#and i hate that it has been so capitalized and exploited

[transfemme-shelterdog]

I have a bit (a lot) of a porn addiction and I've been hating the way it makes me feel and the guilt of getting off to things that shouldn't be arousing to me (like shit that negatively affects me mentally) so I've been trying to break the addiction. I decided to see what resources might be available on Tumblr because seeing other peoples' stories is more helpful to me than reading an article that rehashes the same shit every other article does for the 27th time.

Every. Single. Post. Is tagged with some variation of "radfem safe" or "terfs interact" or something. Like why???? I want to find NORMAL people sharing their success stories or what worked for them. I don't want to be bombarded with "men are evil, porn is evil, this is all trans peoples' fault" (somehow??? Idk how its trans peoples' fault but according to them it is).

Like I get the porn industry is misogynistic and pedophilic and lots of those "actors" dont want to be there/are forced. But I already know all this. Its one of the reasons I'd like to step away. So it'd be so cool if people could just tell me how to do that??? I dont need radfems telling me to kill myself because I saw a boob online once. Like jfc. They also only focus on women in porn and how women are always the victims but I usually watch gay male stuff or just solo male stuff. So everything they're saying is even more useless than usual. Like are some of these men not victims too?? Apparently not to them. Which is insane.

There's a significant overlap between anti-porn feminism, and radical feminism.

Both deal with issues of black and white thinking that doesn't allow for any nuance. Are some people exploited? Sure. That's capitalism.

Is me posting pics of my tits on Tumblr an indication that I'm being exploited? No. I do it because I want to. But radfems think that *all* porn is bad. Which is a ridiculous assertion.

I have very mixed feelings on the concept of "porn addiction" as a woman who had Christmas ruined by my mother breaking my father's ribs (not an exaggeration, he got xrays and the hospital said they were broken) because she found out he liked looking at porn here and there, and it almost lead to their divorce because of his "addiction".

So, as a person who has heard all about porn "addiction" from my parents, the only advice I can give you is that you're gonna have a hard time finding resources that either aren't "Porn is evil" or "Looking at porn taints your soul and makes it so you'll never have sex again, so turn to Jesus".

If you truly think you have an addiction (you're neglecting your daily duties and responsibilities, and putting yourself in financial trouble because of porn), treat it like any addiction and when the urges arise, work on a hobby. That's what alcoholics do. They wanna drink? They hit the gym, or go do woodworking.

Occupy your time with other things, and you'll be too busy to jerk off.

[suuho]

by the way, i think it is a wonderful thing to be a fan of something, to admire different kinds of art and artists, and i do think that it is a fundamentally human characteristic that connects people, and changes them for the better. the idea that someone has created something that resonates with you, and that you get to love and cherish and engage with, is at the core of humanity, and community, and human-kind, and brings us all together. it is a necessity to live, even, and i think that is a beautiful thing.

[aryadelvich]

Love, Hate Thing - Luigi Mangione x Reader

It's always like that between you and him, constantly competing, you hating him for being so good, and Luigi hating you for never giving him rest. You couldn't stand each other.

Also thanks you for your comments, likes and reblog 🥹🫶 It’s warm my heart

I want to thank Spotify for accompanying me for this story ;)

Here’s an Updated Masterlist

Luigi leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his broad chest, his piercing green/brown eyes narrowing at you like you'd just declared war. His curls fell slightly into his face, and he pushed them back with a practiced flick of his hand.

You smirked, leaning forward on your elbows, your own gaze never wavering.

"And here I thought you were paying attention in class. Guess not. Maybe if you spent less time flexing your abs for the cheer squad and more time studying, you'd actually keep up."

His jaw tightened, but there was something else in his expression—something that made his usual cocky grin falter for half a second. He recovered quickly, though, flashing that signature smile that made half the campus swoon.

"Funny. I don't recall asking for your opinion on how I spend my time. But hey, if you're so obsessed with my abs, maybe I should start charging for the view."

You swear, if this guy wasn't built like a Greek god, you'd have punched him by now.

