edit: this post is directed at the general populace. Mlm clearly have more of a right to dislike this game if it makes them uncomfortable, these are my thoughts on the matter however and not intended to trample on mlm. also i am a qu**r person who uses that word as an umbrella term but have seen how it’s bothering a lot of the rebloggers so i’ve changed it to LGBT
maybe you folks should ask yourselves why youre trying so hard to find reasons to demonize and hate Dream Daddy, a game with actual pure non-fetishized representation of mlm and honestly GBT men of all sorts that you’ll even go as far as to twist around components of a datamine into something theyre not
its okay to dislike GG, theyve done some shitty stuff in the past AND present, and i dont even watch them or like them, but this game isnt made by them. its released by them. it was made by a couple college art students who did a great job at putting representation and real experiences in this game and they worked so fuckin hard on it. you know what youre doing by trying to make this game fail, or torrenting it so it looks like it did worse than it actually did? assuring more games with positive representation aren’t made, or released, or even fucking bothered with. i fucking promise you, with GG’s youtube channel and band and whatever else they do, that you torrenting or boycotting the game isnt hurting them in the slightest. it’s hurting the creators, it’s hurting LGBT game-makers everywhere, and it’s hurting the genre of LGBT games made by LGBT people with good, unfetishized or sex-oriented stories/characters.
so maybe get your heads out of your cynical asses, accept nothing you consume will be perfect, and try to support something with a genuine and positive representation of both GB and trans men. its a fun, lighthearted game with good stories and relatable characters and frankly, im sick of yall trying to assure LGBT oriented games fail because of such miniscule shit.
It’s so telling, what’s going on with the feminist movement and the understanding of sex versus gender right now.
Women were excluded and barred from many areas of society for a long time (and still are in some ways and some places, this is quite generally speaking), not allowed to enter certain rooms, institutions, not allowed power and a say in decision-making, told they belong to the home and the private sphere, told they were objects and that their only roles were in relation to men, socialized to follow certain norms and roles (gender) that were created to subjugate women.
Then women finally created a movement for themselves, for their emancipation, empowerment, a movement that puts women as subjects and human beings worthy of respect, a movement that talks about the female body in its own right and female reproductive health as a human rights issue. And women began creating spaces for themselves, for women to be safe, to talk about female specific issues, to gain strength without having to bow down to male violence and male socialization as men are socialized to uphold their position as the dominant class.
And what happens? Suddenly, a theory and a movement taking this theory into (excessive) reality is created that dismantles the subject, claims individual identity is more important than material reality, that our “identities” are purely performative - and that men now have a right to access to female spaces. Suddenly, “woman” doesn’t mean anything anymore. Suddenly, “female” is an “exclusonary” term and suddenly that is forbidden (how ironic). Men start calling themselves “non-binary femme” and claim they should have more to say within the feminist movement than, yes I will say it - actual women. And girls and women in turn, are told that if they don’t follow that performative, normative gender role of being “a woman” (including “being attracted to men”, because lesbian women are definitely specifially being targeted with this rethoric) they probably aren’t women at all. And instead of continuing on the struggle to dismantle gender norms and roles, to show that women are subjects and not objects, to show that women are so much more and something other than patriarchal, constructed gender norms - many feminists give up. They give up to a regressive, misogynistic theory and movement that says that “woman” doesn’t mean anything else than these patriarchal gender norms and is thus nothing but an identity, and “female” is nothing, biological reality is nothing, and all these spaces and this movement created specifically for the liberation of women, female human beings - they’re for men too now.
Because it wasn’t enough to exclude us from great parts of society and subject us to violence to keep us in our homes, chained to the man and the family and patriarchal gender norms aimed at subjugating us. Women did rise. And then patriarchy had to strike back. Because patriarchy doesn’t want women to rise. It’s wasn’t enough to exclude us - when we rose, patriarcal forces realized, they had to destroy us, turn us into nothing, erase us, silence us, see to it that “woman” meant nothing anymore. The exclusion has shaped shifted into total inclusion. Women are being told they have to accept it. And large parts of the feminist movement gave up. Female socialization and internalized misogyny hand in hand: to be taught that male voices and male wishes are more important than your own, and that you shouldn’t be a difficult woman, and that women are in fact quite disgusting and impure, so it’s better to deny womanhood than to fight to free womanhood. This development is only an extension of patriarchy, a shape shifted misogyny.
The project of queerfeminism and, following it, mainstream liberal feminism has managed to shift focus from patriarchy, men and male violence to groups of women “as oppressors” in a most disturbing way. This has been done through the division of women into non-privileged and privileged, women “to be listened to” and women “who should shut up”, through focusing on 1) trans activism and using the concept of “cis” and 2) prostitution and using the concept of “the sex worker” and “the common woman” putting these two against eachother and painting the second (and the same goes for “cis women”) as an oppressor class, as a group of women subjugating the other.
