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lisandrascafe:
Pacific Rim Uprising is anti monster fucker propaganda and a crime against Gillermo del Toro
lisandrascafe:
Pacific Rim Uprising is anti monster fucker propaganda and a crime against Gillermo del Toro
Mar. 26th, 2018
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icbiwf:
the-cimmerians:
too-bassoon:
firesnaps:
I had someone tell me that dislike of Umbridge is usually from ingrained sexism toward female villains. I kind of stared in shock — I mean I love my lady villains. I love nasty female villains. I love sneaky and clever female villains. I love female villains that wrap themselves up in what the patriarchy expects of them and uses those expectations to smash someone upside the head.
I tried to explain my hatred of Umbridge isn’t that she’s full of traditionally feminine attributes.
It’s that she’s lawful evil.
If you did an alignment chart, no one would represent lawful evil more than Umbridge. I don’t think there’s ever been a character that better sums up lawful evil.
And, to me, lawful evil is the most terrifying and disturbing evil there is.
To me, lawful evil is the shit that gets thousands of people killed while the person responsible walks away feeling like they did their duty.
Evil forces like Bellatrix and Voldemort are fairy tales. They’re the bad guys a good guy can chase away with a sword or wand.
Umbridge is that evil that really does lurk in the hearts of men (and women). The realness, the plausibility of it, makes her amazingly uncomfortable.
So, yeah, I can’t get as excited about her as a fantasy book creation as easily as some other female villains. Not because she’s a woman, or because of her gender presentation, but because she represents a sort of evil that’s far, far too close to home.
Voldemort is stereotypically scary, but he’s a very unreal kind of scary. Umbridge is different. Everyone’s had an umbridge.
yes because lawful evil wraps itself in righteousness and oppresses you through approved systems and hierarchies that nobody is supposed to question
Lawful evil is also harder to fight because Lawful Good will defend them.
I’m sorry, I disagree. Steve Rogers would beat the crap out of Umbridge every day of the week. It’s Javert that would defend her.
icbiwf:
the-cimmerians:
too-bassoon:
firesnaps:
I had someone tell me that dislike of Umbridge is usually from ingrained sexism toward female villains. I kind of stared in shock — I mean I love my lady villains. I love nasty female villains. I love sneaky and clever female villains. I love female villains that wrap themselves up in what the patriarchy expects of them and uses those expectations to smash someone upside the head.
I tried to explain my hatred of Umbridge isn’t that she’s full of traditionally feminine attributes.
It’s that she’s lawful evil.
If you did an alignment chart, no one would represent lawful evil more than Umbridge. I don’t think there’s ever been a character that better sums up lawful evil.
And, to me, lawful evil is the most terrifying and disturbing evil there is.
To me, lawful evil is the shit that gets thousands of people killed while the person responsible walks away feeling like they did their duty.
Evil forces like Bellatrix and Voldemort are fairy tales. They’re the bad guys a good guy can chase away with a sword or wand.
Umbridge is that evil that really does lurk in the hearts of men (and women). The realness, the plausibility of it, makes her amazingly uncomfortable.
So, yeah, I can’t get as excited about her as a fantasy book creation as easily as some other female villains. Not because she’s a woman, or because of her gender presentation, but because she represents a sort of evil that’s far, far too close to home.
Voldemort is stereotypically scary, but he’s a very unreal kind of scary. Umbridge is different. Everyone’s had an umbridge.
yes because lawful evil wraps itself in righteousness and oppresses you through approved systems and hierarchies that nobody is supposed to question
Lawful evil is also harder to fight because Lawful Good will defend them.
I’m sorry, I disagree. Steve Rogers would beat the crap out of Umbridge every day of the week. It’s Javert that would defend her.
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A lovely reference to my fic Anteverse Refugee, where Hermann is secretly a Kaiju and Newt has zero problems with this.
A lovely reference to my fic Anteverse Refugee, where Hermann is secretly a Kaiju and Newt has zero problems with this.
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It’s odd, but when Newt announces that he’s taken a job in Tokyo- Hermann finds he doesn’t care at all. No, not that he doesn’t care. That is doesn’t mean anything. As thought Newt were telling him he was going to work down the road, and ten thousand miles between Japan and England is just… nothing.
And when the day comes when they part at the airport, there are no hugs, no sad words goodbye. Newt gives him a slightly puzzled smile, “I’ll- be in touch, I guess.”
“Of course.” Hermann smiles back, and although their bodies walk away, to the disparate boarding gates and their separate flights- most of them doesn’t move. Still there, still close. The thrum of their heartbeats comforting in their ears, the touch of their breath. Like a hand so close as to touch hair, but not quite skin, not there, but there in all the ways that count.
Hermann smiles and closes his eyes as the plane hums and picks up speed. Newt’s must be taking off by now too- the world growing between them, the miles growing wide-
And meaningless, when it’s the work of a thought to reach out through the entangled strands of their minds, and touch, so close, so warm.
He doesn’t try and talk, there is nothing to say- to cheapen with warms. Just the pleasure of being together, the comfort of their living drift.
The flight is really bumpy- Newt comments.
Shh. Hermann sighs. So much for that.
It’s odd, but when Newt announces that he’s taken a job in Tokyo- Hermann finds he doesn’t care at all. No, not that he doesn’t care. That is doesn’t mean anything. As thought Newt were telling him he was going to work down the road, and ten thousand miles between Japan and England is just… nothing.
And when the day comes when they part at the airport, there are no hugs, no sad words goodbye. Newt gives him a slightly puzzled smile, “I’ll- be in touch, I guess.”