But you didn't punch him. Instead, you rolled your eyes, shoving your notes into your bag with more force than necessary.

"Don't flatter yourself, Mangione. Your ego's already big enough to fill this entire lecture hall."

He laughed, low and deep, and it grated on your nerves.

« Whatever you say, Y/N. But I'm gonna win the debate competition." He trailed off, letting the implication hang in the air between him and you.

It's been two years consecutive that he wins this competition, and you knew that it's was your chance to prove yourself and for the same occasion humiliate him.

You stood abruptly, slinging your bag over your shoulder.

"Good luck catching up," you said, your tone dripping with sarcasm. "You're gonna need it."

As your walked away, you could feel his eyes on you, burning into your back like twin lasers. What the hell is his problem? You thought, your heart pounding for reasons you refused to acknowledge.

You've been at each other's throats since freshman year, competing for top marks in every class, trading barbs whenever you crossed paths. It was exhausting, infuriating... and somehow, weirdly exhilarating.

Two Weeks Later – Debate Competition

The auditorium buzzed with anticipation as the final round of the debate competition began. The topic? "Is capitalism inherently exploitative?"

You stood at your podium, pulse steady, determination burning in your chest. Across from you, Luigi leaned against his own, exuding the same infuriating confidence he always did. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing his forearms, and he had that smug little smirk like he'd already won.

Not this time.

The moderator signaled for the debate to begin. Luigi started, his voice smooth and authoritative.

"Capitalism has lifted millions out of poverty, fostering innovation, competition, and economic growth. The free market incentivizes efficiency, rewarding those who work hard and contribute to society."

You let him talk, feigning disinterest as you twirled your pen between your fingers. When it was your turn, you took a deep breath and smiled.

"That's a nice fairy tale, Mangione. But let's talk reality. The wealth gap is wider than ever, workers are exploited for profit, and entire industries thrive on underpaying laborers while CEOs collect bonuses the size of small countries. If capitalism really rewarded hard work, explain why nurses barely make a livable wage while hedge fund managers get rich moving numbers around on a screen."

Luigi narrowed his eyes. "That's an oversimplification. The market adjusts itself. When a system is inefficient, it evolves—industries that fail to provide value either adapt or collapse. Competition forces innovation. If wages are too low, businesses will struggle to retain talent, and the market will naturally push salaries higher. Government intervention only distorts this balance, creating inefficiencies that harm long-term economic growth. The reality is, capitalism isn't perfect, but no other system has produced the same level of progress and opportunity."

"So you're saying child labor in sweatshops is just an inefficiency that'll 'fix itself'?" you responded smoothly.

A ripple of murmurs ran through the audience. Luigi hesitated—just for a second. His sisters, sitting with his parents in the front row, exchanged glances. You caught the small, proud smile on your own mother's face.

Game on.

You pressed forward, dismantling his every counterpoint with cold, hard facts. Every time he tried to regain control of the debate, you had an answer waiting. And for the first time since you'd started competing against him, he had nothing left to say.

When the final vote came in, the judges's decision was tight. But You won.

Luigi stared at the results, lips parted slightly, as if trying to process what had just happened.

"You okay there, Mangione?" you teased, stepping closer. "You look a little... shocked."

He blinked, then let out a slow exhale, running a hand through his curls.

"Huh," he muttered, shaking his head. "Didn't think I'd live to see the day."

You grinned, savoring the moment. "Better get used to it."

"You know," Luigi's voice was calmer now, lacking its usual teasing edge, "I didn't lose because you were better than me."

You turned, arching a brow. "Oh? So what, you tripped over your own ego and face-planted into defeat?"

He let out a short chuckle, shaking his head before meeting your gaze. But this time, there was no smug grin, no hint of competition—just honesty.

"I lost because I didn't even believe what I was saying."

You blinked, caught off guard. "What?"

Luigi sighed, leaning against one of the tables. "I've defended ideas in debates before. Won every time. But today? I couldn't bring myself to mean it."

He ran a hand through his curls, his lips pressing into a thin line.

