strange_aeons: (what I get up to in the bathroom)
"Supernatural is an occasionally genuinely creepy show," thinks I. "Good thing it will never have grey aliens in it; then we might have a problem."

What do I see, in the very next episode?

A grey alien, slow-dancing with an Archetypal Frat Boy twice its size, under a disco ball, to Chris de Burg's Lady in Red.

FUCK YOU, ERIC KRIPKE. FUCK YOU RIGHT IN THE EAR.
strange_aeons: (follow the leader)
A thought experiment, for members of Mass Effect fandom who maintain that the optional female Shepard/Liara T'Soni romantic subplot is totally not gay because the latter party belongs to a species of parthenogenetic aliens and anyway what they have may not technically be sex:

Okay, so you and your Y chromosome are in space. You rescue an alien creature that looks amazingly like a human being aside from being a funny color and having tentacles in one, maybe two places. It has all the secondary sexual characteristics of a male human, specifically an athletically built male human a little over six feet tall (for some reason, every guy you know is built like that and has the same body language), but so does every member of its species; they reproduce by budding or something. Everyone else calls it 'he' and you find yourself doing this too, because the resemblance is so strong.

He spends some time poking around in your nervous system for reasons having to do with the mission you're on. He is keenly interested in you and tells you this often, compliments you frequently on your willpower, and after he fiddles with your brain the first time begins to talk about a powerful but confusing sense of connection he feels with you.

Eventually you and he and the rest of your posse go somewhere hugely dangerous to do something cataclysmically important. While you're in transit, your friend the tentacle alien approaches you in your cabin to talk about the fact that you might both die soon, and proposes to do something with you called melding. This is going to involve your nervous system again, and turns out to also entail kissing, taking off your clothes, and rubbing your naked male body against his nearly identical naked male body while purple sparks float around you and throbby romantic music plays. Afterwards, naked, on your bed, he praises your performance.

Does this seem Very Not Gay to you? Or is it oddly different when I put it these terms? Why do you think that might be, you asses?