#i just worry it's another outlet for some weird fetishization

[gothsidecharacter]

i feel bad that it took me so long to get into stranger things even though i watched and enjoyed the first season right when it came out but am a hateful little creature at my core and didn’t want to engage anymore after it became such a commercial success and all it took for me to give it a second chance was growing up a little and being given a new silly little doomed side character to project onto and now that character is the one that people are being so not normal over that i simply cannot enjoy myself in peace without worrying that i am being a cringey little freak (derogatory) about it

[ohnothewheatisonfire]

ok J&H Fandom, let’s talk:

“Popular” blog @thatsmyhyde​ is a prominent creator in the J&H Fandom. But here’s where the problem shows up: 

the content they make is concerning at least, and full of red flags at worst. 

DISCLAIMER: This is all information I have gathered through their tumblr blog - I am not aware of what other things they may be posting on other social medias or their written work.  ANOTHER DISCLAIMER: Please be polite, I am a minor, and am just creating this post to ward off / warn other minors from following this person. If you are an adult interacting with this post and blog, be mindful of your actions and be responsible

Trigger warnings for: discussions of homophobia, discussions of p//phillia, fat-shaming, fat-phobia (?), etc. Just be on general edge for this post, we’re talking about a lot of weird stuff

I will be linking their posts as I am not going to take screenshots of their art.

This is not a comprehensive list of all the things they’ve done - these are the ones I could think of and was able to adress. If you have anything additional you want to add to this post (such as concerning things they may do on other social media), feel free to reblog and add on the things you need to say, just please don’t be dumb. 

Let’s start with the premise: Henry Jekyll creates an alter ego, Edward Hyde. They begin a relationship - an emotional and physical one. Their AU features Jekyde (A popular ship in the fandom, the name stands for Jekyll x Hyde), people have various views on this ship. 

So far so fine, right? Here are the problems:

1. Their Henry Jekyll is an awful person. Now, let’s start by saying that of course you can have bad people in your works, those are, after-all: villains. The problem is,Henry Jekyll is a harmful walking gay sterotype, and an outlet for Biscuit’s obvious fat fetish. But their relationship isn’t just toxic it’s romanticised in how toxic it is.

a. The harmful stereotype - Their Henry Jekyll has a “thing” for younger men, even though he is in his middle-ages, and Hyde looks like a young child. (Age gap relationships are their own thing - they come with their own burdens, and this is not the post to discuss them. This topic will lead into the Edward  Hyde section of this post.) But, it was a known homophobic scare-mongering tactic of straight parents to accuse everyone who is gay that they are ‘out to prey on your youths’. This is a stereotype that stigmatized the LGBT community, and still harmfully affects them to this day. 

b. The fat fetish: Jekyll is frequently seen with cake (as seen here, here, and here)  or being self-loathing, to the point of suicide. (click the link here to acess a list of suicide and other crisis hotlines! you matter to me!). Now, the self-loathing could be a symptom of depression or other mental illness, so I am not going to talk about it, as a person with mental illnesses.  But the self-loathing in addition to him being fat is not good. Media is drowning in the “self-loathing fat person” and as someone who isn’t thin i’m tired of seeing this. 

- The fetish aspect comes in him constantly being referred to “Chonky”, a term usually used for overweight/obese cats and being drawn obsessed with cake. It fetishises his weight and dehumanises him into something people call their animals. Also, here’s more of Jekyll eating food and being embarassed by it, though this time because it’s seen as “servant’s food”. 

- Biscuit admits to liking them “Big and chunky” in posts like this. 

[Photo id: A string of texts that says: tantok, frankenstein, twink lore, dorian slipped through the cracks and got himself sketched by yours truly the other day because he brought lord henry along, he and the slime didn’t have to fight to the death because they’ve both got their own chonky old toxic henries to focus on, but this blog still ain’t big enough for the two of ‘em. end id]

- They also talk about how they ‘prefer’ to draw fat (chonky) people. Image attatched above. the thing that should be noticed is that they say ‘chonky old toxic henries’ . they, once again, are making fat people a fetish. 

[Photo id: Anonymous asks: are you gonna make a victor design tho biscuit responds: Oh, man, anon, I hate to disappoint but.....probably not. Aside from my non-humanoids and hellspwans (slime gremlins, corpse creatures, and etcetera), I’m extremely uninterested in drawing young thin men. I really need middle-aged chonk to hold my attention. If poor Victor Frankenstein had only been 40-something and round when he made his great creation, then he’d definitely get a design from yours truly. As it is though, he’s not holding my attention enough to want to. end id] 

Biscuit once again talks about how he doesn’t want to draw ‘thin men’, because he is only interested in older ‘round’ people. He, is, once again, bringing to light his fetish for fat people. 

2. Edward Hyde is basically a child - Edward Hyde is drawn in boy’s school clothes, is taken in and raised like a child after Jekyll’s death, and is constantly cooed over by the creator, even earning a nickname of ‘slime’ from them. In addition, he also has ‘family photos’ taken with Utterson, has his toenails kept, is the height of a child, and teeths. This, paired with the fact that he is in a toxic, abusive, relationship with a man in his middle ages is concerning and should not be romanticised. 

[Photo id: the text reads: In his first year of existence, Hyde lost teeth and regrew them in a mildly similar fashion to a kid losing baby teeth - except it wasn’t all of his teeth (Just the canines and some random molars) and they weren’t replaced with a larger set, just with teeth exactly the same as the ones that had been lost. No one knows what was up with this. the teeth are still in Jekyll’s study in a little jar. end id]

a. Hyde is treated like a child after Jekyll’s death. Hyde teething is concerning because that’s something infants do. He also clings to utterson like a child. The idea that he gets taken in by Utterson, whisked away to an estate out in the country, despite both of them having romantic feelings for Jekyll is. how do I put this: WEIRD. (seriously, imagine your father/father-figure dating ur significant other / having a crush on them before you two got together and after). 

b. Hyde dresses like a child, whilst being sexually active and wearing lingerie. Now, on their own, these traits aren’t a problem - but together? They are very much a problem.  

- Hyde dressing as a child is concerning because he is also treated like a child at certain points in their “lore”. After Jekyll’s death, Hyde becomes a singular entity, and is taken away by Utterson. To care for, like a child. This post sums it up well: he wears both children’s clothes and lingerie. 

- Hyde has a very strange appearance - if you compare it to his early design (which was less cartoony and looked more like a man in his twenties), Hyde’s current design is concerning. Why does he have the height of a child? Why does he have eyes that take up a grand part of his face? Now, one could argue that ‘he is not human’ - but if he is treated like a human, whilst wearing children’s/youthful clothes, teeths, and his general enchanment with the world - he appears as human (and looks eerily similar to a child), which is why him being sexually active, wearing lingerie, and being friendly with prostitutes (one that gave him underwear and other articles of clothing)  is concerning. 

- That said, Utterson is directly talked about being ‘adopted into gremlin fatherhood’ (paraphrasing). 

[Photo id: the text reads: 59. Jekyll is irresitibly attracted to everything about Hyde, but if he could somehow be forced to list hte most attractive physical attributes of Edward Hyde in his opinion, aside from Hyde’s youthful appearance in general it would be his eyes, his overbite (Jekyll perceived the way Hyde’s-) the screenshot cuts of the rest of the paragraph. end id] 

- Jekyll has a ‘thing’ for younger men. This is to the point that the most attractive part about Hyde is that he is young. (or looks like it), Hyde looking very young is concerning because that would make their verison of Doctor Jekyll a p*dophille . This is something the artist has either not recognized, realised, or simply does not acknowledge. 

3. The toxic relationship (and how it’s romanticised) - The relationship in this ‘AU’ is: love comes first, toxic nature comes second. If you scroll through the blog you may see some reference of ‘Henry Jekyll is such a toxic person teehee’ and a lot of them kissing, being together, smiling, or enjoying life. Now, obviously, an artist - if they do not want to - should not draw characters being toxic to each other. But it is concerning when the above points come into a factor, that the toxic nature of their relationship comes second to the highs of their relationship, at least on their blog. 

Here is one of the only examples I’ve seen of Biscuit talk about the relationship in a detailed negative light. 

4. The fandom - Whilst Biscuit says it’s ok for minors to interact with his blog (in that blog he says that he tags nsfw - which is true.) he does not regularly mention that his jekyde is toxic - not in a concerete way. He romanticises it (despite acknowledging it’s flaws), and the only way it may or may not be (i would not know) acknowledged is his fic: which is mature and not meant for minors. He does not tag his posts with regular triggers for things like: alcohol, drugs, mental illnesses, or abuse (any variants). They’re not even in his blog’s description! If Biscuit had acknowledged it in his blog, something along the lines of: “Hey! This blog has <content warnings> be warned when interacting! But no, he does not. 

- A lot of the people who draw things, or generally interact with Biscuit are minors. Being exposed to such a thing may be harmful to my peers, and I am worried. To minors who are fans of Biscuit: if you’ve made it this far, thank you, I know you’re mature and responsible, but being exposed to content creators like Biscuit could lead you down a dangerous path of having this kind of thing normalised to you. Be careful with the content you consume, please! And thank you for making it this far, I’m sure you’re a lovely person :)!

