#take my quibbles as you will

[lorax-god1315]

Just watched Subspace Rhaspody. It was a banger. Can’t believe it’s taken over 50 years of existence to get a Star Trek musical in episode.

Spoilers below

CAROL MARCUS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

WTF

Okay so Uhura’s song slapped, our little songbird flew in this episode.

I’m Ready has a bopping beat and is a smashing song but, and no shame to Jess Bush, her voice didn’t fit the vibe of the song.

Jim and Una dancing was so funny, the funny little beans. (Waiting for when we are getting a Jim trauma dump episode, maybe after he and Carol split?)

I love that Spock is favourable with the Klingons because of ability to down bloodwine.

Overall loved this episode, it was cringe but fun. Excited what the season 2 finale will be.

[yoshicolonoscopyfootageofficial]

Thinking about the one asura personal story (I think it was for college of statics) in gw2 that started as your krewe is demonstrating a golem control system that results in one of the members’ minds being merged with the mechanical body, as her thoughts also become more mechanical, and one of the ways to resolve the story is for another krewe member who was in a romantic relationship with the first krewemember to put his mind in a golem as well so they could be together. For no reason at all

[tovaicas]

now that I've finished: I enjoyed shb. not as much as I did hw, but I quite liked the msq (with the couple of quibbles that I've mentioned). post-patches I felt suffered from similar problems as hw's did, as in they wrapped up everything and then very quickly and suddenly pivoted to new expac content in a way that didn't feel suuuper natural, but I also think to an extent that's also an MMO curse. with a larger available scope I would've preferred a more natural lead-in, but what can you do.

I'm not sure how I feel abt the heavy focus on zenos and fandaniel, zenos has never been that much of an interesting character to me (stb didn't handle him and what he represents well, and imo he doesn't get more interesting as he keeps appearing) and characters who are written as 'well he's cRaZy so we don't have to explain his motives or erratic behaviour' like fandaniel I find inherently uninteresting. plus I just hate it every second he's on screen HBFSBJ

I wish the grand company of eorzea stuff was the conclusion to a long, real attempt at making amends rather than smth wrapped up as a loose end in two or three patches; feels disingenuous, in a way. I also wish they'd actually leaned with the theming of 'the wol has friends who genuinely care for them and feel genuine remorse for the things they put them through for the sake of others', shb msq's back-half was all about how everyone gambles with your life and how the wol is a tool and how shitty this is (to an extent, at least; one of my bigger quibbles with g'raha is how he's consistently framed as justified for manipulating you and directly playing with your life), but as it stands as soon as you're cured of the lightwarden stuff everything goes back to you feeling like a secondary background player with no outstanding trauma in the post-patches, being told where to go and what to do.

on that similar note, I have strong feelings on g'raha and most of them lean negative. I'm not going to clutter this post with unnecessary character hate that's biased by my own wol's writing (unless like. you want me to), but a lot of my feelings abt him from shb msq haven't really changed.

otherwise I quite liked a lot of the worldbuilding and historical sections, I do think those were well done. the norvrandt goodbye genuinely got me, and I actually really liked elidibus' sections. I miss ryne already

[gemstarstarlight]

My parents (I suspect motivated by my father) are on a two-man mission to prove that Paris, and indeed all of Europe, is the City of Love.

[charliemwrites]

Part 2 of Neighbor!Johnny!

(Feeling a bit ✨naughty✨ this Christmas Eve so… here.)

After the fight with Ryan, you try to keep your distance from Johnny — keep the peace and all that. The more you think about the accusations your husband made… the more that guilty pit in your stomach grows.

It’s all been platonic, at least on your end. Sure, you let Johnny get away with a bit more than the average stranger, but he’s a good friend! Nothing you wouldn’t let one of your other friends do. (Even if you would find the lingering touches and general disregard for personal space a little strange from someone else.)

Sure, you have a suspicion every now and then that Johnny has more than platonic feelings for you… but they’re fleeting. Every time you worry that he’s about to cross a line, he always draws away from it. Evens out his smile, break his gaze, drops his hand. You’re close, that’s all.

But… if it’s bothering your husband. Well, you’re obligated to take that into account, aren’t you?

Even if you ache, missing your friend. Missing his silly little jokes, his cheeky grin. Miss his company while you do laundry, a helping hand in the yard, even just someone to chat with over podcasts and tv shows.

Hell, you miss hugs. Ryan’s never been big on… affection. Especially not in public.

(Barely in the house, either, really. You’ve tried talking to him about it. He swears he loves you, he just doesn’t show affection that way. You struggle to figure out why that’s so with you when he has no problem hugging his mother, sister, hell, even his secretary.

Actually… you struggle to figure out how he shows you affection. So you’ve stopped trying to figure it out at.)

But Johnny. Oh, Johnny is just so sweet to you. A hug when he greets you, a hug before he leaves. A kiss to your cheek when you hand him a drink or a snack. A hand on your hip when he leans past you to get things from high shelves. Nudges to your thighs during good parts of shows.

You miss it. Him. The friendship you’ve built in your too-quiet home, where the other neighbors seem to like your husband so much more than you.

“What’s goin’ on, hen?” Johnny asks one morning. You’ve been keeping coffee dates meetups on the porch. Which is almost worse, because it’s cold and you find yourself cuddling up to the heat he exudes like a furnace. “Hardly seen you in a month; miss my best girl.”

“Sorry, Johnny,” you sigh, rubbing at your face. Ryan’s been working late most days this week, comes in so late and wakes you up. “Just… Ryan, ya know.”

His jaw tightens, eyes flashing dangerously. You’re reminded suddenly, inexplicably, of just what Johnny does for a living. How often you’ve seen him just back home with blood still buried in his nail beds.

“Dinnae, hen,” he replies. “What about ‘im?”

You fidget, eyes on your half-empty mug. It feels wrong, admitting relationship quibbles to someone outside of family. You used to have a policy that marriage matters should stay within the marriage. But… it’s hard when it feels like you’re the only one working on the marriage. It’s a lot of work to do alone.

“He just… he doesn’t think it’s proper,” you admit, “how… how often you’re over. How close we are.”

“That so?”

You hunch your shoulders, feeling wrong. Feeling guilty for a whole new reason; for disappointing Johnny.

“Look at me, bonnie?”

He has to tip your chin up with his hand to get you to meet his eyes. His expression is softer than you expect.

“What about you, eh?”

“Me…?” You blink, peering up at him through your lashes.

“Yer feelings are all I care about, hen.”

“Johnny,” you sigh, trying to reprimand, but sound more pleading instead. He shakes your head a bit, gently; his own reprimand.

“Answer me, bonnie.”

“I like spending time with you,” you whisper.

The corners of his mouth twitch up as he hums.

“‘Course ye do,” he hums, “‘n I like spendin’ time with you. It’s not fair of ‘im, is it?”

You blink, brows pulling together in confusion. Johnny continues, the thumb on your chin gently stroking.

