hammer to beat down trans women every chance she gets. By watching the movies of her work, buying her books, retweeting her, and openly expressing your love for her in fandom, you are in effect advertising for her and funding her hateful agenda. Not to mention she has tons of racist, transphobic, and anti-Semitic themes woven into the very fabric of her works. This woman ruined goblins, and that alone is a sin more unforgivable than any curse she could ever write. Now, if she dies (or better yet, is assassinated), and hate groups no longer profit from her, then I think liking her shit is fine. Whatever. If JKR is down having tea with her like-minded buddy Thatcher in Hell, I think watching Daniel Radcliffe and Alan Rickman transform her awful prose into something watchable can be done guilt-free.

And for when it’s impossible… Well, I think Mel Gibson nailing Jesus to the cross is about the point where you can’t ignore subtext anymore and you’ve gotta quit that cold turkey.

Yes, I’m not kidding. Gibson’s hands are the one hammering those nails into the Lord, and that one simple fact undermines the entire story and just serves to highlight how demented and evil Gibson truly is. For those who are blessed not to know who Gibson is, he is a miserable washed-up action star who was the lead in films like Mad Max and Lethal Weapon, franchises that would have been enough for him to coast by on goodwill for the rest of his life… But then he had to go and blow it all. Racist rants. Horrific anti-Semitism. Conservativism, the list surprising thing here since it really only makes sense he’d be right-wing considering the other stuff.

And then here he is, making a movie about one of the most beloved Jewish men in history being brutally maimed, tortured, and executed, and he’s the one pulling the metaphorical trigger. It’s unsurprising every conservative dimwit from film critics to Bill O’Reilly bent over backwards to defend this, but goddamn Roger Ebert? He gave this movie four stars, denied anti-Semitism, and called it the most important version of this story ever? Seriously? I couldn’t even charitably call it a good version of the story. Look, I get it. I get the Passion is about his sacrifice, that’s all well and good. And I get that it wasn’t pretty. But the way this is filmed, the way it lingers on our boy JC’s suffering… It feels less like an honest and frank attempt at spirituality on Gibson’s part and more like self-serving torture porn so he can live out his twisted fantasies.

It’s not even possible for me to praise the things that, in other contexts, would be worth praising. All of it being subtitled, the set design, the acting, how can I lavish any praise on it when it is a hateful movie made by a hateful man? It’s impossible here. Gibson is a despicable, evil man and it really seeps into this film, especially with how he portrays the Jews. In her own review, Katha Pollitt said "Gibson has violated just about every precept of the United States Conference of Catholic Bishops own 1988 'Criteria' for the portrayal of Jews in dramatizations of the Passion (no bloodthirsty Jews, no rabble, no use of Scripture that reinforces negative stereotypes of Jews.) … The priests have big noses and gnarly faces, lumpish bodies, yellow teeth; Herod Antipas and his court are a bizarre collection of oily-haired, epicene perverts. The 'good Jews' look like Italian movie stars (Magdalene actually is an Italian movie star, the lovely Monica Bellucci); Jesus's mother, who would have been around 50 and appeared 70, could pass for a ripe 35." Rowling would be proud of this crap. It’s just a miserable, miserable movie, and yes that’s part of the point but it’s impossible not to read into it in the worst ways because of who Gibson is.

Gibson has never even apologized for how he is. People like Robert Downey, Jr. have called for us to forgive him, but what has he ever done to deserve it? He just keeps on being an evil man, saluting Trump and acting in racist movies alongside fellow right-wing hack Vince Vaughn, while reaping in all kinds of rewards for his directorial efforts. He barely suffered at all for his horrifying, toxic behavior, but he gets to lay claim to having the most controversial film ever made, and it’s not even controversial for the right reasons. I remember people being more up in arms over the violence than anything, and yeah, the violence is so over-the-top to the point of being unnecessary, but I think Mel’s rampant bigotry seeping through the screen is the bigger issue here.

There is literally no reason to watch this movie. You want a better look at the final days of Jesus? Scorecese made The Last Temptation of Christ. Don’t want to feel miserable while watching Jesus die? Jesus Christ Superstar is right there. Do you absolutely have to watch a version of Jesus that has the involvement of a stupid old bigot? The Life of Brian is right there. All that The Passion has to offer viewers is misery, brutality, bleakness, suffering, and bigotry, and we get enough of that in the real world without watching it on the screen. If Gibson really wanted to make a beautiful and personal film about Jesus, maybe he should have done a more wholesome and uplifting part of His life, instead of the part where He is literally murdered. If this is what Gibson thinks faith is, that really says more about him than anything else ever could.

Fuck this movie, and fuck Mel Gibson.

#Michael in the Mainstream #MITM #review #movie review #The Passion of the Christ #Mel Gibson #Jesus Christ #Easter #violence

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davidmann95 · 4 years

Text

Got a handful of DC-solicit asks, so I’ll just write up my thoughts on the whole batch again.

Mister Miracle: The Source of Freedom #1: The BALLS to not only do the next Mister Miracle thing after King and Gerads, but to do it with Shilo Norman and therefore invite Seven Soldiers comparisons as well. I wouldn’t be that interested, but the preview art that came with the announcement looked fun so this is a maybe for me.

Wonder Girl #1: I got a Yara Flor ask so I’ll go more into detail with that, but this sounds...not good.

Future State: Gotham #1: Hahaha, thanks, call me in six months if the next team does something there’s a reason to give a shit about. Except...wait, Dennis Culver cowrote that E Is For Extinction Secret Wars mini, dammit this might be good. Either way though, god willing we get a Future State: Metropolis book by Dan Watters too.

Legends of the Dark Knight #1: Hopefully this going with Sensational Wonder Woman means there’s a similar Superman anthology in the cards too, but I won’t hold my breath. Darick Robertson doing Batman is enticing, but I’m not familiar with his work as a writer and the premise doesn’t sound that gripping so I’ll wait and see. That Francavilla variant though? DC, blow that up to poster size and you’d make a mint.

Milestone Returns: Infinite Edition #0: Hmm. I got love for Static, but I might wait for further announcements and/or buzz before taking the plunge on this one.

DC Festival of Heroes: The Asian Superhero Celebration #1: This is a SERIOUSLY stacked lineup, definite buy.

Stargirl Spring Break Special #1: Impeccable timing, DC. It feels like it must be some kind of statement that there are no Morrison members of the Seven Soldiers in the mix (even swapping out Ystin for the original version of Shining Knight no one cares bout) - we focus on the Moore fixation, but there’s enough tidbits that I really do feel like Johns probably flat-out hates Morrison. And what’s this ‘secret eighth soldier’ nonsense? There’ve always been eight soldiers, people have been joking about it forever!

Justice League: Last Ride #1: Discussed that announcement here.

Batman: Earth One Vol. 3: *blinks*

*blinks again*

*squints at the cover art*

...Geoff Johns are you seriously trying to step to Morrison and use the Miagani tribe? YOU SEE WHAT I MEAN PEOPLE

I Am Not Starfire: Interesting concept that seems like it pushes into indie-flavored territory as much as DC’s superhero output just about ever has, if word-of-mouth is good there’s a decent chance I’ll get this.

Action Comics #1031: Wonder if this is serious about the potential of Kryptonian refugees, given PKJ suggested the idea in Worlds of War and that could play a significant part in the New Krypton stuff from Bendis’s Legion (with Johnson being clear he’s following up on a lot of Bendis’s ideas with his own Superman run).

Superman #31: This sounds big-time like Johnson hammering Superman into a swords-and-sorcery shape for an arc since that’s his bag, but Superman’s malleable enough for that to work so I’m not complaining.

American Vampire 1976 #8: Still not getting, so.

Batman #108: Tynion’s well and truly figured out how to game the direct market’s dopiest instincts, hasn’t he? Well, as long as that’s in service of him getting to continue doing weird Batman stuff with Jorge Jimenez like introducing whatever the ‘Unsanity Collective’ is, that’s fine with me. And more Ghostmaker!