Thank you for taking the time to read this! Stay safe, tell the people you love that you love them. 

[rubbrfrk9]

REBORN

I HAD A NAME. I used to be somebody.

I had a profession, dignity, a position in the class structure.

Nowadays, I see through a cracked lens - society is broken, and the people participating in it are all prisoners.  The people you see shuffling in the great to and from, every morning, every evening - they’re miserable.  Ask any one of them if they wouldn’t leave their life, and - perhaps after some hesitation - they would say Yes.  

Even the ones who have kids - the ones in love - all of them.  In fact, those with ties to other people are the first ones to get in line.

For me, it was curiosity that opened the door.  If one follows the classic Hero’s Journey, the arc that every myth and story takes, I heard the Call - just like you - through a buzzing, pixelated source… the great and sordid world of the internet.  

One wrong step can put you on an entirely different path.  

When you look back, the path you were on is obscured by the surrounding environs - pressed firmly closed, as though no thing had ever once passed through.

I should introduce myself before I preach anymore.  I am rubbrfrk9.  You’ve read the stories on the website, you might’ve seen my name watermarked on pics as you scroll by on your tumblr feed.  

That hasn’t been our name always.  But what our name was before does not matter.

All hail the Rubbered One!

And if you’re reading this, then you’re as curious as I was.  

Do you dare follow your own Call?

If you do, keep reading.

THE CALL COMES FOR YOU. You don’t come for it.  The Call has been there, waiting, for you to pick up the other end, for as long as you’ve been alive.

Like I was saying, for me, it was curiosity.  It seems like it is for you, too.

I was always a curious guy.  It’s how I became a teacher, I guess.  I loved to learn about shit.  Endless amounts of shit.  The subjects that interested me were sucked dry by my voracious need to know.  On top of it all, I was cursed (blessed?) by a need to collect, a completionist’s frenzy, and so I found myself needing not just to know, but to know it all.

Everything.  A question could not go unanswered.  I was a very vocal kid, always asking the dread “Why?” to anyone who had the faculty to answer.  Of course, I learned quickly that faculty does not imply ability; and later still, that ability does not imply honesty.  Soon enough, I started shutting up and consulting other avenues of information - books.  I loved books.  I read anything I could find, from my mother’s tawdry romances on the back of the toilet to magazines at the doctor’s office - but my preferred genre was Horror, without a doubt.

I loved to read stories of unfortunate people, blind to their predicament, be lulled to the predator in the story.  I loved how the protagonists were slowly overcome by a sense of dawning knowledge, and were thus able to conquer - or not - the abiding horror.  The best ones were when the hero failed, in my opinion - those dark, twisted passages of despair and helplessness …

I was a weird kid.  

I didn’t have very much luck making friends.  I didn’t really understand what a “friend” should be.  I knew that it was some sort of social construct, but I hadn’t figured out how it worked yet.  Taking the time to do that analysis set me back, quite substantially, in the invisible school of society.  Maybe, at heart, I was always a bit of a freak, even before I came out.  

Funny to think of that, now, sitting here, writing from behind my gas mask and full rubber suit.  

All hail the Rubbered One!

I love how tightly it encases me.  How tightly it erases me.  

Slowly, now.  Don’t give up too quick.  Finish the story first.

As I was saying.  Curiosity.  After college, I became a teacher.  A professor.  Very highly regarded in my field, but poor with social interactions.  Dates?  Of a professional courtesy, only, and as awkward and dry as a lecture.  Actually, for me, lecturing was my second home, aside from my tidy and obsessively-ordered apartment.  I loved standing at the podium, talking about the books we read together.  How they are structured, and how events, following a certain chain, can be transformative.  

Although sometimes, horrific.

Life that is contained entirely within the snowglobe of acadæmia becomes brittle, after a time.  Even the most relentlessly anti-social of us have a heartbeat, a pulse, and a sexual drive.

Most sexual drives will tend towards the obligatory, the procreational.  Attractiveness, physicality, congruence, intercourse, and then the subsequent emotional tangle.  Sex is more than just a body meeting a body a-comin’ thru the rye - it is a rendezvous of energy, some of which we can’t even begin to understand.

Some kind of cosmic interplay happens during sex.  

Something so bright, so chimeric, that I was blinded just thinking about it.

I fled from it, like a medieval monk from a vision of God.

SPARE TIME. I spent most of my time in my apartment in my bedroom, perched with my skinny knees up, my face obliterated by the powder-white light of my phone.  I’d scroll endlessly.  And always pictures of men.

I’d known I was gay way before most people do, but I’d never bothered to “come out” or anything that obvious.  I just kept my feelings to myself, for as long as I could - which may not have been the healthiest thing to do, in hindsight, and when they finally vibrated at the seal on the pressure gauge, I spewed it out all over the internet.

Tumblr was my outlet.  You could find something for every kink, from men transforming into donkeys to using politics as a sexual tool.  I considered myself omnisexual.  I could be convinced, really, to like anything.  Except a few things.

I never really got into the big “full fetish” scene.  I’d, of course, seen the pictures go by - of Folsom, Folsom Europe, even some kinksters trying to make a name for themselves, become influencers, with pictures so heavily edited and filtered they almost looked fake.

But for me, my kink was - get this - intimacy.  I loved pictures of men, beautiful men, kissing, embracing.  Tangling together, with bliss inscribed on their faces.  And it was that expression that did it for me - the bliss, the complete and total walling-off of any worldly concern but the physical, the presence of another’s lips, breath, proximity -

It got me off, every time.  Imagining myself in those positions.  Wearing those clothes.  Caught up in those bedsheets.

Then, I’d stare into the mirror, and flex my coming-along biceps.  My quads.  I’d get dressed for the gym, and I’d go work out for an hour.  

I loved my routine, even if I felt the dreary recalcitrance to wake up every morning and head to work, just another body with the other bodies, shuffling to and from.  The night time is when I felt the surge of life - I would be free of the grimy shackles of the city, I would pound through the tumblr feed, I would shower, I would go workout.  

Life was half-bliss.

But as anyone who has half of bliss will tell you, it is never enough.  You must go searching for the second half of bliss - and I found mine on the night in question.

Knees up, one foot tapping a heel in idle, anxious rhythm.  Eyes greedily consuming, picture after picture, and then -

My thumb hovered over the screen as if about to lay a fingerprint down on a reader.  I stared.

The picture, my gateway, was a bedroom picture much like any other I saw in my daily feed, except for one crucial ingredient - one of the men was entirely encased, from head to toe, in shiny black rubber.

The rubber was so shiny, so depthless, so reflective, that it almost seemed as though its host was Not - as though there were some kind of blotting-out, erasing, blankening … And yet, this Not Person was being encircled by the arms of another man, a strong man, by the looks of it, his biceps bulging around the Rubbered One.

Even now, looking back on it, I find it insanely difficult to pry my eyes away from the memory of that reflective rubber.  That shiny, reflective black rubber.  And the detail!  I could see the hollows of the eyes, the imprint of the big toenail, the curls of the ears down to the tragus - it was truly as though this was not a suit being worn, this was a suit that was animated, had breath and energy of its own.  

Perhaps it was, in hindsight, seducing the man which embraced it.

I don’t know how long I stared at the picture.  A long time.  I was fascinated with everything about it - the mess of clothing on the side of the bed, socks and shirts strewn around, as if someone had melted and left only their garments as markers that they ever existed at all.  Even a pair of glasses lay askew on the carpet, next to a pair of jeans and Chucks.

If I listened, I could almost hear my own heartbeat, beating in time with the glints of light off of that rubber surface, as though the Rubbered One were moving, in infinitesimally small increments, writhing on the bed in either pleasure or agony -

I blinked, shook my head, and pressed down deliberately on the screen, for the little “Save Image” dialog to appear.  I needed to see that again, sometime.

It was a lot sooner than I thought.

I had to excuse myself from my lecture.  I was shaking, and my breath was wobbly in my mouth.  Words had come out gummily, and I was worried that someone would be convinced I was having a stroke.  I’d send in a TA to finish off the lecture, not that anyone in the darkened hall was paying attention anyway.  

I went into the nearest bathroom, a single-room lavatory, and sat down hard on the toilet.  Instantly, my hands fished out my phone from my pocket and called up my Photos.

There, on the top of the digital heap, was the faraway glisten and shine of the Rubbered One.  I sighed in relief, in pleasure.

You would too, if you’d seen the picture.  Don’t judge me.

A whisper of triumph, of pleasure, of satisfaction, threaded through my mind as I opened up the picture.  There it was again.  That endlessness, that Void, that Nothing.  I craved it, and I didn’t know why, and I needed to know why, and to know why, I needed to keep looking.  I needed to keep looking to stop looking.

The Rubbered One had moved.  I remember its legs being in a different scissor - left on top of right, and now it was right, on top of left.  

This did not frighten me.  Perhaps it should have.  Pictures are not supposed to move.

But in my addled state of mind, I was blissfully unaware of the warning - or even, really, of the thought itself.  It slid right out of my head, as if on a glossy sheet of black ice.  I smiled, warmly, the shuddering ceasing.  

Then, surprising even myself, I unzipped my pants, and hauled out my cock.