"I know how messed up the system is. I know that no matter how much you try to justify it, it does exploit people. And the second I started talking, I realized I didn't have the same fire I usually do."

You crossed your arms, studying him. This was... unexpected.

"So, what? You're telling me you lost on purpose? »

"Of course not," he scoffed, shooting you a look. "I gave everything I had. But when you're up against someone who genuinely believes what they're saying? Someone who can argue with conviction? You don't stand a chance."

A slow smirk tugged at your lips. "Sounds like an excuse to me, Mangione."

He rolled his eyes. "Oh, shut up.”

You took a step closer, tilting your head. "You know, the whole point of oratory is to convince people, even when you don't believe in what you're saying."

Luigi's gaze flickered with interest. "So you're saying you could argue for capitalism and win?"

You shrugged. "Maybe."

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. "That's terrifying."

You grinned. "That's debate"

For a moment, there was silence. The usual sharp tension between you had shifted into something else—something quieter. He watched you with an unreadable expression, and for once, you didn't feel the need to break the moment with a snarky remark.

But then he smirked. "Enjoy your victory while it lasts, Y/N. Next time, I won't go easy on you."

You scoffed. "You didn't go easy on me. You just lost."

His smile faltered for half a second, then he laughed under his breath. "Right. Keep telling yourself that."

Before you could respond, your little sister, darted right past you, running up to him.

"Are you Luigi?" she asked, eyes wide.

Luigi crouched slightly to her level, flashing a grin. "Depends. Are you the little sister who's probably way smarter than your big one?"

Before your sister could answer, you grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her back.

"Don't talk to him," you told her, voice mock-serious. "He's a racist."

The conversation halted. Luigi's jaw dropped slightly. His sisters, standing a few feet away, whipped their heads toward him. His mother gasped. Your own mother smacked your arm.

"Y/N!"

You snorted, unable to hold in your laughter. "Relax, he's not actually racist. He's just annoying."

Luigi sighed in relief. His father gave him a skeptical glance, and one of his sisters muttered, "For a second, I was about to disown you."

"You're not funny," Luigi grumbled at you, shaking his head.

"You laughed, though."

"Absolutely not." He said with a smile on his face.

"Mm-hm. Sure."

You turned to introduce your mother properly to his family, but out of the corner of your eye, you caught something—Luigi watching you. Not with his usual smirk. Not with irritation. Just watching.

— Summer Break —

The sun hung high over the camp, casting warm golden light over the rows of cabins and the dense forest surrounding them. You adjusted your staff T-shirt, feeling the heat seep into your skin as you made your way toward the main hall for the pre-opening staff meeting.

You had applied to work here months ago—decent pay, free lodging, and a summer spent beside the beach and the soft breeze of summer.

Or so you thought.

The moment you walked into the meeting room, your body froze.

Leaning casually against one of the tables, arms crossed over his chest, wearing the same staff T-shirt as you, was Luigi.

His curls were slightly damp, probably from the heat, and he looked up just in time to see you enter.

For a moment, the room went silent.

Then, in perfect sync:

"No way."

You both said it at the exact same time, staring at each other in disbelief.

Luigi let out a short laugh, shaking his head. "You're kidding me."

"I should be the one saying that," you shot back, still processing the sheer misery of the situation. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Volontarisme, obviously." He gestured at the staff badge hanging around his neck. "What, you think I came for the fresh air?"

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. The other counselors were already watching with amused expressions, whispering to each other.

One of the senior staff members, a woman named Maya, clapped her hands together. "Alright, I take it you two know each other?"

Luigi smirked. "Oh, we go way back."

You shot him a glare before turning back to Maya. "We're at the same university, don't know him."

"Right," Maya said, clearly entertained. "Well, you'll have plenty of time to work on your teamwork skills this summer."

Luigi grinned, and you immediately regretted every life choice that led you here.

— Three weeks later —

It had been three weeks since the summer camp started, and somehow, you and Luigi had mostly managed to stay out of each other's way.

Until today.