Batman: Black & White #6: Not as packed for the finale as some previous issues, but still looking good. And there’s really never gonna be a ‘last’ Scott Snyder Batman story, is there? Sure it’ll be good but that’s kind of a shame, his Detective #1027 feature really felt like a nice full circle.

Batman: The Detective #2: Guess I wasn’t the only one wondering if it was a stealth DKR prequel and they wanted to cut that notion out at the knees.

Batman/Catwoman #6: Still very down for it, but BOY that Batwoman costume Mann debuted on Twitter.

The Batman & Scooby Doo Mysteries #2: I recently finally started reading Sholly Fisch and companies’ Scooby-Doo Team-Up! recently after getting the whole run for free on ComiXology earlier this year and have fallen in love with it, so I’m totally grabbing this digitally.

Batman/Superman #18: “The Dark Knight and the Man of Steel are on a mission to stop the godlike Auteur.io from destroying the pocket worlds he’s created...but where on Earth did Auteur.io even come from? The answer starts not on Earth at all, but with an ancient cult of World Forger worshippers on a planet far away—and if our heroes are to have a prayer of stopping this mythic behemoth, they’ll need to get to the bottom of his power source, and quick! It’s a race against time as the parallel lives of entire worlds hang in the balance!”

Anonymous said: Haha is Yang really doing Superman & Batman vs. Zack Snyder and the Snyder Cult (look up “auter” if you don’t know what I mean)? That’s fucking hilarious, especially since he apparently comes from the World Forge which is where all the shitty Earths full of bad ideas are made. Pretty pointed criticism there if I’m reading it right.

I’ve seen two or three people other than this anon independently conclude this arc is about the Supermen and Batmen of the Multiverse teaming up to stop Zack Snyder from destroying them all and at this point I’m ready to ask my LCS owner if I’m allowed to pay more than cover price for this run.

Batman: Urban Legends #3: Much more into this after the Grifter and Outsiders stories in Future State.

Catwoman #31: No reason not to assume this’ll continue to be great.

Challenge of the Super Sons #2: Good for the folks who want this, and that Nick Bradshaw variant is fun.

Crime Syndicate #3: I wanna be convinced to get this book, but the interviews are not persuading me.

Detective Comics #1036: How long is Mora sticking around?!

The Dreaming: Waking Hours #10: Another one I’ve got nothing to say about because I’ve never been getting it.

The Flash #770: Actually really excited to hear about how bad this run will suck now that I know it’s by the mind behind that “Geoff Johns’ OC - do not steal - beats up the Grant Morrison DC future” catastrophe from Future State.

Green Lantern #2: Really couldn’t wait a month for Far Sector to wrap up, huh?

Harley Quinn #3: Still not interested, but that *is* a nice cover.

The Joker #3: There’s a very real possibility I’ll have dropped the book by this point if it turns out to be the illustrated editorial mandate I get the feeling it could be, but fingers crossed.

Justice League #61: Not complaining, but wow, this really is Naomi 2 since Campbell’s busy in order to provide the necessary material for the CW show.

Looney Toons #260/Mad #20: Were these grouped with the rest of the solicits before?

Man-Bat #4: Very curious how this’ll be received, given nobody much cares about Man-Bat but Wielgosz seems to be quickly becoming a favorite.

The Next Batman: Second Son #2: Hadn’t realized this was only 4 issues - guess for at least one of them it’ll be the Luke Fox book everyone expected in the first place.

Nightwing #80: Dick Grayson vs. Heartless, not how I expected the DC/Kingdom Hearts crossover to happen but I’ll take it. That variant though? ALL TIMER:

The Other History of the DC Universe #4: I was trying to figure out who the focus of #4 would be since we know #5 is about Thunder and Lightning, forgot Montoya was confirmed.

Robin #2: Wanna care, so don’t care.

Rorschach #8: I will get it and probably like it.

RWBY/Justice League #2: My thoughts here will be their own post because there’s something particularly notable, but:

Anonymous said: Have you seen the BATtleaxe from the new art for RWBY/Justice League?

Yes, anon. Yes I have.

Sensational Wonder Woman #3: Eh, premise doesn’t grab me but maybe.

Strange Adventures #10: God I love the book about how Adam Strange sucks.

Suicide Squad #3/Teen Titans Academy #3: Hahahahaha

Superman: Red and Blue #3: Fiffe and Stokoe doing Superman stories!!! And...Nick Spencer. With Christian Ward art?! Sigh, fine, hopefully it’ll be Nick Spencer doing a nice little comedy, and not having Grant Morrison Superman throwing his t-shirt away because he grew up and realized changing things is too hard. A horrible shame Pope is doing the main cover though, the allegations against him I guess never really got any attention. At least there’s this JPL variant:

The Swamp Thing #3: Swampy will never be my guy but very happy for those who dig him, because I imagine this’ll be terrific.

Truth & Justice #4: Normally I wouldn’t care at all, but what I’m hearing on Twitter about this is a crying shame - that Jeff Trammell is really talented and Red Hood is a favorite of his and this is likely to be one of Jason Todd’s few Actually Good comics, but that artist Rob Guillory is a bullying transphobic piece of shit. Sucks all around.

Wonder Woman #772: I was so excited for this run, and then Immortal Wonder Woman had to go and suck.

#DC Comics #Opinion

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darker-soft-starker · 5 years

Photo

Starker 007 AU >>

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

The painting is hideous, there are no two ways about it.

The longer Tony stares at it trying to find a justification for the thirteen-thousand dollar price tag, the more dumbfounded he becomes. Affixed to the wall it presents like a gaudy canvas banner, a bewildering clutter of haphazard spills and splotches that might have a certain panache adorning the walls of the penthouse of the pretentious elite, but Tony can’t make sense of it.

The gallery is lined with paintings of a similar aesthetic, abstracts that look like psychedelic blood-spatters, moody self-portraits and ten-feet-tall modernism canvas of writhing, spaghetti-lines that looks like it belongs in a first grade art class.

Maybe Tony is a simpleton, but he has at least some taste.

A man slips beside Tony to observe the painting, head tilted up to peer at the artwork in quiet consideration. Outside the corner of his vision Tony can tell the man is stunning. Suit expertly tailored, the sharp lines of his jaw and cheekbones beautifully chiseled, milky skin brushed with a hint of gold and long, long that fingers that wrap around a perspiring glass of Sauvignon Blanc.

Tony sips his whiskey, a smooth burn down his throat as his interest is piqued. He’s seen a hundred, a thousand of men just like this one - well dressed and impeccably styled - but however girt by the exquisitely woven threads he may be, the unconscious tug of the mans smile seems genuine in partner with the down-to-earth brown of his eyes. He’s beautiful but doesn’t flaunt it.

It takes only a beat for the man to notice Tony’s staring, the mellow harmonic chords of the piano lulling away in the near distance. He offers a shy smile at the attention, turning his gaze back to the painting to resume his quiet scrutiny, eyes flickering over the slapdash strokes.

Oh yes, Tony thinks. He’ll do just nicely.

He clears his throat roughly, catching the startled gaze of the younger man, mouth falling open in quiet surprise.

“Stark,” Tony introduces himself, holding his hand out in greeting. The man's grip is pleasingly firm when he shakes Tony’s hand after a moment's still contemplation.

“Parker,” the man smiles, eyes crinkling adorably at the sides. “Peter Parker.”

He tries to not find himself charmed by the way the hairs of one of Peters’ eyebrows are swept skyward like he’d rubbed his face, or the way his long fingers tap at the stem of his wine glass as he sips from it, licking his bottom lip to catch a wayward drop.

“What brings you here, Mr. Parker?” Tony inquires, surreptitiously tracing temple of his glasses to activate the sensors built within them.

