#I know a lot people think he is too strereotypical | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thegoodomensdumpster · 4 years

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(1) I'm fat and I fucking love the crumbs, it's such a bummer that they won't be around anymore. Besides, stereotype or not, some fat people (like myself) are messy and gross and some aren't and that's okay. I liked seeing myself represented in Aziraphale here, and it sucks that it's now being cencored. I'm fat and I'm messy and the fact that people want to hide that that's a thing makes me feel more ashamed about who I am than I wouldn have been if it was just left alone.

(2) I'm sick of the trope that fat people have to always be pristine and constantly ON AIR just to be given the same respect that a thin person would have, even if they themselves were also messy. I loved your crummy Aziraphale, he made me feel like I was still worth something and capable of great things and worthy of a dedicated love. He made a lot of people feel like that. Art shouldn't be cencored. This asks breaks my heart a little, because... I’m not the authority on validating people of course, but in case anyone needs to read that: OF COURSE you are worthy of love and respect and just being a human if you are messy, if you are fat, if you are messy and fat, or if you happen to fit a stereotype that mainstream media have rendered harmful. Because you are people, not fictional characters, and you exist beyond these stereotypes boundaries. You are complex, and alive, and your existence matters.

More under the cut for discussion on character design, stereotypes, tumblrfoolery, and my own incapacity to know what to do. The most important bit is above, but if you guys want to take part into a bigger conversation with me, either by replying to this post or MPing me, I’m welcoming you with open arms. It got a bit long, but hopefully it isn’t too confused.

(Also, quick side note: I’m not deleting any of the crumb jokes previously made, so if you miss them, you can still find them in the archive of this blog under the crumb omens hashtag.)

My opinion on character design is actually this one: there is no inherently harmful trait for a certain type of people, it is all a question of context and quantity. In the case of a character that is fat and messy, if it just happens that, among other fat people, one of them is messy, then it’s not a stereotype, and it’s not harmful. However, in our current media landscape, those two attributes happen to be associated way too often, enough that it leads to essentialisation of fat people ( aka: if you’re fat, you’re necessary messy, lazy, etc... these reductive associations are almost systematic ).

In the context of my blog and my work at large, if you’re familiar with it, I think it’s safe to say that I, personally, don’t use the fat and messy character as a stereotype, because I also depict other fat characters as non messy characters. Thats for my context. That’s also probably why, when I made all the crumb jokes, I didn’t even think about this stereotype.

But the thing is, I don’t post my fanarts in a vacuum. Especially on Tumblr where posts tend to have a life of their own when they get reblogged. They get cut from their context, hence only showing the tip of the iceberg, which is what I consider to be a harmful stereotype. And even within their context, it might still come as insensitive and hurt people who have been badly affected by this stereotype. And this has nothing to do with my original intentions.

This would lead to the consideration of how much of a private / public venture exactly a blog is, and to what extent should we take mainstream depictions into account when we design characters ourselves, and how much can we expect people to take things into the context of the OP’s work, or the OP’s blog, or the website it was posted on... This is something I’m scratching my head over, I’m not sure I have an answer to that. I’m not even sure there is an answer to that. But what I know is that this specific blog, though it still is MY blog, also has a following big enough that I cannot fully consider it as private ( although, I never consider any internet space to be really private ...).

However, I one hundred percent agree that there is a huge issue in, as a reaction to these harmful strereotypes, not allowing minorities and oppressed group as appearing any less than perfect. This is a terrible response, a terrible pressure, and it’s as much dehumanizing as only seeing people through the prism of stereotypes. And I know I can not satisfy everyone when I make a choice, but I do try to make the choices that hurt the less, or at least the ones that won’t hurt the group of people I care about (and by that I mean: I would not hesitate to make fatshamers feel ill at ease, but I do not want to hurt fat people over fatphobia).

So, yeah, it does feel like I fell into another trap that ends up guilt tripping people. But I don’t know how to react, I don’t where to stand, because I don’t know which reaction would bring the less suffering. It seems that there is no perfect answer, and fat people might get hurt either way. I just know that, since I’ve been made aware of the kind of hurt the crumb jokes could do, I’m feeling uncomfortable myself continuing them. So, this is not strictly censorship. Because, at least right now, I don’t feel like I want to continue them either. Maybe my mind will change, I don’t know, but I have the feeling that maybe my issue is mostly based on the media (aka: a tumblr post) rather than the joke itself. Because if, for instance, I had one messy fat character in a comic book where you can see other fat characters in all their diversity and complexity, then it wouldn’t feel like I’m tapping into a stereotype, and therefore I doubt it would make a lot of fat people ill at ease. Because that one messy fat character could hardly be cut from the context of its book. But with a tumblr post that can escape its context or directly be surrounded in a tumblr search on my blog by other similar post declining the same messy joke with the same fat character... I don’t know.