“Not fair of ‘im to keep you all cooped up here, come home so late, neglect ye when he is around,” he coos. “And now he’s tellin’ you to keep away from your best friend.”

He tsks, that dangerous glint in his eyes again.

“Wastin’ his tongue for bullshite when he should be usin’ it to lick your pretty pussy.”

Your mouth drops open, shock and heat flooding you hotly. “Johnny!” You gasp, scandalized.

He finally cracks a grin again. “Tell me I’m wrong, bonnie, ‘m not! When’s the last time he worked you over the way you deserve, huh? When’s the last time he made you squirt all over your sheets?”

You shove at him and then cover your burning face, trying not to squirm. Can’t answer because it would be proving him right and you don’t want to encourage his scandalous teasing.

“Bet he’d try to make you change ‘em even if he did,” Johnny grumbles, shaking his head. “Disgraceful. You ought to be put to sleep on a nice, thick cock.”

Whack!

“Oi! What was that fer?!”

“You’re being a creep, Johnny!” Your stern tone in undercut by your embarrassed laughter. “Quit talking about my shitty sex life.”

“So it is shitty!”

“Shut up!”

When a discreet box shows up at your door two days later, you know exactly who it’s from.

…that doesn’t stop you from using the (shockingly detailed and realistic) dildo inside the packaging.

[onelittlespiral]

Hey hi, I need your help asap! I was talking with my roommate and he told me about your new special deal. And I wasn’t really interested but my roommate let slip that he was gonna ask you to turn me into a nymphomaniac hunk for him. And I don’t want that, so I rushed to write to you. Please can you turn my roommate into anything that will prevent him to turn me, maybe show him a taste of what he wanted to force me into? Thanks a lot!

Subject: Customer Service Ticket #3478

Dear (REDACTED),

We hope to alleviate any concerns you have about our services. However, at this time, we are unable to process any changes regarding Order #100765. Any changes will need to be made by the authorized purchaser. If there is any other way we can be of assistance, please feel free to contact us at the number below. Otherwise, we know that you’ll soon be satisfied.

Sincerely,

The Spiral

We knew you’d come around and round and round and round…

One email and I was left in a panic. I can’t believe my roommate would try to change me. I called the number included on the email, dialed 2 for customer service, and waited as the hold music played. All the while I was left thinking. We had the usual quibbles about dishes and cleaning up and all that, but committing to the kind of shit he had laid out in his order? It had to be some kind of prank. I was just in circles, kept thinking how there must be a way to cancel the order. All the while I was listening to instrumentals of jazzy horns and synths. You waited five, ten, twenty minutes on the line, hoping for a response. You had other plans today, but this had shot those down. You could only sit, wait, and listen.

After 30 minutes of waiting and stewing, someone finally picked up on the line,

“Hello, is this (REDACTED)?”

“Yes! Finally. I have been waiting forever. You’ve got to help me man.”

“I’m sorry to hear you have been waiting so long. Have you been just listening to that horrible hold music for half an hour?” He sounded condescending, like he wasn’t taking my dilemma seriously.

“Yea, now I need your help. I need to cancel an order.”

“Are you sure you need to boy toy?”

The words bounced in your head and your jaw went slack. You feel strange… dizzy and confused. “Huuuh?” was all you could get out.

“Yeah boy toy, just tell me what you need changed? Unless the wait helped you calm down?”

Your mind raced, to think of what you needed. But the more you tried to think, the harder it felt, “Uhhhhh…”

The man’s voice turned helpful, “Well, let’s go over the order just in case, shall we?” You sat and listened as he rattled off details. “Let’s see, we have an order here for a sexy hunk, with an increased sex drive. One of our best lines. That sound okay?”

He sounded confident. Was it really the best? You must have wanted the best, “Yes.”

“Good, so that comes with our lean muscle package, with abs, pecs, and a bubble butt extension. Does that feel right?”

You feel a shift beneath you, and looking down something feels wrong. You weren’t expecting to see perfectly tanned skin, pulled tight against your six pack. As you glide your hand down your form it all feels so firm. So muscular. Your mind tries to think of a reason not to, but you mumbled, “Yes, sir.”

“Good boy toy,” you lit up a bit. You liked it when he called you that. “Now, it also does come with a facial remodel. And I have it in the notes here you want the hair platinum blonde?”

You felt pressure in your face. Your open mouth snapped tight as your bones shaped and remodeled themselves. The pain was sudden and sharp. But by the time you lifted your hand to your jaw, it had stopped. Quickly, the memory faded to the background as you relaxed again, drool pooling out newly plumped lips, “Yuuh.”

“Perfect, perfect. Now, the last change I have here is a priority shift. You want to think only with your hungry hole boy toy?”

The hormone levels in your body jumped as your ass shifted uncomfortably beneath you. You needed to contain it, have some sense of control. Or do you? As you let yourself relax, you began grinding against the ground beneath you. Only one thought was left in your mind: you needed your hole filled. You began playing with yourself, and a faint moan was all that the operator needed to hear.

“I think that’s everything. Boy toy, wake up.” The fog receding in your mind did nothing to mask the horniness. If anything it made the need more clear. “Thank you for calling The Spiral customer service line. Goodbye!” And he was gone.

You barely could manage to navigate your way home. Every man was a distraction, as your mind raced with fantasies of being groped and used. But something within you made sure you made it through the complex door and safely into your apartment. You wanted to just lay down and try to sort out the day. But the man spreading out on your couch stopped you in your tracks.

A small voice in the back of your mind tried to say something was wrong. But your roommate on the couch looked so right. His features glistened in the dim light, highlighting his muscular physique and masculine features. His old, well worn wife beater and grey stained shorts left little to the imagination. And the sloppy demeanor and funk he emanated clashed with your clean and well-toned body. But the way his eyes fixed on you, the hunger and swagger in his gaze, left you weak in the knees. The attraction was instant, and with no willpower left, you buried yourself in his body and began worshiping this pillar of masculine energy. Inhibition was gone as you licked at the thin fabric separating you from your prize. And as he pulled his waistband down and shoved his sweaty cock down your throat, you let his flavor coat your pallet.

“Welcome home boy toy,” he groaned. That’s right. You were his little boy toy.

A buzz came from your roommate’s pocket.

Subject: Order #100690 Fulfilled

Dear (REDACTED)

Your order has been fulfilled. We have also closed Ticket #3478 at this time. We know you have many options, but thank you for the support.

Sincerely,

The Spiral

[frost-queen]

A Sallow's mistake (Reader x Sebastian Sallow)

Requested by anon Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @alex–awesome–22, @ellie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve , @queen-of-books , @glimmering-darling-dolly , @denkisclown , @wildieflower , @meyocoko , @justanothercoco, @subjecta13-thefangirl , @m-rae23 , @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr , @swampything07, @melsunshine , @panhoeofmanyfandoms , @venomsvl , @the-uncoordinated-house-cat , @rosecentury , @imagines-by-her, @evilcr0ne , @vviolynn , @niktwazny303 , @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 , @markive-m

Summary: Reader has a crush on Sebastian & shows her gratitude for his friendship by buying him gifts. Sebastian & you often flirt to the annoyance of your friends, who don't like him. Yet you defend him at every turn. One day you hear Sebastian say awful things about you (after being pressured by his friends). Lashing out to Sebastian, you start ignoring him. Till you no longer can, where he confessed the truth to you.

