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vexingwoman · 1 month

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Hello, I'm a trans person(I consider myself a trans woman but I assume you'd make some sort of objection to that term) and I think that defining woman without the female body is quite easy and does not depend on stereotypes. The two similarly worded ways I think are good is "a woman is an adult with a gender identity typically associated with those born female" and "a woman is an adult with a female gender identity." Now I think the term gender identity isn't the best term, but I use it in these definitions because people probably haven't heard of an older synonym like "psychological sex" that Harry Benjamin used or using phrases like "people with estrogen signaling pathways of the brain typical of females" based on the article I link to.

https://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2020/02/200205084203.htm

You know the next step here is for me to ask what exactly a female gender identity is. So we are still left with the underlying question: what are you actually identifying with? In my experience, gender ideologues usually define a female gender identity in one of the following ways:

1. “A female gender identity is a deep, internal sense or feeling of being female.” And to this I ask what feeling like a female means. Can you define this female feeling we all allegedly have without alluding to bio-essentialism or feminine stereotypes? And if such a feeling exists, how could a male ever know what that feeling is? What reference point does a male have to determine that his feelings are those of a female? None of these questions have ever been answered, because there is no deep, internal feeling to being female any more than there is to having red hair or freckles or brown eyes.

2. “A female gender identity is an identity which cannot be defined, because it is different for everyone.” Useless, but to this I ask by what metric are these identities all categorized as “female,” if they cannot be defined and have no common denominator among each other? Have you considered that what you’re referring to is not a gender identity, but simply a personality?

3. “A female gender identity is the identity of someone who conforms to the norms, behaviors, and roles associated with females.” And to this, I thank the responder for finally admitting that gender and gender identities hinge on nothing but sexist stereotypes and sex-based roles.

It’s that simple. Any definition of woman that isn’t “an adult female human” is either meaningless, or relies on sexist stereotypes, or relies on neurosexist myths. What’s most mind blowing to me, is how so many gender ideologues will openly admit that gender is a harmful, made up, and regressive social construct which ascribes certain roles and expectations to females, and others to males—but they still insist on defining women and men by this outdated, misogynistic construct rather than defining them by their sex. Insead of removing the stereotypes from the sex, they have removed the sex from the stereotypes—and somehow this is considered progressive. Revolutionary, even.

#terfblr #radical feminism #terfsafe #radblr #gender critical #radical feminist safe #misogny #sexism #trans logic #gender abolition #answered asks

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severetacoartisan · 2 years

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#market research future #facial recognition market #biometrics security market #facial recognition market size #bio-metrics security

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transmutationisms · 4 months

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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

#the favourite and the lobster also have some troubling body and disability politics and i think this is a throughline with lanthimos #but this one is particularly egregious to me given the ending lol #poor things

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chernabogs · 7 months

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if you're still taking requests, can you maybe do "You're lucky you're cute" with either Malleus or Sebek? (and reader) You can choose one of them and have fun!!

Thank youuuu this is just a glorified excuse for me to info dump about etiquette with Fae interactions LMAO (also I need to work more on my Sebek down the line... my boy...I will write him soon)

CAVEATS

Inc: Malleus, GN!Reader (referred to as Prefect once) Warnings: None! Except the ominous undercurrent of danger through words at the amusement of a Fae WC: 2.5k! Excerpt: Truthfully, many of the things he’s saying are things humans should know—but the crevice between the sharing of information from Fae to humans means many of the modern humans don’t. He’s granting you a one up by doing this—at his own entertainment.

People find it hard to speak of things with him sometimes. Exulansis, Malleus learns it’s called. A resignation to stop talking about an experience because the other cannot relate. When the other House wardens speak of motor vehicles, of vacations, of the latest tech and similar topics he finds his mind turning in circles as he puzzles over what that experience is like. What is a vacation to the Tropical Isles like? What benefits does a magic-powered vehicle have over a gas-consuming one?

Perhaps he has a face when they speak of this. A furrow in his brow, a darkening of his gaze. He doesn’t mean it in hostility—it’s all coming from a purely clinical stance. He’s tried so many times just to get his older flip phone model to work that he’s entirely given up comprehending what this ‘widget’ is, or the benefits of ‘bio-metrics’, which sounds like some poison you’d feed someone in his opinion.

