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gasolinerainbowpuddles · 2 months

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991 i hav emerjenci

Wow, what an absolute dumpster fire, right? *gestures broadly* ↓Below the cut↓ are some specific things as a reader/mutual/friend/etc you can do that will make things a little better.

You come across someone posting/using someone else's work without express permission to do so:

INFORM THE ORIGINAL CREATOR/POSTER (OP) DIRECTLY ════════════════════════════════════════ ✧ Let OP know BEFORE you attempt to engage with the person on their behalf. ✧ OP will probably want to lay eyes on the situation, and, if the person stealing their work is tipped off, they might proactively block OP and/or remove posts before they can be verified as stolen. ✧ Do not harass the person who stole the work. It might be coming from a place of wanting to stick up for OP, but it ultimately doesn't help the situation.

OP is experiencing a hate brigade, nasty anons, or trolling over their fic:

PRIORITIZE ACTIONS AND BEHAVIORS THAT KEEP THE FOCUS ON SUPPORT FOR OP ════════════════════════════════════════ ✧ Reblog the fic in question with a glowing recommendation or just leave a comment under it expressing your appreciation for it. Both actions will boost the work in question as well as show direct support for OP. ✧ Reach out privately through DMs if you have that sort of relationship, or send a supportive message through asks. Keep it simple and short as they are probably overwhelmed with the shitstorm at certain points. ✧ Speaking up with a supportive comment or post for OP isn't necessarily a bad thing, but arguing back and forth with the trolls/hate brigade/etc. - even if you are doing it with intention to support OP - only fuels the fire, and some of them are doing it for the attention anyway.

OP seems down / isn't motivated to write / is expressing considerations of leaving fic writing altogether because of the current climate on this hellsite:

GIVE THEM THE SPACE OR TIME THEY NEED, BUT ALSO LET THEM KNOW THAT THEY ARE VALUED ════════════════════════════════════════ ✧ For the love of god please don't bombard them with asks about when xyz is going to be posted. This is a hobby for them, and they have jobs, families, and other life responsibilities that come first. Many would love nothing more than to sit and write all day, but that just isn't the reality for 99% of fic writers. ✧ Show their older works love, too. Many fic writers take the time to curate an organized masterlist of their works, and many have been writing for a while. There is a trove of wonderful content that can be read or re-read while you patiently wait for your fave to update. ✧ If you're waiting for an update on a specific fic, go back through the older chapters/updates and leave a comment saying you love it so much that you're coming back to visit older chapters while you wait to see what happens next in the story. I guarantee it will give them a boost of motivation for that story in particular. ✧ REBLOG AND COMMENT. Yes, do both of those things. I want you open up a fic you love and scroll down to the bottom where you can see likes, comments, and reblogs. I want you to look at the disparity between likes and comments/reblogs. Clicking a heart button is pretty much zero effort, and it comes across as such to many writers. It's not how Tumblr operates. This is a REBLOG site. That is how things make their way around. That is how posts get engagement. That is how other people can discover the fic writers you enjoy. Look, I even made a meme to show you what it feels like when after hours and hours of writing and editing you finally post a fic and then somebody only hearts it:

Even a simple "I loved this so much and can't wait to read more!" does wonders. A quick reblog that mentions your favorite part in the story is like a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow for writers.

You come across people trashing a writer you like:

CONSIDER IF IT'S HELPFUL OR NOT TO ADDRESS IT ════════════════════════════════════════ ✧ People are allowed to have negative/differing opinions about things. If they are expressing their dislike, even in a nasty way, they are allowed to do so. ✧ If it is a genuinely harmful/disparaging conversation, look to see what sort of traction the conversation has. Sometimes it's better to just let something die down before it can even take off. Examples of genuinely harmful/disparaging conversation include but aren't limited to: accusing OP of something egregious without any evidence to support it, framing rumors/gossip they've seen about OP as factual, deeming them criminally or morally corrupt based off a personal opinion they have of OP/their works. ✧ Remember that while serious concerns (like the above point) might be good to share with OP, not every instance of negativity or hate needs to be brought to their attention. If it's just some random jerk on a different platform talking about how much OP's writing is amateur hour, you should probably just leave it be. OP is a person at the end of the day, and sometimes things can be more hurtful than helpful for them to see.

OP isn't acting / responding in a way that you like:

REMIND YOURSELF THAT THEY ARE JUST ANOTHER PERSON IN THE FANDOM AND ARE NOT AN INFLUENCER ════════════════════════════════════════ ✧ OP isn't in this fandom to be put on a pedestal (of course there are always exceptions, but I'm not talking about those people) and treated like an influencer. ✧ OP creates works in the fandom because that is how they choose to engage with the fandom. It is one of many ways that people can come together in a community and celebrate an actor/movie/series/etc. ✧ OP is not a content farm. They are writing and sharing because they genuinely enjoy it. They are not being compensated. They are not being endorsed by anybody or any company. They are a normal person trying to take part in a fandom they enjoy. ✧ OP is not obligated to address or comment on a situation, an interaction, discourse, etc. They are not an influencer and aren't equivalent to the parasocial relationships that influencers (aka people who make a living off the internet) have with their followers. OP is not required to "use their platform" for something. It's not a platform. It is OP's personal account where they engage and post in fandom. That is why it exists. OP is not some mega entity that has to speak on something because you demand or expect it.

OP blocked me:

THE CALL IS COMING FROM INSIDE THE HOUSE ════════════════════════════════════════ ✧ Listen, I know it can be hurtful/confusing if you are blocked, especially if it is a writer you really like. I guarantee you that it was not done out of spite and for no reason. ✧ Take a look at the circles you run in, the posts you like, the sort of comments you leave, etc. Many writers are quick to block these days because the climate of this hellsite is very charged and exhausting. If OP sees your username cropping up again and again in fandom drama or you liked a discourse post with a shitty take or your chummy mutual is going off the rails with some bullshit, you might just get caught up in the Block Party. ✧ Don't go through another channel/account to ask why you've been blocked. No, you aren't entitled to a reason. OP is allowed to protect their mental health and peace, and they don't owe anyone an explanation of why and how they choose to curate their experience on this hellsite. ✧ If you believe you were blocked by mistake (which, again, is very unlikely), just take the L, homie. I know that's not what you want to hear, but that's just how it is.

If you took the time to read this, share it, or just in general intend to apply it to your interactions, ✨thank you✨!

Here is a Pedro gif tax for your time and attention. 💜

#a word from puddles #fandom things #fandom community #pedro pascal fandom

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damazcuz · 2 years

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One more question(for now) why do people on tumblr use tags to talk #like this #about whatever they think of the post, instead of just commenting on the reblog😭 Is there an etiquette I'm missing?

short answer: yes.

long answer, there is an etiquette to it, and I think it's a longstanding thing that just ended up ingrained in a lot of users, which comes off as cold/shy/outlandish or maybe even standoffish to people from other sites and apps. there's no be-all end-all of how to act online or on here but i think in terms of most* people (*speaking broadly, making this up) who've used tumblr for a while it feels like this:

tumblr is a theater, the dashboard is a stage, each post is a performance. (a joke, a dramatic act, a story, a movie, a picture, etc.) you have a variety of ways to interact with the performance, but some of them are going to be more frowned upon--based purely on how the long standing visitors of the theater are used to acting, honestly.

likes are a polite applause, but they don't show anyone outside of the theater that you enjoyed yourself, or what you enjoyed. the performer appreciates the applause but does not garner any new viewers when you only like a post, btw.

silent reblogs mean you exit the theater with merch or a leaflet and go show it to other people. look what i saw on the stage, don't you want to see it too. this shows the performance to a new variety of viewers, who might then also show it to others.