Nothing would stop me.  I was a man determined.  I could even smell the rubber, could feel it lifting, wafting out of the screen of my phone.  That smell, that smell that I have no words for - something utterly inorganic, but somehow seductive for that very reason.  

I jerked off, right there, in the bathroom around the corner from the lecture hall.  I sat so still, my hand doing all the work, that the motion-sensing lights clicked off, leaving me alone, lit only by the powdery light of my phone.  There, in the enclosing, mummifying dark, I jerked myself off and came with a jagged, oblique moan that slid out of me, catching me by surprise.  

I may have even been in such a hurry to get inside that I didn’t even lock the bathroom door.  This suspicion came to me as I exited, stuffing myself shakily back into my khakis and my blazer.  You see, the door had opened seamlessly, with no hint of a lock dis-engaging.  

In fact, the momentary thrill of being caught as I masturbated to the Rubbered One flicked a little shiver of pleasure up my shaft anew, and I started shuddering so much that I had to grab the wall for fear of falling over.

All hail the Rubbered One!

There was no way I could go back to my lecture now.  I fled the campus for the safety of a local coffeehouse.

OTHER THINGS STARTED HAPPENING. Like how I thought I was having a stroke, before?  I found that, when I spoke, my mouth felt oddly compressed, as though I had lockjaw.  I went to the doctor, but when they told me to “open wide and say ahhh” I had no trouble - my jaw, seemingly re-oiled, complacently opened its full width, and I made the obligatory noise.  

Nothing wrong with my temporo-mandibular joint, advised the healthcare professional.  

And yet, as soon as I left the office, trying to speak to the Uber driver, to give him directions to my apartment, the same muffling, mysterious pressure returned, and I was only able to speak in tight, restrained tones.  

It didn’t occur to me until much, much later, that this was the voice of someone wearing a rubber gas mask, much like the one I am wearing now.

After awhile, I stopped talking altogether.  Of course, this did make it rather difficult to be a professor, and so that had to stop, too.

But what does a mute member of society do, when the one thing they have in life is a degree in English Literature?

Well, the first step is despondency, and denial.  I spent a month at least, just searching tumblr for more pictures of the Rubbered One.  Sure, there were plenty of pictures - the fetish for rubber has never been a subtle one - but none of them had that same irresistable sheen and shine, that fathomless Void, of the Rubbered One.  I’d exhausted most of the blogs.  I kept returning to the photograph I had saved to my cloud - and jerking off to it, again and again, like a desperate man.  Like a junkie.  If I went without, or even thought about going out, my hand developed such a tremor that I looked afflicted with tardive dyskinesia.

It got so bad, and the attacks so frequent, that I eventually just made the picture my home screen on my phone.  That way, if the tremors started, a quick pocket-dig and finger-flip would open up the likeness of the Rubbered One, and instantly, I would calm.

And (he?  It?) continued to move.  Perhaps, now that (he?  It?) knew that I had noticed the movement, it happened more and more, and faster, as though I were watching a video rather than a photograph.

Now, in addition to the slow, sensual scissoring of its legs, the Rubbered One was turning its head, away from the suckling devotion of its prey and turning to look at me, choosing me, directing its energy towards me.

I already had my rubber in the mail.  It took some doing, some difficult work, some self-measuring, but before long the order was placed and the shipment was made.  It was, of course, a link that I’d seen on tumblr, from one of the many rubber fetish sites.  Drone, and a series of numbers, I think.  One of the ones that’s talking about being absorbed into a Hivemind, a Central Core.  Nothing that ever really appealed to me.

The only thing I wished to absorb into was the Rubbered One.  

I ached, yearned, to be the man in that picture.  I was even jealous of him.  Who was he to show his devotion to such a being, such a beautiful entity?  Would not I be a better candidate for the first apostle position?  

But I knew, somehow, deep inside, that I wouldn’t even be considered until I had donned my own rubber.

Here’s where it gets a little weird, right - this is usually the point when in the story, the protagonist gets a little real, sizes himself up, maybe learns something about themselves.  Call me crazy, I know, but at this point, I just knew on the inside, so strongly, that I would never be worthy of the Rubbered One if I wasn’t Rubbered myself.

And so I waited, agonizingly, nearly tearing my hair out, for the package to inch itself across the ocean to my apartment mailbox.  I’d ordered the full suit, of course, the one that most closely approximated my photograph.  

I was utterly consumed, I was ablaze with obsession.  For the first time in my life, I felt an utterly overwhelming feeling - a lack.  I felt as though I lacked something that I had had for just a moment - one sweet moment, hovering, crystalline - and now that I no longer had it, I could never live a whole life again.

And everywhere I went - watching with a hawk’s eye the slow drainage of funds from my bank account - I smelled it.  Rubber.  There was even an auto repair shop, blockaded on one side with piles and piles of tires - I altered my daily neighborhood walk so that I could slowly amble by it, inhaling the thick, gray smell.  The more of it I could get on me, the more I wanted.  If there were a cologne that smelled of rubber, I’d wear it - hell, I’d bathe in it!  I twitched for it to be near me, on me, inside of me.

THE DAY MY NEW FACE CAME IN THE MAIL. I was wearing rubber gloves, made for chemical and construction workers, pressing them to my face, and inhaling as deeply as I could, when my phone made its little ringing noise to signify that a package was Delivered.

It could only be one thing.

It would only be a matter of moments before I could prostrate myself in front of the Rubbered One.

I hooked up my laptop to my flat-screen television, where the Rubbered One had also become my desktop wallpaper.  I opened up the picture file and let it sit, in the middle of my living room, the picture of Him.

Again, I fell far into His Nothingness, His All-Consuming Void - He turned on the bed, in the picture.  He silently got up.  He moved so subtly that it was impossible to tell if my hallucination was real, or some sort of digital magic.  He kicked, as if insulting, the pile of clothes left by the bedside.

The whole time, He kept his head, His black eyes, His shiny face, impassive and monstrous, but so aloof, so superior - His direct gaze - riveted on mine.

All hail the Rubbered One!

With barely a shimmer, He stepped out of the frame of my television and deliberately into my living room.  Tendrils of black squirmed out around the square of my screen, lashing to and fro idly, almost amusedly.

None of this seemed unreal, or even fantastical.  It was simply as it was - I was in a sort of ecstasy, like the kind the saints have, all-consumed, raptured.  The Rubbered One had chosen me!

Go, He told me without speaking.

I was on my feet, I was sprinting, I was dashing, my hands, still in their gloves, slippery on the door knob.  I was down the stairs before I realized I was barefoot, or that I was still wearing the heavy-duty black rubber gloves.  And there it was - my Rubber.  It was, of course, still in the box, it needed to be freed -

I cradled it in my arms.  I inhaled, as deeply as possible, again.  I could smell it, whining at the edges of my nostrils, begging to be freed.  I felt it, inside its cardboard prison, shifting and rustling.  Whispering.

I brought it upstairs with as much care as a mother would bring home her day-old newborn, but once inside, slamming the door behind me, I pillaged the drawers for the scissors, tearing into the box that would dare imprison my -

And there it was.  Still in a sad, folded-up heap, but it was mine.  

Now, said His voice in my head.  I didn’t have to turn around to know that He, the Rubbered One, was standing behind me - had moved silently from the living room to the kitchen.  I felt Him questing at the edges of my consciousness, starting the interview process.  

I felt a strange mix of craven desire and hot-blooded lust twist through me.  How I wished to possess the Rubbered One!  And how I wished to be possessed by Him!

I began to don my Rubber.  I felt it coo as it met my skin, as I replaced my own with its black sheen.  I saw my toes go, then the top of my foot - ankles, calves and shinbones, kneecaps and thighs - I watched as the black tide continued its creep up my body, as quickly as night follows dusk.  

The Rubbered One put His hands on me and I was nothing, I was everything.  I was part of a gigantic, moaning chorus of voices, I was absolute silence.

I saw Him reach out to me, his Nothing fingers and Nothing hands, his Void arms, his Void body.  I saw Him pull my self to His, and I felt us as we docked, somehow, for an imposssible moment, sharing the same physical space.

Then, with a sound that reminded me of a slurp and a sucking, closing noise, I was no more.

RUBBERBORN. I ceased to exist as I knew myself.  

I had a name.  

I wasn’t much of somebody, but I was somebody.  

Now, I was part of a growing, aching consciousness - I was part of a vast, growing hunger.  My thoughts were no longer my own.

All hail the Rubbered One!

I buzzed and chirred, excited beyond words.  I was ramrod hard, even in the rubber, which smoothed everything away, everything - all emotion, all thought, all nerve, all worry.  All features of my face - gone.  All features of my body - slurped up.  

I stood in front of the mirror.  All sign of the Rubbered One was vanished.  I could see, somehow, through my suit, though it had no eyeholes.

I saw through Rubber eyes.

I understood that I was Rubberborn.  That this was my destiny.  

The words “my” and “me” and “I” and “mine” were erased, scratched out heavily.  I was plural, now.

We were plural.

We stand in front of the mirror, staring at ourselves, our new body.  A mere morsel in the face of our hunger.  

Do you feel it?