“Of course.” Hermann smiles back, and although their bodies walk away, to the disparate boarding gates and their separate flights- most of them doesn’t move. Still there, still close. The thrum of their heartbeats comforting in their ears, the touch of their breath. Like a hand so close as to touch hair, but not quite skin, not there, but there in all the ways that count.
Hermann smiles and closes his eyes as the plane hums and picks up speed. Newt’s must be taking off by now too- the world growing between them, the miles growing wide-
And meaningless, when it’s the work of a thought to reach out through the entangled strands of their minds, and touch, so close, so warm.
He doesn’t try and talk, there is nothing to say- to cheapen with warms. Just the pleasure of being together, the comfort of their living drift.
The flight is really bumpy- Newt comments.
Shh. Hermann sighs. So much for that.
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They go back together, to the small house of the outskirts of Cambridge. Newt had never seen it, but he knew the address, knew off by fucking heart, after all these years. 34 Richard’s Close, Cambridge, CB7 9HH. It sing-songs in Newt’s head and he smiles a little- all those years, all those letters- and even more he had written and gotten far enough to jot down the address before the dread seized his stomach and he threw them away or- burned them.
Hermann unlocks the door and pushes it open. Newt hoists their bags and sidles in. The house is inches thick in dust and he starts sneezing almost at once. Hermann covers his mouth and stumbles over to throw the windows open. It’s dank and musty, and the lights don’t work.
“I will try and call the electricians.” Hermann coughed, “Look in the bedroom for candles.”
“Okay.” Newt tries to hold back another sneeze as he stumbles over to the door. It’s a bit less dusty here, one window has been cracked open- maybe Hermann forgot to close it when he left.
Newt glances around, there isn’t much, Hermann doesn’t collect shit the way Newt does, and most of his stuff he must have taken with him. He finds a nice candle in a box beside the en-suit bathroom with some very old frou-frou bubblebath that makes him grin.
It’s while he’s sitting down looking through the box for more candles that he sees them. It’s just at eye-level, or he’d have missed it- a little pack of letters stuffed under the mattress of the bed.
Oh wow- are those his letters? Did Hermann pine over them all those years ago and dream about him too? Newt grins, and teases one out- which one was that? The one where he’d talked about Hermann coming to MIT and everything they would do together? He’d had to write that one like five times because every time he was ready to send it he’d get cold feet. It’s a disjointed mess from where he’d cut out all the porno bits.
But when he opens the letter, it’s not his crabbed, scrabbling handwriting there, but Hermann’s slanted scratchings.
My dearest Newton,
I am not wearing any clothes writing this-
Newt chokes, and furls the letter again a little too quickly. He holds his breath, listening to Hermann’s muffled voice coming from the living room. He glances behind him to make sure he’s not in sight, and sneaks the letter open again.
When I write these letters, I imagine you here with me. I still have that photo you sent me, you are so beautiful, my love.
Newt closes the letter again, face flushing red and an unbearable grin breaking out. He choked off a giggle, and looked at all those letters- all written by Hermann, and all never sent. He peeked again at the letter.
I imagine you here, naked. I think about what I will do to you, when we meet-
“What are you doing?” Hermann’s voice drops in horror.
Newt turns and grins, holding up the letter. “Your postal system sucks, dude, but better late than never.”
They go back together, to the small house of the outskirts of Cambridge. Newt had never seen it, but he knew the address, knew off by fucking heart, after all these years. 34 Richard’s Close, Cambridge, CB7 9HH. It sing-songs in Newt’s head and he smiles a little- all those years, all those letters- and even more he had written and gotten far enough to jot down the address before the dread seized his stomach and he threw them away or- burned them.
Hermann unlocks the door and pushes it open. Newt hoists their bags and sidles in. The house is inches thick in dust and he starts sneezing almost at once. Hermann covers his mouth and stumbles over to throw the windows open. It’s dank and musty, and the lights don’t work.
“I will try and call the electricians.” Hermann coughed, “Look in the bedroom for candles.”
“Okay.” Newt tries to hold back another sneeze as he stumbles over to the door. It’s a bit less dusty here, one window has been cracked open- maybe Hermann forgot to close it when he left.
Newt glances around, there isn’t much, Hermann doesn’t collect shit the way Newt does, and most of his stuff he must have taken with him. He finds a nice candle in a box beside the en-suit bathroom with some very old frou-frou bubblebath that makes him grin.
It’s while he’s sitting down looking through the box for more candles that he sees them. It’s just at eye-level, or he’d have missed it- a little pack of letters stuffed under the mattress of the bed.
Oh wow- are those his letters? Did Hermann pine over them all those years ago and dream about him too? Newt grins, and teases one out- which one was that? The one where he’d talked about Hermann coming to MIT and everything they would do together? He’d had to write that one like five times because every time he was ready to send it he’d get cold feet. It’s a disjointed mess from where he’d cut out all the porno bits.
But when he opens the letter, it’s not his crabbed, scrabbling handwriting there, but Hermann’s slanted scratchings.
My dearest Newton,
I am not wearing any clothes writing this-
Newt chokes, and furls the letter again a little too quickly. He holds his breath, listening to Hermann’s muffled voice coming from the living room. He glances behind him to make sure he’s not in sight, and sneaks the letter open again.
When I write these letters, I imagine you here with me. I still have that photo you sent me, you are so beautiful, my love.
Newt closes the letter again, face flushing red and an unbearable grin breaking out. He choked off a giggle, and looked at all those letters- all written by Hermann, and all never sent. He peeked again at the letter.
I imagine you here, naked. I think about what I will do to you, when we meet-
“What are you doing?” Hermann’s voice drops in horror.
Newt turns and grins, holding up the letter. “Your postal system sucks, dude, but better late than never.”