Candles floated high up the ceiling at the great hall. Students sitting gathered a several spots. Entering the great hall, your eyes fell immediately on Sebastian Sallow. He sat on top of the table, surrounded by some of his friends. With a smile on your face, you went over to him. Sebastian stopped his discussion with Imelda upon seeing you arrive. – “Did you get my owl Sebastian?” – you asked resting your hands on the table to lean in. – “Owl?” – Sebastian answered thoughtfully, furrowing his brows a bit.

You hummed loud. – “My owl carried a package to you.” – you explained more. – “The feather…” – you finished, hoping he had received it. Sebastian let out a deep ‘ah’ of realization. – “That was your owl.” – he said as you nodded. – “Actually it was Poppy’s owl as mine was delivering a message to my parents.” – you informed him. – “Now it makes sense.” – he chuckled out.

“I was already wondering who my admirer would be.” – he leaned a bit closer to you, smiling. – “It was just a feather. I noticed in class, you’d broke yours after quibbling with Garreth” – you responded bashful. – “Not my finest moment.” – Sebastian laughed out that you had seen that.

“He can buy his own feathers.” – Imelda spoke interrupting the little moment of yours. Sebastian and you tore your gaze away, looking both at Imelda. – “I know that…” – Sebastian said smiling sheepishly. – “It is called being nice and considerate Imelda!” – you told her bitsy. Imelda started to laugh loud. – “Care to buy my school supplies as well?” – she mocked, crossing her arms. – “I’ll have a new broom Y/n.” – A Slytherin boy  called out.

Sebastian’s friends started to laugh loud, making you look at Sebastian with an embarrassed expression. Wondering what he would do. Sebastian swallowed nervously, clenching his hand as he hated seeing you upset. – “Alright enough!” – he called out, silencing his friends. – “Someone’s snappy.” – Imelda chuckled out.

Sebastian rolled his eyes at her. Sebastian got off the table, taking you by the arm as he led you away from them. – “That was really sweet of you.” – you told him. Sebastian was caught off guard for a moment, ruffling his hand through his hair. – “It’s quite alright Y/n.” – he responded.

“I’ll buy you some extra ink to go with that feather.” – you exclaimed happily. – “Y/n.” – Sebastian pulled you back before you could happily run off to do so. – “You… you do know you don’t have to buy me stuff.” – he reminded you. You curled up a smile, bouncing a bit on your feet. – “We’re friends. I don’t mind. See it as a friendship gift.” – you told him as his grip slipped off your sleeve.

“You can always praise me in other ways to show your gratitude.” – Sebastian leaned in closer to you, making you lean your head back as he was coming very close. A smirk on his face as it made you gulp bashful. His eyes drifting down to your lips, feeling his heart pound loudly for you. – “Y/n!” – your friends voices made him snap out of it. Your friends arrived, pulling you away from him by your arm.

“Leave her alone Sallow!” – one of your friends called out. Sebastian rolled his eyes at your friends, turning around to head back. You pulled hard so that their grip was off you. – “Can you just leave him alone!” – you told her, defending him. – “He wasn’t doing anything.”

Your friends rolled with their eyes. – “He has put a spell on you Y/n and you can’t even see it.” – one of your friends said, pushing you in the back to move forwards out of the great hall. – “More like a curse.” – another one of your friends pitched in. – “Stop it!” – you called out coming to a firm stop, making your friend bump against your back.

“You know nothing of him!” – annoyed you walked off, needing some air and be away from your friends. They were your best friends, but you didn’t like it that they were so against Sebastian.  On your way out, you encountered Garreth Weasley. – “Hello Y/n.” – he said, sliding an arm over you.

“Hello Garreth.” – you sighed out not really in a happy mood anymore. – “Who sucked the life out of you?” – he asked with a worried glance. – “Nothing.” – you told him as he guided you through the castle’s hallways. Garreth leaned a bit closer to you with his head to whisper. – “I know just the potion that can spark up your happiness.”

You gave him a hard stop in the side to stop being so ridiculous. – “Let me guess personally brewed?” – you laughed out. – “Yes, I’ve nearly narrowed it down if you would drink it, you’ll do me a great pleasure so I know if I did it right.” – he answered rubbing his side. – “Oh no Weasley.” – you laughed out, poking him in the chest. – “I’m not drinking any of your weird potions.” – clearing setting your boundaries.

“Oh come on Y/n.” – Garreth called out, taking your finger and swaying it around. – “For me?” – he put up the most precious look, trying to persuade you. You leaned a bit closer to him, smiling. – “No.” – you answered, smile dropping. Garreth groaned loud. – “You are no fun.” – he shouted at you as you walked off. – “Bye, bye Garreth!” – you waved over your head.

After history of magic, you were making your way over to defence against the dark arts class. Humming happily, you went up the spiral stairs. Going up and up till you reached the floor with the giant skeleton. You were walking behind it, suddenly stopping as you heard commotion. – “Be for real Sebastian.” – you heard Imelda’s voice cut through. Lowering yourself a bit, you tried to look between the bones of the skeleton to see what was happening.

You could see little as a little group of Slytherins were close to the wall. – “It’s a joke right?” – a boy called out as you caught a glimpse of Sebastian with his back against the wall. Sebastian kept receiving little shoves, pushing him more into the wall as you couldn’t understand much with everyone speaking over each other. – “Alright!” – Sebastian called out, seemingly panting out of breath.

“Of course I’m just sucking her dry. I mean if that fool keeps wasting her galleons on me, who am I to refuse such a generous offer. I’ve got her right under my thumb.” – Sebastian finished. Having moved a hand before your mouth, you couldn’t accept what you just heard.

The cruelty coming from him. Heartbroken, you tumbled down, sinking to your knees. Shaking your head as you didn’t want to cry over this boy. Clenching your hand, you wiped your tears aggressively away. Pushing yourself up, you weren’t going to let him get away with speaking so cruel about you. You appeared from behind the statue with a loud voice. – “Your uncle was right! You are a menace Sallow.” – you shouted rudely at him, not caring if it hurt him.

Sebastian’s eyes widened with a gasp upon seeing you. His friends gaping in shock at you. – “You are pathetic!” – you screamed out before running up to class. Sebastian looked shameful at the ground that you had heard that. Your words also cutting deeper into his heart than he dared to admit. Sebastian quietly went to class, seeing you stand near Leander.

Sebastian made an effort to approach you, but seeing you take Leander by his sleeve and showing your back to him, made clear to him you didn’t want to speak to him. Sebastian turned his head, gaze gliding the ground as he went to sit at the last bench. Ominis coming to sit beside him. – “What’s up with you?” – he asked, his wand flickering with a red spark. – “Nothing.” – Sebastian grunted out.