His vision goes blue for a prolonged moment as the AI brings up schematics and data in a blinding stream of text and symbols. Another tap has EDITH zeroing in on the younger man, registering his heat signature in blistering oranges, his recent social media and his squeaky-clean criminal record.

PETER BENJAMIN PARKER

24 YEARS OLD

PLACE OF RESIDENCE: QUEENS, NEW YORK, UNITED STATES. CITIZEN OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

CIVILIAN

A quick skim of the hurried cascade of information informs Tony that Peter was tardy eight times in high school and is now currently an engineer for Oscorp.

That’s a shame. Tony guesses being pretty doesn’t account for taste.

“My employer is a patron of the arts,” Peter smiles. “What about you Mr. Stark? Is this business or pleasure?” He gestures with his half-empty glass to the sea of people, a motley swarm of greasy politicians, haughty high-flyers and glittering socialites.

“A smart man finds a way to do both at the same time,” Tony winks, giving the younger man a deliberately slow once over, warming the hollow patch behind his ribs when the man's cheeks bloom pink. Peters eyes drops to Tony’s lips when he licks the residue of whiskey off them, lingering there for just a moment before politely looking away.

Play indeed. Sure, the auction for the artworks is set to begin at any moment and Tony’s mark is idling somewhere in the background - but there is always time to enjoy himself, Tony justifies as he turns in towards Peter and gives his best charm.

Potts always did drone on to him about having a proper work-life balance.

“What do you think?” Tony asks, pointing to the abstract artwork, analysing Peter as he breaks from their stare and assesses the nervous mess of brown and splintering white acrylic.

“The Delicate Spider,” the man orates expertly, not missing a beat. “Ruth Bauer Neustadter.”

“Wow, just rolls right off your tongue there,” Tony blinks, mildly impressed. “You some kind of art aficionado or something?”

“Nah, I just like spiders,” Peter shrugs, looking over the piece appreciatively. “What about you, Mr. Stark?”

“Me? No thank you to anything with more than four legs and whatever this is,” Tony says truthfully, lifting his hands sheepishly. “Although I couldn’t tell the difference between a Pollock or a Picasso if you paid me, so.”

Peter seems amused, the corners of his lips twitching upwards as he rocks on his feet. He’s adorable and would look far more inspired contrasted against Tony’s black silk bedsheets than any one of these works of art.

“That’s a shame, Mr. Stark.”

“It is,” Tony concedes with a smirk. “It’s a very hard life being so uncultured.”

“I can tell. Maybe I can give you an education some time.”

Tony grins, catching Peter’s gaze. “I’d like that very much Mr. Parker.”

The spell is abruptly broken when the interface of Peters smartwatch lights up, distracting them both. He looks to Tony sheepishly after reading its contents, using his pinky to tap away at it. The wriggle of the small finger shouldn’t be charming, honestly.

“Ah, I’m afraid I must be heading out, Mr. Stark. Auction’s starting.”

Damn.

“Don’t let me hold you,” Tony supplicates, raising his glass to him, even if he is sad to see him go.”It was a pleasure.”

He can’t help the quirk of his lips at the word, nodding politely at the other man whose smile is tinged with regret this time, and the modest sweep of his gaze over Tony’s body tells him everything he needs to know.

Not that it matters, when a warning red flashes alarmingly over his smart-glasses. His mark is moving, which means he needs to get moving himself.

“Pleasure’s all mine, Mr. Stark.”

“Call me Tony,” he calls out when the younger man waves and moves to leave, offering a roguish smile. “Maybe we can catch up afterwards. Get a start on that education.”

A chestnut curl falls delicately over Peter’s forehead when he turns to peer back at him. “Maybe,” he nods, waving again before departing for good.

He takes only a second to leer at the generous swell of Peter’s ass and mourn the missed opportunity, sighing to himself. This is what he gets for having a bonafide actual work ethic - if he were any of his sloppy, bone-headed colleagues he’d have had his tongue buried in that ass five minutes ago.

Nonetheless once he’s out of sight Tony taps his glasses again, following the transparent map that pinpoints where his mark is.

He’s got a job to do.

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

Neil McGarrett was a wealthy, eccentric billionaire. A media mogul who made his fortune from humble beginnings, starting from the sale of a single newspaper and now has his name splashed over his own cable news network.

Decidedly right-leaning, McGarrett had an inclination of sensationalism over what some might traditionally label journalism, but it was undeniable that he was favoured by the republican voters in droves, if prime-time ratings were anything to go by.

The man regularly made headlines himself - from his sixth marriage falling apart, to his more unsavoury public affairs. Being photographed naked whilst snorting cocaine on his ten million dollar yacht every other week was commonplace. He’d been photographed dining with sex-offenders and simpering politicians and the wall street elite, caught on film talking about underage women and applauded for it by his peers.

He was a misogynist and a xenophobe and all of supporters loved him for it, dressing it up nice and pretty in what they called classic American values.

For all of his questionable morality McGarrett was also a patron of multiple charities. He gave his time and money to various causes, was caught strolling the red carpet of many a gala and fundraiser and, sometimes, on occasion held a fundraiser - or an auction - of his own.

And that leads Tony to his current assignment, dressed to the nines and brushing shoulders with the obscenely wealthy, pretending like he knows a damn thing about art.

McGarret had decided to generously place a portion of his infamous art collection up for auction and donate the earnings to charity - for the veterans, he had proclaimed, an endearing cause no one could fault him for - even if the charity receiving the funds was for-profit and only repurposed fifteen percent of their donations to actual veterans and its founder was vitriolically transphobic.

It only makes the reconnaissance that much more satisfying.

One of those sparkly big names that McGarret had been associated with was one Justin Hammer, a weapons developer. Whilst the two have little outward affiliation outside the sphere of the billionaire-boys-club, government intelligence suggested that their association may be something more than meets the eye.

Which led to Tony’s mission, scouring McGarrets’ Manhattan abode and gathering evidence that would confirm him as an accomplice to Hammer - the latter of whom was suspected to be selling arms to small island nations and aiming them squarely at American soil.

Innocuous on the surface, they already knew McGarret paid for someone to disguise the transactions between the island nations and oil rich company executives, the media mogul looking to make a quick buck out of warfare and the ad space of the top rating morning program breaking news of an attack on American allies. Shockingly that top rating morning news program ran on McGarrets cable network and more of a ‘surprise’ was that McGarret owned stock in those oil companies and in Hammer Industries.

The auction is a perfect setup for a distraction. McGarret, the mark, will be entertaining his guests, the crowd will have another focus and security will be concentrating on protecting the artworks.

And Tony will be helping himself to some Saturday night intelligence gathering and infiltration. Perfect.

When he starts hearing the raucous bids from the ballroom it’s time for Tony to start moving.

He nods at various dignitaries, toasts to inebriated politicians as he wanders from hall to hall, politely acknowledging the lingering bedroom-eyes men and women cast upon him as he passes, Glock 26 rubbing against his lower back as his hips sway into the heart of the building.

EDITH guides him to the third storey to a plain-looking room down the hall where McGarrets office is located and fewer people are found. The office doors are lined with the kevlar and shotguns of three men, each eyeing Tony with suspicion when he approaches with a teeth-baring grin.

Holding his hands up in mock surrender Tony winks, incapacitating the armed guards with a flash of his palm-central gauntlets, tutting to himself as they slump to the ground in an ungraceful heap.

Whilst he missed the old days of a good pistol-whip or an elbow to the face, there was a particular poetry to the flash and efficiency of the new tech. A certain je ne sais quoi in watching grown men crumple like a house of cards with the twitch of Tony’s fingers.

The EDITH glasses are the only development that Potts has allowed him to bring on field - which is honestly a travesty, however experimental and unregulated his tech is they’re missing out - it’s why they hired him after all.

With a grateful pat to the unmoving hip of one of the guards Tony delicately plucks the access pass from their belt and has EDITH check their vitals.

The little red light turns green when Tony presses the pass against the reader, lock unlatching with a quiet, electronic whir.

