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astraltrickster · 11 months

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What frustrates me about disability advocacy is that...of all the people I've seen talk about it, 99% of them - even ones who are disabled themselves - have eventually proven that their support has limits. Really stupid and arbitrary ones, at that.

You support disabled people...but if you see an adult with a DIAPER BULGE in their pants in public it's ON SIGHT, get your kink out of my face! Actually, even if it's not a kink, that's still gross and, like, it's not like the diaper exists to CONTAIN waste, you're a biohazard! Just stay home!

You support disabled people...but, ugh, you're so sick of masks, they feel so icky, the CDC isn't advising them anymore so really how bad can it be, if you don't want to be permanently disabled even worse than you already are then why don't you just stay home forever?

You support disabled people...but if you see anyone using a non-conventional straw that someone's billed as "anti-aging" on TikTok you proudly declare that you'll smack them, because what do you mean it might be a motor control or sensory thing?

You support disabled people...but no one is REALLY so disabled that they can't manage their lights conventionally, clean their homes by themselves, or hold a pen for extended periods of time or at all; that's just something people make up as an excuse for Bad Tech and exploitative luxury services.

You support disabled people...but, god, control your by-definition-uncontrollable tics, they're SOOOO annoying and rude!

You support disabled people...but when someone stops masking or runs out of spoons and starts speaking in a choppy, hard-to-understand way, it's a joke.

You support disabled people...but AAC is, like, sooooo annoying and hard to understand, learn to talk like a normal person instead of pointing like a baby or whatever, geez.

You support disabled people...but you hate image descriptions and video transcriptions because they're, like, sooooo ugly and transcriptions SPOIL things. (Not to be confused with "frequently not having the spoons to translate images and videos into text, which is a skill; one which everyone should try to develop, but a skill nonetheless" - I get that, it happens to me, but if you take issue with OTHER people adding them to your posts for Aesthetic Reasons, you're...kind of a dick! I'm not sorry for saying it!)

You support disabled people...but you think teehee funny joke annotations are a much more valuable use of caption tracks than, you know, actual captions are.

You support disabled people...but you still concern-troll people with armchair diagnoses of heavily stigmatized disorders for harmless weirdness, or try to paint them as icons of some kind of horrible social ill.

You support disabled people...but you're still convinced that every asshole is mentally ill, probably A Narcissist, and what do you mean that's a loaded thing to call someone when a heavily stigmatized disorder is rudely misnamed as such too, isn't it easier to, like, change the name of the disorder throughout the whole system than it is to just stop using that word as your go-to Bad Person Pathologizing Word, which you definitely need? (Or worse, you see no problem with this clash because you're convinced it IS Bad Person Disorder...)

You support disabled people...but you see someone mumbling to themself on the bus and you get as far away from them as possible because it's "scary".

You support disabled people...but you constantly try to pull "gotcha"s about people telling you not to touch people's assistive devices.

You support disabled people...but someone being okay with their delusional disorder and talking about that is BAD and PROMOTING SELF-HARM.

You support disabled people...but your body positivity still focuses exclusively on "people can be healthy and fat at the same time!" as if people who ARE fat because of health issues and/or have health issues BECAUSE of their weight don't exist or deserve support.

You support disabled people...but you declare that advocates who want us all to have more access to things that improve your quality of life are the REAL ableists for acknowledging that those things that you currently can't do tend to improve quality of life.

You support disabled people...but your advocacy for yourself involves distancing yourself from people with more support needs than you.

You support disabled people...but you treat addiction of any kind, or use of anything with known addictive tendencies, as a moral failing.

You support disabled people...until the accommodations they need clash with your own, then it's not just a benign incompatibility that sucks just as much for them as it does for you; no, you are an innocent victim and they are a horrible ableist.

You support disabled people...until it's too inconvenient. Too weird. Too scary. Once that line is crossed, it's not a disability issue anymore, they're, conveniently, just a Bad Person.

It's fucking exhausting and I'm sick to death of it.

#disability #serious tag #bitching #and even after i posted this i keep thinking of more shit people have said #not gonna edit them in because this post is long and has already been reblogged a couple of times #but might keep track of them in the tags or add more in a reblog #because. i can keep going.

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draculian-accomplishments · 6 months

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Reminder for people with Personality Disorders:

You can be in therapy for years to be able to cope.

You can mask the difficulties you have.

You can cope well with your disorders.

You can function in daily life.

But the day you have a bad day, the day you're so overwhelmed that the mask slips and you simply say one thing, the neurotypicals will use it against you and use it to abuse you.

Abuse is a choice. Abusers make the choice to abuse someone. Not every abuser has a personality disorder. There are plenty of abusers that are Neurotypical. Plenty of neurotypicals will abuse those with PDs due to the stigma and misinformation around them.

Quit using terms like "Narcissistic/Histrionic/Borderline/Anti-Social Abuse"

Quit using "Narcissist" and "Anti-Social" as insults.

Quit justifying abuse towards people with PDs.

Quit armchair diagnosing abusers and assholes with Personality Disorders when you don't know the lived experience of people with them.

Stop fucking appealing to Neurotypicals.

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ecccentrick · 2 years

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#i hate covid i hate people who dont take covid seriously #fucking religious asshole anti mask and vaxxers coming over tomorrow because one happens to be the golden child #while i have to be scared of being sick and dying #and my mom cant do anything bc she didn't give birth to the golden child

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scary-lasagna · 2 months

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Can I request a EJ whose fluids are inherently making his SO sick- like his eye drippings? Like his altered genetics are trying to forfeit him from them? Please and thank you in advance!

Eyeless Jack

You've been breaking out in hives ever since Jack's tar got plastered to your face.