After class, you immediately left, leaving no room for Sebastian to come near. You didn’t want him near. Perhaps your friends were right about him. There were several attempts on his behalf, but you rejected them all before he could utter a word. Leaving him with nothing but guilt. This going on for 11 days now. For 11 days you had been ignoring Sebastian Sallow. Holding the invite in your hand, you so hoped Sebastian wouldn’t be there.

You loved going to crossed wands, but knew there was a chance he’d be there too. Opening the door, you arrived at the crossed wands spot. Lucan already waving you over. There were already a group of people. Leander amongst them. – “Are you ready for another round of crossed wands, Y/n?” – Lucan asked you excitedly. – “I suppose.” – you answered, looking around to be sure Sallow wasn’t around.

“I’ll let you have the first round.” – Lucan gestured at the open space as you took your place. – “Who wants to duel with Y/n?” – Lucan asked loud as Leander stepped forwards, holding his hand up. – “I’ll duel her!” – your eyes widened with gasp seeing Sebastian approach, lowering his hand. – “But I was going to duel her.” – Leander whined out. Sebastian shot him a glare.

“I’d rather duel Leander.” – you said, crossing your arms. – “Too bad sweetheart because you are duelling me today.” – Sebastian answered taking his stand. Groaning loud, you knew you had to duel him. Tightening your grip on your wand, you readied yourself. – “When you are ready.” – Lucan said to begin the duel. – “Feeling dried out now that your gifting fool isn’t spending her galleons on you anymore?” – you called out to taunt him.

“Y/n that wasn’t…” – Sebastian answered as you didn’t want to hear it. – “Stupify!” – you shouted, waving your wand at him. Sebastian casted protego as your spell vaporized. – “Will you just listen to me!” – he called out, waving his wand at you. You casted protego yourself, deflecting his spell. – “Why would I listen to someone so cruel as you!” – You responded angered, casting Levioso at him.

Sebastian got lifted up from the ground, legs dangling up in the air. – “I lied Y/n!” – Sebastian shouted trying to get himself back down. You laughed loud, not believing one bit of it. Sebastian dropped to the ground, landing firmly. – “They made me say all those awful things about you.” – he wanted you to know.

“You could’ve just told them no!” – you responded with tension in your expression. Sebastian casted a spell at you, making you roll over the ground to dodge it. – “I hate myself for giving in to it." - he confessed panting loud. You fired a basic spell at him as he used protego again. – “Can’t you see that I never meant it. Y/n what you heard were lies. I would never speak such cruelty over you.” – Sebastian let out.

“Enough!” – you shouted, waving your wand as another basic spell fired his way. – “I like you!” – Sebastian shouted loud, deflecting your spell. – “Expelliarmus!” – he called out making your wand fly out of your hand. In shock you stared at him. Sebastian panting loud. – “Now that was a duel.” – Lucan said, clapping loud. Sebastian got aware of the crowd. You lowered yourself to pick up your wand. Sebastian tugged his wand away, running over to you.

“Please Y/n, know that I regret saying it. I never meant it… please… I just want you back…” – he spoke touching your arm. Still feeling  a bit hurt, you did felt some sympathy for him. – “I… I forgive you.” – you told him, turning away to leave. – “Sebastian another round?” – Lucan offered as Sebastian held his hand up to him, telling him to stay back before running after you.

“Y/n! Y/n!” – Sebastian panted out catching up with you. You came to a stop, with a soft sigh. – “I’m giving you another chance Sebastian.” – you let him know. Sebastian curled up a smile. – “Thank you.” – he said leaving a quick kiss on your cheek. Happily he took off, making you chuckle softly. It took Sebastian about another week before asking you out for butterbeer in Hogsmeade. After that the two of you just started to love each other.

----------------------------------------

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[doberbutts]

Okay. So. Longass post while I eat dinner and wait for my controller to charge and then I’m going back to my game.

The problem is it’s never actually been about the word itself.

We tried transandrophobia. Transmisandry. Isomisogyny. Transmascphobia. Anti-transmasculinity. People fought about literally all of them, saying they don’t exist, that they legitimize incel and terf language, that they’re some power grab, that they’re inherently transmisogynistic.

We tried transmisogyny and were told it was just for trans women and that we couldn’t use it.

We tried “transphobia specific to trans mascs”. We were told there is no such thing. That other demographics experience it and thus it’s actually theirs and not ours to discuss. We brought up trans mascs with genders marked M or X being denied abortions, pap smears, and other reproductive care. Trans mascs correctively raped by their significant others and spouses they were forced by their families to marry. Trans mascs who were targeted specifically because they were trans mascs, often buried as women under their dead names to be forever misgendered by history. We were told we were making it up and that we were weaponizing our womanhood by discussing these lived experiences.

We tried “just” misogyny. We were told that as men, we weren’t allowed to say that we experienced misogyny because trans men are men and men never experience misogyny and thus our very real experiences weren’t really ours and they weren’t that bad.

We tried “just” transphobia. We were told that as trans men, we don’t really experience transphobia because any transphobia we do experience is actually transphobia about trans women and thus our very real experiences weren’t really ours and they weren’t that bad.

You don’t have to take my word for it. You can go into the tags of any of those words and see exactly that being discussed in real time right now in 2023. I’ve even got screenshots from @baeddel-txt if you want to give yourself psychic damage by reading truly the worst takes ever from 2014 onwards.

At some point, one has to admit what it’s actually about is stopping trans mascs from discussing the way they’ve been treated by society, and stopping others from considering that maybe the way they’ve been treating us is a problem.

And make no mistake- while some of it is coming from trans fems and it’s impossible to say it’s not, just as there’s shit-flinging in reverse from trans mascs to trans fems as well, because for some reason we prefer to blame each other rather than working together to solve our problems as a collective- if you take a scroll through these tags a lot of it is coming from cis people and fellow trans mascs. A lot of it is coming from other LGBT or otherwise queer-identified people and a lot of it matches previous attempts at killing the ace, bi, and pansexual communities using the same arguments that the internet likes to cycle through every couple of years and has been doing since online communities began to exist.

So, I ask you, if you got through this and still want to write a witty retort, what have you done to help us fix the staggering amounts of suicide, sexual assault, and beatings we face? What have you done to help us fix the staggering amounts of us being denied necessary healthcare? What is your solution to all this, besides to sit at your computer or scroll through your phone and quibble about whether or not the specific word is allowed to be used this week?

