#hypermasculinity

Beneath the Ashes, a Pulse The sun rose red over stone and ruin. Pompeii had slept for centuries, buried under ash, preserved in silence.

But something had survived.

In the center of the forgotten city, a coliseum once used for blood and battle began to hum again. Golden sand shimmered where volcanic soot once reigned. From below, three figures emerged, bare-chested, sweat-slicked, divine.

Ezan. Brody. Herc.

Golden Gods, returned to finish what history failed to destroy. Their presence alone ignited the dust into light. Their boots crushed marble, their sweat anointed the stone.

The Trials would begin again.

The Trials of Ascension The coliseum’s stone was peeled away and rebuilt in mirror-finished golden marble. Every column gleamed. Every crack in the earth was filled with molten latex and muscle oil.

“This is no longer Pompeii,” Ezan declared. “This is Goltopia.”

The rituals followed immediately.

Bros gathered from the cities beyond, flex-hungry, idol-thirsty.

Uniforms: minimal, golden jockstraps, laced boots, chest harnesses.

Entry fee: blood, sweat, and everything soft.

Crowds formed. Tourists became worshippers. Judges wore golden masks. Whistles were replaced with moans. Applause became chanting.

Every trial was a duel of mass and will:

Flex duels beneath blinding pyres

Wrestling in pools of glistening oil

Endurance dances on glowing plinths

Losers knelt. Winners were raised. Muscles grew. Thoughts faded. The golden light soaked deeper.

The Birth of a Champion It happened during the Fifth Night.

The crowd was restless. Gold fog rolled across the arena. Herc's voice boomed: “Who will rise?”

A bro stepped forward, Isaac #45. Ordinary. Nervous. Thin lines of sweat ran down his golden briefs.

He entered the trial circle.

He didn’t win by brute force. He surrendered. Fully. Completely. Kneeling at Ezan’s feet, he whispered: “Make me golden.”

The transformation was immediate.

Golden chains locked around his thighs. His breath thickened. Each inhale swelled his pecs. Each exhale burned away his name. Muscles erupted across his chest. Hair bleached under the torchlight. Eyes went empty, only the roar of the arena remained.

Isaac was no longer Isaac.

He was Champion.

The Stadium of No Exit Now, Goltopia sings every hour.

The Trials never stop. The crowd never sleeps. Golden sweat floods the ceremonial drains. Flesh flexes under celestial light. Tourists enter shirtless and cautious. They leave in golden jocks, pumped, proud, possessed.

Some never leave.

Because once you kneel in Goltopia, you rise only as a God.

You don’t watch Goltopia. You enter it. You don’t cheer. You kneel. And once the Trials begin, You’ll never want the applause to stop.

Flex. Fight. Be Golden.

Join Goltopia. Your glory awaits.

Recruiters: @polo-drone-001 @brodygold @goldenherc9 @polo-drone-125

comments like “(x) tried to get me to wear a dress, like that would ever happen” or “I don’t understand how they (another woman) can wear so much makeup” and other comments similar have never sat right with me because of the implications they have.  The implication being because they (the character) doesn’t participate in feminine things such as wearing makeup or dresses is in some way better or more desirable than the women who do.  But at the same time this also alienates women who participate in masculinity.

Typically these characters are just feminine enough to remind the audience they’re women and make them desirable, but just masculine enough to be different and worthy of being idolized.  Because masculine women don’t retain the femininity these women in media display (not saying they can’t be feminine just saying their femininity isn’t represented in the media we consume) we often make fun of them for being hyper masculine.

But this also affects gender non conforming women, as they have been so romanticized and idealized when they aren’t able to meet the expectations our media has set up for them they’re scrutinized and attacked.  Creating an endless cycle nobody can truly win.

What’s less neat, though, is when I hang out with a group of people who talk about how shitty men are, and then they look at me and say that I’m “obviously an exception.”

At first I understood this behavior, but it’s happened so much that over time I’ve started to feel bad about myself. Like I was born defective, but in a way that’s just palatable enough for me to exist around others. It’s also weird because it reminds me that I am a man, and I will always be seen that way regardless of how close I am to the people who do this. It’s nice to forget about gender expectations around my friends, and this comment feels like getting shoved into a box I’ve tried really, really hard to get out of. (It has been a lifelong effort, literally. I’ve had to fight the pipeline of male socialization since I was a child.)

So, uh…if people could not single me out as an exception all the time, that would be cool? Because it’s kind of making me hate myself a little, and I’m starting to doubt that I really belong anywhere?

Black Butch & Femme couple, avoiding desexualizing

I’m not Black, but I am a lesbian of color in the butch/femme community. I’m not going to speak much on this, because Black wlw experiences aren’t something I’ve ever experienced, but I do know a lot of the time wlwoc are often placed in a more masculine/ag/dom role in relationships when dating a white person, as racial bias often sees women of color as more aggressive or angrier than white women. Since the femme you mention is mixed, I think you could avoid that, but there is a trope that comes to mind where the feminine, delicate character is often more light-skinned than the masculine character--again attaching characteristics subconsciously to skin tone. Something to keep in mind.

--Sophia

I agree with Sophia, while the butch can obviously be Black, try not to play into very overly masculine stereotypes because that is also a damaging trope associated with women with darker skin. Since butch uses he/they pronouns and is the darker one in the relationship, even though the femme is mixed, if the femme has the more socially desired eurocentric features, this could fall into the trope of light woman/dark man or partner. I would just try not to portray the butch as overly masculine. That is, in a way as though he/they are trying to prove something, as that an issue in both the Black community as Black men, especially the youth, are often pressured into being the most masculine they can be (very toxic).