It was quite silly, just a little cheek-to-mask rub and it was all over for you. It wasn't made of anything special, but the fluid is slightly acidic in nature, so Jack theorized that's the cause of the allergic reaction.

Another thing, it's sticky, and it's hard to get off. You were scrubbing three days after in the same spot. And that's when the hives started popping up on your face, then your hands, then your arm, and really anywhere you touched after scrubbing your face.

It got to the point where you sat in the bathroom crying and slathering anti-itch and aloe vera all over yourself.

And Jack feels terrible about it, and attempts to help through his own personal dilemma of feeling like the worlds biggest idiotic asshole for causing all of this.

He makes sure to go sterile before even coming near you, and when he does he barely touches you as he inspects your condition.

Then the vomiting started, and the constant stuffy nose. It felt horrible just to get out of bed to eat, and there was no way you were trusting Jack to make you something edible outside of bland eggs.

And he doesn't mind holding your hair back while your body goes haywire, trying to locate whatever is causing this ailment. He'll rub your back, bring you cracks and water, and then set up his work tablet to watch comforting cat videos while you use his shoulder as a pillow.

He'll take care of you, and doctor you up until he can find some sort of antidote or medicine to help ease your sickness. But eventually, your body builds up immunity much like how it fights off a common cold.

And your free to rub on his mask all that you'd like! Although, Jack would never ever allow you to do so again.

#eyeless jack x reader #eyeless jack #jackson creed #creepypasta x reader #sick!reader #creepypasta x sick reader #creepypasta #creepypasta headcanon #creepypasta imagines #creepypasta blog

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devilmademewriteit · 1 year

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Gods & Monsters

pairing: Soldier Boy/afab!fem!reader

summary: delivering coffees to Vought’s crisis management team brings you face to face with Soldier Boy—who has a different job in mind for you.

warnings: pure, filthy smut (blowjob, fem penetration, slight predator/prey; slight orgasm denial) so 18+ only content; Soldier Boy b/c tbh he’s his own warning; fem afab reader; mention of reader having long hair (hair pulling); drug mention (coke in detail); title kink (sir); pet names (doll-face, sweetheart, doll); dubcon (coercion, imbalance of power); use of slut degradingly; choking; (light) slapping; spitting.

beta reader: @millllenniawrites aka bestie

word count: 3.3k

this is my first time writing for The Boys!! would love to hear feedback & requests are always allowed :)

—

Even before finding yourself at the mercy of a power-drunk supe, you’d had yourself a pretty fucked up day.

After spending your morning hunched over your desk at Vought trying, in vain, to piece together a script for the new upcoming Crimson Countess film (with a team of useless douchebags hooked on uppers) you had all but quit your job.

Then, of course, the afternoon came with its own set of troubles. Your supervisor had hurried over, wild-eyed and raving, to break the news of a PR scandal—you guessed one of the twins, it was always one of the twins—which called for all hands on deck; including yours, which were delegated to the indispensable task of retrieving coffees for the crisis management team upstairs. If you weren’t flat broke and more of a risk-taker, you’d never engage with anything supe-related ever again—but you were, and you weren’t, so you find yourself in the later hours of the evening delivering lattes to your higher ups on floors of the tower you’d never heard of before.

The elevator doors open and you come face to face with the poster-boy of the company. Your heart leaps as you recognize his face; it settles when you realize he’d never recognize yours. After all, you’d only met briefly once before: just last week, you’d finally spent time on set for one of Payback’s shoots. Assistant duties only, of course, but it had been thrilling to watch the supe and his team, nonetheless.

Needless to say, seeing him up close, now, is a completely different experience. No mask, no makeup—just his chiseled, gorgeous face and entitlement simmering in his green eyes.

“Good, you’re here. I was gonna go looking for you,” Soldier Boy says, unfazed by your paralyzing shock. Amused, he adds, “And you brought the coffee, too.”

You stand in the elevator, unmoving. Then, ever so slowly, you hand him the tray of full, steaming cups.

He laughs, wrinkles next to his eyes forming as he takes the tray. Your mistake seems obvious once the image of the company’s most expensive asset holding a tray of five cent coffees is on display before you.

He calls someone over from down the hall, and a wiry young man comes scampering over. “Take these to the assholes down the hall,” Soldier Boy orders. “And tell them not to fuckin bother me tonight.”

The young man nods fervently and speed-walks, tray in hand, back in the direction he’d rushed over from.

The elevator dings and the metal doors begin to close, but a large palm slaps them back in place. You watch as Soldier Boy peels his hand back, leaving indents in the steel.

“Where have they been hiding you?” He asks, leaning against the metal frame. His eyes flash with amusement as he scans your body up and down, making you wish that you’d worn a nicer skirt or ironed your shirt just a bit more carefully this morning.

You swallow, your throat suddenly tight. “I work in the creative department. Writing,” you say, determined to regain some composure.

“You the one that writes those fuckin’ anti-drug ads?” He asks, ever-so-nonchalantly.

“No,” you answer, trying not to meet his imposing stare head-on. ”I write the movies, the television scripts, that kinda thing.”

“Yeah, you don’t look like a complete prude,” he jokes. ”Though I’m sure I could teach you a few things,” the supe adds with a wink.

He looks at you expectantly, something unidentifiable in the way he takes you in.

You don’t respond.

“Really? Nothing? Thought you worked in the creative department,” he taunts.

You clear your throat. “I do, sir,” you respond, your voice faltering with fake confidence. “And I really should be getting back,” you quickly add, reaching for the button that would take you back down to your floor.

A massive hand blocks your own, and you look up at the supe, frustrated.