[la-pheacienne]

After the avalanche of bad takes inspired by got and hotd I would just like to say that the point of asoiaf is not "feudal power corrupts" and it is not "no one can save Westeros because feudalism bad". I would like to remind you what the function of feudalism in the story actually is, as stated by GRRM:

The medieval setting has been the traditional background for epic Fantasy, even before Tolkien, and there are good reasons for that tradition. The sword has a romance to it that pistols and cannon lack, a powerful symbolic value that touches us on some primal level. Also, the contrasts so apparent in the Middle Ages are very striking -- the ideal of chivalry existed cheek by jowl with the awful brutality of war, great castles loomed over miserable hovels, serfs and princes rode the same roads, and the colorful pageantry of tournaments rose out of a brown and grey world of dung, dirt, and plague. The dramatic possibilities are so rich. ( Source)

Now his notorious statement about Aragorn's tax policy (as much as I vehemently dislike that statement concerning Tolkien, it is still very insightful for GRRM's work) :

Ruling is hard. This was maybe my answer to Tolkien, whom, as much as I admire him, I do quibble with. Lord of the Rings had a very medieval philosophy: that if the king was a good man, the land would prosper. We look at real history and it’s not that simple. Tolkien can say that Aragorn became king and reigned for a hundred years, and he was wise and good. But Tolkien doesn’t ask the question: What was Aragorn’s tax policy? Did he maintain a standing army? What did he do in times of flood and famine? And what about all these orcs? By the end of the war, Sauron is gone but all of the orcs aren’t gone – they’re in the mountains. Did Aragorn pursue a policy of systematic genocide and kill them? Even the little baby orcs, in their little orc cradles? (Source)

Moral relativism right? Nihilism, pessimism, every symbol is doomed to fail, every effort for a better future is doomed to fail because the feudalist structure is inherently rotten. Should we even try then? What is the point in showing a ruler genuinely try? If every leader is doomed to fall victim to external opposing forces and/or corruption or other moral flaw, what is the point in trying? Let's see another statement by GRRM where he explains what asoiaf is actually about:

"In a very basic level winter is coming for all of us. I think that’s one of the things that art is concerned with: the awareness of our own mortality. “Valar morghulis” – “All men must die”. That shadow lies over our world and will until medical science gives us all immortality… but I don’t think it makes it necessarily a pessimistic world (...) the important thing is that love, compassion and empathy with other human beings is still possible. Laughter is still possible! Even laughter in the face of death… The struggle to make the world a better place… We have things like war, murder and rape… horrible things that still exist, but we don’t have to accept them, we can fight the good fight. The fight to eliminate those things.There is darkness in the world, but I don’t think we necessarily need to give way to despair". (Source)

The combination of these statements speaks for itself to someone who has read GRRM's work: the sword has a romance that pistols lack, the dramatic possibilities of the medieval setting are rich, ruling is hard, we can fight the good fight, we should not give way to despair. From that to "No one can save Westeros" the distance is huge and the endpoint is extremely deceptive and also deeply reactionary. If no one can save Westeros, then there is no point in trying to save Westeros. Characters that try to save Westeros, or Essos, or the Wildlings, or anything bigger than their own ass, are not morally superior to others that just benefit from the current status quo or passively tolerate/enable it, since no one can actually do shit and every effort is doomed to fail. Yet this goes directly against the point of asoiaf that can be summed up in the phrase: "ruling is hard". It is hard alright, but the thing is, someone has to do it. Whether that someone has been chosen by the people, or by the gods, or by destiny, or by circumstances, and regardless of the political system that allowed them to yield that power, the point is that someone has power ad hoc at any given time, and power equals responsibility. What do you do with it? How do you govern? How do you choose between two equally grievous alternatives? Who do you listen to? Who do you trust? How can you learn? What if everything you've been told was a lie? How do you move on from there? What if the promises you made contradict each other? What if you fail? How do you live with the guilt, how do you go on? How do you instigate a structural change? What if you try to do that and people die? What if you try to do that and it kills you? Was it worth it? How do you use the power you have? How do you fight the good fight? What makes a fight good?

"Feudalism bad" and "no one can save Westeros" are not just incredibly uninspired catchphrases, they are something much worse: a very nice way of avoiding to answer the real, hard, uncomfortable questions that are the driving force of asoiaf, and a very neat way to justify those who tolerate, enable or reinforce the status quo. Coincidentally, these questions remain the same in every single political system. They are universal. That's why this is a good, relevant, applicable story, that's why we give a fuck even if the context is foreign to us. So spare us the moralizing bullshit please, and thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.

[dailydamnation]

Well, I said that if they kept giving X-ladies solo books, that have to get around to Illyana eventually, but I didn't dare believe in it.

A solo ongoing for our girl. This is a good day.

Generally, I'm not big on solo X-titles, teams just work best. I've always thought Illyana is one of the characters who it would work with, though. Part of that is bias, obviously, but I think that to justify a solo, you need a character with personal stories that are distinctly different from core X-Men/mutant stories. They surprised me by finding a solid take for Jean in making her go cosmic.

Illyana's magic and demons really set her up for a unique run, and it looks like we might be getting it:

The mystic mutant goes demon hunting in her own series! The X-Man Illyana Rasputina strikes out on her own with new allies and dark powers arrayed against her.

New allies? Leah Helranger when?

Having Ashley Allen return after her Blood Hunt oneshot is a big win. Illyana really felt like Illyana in that story, and played to her strengths.

Germán Peralta I've always liked, and I think his style could be a great fit for stories like these, too:

Throughout the series, Magik will also be forced to come to terms with her tragic history and learn to control her demonic Darkchylde persona. After years of suppression, Illyana’s Darkchylde form returns from the depths of her tormented soul to offer her more strength and power, but at what cost?

This is perfection--the struggle with her dark side that is fed by her trauma, while in the same breath Allen describes her as a character with a heart of gold... Trying to be good while fearing that she's bad is core Illyana.

Literally the only quibble I have with this announcement is Peralta saying he especially loves the Bachalo design, and that costume is my personal pet peeve and won't keep me from loving this book. (Is it wrong that I love it already? It's nice to have faith.)

I love the idea of the Darkchylde having stages, growing more monstrous as Illyana gets taken over by dark impulses. And those wings? Fire addition to the design.

As a bonus, here is Germán Peralta drawing Illyana years ago in Age of X-Man: Prisoner of X #2:

Now just to decide how I'm going to get this, since I don't have a pull list at my local comic shop anymore. Marvel Unlimited still runs months behind on physical releases, which is okay for most things, but...

[proverbsss]

eating you right (father paul hill/john pruitt x reader) -nsfw

(pt. 2 of "reading you right" linked here)

Father Paul Hill, Midnight Mass

reader(s): I am not responsible for how you see your own headboard following the consumption of this fic <3

notifs: paul hill wants to worship you!! ; reader turns the tables for a subby paul; reader's still down HORRENDOUS ; cunnilingus, hierophilia

Your legs are unsteady as John leads you to his bedroom by your hand.

"Haha, look at Wobbles try and make their way down my hall," Paul teases.

"You edged me on your boot," you complain sharply, though this of course is tinged with pleasure and the hope that his treatment will continue. The muscles in your pelvic floor are on fire and your hips burn.

"Mmm, technically you edged you on my boot," he quibbles, pleased with himself, "Can you make it to the bed yourself?"