Maybe this is why he finds somewhat of a solace in your company at times like this. Even though you seem to know all about most of the things the others speak of, you’re still clueless about the magic aspects, and that gives him something of a purpose—explaining those to you.

“What if you mix it?”

You’re lying back on the stones of a cottage that once stood proudly in the forest surrounding Night Raven College. It’s since been reduced to nothing more but a few bits of the foundation and a lot of rotting wood. He raises an incredulous eyebrow at your words.

“No, I would not recommend combining any fire magic with any form of wind magic. Most think it would just blow the fire out, but you are more apt to end up with an inferno than a resolution. Fire magic is measurably different from your flint and stick type, after all.” His gaze travels over your form as your expression shifts to one of intense thought. It reminds him of the one he wears when speaking with Shroud about his broke phone (again)—and it feels wonderful to be on the receiving end.

“Grim and Ace did that once, you know. Combined Grims fire with wind magic Ace summoned. I probably should have thought of that before asking you.” You sit up with a groan and rub your face. “What about water magic, then?”

“It depends on if the mage has used a sub-spell when summoning their fire spell. If a sub-spell was used with the intent of permitting the flames to burn more intensely, such as an oil or metal, then the water would simply feed the flames more. Hence why it’s quite important to pay attention to what your opponent’s actions are.” You remind him a little of Sebek and Silver when they were younger and just trying to master their own magic. You have the same curious disposition—and frustration about things just not being concise.

You give him another look as you pick up the book you had tossed aside earlier. When he had invited you for a walk with him, he hadn’t anticipated it becoming a late-night study session. It was a refreshing experience, though—an opportunity for a ‘school-life’ moment that Lilia always pushed him to have. Midnight cramming.

“When fighting someone, aren’t there a whole ton of other things to worry about beyond whether a sub-spell was used or not?” You sigh as you begin flipping through the pages. He notes that your writing gets rather chaotic at some points, and figures these are the things you’re picking his brain over.

“Not every incidence of magic is for combat purposes. Why, in Briar Valley, magic is used for the most basic of tasks—such as cooking. That ties in with the fire information I just disclosed, no?” His lips quirk into the faintest of smiles. “It would be in poor taste if the cooks at the Palace were to mix magic with the wrong sub-spell by mistake.”

“Have you ever barbecued something before? It’s practically combat.”

Barbecue. Malleus remembers the first time he tried grilled meat, when he was younger, and Lilia had enough with the raw diet the prince had been kept on for the majority. The food had tasted like charred wood and from that point on Malleus had deliberately minimized his requests for it. “I am… not experienced at the barbecue, no.”

“The barbecue.” You repeat, glancing at him with a smirk. “So, Briar Valley doesn’t have any fun cookouts? No throwing something on the BBQ and having a night of it?”

“This is getting off topic.” He stands from where he was sitting on the foundation next to you and waves a hand. “Perhaps you should return to your dorm and study there. We can reconvene another time.”

Your expression shifts to surprise and you’re quick to protest his words. “No, no, I’d rather we stay. Besides, I’m not going to do anything if I go back, and you’re probably not going to do anything if you go back, so…”

“So?” He repeats with a raised eyebrow as a bright grin appears on your face.

“Is it not better to do something together then nothing on our own?”

Ah, you’re trying to work a strange sort of logic to your argument here. His arms cross over his chest as he looks from where you sit and out to the dark woods that surround you. It’s a quiet night, with a few fireflies flashing amongst the trees that loom like dark figures just beyond. Their towering presence ignites a sense of occhiolism that has him moving just a few steps closer to you.

“Do you desire my company so much? All I’ve done is give you answers to your homework woes.” He gives a pointed look to the pen and book you have in hand as a flash of embarrassment crosses your face. You shift uncomfortably and close the book.

“Well, I do want to say thank you for all that you’ve done so far…” You mumble. Your comment strikes a thought in his mind as he observes you a bit closer. “I guess I don’t really need to keep bugging you with questions.”

“Did I ever imply it was a bother?” He moves through the grass to sit back down next to you. The lack of sound that his motions make would be unsettling to most, but your blindness to the unusual and the strange makes you seem entirely unaffected. “Do not read things that aren’t there.”