replies and reblogs with content are often seen as """"rude"""" because they're like standing up at the end of the performance and loudly saying "that was okay but I think MY take on things makes it just a BIT better." people are more forgiving of this when it's something universally true or acceptable, or when it's very funny. if it's not (and even if it is, sometimes,) there'll potentially be a reblog down the line making fun of it (and this is another person in the theater standing up and making a fart noise, regardless of how tasteless or rude.) it's never actually "wrong" to add comments on a reblog unless you're being intentionally hurtful, and it's normal to add commentary to a friend's post, but even then, people seeing this from the outside may see that as obnoxious and impolite and try to call you on it anyway. (people are very weird about enforcing what they see as a universal rule of etiquette, when this is admittedly the only site where you'll be punished for adding to the discussion.)

and again, this is an absolutely arbitrary rule because what one person finds universally true and hilarious, another will find trite and stupid and too niche. the polite thing to do in the case of the latter is just reblog from further up the chain than the commenter, but people aren't always nice when they're annoyed.

getting to your actual question now, comments in the tags are a way to leave remarks that you DON'T want to shout to the whole theater. these are you whispering to yourself or your friend, or writing in a guestbook on the way out. people can see/hear it if they go looking for it, but you're not shouting over the performance to get your piece out. it's polite because it's unobstructive and doesn't take up space, and if your tags don't make sense to someone else or seem too niche, they don't have to share the post with your commentary attached.

adjacent to this, "peer review" or screenshotting someone's tags to insert them in the post is like if you did whisper to your friend, then your friend wrote your comments on a whiteboard and held it up for others to see. as this is a form of commentary within the reblog, it's again subject to an arbitrary universal/niche rule. just because a tag gets peer reviewed doesn't mean it's beyond reproach by strangers.

also in line with this general line of thought experiment, blazing a post means that between acts, you run up on the stage and start shouting your piece. it is, once again, going to be more acceptable to strangers to see you do this if it's something universally funny, true, or cute. this is why niche fandom posts, vent posts, and self promotions get ignored or booed down, while pet birthday photos and silly jokes get blazed and get a lot of notes regardless.

lastly, a kungpowpenis is when twelve+ individuals from the audience get up and beat the shit out of the person performing on stage and leave their corpse on display in the town square.

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incognitopolls · 1 month

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There are a lot of consistently repeated "facts" around tumblr that fall somewhere in this gradient—some of which are only corrected by actually crunching numbers, reading scientific papers, etc. Falling for misrepresented data isn't anyone’s fault, but it does mean that some things that "everyone knows" are straight up incorrect, because the source was written by someone who didn't understand what they were reporting on, or the subject was twisted to suit a narrative (for personal reasons, monetary gain, etc).

Meanwhile, SOME claims just don't have a real source at all.

Do you check sources before you repeat a factoid or spread a post?

–

We ask your questions so you don’t have to! Submit your questions to have them posted anonymously as polls.

#polls #incognito polls #anonymous #tumblr polls #tumblr users #questions #polls about the internet #submitted dec 20 #news #checking sources #fact checking

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psychedelic-ink · 8 months

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ㅤㅤㅤ❤︎ 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍

ㅤjavier peña x plus size f!reader

genre: smut, strangers to lovers/fwb, minors dni

word count: 4.5k

summary: it's the 80s. when the dig you've been working at has to take a short break due to escobar and politics, you decide to wait it out at medellín. while hitchhiking, a charming stranger pulls up.

warnings: mild weed usage (reader), car sex, nipple play, dirty talk, dry humping, age gap, piv, creampie, unprotected sex, brat taming if you squint, some weight-related insecurities if you squint but mostly she's just vibing and living her life

a/n: i would really consider writing more of this so please let me know what you think! a special shoutout to @inklore because i feel like i wouldn't think about hitchhiker smut on the bus if it wasn't for her fic roadside delight which all of you should go and read rn because it's amazing, ily bby 💗

**dividers by the amazing @saradika xx

Raindrops land sparsely over your skin, most of the wetness caught over your cheeks. Sliding down your neck, they sneak beneath the sweetheart neckline of your olive green dress. The skirt dances with the wind, teasing the inner curves of your thighs as it playfully flutters in your wake. Despite the rain, it’s still warm. However, that doesn’t stop the chill of the gray clouds from settling over your skin. With a deep sigh, you lift your thumb once more.

You have no idea how long you’ve had your thumb sticking up; maybe it’s been only ten minutes or an hour, regardless, you’re frustrated and want the wait to end.

Some cars had slowed down but upon seeing the men that were driving, you had quickly hidden your thumb away. You knew what they were thinking. Thanks to the rain, there was only little left to the imagination. The dress that already hugged your breasts and hips hugged you even tighter now, the fabric almost sheer as it exposed your tight nipples. You should’ve brought a jacket with you but honestly, how were you supposed to know it was going to rain today?

“Fucking hell,” you mutter, pushing your wet hair away from your neck in frustration. Not a single car in sight after what you thought had been at least ten minutes of waiting. Clicking your tongue, you reach into your bag, retrieving a lighter and a joint thoughtfully rolled by one of your colleagues at the excavation site. It was greatly appreciated since you weren’t the best at rolling.

Taking a drag, you sigh, the smoke mingling with the misty air. The excavation site had declared a short break due to some unforeseen issue related to the escalating Escobar problem in the region. It's hush-hush among the team, but you've caught snippets of worried conversations about increased security concerns and the need to lay low for a while.

Your shoulders relax as the smoke swirls in your lungs, your body now feeling rejuvenated instead of cold under the rain. In the distance, you hear the soft hum of a car approaching and narrow your eyes as you look at the distance. Your eyes light up when you see a car approaching and this time, no matter who’s in it, you promise yourself you’ll just get in.

The cigarette still between your lips, you lift your thumb with enthusiasm, taking a step further into the road, you giggle slightly thinking you might just as well jump in front of it to make it stop. You want to get out of the rain, want warm clothes and blankets.

The car comes to a smooth halt.

You lean towards the already open window, you quickly pluck the join away from your lips and smile broadly at the dark-haired stranger.

“Hola,” you say, hoping your accent is decent enough. “¿podrías darme un aventón?”

The stranger gives you a curious look, his lips curl upward, eyes dropping to your cleavage before lifting them back up to meet your gaze. Your breath catches in your throat, chest heaving at the sight of him. He’s beautiful. Dark hair, dark eyes, plump lips. Blinking, you swallow and press your legs together, thankful he can’t see it.

“Where you headed?” he asks.

“Medellín,” A timid chuckle escapes your lips. “Did my accent give it away?”

“A little,” he jerks his head to the side. “Hop in. You must be freezing like that.”

Grateful, you open the car and slide yourself inside. Warmth immediately envelops you like a cozy blanket and you sigh happily, leaning into the comfort of the seat. “Thanks,” you say, offering your name along with it. “What’s your name?”

“My name’s Javier. But you can call me Javi.”

“I think I’ll stick to Javier, I like the way it hits my tongue.”

He grins, “Do you, now?”

It takes you everything to ignore the delicious roll of his tongue and how it would feel on your skin. You lift your hand suddenly, the joint visible between your fingers.

“Is it okay if I smoke this in your car?”

He looks confused for a brief moment. You notice him taking in deep breaths, sniffing the air, his eyes go slightly wide with realization but then the surprise in his eyes molds into amusement.

“Go ahead,” he says. “You’re awfully bold to ask that without knowing who I am or what I do. What if I was a cop?”

“Cops don’t look as good as you do.”

Shit.

“I look good?”

You hear the mirth in his voice and quickly change the subject, “You want one?”