Rather than answer verbally, you turn back to look at him. It's a tart, cursing look that John meets with yet another grin. Even so, it's now you begin to notice the usual signs of how wrecked he is. You were so caught up in your own delicious torment that you failed to clock Paul mirroring it. You might some of your get your own back yet.

He's comfortable with your routine of the last few days, starting to strip out of his jeans when you say, "Wait." His doe eyes flick over to you, questioning.

"I don't know…" you pick your words carefully, the neediness of earlier converting itself into a sadistic little impulse to tease. "I don't know if we want your pants off yet, right?"

Paul stops a minute. Makes his positively adorable thinking face. There's a reset somewhere in his eyes as he works out why you might have said what you said.

"We don't..?" he repeats, uncertain.

"Nah," you throw out, dragging the tips of your fingers along the foot of the bed. If this duvet could talk, it would already have plenty dirty to say. "I think we probably want you to keep them on and sit first."

Paul clears his throat. His chin dips to his chest a little. Gears recalibrated toward submitting and taking orders fire fast behind those pretty eyes. "Okay, yes." He sits, trembling a bit, on the edge of the bed.

"I'm gonna sit next to you, Father, and you don't move for a little bit. Okay?"

He nods. Good enough for now. Your underwear clings wetly to you under the sleepshirt you were just hiking up for him in the living room. You pull the hem of the shirt down, a bit demurely over your thighs. Paul watches every move.

"Still don't move, baby." You purr at him. He preens silently at the pet name. "Close your eyes." When his eyes are closed, you take his face into both your hands, fingers grazing his ears, the peach fuzz of his tapered sideburns. In a decisive, hushed moment you bring Paul's face to yours and kiss him. Deeply. First-time tier kisses, slow and curious and just beginning to use your tongue.

Paul half-laughs, shyly against your mouth. "Still no moving," you remind into his lips, and he nods "good boy. Good Father." Oh, he likes that very much.

You lick his bottom lip and enthusiastically he opens his mouth to invite you closer, hands scrunching at his sides in desperation to follow your instruction and not not not touch you.

You withdraw from the kiss after another moment, riled yourself and needing to catch your breath. Still you have enough command of yourself to make this all about him, about how pathetic and needy and perfect he is. You bat your eyes at Paul and smile.

"You probably want to make it up to me. How badly you made me need you before,"

Paul tilts his head uncertainly from side to side. A smirk flickers at the corner of his mouth.

"You wanna know how to make me feel good after that, Paul? You wanna know what I need from you?"

He nods again, thoughts boyishly absent from his eyes, his demeanor relaxed and yet so, so ready to do what he's told.

"Can we make that a yes?" you prompt gently.

"Yes." The huskiness in his voice is like a refresher to your thirst for him. You tingle all over with anticipation.

"Good. I'm going to lay back, and I want you on top of me." As you lay down on the soft bedcovers, you realize all the tension your muscles held kneeling on the ground and fucking yourself onto him, even now some melts away and you sigh contentedly. Paul crawls over you, tenderness and want in his eyes and it calls up a smile to your lips.

"What are you smiling at?"

"My little pet priest. Bet he'd do anything I'd ask him."

Paul lays his head down on your belly, happiness going a little fuzzy because of the attention you show him. His curls call out to your hands and you play with his hair. He's radiant. And for now he's yours. He's kissing your neck now, giggling in the crook of your shoulder, lips tickling your chin, your cheek, your ears. You luxuriate in all this for a moment, then tell him, "Give me your ear please, I'm gonna whisper what I want."

His back muscles ripple like a cat's under his shirt as he makes the necessary adjustment to put his ear up to your mouth. But he's too close, too fucking perfect, so you have to bite his earlobe with such exquisite access.

He groans, tenses in his upper body, and rolls his hips over yours. "That's. Not whispering," he complains.

"Shh, shh." you tell him, "You wanna know? Really?" He cocks his head enough for you to see him nod, his length getting easier to feel against your thigh. You reach a hand up in his and gently bring his ear to your lips, "I need you to eat me out like your life depends on it."

He moans, low in his throat, at just the thought of that.

"You want to do that for me?" That serious attention is in his expression again as he nods at you, starting to kiss his way down your chest. "Can you tell me using your words that's something you want?"

In addition to teasing the everloving fuck out of him, getting his consent turns you on more than anything. The thought of Crockett Island's well-mannered, mildly twitchy new priest so eager to touch you, taste you, have you that he'd kept you in his quarters for the last two days reminds you in a heady rush.

"I…" he lifts his head from your chest and blinks, not reluctant, but so fucking needy, "I want to eat you out." He nods quickly, lashes dropping over his eyelids. "Like my life depends on it."

"Good boy. Do it then, please."

His beautiful, hot mouth begins an eager assault of kisses across your chest, migrating down your belly. You arch your back. Usually you two take a little more time here, but there isn't any to spare. So quickly, so deliberately, Paul finds your clothed sex. He wants to touch you, and he wants you telling him that he can.

"Can I take these off you? Please."

You have nothing smart to say. You're no less eager to feel his tongue, his kisses, the vibrations of his voice where you're most sensitive. You nod, and he holds his gaze to your eyes for a beat before pulling your useless underwear off your legs, discarding them on the floor.

You think without meaning to of the word 'devotion,' used in religious terms to describe a supplication, an adoring, faithful, upturned look. It applies equally to the naked need written on Paul's face with his hands carefully spreading your thighs apart.

"Please let m--" he swallows, begins again, "Please may I worship you?"

"Fuck, Paul, yes, please."

And he may have dedicated years to seminary study, he may have pored with his hands wrapped around old books of his faith and volunteered his body in the service of a Christian God, but that tongue of his was made for sinning.

He starts by kissing gently around your cunt, soft, spellbinding little pecks that make your body jerk to close your legs. You still open up for him, gasping and squeezing your eyes shut with how good, how good, how earth-shatteringly good he feels. His tongue starts to lap at your clit and you do feel yourself drip a bit as he deepens the kiss of his mouth on you. Your mind pleasantly lets go of so much residual tension, of today, of every day before this moment with Paul kitten-licking between your wet lips.

Your hips buck as he sucks a little more intently at your clit and your hands lift up and knot themselves up in his hair. He lives for it as you start to fuck his face.

"Yes, yes, salvation is your fucking cunt, thank you--" he sputters out, certainly only half aware of what he's saying but so, so pleased to look up at you and find your face entirely lost in what he's making you feel.

"Here, here," he takes one hand that's left a few fingernail marks in your thigh and hurriedly covers the knuckles of your hand that's controlling his head, "Put me where you want me. Use me, please."

His mouth and your cunt make an obscene symphony together as you moan and arch toward him, trying to win back enough self-control to direct him the way he needs. He's doing pretty goddamn well on his own, you think and laugh to yourself, your calves shaking and heels digging into the bed. His nose bumps an especially sensitive square inch toward the hood over your clit, and his tongue grazes the inside of you. You see stars, the way the old expression goes, you literally see stars. You have to fight to keep your eyes open to how beautifully looks, you'll need this memory of your pleasure, his pleasure, you and he together, for all time.