He whistles softly. “Whoo, ‘sir…’ I sure like hearing you say that.”

Adrenaline courses through your entire body as he takes a small, controlled step towards you. Your mind races, trying to come up with some sort of escape plan, but it goes blank the moment you glance at that pouty bottom lip or notice the rugged curve of his jaw.

“Well, today’s your lucky day, doll,” the stranger says, his voice suddenly low and quiet, “‘cause we need you up here.”

“For what?” You ask, barely above a whisper.

Something about the glint in his eye makes you want to run down the hall as fast as possible—to get away from this madman. He reminds you of a wild animal; you sense something ferocious and tense coiled up inside, begging to come loose.

And yet, something about the grit in his voice and the shape of his shoulders makes you want to play his game, to close the distance between the two of you.

See where it takes you.

He smiles and steps into the elevator, easing his way behind you and placing his palm against the small of your back, urging you forward.

“Don’t worry, pretty girl,” he grumbles into your ear. “You’ll love it.”

You look up at him, unsure of what to do and intimidated by his overwhelming presence, his demanding words. Like prey caught in a trap, every instinct screams at you to get away.

You don’t move.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he coaxes, twisting a strand of your hair. There’s an edge to his voice you’d only ever heard between cuts, when the cameras weren’t rolling. “Wouldn’t want to upset an American hero, would you?”

You give in, allowing yourself to be guided out of the elevator and down the hall by his palm’s weight against your spine. He doesn’t even look at you; he only steers you forward into an enormous suite, lavishly decorated with all sorts of expensive fabrics, paintings, and furniture. It’s nicer than anything you’ve ever seen, yet Soldier Boy saunters in like it’s no more impressive than a dingy motel room.

The first thing you notice is a heap of white powder out in the open on a massive wooden table. The supe walks over to it and does a line through a rolled up twenty, jerking his head back and shaking his head.

“Want any?” He asks, turning his gaze back to you.

“No, thanks,” you respond, wary. “I like to be sober on the job,” you add, not wanting to sound judgemental.

He shrugs.

“What, exactly, did you want from me?” You ask, cringing at the naivety of the question. What he wants hangs thick in the room, it was heavy in his eyes from the moment you’d first met them.

He closes the distance between you and flashes a taunting smile.

“You don’t like coke? I got benzos, oxy, weed… really anything a girl could want.” He plays absentmindedly with the fabric of your skirt, his eyes drinking in every inch of your body.

“All I want is for you to tell me what you want.”

“You sure have a way with words, doll-face,” his right hand finds its way to the front of your throat, stroking the skin there, gently. Every part of your body responds to the touch and unwelcome arousal clouds your thoughts as you try to keep yourself together.

He ducks down, his lips lightly brushing skin of your ear.

“I want to watch you take my cock in every way you can, sweetheart.”

Your body responds before your mind can process his words; suddenly, you’re having trouble standing upright as heat spreads across your core.

“I know you’ll be so good for me,” he adds, fiddling with the collar of your shirt.

“Can I say no?” You ask, cursing how small your voice sounds. Despite your efforts, you’re sure he can hear your reluctant desire dripping off your every word.

He looses a low chuckle. “‘Course you can,” a pause as he places his palm against your cheek, “but you shouldn’t,” he finishes, flatly. “Besides,” Soldier Boy continues, his voice husky and deep, “all I’m asking is for you to get on your knees and put that pretty little mouth to good use.”

You don’t know what makes you do it. Perhaps it feels inevitable; after all, you happen to be alone, cornered by the most powerful man in the world. Or maybe, just maybe, some twisted part of you wants to be at the mercy of this man.

Almost as if in automatic response, you feel yourself sinking to the ground, holding his stare like a tether to reality—a lifeline. He smirks with satisfaction, and, celebrating his win, unhooks his buckle for you to pull the length of him out. Your eyes widen, astonished by the sheer size and girth of him. He notices, of course, and gives you a lazy grin.

Asshole.

Begrudgingly, you accept that you want him. Still, you struggle to admit to yourself that this desire is quickly becoming much more than that.

Some starved part of you is desperate to satisfy this stranger in any way you can.

“Take all of it,” he orders, nodding down towards you. You obey, tasting the salt of his pre-cum and feeling him push down to the back of your throat.

“That’s fucking right, sweetheart,” Soldier Boy groans as you slide down the length of his cock, over and over. “That’s what this mouth was made for.”

He tugs at your hair, taking a fistful of it and forcing your eyes up to meet his. He thrusts forwards, pushing deeper and deeper and deeper—you give him everything you have. His intensity only builds and you find yourself choking, spit gathering in the corners of your lips as he fucks your mouth.

“Fuck yeah, doll,” he groans. “You fuckin’ love that.”

You melt into his encouraging gaze, your eyelids heavy, your panties soaked completely through.

You nod in agreement and he loosens his hold on your hair. You pull off of him, gasping for air, strings of saliva connecting the two of you in pure need.

“Don’t you stop,” the supe warns, using one hand to guide his cock back into your mouth, the other pushing at the back of your head.

You go slow, now, blinking the well-earned tears from your eyes, savouring the feel of him against your lips, your tongue, the roof of your mouth. You put both hands to work and watch him remove the top of his suit, near swooning at the sight of his bare torso.

“You want me to fuck that pussy of yours?” He asks, making your clit throb in response.

Breathless, you utter a quick “yes,” before taking him back between your lips.

“Fuckin’ course you do,” he responds lazily, placing a hand on your cheek, running his thumb down your face, tracing the bone as he smiles.