“No,” he answers firmly. Confusion furrows your brow and his tone quickly softens. “Let’s just say I’m not a fan. And it’s illegal.”

“Oh, sorry. I can put it out, you don’t have to be nice about it.”

He thinks about it for a while but shakes his head. “You don’t have much of it left anyway,” The car starts moving and you look at the spot you’ve been waiting at for god knows how long one last time. Good riddance. “So, Medellín, what business do you have there?”

“No business,” you answer promptly, taking another drag. You blow the smoke out the window, the wind whisking it away. “I’m studying archeology. I was doing research at Ciudad Perdida but we had to take a break for safety reasons. We might still go on so until I get a firm ‘go back home’ I was thinking to wait it out there.”

“It’s not really safe there either, you know. You gotta be careful when you get there,” he gives you a side glance, eyes moving up and down your curves. Your heart rate escalates and when you press your legs together once more, it doesn’t go unnoticed. “You’re awfully squirmy there,” he says, voice low and all gravel. “You okay?”

Your veins buzzing, you throw the remainder of the joint out the window. Your head is swimming pleasantly, the smoke loosening your tongue and making you eager to confess all the dirty things you want to do with him. But along with that, uncertainty creeps in. You don’t even know if he wants you that way. He seems older than you. He might’ve just been looking after you and the lust you heard in his deep voice might’ve just been in your imagination.

“I’m not squirming,” you say quickly. He doesn’t look convinced by your answer, hands tightening around the steering wheel. “How long until we get there?”

“A couple of hours,” his eyes catch your lingering gaze and he smiles. “There’s a gas station a little ahead so I suggest you go to the bathroom, sweetheart. If you have to go.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“You hungry?”

Your hand wanders to your stomach, you can’t tell if he’s asking because of your appearance or if it’s a genuine question. He speaks up before you can decide. “I’m starving,” he says. “I also need to buy a pack so if you want anything just tell me. I’ll pay.”

“I have money.”

He laughs at that, and laughs even harder at your pout, “You’re a student in Colombia, hitchhiking. I doubt you have much,” he shrugs. “Besides, you’re a guest in this country, let me treat you.”

“You’re being awfully nice.”

“Am I? I don’t think so.” You see the gas station coming into view. “But mamá always did say I had a soft spot for pretty girls.”

“You think I’m pretty?” you answer, hoping to have more a sultry tone but your words come out breathless. Excited.

The car slows, his eyes are glued to your neck, he slowly moves them down. His dark gaze eating you up. You can almost feel it caressing your skin, heating you, and licking over the waterdrops that stubbornly remains on your skin.

“Don’t say it like you don’t already know.” The car stops along with your breath. He pulls the keys out and leans close, lips almost touching your pulse. You feel his breath on your ear, warm, it coaxes goosebumps to rise across your skin. His eyes trail over the curve of your lips. “Do I make you uncomfortable?”

You shake your head, “No.”

His lips touch your cheek. It happens so quickly that you feel you might’ve imagined it. The rough hairs above his lip tickle your skin and you instinctively chase the heat of him as he moves away.

Before you know it he’s out of the car, the patch of skin where his lips touched still burning with delight. Stunned, you touch your cheek with the tips of your fingers.

Maybe waiting in the rain for someone like him wasn’t so bad after all.

You should’ve known it would end up like this.

Him, to park the car in a semi-remote spot.

You, to cradle his lap, your dress pushed up all the way up exposing your soft thighs with his hands all over you.

You should’ve known.

The soft pitter patters of rain hit the top of the car, you’re too occupied by his mouth to realize the sun had slowly started to peek through the clouds, warming the damp concrete. Javier’s tongue is awfully skillful. He slips his tongue between your lips, licking himself deeper into your mouth, his hands pull at your neckline, exposing your bare breasts. He flattens his palms against them, your nipples tighten against the heat of his palm.

He breaks away with a groan, “I knew you were braless,” he rasps, dipping to your neck. “I fucking knew it.”

“And I knew you were staring,” you tease and expose more of your neck. He nips at the tender skin playfully, a shiver runs up your spine. “Here I thought you picked me up out of the goodness of your heart.”

“Tell me to stop and I will.”

“No—god, no. I don’t ever want you to stop.”

And that’s all he needs to hear as he lifts your breasts towards his mouth. He dips his head, swirling his tongue over the pebbled flesh. Your body seizes. Your breath caught in your lungs, burning like wildfire. He twists the other with his finger and you moan loudly. The fabric of your underwear grows damp, sticking to your skin. He sucks harder. The thick outline of his cock rubs against your core, a feeling like electricity shooting up your spine, your head falls and he bites.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—” you whimper, grinding down. Another wave of arousal washes over you, the effect of the weed you inhaled pounding between your thighs.

Javier glares up at you, “Such a dirty mouth,” he grunts and holds your tongue between two fingers. Your brows furrow with pleasure, the hard denim of his pants growing damp thanks to you. “I don’t like bad girls. And you seem to be walking on the edge of it, sweetheart.”

“I–I’m not bad,” you whimper, your words slurring thanks to his hold on your tongue. He lifts a brow, unconvinced. You don’t know why you’re hurt by him calling you bad, but you want to make it up to him—why you do, you have no idea. “I’ll. . . I’ll be good.”

“Promise?”

You only nod and he pinches your tongue, pain blossoms over the soft muscle.

“Promise,” you slur. “I’ll be your good girl.”

Satisfied for now, he releases your tongue and brings his hand back to your aching nipples. He sucks on one while pinching the other, both sensations making your mind whirl.

“You like it when I play with your tits, hermosa?” he groans at the way you rolls your hips, pulling away his lips, he starts playing with both with his fingers. Twisting, pinching, and pulling. You’re trembling. A sopping, wet mess. “So sensitive. You think you can come like this?”

You only moan, your lids fluttering like a butterfly’s wings as you look at him. He smiles, something dark crossing over his handsome features. “I think you can,” he says. “Because you’re my good girl, aren’t you?”

Slack-jawed, you answer, “Y–Yes.”

Javier guides the sloppy roll of your hips. His mouth on your neck, he teases the flesh there while mercilessly playing with your tits however he sees fit. Your nipples are so hard from stimulation it almost hurts, Every twist of his fingers prompts a fresh wave of arousal seep into your underwear. Your body is out of control. Burning from the inside out. You’ve never felt it this intense before, never felt your orgasm nearing so viciously.

His lips hover an inch away from yours, you part your mouth for a kiss but he smiles cruelly, you can smell the hints of tobacco when he speaks, “I can feel how soaked you are, baby. So wet and all for a stranger you just met,” he nips at your chin, gives your nipples a hard pinch that makes you see white. “I wonder if you’d do this with all the others who would’ve stopped for you?”

“Others did slow down,” you say followed up by an elongated whine. Javier thrusts his hips, the rough denim of his pants catching against your clothed clit. He licks your bottom lip. “But they gave me a weird feeling so I hid away my hand. So. . . I wouldn’t do this with just anyone.”

“Fuck, preciosa, you’re saying all the right things,” with one hand, he slides your dress up further, fingers teasing your slit. “It’s an honor to have this cunt all to myself.”

Only then does he kiss you. It’s hungry, depraved. He sucks on your tongue, presses his lips hard into yours. The hand toying with your core moves to your hip, he squeezes your love handle, tugs you down as he thrusts his hips into the air. You cry out and he swallows the wanton sounds that rattle your throat.

“That’s it, come for me,” he purrs, his hips pressing into yours. You grind down helplessly, aching to feel the hardness of him. Your ears begin to ring. Your body tingling and tensing while the taste of your nearing release stains your tongue. Your eyelids flutter closed, his lips once again drawing an aching nipple into his mouth. He sucks and sucks and sucks—and you finally break down, gushing and squeezing around nothing. You feel the wetness bleeding into the fabric, your legs shaking around where they frame his narrow hips, your head falls over and the soft locks of his hair soothe your burning cheeks.