“I… sorry?” He can see you struggling a little to navigate the right thing to say, and this brings a sense of amusement to him. Your confusion about this discussion may be mean on his part, but it’s only temporary.

Malleus may not know much in terms of technology, or the best place for a vacation, or whether a gas-car is a better deal—but he does know magic. And he is feeling rather playful this evening as he watches your panicked gaze dart around his features.

“Do your studies incorporate learning of magical beings, by chance?” He begins to lay the foundations for his plan as your shoulders relax at his question. You hum and flip around the book.

“I mean, vaguely? There’s a bit about dwarves, and elves, and a very small paragraph on the Fae… but not much else.”

He clicks his tongue as his pale fingers reach out to touch the edges of the pages. “Oh, that won’t do. You can be forgiven for not understanding magical spells should you ever visit Briar Valley, but to not understand the Fae? You might find yourself in conflict.”

Then he makes his expression light up. “I would feel terrible should that happen, knowing I could prevent it, so I ask now—would you like to know more about my species?”

It’s like dangling a forbidden fruit in front of a starving soul. He rarely shares anything about himself or his thoughts, even though you’ve both been attending these walks together for a few weeks now. You close the book again and nod, and that’s all he needs you to do. “Sure, thank you!”

Your politeness is quaint—but he knows such an approach may not last once he begins talking. He smiles a little more, and it’s an expression to hide how eager he feels about this.

“To begin, you may find that while all of us have a degree of pride, some of us are more prideful than others. You are very generous with your thankfulness and apologetic responses, and although I appreciate the words and the acts as I know they come from a place of good intent… this is not the case for all my kind.” He hums thoughtfully. “In fact, some may think your thanks imply that they are subservient or—even worse—that you are now in debt to them.”

He pauses and lets his words linger as they run through your mind. Your eyes widen slightly. “Subservient? I don’t want anyone thinking that whenever I just say thanks.”

“I know that, and so does Lilia, but that’s because we’ve interacted with humans a great deal. Some Fae have very little interaction, and with that, hold very old beliefs. One should simply be… cautious. Express gratitude for what they have done, but do not say thanks.”

Malleus feels his amusement grow as your expression becomes solemn at his words. He takes it as a sign to continue as he taps his nails against his thigh.

Truthfully, many of the things he’s saying are things humans should know—but the crevice between the sharing of information from Fae to humans means many of the modern humans don’t.

He’s granting you a one up by doing this—at his own entertainment.

“We also value honesty immensely. Have I ever lied to you?” He asks, and when you shake your head with confidence, he chuckles. “No, and so I would hope that sentiment would be reciprocated. Lying or deliberately keeping information from me is something I don’t appreciate, but I will not curse you over it like some may.”

“This makes me feel like I’m in politics instead of a conversation,” you mumble, resting your chin in your palm. He hums and nods.

“In a sense, it is like politics. Be cautious of what you say, and if you don’t know what to say, say nothing at all. The same applies to accepting gifts—both obvious and not. Accept what you trust, but if you have a bad feeling, decline and simply do so in a way that is not apologetic.”

“How do I know if something is being given as a gift?” There’s concern in your tone as you ask this. It makes Malleus smile wider—a sharp flash of white fangs in the dark—and he shrugs.

“You don’t always. For example, you were quick to accept my offer of this information, even though this information itself is a gift. But we have a rapport; I trust you, as you trust me.” He stops tapping his thigh. “It’s the same for how willing you and the others have been at granting me and Lilia your names. There’s a great deal of magic tied into a person's name.”

Malleus notes that flash of unease in your gaze again as you grip your book a bit tighter. Perhaps this is unsettling to you. Perhaps the reminder of just how different the two of you are is throwing you into a perilous loop; you became comfortable enough with him that you began to see him as equal, and the reminder that you aren’t is jarring.

He doesn’t want to scare you too terribly, though. This isn’t what these lures of information were meant to do. It was meant to amuse him with your expressions and awe at these simple rules of etiquette, but also to guarantee your safety if—well, when—he asks you delicately to visit Briar Valley soon. Plus, you are the one consistent person outside of his close family who has bothered to hold extended conversations with him.

“What can you do with my name?” You ask slowly. It’s a valid question. What can he do with your name?