“Then tell me you’re a slut who loves sucking cock,” he says gently, his torturous hand behind your head always guiding you to take more and more of him, keeping you desperate for air. “Isn’t that true?” He continues, arrogance soaking each and every syllable. “Don’t you fucking love having my dick in your mouth?”

You nod, dazed with lust, his low and gravelly voice undoing you in every way.

“Say it,” he commands, his voice severe—degrading.

You slide off of his length, continuing to please him with the use of your hands.

It comes out as a plea. “I’m a slut who loves sucking cock,” you tell him, earnestly, meeting the challenge in his eyes head-on.

His length twitches in your hand and you know you’ve done a good job.

Soldier Boy laughs. “Get up, sweetheart,” he orders, “bedroom’s on the left.”

You obey, lifting yourself onto shaking legs. Your kneecaps burn from the friction.

You round into a room with a huge bed, unmade silver silk sheets and a thin duvet cast upon it like something out of a movie. The moon’s glow shines through a massive window, illuminating the surrounding luxury. You hear a loud sniff followed by a sigh, then footsteps approaching your direction.

It’s impossible to take it all in. Barely five seconds pass before Soldier Boy is behind you, unbuttoning your blouse.

“You got a favourite way to take it?” He asks, ridding you of your shirt. “With tits like this,” he groans into your neck, roughly squeezing your breasts and running a calloused finger over each nipple, “I could watch you bounce.”

You shiver at his touch, aching for more. The feel of the supe behind your back is nothing short of maddening; his hardness pressing against you fills your head with thoughts so sinful they’d make the devil blush.

“I want to watch,” you decide, surprised at the strength of your own volition. “I want to see you fucking me.”

You wind up on your back at the edge of the mattress with Soldier Boy between your legs. Desire simmers into your very bones, threatening to undo you before even being touched.

He bunches up your skirt and slides a thumb down the middle of your panties. “Fuckin’ soaked,” he whispers to himself with a smile, shaking his head. He pulls them off roughly and sets himself up at your entrance, running his tip along your swollen clit one, two, three times.

“Stay up on your elbows and don’t look away—got it, sweetheart?” The stranger orders. You respond with a fervent nod. As he slides himself between your folds, you let out a soft gasp, watching his cock disappear inside you. He groans, then flashes you an arrogant smirk.

“Fucking desperate for it,” he says. “Look how good your pussy takes it.”

Placing his hands on your upper thighs, he sets a rhythm, slow and hard; all you can do is stare, open-mouthed, at the sight of his cock slamming in and out of you. You meet his eyes for a moment—his full of mockery and satisfaction, yours likely full of wild abandon.

“You like seeing me ruin you?”

Struggling to form words, you merely gasp out a desperate “yeah” and it sounds more like a question. You try to stay propped up on your elbows as the brutality of his thrusts intensifies—he fucks you harder and faster with every movement.

“Ohhh, fuck, yeah you do,” he answers, throwing his head back, a winner’s smile spreading across his face.

It feels so good you can hardly string together a cohesive thought. You reach out for something to grab onto and your fingers find his forearm, the indestructible muscles underneath tensing as you struggle to stay up. Soldier boy smiles down at your dazed expression, placing his hands on either side of your head as he leans forward.

“Open that mouth just a little wider for me, sweetheart,” he says softly, contrasting the roughness of his thrusts.

You obey, and placing his thumb on your chin, he spits in your mouth, his saliva coating your tongue.

“Swallow, baby,” he says, and so you do, moaning as his spit slides down your throat.

He ducks his head down. “Fuck that’s so hot,” he groans, finding your clit and drawing lazy circles on your pulsing, swollen bud.

“You’re a fuckin’ superstar, sweetheart, the way this pussy takes cock.”

The stimulation overwhelms you entirely. “I-I can’t hold on,” you gasp out, feeling a familiar warmth spreading from where his thumb plays with your pulsing bud.

He wraps a hand around your throat, forcing you to look deep inside his heavy-lidded eyes, his dilated pupils.

“Tell me how much of a slut you are for this cock and I’ll let you come,” he orders with a mocking smile.

You can feel yourself going, seeing stars from the feel of his thighs slamming into your ass, his length reaching deep inside you, and the hand wrapped around your throat.

The man certainly loved making you talk in moments where words were impossible to form.

Soldier Boy laughs. “What, fuckin’ cock-drunk already?” His hand momentarily leaves your throat to collide with your cheek, waking you out of your stupor, before wrapping around your jaw. His grip is controlled—it inflicts no pain but allows for no negotiation, either.

“Tell me you love it.”

“I love it,” you moan, barely above a whisper. All you can focus on is holding back your climax as his fingers continue to work at the apex between your thighs.

“Scream it,” he orders, slamming himself inside you. The violent sound of skin meeting skin fills the room, fills your ears.

“Please-“ you beg, the word coated in desperation.

“Fuckin’ scream it,” he demands, unbending.

He leans in deep, his cock grazing the sweet spot at your core.

Warmth and lust erupt from inside you.

Words become easy, now. “I love it, I love it, oh my god I love your cock,” you half-gasp, half-cry as your orgasm blossoms through your body. You tremble underneath him and he laughs, continuing to fuck you through the waves of bliss.

“Just a desperate fuckin’ whore,” he taunts, running his hands along your sides, your breasts, before reaching your ass, giving it a harsh squeeze.

He pulls out quickly, leaving you panting, shaking, dazed, empty.

“On your knees one more time for me, doll,” he says with surprising gentleness, pulling you by the arm off the edge of the bed. “I wanna see you taste my fuckin’ load,” the supe says with a smile, again using a large hand to guide his length into your open mouth.

You take him in slowly, registering your own acidic taste on his cock. There’s a low groan from him, and then he’s holding both sides of your head steady and thrusting into the back of your throat.