Your hips are bouncing off his face rather quick and desperately and Paul is drunk with chasing your cum. He sees you biting your fist and between kisses and sucks he has to ask, "You need more? What do you need? Tell me. I worship you. I deify you. I need this," And like a madman he shakes his head to deepen the stimulation of his tongue hitting, soothing, exciting your clit.

"Oh, Paul!" you cry out and reach for his bedframe. "Oh fuck," you're curling into him and keening and he's humping his mattress outright. "Finger me. Fuck please, give me something to-"

Something to cum around, of course. You feel slicker and sluttier than you've ever felt as Paul obediently probes a finger inside your cunt. You fuck his hand, unabashed, so far gone, so trembly. And even the trembling is helping you get more contact out of his tongue, and he's not tired, his thirst is unmatched, the hand not fingering you finds that little arch where his nose bumped up against you before and spreads you the littlest bit open to lap at your clit.

You make a sound that's kind of a shriek and kind of a delighted giggle, and words something like "Ha-fuck, I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum on you--" fall out of your mouth. Paul moans, the pitch of his voice increasing in a way that sort of matches yours, nearly as desperate for your orgasm as you are. Nobody could be as desperate for this as you, however. No one in the history of fucking cumming has ever felt like this.

"Please," he sucks attentively at your clit and shakes his head again, a black curl plastered across his forehead, his gorgeous brown-green eyes searching you and seeing all of you, then closing again, a holy sight. "Please cum. That's it, please I want to drink you in, please--"

And your upper body accomodates for how powerfully you need to let go, the need for release screams out of your body and you almost hit the headboard, but Paul stops you, adjusts the hand that kept you exposed to him to grip your hip and pull you down to his mouth. Your body thrusts and bucks and arches of its own volition, you're just here, in this tear-you-apart pleasure of cumming on his tongue like no one's ever made you cum before. You're panting, your heart is racing, your blood is on fire.

"Enough-enough-enough fuck please---" you shake and beg and tug a little at his hair as he licks hungrily at you, but he's going to let you go when he's fully satisfied. Your voice continues to climb in whispers and shuddering gasps.

"Like my life," he makes a disgusting, gorgeous slurping noise over your wet needy hole, "depends on it." Like a man starved. Like a man crazed. How will you ever function again. You cry out as he drags his tongue up and down your slit, one last long articulation, before his hand finally relaxes on your hip.

Your eyes flutter as you remember suddenly to breathe, and Paul's hands glide up your leg as you sink them down back onto the bed.

"What did you just do to me?" You utter, mystifed, not fully with the thought as it escapes.

"You have no idea how intoxicating you are." He says, dead serious, if breathless and soaked in you. He sucks his middle finger clean. "None at all."

[lorax-god1315]

Are we ever gonna see Sam’s family??

Like do they exist in SNW, because I swear there has been no mention of them. Jim didn’t ask after the when he and Sam greeted each other in Lost in Translation. I know they wouldn’t be on Enterprise since it isn’t a family ship thing like in TNG, but where are they?

(I hope at some point we get a Kirk brother centric episode, maybe in season 3, I doubt it’d be in the last episode of season 3, I think they are gonna do some Gorn shit since they haven’t been mentioned for a while)

[prokopetz]

Essential genres of Controversial Opinion About Hugely Contentious Topics Which Will Definitely Lose Me All Of My Followers:

Cautious analysis enlivened by swearing a whole bunch

Quibbling pedantry about something it would never occur to most people to have an opinion about in the first place

Completely mainstream position that you mistakenly thought was rarely held because you hang out exclusively with weirdos

Opinion that isn't all that controversial in itself, you're just really annoying about it

Genuinely unhinged take on a topic so abstruse that it doesn't lose you any friends in practice because nobody has the slightest idea what the fuck you're talking about

[lescarbille]

daughter

An answer to : give me a word and I'll write you a Carcar Drabble

Carlos thought at the end of his Formula 1 career he would do rallying like his father, maybe Endurance, maybe IndyCar. He never thought that his career would end because of a leg injury, in Vegas, at the age of thirty-four, after the floor of his single-seater split in two because of a manhole cover.

At thirty-seven, he has a slight limp and a job as a Formula 1 presenter for SkySport Spain. This is the only way he can still leave his dream : from afar.

It is his first day, pre-season testing in the stifling heat of an Arabian country. He has a bag with his notes, there are not many people left from his era apart from the rookies: Franco Colapinto arrives with his girlfriend, Ollie Bearman and Kimi Antonelli quibble, convinced that their team will be the best this year. Carlos thinks McLaren is going to win.

Lando has retired, but Oscar has returned to McLaren for his final three years in Formula One. His number is 1, gleaming with black carbon on the papaya nose.

Carlos doesn’t like to think about him much. He’s seen him become world champion too many times. He’s seen his bright smile too many times at the podium summit. He’s seen him in his McLaren, then his Red Bull, pass him with disconcerting ease too many times, because once Oscar found his pace, no one has ever been able to catch him.

“Excuse me, sir.”

A little girl catches his eye. She’s small, six or seven at best, with brown hair, big brown eyes and a button nose. She’s wearing a little sky blue dress, a worn McLaren cap of the same colour and a Koala backpack.

“I’m looking for my dad, I was with Charlotte to get a smoothie, but I got lost.”

She has a VIP paddock pass around her neck, with her little picture and her name: Diane Piastri.

Lando told him. Oscar had a little girl, a long story and to make it short, Oscar is a dad. The child looks so much like him that she has the same impatient pout.

At the time, the news surprised him, he has never seen Oscar kiss a girl, the only person Carlos knows he has kissed is himself, drunk, hidden in dark corners like a dirty secret.

They have always been that. A secret.

Secret kisses. Secret contacts. Carlos secretly fell in love with him and then he gave up, because Carlos is nothing if not too honest. And he did not want to suffer from being a secret when he was already suffering from having lost his dream.

“Could you take me back to the orange garage, please, sir ?"

"Diane! Diane! Diane!”

Oscar comes running and the little girl's face lights up. Oscar hasn't changed over the years, his features have just lost the childish traces that persisted in his early days. His confidence has grown and today some say that Charles Leclerc was bland in comparison. Carlos is in favor of this idea, when he sees him with his black firewalls, grabbing his little girl as if she weighed nothing, his face splitting with relief and affection.

"Carlos?"

"Hello, Oscar."

Oscar smiles at him and Carlos falls in love all over again.

[alexanderwales]

The worst thing about creative AI right now is that it produces bad results. The writing is bad, the images are bad, and the video is bad. It's impressive, sometimes, that the technology works as well as it does, but it's still bad.