“Oh, one can do many things with a name. Take it as their own, bend it out of shape, lock it in a box or toss it into the sea. A Fae can wipe it from your mind and put it in their pocket should they be so inclined. They can make you do whatever it is they please.” Not that many would anymore. Perhaps in the days when humans and Fae were at war the notoriety of name-theft was known throughout the Valley, but in these recent days of languid peace, name-theft is more apt to find the Fae imprisoned than anything else.

“And will you?” You ask, catching him off guard for a moment. When he looks at you again, you look nervous as you stare back. “Take my name, or anyone else's?”

Malleus blinks slowly as he processes your words. Ah… maybe this has gone too far now. He softens his expression and watches as this mirrors on your own. Then he warms his smile to grant some reassurance as he laughs softly. “Oh, no, no. You have my name as well—we are equal, in a sense. I don’t have power over you or anyone else in this school beyond what any other mage may hold.”

You exhale slowly and relax your shoulders. His words have put you at ease and this pleases him before your expression takes a sharp turn into a scowl.

“Thanks for instilling all this paranoia in me. You know, when I finally visit you in Briar Valley, I’m going to be triple thinking everything that comes out of my mouth now.”

“When?” He jumps on that word really quick as his expression shifts to one of smug delight. He didn’t even need to push the topic—you just dove headfirst into it yourself. He hears you clear your throat loudly as you yank open your book again.

“Don’t. I’m going to write this all down in the margins before I forget,” you grumble as he chuckles softly again.

“Ah, you’re lucky you’re cute, Prefect.” He hums as he returns his attention to the treeline beyond. The fireflies continue to lazily flash in the night, and the silence of the forest brings a sense of peace. There’s solace in your company—and he looks forward to experiencing it more in the future.

So long as you don’t agitate another Fae. He can’t help you with everything.

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst x reader #malleus draconia

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tektronixtechnology · 7 months

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Unlocking the Efficiency: Turnstile Speed Gate Solutions in Abu Dhabi

In the bustling metropolis of Abu Dhabi, where modernity converges with tradition, the need for secure and efficient access control systems has never been greater. Turnstile speed gates have emerged as a prominent solution to meet these demands, ensuring seamless access management for a wide range of facilities. In this article, we will delve into the world of Turnstile Speed Gate solutions in Abu Dhabi, exploring their benefits, applications, and why they have become indispensable in the capital city.

Understanding Turnstile Speed Gates

Before we embark on the journey of exploring Turnstile Speed Gates, let's take a moment to understand what they are. Turnstile Speed Gates are sophisticated access control systems designed to regulate the flow of people in and out of a designated area. They consist of rotating horizontal arms or panels that allow one person at a time to pass through upon verification of their credentials, such as access cards or biometric authentication.

The Evolution of Access Control :

Traditional Access Control

In the past, access control relied heavily on manual processes and security personnel. While effective to some extent, it posed limitations in terms of efficiency, accuracy, and scalability. Traditional access control systems were also susceptible to human error and could be bypassed, compromising security.

The Rise of Turnstile Speed Gates

With advancements in technology, Turnstile Speed Gates have emerged as a superior alternative. These high-tech gates offer a myriad of benefits that address the shortcomings of traditional systems.

Advantages of Turnstile Speed Gates:

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Turnstile Speed Gates are equipped with state-of-the-art authentication methods, making it nearly impossible for unauthorized individuals to gain access. This robust security feature is vital for critical infrastructure, government buildings, and corporate offices.

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These gates can seamlessly integrate with other security systems, including CCTV cameras and biometric scanners, creating a comprehensive security ecosystem.

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nat-20s · 2 months

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a fic featuring Fourteen and Donna being so so eepy (also on a03)

During one of The Doctor’s usual puttering about at 3 am in the Tardis, they immediately notice two things about a certain door. The first is that in the latest rearrangement of the floor plan, this door has gone from the hidden depths of what we’ll call it “the basement”, to a fairly central area of the top level. Second, and perhaps more alarmingly, this door that has been locked for millennia is now cracked ajar.

He doesn’t, however, feel any immediate panic. Instead, a little smile he can’t quite hold back appears on his face. Soft in their old age, really. Should at the very least check that what he thinks is behind the door is there, and not some sort of intruder. Technically, while the bio-metric locks that had been put in place were some of the finest in the universe, he had enough experience to know that no locks were truly unpickable.