Javier is still moving against you. His cock painfully strained against his zipper, coated in your slick. Both his hands drop to your waist, squeezing as he finds your lips, giving you a tender kiss.

He doesn’t say a word, his hand sneaking between your legs, he slips them under the elastic and pushes two between your folds. You swear you feel his cock throb when he realizes how wet you truly are.

“Shit,” he breathes out. “Fuck, you really did come. Such a good girl,” he lifts your head by the chin and stares into your eyes, your pulse races again. “Good girl,” he repeats, watching as your lips tighten and eyes go wide. “You feel so good on top of me, making a mess out of these shitty pants. You come so pretty, querida.”

“Javier,” you moan, your nipples tightening again.

He pulls his fingers out out and tastes you in earnest, he moans around his fingers, “So sweet.”

You moan again, the fire between your legs roaring to life. He cups your breasts and pushes them towards you, watching the way your eyes roll, “Let me fuck you in the backseat,” he says, as if you would ever say no to that. “I wanna see this ass bouncing on my cock.”

No one ever mentions how awkward car sex can be, especially when you need to move around.

You try not to show it to Javier but you have a sneaking suspicion your face is basically an open book. He slides to the back first, moving between the middle of the front seats. Moving around in a car already makes you awkward, it’s even worse when your tits are out in the open, moving side to side.

But you guess it can’t be too bad since Javier is staring at them instead of you.

“Is it bad that I want to play with them some more?” he chuckles.

“Definitely not,” you smile back, the light-hearted conversation gives you the courage to finally move between the seats. He quickly slides to the side, his lips on yours before you can even sit. He strokes his cock through his jeans, tongue dancing along yours, he sucks the air from your lungs.

“Take off your dress,” he orders, watching, he unbuttons his jeans. You strip quickly, your body already aching to feel him deep inside you. He hums with approval when you’re bare to him, he doesn’t bother taking off his clothes, instead, he slightly pushes down his pants and frees his cock.

A bead of precome glistens at the head, the head of his cock swollen, a hint of red adding color. He’s thick enough to have your pussy already throbbing. Your mouth waters. Javier wraps a hand around his length and pumps it under your lustful gaze, more precome gathers at the slit, slowly trickling down the side. Your breath hitches when you notice him smiling.

“You want a taste?”

You immediately lean down with your tongue out, sucking the tip, you clean him and push yourself further down. Your lips stretch around him deliciously.

Javier doesn’t allow you to taste him further though, with his hand on your nape, he squeezes, “If you do that I’ll come in seconds.” You look up to him between lowered lashes. “And I’d rather come somewhere else, preciosa.”

“How do you want me?” you ask, voice horse.

“On all fours.”

Again, a bit tricky because you have the constant fear your leg is going to slip and you’re going to fall, but the backseat is comfortable enough for that not to happen. His hands slide up your back and he holds you by the shoulders, bringing you close. His cock pushes between your thighs, parting your folds, your slick wets his cock, making the glide easier.

“You know,” he says, his voice dropping dangerously. “Anyone could see us right now. Anyone who decides to drive by is gonna see us fucking.”

You don’t expect yourself to clench at his words but you do, a soft whimper echoing from your lips. You can’t see it, but you know he’s smiling from ear to ear. “Does that turn you on, hermosa?” When you don’t answer, he leans closer, breath tickling the shell of your ear. “Don’t worry, it turns me on too.”

Pushing the tip of his cock into you, your chest begins to move with labored breaths. He buries himself to the hilt with ease. A loud moan escapes his lips as his hips are snug over your ass. Your elbows give way, your head dropping to the leather sheets. It feels too good, too full, too intense. Your body breaks in sweat, your body fluttering around and clamping desperately around his cock. His hands follow the curve of your back, laying on top of each ass cheek.

“Love this ass,” he mutters. “Are you alright? Can I move?”

“Y–Yeah,” you choke out, desperate. Javier begins to move. Slowly pulling back his hips, he slams into you, ripping a moan from your chest. The leather seats creak as he thrusts into you, his pace gradually picking up. Each time he snaps his hips forward, you feel like your world is spinning. He grips onto your hips, his fingers digging into your skin as he pounds into you.

“Come on, sweetheart, push those hips back. Prove to me how good you’re feeling on my cock.”

All coherent thoughts leave your mind as you surrender yourself to the sensations. You meet his thrusts halfway, your body screaming at how deep he is. Your eyes roll to the back of your skull, your hard nipples grazing against the leather, it adds to your pleasure. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoes throughout the car. He leans forward, his lips brushing against your neck as he groans your name.

You can feel the tension building up inside you, your body on fire. The coil in your stomach tightens, your legs starting to quiver, you gasp his name, barely able to breathe. “Come on my cock,” he commands, licking the start of your spine. Arousal pours between your legs, slick trickling down his cock. “Show me how good you are—”

You cry out as your orgasm crashes over you, your walls clenching around him. Your breathing is caught in your throat. You roll your hips desperately, begging him to fuck you harder, god deeper—he does. He hammers into you, groaning over and over about how much of a good girl you are. His praise short circuits your brain and another orgasm washes over you, softer this time, but still powerful, enough to have you dripping over the seats.

Javier continues to thrust into you, chasing his own release. With one final deep thrust, he spills himself inside you, his body shuddering. He grinds his hips, pushing himself deeper until he’s dripping from where he stretches you. You moan his name, your lips moving against the leather.

Both of you collapse onto the seats, panting heavily as you try to catch your breath. Javier hugs you tight and pulls you up until you’re draped over his chest. You feel pleasantly lifeless, your lids heavy. He strokes your damp hair, fingers grazing over your cheek, he kisses your forehead. The gesture makes your heart swell.

“Mi preciosa, eso fue increíble, fuiste increíble.”

His words were said heavily as if he was barely keeping himself from falling asleep. You smile, burrowing yourself into his neck, you focus on the sweetness of the fleeting moment and not the come dripping out from between your legs.

“You were the one that was incredible,” you sigh happily. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt that good in my life.”

“Let’s just say it was a team effort then,” he grins but his smile quickly falters. “How the hell am I supposed to drive now, I need a nap.”

“We could. . .”

He sighs, “Sadly, I have work I need to get to.”

“You never did tell me what you did for a living,” you muse. “Care to share?”

His grin is back, lips curling mischievously, he looks you up and down. Your body shudders at the heat of his gaze.

“We were busy doing other things,” he quickly gives you a peck on the cheek and reaches for your dress. “I’ll tell you later.”

You pout a bit but shrug it off quickly as you take your dress. To each his own. If he wants to keep his job a secret, that’s fine. You just met him after all. And you’ll probably never see him again after you reach Medellín.

The thought sours your mood. Turns your stomach. You don’t want to think about that. You don’t want to think about the end. You always did get attached too easily.

With a sigh, you put on your dress and watch as Javier slides back to the front. You still have a couple more hours with him, you might as well make the best of it.

The ride had been a pleasant one. You’re pretty sure you talked the poor man’s ear off but he talked a bunch too, telling you about his father, his hobbies—which weren’t a lot—and his dislikes about the city. You had listened with rapt attention, eating up every last detail. But still, you had no idea what he did for a living and refused to ask, not wanting to pry.

Almost at Medellín, you notice a checkpoint ahead. Your eyes narrow for a better look and groan, these guys meant business, especially when cartels were on the rise. No matter how many times you batted your eyes, you know your bag is going to get checked along with Javier’s belongings.

“Oh no,” you mutter, prompting Javier’s eyes to shift from the highway to you.