Since the world already loves to divide women into “whores” and “madonnas”, “good” or “bad”, and since the world already has a hatred for women and especially feminists fighting patriarchal gender norms and male exploitation of women, it was very easy to normalize this. Thus, suddenly the problem isn’t men who murder, and not constructed, oppressive gender norms, but “cis women”, a group suddenly painted as oppressors though the group “biologically female people” in reality is one of the most oppressed and subordinated groups there are. And suddenly, the problem isn’t pimps and sex buyers and brothel owners and traffickers, and not men who abuse and rape and murder women in prostitution, but women (especially feminists) who are not in the sex industry, who are painted as “prudes” or “swerfs” though they often support the most vulnerable women within the sex industry and fight to end trafficking.
So there we have it: a successful project to shift the blame from men to women, a successful play at internalized misogyny and the socialization of women into prioritizing men, a successful denial of the oppression many women face painting them instead as witches, creating a witch hunt aimed and silencing them and their structural critique of patriarchy, the gender system and the exploitation of women. And the mainstream just love it. Because the world do hate women.
No matter how awful a person is they do not deserve to be attacked based their queerness. There are terrible queer people in the world, but being queer is not what makes them terrible, so don’t attack them based off of that.
Anon, let me reassure you that this blog is very inclusive of queer people. It’s run by queer people. It loves queer characters. It is delighted by the addition of more and more prominent queer narratives in Doctor Who.
So, I tend to make a lot of jokes about me being some sorta King/Queen (Example: "I am the king of this house.") so I was wondering if you know any gender-neutral versions of King/Queen or should I stick with calling myself King?
Your Majesty; neutral, a way of addressing royalty.
Quing; queer, mix of King and Queen.
Caln; queer, created word based on the K/Q sound of King and Queen.
Prin; queer, based on the Prince/ss ending.
Prinxe; queer, based on the Prince/ss ending.
Princet; queer, based on the Prince/ss ending.
Princette; queer, based on the Prince/ss ending.
Princev; queer, based on the Prince/ss ending.
Princen; queer, based on the Prince/ss ending.
Princus; queer, based on the Prince/ss ending.
Your Highness; neutral, a way of addressing royalty.
Heir; neutral, refers to future monarchy.
Princex; queer, based on the Prince/ss ending, POC-coined and POC exclusive.
Lairde; queer, based on the sound of La in Lady and rd in Lord.
Layde; queer, based on the sound of La in Lady and rd in Lord.
Liege; neutral, term of address for a Lord/Lady.
Suzerain; neutral, a feudal equivalent of Lord/Lady.
Potentate; neutral, a Latin word for someone in power.
Hi! I don't know if you guys answer questions but this is p important. So I'm kinda in this relationship with a nb pal. They are comfortable with any pronouns but I remember having a discussion with them personally and they prefer they/them or sometimes he/him But as we are dating, I don't know what to call them. I know partner is appropriate and my person but are there any other dating terms that are appropriate? (I hope none of this came across as insensitive!) Thank you SO much! ❣️😭
jacobi is, for all intents and purposes, really good at his job. it’s probably got about 50% to do with graduating with every honor they could stack on his shoulders at commencement (was not sleeping for three years worth the sour look on his father’s face from the audience when he got up to collect the degree his old man never earned? absolutely), and maybe he can credit about 10% to his dashing good looks and another 15% to the thing that goose-steps up his spine when his boss looks at him and says “go ahead, mr. jacobi” like he’s a monster, like he’s feral, wild—
but the other 25% is luck, just down-home, kiss-the-gods-and-slap-a-baby luck. he always cuts the right wire, he always beats the clock, he always takes apart or puts together or utterly ruins anything he’s let loose upon. it’s a “positive character trait”, according to his last evaluation. daniel jacobi burns to the ground everything that’s ever crossed his path and stopped to say hello.
even the only good thing he’s ever got.
when it boils down to it, it’s because he was stupid. because he got soft, got complacent, thought he could slough off what he did in the dark when he got home because—well, because his people could take care of themselves, right? kepler’s the scariest son of a bitch this side of pluto (the scariest human one, anyway; he’s got a boss named cutter who sets jacobi’s teeth on edge just hearing his name) and alana can wield a wrench the size of her own body and has a tongue as sharp as that wrench is heavy. they can take care of themselves. they can look over their shoulders and spot the shadows in the corners of the room and they can stay safe.
now, though, in a room with a bomb the likes of which he’s never seen before and a boyfriend he’s only had for a summer, jacobi realizes that’s only because they knew what to look out for in the first place. it takes a monster to know one and this time, the sort of people who want him dead went after the only thing that reminds jacobi that he isn’t always a beast.