The room is dark when Tony enters, lit dimly in a sickly yellow glow by two standing floor lamps. The blinds are drawn, slivers of pale moonlight streaking across the desk as Tony approaches it.

There’s a photo frame on the desk of McGarrett and a busty blonde with her arms around him, fingerprints all over the glass. When Tony picks it up for better inspection his fingers come away suspiciously sticky.

Gross.

Wiping his hands on his suit Tony fishes out the USB from his pocket and leans over to place it in the processing unit of the desktop computer. The monitor awakens in a bright technicolour glow as the tech works it’s magic, hacking itself into the system and retrieving the data, storing it not only on the USB itself but transmitting it back to base wirelessly.

All Tony has to do now is wait for the download to complete, mourning to himself how frightfully boring it is when missions go this easy.

It’s hard being efficient sometimes, he muses, wondering where McGarrett stores his scotch and if he’d notice if Tony helped himself to some.

“EDITH, how long since the download commenced?”

“Three minutes, twelve seconds, sir.”

Tony groans, already bored. Maybe he can join the afterparty and get inappropriate with one of the Victoria’s Secret models on the guest list.

He sighs, turning to face the window - only to be surprised when someone behind him punches him in the face.

“Wha?” he manages, slumping against the desk momentarily as his vision spins, head pounding. He doesn’t have time for any reprieve however as his assailant lunges forward to attack him again - Tony barely manages to duck, aiming an elbow at the tall figure and making contact with their face.

It’s hard to be sure in the dark but the figure appears slight, but masculine and he recovers fast, charging forward to grip the lapels of Tony’s jacket in his hands. He pulls Tony forward and moves a leg upwards to knee Tony hard in the stomach.

The pain steals his breath but only riles Tony up, shooting his fist out to swiftly sock the other man in the throat, slamming his head down against the other guys skull.

It’s enough to release his grip and Tony uses his bulk to crowd the other man against the windows, head throbbing. One hand shoots out to wrap around his attackers throat, the other reaching for his glock and pressing against the mans temple.

Even with a gun pointed at him, the man struggles against his grip, kicking his legs out ineffectually in an attempt to gain the upper hand.

The movements shift the blinds open for enough street light to bleed in, illuminating the attackers face, young features twisted in a snarl.

“You,” Tony muses, blinking in surprise.

It’s the man from before - Peter Parker.

Except, all his previous air of innocence has all but dissipated, brown eyes cold and calculating.

It’s a mistake to look.

Peter uses Tony’s startled pause to knock the gun away and out of Tony’s hands with surprising strength, slipping free from the chokehold with a kick to Tony’s ribs.

Goddamn that fucker is quick, Tony thinks as he stumbles back, clutching his side.

“When I said we should catch up later this isn’t exactly what I had in mind,” Tony snarks, dodging another fist to the face.

With a twist of his body he sweeps his legs out at Peter’s shins, the smaller man falling to the ground in a kneel.

“What, a little late night espionage not romantic enough for you?” Peter retorts, whipping a pistol out from his jacket and aiming it at Tony’s chest.

Tony acts quickly, legs moving on instinct as a well placed kick flings the weapon away.

There’s a split second where Tony gets distracted because outraged pout on the man's face is adorable - it’s however shortlived, when Peter rushes at him, clocking him upside the jaw as they tumble to the ground in a heap, their weapons discarded somewhere to the side. The two wrestle for dominance, rolling over the floorboards, elbows flying as they try to one up one another.

Tony gets another fist to his face and immediately tastes copper in his mouth.

“On the contrary,” Tony groans, using his weight to roll over the younger man, straddling his slim waist to hold him down. “Sounds like a perfect date.”

“I don’t date thugs.”

“Well that’s just a shame, here I thought we had something,” Tony tuts patiently, pressing his thumbs against Peter’s windpipe, the younger man gasping for air as he bucks his hips upwards to try dislodge Tony.

“So, who do you work for, Peter Parker? Hmm, you one of Hammers’ goons?”

Peter’s face goes pink, eyes bulging as his airway is cut off. He scrabbles at Tony’s wrists and tries to take another swing at him only for Tony to press down further.

“What makes you think I work for anybody,” Peter snarks back, bucking his hips as Tony presses him further into the ground.

And, oh. That should not feel as good as it does, Tony thinks as Peter writhes underneath him. The younger mans’ back arches pleasingly as he tries to gain leverage, biting his bottom lip as he chokes.

“For one,” Tony comments, moving his hand from Peter’s throat to grip his wrists, “these little bracelets you have here are definitely off-market and two,” he tilts his head towards the open air-vent in the ceiling, “you definitely weren’t invited in here.”

Tony abruptly finds his back to the floor when, in lieu of answering and in a truly impressive feat of flexibility, Peter brings his legs up from behind Tony to wrap them around his chest.

Using the new leverage, Peter reverses their positions, using the strength of his thighs to slam Tony’s torso to the ground, his arms in a bind against his chest. On top, Peter straddles Tony’s hips, seating himself right over Tony’s groin.

Dazed, Tony tries to not be attracted to the way Peter looks when he retrieves a small dagger from his suit and holds it to his neck, the sharp tip grazing his vulnerable skin. Tony’s hips roll anyway.

“Are you getting hard from this?” Peter hisses incredulously, holding the dagger lengthways along Tony’s throat column.

The metal is warm from Peters body when Tony swallows roughly, throat bobbing against the dagger. Goddamn he’s here to do a job.

“I refuse to take the blame for that. I mean, it’s not everyday that I get my ass kicked by someone so pretty and snarly,” Tony admits, looking skyward for some kind of means of escape. “Even if they’re a petty criminal.”

“Petty -- “, Peter cuts himself off with a growl - and god that’s hot too - reaching back into his jacket pocket to fish out a leather-bound badge, shoving it against Tony’s glasses.

“FBI, asshole.”

Of course he’s a fed.

Tony laughs, muscles going lax despite the weapon aimed at his throat.

“You’ll have to do better than that, sweetheart,” Tony drawls, ease trickling down his spine as EDITH verifies the badge.

“What’s that supposed to mean? Who are you --”

“CIA Special Agent Tony Stark,” Tony talks over him, “Also referred to as TS007 - and that’s my dick you’re grinding on.”

Peter looks down at his own slow rolling hips in surprise, still pointing the dagger at Tony as he rises up on his knees to put some distance between them.

“Show me your badge so I know you’re not full of shit,” Peter demands, lips turned downward in a disbelieving frown. Tony smirks as he complies, retrieving his battered badge from his pocket and waving it aloofly in Peters’ face.

It seems to do the trick. Peter stands to let him up, still looking at him dubiously.

Tony grunts as he stands, back aching and head pounding, all his new wounds becoming known as the adrenaline subsides. He tries for a cocky grin but a sharp pain makes him wince at the action. He licks over a welt on his lip where it swells on one side.

He thanks Peter quietly when he retrieves both of their guns from the floor, passing Tony’s over.

“What are the suits doing here?” Tony prods, lifting his thumb to his lip to stem the blood. When it comes away wet he sticks it into his mouth, lapping at the metallic taste.

“That’s, uh -” Peter stutters, eyes on the digit in Tony’s mouth, “ - that’s classified. What are the CIA --”

“Also classified,” Tony smirks. It’s true, but it’s also fun to watch the muscle in Peter’s jaw clench in petulant frustration. The younger man turns towards him and taps his smartwatch again, fingers flying over the interface as he types in a code at breakneck speed.

“What division are you in?” Tony queries, siding up next to the younger man, looking surreptitiously at the USB that still appears to be downloading.

“That’s classified,” Peter mumbles, adjusting what appears to be a well-hidden earpiece with his other hand, body slumping as the fight goes out of him.

“You’re a bit young to be a field agent, aren't you?” Tony presses, EDITH catching a swarm of heat signatures outside of the room down the hall.