“What’s wrong?”

“I still have a couple of joints in my bag. If they search it I’m toast. They won’t let me go back.”

You’re not sure why but he smiles, did he know the checkpoint would be here? Your heart drops and stomach lurches.

“You’ll be fine,” he says, then he winks for good measure. “Trust me, querida. You won’t get into trouble.”

You have your doubts but nod and lean back anyway. The car slows down as you approach the checkpoint, and you can feel the tension building up inside you. Javier pulls the car to a stop, and a stern-looking man walks up to Javier. The officer’s gaze lingers on you before turning to Javier.

“Documentos e identificación.”

“Hola,” he greets along with a short nod. “Soy Javier Peña, de la DEA. Estamos de paso.”

Your eyes grow wide when Javier shows his badge to the officer, your jaw nearly drops, blood rushing to your ears. You desperately have the urge to shake your head and yank the badge out of the officer’s hands to inspect it yourself. To feel it under your fingers.

The officer nods and motions to the others to let you through, “Adelante, buen viaje.”

The car starts to move again and finally—finally, you allow your jaw to drop.

“You’re DEA?” you ask, upper body rising up from your seat, your tone shrill. Javier doesn’t say anything but he does nod, eyes never leaving the road. “Oh my god,” you say. “Oh my god—why. . why didn’t you tell me? I—I smoked weed in your car! You could’ve arrested me at any given point—I. . . I—” I fucked a DEA agent.

You drop back down, defeated.

“You don’t need to worry about me arresting you,” he answers, smiling. “I would’ve if you were a threat but. . . I think we established that you aren’t.”

“A bunch of criminals fuck with agents you know,” you snap, weirdly offended. “Just because we did it doesn’t mean I’m not dangerous.”

“Do you want me to arrest you, hermosa?”

Cuffs do sound tempting but you aren’t playing that game right now, “No. . .”

“Good, we’re on the same page then,” he drums his thumbs against the steering wheel. “My intention wasn’t to trick you or anything. You already seemed miserable under the rain, waiting for that long. I didn’t want to stress you further. And you can’t really blame me for thinking like that when the second sentence you said was ‘do you want a joint’ you would’ve freaked out. Am I wrong?”

“No,” you say, clearer this time. “I still feel embarrassed though.”

“You’ll live.” Finally entering the city, he turns to you, meeting your gaze. It’s a bit ill-advised since he’s driving but you appreciate having his full attention. “Where should I drop you off?”

Oh.

“I. . actually don’t know. Do you know any good places to stay? A room I can book on short notice?”

“You don’t have a place to stay?”

“I’m a girl who was hitchhiking through a country I don’t know. Do I look like someone with a plan?”

“Fair enough,” he says, eyes turning back to the road. “Well, this is going to sound weird but you can stay with me if you want to.” Before you can answer, he adds. “I have a spare room.”

Saying yes is easier than you thought.

#javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #javier peña x f!reader #javier peña x fem!reader #javier peña smut #javier peña fanfic #narcos fanfic #narcos x reader #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javier pena smut #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal character fanfiction

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chireikiden · 5 months

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Might be a pretty basic take by the standards of more seasoned yuri fans, but it's my perspective as someone who's mostly read yuri in a Touhou context (though a lot of it), and exclusively manga from the Japanese fans as opposed to i.e. written fics.

Touhou yuri (using it very broadly here to describe any kind of wlw shipping present) is, across the board, in a pool of fan literature going back twenty years, remarkably good at taking the lesbian part for granted. Not counting outright het content or works that simply don't bring it up, I have only very vague memories of a character's lesbian orientation being either denied or even brought to question (even in the cliche "But we're both girls!" manner, which even as a somewhat dead horse trope you might still expect to see, given plenty of doujin writing isn't exactly highbrow). You might be able to read "Does she like girls?" between the lines in the usual question of "Does she like me?" if you really want to, but the way it's still basically treated as default is fun to me. There's a reason Touhou basically has honorary yuri status on e.g. Dynasty Reader, even the stories with effectively zero shipping in them. You might not notice if you haven't browsed the site, but it's literally nothing but yuri + Touhou. We even got upload rights just so we could post more Touhou.

(Of course, Touhou being yuri city is part of the reason any hint of straight romance gets a really strong kneejerk reaction from people, including me. But that's also because the lack of usable male characters makes that shipping inherently hamfisted, up to and including literally making up cardboard villager OCs. Basically the only positive example I can remember off the top of my head is Hisona's An Old Poem for the Cuckoo Bird depicting Youki with a 1000-year-old mostly joking crush on Nue, which after some chin-scratching I decided I liked alright. And Hisona of course has plenty of yuri cred to cover for it.)

But although taken for granted, most Touhou yuri is one or more of: a.) On a "blushing maidens thinking about holding hands" level in its approach to romance, b.) Only depicting the starting moments of a relationship, at best - usually just pining, c.) Only off-handedly teasing, basically to acknowledge the ship is there, d.) Showing a very close and loving relationship but leaving the romance part subtextual, even if thinly veiled.

While those are all fine - some of my favorite artists like e.g. Ashiyama undeniably fall under d.) - it means that artists who depict more established couples, and couples that get depicted as more established, stand out. I love when a story is very blunt about two characters, whether the focus is actually on them or not, already being an item. Be it due to a difference in target demographic or what, many of these works seem to have a slight lean towards being more raunchy/horny even when not outright R-18, but I don't actually mind that too much when it does happen - as long as they're fun and raunchy, as opposed to only raunchy or, god forbid, unfun in raunchy ways.

I like how Moyazou depicts Mokou and Keine as basically-married. I like how Atoki depicts YuuParu or SakiYachi after drawing like twenty books of them (each). I like when Kawayabug depicts Tojiko as Miko's beleaguered wife. But the example of the day is obviously risui (of Ladies of Scarlet Devil Mansion), who you might have guessed inspired this ramble. Funnily enough, in LoSDM she seems to have walked back Meiling and Sakuya's relationship coincidentally at the same time she toned down the content to fit SCoOW's guidelines, compared to her usual works that have MeiSaku at a much more established and mutual stage.

But the point stands that it's really fun to see LoSDM almost rub it in your face from the very start - from Meiling's dream to every other conversation she has - that everyone in it is unapologetically and openly lesbian, assumes everyone else to be a lesbian, and doesn't hesitate to talk about it like a (romcom idiot) adult.

Also, risui draw lady very good

#would be really funny if I started using the tag 'ladies disc.'#losdm disc.

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probablyasocialecologist · 2 months

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Gaza, that ancient city on the eastern shores of the Mediterranean, has come to be the political and moral compass of the entire world. Despite the pervasive destruction, Gaza stands not as a place in need of lessons. Instead, it is itself the poignant lesson of our modern age – a litmus test for humanity. As the death toll continues to rise, it becomes increasingly challenging to conceive of a violence more profound than that inflicted by machine guns and aerial bombardment. However, Israeli colonial violence – both in Gaza and Palestine more broadly – has historically manifested at various scales. It extends from the confines of a bedroom to encompass a neighbourhood, a whole city, and stretches to the scale of a regional geography. Understanding the destruction of Gaza calls for a dual perspective. It requires zooming in on the intimate scales of violence while also being aware of these broader manifestations. At the core of Israeli colonialism in Palestine is the logic of partition, a paradigm fundamentally at odds with the land, its people and its history. Gaza has long been a nexus of interconnected worlds: for millennia, it served as a vital crossroads, connecting Palestine to Egypt and bridging the continents of Asia and Africa. The roads from Gaza to Bir al‑Sabe’, Jaffa and Jerusalem have witnessed the passage of visitors, merchants and pilgrims from diverse corners of the world. The city’s social, cultural and economic prosperity has been woven into its geographical openness, a defining feature in Palestine’s long history. Any thought about Gaza and Palestine’s future is bound to reckon with this history. The enduring imprints of Gaza’s geographical openness are discernible in both its social and built fabrics. This ancient city has witnessed the rule of various empires and civilisations, including the Egyptian Pharaohs, Greeks, Romans, Byzantines and successive Islamic dynasties – each contributing to the rich tapestry of the city. Gaza is home to historic treasures such as the Anthedon Harbour, the port that linked the city to the Mediterranean world in the Roman era; the Great Omari Mosque, one of the most significant mosques in Palestine; and the Church of Saint Porphyrius, believed to be the third oldest church in the world. These historic landmarks, among residential buildings, universities, museums and cultural institutions, have not escaped the intentional targeting and destruction inflicted by Israel. In essence, these sites embody all that Gaza stands for and Zionism doesn’t – geographical openness and historical continuity. In historical terms, the 75 years of Zionist domination in Palestine represent an anomaly, as Gaza and other cities have perennially thrived on cultural diversity and interconnection.