I just, really, really don’t know.

I feel saddened by the hurt I’m doing to people either way, and I’ve received several messages of fat people telling me they liked the crumb jokes. But I cannot know if people who were actually hurt are just silent on this issue or if I’m just ... anticipating a hurt that wasn’t there to begin with ( because the original message that made me aware of this issue wasn’t actually written by someone who personnally felt ill at ease at that joke, it was just pointing it out as fatphobic, which I agreed to be an issue as well ).

So, yeah. If you have any insight on this issue, absolutely feel free to contact me. This is an important conversation to have, or at least it is to me, and it touches on many important topics so it’s ... potentially long and convoluted and confusing. But I want to learn, I want to do better, and I want to help people feel good about themselves. This is possibly my number one goal as an artist.

#yiha blogs #long post #crumb omens #fatphobia #Anonymous #ask #my stuff

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whoopsivehadalotofsex · 5 years

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Fine! Lets talk about the sex party! Except I’m just going to have to get into the play-by-play without justifying it, but first:

1. It’s not like I’m against sex spaces (and this isn’t my first go around, so that’s why this story isn’t racked with anxiety or shame necessarily), I just don’t appreciate the sex party vibe of like people mechanically fucking over folding chairs in a dusty warehouse in bad lighting. Not my aesthetic. Though I heard about this mysterious place in park slope that has parties a few times a month that’s set up with a maze of like beds, and slings and couches.

2. I’ve being doing things lately, but just a lot of “fooling around” or me topping. It happens! Still, it’s been a while since I’ve been absolutely slammed. So that’s the mood: let’s go to this sex party and get absolutely slammed.

So I get there, strip down to my jockstrap, and decide to keep a tanktop on just to see where the vibe goes (a cute look). I have on black boots too, because I guess I’m being strereotypical. The place is kind of divided with fabric curtains and bathroom-stall like dividers. Unlike a bathhouse, the sex isn’t squirreled away in rooms, but unlike a more barebones sex party it’s not like, i don’t know, on some folding table for everyone to see. There’s also a main room with with a bed with latex sheets, two slings in corners, and like this little cubby hole bed.

The crowd is really mixed with a good spectrum of age, races and body types. There’s some hunks there for sure, but the whole thing isn’t overwhelming with a “If you don’t have a six pack, don’t bother” vibe. I’m confidant something is going to happen. I kind of wander around for a little bit, let some drinks settle in, and take appraisal of the scene. You stumble across sex constantly, so after watching some stuff go down you kind of become numb to it. People watch stuff, but it’s not intensely voyeruestic.

Eventually a daddy approaches me in the more open room. He starts groping me, and then blowing me a little bit. Suddenly another daddy appears to kind of audit the experience. I am not totally sure if they knew eachother, or second daddy saw first daddy and thought “Well, if he’s into him, he’ll be into me.” Second daddy sort of remains texture to the situation, touching and rubbing from the side, then any sort of focus. Both these man are completely unremarkable in their white middle-ageness. Not fat, not skinny, not muscley, not too old but old enough to be “daddy,” not smooth, not too hairy. The kind of man I wouldn’t probably think twice about or go out of my way to have sex with, unless they, well, really make it obvious they want it and take charge, a situation facilitated well by a sex party. Plus, isn’t that a little bit of the thrill of this all? Though, I’m not really sure what the attitude towards condoms was going to be, but daddy one is down to use one. Historically, my best use for daddy dick is getting me out of a sexual (or at least bottom) slump, so why not?

Belly down on the bed with the rubber sheets I got, and daddy one goes to work. Daddy 2 kind of watches, but disappears eventually. I’m not mad about that. Daddy 1 is the better looking one. He likes some verbal “You like when daddy fucks you? You like that daddy cock?” stuff, which I always kind of ridiculous even in a bit of a haze of vodka and poppers, but, yeah, I do like that daddy cock right now and I want daddy to fuck me harder. He does. We go at it for a while. Eventually I, kind of surprisingly, cum, and he’s done too, and there’s that pat goodbye and he goes back into the night, and I think home.