“Fuck. Yeah.” He says, throwing his head back. You keep your eyes up, locked on him. When he meets your gaze, he groans, “god, you look a fucking mess.” He grins down at you, “I almost feel bad for getting you up here.”

You freeze and look up at him, his length still halfway down your throat.

He scoffs and smiles. “You really think they’d get someone from your floor to bring fucking coffees up here?” He palms your cheek, shaking his head. “I knew from the moment I saw you at the shoot last week—your little fucking clipboard and that short ass skirt…” he trails off, stroking your cheek as you stare up into his daring eyes.

“I knew I had to see you like this.”

His words send shivers down your spine. You know you should feel used, tricked, or stupid, but all you feel is grateful, special, at his having noticed you. That desperate desire to please him simmers fiercely in your blood.

Slowly, you begin moving again, running your tongue down the length of his cock before circling the tip, tauntingly, slowly, adoringly. He shakes his head and grins: a god between your lips.

“Good girl.”

You grab his hips to steady yourself, trying your best to stay still and take his whole length without choking, lightheaded from the lack of air.

“Fuuuuuuck.” You feel his cock twitch as a stream of warmth slips down your throat, salty and thick. He relaxes his grip and slowly pulls his length out from your mouth. “Look at me and swallow, baby,” Soldier boy whispers firmly, holding your cheek in his hand.

You close your mouth and swallow, trying to steady your breath as the taste of him lingers in your mouth. He smiles and wipes a thick finger along your lips.

“‘Could keep you here, you know,” he says softly, holding your face up to meet his drunken look. “Tie you up, fuck you till you forget who you are… you’d like that, wouldn’t you, doll?” He asks, his voice low, dark, and gentle—you ignore how sinister it sounds, leaning into his hand and closing your eyes.

“Yes, sir,” you mumble, turning into his palm and smiling.

Soldier Boy’s soft chuckle fills the room, and he leans down to take your face in both his calloused, firm hands.

“You’re a fucking star, sweetheart,” he says. “You’re my fucking star, right?”

You gaze into his darkened eyes, wondering how in the world you came to be in this position.

It didn’t matter.

You were here now, and you wanted more. Needed more.

“Right.”

Your answer is met by a look of utter male satisfaction, Soldier Boy’s eyes filling again with animalistic hunger.

You’d be his for as long as he’d have you.

#soldier boy #soldier boy x you #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy smut #the boys #the boys tv #the boys fanfic #soldier boy fanfiction #the boys smut #jensen ackles #jensen ackles characters #soldier boy the boys #the boys season 3 #the boys s3 #jensen ackles smut #the boys x you

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cistematicchaos · 8 months

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btw, there is nothing revolutionary about not wearing a mask bc you don't want to anymore/it isn't comfortable/"it's safe now." nothing radical, nothing queer, nothing leftist or whatever the fuck you wanna call it. remember what y'all were saying to anti-maskers from before, the assholes letting people die in mass just for their comfort?

uhm, well, sorry to break this to you; you are that asshole now. surprise! you're not immune from being a bigoted asshole and all those things you were saying before now apply to you! go fuck yourself and put on your mask when you're out

this does not apply to disabled folks who cannot wear masks, those are some of the people y'all are supposed to be wearing masks to protect.

#ableism #disability #actually disabled #covid #masking #chaos is speaking

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cellarspider · 2 months

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7/?? germs.

(Previous) | (Index) | (Next)

⛬

We return to a movie that disrespects the archaeological importance of roads, Prometheus.

I am still not over that. I will never be over that.

This time, content warnings for continuing frat boy archaeology, cringeful application of racist terms to lily-white androids, me screeching about site contamination some more, and Apollo’s dodgeball striking this movie with a glancing blow about masking.

So, back in the theater in 2012, I had already lost sympathy for the cast. They were being set up as stock horror movie characters, they were doing their jobs in a way with a certain flair for the incompetent.

And one of them, I suspect, the movie intends to make into a “flawed but you feel for him” kind of guy. Or, I hope they intended to make him “the guy in the slasher movie who you hate and want to see die”. That’s Holloway, one of the two archaeologists. He’s robot racist.

Like, seriously robot racist. The whole crew is, David literally gets referred to as “boy” here, which isn’t so much a dogwhistle as a tornado siren. No wonder David is quietly starting to show his disdain for the human crew.

“They're making you guys pretty close [to human now], huh?”

“Not too close, I hope.”

One of the few themes the movie handles halfway competently is the parallel between the humans stumbling all over themselves as they rush to go meet their makers, while David is already experiencing the disappointment of actually meeting his, and finding out they’re a bunch of clueless assholes. Are we supposed to believe the same of the Engineers? I don’t know. They definitely think of humans as lesser, though. More to come on that later.

Because right now, an expedition is barrelling toward the alien structure–again, driving all over the FCKING ALIEN ROAD–and they’re doing it with only six hours of daylight left, because Holloway literally says “It's Christmas [...] and I want to open my presents.”

I cannot communicate how heinous this character felt. The actor did a perfectly fine job playing him, but if Charlie Holloway was real, his name would be said with the same venom as that of the man pictured below: Heinrich Schliemann, the man who found the real, actual city of Troy, and immediately dynamited a trench through the royal palace, destroying who knows how many artifacts from the period the Iliad was based off of. Yes, I picked out the most assholish-looking photo of him I could find on purpose.

Also, Holloway’s an anti-masker, apparently.

I’m going to step back for just one second and list the one practical, movie budget reason why characters might take their helmets off. The costume designers did an admirable job coming up with something that fits the general requirement of a helmet in major studio releases, prior to The Mandalorian: make the actor’s faces completely visible, because without actors with a strong sense of physical presence and voice acting, you’ll lose connection with the audience.