I think if you sit down and go through a few hundred generations, then tweak and edit and inpaint and think intently, you can sometimes get something worth putting in front of people, if you have the right eye for it. I could definitely edit up an AI-written short story into something worth reading, especially if I was the one who had fed it the prompt and gone through the work of having my own ideas to insert. I think at least part of the output would be the AI's, and I could carve away everything that was nonsense or just bad, leaving only a few turns of phrase or some general boilerplate structure ... and this would take more time and effort than just writing the thing myself.

Most people who use generative AI do not want to do any work, and in fact, have no conception of what work would be required. Most of them are consumers, not producers, and they're used to the modes of content consumption, where you don't look closely at the details. Generative AI, in its current state, just kind of sucks when you're in a "press button, get results" mindset.

The stuff generated by "press button, get results" is the vast, vast majority of AI art that you will see, even accounting for filtering effects. There are a lot of people who have no love of artistry producing artwork via machines that are not good at making artwork, sometimes just for a lark, sometimes with profit in mind, and it's threatening to drown out other stuff in spite of being bad.

This is my thesis: generative AI produces bad results, and this is possibly the worst thing about it. If it were able to produce good results, I think that a lot of people would be less opposed to it. If you could get a short story that was worth reading, or a picture worth looking at, for no additional effort of manipulation or prompt engineering or whatever else, then we would be flooded with good art instead of bad art.

When it comes to art, I care about how it makes me feel, and what it's trying to say, and where the intent is, and what ideas it has. AI is not there. Possibly it will never get there. But sometimes I see a picture that the AI has made, and I do feel something in the sweep of the lines, or the composition, or just the juxtaposition of elements. It's just really really rare, and the product of either chance or really careful work on the part of some human. It's not something that the AI can do reliably, at least at the moment. You can also quibble about intent, because the AI "has none", but I find beauty in nature too, which is not trying to make a statement with its sunsets, and whose intents, if they can be said to exist, are mostly about things that are orthogonal to my perceptions, like the plumage of a sparrow or the curved leaves of a fern. To me, art is art because of the way that it can be read and the emotions that I feel when I look at it. Contentious, I'm sure, but I don't find other definitions all that useful.

But the art that the AI makes is, unless expertly guided, bad. And there's a ton of it, and it's impacting the ability of real artists to make superior work.

I think the future I see, if the AI doesn't get better, is one where we have a bunch of cheap shit that's replaced a lot of good expensive things. I am in favor of cheap things, but I'm not in favor of shit. I would love for translation to be as simple as pressing a button. I would love to have a good painting to go with every chapter I write. But we're in a world where the results mostly suck unless you're willing to put in quite a bit of effort and have some expertise in a field of creative endeavor, and that means we're in a world where the products are bad.

I'm interested to see how the conversation shifts if the results start getting better, because that seems to me like one of the sticking points.

[transmutationisms]

I read your review of Poor Things and I was wondering if you had any thoughts on the section in Alexandria? It was horrifically executed on many levels but narratively, that part of the film is about Bella learning about class structure. She rebels against the cruelty of society through charity then by working as a prostitute, during which time she has cruelty inflicted upon her instead. Finally, she realizes that God’s creation of her was ultimately cruel, and then she runs away with her ex-husband-father only to realize that her prior self-mother was fundamentally characterized by cruelty, especially to her “lessers.” She then decides once again that she does not want to be cruel, but then she achieves this by taking God’s place as the doctor-patriarch and ruling his household with a new pet goat. The entire film is also about Bella learning about feminism: the arbitrary oppression of women is not only nonsensical, it’s bad! But then the ending has her reproduce almost all those power structures and cruelty she claims to reject, and has the unfortunate consequence of positioning her as ultimately equally cruel/callous as God, the guy she meets on the boat who shows her all the starving people, and her former self-mother, etc. I was wondering if you had any thoughts on why this is or like, what the director’s message was beyond self-contradiction and taking cheap shots at starving people?

so i would quibble a bit with the idea that bella's experience in the maison-close is exclusively or even primarily portraying sex-for-pay as a site of cruelty. i think it's more depicting paid sex as work, and work as unpleasant and repressive, and that's why the maison is the site where bella gets involved in socialist politics—if moral philosophy is the arena by which she responds to the injustice of the poverty in alexandria, then labour politics plays the analogous role where the maison is concerned. her problems there aren't inherently with the idea of being paid for sex, but with specific elements of the work arrangement (eg, she suggests that the women should choose their clients, rather than vice versa). ofc she has some customers who are cruel or thoughtless or rude, but i didn't read the film as suggesting that was universal to sex work, and the effect of the position is more to demystify sex, for bella, than to convert it into being purely a site of trauma or misery. now i don't think this film offers a particularly blistering or deep analysis of sex work or socialism or wage labour, dgmw, but i do think the function of the maison is different narratively to that of the alexandria section.

anyway to answer your actual question: yeah so this is really my central gripe with the film. lanthimos (slash his screenwriter tony mcnamara) spends much of the film gesturing toward bella's growing awareness of several hierarchical structures that other characters take for granted: the uneven nature of the parent/child relationship (god took her body and created her without asking); class stratification (alexandria); the 'civilisation' of individuals and societies via education and bio-alteration (bella's talk about 'improving' herself; her 'progression' from essentially a pleasure-seeking child to an educated and 'articulate' adult). these three dimensions often overlap (eg, the conflation of 'childishness' with lack of education with inability to behave in 'high society'), though, most overtly, it's in that third one that we can see how these notions of improvement and biological melioration speak to discourses about the 'progress' and 'regress' of whole societies and peoples, and voluntarist ideas about how human alteration of biology (namely, our own) might produce people, and therefore societies, that are better or worse on some metric: beauty, fitness, intelligence, morality, longevity, &c. this is why i keep saying that like.... this film is about eugenics djkdjsk.

the issue with the alexandria section to me is, first, it's like 2 minutes (processed in the hollywood yellow filter) where the abject poverty of other people is a life lesson for bella. we're not asking any questions like, how is that poverty produced, and might it have anything to do with the ship bella is on or the fantastical lisbon she left or the comparative wealth of paris and london...? secondly, everything that the film thinks it's doing for the entire runtime by having bella grapple with learning about cruelty, and misery, and the kinds of received social truths that lanthimos is able to problematise through her eyes because she's literally tabula rasa—all of that is just so negated by having an ending in which she bio-engineers her shitty ex-husband, played as a triumphant moment. i don't even inherently have an issue with the actual plot point; certainly she has motive, and narratively it could have worked if it were framed as what it is: bella ascending to the powerful position in the oppressive system that created her, and using her status to enact cruelty against someone who 'deserves' it—ie, leveraging her class and race within the existing social forms rather than continuing to question or challenge them. if that ending were played as a tragedy, or a bleak satire, it would at least be making A Point. but it's not even, because it's just framed as deserved comeuppance for this guy we were introduced to in the 11th hour as a scumbag, so it's psychologically beneficial for bella actually to do the sci-fi surgery to him that literally reduces him to what's framed as a lower life form. unserious