#palestine #israel #gaza #zionism

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allmyhomieshatelawns · 4 months

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Hiiiiii everyone I’ve become obsessed w Trolls, and by extension, several of the AUs here. In particular, @djmurphy ‘s Hypno Pop AU has had me in its clutches. I couldn’t stop myself so I wrote a lil somethin’ in between working on my Feral!Branch AU.

Bit of a warning, it’s def unreliable narrator, and yes, it’s supposed to be kinda creepy. I hope y’all like, please do not copy or post to another site. Lmk what y’all think!

"Hee, hee, hee, hee, heh, heh, eheh…" It wouldn't stop, no matter what I tried, nothing would make it stop. My face hurt, my entire body hurt if I was being honest. It was getting harder to do that. My voice wasn't my own, instead spewing false, toxic positivity that made me want to scream. It was hard to be honest even inside my own head when the compulsions wouldn't leave me alone either.

Keep Smiling. The compulsions hurt, but it hurt worse to try and resist. Like my nerves were being burnt. The compulsions made it easier to go about my day-to-day. I always knew what I was supposed to be doing, and how to be a good troll like everybody else. It was comforting to have a safety net.

Keep Singing. This one was harder to obey, but somehow even more painful to try and ignore. Whether I obeyed or not, it felt like liquid fire in my veins. I watched it happen over and over and over again. Every time I opened my mouth to sing, I saw her push me out of the way instead. It was painful fighting to go grey. My vocal cords always felt shredded, and they had lost a lot of their angelic body, sounding raspy, damaged.

Go To King Peppy. My numb feet carried me to the King's pod that he shared with his youngest daughter. I wasn't supposed to talk about Viva either, which was wrong. Poppy should know about her older sister, even if she never got to meet her. I knew a little about my parents, even if they had been taken before my egg hatched. At least I knew my parents existed. I wonder what my brothers are up to…

Part of me yearned to have them home still, that same part I was scared was getting dependent on the string. I would feel my feet quickening as the power of the string would begin to fade, heading to King Peppy's door, knowing I wouldn't skip. It was horrifying to think part of myself actually liked being like this. I still remembered resisting, or trying to, hating every moment of this prison. I remembered trying to scream, trying to get anyone to help me and I couldn't make myself do anything. Oh after the first close calls King Peppy had made sure to put in the compulsions to 'never alarm anyone'. Now people didn't panic when they saw me, and it was all thanks to King Peppy!

I reached King Peppy's office, knocking politely and entering the room as he bid me. King Peppy helped me when no one else could. He was the only one able to help me get rid of my greyness, the only one willing to do what it took to make me normal. I owed him everything. My smile was blindingly painful.

"Ah, Branch, perfect timing as always." King Peppy smiled broadly, opening his arms for a hug.

I leapt into his arms, the contact feeling like licking flames.

King Peppy held me for a moment, before setting me back down. He reached into his hair, pulling out a nearly-empty lyre, with one glittering pink string on it.

My heartbeat quickened seeing it, eyes tunneling to focus on the horribly beautiful string. It glowed with its own light, drawing me in and re-thickening the haze over everything I saw. I felt my shoulders begin to relax as the haze crept further, like a wild animal with its eyes hooded.

A few plucks of the string, and I felt my mind wash away in a comfortable haze. All of the anxiety and negativity bleeding away to the innermost recesses of myself. It was such a relief to not have to deal with all of those pesky emotions! Now I could just be happy and sing and dance and have fun like everyone else!

I smiled, my face comfortably numb from the fresh effects of the string. "Thank you, King Peppy! I feel much better now!" I chirped, hardly able to see him at all through the haze.

"I'm so glad to hear that, Branch! Now, I've still got some work to finish up, why don't you run along and find someone to play with until you're called for dinner?" King Peppy chuckled as he suggested it, placing the sacred string back in its spot, safely in his hair.

The village was still bustling even at this hour, people skipping about and holding hands and singing and dancing. It was amazing.

My whole body felt like it was floating, like I was only connected to it by a tiny string. I waved and smiled at everyone who greeted me, even if I couldn't tell who had spoken to me. It unnerved me not being able to see more than a couple of troll-lengths away at best. No shadows to see a hand reaching down for–

"Hey, Branch! There you are! I was just looking for you!" Princess Poppy's cheerful voice broke in before a compulsion could correct my thought.

My head whipped around to her voice, my smile still painful, but a little more genuine. Princess Poppy was a sweet girl, even if she was annoying. She was perfect and would make an excellent queen one day.

"Princess! What can I do for you today?" I asked, kneeling down in front of her. She wasn't that much shorter than me, but I would take any excuse to get off of them. I had to stay fresh for more dancing, after all!

She beamed at me, somehow making it look effortless and completely sincere.

"One of the performers for my party tonight had to backout last minute. Would you be able to fill in? I don't need a full set or anything, just a couple of songs." Her voice was pleading, eyes big and pouty. She should know by now I can't say no to her.

"Of course, what's the theme for the party?" My grinning kept up, my lips not allowed to turn down in her presence.

"Thank you so much Branch you have no idea how much this means to me!" Poppy rushed out in one breath, leaping at me and hugging me tightly. I responded automatically, not having to think about hugging back. That was the nice thing about being a puppet in your own body at least.

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whenmemorydies · 2 months

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Violence and Love in Monkey Man

Dev Patel's Monkey Man has played at my mind for two weeks now. This is for reasons that I'm able to articulate and for many that I probably have not yet been able to find the words for. This post is, in part, my attempt at sorting through some of my thoughts. My tumblr is all spoilers all the time. If you don’t want that, then please don’t read on.

Violence

Like most places in the world, systemic violence is a scourge in India. Monkey Man does not shy away from this reality and depicts Hindu nationalist state violence and violence against women and gendered minorities in the country to chilling effect.

We come to see this in the brutal rape and murder of Kid's activist mother at the hands of the police, while she tries to shield her child and her land from police and state terror. We see it in the treatment of (largely femme-presenting) sex workers in the two brothels featured in the film, including one frequented by the police and political elite. We see it in the violence and ostracisation meted out against the hijra, or third gender community by individual actors and the state more broadly. We see it in the state-orchestrated razing of an entire community after the land on which it sits is declared a "holy site". We see it in the movement of people from the regions to the city after their land has been stolen and the grinding poverty they face as a result.

Unlike so many action films, none of the violence in Monkey Man occurs in a vacuum. Even Kid's original means of making money in an underground fighting ring is done against the backdrop of his forced displacement from regional India to the city - a migration pathway that many in the country have been forced to take and which is a direct result of land theft and resource extraction in the regions by local and multinational corporations as well as federal and state governments.