They did a great job with that. Unfortunately, shiny helmets are a bastard to digitally edit film crew out of.

It’s not impossible to place lights and crew so that the audience won’t notice them. Alien certainly pulled it off. Clear plastic elements in helmets also mean other logistical challenges, though: fogging being the main one. This, and cooking your actors in a fishbowl under studio lights.

Both problems can be simultaneously combated by installing A/C fans within the helmets, but because these helmets are entirely clear, you’re limited to hiding them down near the neck, and anybody who’s done similar for a cosplay or suit will know that it’s potentially noisy and not always effective. You can actually see condensate on the helmets in the movie, though whether that’s from the actor’s breath or a deliberate choice, I don’t know.

All this adds up to increased time resetting actors (i.e. cleaning sweat off of them without disrupting their makeup), more exhaustion from said actors, and the worry that the highest-paid, plot-critical actors may decide they don’t want to do a sequel if the shooting experience is too physically unhealthy.

And then there’s also more time spent carefully arranging crew and lights to hide their reflections, or more time making some poor VFX artist erase a transparent, curved reflection from frame and replace it with something else, or make the actors more comfortable by adding the glass in later with CGI, at the potential loss of some realism. The average modern movie studio would choose one of these VFX-driven options and demand it done in a week, which is why VFX artists need to unionize.

So. I understand at least a few logistical reasons why you don’t tend to make actors wear helmets for too many shooting days. But it has to be balanced with the story. It has to feel believable. It has to fit the story. It has to not make your characters look like mud-witted morons.

As soon as they find liquid water and the oh-so-deadly CO2 levels start to drop, Holloway takes his helmet off.

“Don't be an idiot.”

“Don't be a skeptic.”

Flames on the side of my goddamn face.

Now, this is the moment a lot of people lost sympathy for the human characters, even back in 2012. It was a dumbass idea even then, in the pre-’rona years. Sadly, Millburn the biologist isn’t written smart enough to punch Holloway in the nuts over even thinking of doing this, because we have two problems with what Holloway’s doing here: Biology, and biology.

First, biology.

(https://www.turbosquid.com/3d-models/13-viruses-virus-3d-model/1071200)

Obviously, they don’t know if anything’s in the air. He could find out that humans are deathly allergic to alien dust mites. He could have just caught himself a case of space covid, which he and the lemmings that follow him can then transmit to the entire crew if he’s not kept in quarantine. They can sterilize the sealed suits, but they can’t sterilize the inside of his lungs. Yet.

Second, biology.

Specifically, Earth biology. Do you know how carefully modern space agencies sterilize anything that’s headed for Mars, or anywhere else that might have a biosphere of its own? A lot! They sterilize everything a lot! Because microbes are hardy little bastards. We’ve never found extraterrestrial life, only precursor molecules that show the capacity for life to develop in other places. How are you going to verify you’ve found alien life, or even those precursors, if you can’t prove that your samples are uncontaminated? What happens if microbes from Earth manage to survive the trip and establish a foothold somewhere? What if they destroy native life?

This movie’s characters treat this with only a fraction of the gravitas that the cinematography does, which is part of why this remains so jarring throughout. The practical sets, the art direction, and the camerawork are all excellent. The editing continues to do its best, though it almost feels like things were cut very tight through this to speed things along and to give more time, unfortunately, to what the characters are doing.

their crimes against my sanity are not done yet

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As a side note, rounding up some discussion from a previous entry: The most excellent artist @noordzee pointed out that the clashing artistic style of the moon and stars slapped onto the carving of Kʼinich Janaab Pakal I. In the previous post, I focused on the link between that carving and its use in ancient aliens conspiracy theories. But let's dig a bit into actual Maya iconography around celestial bodies instead.

Now, I am not an expert on Classical Maya stuff. Not in the slightest. And there is a lot of information on their art that is linguistically inaccessible to me, as a non-Spanish speaker. But out of the Maya art and writing that survived the book-burning conquistadors, we have some iconography for the moon and stars, and they don’t look like what’s in the movie.

I wasn’t able to find any specific pieces of art that contained stars, but I did find the glyph for star, ek’.

I was only able to find depictions of a crescent moon in the context of the moon goddess, where she tends to be sitting on the crescent like a chair, or one part of it is shown behind her, almost like a tail (though I can’t be certain whether that’s due to chipped paint).

The moon by itself was somewhat harder to find. I couldn’t find any Maya depictions of it with my limited poking around of the spanish internet, but I did find a (much later) Mixtec depiction of the moon, complete with a lunar rabbit! Much like East Asian cultures, the darker markings on the moon are culturally interpreted as a rabbit shape.

Thanks again to nordzee for pointing out the dissonant art style, because the real mesoamerican art on this subject is phenomenal.

Next time, the movie will hurt me more, so if anybody else has fun facts to share or details to point out. PLEASE. Ease my pain.

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Alt text citations:

None this time. Many ramblings, though.

#prometheus 2012 #prometheus (2012)#I work in a place where quite a lot of people have to put on clean room suits to go to work #their rooms are behind airlock doors #and that's just to make sure outside germs don't get in #to keep things clean #we don't even have the REALLY scary containment rooms that a few biological laboratories have #I'll ramble more about the logistics of that later #when the movie gets around to breaking laboratory safety standards as well

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 8 months

Note

AITA for lying to strangers about my dead uncle?

cw cancer, death, covid

My uncle, who lived in another state several hours flight away, recently died of cancer. I’m still heartbroken about it and miss him every day.