As gingerly as possible, The Doctor opens the door enough to peek their head inside; it’s immediately revealed that he truly needn’t have worried about a break in. Donna Noble, currently prone on the bed, had been the one to open her room, just as he had guessed.

He should have worried about how now, apparently, Donna was an extremely light sleeper. He had been almost certain that he hadn’t made a noise, but not even a full second later, she rolls over to face the door and stirs awake. Blinking away some of the sleep, she sees him and gives him a half-sheepish, half-tired smile. Before he can say something along the lines of “don’t mind me, get some rest”, she pats the space next to her and gives him a “c’mere” nod of the head.

The Doctor goes willingly, and even manages to not hold their breath stepping through the former mausoleum of their best friend’s memory. He settles next to her, face to face in a classic “talking too late at night during a sleepover” pose. Because of who they are, he can’t help but let the first thing he says be, “I seem to remember someone lecturing me about sleeping in the Tardis when there’s a perfectly good bed in a perfectly good house, spaceman.”

Donna must be half-awake, because instead of arguing, she gives a one shoulder shrug and scrunches up her nose in amusement. “You caught me.”

“I thought everyone but Granddad was at the London house tonight?”

“Oh, they are. Work ran late and here was closer, so I sent off a text letting them know I was crashing here instead.”

“In the Tardis?”

“Well. No. That’s my little secret. Or, I suppose, our little secret now.”

The Doctor raises an eyebrow at her, asking for more info, to which she replies with a sigh. “You know, I wasn’t a super fussy baby-”

“-a bit shocking to hear, considering-”

“Oi! As I was saying, I wasn’t colicky or anything like that, but if Mum just could not get me to settle down, she would pop me in a car seat and drive around the neighborhood. Said I was out like a light within minutes.”

He has no idea where this story is going. He finds he doesn’t mind. It’s silly and sappy of him (what isn’t, these days?), but he finds it deeply charming when Donna goes on a little ramble. Especially when sleepiness is slowing her words and she keeps blinking for more and more seconds. They think they’ll get maybe 5 more minutes to chat before she’s fully gone again, and they’re going to savor it. She continues, “She stopped doing that when I old enough to toddle into their room and fall asleep between them. God, one morning they had gotten up early and I apparently screamed my little head off thinking they had left me forever.”

She says that last statement with a roll of her eyes, passing it off as one of those things kids do, but The Doctor’s heart lets out a pang. He wishes he could’ve told little Donna that it was okay, that her parents are there and they love her so so much. He wishes he could tell all Donnas that she won’t be left behind, not in the end. (They also wish they could tell themselves that they don’t get left behind, eventually.)

Personal timelines, however, are messy, and best left alone. Instead, he stays now, and he listens, and he takes Donna’s hand in his own. “Honestly, I don’t think my sleeping habits have changed that much. I still hate sleeping alone. I still hate sleeping motionless. Stick me on a boat with someone to cuddle up to and I’ll have the best rest of my life.”

She looks around the room briefly, then presses her forehead to the Doctor’s and continues, “You know, kind of like the nights I spent here. The Tardis, this room...it was only my home for a year. But it was also the most home I had been for a long, long time. And the house is lovely, so lovely, still can’t believe you bought us a house, but right now it’s too quiet and I missed it here. The various whirs and clicks and hums the Tardis makes? Better than any white noise machine on the market.”

The Doctor grins at her, feeling a bit smug and a lot soppy. “Now you know how I feel.”

She gives a half hearted poke at his chest, which is rather undercut by the yawn she lets out. “Still, ‘spect you to stay with us the majority of the nights.”

“Hey, I’m with you right now, aren’t I?”

She closes her eyes, giving a grin and a hushed, “Yeah, you are,” before slipping straight back to dream land. He technically could slip away now, but he’s already under the covers, are the steady breathing of his best friend is having a rather lulling effect. Remembering that he’s now allowed to rest, whenever he wants, he snuggles in closer, pulls the blankets tighter around them, and does just that.

#*cracks knuckles*#okay tag time #my fic #doctor who #fourteenth doctor #tennant doctor #donna noble #what if we were best friends and we coslept in your old room #what then

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