As our eyes swivel slowly, tracking across the room, away from the mirror.  Looking into the camera lens backwards.  Do you feel the chilly fingers of our gaze landing on you as you read?  Playing along your bare shoulders, the pliable, delicate skin of your arms?

The Rubberborn understand and acknowledge that this body can be used for purposes that satisfy the hunger.  

They gave it the name rubbrfrk9.  The name you know, the author of these stories you read, curious in your own way to know how the rubber feels.  The same name you’ve seen watermarked on pics of us as you scroll by on your tumblr feed.  

Or maybe you already know - maybe you’ve already felt the ecstasy, struggling into your own shirt or pants.  Gloves or socks.  Mask or hood.  

Perhaps all of the above.  

Perhaps the voice of the Rubbered One is even now mingling with your own thoughts.  Sinuous, twisty, shiny and smooth.  Silken whispers, just an undercurrent of sibilant breath in the background, there.  If you strain, you can make it out.  Can hear our voices.  

We can sense you.

We know.

We are coming.

Say it with us now: All hail the Rubbered One!

[gascon-en-exil]

Mercilessly Judging the Men of Fòdlan: The Empire

It’s been a long time coming, over eight months in fact, but now that it may be assumed that the last of the DLC has been released and the fandom as a whole has settled comfortably into its various camps I think there’s no better time than now to answer that burning question: how raunchily, outrageously gay can the male cast of Three Houses possibly be? For those unfamiliar with this fun little series of mine, I’ve been applying my extensive knowledge and experience of gay male sex and hookup culture to the men of Fire Emblem, originally as a way of reckoning with the refusal of the games themselves to provide me with any worthwhile self-insert M/M content. I stand by that premise for FE16 - you all know how absolutely nothing appeals to me about m!Byleth or his prospects on that score - but in the years since my first outing of merciless judgment with Awakening that idea has expanded into something broader, an imaginative modern AU of sorts where all these guys are into men (if not always exclusively) and willing to put themselves out there in the lewd and semi-anonymous world of hookup apps in search of their preferred carnal delights.

A note on organization before we begin, as this material is too long to cram into one post. Excluding Byleth (as Avatars and their spawn always are for this project) there are twenty-one playable male characters in Three Houses. This makes for an even threeway division to preserve the eponymous conceit of the game, but not a particularly neat one. Aligned with the Adrestian Empire I therefore have below the male Eagles, Crimson Flower-exclusive Jeritza, former Imperial noble Hanneman, and...Seteth, because he’s the closest thing to a non-self-insert lord figure in Silver Snow and because he had to end up somewhere. As I said, not very neat.

The Kingdom

The Alliance

Hubert

His profile is sparsely filled out and his photo less than promising, but the select few who catch his eye will be treated to a courteous (if mildly acidic) barrage of introductory messages and polite requests to meet over coffee or a light lunch, no dick pics or requests for same in sight. It’s only after the exchange of small talk has passed that someone - could be you, could be him - brings up why he has kink as a listed interest, opening up a Pandora’s box of horrors as he casually shows you some of his photo collections. Asses red from whips and floggers, scrotums stuck through with pins, barbed cock rings, electrified nipple clamps, and ghastly shots of the man himself, his mouth dripping with blood over a fresh bite wound on his teary-eyed partner’s shoulder. He is, he explains, a Dom at heart - and the rougher the better. What he doesn’t explain and likely never will is that all that pain play and torture porn neatly covers for the fact that he’s less endowed and less skilled in that area than he’d be willing to admit, or that he harbors a secret longing to be Dommed himself, probably by someone close to him who has no interest whatsoever. He takes his career very seriously although you’ll never learn exactly what that entails, but you have a sneaking suspicion that whatever it is enables all those coldly violent impulses he displays in the bedroom.

Favorite erotic tea time subjects: CBT, vore, femdom

Favored gift: stiletto heels, for use on his face

Ferdinand

Within a minute of talking to him you know his full name, what prominent public figure(s) he’s related to, and where he plans on going with his life, in an overwhelming display of lack of concern for keeping his private life private that would be worrying if he didn’t pair it with an indefatigable self-confidence. The type of gentleman who expects flowers and opened doors and one person to pay for a whole date and coy blushing about going back to his place for some tea, but what unfolds afterwards may be surprising to anyone who wasn’t picking up on the subtext during the night out: that you’re dealing with a toned and vigorous vers/bottom who longs to lie back and be taken care of but absolutely will never turn down a challenge or request no matter how much it demands of him or how expertly he will be able to rise to the occasion. Long practice and some truly enviable thighs (he’s a noted equestrian, and loves showing off his album of favorite horses) let him milk a cock for hours - nearly as long as the subsequent pillow talk will be. It’s little wonder more than one of his lovers has had the idea to gag him...or to fuck him somewhere outside his bedroom once they go in and find the walls plastered with posters of his favorite pop and stage divas staring at you. Prime trophy husband material, wealthy and well-connected and fetching on anyone’s arm, but there’s no question that he’ll only be truly happy if he’s with someone who can challenge him to step out of his unusually large comfort zone: socially, professionally, or sexually.

Favored erotic tea time subjects: edging, crossdressing, fisting

Favored gift: a horse cock dildo, for his much-lauded huge hole

Linhardt

A master at genuinely negligent ghosting, it’ll take a minor miracle to actually arrange a meeting with this guy. Either he never answers, or he does but only to snap at you because he’s busy and only even logged into the app because his mind wandered for a second. Still, he draws a lot of attention from those into geeky twinks. Is not into foreplay, and can scarcely be bothered to maintain interest long enough to even stay hard unless you get lucky enough to hit on one of his subjects of recent fascination. Never offers to do anything in bed, and will in fact pick up his phone to browse through Wikipedia and Reddit while he’s being penetrated. Calling him out for his appalling lack of manners will get nothing more than a wry snort and a quick summary of whatever’s currently got his attention. Never cums, doesn’t seem to want to cum, and guys creative enough to try to ride him are often disappointed that he’s more likely to grumble that all that bouncing on his pelvis is making it impossible for him to catch a power nap. Just about the only way to fully get him invested is to get really weird - introduce him to some fetish he’s never thought to try. Incest kink, breeding kink, role reversals, elaborate roleplay...the more cerebral the better, because the physical stuff tends to put him off (especially blood play, which is his hard limit). Needless to say most aren’t up to that task, and so he’s nonchalantly left a trail of frustrated and disappointed men in his wake.

Favored erotic tea time subjects: somnophilia, historical roleplay, mpreg

Favored gift: a long-lasting vibrator, so he can stick it in and let it work while he’s otherwise occupied

Caspar

No amount of headless torso pics and carefully scaled dick pics will be enough for his ego, but encountering him in person will reveal that he’s not so much vain or delusional masc4masc as really, really compensating for something. This manifests as a deep-rooted resentment against guys taller than him or, ahem, better-proportioned, but his preference of sexual partners does not reflect his prejudices - which is fortunate for him given his measurements. Loud and energetic in all things, and it shocks no one that he’s a screamer in bed but also can’t last for very long once he really gets going. Lucky for everyone that his refractory period is unusually brief, although that leaves him deflecting odd inquiries into whatever substances he may be on (he’s clean and always has been, hard as that is for anyone to believe). Likes to top for the workout, but he won’t say no to riding a good dick. Has an unexpected sentimental side he’s not very good at expressing except indirectly, in the same way that he’s apparently oblivious to his casual innuendos. It will take someone very patient to put up with him, but the reward is (probably) worth it for the body alone provided he’s got a sufficient outlet for all that energy. Would be perfect for an active poly relationship or long-term FWB situation so no one guy has to manage him alone, but he’d have to be at the center of any such arrangement lest his numerous insecurities rear their heads. Is not into incest kink.

Favored erotic tea time subjects: post-workout sex, multiple orgasms, autofellatio (he wishes)

Favored gift: condoms a size too big for him, because even safe sex should be an opportunity for bragging

Seteth

He doesn’t share nudes, and says upfront that he’ll block anyone who asks or opens conversation with one. Seems to be genuinely interested in friendship over anything else, although he’s not great at small talk in text and would rather chat over snacks on a park bench or at one of the numerous community events he likes to organize. Is a family man through and through: devoted to his loved ones, quiet in his hobbies, and unusually spiritual in an orthodox church-going way. You start to wonder if he’s even into men or if his presence on the apps was just a very strange fluke, but he holds his handshakes just a little too long and progresses quicker to hugs and quietly intimate arm touches. Discussion of his prior love life is strictly off limits, but many months down the road when you finally get invited into his bed it’s clear that he’s no blushing virgin and is adept in the use of fingers, tongue, and cock for fully satisfying his partner. He might even bottom, although he’ll blush about being long out of practice in that area which suggests a wealth of untold stories by itself. He also may be, somehow, the only man in existence who knows what intercrural is and how to do it. Blessed with stamina far beyond what might be suggested by his age (which he only reveals several weeks into your acquaintance, another point of embarrassment for him), your encounters are far more likely to end with a phone call from one of the innumerable people who look up to him and depend upon his reliable if fussy sense of duty than it is from him tiring out. Fond of fishing, and known to take dates out to cast a line and then maybe have some naughty fun afterward. Does not appreciate being called a daddy, but he’s been known to accept big bro as an occasional slip-up.