Sometimes when a jerk harasses me about “still” wearing a mask in public and I have zero spoons to waste on arguing with strangers, I’ll tell them that “my uncle has cancer and I don’t want to risk getting sick”. It typically shuts them up without a fight, because everyone knows you don’t want someone on chemo to even catch a cold.

My uncle approved of me doing this while he was still alive because he hated anti-maskers and knew I have anxiety and we both enjoy making anti-maskers feel bad, but I feel like an asshole now that he’s dead.

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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xxlovelynovaxx · 6 months

Text

Well, since tumblr randomly ate my pinned... -_-

About us:

We're the Stars system, a massively polymultiple and polyfragmented mixed origin DID system. We consider ourselves an infinite system.

Our pronouns are fae/it unless specified otherwise. When referring to multiple of us, you are welcome to use fae&/it& or you& for clarity. If you are up for it, we would also appreciate second person neopronouns being tried out (substituting neos for 'you'), and sometimes we use first person neopronouns (substituting neos for 'I/we')

Some of our labels include (we use general/umbrella labels in places to indicate that we use many of those kind of labels):

(disability)

POTS

MCAS

likely ME/CFS

chronic pain (likely fibromyalgia)

other unspecified chronic illness symptoms

physically disabled with mobility disabilities

anxiety

PTSD and C-PTSD

DID w/strong dp/dr symptoms

schizophrenia/psychotic

cluster B spectrum disorder, comprehensive subtype (we meet the diagnostic criteria for all four cluster B disorders and our symptoms are heavily interrelated)

OCD

autism

ADHD

MADD

OLD (a medically unrecognized disorder)

neurodivergent and neurodisabled

cognitive disabilities

cripple

mad

often housebound, sometimes bedbound (less so now that we have a wheelchair)

low to mid masking

low to mid functioning

mid to high support needs

(system)

traumaendo mixed origin

infinite system

aside from traumagen and endo, spirigenic, schizogenic, bordergenic, paragenic, tulpagenic, and more

(queer)

Abro (and use lesbian, gay, queerhet, bi, pan, omni, and mspec and straight lesbian/gay labels)

transneufemmasc, transfluid

intersex

altersex/salmacian

pangenderfluid, kingender, xenogender, agender, maverique, intergender, multigender, androgyne, and others

faegender

butch and femboy

queer

demigrey aroace and grey apl among others

lesboy/turigirl

radinclus

(other)

alterhuman

otherkin (especially fae/changeling, but pankin across the whole system)

otherhearted

copinglink and linktypes

hearthome

choicekin

constelic

demihuman and nonhuman both

endel

humankin

flickers

hivemind

multiversal

reality shifters

nonperson

We are pro-endo and pro-tulpa, anti-psych and anti-phys, pro-mad-liberation and cripplepunk inclusionists and coined unitypunk. We are kff safe and do not believe ANY identity that someone genuinely identifies as, that is not specifically based on intentional harm to others, can be inherently or ontologically harmful. We are proship/profic and ourselves are survivors of a specific kind of SA that cannot be directly spoken about here. We are also anti-forced-recovery and don't believe in consensus reality.

We also do not believe it is okay to make fun of reality shifters just because it's the current acceptable target, and find it especially hypocritical coming from otherkin. Even if it was always harmful, the appropriate response would be genuine, non-patronizing concern, offering resources, and then backing the fuck off if people can't or won't "recover". That being said, most "anti" sentiment in this context is heavily sanist and centered around the idea of a "correct" consensus reality. Not trusting people to be right about their own subjective experiences is both sanist and just generally an asshole move.

We believe transandrophobia exists, that everyone can be affected by transmisogyny and that TMA/TME labels are reductive and often bioessentialist and intersexist in usage, and that exorsexism and the above are all serious issues both within the trans community and in society as a whole. We support transunity. We also are pro-complicated and conflicting labels, such as mspec lesbian/gay, straight lesbian/gay, transmasc lesbians, and lesgay/lesboy/turigirl labels.

We are transhumanist and support bodily autonomy and good faith identity with NO. EXCLUSIONS. If you think this doesn't apply to you, I promise it still probably actually does. We do our best to judge people on their actions, not their thoughts, feelings, or anything else that occurs internally. We also don't believe any body modifications or exercise of personal bodily autonomy is wrong.

We also believe it's not wrong to be unhealthy, to refuse or be unable to recover, and that healthism is ableism. Disabled people (including neurodivergent people) are the most reliable authority on their own experiences. Also, if someone says they were called a slur, you should believe them, and they have a right to reclaim it regardless of if you think they have the "right" identity (outside of perhaps racial/ethnic slurs, which I feel is not our place to comment on). Slur, label, and flag discourse is all bullshit cop behavior and y'all need to stop it.

There's probably more that we'll come back and add later, but for now, here's a new pinned.

#pinned

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bat-writer · 1 year

Note

Hi! Couldn't find rules so I hope this is alright!

Could I please request Bruce Wayne getting close to a suspect just to see if she's going to be dangerous but ends up falling hard for her? She's not dangerous but she's a bit of an anti-hero and is an accomplice to a bigger villain, how's that like for him? She doesn't really do anything bad, she just doesn't do anything when the villain she's accompanying does something bad

Ty!!

A/N: I'm not sure if this is exactly what you were looking for but I hope you enjoy! 😭

Warnings; language | ~~~~: time skip

‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿ ‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

"Hey Alred, how have you been since the last time?" you ask taking the tea cup he served you. Now this was not a regular visit to just a friend. No, no, this was an interrogation.

By the Batman.