“we’re gonna be fine, doug,” he says, like he’s talking to a scared animal, “we’re gonna get out of this.”
doug’s a darling, a real team player, and jacobi does him the favour of pretending he doesn’t see how hard his hands are shaking. “don’t worry about me, sweetheart. i’ve been in worse places than this.” he glances around, remarkably calm. “the air force. county prison. ikea the day after black friday.”
jacobi laughs, he can’t help it, and at the same time he’s starting to realize there’s not much he knows about doug, not really. to be fair, there’s not much doug knows about him (the job, the bombs, the things that stalk up and down his spine and reach claws out through his mouth, grab at anyone around to rip and tear and hurt just because they can)—they’d just sort of clicked. by the time they breezed past “help, my arms are stuck in my binder and if you laugh i’ll kill you,” jacobi wasn’t sure how they’d circle back around to “so, remember how i told you i was a chemist? well—”
it was your grade-a rom com meet-up: boy sits on the counter of his best friend’s prosthetics shop, tinkers with some spare parts and scrubs at the sharpie dicks she’d scribbled all over his arm when he’d fallen asleep during movie night. other boy walks in with his hand literally falling to pieces as he crosses the threshold, makes a fullmetal alchemist joke and asks if they accept gently burnt chocolate chip cookies as payment (alana tells him it’s on the house if he takes her friend to dinner. the first boy falls off the counter). boys bond over being broken, over steel fingertips and copper veins.
boys make the mistake of thinking they could have even just this one good thing.
“i, uh, i do this for a living.” jacobi gestures at the device merrily ticking away in front of them. “make them. break them. ‘boom boom wow’ kind of thing, you know?”
“you? the guy with a biomech arm so snazzy it makes mine look like a tinker toy?” doug chuckles, wheezes a little at the end (it’s cold in here, and damp, and that friend of his with the sharp eyes and the stutter had told him that sometimes, doug just can’t breathe), “here i thought you were some kind of librarian or something.”
“i’m always a slut for the dewey decimal system,” jacobi tells him and grins when eiffel laughs, frowns when it stutters to a gasp at the end. they’ve got to get out of here—he’s got to get them out of here.
he loses himself in it for a while, the art of trailing wires and so many parts stacked together like a house of cards, a breath away from coming down—there is no bomb that can best him, no wires he can’t unwind. it’s a dance he’d done a thousand times before, muscle memory now, tissue and tech and he cuts the right wire because of course he does. because he’s just that good. the numbers on the display flicker out and jacobi sits back on his haunches, sagging with relief.
the beeping stops.
the hissing starts.
doug whistles through his teeth. “daniel?”
“not good?” he’s frozen in place, watching the faint shimmer of air around the ports in the bomb, dumping something he can’t smell or taste into the room with them. “yeah.”
“ah.” he doesn’t sound scared, or upset, or angry that jacobi’s fucked up, that he’s dug the hole they’re in that much deeper. doug just sounds tired. “okay.”
there’s something that lurks in the the corners of doug’s smile and the whites of his eyes—jacobi feels like he’s looking in a mirror some days, realizes he can’t stand to see that shadow on someone else’s face. he grabs doug’s hand, presses carbon-fiber and chrome palms together and watches the glint of bronze against his steel. “hey—no, listen. we’re not dead yet.” doug arches an eyebrow and jacobi knows he sounds insane, parroting back the same old thing kepler tells him every job, every time. “it’s not over til we’re dead.”
doug looks at him for a long moment and jacobi looks back—if they—when they get out of this, he’ll drop to his knees and thank whichever god is listening for this, for this man and this fucking chance at carving out even a semblance of something happy, of something he can’t break. he lets doug pull their hands closer, watches him press a kiss to jacobi’s knuckles and marvels that he can feel it every time. “alright then,” doug tells him, dropping their hands to rest on his knee. “get us out of here, dynamite dan.”
it startles a laugh out of him and the crush around his throat eases for just a moment, just long enough for him to reply, “as you wish,” and pull his hand away.
but that’s the thing about fire, about destruction—it’s only ever waiting for a chance. jacobi sees the flash before he feels it, static crackling to life between their metal palms, wrapping around their fingers like rings and bridging the gap between them for an instant before tasting gas.
alana had joked, after the first date had gone well, and the third, and the fifth and seventh and twelfth, that they had a certain spark, and laughed herself sick while he rolled his eyes.
the spark catches; the air hums with it.
unfortunately, jacobi doesn’t think this is what she’d meant.