The truth is that so much in relation to state and societal control is enacted in painful and violent ways on the bodies of the marginalised and oppressed. And I often think about how the horror and action genres are some of the best suited to speak about systemic injustice because of their capacity to make that violence uncompromisingly visible (one recent example is Mike Flanagan’s Midnight Mass which depicted the bloody fallout of the Christian missionary/colonial project in vivid crimson, splashed all over a non-descript maritime town in present-day America). The violence in Monkey Man is no different.

While Kid's realisation of the interconnectedness and heavy hand of the state not just in the violence experienced by his mother, but also by the hijra, and by sex workers like Sita comes later in the movie, we as the audience are given this insight earlier. Recall Kid pointing out to Sita that her tattoo is of a koel, not a sparrow as originally misidentified by the Australian client sexually assaulting her minutes earlier in the film.

Kid goes on to say that he grew up in the forest and woke up to koels singing everyday. Its the longest conversation that the two have but in those brief words, we understand that Sita too has likely been displaced to the city from the regions, probably under very similar circumstances to Kid. The way this displacement maps itself onto her body is distinctive to how it does so for Kid, with gender playing a large role in this.

Other factors like caste, class and religion also impact on how the characters in this film experience or perpetrate violence. I would write more on these intersections but then this post is going to get more unwieldy than it already is.

I will say though, that in India, where fascist Hindu nationalism is being used by government to harm minority communities, steal land and secure populist votes, Patel makes a distinction between revelatory and weaponised faith. Kid is raised in peace by his mother with the former, but as an adult he lives in a world where the latter has taken hold and is being used by those in power to shore up more of that power for themselves.

For me - as the descendant of parents, grandparents and great grandparents who lived through anti-Tamil pogroms led by Sinhalese chauvinists weaponising Buddhism as part of their fascism in Sri Lanka, who like the rest of us, is living in an election year for Hindu nationalist Prime Minister Narendra Modi in India, and who is also frustratingly, helplessly bearing witness as the state of Israel and it’s allies conflate Zionism with Judaism in defence of the genocide being waged against Palestinians - watching this action film make the distinction between revelatory and weaponised faith was profound.

Love

Patel makes it a point in this film to show how Kid's most nourishing relationships, the ones that sustain him - indeed the ones that literally save his life - are those that he has with women and with people who don’t conform to the gender binary. In doing this, we see what Kid is fighting tooth (quite literally) and nail for throughout the film. We see what is at stake - what we stand to lose - if perpetrators get to rule without accountability.

Its also no mistake that these relationships are all tied visually to the natural world in the film: Kid's mother's deep ties to the earth, rivers, trees and roots that she leads him through as a child. Alpha and the hijra's sanctuary, the Ardhanareeshvara temple with its most sacred space being the roots of a holy tree. Sita and her koel tattoo: the memory of the forest carried on her skin while she traverses the brutal reality of the city. Patel is making a point here too. About nourishment of another kind, through our connection with the earth instead of extraction from it. The visuals in the film drive this point home, particularly when contrasted with the industrialisation and poverty of the city.

Two particular loving relationships that stood out for me were the love shared between Kid and the hijra community as well as between him and his mother.

Alpha, hijra Elder and the hijra community

Keeper of the Ardhanareeshvara Temple and hijra Elder, Alpha becomes a mother-figure to Kid after he is rescued with near-fatal injuries. It is Alpha who keeps watch over him as he recovers, helps Kid to confront the totality of his past memories which his trauma has kept fragmented, and who ultimately leads a veritable hijra army to join forces with him to assassinate some fascists.

Alpha's gentleness with Kid was so moving to see, in particular during the conversation they have about his attempt as a child to save his mother from the fire set by her rapist and murderer. That exchange moved me to tears.

Kid: I failed her.

Alpha: No. You tried to save her. You see scars. I see the courage of a child fighting to save his mother.

The wider hijra community at the temple also take Kid in and care for him during his recovery. Truly, the scenes at the temple were some of my favourite in Monkey Man. Outside of his memories of his mother, they are the only scenes where we see love, peace and joy on the faces of any of the characters in this film.

Also witness this moment of delight below as the hijra at the temple appreciate a fine ass man channelling his righteous anger and fucking up a punching bag full of rice. I note that the music during this training montage is simply stunning. Ustad Zakir Hussain's rapid fire tablas punctuated by each of Patel's landed punches and kicks and then followed by Jed Kurzel's achingly soaring instrumentals (listen to "The Kid" from the movie's score) were just *chef’s kiss*.

Another favourite moment for me was when Kid decides to go back to the underground fight ring one last time and not throw his matches (as he had been doing prior). He bets on himself and when he inevitably wins his fights, he takes the money and gives it to the hijra, ensuring that they can continue to live at the temple without fear of being evicted. We love to see a man who literally pays his rent.

Neela, his mother

Kid’s first teacher and the center of his life as a child. In almost every memory we are shown of her, Kid remembers his mother walking through a forest, sharing her ecological and religious knowledge with him and in doing so, positioning him within the wider world.

GIF by dailyflicks

We watch as he takes this understanding with him forward through the remainder of the film. His conversation as an adult with Alphonso as they drive through the city in the latter's tuk tuk is emblematic of this. "They don't even see us", Kid says of the elite who frequent the club where he has just gained employment, "they're all up there living and we are stuck in this."

His mother showed him what it was to live: to be still and in concert with the world and the Divine around you, to be loved fiercely, and to thrive as a result. This is in stark contrast to what Kid has had to learn to do in the city: to survive, to merely exist. He is never depicted resting or at home as an adult. He's always working, hustling and planning for the next thing, his next step. When he loses his village, his land and his mother as a child, Kid also inevitably loses his sense of home. It’s no coincidence that the tracks “Home” and “Mother” on the movie’s score sound almost identical.

Later at the end of the film, we see Kid close his eyes, having done what he set out to do. The last thing he sees is his mother, smiling at him in the forest. Her face is the face of God he gazes at before he succumbs to his injuries. This devotion to his mother is not just that of a child to a parent. Its also deeply tied to his Hindu faith which calls on its followers to honour the Divine Mother, the supreme feminine energy, Aathi Parashakthi, in all her manifestations including in those who mother us.

The movie ends with Kid’s deep, revelatory faith - instilled in him by his mother - and with the death of the man who weaponised that faith for power and wealth. It left all of us in the cinema seated in stunned silence even as the credits began to roll.

To describe Monkey Man as simply a revenge film does it an absolute disservice. This is not revenge. It is defence borne out of deep love for community and righteous opposition to injustice. Seeing hijra warriors dressed as Kali, the goddess of destruction, dealing death blows against fascists while spinning in the most beautiful lenghas was exhilarating (I literally screamed “YESSSSSSS!” at the screen when they arrived). Seeing Sita take out pimp and sex trafficker Queenie got me cackling and yelling “whoooop!”. Seeing Kid, a masculine character act to defend women and people outside of the gender binary, from further systemic harm without any ulterior motive was absolutely unreal to witness on the big screen. Seeing a person of faith act in deep connection to that faith without judgment against anyone but those who perpetrate harm made me feel hopeful in a way that took me by surprise. Kid acted out of love and respect. I would argue that Sita, the hijra and Kid all acted out of recognition of a shared humanity.

And at a time when folks from marginalised communities are being subjected to horrendous violence worldwide, both interpersonal and systemic, watching the oppressed take their perpetrators out…and I mean out (see: a rapist and murderer getting bludgeoned to death with a glittery high heel and a fascist, self-proclaimed “holy man” being stabbed in his third eye by the blade he hid in his own “sacred” pathankal/paduka), well, it was cathartic to see.