Now you weren't villain but you also weren't a hero. Not your style. You just needed benefits to get by, get fed, and have your bills paid. You'd pair with villains and simply get the information they needed. Bruce's issue with you is that you knew too information. The way that he would find out information is the same way you did. Only you were faster, more detailed and you always slipped away at the last minute.

Luckily you didn't provide information that would put other people in harms way. Although sometimes you did end up stealing or blackmailing those of higher social class into benefiting those who really needed it. However, he can't hold you to any crimes since, you never committed them nor were you an accessory at the scene. It has gotten to the point however that you come to the Batcave often to be asked questions. Even Alfred and you interact and even trade secrets to house keeping and cooking.

"So batman, what do we have questions about today?" you ask as the tall stoic hero comes into the room.

"You're aiming for certain organizations. Ones that are in charge of rebuilding a school. Why?" he asked with his signature glare

"looks bats," you sigh "those organizations aren't what you'd think they were. Sure they're made to look like they're for a good cause, but in the end they're all greedy assholes"

He huffs underneath the mask "So, stealing from-"

"The corrupt rich correct." you smile "And it's not just limited to snobby rich boys, but bigger villains like Penguin, Two-face, even Riddler had a couple of dollars to take just to name a couple."

"They don't donate," he added

"I know, but I need some way to keep my rent paid and keep them from blowing shit up, causing more work for you." you smirked at him

"I'm keeping you here for a couple of days just to lighten things up" he said as he pushed the buttons on his panel to open a clear cell.

"Ugh the cell again?" you groan "Wasn't I doing what a good citizen does though Bats?" you ask as you walk along side him. This wasn't the first time you spent the weekend with the Bat. But, since you weren't a threat to society, yourself or him, he was pretty relaxed around you. He opens the door for you to enter but you stop before stepping in

"pay me a visit after you patrol?" you said looking up at him seductively as your hand slides over his armored chest. You just loved teasing the ever so strong hero of Gotham "I get lonely ya know" you smile

"For now the books will keep you company. Alfred is here if you need help." he said stepping away.

Under neath that mask and armor was also a man who would yearn for the feeling of love. However, because of who he was, what he was - it was complicated.

"Alfred I'm heading out"

"Of course sir, anything I should be aware of?" he asks

"Nothing that I can recall. Y/N is in the cell for today and tomorrow night" he said getting into his bat mobile

"So no love affairs for tonight then?" he asks as the advanced vehicle closes with a hiss

"Keep things in control please" he asked dodging the question. This wasn't the first time this has happened. There has been playful banter, some flirting and maybe even a kiss on the cheek. Alfred would tease the hero in his own nonchalant way. And just like that, the billionaire hero skids from the cave and into the night.

"Looks like it's you and me tonight Alfred" you wave at the butler with a smile.

"I do believe there is a new episode of butlers 7 bucks tonight miss Y/N, would you care to join?" he said changing the large screen in the cave causing you to smile

"Of course I would"

~~~~~

Walking into the bat cave he didn't find much but you were right about villains pilling money for their own personal gain. But from the other organizations? He'll figure that out as Bruce Wayne. Looking over into the cell he sees you had fallen asleep, curled up to be as comfortable as possible.

Opening the door he takes off his cape and drapes it over your figure. Over to the next day he lets you go early since there really wasn't much more information you could give. Since you were somewhat a target for his usual villains, he'd check up every now and then to see if you were safe.

"So I'm free to go Batman?" you ask waltzing out of your cell "or is this another interrogation?"

"No more questions but I will pop in every now and then."

So every now and then he'd drop by your window and sometimes he'd stay a while and listen to you about your day. There was even one time where you had a pretty rough day and without asking you were comforted by this typically cold and quiet hero.

He held you much longer than a hug that was. You didn’t complain or push away, this felt more than a pity hug. There was want behind it, you felt his warmth. You look up at him with those e/c he loves to look into. Almost as if it were magnetic your lips come into contact with one another in a slow short kiss.

For what felt like hours staring into his eyes while his nose brushes against your own, you could feel your heart skip multiple beats. This then started happening multiple nights in a row.

Some night were sweet and innocent with some pecks or playful flirting. Some were even close to hot and heavy. Carrying you over to your countertop to enjoy your make out session as your bodies stay flush together. He’s sometimes stay a bit longer outside of your window until you fell asleep, as a precaution.

On a certain night however you were in this strange state of a passionate but also very delicate kiss. As if you had kissing for both the first and 100th time. His large hands cradling your face as he practically made you melt on the spot. You pull away to finally speak up on how you felt but, before you could even focus your vision or get your head straight he was ready to leave.

“Wait! Batman! Come on you can’t just leave like this!” You stop him

“…this Wouldn’t work Y/N. You know why…” he said trying not to sound defeated

“…i know but….couldn’t we try?” You ask teaching a hand out but drawing it back in hesitation

“We Can…but you won’t like what May come of me…” he said looking over his shoulder

“…but I could learn to like that version of you as well…” you try and plead with your eyes to him. He looks as though he wanted to elaborate on things but held himself back

“Take care of yourself, know that you aren’t in harms way” he says as he swoops off into the night.

“Ans just like that, the bat is gone” you groan as you “UGH. What am I thinking ?! This is the Batman not some guy I met at a-“ you stop as you see something stuck to your windowsill. A single piece of paper with a note

“Friday at 6. Dress nicely. -B”

“Huh, but bad bats…not bad at all” you from as you shut your blinds for the night. Tomorrow first thing in your list was to buy a dress.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

I hope this was somewhat what you were looking for! -Kitty 🐈‍⬛

#batman x reader #bruce wayne #batman #bruce wayne x reader #batman x fem!reader #dc comics #batman fanfiction #bruce wayne fanfiction #bruce wayne x fem!reader

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