Favored erotic tea time subjects: discipline, incest kink, scalies

Favored gift: your STI testing history, because he doesn’t mess around with that stuff

Hanneman

A polite if unassuming silver daddy, with no sugar for the obvious escorts but the cushy professional post and generosity to make him appealing to a less openly mercantile sort of young man. His chosen field is not an easy subject for light conversation, but damned if he doesn’t try his best regardless. His favorite tactic might be finding some way of applying his work to something about his date, no matter how tenuous the connection or how unwelcome the observations. Not super fit and doesn’t get out much so as the night is winding down he’s not good for very much other than intermittent blowjobs and even more languid handjobs, although a truly dedicated partner might coax something more out of him with help from a little blue pill or two...and maybe some poppers, because he’s old enough to remember when everyone used those. Despite his reputation for mildly inappropriate perving on guys young enough to be his sons - some of which he acquired in a professional context, with some of his favorite anecdotes of past trysts involving junior lab techs/TAs/secretaries/others among his subordinates - he’s not actually averse to fooling around with men closer to his own age, although he’s more awkward about it since he’s a bit out of his element when he’s no longer the only experienced voice of wisdom in the room. Either way, if there’s one thing he hates it’s sloppiness, whether in one’s personal or professional life. As a result he avoids bars like the plague and has little patience for drunks. Contrary to this fastidiousness however his advances in his career are such that he may one day do something radical and ill-advised in the pursuit of knowledge; one only hopes that the various skeletons hiding in his closet don’t come back to haunt him - with regret or harassment lawsuits or who only knows what else.

Favored erotic tea time subjects: medical kink, teacher/student, cock milking

Favored gift: consent to video encounters, for future reference

Jeritza

The kind of rough trade all your friends warned you about...except he’s not rough trade, not really. Deeply troubled and disarmingly attractive is a deadly combination, and he thrives in a medium where one-word responses and explicit pics are considered perfectly commonplace. Encounters with him are quick and rough and nearly anonymous, always in the dark and with little opportunity to see or interact with him apart from the hands grasping you to him and the admittedly impressive cock jabbing into you from whatever angle he can manage. He’s had the threat of assault charges or worse thrown at him more than once, but it’s never made him any more considerate or careful. To the very rare individual who keeps returning for more the most explanation he’ll ever provide is that he becomes someone else when pursuing sex, someone hard and violent and not at all like the person he insists that he is. This is something he ties into some deep-seated trauma, but there’s something distinctly insincere about the underlying psychology as if it were only an excuse for an abuse fetish run wild. Pretty much all of his tricks ghost him at that point, wanting to get as far as away as possible from a true crime drama just waiting to happen. Curiously enough if he ever does find a long-term partner it won’t be with the expected extreme masochist - expect them only to show up in a police report one day, with extremely gory pictures - but with someone who can match his lustful bloodlust with more of the same and who is totally comfortable throwing around death threats that at some point transform into only moderately disturbing innuendos. 

Favored erotic tea time subjects: masks, blood play, asphyxiation

Favored gift: anything sweet he can lick off your body...because it’s either that or viscera

[blairwitchart]

I know literally no one cares but this is my creative outlet sooooooooooo

Here’s the start of a story I’m writing called. “Salem Witch Commite”.

P.O.V Narrator

Witches have been around for millenniums. Long before the Salem witch trials, but since then they have been hidden in the shadows, and whether you like it or not, they've been watching. They are not the only ones, amongst the witches are the creatures of nightmares demons and their underlings. Over the decades' witches have been forgotten, misinterpreted, and even fetishized. Nowadays the witches' numbers have been reduced to a misly 105, and that is on a global scale. with these low numbers, these witches have created a coven, the Salem witch committee. this committee fights everything their ancestors were burned and drowned for, mostly demons. this coven has 7 locations each consisting of 15 members, each is found in a different continent. now on to their legend

P.O.V: Blair

"We should totally go get our palms read together!" says the lady from across the street. "You know all those places are shams right?" says her companion "Ya but it'll be fun. So you free next Saturday?" "Hey, weirdo what have a told you about starring at people through the window of my favorite coffee shop," Jade says while waving my Vienna coffee in front of my face. "That it's wrong and if I keep doing it we might get kicked out and or banned indefinitely," "Exactly now cut that shit out and drink you crappy coffee," "Fine," Now if you can't tell from my name I'm a witch and so is my best friend jade we live in Boston and we and a bunch of others are apart of the Salem witch committee "hey, can get out of here I'm getting bored," I say as I dramatically fall deeper into the booth we're sitting in. "Sure, come on lazy bones!" she says while slowly pulling me from the corner of the booth. as we silly walk towards the door, we come face to face with the disgustingly handsome Alec. "Oh, h-hey Alec what are you doing here," Who jade is crushing on big time. "Oh hey guys just picking up my mobile order," "Oh well we could wait fo-" "yeah well we're actually just heading out, so see you at the clubhouse," I interrupt while pulling Jade past them. "What the hell was that all about?" "Sorry I just could not watch you drool over them any longer," "I don't know what you're talking about," "Yeah, sure dipshit,"

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

P.O.V: Blair

*Ding* *Ding* “as the clock strikes 12 the witching begins,” Tristen says, trying to sound all cool and shit. “Its noon,” Jessica retorts back. “Shut up I know just… let me take roll, Jessica,” “here,” “Jade,” “here,” “Issac,” “here,” “Alec,” “here,” “Blair,” “here,” “Joan,” “here,” “Jeremy,” “here,” “Eric,” “here,” “Taylor,” “here,” “Malissa,” “here,” “Marcus,” “here,” “Olie,” “here,” “Alex,” “here,” “D.J,” “here,” “And of course I, Tristen, is here. Now on to some serious business we have a job. Our sources say that a family in Maryland has been hexed. It should be an in and out job so I’m only sending 3 of you Jade, Alec, and Blair,” What? I understand why he would send Jade and me, we have great teamwork. But. Jade and Alec. We all see how they act around each other. They act like they’re in love while at the same time constantly saying that the other does not have a crush on them yet still being extremely obvious with their crush. Did I do something wrong? Cause last time I checked, I did nothing to warrant the cruel and unusual punishment of being their third wheel. But here I am sitting in the back of Alec’s car watching them laugh at another one of Jades’ flirty jokes. I hate it here.

“Here we are ladies, 8052 Marigold ln, Burkittsville Maryland,” Alec says while parallel parking in front of a fairly new house. “Are you sure no one’s home. If we break-in and someones in there it’s gon get real awkward real quick,” Jade says while picking the front doors lock. “Yeah, Tristen said he checked the traffic cameras 3 times and their security systems 5 times. Isn’t that right Alec,” “Yep,” Once Jade gets the door unlocked we move our things to the kitchen table. Once everything is set up we split up to cleanse the house I take the main floor, Alec takes the upper floor, and Jade takes the basement. “1,2,3 let’s get hexy,” we all say in unison. Yeah, I know its cringe but it’s lowkey funny. I light my blue sage and start wandering around my floor. I enter what seems to be a little girls room I am overwhelmed with a dark menacing feeling. As I walk farther into the room I watch as the smoke from the blue sage flows towards the closet. As I inch towards the closet I find the owner of the room. Whats seems to be a little blonde girl, no older than 10, is sitting in the front corner of her closet. Which is odd since Tristen said there was no one home. Hopefully, she doesn’t call her parents. I reach to turn her over and once I do my heart drops. I come face to face with a little girl whose skin has been ripped off her face and neck, and as I watch the blood dry I notice that one of her eyes has been removed while the other seems to have her eye burnt. As I continue to stare I feel my breath start to hitch, that’s when I knew I had to alert my friends. So my dumbass decided to scream which I guess got the point across.

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

P.O.V: Jade

Damn, they have a pretty small basement looks like I got the long end of the stick. Sage? Lit. Bad energies? Gone. Dangerous entities? Removed. Hotel? Trivago. Now that that’s done all that’s left to do is to hide some selenite and meditate. “AAAAAAHHHHHHHHH” what the fuck was that? Who just screamed. I rush up the stairs not even worrying about the fact that I just dropped a handful of selenite on to the floor. I start sprinting around the main floor when I see Blair sitting in front of the closet in a little girl’s room. She seems scared which is weird for Blair. Wow, shes even shaking. “Hey. Hey! Look at me. You are okay everything is going to be fine. Now tell me what’s got you so spooked babe,” I say while gently caressing her hands. She then moves one hand out of my grip and points towards the closet. I then turn my head to see the horrific murder scene for a little girl. “Ah shit, it’s okay everything is okay,” I say trying to reassure her. “Who screamed,” Alec says while barging in armed with their lucky swiss army knife. “Yeah, Alec everything is fine. Blair just found the massacred carcass of a little girl so shes a little shaken up about it,” “What do you mean massacred, holy shit. How did this even happen no one has been home,” They say while taking a closer look at the body. “ And by the looks of how much blood has dried, she would have had to be dead for at least an hour,” The lights cut out. “That would be my doing,” says a dark and eerie voice from all around us. “Blair get up we need the power of 3,” She stands up and we all hold hands. Alec turns on their flashlight and shines it on the floor for us all to see. For some reason, the floor is engulfed in a black goo like substance that is flowing in our direction. Alec uses their light to find the source by following the flow. Once the light reaches the door we become face to face with a being of absolute darkness. A tall, oddly humanly shaped, drippy being with bright orange eyes is staring at us and is smiling, and just as I thought I couldn’t get any worse it opens its mouth to let the little girl’s eye drop out. “Sorry just wanted a little snack before damning all of humanity to something worse than death,” it says quite obnoxiously. “ Who do you think you are,” Alec barks out. It seems to appear right in front of our faces just to say “Not who but what. A demon to be exact but for tonight I will just be your worst nightmare,” And before I knew it the only sound I could register was *bu dump..bu dump..bu dump..bu dump...bu dump...bu dump….bu dump…..bu dump……..* I look to my left to see that the demon had bludgeoned Alecs Heart out and the sound I was hearing was their heart dying. Before I could even utter a single word the demon looked at us and said “You’re next,” and before I knew it Blair was pulling us out of the room and all I could do was cry and call out to Alec as if they were still alive. Blair and I turn a corner and I can feel something grip on to my leg and as I feel myself being dragged down the hall I see Blair start to sob.