Peter scoffs. “I have a particularly special skill set - and before you ask, that too is classified. ”

His irateness only makes Tony grin, reaching over the desk to switch on the desk lamp so he can see the guy better. Peters curls are in disarray, his cheek is already beginning to bruise and Tony can see where his own handprints have burst the capillaries on Peter’s pale throat. God, he’s a fucking vision.

“A man of mystery, huh? So secretive, I mean not that that’s a negative trait whatsoever, I can certainly get behind that.“

“Do you always flirt on the job?” Peter queries with a frown, but nonetheless spreads his legs slightly when Tony moves to shift between them.

“Only when I have a beauty like you in front of me, darling. You’re a real distraction, anyone ever tell you that?”

“And you’re a shameless old man,” Peter counters. “Anyone ever tell you that?”

“I already told you my policy on mixing business and pleasure,” Tony nods shamelessly, slides his hands up Peter’s thighs. “What can I say? I’m multi-talented.”

“You’re arrogant.”

“You like it.”

“I have a job to finish,” Peter parries, even as an unwilling grin stretches over his face.

The mood is broken when the heat signatures draw closer and sudden yelling is heard outside as the bodies Tony left at the door are discovered.

Peter peers at the door confusedly, crouching slightly to plant what looks like a listening device on the underside of the desk. There’s a commotion of footsteps and raised voices, someone is yelling to hand them over an access pass.

They’re going to have to act quick.

“We’ve got guests,” Tony turns to Peter, grabbing him by the lapels of his jacket and dragging him close. “We’re going to need a diversion.”

The look he receives is unbridled bewilderment as the younger man stumbles into Tony, and for the first time he can appreciate the clean smell of sweat and copper and aftershave from the younger man.

“What are you --” is all Peter gets out before Tony reels him in and kisses him.

Peter’s surprised hum is swallowed by Tony’s lips and he goes rigid for just a second before he snaps into action.

Strong hands grip Tony’s hips, driving him backwards against the desk. The sharp maple edge digs painfully into his lower back as Peter presses against him, slipping his tongue into Tony’s mouth as he boxes him in. The press of Peter’s body against his feels fucking incredible when he moves, all ridged muscle as he presses them chest-to-chest, biting on Tony’s lower lip as he takes control of the kiss.

“Fuck, kid,” Tony breathes, snaking a hand down to cup Peters ass through his slacks, bringing their bodies closer together until Tony can feel that Peter too is just as hard as him. Tony gets lost in the small groan Peter breathes into his mouth, the kiss growing steadily sloppier as the voices grow louder.

The door flies open and the click of multiple guns loading breaks their lip-lock.

“Oh no, how embarrassing.” Tony gasps, pretending to act shocked as the room fills with armed men. “We’re so sorry - as you can tell we needed a room.”

“Put your hands up!” One man yells, readjusting his grip on his gun.

“Great diversion,” Peter mumbles against Tony’s lips, eyes flicking to his periphery as he slowly inches away.

“It was worth a shot,” Tony smiles crookedly, assessing the situation. A number of armed men surround them, firearms aimed squarely at the duo. Going by their uniform they look like untrained goons, security for hire rather than any law enforcement. Perfect. Tony hates paperwork.

“You’ve got four at your six o’clock,” Peter mutters, shuffling discretely retrieve his pistol from his pocket, resting it against Tony’s thigh.

“You’ve got six,” Tony comments quietly, sliding his hand to grip his own glock in his pocket. “Not to gloat, but I think I can take out more than you, shortstack.”

“I said put your goddamn hands up!” The same man yells.

Peter looks delighted by the challenge. The two quickly shuffle so they’re back to back, facing the circle of pointed firearms.

“Loser pays for dinner?” Peter asks.

Tony smirks, raising his gun and gauntlet at the same time Peter raises his.

“Deal.”

#starker #starker moodboard #tony stark x peter parker #spy au #007 au #tw: violence #tw: blood #tw: guns

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nchyinotes · 6 years

Photo

Charlie Craggs - Nails Transphobia / Internal Presentation at Privacy International

May 30 2018

Thoughts: I’ve been interested in trans issues for a while, and have had discussions about various aspects of it with different friends. Listening to Charlie speak, and being able to ask her questions later during the manicure (!!), was very eye opening for me, as I don’t know any trans people. I was especially interested about her experience with the NHS, the terms “trans broken leg syndrome” (lol) and “stealth”, how important surgery is, how the community feels toward the police, how she knew she was trans, bad experience with Tinder, and her concern about which platforms she goes on because of their audience. She really hammered home the idea that as a trans person, just being alive and existing is an act of activism, and trans people are forced into the role of activists when they simply defend themselves. Really glad that I was at PI when she came to speak here!

Links: https://www.instagram.com/charlie_craggs/ and https://www.amazon.co.uk/My-Trans-Sisters-Charlie-Craggs/dp/1785923439

Notes

GRA - board of men who decide if you’ve been living as a woman long enough?

being able to self identify (decide your own gender / identity)?

ireland has a law you can self identify? but you can’t stay married if you want to transition (family life)?

allows a less binary approach

need both messaging - about male and female health issues (breasts, testicles, cervical scans, etc)

malta is apparently the best for trans right? but abortion is illegal?

UK is now lower on the LGBT friendly scale because of the dated GRA / trans

roseanne cox on OITNB, janet mok released her book, carmen c came out on drag race

collective conversations helped change the overall conversation

hate crimes have increased (170%), and she/none of her friends have reported being attacked because they don’t have trust in police - there’s no point going through it, nothings going to come of it, victim blaming, being made to feel like its your fault, being laughed at

power holders are often perpetrators of what you’re reporting

feels affirmed when being called “she”

from 2013, only got referred for surgery in 2018 (NHS i think)

3x to get referred

psychosexual counsellor person - asking about sex, a lot of random questions (do you stand up or sit down when you go to the toilet) [privacy issue]

wait two years for the gender identity clinic

after passing all the tests to prove your trans-ness —> referred to surgery?

have to be diagnosed by transgenderism (scrapped by DSA)

spreadsheets online of trans friendly GP to get referrals

finds it amazing that NHS provides downstairs surgery

trans broken leg syndrome

going to any medical thing - you get asked about if its because you’re trans

at bereavement counselling

having a cold

And people in general ask very invasive questions and think that’s ok

Like homeless people: every professional they come into contact with wants to know their story (conditioned - have to tell them up front)

“stealth” they identify as trans but no one knows (in the closet)

abuse on social media from broadly piece/podcast that has been shared with all of vice’s audiences - wouldn’t have done it if she knew vice was sharing it

brands have DoC not to put her in a position like that

you tailor your conversation to who’s listening

instagram/IG: they’ll find your nipples ASAP but their priorities are clearly skewed

power holders don’t recognise it as a problem?

guys feeling entitled to your time - guy at meet and greet saying that he’s been following her on IG and said he added her on FB 2 years ago and she didn’t accept and he showed it up on his phone

part and parcel of putting your life online

they can see where i’m going to be next and come and beat me up

christina grimmie

social media is dangerous

she never attacks, just defends

feminists who believe trans women aren’t women

channel 4 gender quake - paid anti trans people to heckle

suspended from tinder every couple of weeks - take down her profile + read all her messages because of guys that report her (her profile says it)

are algorithms transphobic?

court cases?

never been taken down on bumble or grindr

old tactic: syrian free army report human rights reporters

feels like crap when you got suspended, nasty/dirty/embarrassing

public figure - can leak them if they’re nasty messages

hypocritical: all swipes for everyone etc, trans inclusive

Q from lucy: many trans people have been unfairly denied by Facebook’s draconian identity policies. http://transadvocate.com/trans-people-have-99-problems-and-facebook-is-just-one_n_14727.htm

drag queens have been affected?