I probably should have too. I got what I came for, but maybe a little earlier than I expected. Maybe rushing back into the real world would make some sort of shame settle in faster or something. So I decide to stay. I kind of feel initiated into it all now too. This is a sex party. I’ve had sex. I’m a part of the sex party.

In fact, maybe that high of the radical possibilities of some truly free and shameless sex community explains the next one. Maybe the poppers are getting to me, but after walking around a little bit, I’m feeling like this is some radical little sex tribe and it’s totally fine to have sex with anyone here as long as there’s consent. We’re a sex family. This is truly insane, but I’m feeling the fantasy enough for me to wind up back in the bigger room to find it kind of empty. I plop down on the couch, decide to relubricate myself (jesus christ that sentence), when some beefy, muscly guy comes in, make eye contact, and as soon as we ascertain we’re both done, he’s like instantly inside of me as I bed over the couch. I’m just in the moment concentrating on the sensation. My state of mind if kind of unreal. It’s like the guy isn’t even an individual, but rather some spirit of the sex party who has come to overtake me and ravage me. I hate that the phrase “I am but a hole” sir, but it entered me mind right now so be it. It feels like it lasts as long as it needed to, as in not short enough for me to be disappointed, but not long enough for me to think “Ok, but what the fuck am I doing?”

Again, I think I’m probably ready to go home, but I’m not eager to rush back and settle into reality just yet. Amazingly I haven’t sucked a dick all night, and I think to myself, “Well, maybe I’ll just suck one dick, but if not no biggy, just settle down.”

The funny thing about the main room is that you can kind of get your space. Some of the more packed crevices and cubby holes in this place seem to invite the possibility that random hands and dicks just can come flying at you even as your engaged with someone else. It seems intense, and I guess instinctually I’ve staid away. There was one little section, surrounded by partitions and chain link fencing shrouded in semi-transparent fabric that literally seemed like a fuck factory. Everytime I walked by it seemed like there were at leas two bottoms bending over on these padded benches with two tops going to work and other people intermingling in. Even doing what I’ve just done, maybe not for me.

Though the entire place isn’t empty yet, it has thinned out. The fuck factory is ground to a halt. People are still milling about. One bottom is in there like ass up, I guess waiting for whoever to come by. For whatever reason, I decide to just go in and plop down.

Well, in walks that cute little twunk and this gorgeous, tall black top. Top asks twunk if he has a boyfriend, he says they do, but obviously they’re open. They start touching, and I’m just like “Umm, I’m right here and you two are basically about to hook up right on top me.” They acknowledge that with there eyes and seem cavalierly cool with that, so I guess I’m cool with that?

Twunk starts sucking off cock for a bit, and then he literally takes the dick out of his mouth, basically hands it to me, and is like “You want some?”

Sexual tribe! Sexual freedom! Spirit of the sex party!

So of course I do, but I still can’t fully accept that I’m part of this hookup now. I was not ready for the fuck factory! It’s too much for me -- someone who just got fucked on the couch simply because I made eye contact with someone!

I give the dick back after a little bit like I was borrowing it. Like someone ordered a cocktail and said “You want a taste?”

But then twunk bends over and this two start fucking in a way where I’m basically half-entangled in, and in any event they’ve trapped me in a corner. I start rubbing twinks chest, and I kind of want to make out with him and touch his butt more, except the angle is too weird. Mostly though I am suddenly yearning to get fucked by this top too. I am totally fine with it not happening. I don’t think it will. This twunk is gorgeous and I am me, and I’ve had two dicks that night already. We’re already into all time sluttiness records here, and I’m out of a haze enough to have that realized.

Though, of course twunk is done and goes off. There’s a moment where I’m not sure whats happening. I get up to leave, and pat top on the chest almost as a “thanks for letting me suck your dick.” Of course, thirty seconds later he has me back on all fours.

Ohhh girl, this dick was divine. Thick and hard. Confident and pounding, but not trying to overpower you on purpose. Attentive to your signals and comfort, but still letting you know he’s in control. I am not caught up in the power of the sex party or the utilitarian sluttiness of “well, I’ve got to get fucked, don’t I?” I am caught up in this dick and this dick only. This is the last dick I could have for months, and I’d think I’d be fine.

After that, of course, I was finally ready to go home.

I’m a little hesistant to share this story (although, who knows, maybe it means some crazier stories from before for you all too), but don’t think I’m personally feeling bad about it. I woke up the next morning and immediately jacked off to thinking about it, and then three more times that day (breaking another recent record for sure).

I’m certainly not rushing back to that place every chance I get, but, hey it’s on the menu now.

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