I also started drawing the characters so here’s the first finished one

That’s all for today

[the-voodoo-cat]

I do want to genuinely apologize about the post regarding Caleb and Essek. It was meant as a jest, though I see now that it was in bad taste and I apologize. I’m not trying to hurt people but I clearly did and I really am sorry for that. I’ve deleted the post since because it does not reflect my actual thoughts and feelings on the topic and I want to be very clear that I have no problem (nor would do any thing about it even if I did) with Caleb ending up in a romantic relationship with a woman in canon! I was speaking about a very specific hypothetical in a very exaggerated way that was meant as a joke, but I understand that many people did not see it that way and I apologize that I let my own passion cloud my judgement. I will not make posts like that in the future, and I will do my best to not hurt people again in the ways I have with my past posts. 

I also want to explain where this all came from so  here’s the essay. The whole thing. Hopefully more eloquent than I’ve been on here recently. It was written months ago, so some of the things in it may seem strange in the context of current canon but I don’t feel like completely revising it.

I am putting the essay under a cut to avoid clogging up people’s timelines, but I do encourage people to at least try to read some of it. If there really are biphobic flaws in it, please please tell me genuinely, because that is so far from my intention as a critic and an academic. All I wish to do is point out harmful rhetoric, and in the context of this previous episode explain why I was so upset in the first place. (also if you’re wondering about the pronouns and addressees in the essay it was actually written as a letter to the cast but I couldn’t find an email to send it to)

I want to be clear before I continue that this entire discussion has nothing to do with shipping, but also that while the canonization of ships is irrelevant to representation that does not mean it should be mocked or trivialized either, because the concept of shipping is often an outlet for queer people to explore relationships or romance in ways they do not get in media. In regard to Fjord’s sexuality, my insistence on giving confirmation that he is gay also has nothing to do with shipping, or any form of feeling that he should be in a relationship with any of the other characters. I mention this because it is an argument often weaponized against queer fans, and I do not want it to be seen as any part of my motivation for writing this letter. I have seen many queer fans feel the need to walk away from twitter and the Critter community because of the abuse they suffer for promoting any form of gay or trans speculations, and while I understand that the cast has absolutely no power over this behavior, the least you could do is not participate in this abuse.

As it stands now, the way the cast and Brian discuss Fjord and make jokes regarding him is contradictory, and it is in this contradiction that the homophobic rhetoric I mentioned originates. Fjord is described in Talks as a gay man, through frequent allusions to ‘sword swallowing’ or him being a bottom, yet also described as (or at least hinted at) having romantic intentions toward Jester. This contradiction between showing him as gay and showing him as straight (or bisexual) is not only confusing, but cruel and demeaning to gay men—the discussions of his sexual relationship or interest with men becomes the butt of a joke, something to laugh at or something to mock, while you placate non-queer fans by ensuring us “don’t worry though, he’s straight.” This reinforces an extremely harmful rhetoric that gayness is a joke, or a fetishistic hypersexual phase that can make a character quirky or weird but still eventually normalized to straightness. Not only does this behaviour harm and invalidate gay fans on a personal level, it also encourages straight fans to fetishize or trivialize gayness in the community, and further silence gay voices.

The jokes made on Talks about sword swallowing or bottoming, specifically, belie a particular brand of straight ignorance or apathy that is actually as harmful as outright homophobia—if you don’t specifically say you’re mocking a gay man or gayness, then you aren’t, right? Unfortunately, this argument is inherently flawed because it ignored the significance of microaggressions in systemic oppression and abuse of minorities. When you mock a man for his sexual interest in men or allude to a man having these desires while also claiming that he is romantically interested in a woman, you turn gay sexual desire into joke and improbability. That is to say, when you paint a gay or bisexual man’s interest in men as purely sexual, you trivialize the importance of man loves man (mlm) relationships and invalidate their social qualities by making them seem inherently lesser to male/female relationships. Moreover, you contribute to a systemic fetishization of mlm relationships that turns them into an object for the sexual desire of straight women and dehumanizes the men involved. Thus, by constantly alluding to Fjord’s sexual interest in men while reinforcing his romantic interest in a woman you paint all potential sexual interactions (both in his history and his future) Fjord has with men as fetishistic, trivial, petty, socially nonviable and ultimately meaningless, and in doing so also paint all mlm relationships this same way.

Furthermore, your jokes about Fjord being a bottom were, perhaps unintentionally, a direct reference to Fjord being mlm. Although they are used in colloquial speech rather casually now, the words “top” and “bottom” are not synonymous with “dom” and “sub” but rather specifically refer to gay sexual intercourse. As such, when you say Fjord is a bottom, you are saying he has had or has interest in having sex with another man. The joke about Fjord taking the “Pact of the Bottom” is rather humorous, so long as he is actually a bottom. However, if he is a straight man with no interest in having sex with other men, it instead implies that gay sex is a fetish, something weird or strange and inherently unnatural, and that men who have it are subordinate, lesser, and/or weak. Similarly, if he is bisexual but only engages romantically with women this rhetoric still creates negative connotations and hypersexualization of mlm relationships by making them singularly about sex in a way that is typically used to discuss fetish and kink.

If Fjord is gay, all of these jokes and allusions are not so inappropriate, and so long as he eventually finds, or has in his history, a fulfilling romantic relationship with another man there is nothing wrong with the way he is being discussed. The need for him having a long term mlm relationship stems from the lack of proper mlm relationships in media, and also avoids the trope of the hypersexualized fetishistic object of the gay man that I discussed above. Also, there is an evident gap in Critical Role’s general representation of gay happiness, and although I would never force or even request that representation, I want you all to be aware that you are falling into a trope of tragic and ultimately lonely or unloved gay men both in the depiction of Tarry and of Gilmore. That is not to say that they (particularly Gilmore, whom I adore) are not outstanding characters that are dynamic and interesting, but just that they are the only major gay characters and thus neither of them finding fulfilling romantic love falls into a bit of a trope. As a note, when I say “gay” here, I do mean gay (as in mlm) not queer (as in LGBTQ), which is why I do not include the lesbian relationship between Kima and Allura.

Finally, one last note: sexuality is not a ploy, or a backstory, or a secret. Sexuality, like race, class, and gender, are key and immediate aspects of a character that, on a meta level that can be confirmed and discussed on a show like Talks Machina, should be available to the audience right away. I get that backstory is something all of the players are being cagey about, and I understand why, but I encourage you to not think about a character’s sexuality in this way—the character may not reveal their sexuality to the party but that does not mean the cast should be keeping that information away from the audience.

Finally I do want to apologize once again for some of my own rhetoric, even in this essay I know I refer to Fjord’s interest in Jester (or women generally) as “straight” instead of immediately acknowledging his potential bisexuality. For me, I have seen Bi-ness used as a ploy by writers so many times to make a character quirky, while still putting them in a m/f relationship, that for us queer fans I think it is important to remember that m/f bi relationships are the only ones that straight fans find acceptable the majority of the time and this does really hurt a lot of queer people. 

[thisisjustforschooldontlook-blog]

ENG 230 Blog

Blog 1-Rear Window

Rear Window is the perfect example of the male gaze. Jeff finds himself privy to the actions of his neighbors around him as he recovers from an accident. Mulvey talked about in her article how at the core of the male gaze, there is a voyeuristic base. The audience can clearly see this as Jeff watches his neighbors from his window. Lisa even tells Jeff to leave his neighbors alone and that some things must be private. The way Jeff and his friend (forgot his name) talks about the dancer is a very male gaze. Her character exists for this sole purpose. She also only interacts with men throughout the film and has no girlfriends come over. I do not think it is totally far fetched to think that a woman living alone has friends and would like them to visit but I digress. Rear Window is a backhanded compliment to women. Backhanded in the sense that even when it seems like the women in the film are being strong and independent, it is for the sake of a man. For example, Lisa although she was super cool in my opinion, only gets her cool moments because she is trying to prove to Jeff throughout the whole film that she is worth marrying. I mean what is the point of having an empowered and feisty female character if the director or writers make the woman revolve around a male love interest? The audience can also see the male gaze in the way that Lisa interacts with Jeff. She always looks visually appealing but the actress truly had the misfortune of having to memorize and repeat some misogynistic lines. Lines that have Lisa wondering why Jeff does not think he can marry her or if she is good enough for him. Another proof is also the way that Lisa has to drag Jeff away from the window in order to get him to look at her through a romantic lens. Jeff only turns his head after Lisa sits in his lap which gives off a fan service-esque vibe. Ultimately all these proofs show why Mulvey would go and write an article about this film and how it relates to the male gaze. Rather than relate, this film is the poster child for the male gaze. Rear Window utilizes the male gaze in order to help the audience take note of what is important versus unimportant information. This is a detective thriller so the audience has to watching and paying attention to every detail. It seems weird but using the male gaze worked for this film.