boys who watch her story everyday and post on her wall that “you’re a man” - generally its because they want her

https://www.instagram.com/p/BlBMeq7lN6r/?taken-by=charlie_craggs

“it stinks of tokenism/just trying to make money” - they have trans people in front of the camera, but not behind the scenes — need more diversity BTS

even if gender terms are all removed, if advertising/society still genders living / smooth legs — thats still gendered. taking away language, bodies are still gendered - physically its still a label.

most people just want to be able to identify for themselves - not just eradicate gender, trying to impose a genderless future on people

Facial feminisation is a thing

a need to change your sex - “transexual” (medical + surgical intervention)

Really depends on the individual

None of her trans friends want surgery

But she is getting surgery because its integral to her identity - she can’t even get into a long term relationship because she can’t get intimate with her partner in this body

how did she know she was trans?

never felt like a gay man

growing up - feminine, put on girls clothes, liked guys. —> very textbook transexual

when she was younger said she wished she was a girl - strong sense of dysphoria on her body (when she had to start shaving, she wanted to hide the razor, was embarrassed of it and thought her parents would be too which makes no sense as a teenage boy)

#london #feminism #trans #PI #privacy #2018 #event

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resonanteye · 4 years

Photo

via https://is.gd/IEusfG

horror movie talk with LFR

My friend Lucy F. R. has really great taste in movies.

I don’t say that lightly. You all know (if you’ve been reading me a while) how fussy I am about horror/weirdshit and how many movies I’ve watched. It’s my actual hobby, unrelated to anything else I do, purely for enjoyment. It’s hard for me to find people to talk about movies with, really- my uncle, who first introduced me to horror movies, and weird cinema, and one or two friends. So I’m really happy to have a conversation here about movies with someone.

Sal doesn’t take any shit from no man. (Beyond the Valley of the Ultravixens)

(R: me, L:them)

R: you’re on a grimy southern/grind horror kick right now. But what genre do you like best? What feeling are you after?

LFR: Horror is my favorite genre, I just get very into specific branches. I always want to end up saying to myself “this is a GOOD movie”.

R: What’s the best of the batch you’ve been into recently?

LFR:The Dunwich Horror (the 70’s one), Ghost Galleon, House By The Cemetery, Werewolves On Wheels, and Tourist Trap.

R: Tell me about Werewolves on Wheels. I just watched Dog Soldiers again, and I’ve been on a werewolf kick.

(Swamp Water)

LFR: Wait, you haven’t seen it? It’s about a small biker gang that are on their way to the desert and come across a monastery that they think is abandoned but come to find out it’s not and a mysterious cult interacts with them. The cult takes one of the biker girls and puts her in a ritual. The bikers take her back from them and go back on the road, but don’t know that ~one~ of them is now a werewolf at night.

R: People reading might not have seen it. I usually try to explain a little when I start talking about stuff, especially the lists I make.

I feel like this could turn into a list?

I saw a short film recently also with a werewolf- soldiers are in WWII, surrounded by Nazis in an old police station. There’s a woman in a cell that’s locked herself in and they get stuck in there with her. She’s a werewolf and they turn so they can beat the Nazis.

I feel like- the older werewolf stuff, I think 60s to early 80s, a lot of it was hippie panic. Manson references.

I felt like Werewolves on Wheels is also backlash on feminism, like a lot of gory stuff from that time.

LFR: It felt like a backlash on feminism and hippies.

(Vamp)

R: with werewolves and vampires there’s the whole homophobic/transphobic thing too. “secret monsters” and all that.

what movies would you compare it to? what’s close to it, in feeling?

LFR: In feeling as in how it made me feel while watching it for the first time: Texas Chainsaw Massacre, House Of 1,000 Corpses, Ghost Galleon. I just know it’s a movie that I’ll recommend to everyone and watch over and over.

Aesthetics and mood-wise: Warriors, Clockwork Orange, Hammer Film movies.

R:yeah it’s got that grit to it. easy rider/warriors. I actually haven’t seen Ghost Galleon. Rip it up for me a little.

LFR: Oh man, so

I get really into bands and for the past few years I always look up what my favorite band member’s favorite movies are, or movies that feel like the music genre. So recently I’ve just been super into doom and stoner metal, naturally I’ve been listening to a lot of Electric Wizard. I asked a bunch of doom metal fb groups “what’s the most doom metal movie you’ve seen” and eventually I somehow found Ghost Galleon. It’s a movie that is not good. Very low budget. Like Ed Wood status. But it’s REALLY good.

These swim suit models go out on a shoot and stumble across a ship that should not be afloat still and is completely abandoned. They get stuck on the ship so friends come looking for them. But the ship’s crew is a satanic cult and they come alive and, to keep from spoiling, all hell breaks loose. And it’s THE most doom metal movie you will ever watch. It has it all- mood, aesthetic, and story wise.

R:so bad, it’s incredible. sounds perfect.

LFR: it’s on prime.

R: FUCK YEAH

you guys are always using my prime and my Netflix and my Hulu. you think this is a costume? this is a way of life

R:when I started watching musician friends’ recommendations I ended up discovering Green Room.

The last time before that, it was Pighunt, which is to this day one of my favorite movies.

LFR: You told me to watch that one years ago. I recommend it to basically anyone who will listen to me.

R:it’s like the least sexist least racist southern-USA monster movie ever made.

LFR:Les Claypool’s roll in that has forever changed how I see him. When I saw Primus all I could see him as was a hillbilly preacher.

R: yep completely.

let’s talk about art horror. the weird shit. seen anything good there lately?

(The Horde)

LFR:The Girl On The Third Floor. It was weird and a little comical, but I enjoyed it. I Am The Pretty Thing Living In The House is REALLY good but it’s a little weird and a major slow burn. And, Society, but that’s more body horror than art house horror.

R:Society is a classic. Body horror and class war. So amazing. I thought I am the pretty thing was a lot of fluff- I understand the drive to slow-burn right now, it’s nostalgic. But I think it’s one of the movies where they went too far into the slow burn.

If I’m going to wait 90 minutes, that girl better taste some damn butter. You know?

LFR: I can see why but I also saw it as more of a classic gothic horror story so the pace didn’t bother me too much.

R:I kind of got tired of Gothic horror at some point. The slow burn. I think I was too interested in French and Korean extreme and gore for a minute.

LFR: I’m a sucker for gothic horror and black and white universal monsters.

R:I liked Late Phases- that kind of straddled the line for me really well. Which brings us back to werewolves, strangely enough.

I have been seeing more elderly characters in movies, which I like a lot.

LFR: I love creepy old women and demonic children in films. I feel like The Visit sparked people’s interest in elderly characters in horror.

R: yes! I agree. I really like variety- diversity. ” 5 teenagers on a road trip ” movies… it gets tiring. Bland.

not to mention that there’s actually Black people and elderly women in movies now.

LFR: Road trip gone wrong horror is good but, you gotta do it right.

R:tell me about one that you think gets it right.

LFR: The original Texas Chainsaw Massacre. It paved the way.

R: it did pave the way. that there were pockets of deep weird hate in this country- I think the suburbs were really shocked by it. but if you grew up in bumfuck nowhere it was less shocking.

I think Dead End is the ultimate “road trip gone wrong” movie. Urban legend plot, Ray Wise, Lin Shaye. Just incredible pacing.

LFR: I haven’t seen that one, I’ll have to watch it.

R:oh, you’re going to love it.

I feel like the Hills Have Eyes deserves a mention here. though it’s more a “trapped on purpose” movie than a road trip.

LFR: That’s a “vacation gone wrong” horror movie, and it’s definitely one of the best ones. Vacation and road trip movies are two different branches of a genre to me.

R:I think of them as “wrong turn” vs “bad directions”. like they stumbled into trouble is one genre. they were purposely hunted/trapped, is another.

LFR:Yes, exactly!