Am I saying violence is the answer to systemic violence? I think the answer to that question is context-specific. Non-violent resistance has a place, but it’s by necessity a performance and requires an audience. What do you do when no one’s watching? What do you do when the people who are watching are doing nothing to stop your suffering? What then? These questions are what many liberals refuse to grapple with because the answers are too uncomfortable for their polite sensibilities. But if you keep your foot on someone's neck long enough, you should expect them to fight back, by any means necessary. In Monkey Man, we have an action film where we get to witness that resistance in all its visceral glory.

#monkey man #dev patel #jordan peele #vipin sharma #adithi kalkunte #sobhita dhulipala #reva marchellin #dayangku zyana #this post is so fucking long but this movie has been sitting on my heart and my chest for days

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olderthannetfic · 5 months

Note

One thing I think is important to note with the recent / tag wank is that the folks who founded AO3 did not make a concious descision to combine two separate things with that tag. The AO3 founders come from a culture that seees sex and romance not just as inextricable, but as literally the same thing, of course they made one tag for all of that. Everyone at the time (and today, be honest honest) would do the same.

But more importantly than that, AO3 was founded by people who wanted to protect queer art. Depictions of queer men (also known as "gay shit" and "messed up porn" and "oh my god that's gross") were unwelcome in most corners of the internet, and content guidelines about "decency", "obscentity", "unsitable for minors", and, yes, even "pornography" did not distinguish between explicit sex scene and fluffy romantic handholding. The slash was where you put your gay shit that decent normal people were grossed out by, and "decent normal" people were grossed out by the idea of men being romantically involved, it didn't matter if they were getting their dicks out about it or not.

The slash itself grew out of m/m pairings (and Kirk/Spock specifically). It's a historically queer expression, even if it's used more broadly today. It lumps together all the things that defined the slashfic side of fandom, and all the things that got us driven off of other sites. It's not a very specific or granular lable, but that doesn't make it not meaningful.

Yes, it might feel overly broad, especially when you're writing sex without romance or romance without sex, and especially if you personally experience one without the other. But think of it as a very broad category, not as a statement that two overlapping things are actually the same. It's like "vetegables"; potatoes, tomatoes, and lettuce are all vegetables, and that that can be true even if the tomato is technically a fruit and lettuce is nothing at all like a potato.

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odinsblog · 2 months

Text

Dear President Shafik,

We write as Jewish faculty of Columbia and Barnard in anticipation of your appearance before the House Committee on Education and the Workforce on April 17, where you are expected to answer questions about antisemitism on campus. Based on the committee’s previous hearings, we are gravely concerned about the false narratives that frame these proceedings to entrap witnesses. We urge you, as the University president, to defend our shared commitment to universities as sites of learning, critical thinking, and knowledge production against this new McCarthyism.

Rather than being concerned with the safety and well-being of Jewish students on campuses, the committee is leveraging antisemitism in a wider effort to caricature and demonize universities as hotbeds of “woke indoctrination.” Its opportunistic use of antisemitism in a moment of crisis is expanding and strengthening longstanding efforts to undermine educational institutions. After launching attacks on public universities from Florida to South Dakota, this campaign has opened a new front against private institutions.

The prospect of Rep. Elise Stefanik, a member of congress with a history of espousing white nationalist politics, calling university presidents to account for alleged antisemitism on their campuses reveals these proceedings as disingenuous political theater.

In the face of these coordinated attacks on higher education, universities must insist on their freedom to research and teach inconvenient truths. This includes historical injustices and the contemporary structures that perpetuate them, regardless of whether these facts are politically inexpedient for certain interest groups.

To be sure, antisemitism is a grave concern that should be scrutinized alongside racism, sexism, Islamophobia, homophobia, and all other forms of hate. These hateful ideologies exist everywhere and we would be ignorant to believe that they don’t exist at Columbia. When antisemitism rears its head, it should be swiftly denounced, and its perpetrators held to account. However, it is absurd to claim that antisemitism—“discrimination, prejudice, hostility or violence against Jews as Jews,” according to the Jerusalem Declaration’s definition—is rampant on Columbia’s campus. To argue that taking a stand against Israel’s war on Gaza is antisemitic is to pervert the meaning of the term.

Labeling pro-Palestinian expression as anti-Jewish hate speech requires a dangerous and false conflation of Zionism with Jewishness, of political ideology with identity. This conflation betrays a woefully inaccurate understanding—and disingenuous misrepresentation—of Jewish history, identity, and politics. It erases more than a century of debates among Jews themselves about the nature of a Jewish homeland in the biblical Land of Israel, including Israel’s status as a Jewish nation-state. It dismisses the experiences of the post-Zionist, non-Zionist, and anti-Zionist Jews who work, study, and live on our campus.

The political passions that arise from conflict in the Middle East may deeply unsettle students, faculty, and staff with opposing views. But feeling uncomfortable is not the same thing as being threatened or discriminated against. Free expression, which is fundamental to both academic inquiry and democracy, necessarily entails exposure to views that may be deeply disconcerting. We can support students who feel real and valid discomfort toward protests advocating for Palestinian liberation while also stating clearly and firmly that this discomfort is not an issue of safety.

As faculty, we dedicate ourselves and our classrooms to keeping every student safe from real harm, harassment, and discrimination. We commit to helping them learn to experience discomfort and even confrontation as part of the process of skill and knowledge acquisition—and to help them realize that ideas we oppose can be contested without being suppressed.

By exacting discipline, inviting police presence, and broadly surveilling its students for minor offenses, the University is betraying its educational mission. It has pursued drastic measures against students, including disciplinary proceedings and probation, for infractions like allegedly attending an unauthorized protest, or moving barricades to drape a flag on a statue. Real harassment and physical intimidation and violence on campus must be confronted seriously and its perpetrators held accountable. At the same time, the University should refrain whenever possible from using discipline and surveillance as means of addressing less serious harms, and should never use punitive measures to address conflicts over ideas and the feelings of discomfort that result. Where the University once embraced and defended students’ political expression, it now suppresses and disciplines it.

The University’s recent policies represent a dramatic change from historical practice, and the consequences are ruinous to our community and its principles. In the past, Columbia has periodically confronted attacks against pro-Palestinian speech, ranging from the vile slanders against Professor Edward Said to the reckless accusations from the David Project. But where for decades the University stood firm against smear campaigns targeting its professors, it has now voluntarily accepted the job of censoring its faculty in and outside the classroom.

Columbia’s commitment to free inquiry and robust disagreement is what makes it a world-class institution. Limiting academic freedom when it comes to questions of Israel and Palestine paves the way for limitations on other contested topics, from climate science to the history of slavery. What’s more, students must have the freedom to dissent, to make mistakes, to offend without intent, and to learn to repair harm done if necessary. Free expression is not only crucial to student development and education outside the classroom; the tradition of student protest has also played a vital role in American democracy. Columbia should be proud of having participated in nationwide student organizing that helped secure civil rights and reproductive rights and helped bring an end to the Vietnam War and apartheid in South Africa.

We express our support for the University and for higher education against the attacks likely to be leveled against them at the upcoming congressional hearing. We object to the weaponization of antisemitism. And we advocate for a campus where all students, Jewish, Palestinian, and all others, can learn and thrive in a climate of open, honest inquiry and rigorous debate.

Many members of our University community share our perspective, but they have not yet been heard. Columbia students, staff, alumni, and faculty can sign here to show your support for this letter’s message.

—Jewish faculty reject the weaponization of antisemitism

The 23 authors of this letter are Jewish faculty members of Barnard College and Columbia University. This letter derives from a much longer one by these same 23 faculty sent to President Shafik on April 5.

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