Blog 2- Where Are My Children

Where Are My Children? is quite an interesting film. I found myself trying to figure out whether the film was pro-choice or pro-life. I am sure my initial response sounded just as confused as I was. However after a quick glance once more at the article provided for the film, I felt as though the dots were starting to connect. The film is not a pro-life or pro-choice film. This is a film that primarily deals with eugenics. Eugenics, Darwin is giggling in his grave somewhere. How is Where Are My Children a film about eugenics as opposed to a cookie cutter pro-life or pro-choice film? The way the film opens up with the story told as the babies return paints the film to be some sort of pro-life propaganda. However, there are multiple cases within the film that the audience finds themselves hearing cases argued for birth control and family planning. However, the case for eugenics comes into play once the audience realizes that birth control is only supported for people who society deems as not good enough to procreate. The young woman who ends up getting a botched abortion is just a servant or low social standing. The characters do not even hesitate to offer this kind of ‘help’ to the poor or ‘loose.’ However for someone as well off and with the social standing Edith has. The film even makes the argument that women should have a choice in case they do not wish to put their career on hold in order to raise a baby. Edith is one such woman. However, it is only egregious that she aborts her children because she is viewed to be worthy of reproduction. Someone like Lillian, however, does not even get an eye batted in her direction as the audience can see with the reaction of her would-be lover. Lillian’s lover throws her away just as easily as Edith makes the decision to terminate her pregnancies. By seeing something like this play out on the big screen, the audience can see how this film is neither pro-life or pro-choice, rather pro-eugenics. The pro-eugenics is seen in the way the court handles the doctor is standing trial for performing abortions and the way the women treat their abortions most specifically Lillian’s. All things considered, this film does a good job of keeping the audience guessing as to what kind of politics this film is. 

Blog 3 Cleo

Is the ending of Cleo a happy ending? During this week’s google hangout, Professor Tolliver had me thinking really hard about this question. I truly believed up until he questioned it that Cleo really did have her happy ending. She found out that although she does have cancer, her cancer is treatable and she should be fine. However, there are many loose threads still hanging. Cleo does indeed have cancer so for all intents and purposes, she is dying. So the entire film when she is going around voicing her worries and concerns and allowing herself to entertain thoughts that she otherwise would not, is actually for a good reason. Regardless of whether or not she was sick, it is ok to be scared of one’s own mortality. The documentary cinematography style harkens back to the French New Wave. With this documentary style, one can experience events just as Cleo experiences them. In essence, rather than watching Cleo in a voyeuristic manner, the audience instead gets to be Cleo’s eyes and ears and be privy to her inner thoughts. Going back to my original point, is the ending a happy or sad one? This ending is a true open ending. Cleo does have cancer and given that the film takes place in the early 60s or late 50s, it is safe to say that medicine is not the most updated aspect of life. So while her cancer may be ‘nothing to worry about so long as she gets treatment’ there are still many ways in which cancer could spread and eventually claim Cleo’s life. Also, what if she gets treatment and gets an infection and dies as a result of that. So while things are looking up for Cleo, perhaps the ending is merely an open one instead of sad or happy. However, one thing that can be agreed upon is the fact that Cleo has most definitely changed. She has changed in regards to her perspective on life and what she cares about. This whole event has served as the ultimate introspective experience. Cleo may be happy at the conclusion of the film, and the conclusion itself may leave room for many questions, but Cleo has Antoine. Antoine goes against the average male love interest which is a direct relation to the French New Wave movement. The French New Wave can be seen throughout the film. Perhaps this stylistic choice is the reasoning behind the conclusion we get. 

Blog 4 Watermelon Woman

I always find it rather enjoyable when I see multiple types of gay in a film or show. I find that many media outlets add to the stereotype problem for the LGBTQ+ community. In Watermelon Woman, there are many types of lesbians. Cheryl is the type of lesbian you do not find in excess in media. Most lesbians, back lesbians especially, are hypersexual and sexualized by the male gaze. However, this film does its best to avoid catering to the male gaze. Cheryl is the kind of lesbian that just wants to go about her life furthering her career as opposed to chasing her next tryst. The issue that Tamara has with Cheryl is that Cheryl ends up having a fling with a white woman? Is there an underlying issue when it comes to interracial romantic relationships, particularly the queer ones? Yes, there is. When embarking on in a mixed-race relationship, there is always an inherent worry for fetishization. Cheryl experiences this worry through Tamara. There is also the unease of being outside of one’s culture. The idea of someone betraying their culture just because they date outside of it is absolutely silly, however, it is something Cheryl has to combat throughout the film. This problem leads to the other main problem found in this film. Why are queer women of color so underrepresented? Queer women of color are underrepresented because they are not what society deems are good enough to watch on the big screen. Queer women of color more often than not find themselves subjected to stereotypical roles and find themselves fetishized not only for their sexuality but also for their skin color. This film is a case for why queer women of color should be given a chance on screen. The audience gets to experience a hard working queer woman of color, Cheryl and has the privilege of joining her on the adventure of a lifetime.

Final Blog Post 

Rear Window tackles the issue of the male gaze throughout the course of the film. Mulvey points out that the film itself is rooted in a voyeuristic manner which allows for the audience to see the actions of Jeff’s neighbors. This, through the looking glass bird’s eye view, allows for the audience’s perspective to feel somewhat invasive. Stella Dallas deals with a mother-daughter relationship, but most specifically Kaplan talks about and focuses on the figure of the absent mother. This idea of there being such a high bar for mother’s to reach in order to be looked upon favorably by society. Kaplan especially focuses on the double standard for mothers and fathers. Stella is held to the high standard which she ultimately feels unable to meet, however, her husband is not held to any such standard. This is absolutely ridiculous seeing as Stella’s husband is a part-time father if anything. Where Are My Children deals with the issues of abortion, family planning, among other things? The film paints itself in a pro-choice versus pro-life debate, however, it ends up falling into the argument for eugenics. While reproductive rights are a very feminist quality and topic to speak on for a film, eugenics is such a far fetched and baseless practice that Where Are My Children most definitely loses the running for a genuine feminist film. Dance Girl Dance definitely shows its feminist tendencies a lot more clearly when compared to the other films we have watched through this course. For example, Bubbles plays the system for lack of better words. She finesses the system in order to suit her needs. What is more feminist than a woman using a man’s privilege against him in order to help her gain ground in life, career, and relationships? Cleo is an interesting film to enter into the battle for the most feminist film we have watched in this course. While I agree that Cleo as a character can seem rather feminist, I would argue that the film does not do enough to be considered the most feminist of all the films we watched. If I had to choose a favorite film throughout this course, it would be The Piano. This film really surprised me. All of the symbolism present throughout the film is enough to make an English major’s mouth water at the chance to dissect. While there are many hidden contexts in this film such as power dynamics in relationships and empowering women, which are very feminist, the main character ultimately seems a tad more romanticized than I would like. Fat Girl makes a compelling entry and in my opinion, comes second to the most feminist film we had the pleasure of viewing. Fat Girl tackles some very taboo topics such as teenage sexuality and rape. I find that there are many times where people like to ignore a sexual violence scene in films just because it makes them uncomfortable. The fact of the matter is, the director included it for a reason. You may not need to watch it, but you must at least try to figure out the purpose of such a traumatic scene. Rape scenes do not just get thrown into a story. Keesey likes to unpack all the hidden context behind Anais’s rape, however, despite the empowering look into rape and rape culture as well as rape fantasies, the voyeuristic feel, although intentional, leaves me feeling weird about making this film number one on my list. Which lastly leave Watermelon Woman. Watermelon Woman is a work of art in my opinion. This film needs to be a requirement for everyone going to school for the humanities. This film is ripe (pun intended) with many interdisciplinary topics. The reasoning behind my choice is simple: Inclusivity. Throughout all these films, there has been very little diversity and Watermelon Woman has just that. Not only does the film showcase a woman of color as the lead, but also a lesbian woman. Queer women of color are the most underrepresented diagraphic. On top of the representation and diversity, this film also covers a number of hot feminist issues. Sexuality, hypersexuality, fetishization, and interracial fraternizing are all issues that are covered in this film. Between Cheryl having to navigate the waters of figuring out what kind of lesbian she is versus having a white romantic partner. Is Diana with Cheryl just for her skin color? Tamara would like to think so. Not to mention that Cheryl’s entire purpose for making the film is in order to bring to light the issue of black women being absent from the film. Watermelon Woman may not be an overly flashy film, but it is a film that does justice to the word feminism. Feminism does not always have to be loud and ostentatious. It can also be inside voices but firm. For all these reasons, Watermelon Woman is the most feminist film we watched throughout this course.