R: like a vacation movie that’s a trap- hills have eyes a vacation movie that’s an accident- Jurassic Park

Texas chainsaw massacre is both a road trip and a vacation, an accident and a trap.

tell me about a movie that’s got a plot hole, or has kept you thinking afterward, lately. for me it’s been resolution/the endless, and residue. residue in particular. how do they keep that book? why such a dumb ending? resolution/endless bugs me and I have to watch it again- time loops force me to do math, and I end up a little obsessed with figuring out timelines.

(Requiem for a Vampire)

LFR:Horror wise, 3 From Hell. I keep thinking about how different of a movie it originally was going to be. But also, still, HOW did they survive the shoot out from Devil’s Rejects just… miraculously??? And how come this new Firefly brother was never mentioned previously whatsoever??

R:OMG yes. I couldn’t. I got too wrapped up in plot holes to enjoy it!

LFR:I still enjoyed it for what it was but yeah, I was like WAIT WHAT??? every ten minutes.

R:what about not-horror?

LFR: Picnic At Hanging Rock.

We’ve come for the crites.

R: oh yeah. that’s the kind of movie you think hard about the rest of the day. what’s your theory on the ending?

man I just went to find a photo from it and they made a show? what the hell.

have you seen The Fields? It’s set where I grew up, it’s got…a vibe. Stuck with me.

LFR: Honestly? I can’t come up with a theory on what happened. It just really feels like they simply vanished.

I haven’t seen it. Tell me about it.

(The Fields)

R: There’s a menacing thing in the cornfields. A kid has shitty parents and is sent to stay with family. The farm is in the middle of all cornfields… there’s an abandoned little amusement park that lures him. It’s based on an actual place- a tiny amusement park that flooded and was shut down. it’s still there abandoned, right next to the town I grew up in!

cornfields are extremely creepy. it’s so easy to get lost in them.

The main characters- it’s got all the bad mountain people shit going on, abuse, drinking, violence, and then more because of the presence in the fields. pretty good stuff.

not a slow burn. a medium burn.

LFR:I’m definitely watching it

R: you’ll like it. big Jughead mood.

(and then I got tired and they I think did too, so that’s all for today)

I hope I get to do this again soon: I fuckin LOVE to talk horror.

Not your baby.

If you want to support LFR in some way, wear a mask, stay the fuck home, support BLM and trans rights, and get your government reps to continue unemployment payments for gig AND other workers. Seriously.

#halloween #horror #horror art #horror movies #interview with the artist #morbid art #movie reviews #weird #deep thoughts #journal #learning #love #macabre #posts with lists in them #reviews #true stories

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bearhatarmy · 6 years

Photo

Here’s a hot take from conservative pundit and massive transphobe music fan, Ben Shapiro. Normally I would tackle the more serious topics Ben discusses, but this really felt like it deserved a response.

Though, if I wanted to take a more serious angle, I suppose I could make the argument that rap is a huge part of the black community’s cultural identity & heritage and by belittling it, Ben is insulting and diminishing one of a marginalized group’s main creative outlets that they use to communicate their struggles.

But that would be racist! Ben isn’t racist! He is constantly explaining over and over just how not-racist he is. Which is what all non-racists have to do.

This has nothing to do with racism and Ben has some solid FACTS explaining why.

HE LIKES JAZZ, OKAY?

AND OPINIONS ARE NEVER RACIST.

I GUESS.

EVEN THOUGH HE SAID IT WAS A FACT.

So, to be clear, this will just be a not-serious analysis about Ben’s totally not-racist FACT that rap is not-music.

Let’s get this not-party started...

You see, Ben is famous for his motto, “Facts don’t care about your feelings.”

He’s even leveraged his factual wisdom and made it into merchandise.

That’s a real thing people can buy. It even has 6 whole reviews on Amazon!

Beyond the Box rated it with 3 stars saying, “It's okay but small.”

(Aww, just like Ben!)

And Tim S. described the shirt’s fit as “Liberals are destroying the country.”

(I’m pretty sure that means it’s a tad itchy.)

Before I saw Ben’s factual tweet, I really FELT like rap was an amazing musical artform. It took poetry and made it musical. It gave people a new way to express themselves that didn’t require expensive music lessons or even instruments. A friend could just bang on a table while you let it flow. It made creating music more accessible. And as long as you had good rhythm you could participate. It FELT groundbreaking at the time.

The very first cassette tape I bought was Good Vibrations by Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch. (I know that isn’t a great start, but I was like 10, okay?) The very first compact disc I bought was 2 Legit 2 Quit by MC Hammer. (Don’t laugh, he was the shit in 1991.) As I reached my formative years, I started listening to DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince, Beastie Boys, and House of Pain.

I jump’d around. (squeeEEEEEee)

But as some of you may have noticed, most of my musical selections were very mainstream. You’ve probably also noticed that I am very... white.

To this day, even! I think it is a chronic condition.

My skin is near translucent due to lack of sunlight. I often say things like “indubitably” and “bloviate” and “I’m sure this chicken will be fine with minimal seasoning.” And at one point I owned the entire Creed discography.

I was in desperate need of a Hip Hop education.

Now using the official Rules of Republican Conduct™, if I want to talk about something with a racial component, all I need is a single black friend. This will absolve me of any consequences.

Interesting Froggie Fun Fact... I went to a mostly black high school!

Check this out...

That’s TWO black friends!

Shawn is the one teaching me a complicated handshake I instantly forgot. And Marcus is photobombing us in the back there.

I wish I could say our school was super progressive and everyone got along dandy. But in the mid-90s that just wasn’t the case. There were no major conflicts, but a lot of the white kids would sort of... self segregate. They’d all choose lockers in the same area. They’d sit in the same area at lunch and in class. And not a lot of them would interact with black kids outside of school.

That said, I did not get the segregation memo. I got along with everyone. I’m not saying I was some amazing colorblind trailblazer crossing racial boundaries at every turn. My locker was in the white section too. And I only had two black friends (not pictured) that I hung out with outside of school.

But I do think humor can break down a lot of barriers. And I used comedy to cross those invisible lines from time to time.

Do you remember “Yo Mama” jokes?

Like uhhh... Yo mama so old, her social security number is 1. Yo mama so lazy, she stuck her nose out the window and let the wind blow it. Yo mama so classless, she’s a Marxist utopia.

You get it.

Before school or before class, a lot of kids would have these competitions. They would face off with their best motherly insults and typically the person who received the loudest “OH DAAAAAAMMMMN!” would be declared the winner.

One day I just kind of decided to make fun of Shawn’s mama. After a few seconds of stunned silence I got the loudest OH DAMN of anyone and we were suddenly friends. And then his friends were my friends too. Our friendship didn’t go outside the school premises, but it was still a lot of fun joking around with them at lunch or when we were supposed to be doing homework.

Shawn and I started a sort of cultural exchange. He would tell me about all of the amazing music he was into. And I explained why Batman: The Animated Series was not a kid’s cartoon. IT WAS ANIMATION. Says it right in the name.

He introduced me to a wide range of artists of color. Old and new (at the time). We talked about Boyz II Men, Stevie Wonder, Michael Jackson, Prince. He introduced me to Mary J Blige who I follow to this day. And Aaliyah :(

He also told me about not-music.

Ya know... rappers.

I’ll be honest, sometimes this was challenging for me. I did not like or understand everything he suggested. I had a lot of racist baggage leftover from an all-white Catholic elementary school and my brain resisted for longer than I care to admit. But after seeing Shawn’s passion for this not-music, I became rap-curious and willing to keep an open mind.

Let me try to name-drop from memory...

Puff Daddy, Lauryn Hill, Wu-Tang Clan, Naughty By Nature, Snoop Dogg, Nate Dogg, Dr. Dre, Biggie Smalls, Ice Cube, and some guy named Tupac Shakur. You’ve probably never heard of him.

He’d even sneak a Walkman in his backpack so he and his friends could sample his latest acquisitions.

He’d be like, “Hey Ben, you want to listen to some Master P?” And I’d be like, “Sure! You wanna listen to Nine Inch Nails?” And he’d be like, “Naw, I’m good.”