I would also like to say that Fat Girl was really close but I just felt as though it would be socially unacceptable to choose a film like Fat Girl and say that it was the most feminist. 

Extra Credit 1 400 Blows

I would first like to start off this post by saying that 400 Blows feels very similar to Cleo. As I am sure this was intended, I will talk about the similarities between these French films. First the cinematography. Cleo and 400 Blows both are some long shot sequences. While 400 Blows may have been the only one of the two films with a freeze frame, there are some shots in Cleo that do appear to stand still. However, shifting back to the longshots, when Cleo is walking around the coffee shop while contemplating her mortality, this long continuous shot is reminiscent of when Antoine is running away from the youth center in order to escape captivity and get to the sea. I would argue that you can see aspects of the French New Age in 400 Blows. For example, most movies rely on a happy ending, but much like Cleo, 400 Blows ends with an open ending as opposed to a happy or sad ending. One may feel sad for Antoine’s situation but in actuality, he seems to be surviving just fine. He even gets to see the sea at the end of the film so there are happier layers to the conclusion of this film. There are other similarities between the two films as well. For one Antoine and Cleo, both have experiences that lead to some much-needed introspection. For Cleo, she looks deep inside herself to figure out what is import in life, at least to her. It seems confronting one’s own mortality can be quite the spiritual awakening. As for Antoine, he learns about who he can and cannot trust. Unfortunately for him, he learns that he cannot trust his mother or his stepdad. Aside from his one trustworthy friend, Antoine has no one. A second similarity and a rather obvious one is the fact that both films are filmed in black and white. Throw in another similarity when you notice that both films are French with French spoken dialogue. 400 Blows is not necessarily a cinematic masterpiece, but it is a film that succeeds in getting the audience to think about life. Maybe not of mortality like Cleo, but certainly this notion of what comes next. Both of these films project an air of what comes next? It leaves the audience wanting to know what happens when everything falls back into place. Truly these films exemplify open endings. 

[toumakibangs]

Got a place we can go, lights are low: let me show you to my darkroom

Prompt: “Come on, nobody’s even looking”

Jules’ Notes: TouMakis, Soho, an underground fetish club with a darkroom. You don’t need to know anything else. Rating in between heavy Mature and mildly Explicit.

Makishima always said that London, much like bikes, was freedom for him, and Toudou used to reply with a non-committal agreement: he knew about his lover’s struggles with identity and with the structured, rigid society he had grown up into – and he sympathized – but he couldn’t say that Makishima’s issues resonated with him, because it would have been a lie. Toudou had never felt caged in Japan, not even once.

Lately, though, he was starting to understand what Makishima meant: it was nice, to be able to kiss his boyfriend at the airport, after an interminable flight and six months spent apart, without feeling like a criminal. To hold his hand in public, or just touch him in a casual way, without worrying about strangers and passers-by and acquaintances finding it weird and questioning his every gesture. It felt good, not to hide.

Within a couple of visits, Toudou had started to look forward to his winter trips to the UK even more than before, because England had become, to him, a fantasy land in which to escape. It was easy to think of it as an alternate universe, if he only went there for a couple of weeks a year. Plus, he had the privilege of having no ties there whatsoever, apart from Makishima, which tended to lift another weight off his shoulders: if Makishima was okay with public displays of affection or with him acting extra while on crowded streets, so was Toudou.

*

Every now and then, though, Makishima was still able to surprise him. And to raise the bar of tolerance for embarrassing activities.

Like the day he announced Toudou was ready for a trip to the real underground and brought him to Soho. Which wasn’t a novelty per se, they’d been there lots of times – they just hadn’t visited this kind of place. Meaning a dimly lit club with a low ceiling, bass-heavy music and a staff wearing BSDM gear as a uniform. Much like many of the attendants. Toudou was surprised to see Makishima greeting some of them, as well as the bartender and the bouncers.

- You know these people?

Makishima had grinned at him and pointed discretely at them as he replied.

- Some of them studied at the Academy too. And others are special customers I remember. Or models and actors I dressed.

- …for catwalks?

- For porn!

Toudou sputtered. There were things he’d never get used to.

*

The club served evidently as a reference for all the people into that particular kink, but it was an enjoyable place anyway, especially if you wanted to turn off the brain for a while and just let go, which they did.

Neither of them was a dancer, then again, very few people were, in these situations, and it was never an issue: the crowd swayed to the music and although someone showed off some good moves, the beat was just an excuse to press your body close to someone else’s. That, they did. It was a novelty in their dynamic, a talent Makishima had cultivated recently and that Toudou had caught up to with surprising ease – then again, he had never had trouble following a rhythm.

It had nothing to do with ballrooms and technique: it was just another outlet for that primal energy that pumped blood in their veins, just another way to channel the tension and let the desire build up and burn.

Movements turedn sensual pretty soon, for everyone in the club: they felt it around each other and they adapted to the mood too. Toudou was very aware of the way Makishima’s ponytail swayed back and forth, of the light sheen of sweat on his neck, glistening under the red lights, of the wide collar of his thin shirt, that exposed his clavicles. Makishima latched onto his shoulders and was unable to take his eyes off Toudou’s body, of getting away from the heat he emanated, even when it was too much. Their pelvis were touching and moving against each other languidly, without rush but with unmistakable intent. They panted and groaned into each other’s mouths, and it was not a problem that they were on a dancefloor full of people: it was alright to get carried away.

In fact, they got so carried away that Toudou just closed his eyes and focused on what he was feeling, for a while, and he only came out from his trance-like state when he felt himself being pulled away and out of the crowd. His groin aching, he stumbled behind Makishima until the latter came to halt and pushed open a black door by leaning heavily on the wide handle. He stumbled inside, bringing Toudou with him, and let the door close behind them with a thud that got swallowed by the music. There was music inside that room too, but considerably less light. Still, Toudou knew there were people around them, he could see them moving. And staying very close to each other.

Makishima, holding onto him, walked around enough to identify a free spot and claim it for himself by plastering his back on the wall: then, he tugged Toudou forward until they could resume the dance they had started on the main room. Making out heavily against a wall was not ground-breaking or unheard of, for them,  but it was to do it so openly and so closely to other people. The fact that those people didn’t seem to mind only pushed them to dare more, and it was with such a mood that Makishima stopped rubbing his crotch against Toudou’s and put a hand down his pants, at some point. Toudou gasped.

- The hell are you doing?!

- Taking things in hand. Literally.

- But we’re in public!

- Come on, nobody’s even looking…

- I feel exposed!

Makishima huffed, but he also caught sight of Toudou and didn’t insist further. What he did, though, was resume his ministrations and keep them up until he had reduced his boyfriend into a puddle of goo again. Only then he swapped their positions so that Toudou was resting against a niche in the wall, while he could cage him with his body and arms, effectively shielding him from view.

- Is it better, like this?

He’d said it with a slow thrust of his hips and Toudou, opening his eyes and seeing only him, threw caution and modesty to the wind and hummed in agreement. He was pretty sure there were people getting head a few steps away from him, in that very moment, probably even someone having sex, if the creaking spring of a sofa were of any indication. What was a discrete handjob, in all of this?

He let Makishima unzip his jeans while he made quick work of Makishima’s buttons, ready to push aside trousers and underwear alike an-

- …Yuusuke, where did you leave your pants?

Makishima kissed him as Toudou stroked him.

- On your floor where they belong.

Technically, it was still Makishima’s floor, even if on Toudou’s side of the bed, but the concept was sweet and Toudou didn’t feel the need to punctuate the difference. He was also too focused on the expert and bony fingers on his dick, stealing away all his chances for coherent thoughts. Riled up, Makishima pushed their bodies closer against each other, at some point: their hands touched, their cocks did as well, and they decided that working them both together, at the same time, was far more satisfactory.

Toudou came first, with a choked cry and no sense of modesty, jeans riding slow at his mid-thighs and t-shirt pulled up enough for Makishima to work his magic. He had his own fingers inside his boyfriend’s trousers and ass, giving the last, practiced, light strokes to Makishima’s sweet spot and making him come as well. They recovered as they were, slumped against each other, not even bothering to straighten their clothes. Toudou watched with a smug smile the people that walked past them without even blinking in their direction. He felt free. He felt invincible.

Makishima kissed him hungrily.

- I can’t believe I got you to have sex in a dark room.

Toudou bit his cheek playfully and made him laugh.

- I’m serious, Jinpachi: the next time you nag me about PDA, I swear I’m going to kill you.

Toudou pulled up their trousers and pressed their bodies together, kissed his lips and stared at him with the bedroom eyes Makishima had learned to know.

- Let’s go home, Yuusuke.

Makishima pushed a knee in between Toudou’s legs, rubbing him.

- There’s a dark and empty alley outside…

Toudou chuckled and pulled him down again, smiling into his boyfriend’s mouth and feeling more than a little excited at the thought.

- Next time.

He meant it.