Okay, so the cultural exchange could be a bit one-sided at times. But Batman bonded us all.

Admittedly, when I was at home, I still mostly listened to Pearl Jam, Soundgarden, and Stone Temple Pilots on repeat. And I do not listen to a great deal of Hip Hop these days. Mostly due to lack of guidance. I don’t have a Shawn in my life anymore. (But that Cardi B Money song was crazy good. And I’m not just saying that cuz the video had boobs.)

Shawn was able to get me to a place where even if I didn’t like what I was listening to, I understood why other people enjoyed it. I really learned to appreciate rap and many of Shawn’s suggestions made an appearance on my super rad 90s Winamp playlist.

Sometimes when I was having a bad day, it was nice to have a good day to fall back on.

So when I was very whitely bobbing my head to the beat of that communal Walkman, I didn’t think my friends were stupid. I didn’t think I was stupid. I didn’t FEEL stupid.

But facts are facts. And my feels about facts don’t matter.

You see, Ben Shapiro is known for being a master debater. You can find videos of him CRUSHING LIBRULS WITH LOGIC. Or DESTROYING FEMINISTS with TRU FACTS. Perhaps even DEMOLISHING SOCIALISTS with STATISTICS.

His big Harvard brain is pretty relentless when it comes to DESTROYMOLISHING The Left.

He’s great at taking standard conservative talking points, couching them in academic speak, and peppering them with dubious facts that don’t always hold up to scrutiny after the fact. Some might argue he cherry picks his opponents and the subject matter, creates scenarios where his point of view will be well received, and uses bad faith tactics to give the appearance of the upper hand.

But that would be speculation and this post is all about FACTS.

And Ben’s facts are too powerful to dispute. I doubt anyone is up to the challenge. Not even a transgender woman with epic makeup, glorious costumes, creative lighting schemes, and a degree in philosophy could take him to task.

It’s just... unpossible.

*cough* Contrapoints *cough*

Sorry, had a froggie in my throat.

SO... let’s see Ben defend “rap isn’t music” using his fancy debating skillz. It took him 6 years to come up with this, so I’m betting it’s bulletproof.

OH I SEE.

He plays CLASSICAL music.

CHECKMATE, RAPPERS!

Ben Shapiro DESTROYGASMS Hip Hop with UNDERWHELMING TWEET.

If you’ll allow me to expound his logic, being a classically trained musician makes you more specialer than a regular musician. It makes him an arbiter of what is and is not music. I forgot that classical musicians were automatically given that power.

I know Ben only ever presents facts, so I’d like to take him at his word, but I think I’d like to see this music master perform something. Just to be sure he has the proper classical credentials to make these bold claims.

Here is a music video he produced for The Daily Wire. Clearly a high budget homage to one of the most thrilling television themes in recent history.

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Did anyone else feel like they were watching 3 robots play the blandest arrangement ever conceived? Or was that just me? SUCH ENERGY.

I will say, those special effects were... something.

And Ben really PWNED CNN. I’m sure they felt that slice all the way in their Atlanta headquarters.

Ben, if you’re reading this, that video was totally funny in the way you intended. People are definitely laughing with you and not at you. I didn’t cringe even a little.

But does this prove that Ben is a proper CLASSICAL musician? With all the power and privileges that entails?

Does he have the authority to judge musical worthiness?

Despite his robotic performance, I suppose he did hit all the correct notes and everything.

Is music like facts? Does music care about your feelings?

I think what we need is a comparison. Something we can judge Ben’s performance against in order to gauge his level of classical musicianship.

This is Tina Guo.

She is a Chinese-American immigrant from Shanghai. She moved here at the age of 5. She probably was able to sneak in because there wasn’t a border wall yet. She is taking the jobs of American classical musicians. Probably why Ben isn’t in a top-tier symphony orchestra as we speak.

Tina is a cello prodigy who was trained classically. She attended the USC Thornton School of Music for professional cello studies on a full scholarship where she studied under Nathaniel Rosen and Eleonore Schoenfeld--some of the most influential cellists of the 20th century.

She also made a huge splash on YouTube casually playing Flight of the Bumblebee as a teenager. No biggie. I’m sure Ben can play that too.

Oh, and do you remember that badass Wonder Woman theme written by famous composer Hans Zimmer?

That was her playing the lead.

Now for the comparison.

Watch Librul Immigrant DESTROY the Game of Thrones theme that she arranged ALL BY HERSELF without the help of a BIG STRONG MAN.

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I don’t know.

I think that was a smidge better than Ben’s version.

What do you folks think?

So here is the dilemma.

We have two CLASSICAL musicians who are at nearly identical skill levels...

HOWEVER... after some investigation...

It’s possible Tina Guo thinks rap... might be music.

*GASP*

THE EVIDENCE

One of her favorite ways to practice improvisation is to jam along with Hip Hop tracks she finds on YouTube.

Now, conservatives like Ben LOVE dictionary definitions. It’s their go-to debate tactic when trying to legitimize the idea of racism toward white folks. So let’s use the dictionary really quick.

When I looked up what this “jamming” word meant, it sent me to “jam session.” I was shocked by what I found.

Musicians? MUSIC? But those backing tracks she practiced to were used for rap non-music. BEN I AM CONFUSED.

I think I need to dig deeper.

After scouring the internet for almost 2 minutes I was able to find something even more shocking.

Here is LIBRUL CLASSICAL SNOWFLAKE IMMIGRANT FEMINIST MUSICIAN sharing the stage with a CUCK NON-MUSIC RAP ARTIST.

That kinda looks like Tina Guo... and LUPE FIASCO.

*DOUBLE GASP*

And I’ve double checked this... it seems this Lupe fellow is definitely a rapper.

WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?

I mean, she has her cello. And he has a microphone. But it’s a FACT that rap isn’t music. So I guess they are doing some experimental anti-music performance together.

ANOTHER SHOCKING IMAGE HAS COME TO MY ATTENTION AFTER ANOTHER 12 SECONDS OF GOOGLING.

What the heck, Tina?

Why are you, A CLASSICAL MUSICIAN, on a stage with Common? Another rapper!

I’m a little worried that Tina might be stupid.

Ben’s FACT clearly states if you think rap is music, then you are stupid.

And not only is Tina playing music near a rapper... I’m pretty sure she is playing music WITH a rapper.

That’s like... double stupid.

I really don’t know what to feel about these facts I’ve uncovered.

These FACTS kinda FEEL like bullshit.

At least I can take comfort in the absolute fact that Ben Shapiro is a solid 5 feet 9 inches tall. It gives me comfort knowing he can ride any roller coaster he wants.

Sick burn, Ben. Though you’re kind of implying that when Milo sees you he is giving you blowjobs. I’m sure you’re fine with that implication. It’s not like you’re homophobic or anything, right?

The important thing is that everyone knows how you’re a big boy. Two inches taller than Napoleon!

I mean, it would be silly to lie about such a thing so easily disproved, right? And there is nothing to be ashamed of if you are a shorter individual. My mom is short I think she’s the best!

So I’m confident you are 5′9″ as you have stated.

I CAN’T FEEL ANY MORE FACTS, BEN.

MY SOUL CAN’T TAKE IT.

You know what... screw it.

I’m going to make it serious.

Not liking rap isn’t racist.

Telling people they are stupid for liking rap is super racist.

And being too stubborn to apologize for a 6-year-old tweet compounds that racism.

Liking jazz is just the musical version of “I have a black friend.”

Not understanding that rap is a cultural staple vital to the black community and then comparing it to frickin’ Titanic makes it profoundly racist.

And... *takes a deep breath* continually defending a shitty 6-year-old tweet as recent as last July, even though you could probably just apologize, blame it on youthful ignorance, delete it, and never have to deal with it again, just because you can’t ever admit you ever said anything wrong...

Well, that just makes you look...

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