The staff had been assigned to deep-clean the common areas before the next wave of campers arrived. You were already in a bad mood from scrubbing floors when Maya, ever the troublemaker, sent you and Luigi to restock cleaning supplies in the storage room.

The small, cramped storage closet filled with bleach, detergent, and every cleaning product imaginable.

"Just grab what we need and get out," you muttered as you pulled open the door.

Luigi, of course, took his time. "Relax. It's not like the camp's gonna collapse if we take an extra minute."

You rolled your eyes and grabbed a mop from the shelf. "That attitude is why you lost the debate, by the way."

Luigi snorted. "Oh, we're bringing that up again? Please, you won because I was morally conflicted."

"You lost because I was better than you."

"And yet, here we are, stuck working the same job," he pointed out, raising a brow.

You were about to fire back a retort when the door shut behind you.

Then, the distinct click of the lock turning.

Silence.

You whipped around. Luigi reached for the handle, twisting it. Nothing. He tried again. Locked.

He let out a sharp exhale, then turned to you, scowling.

"You couldn't keep the damn door open with your big ass?"

Your eyes widened.

Then, without thinking, you grabbed the nearest spray bottle and chucked it straight at him.

"Are you serious right now?!" you snapped as he barely dodged it. "We're trapped in a closet full of BLEACH, and you're blaming me ?”

Luigi ran a hand through his curls, clearly trying to keep his temper in check. "I'm just saying, maybe if you didn't take up half the doorway—"

"Finish that sentence, Mangione. I dare you."

He shut his mouth.

You let out a slow breath, pressing your fingers against your temples. "Unbelievable. I'm going to die here. With you."

Luigi scoffed. "Oh please, if anyone's dying first, it's me. You'll probably suffocate me before the lack of oxygen does."

You turned to glare at him. "That can be arranged."

A dozen ideas flashed through his mind—one in particular involving you and a rather strategic seating arrangement—but he wisely kept that thought to himself.

"I didn't say it was your fault—"

"Oh, shut up, Mangione." You pressed your forehead against the door, willing it to magically open.

No luck.

From the other side, you heard faint laughter.

The air between you shifted slightly. The usual sharpness of your arguments was still there, but being stuck in a cramped space with him suddenly made it feel... different.

Closer.

Too close.

You cleared your throat, stepping away from the door. "Let's just find another way out before we die of chemical inhalation."

Luigi smirked, that irritating confidence returning. "Scared of being trapped with me, Y/N?"

You shot him a glare. "Terrified."

His chuckle was low and amused as he crossed his arms. "Don't worry. I'll protect you from the scary cleaning supplies."

You could hear the faint click of his tongue, the sound of him shifting slightly behind you. His body grazed yours, and you felt a shiver run down your spine.

You reached for your phone, only to realize it wasn't in your pocket. Of course. You'd left it in your bag. "Do you have your phone?"

"No," he admitted, his tone clipped. "Left it in my locker."

Silence fell between you, heavy and suffocating. The room was cramped, the shelves stacked with supplies pressing in on all sides. You could feel the heat radiating off him, his presence impossible to ignore.

You pressed yourself harder against the shelf, hoping to put some space between you and Luigi, but it was useless. He was right behind you, his chest nearly brushing against your back.

"Can you not stand so close?" you snapped, trying to keep your voice steady.

"I would if I could," he said, his voice annoyingly calm. "But there's literally nowhere else to go."

The room was suffocatingly small, and the faint scent of his cologne wasn't helping.

"Well, stop breathing down my neck," you muttered, hoping the irritation in your tone would mask the way your heart was hammering in your chest.

He let out a quiet laugh, and you could feel the rumble of it in the air between you.

"I'm not breathing down your neck," he said, his voice dipping lower, "but you do seem tense. Nervous, even."

Your jaw tightened as his words sank in, your irritation bubbling to the surface. You turned your head just enough to glare at him over your shoulder, but immediately regretted it. He was too close. His face was inches from yours, his dark eyes locked onto yours with a mix of amusement and something else you couldn't quite place.

"Back off," you hissed.

"Sure," he replied smoothly, "as soon as we figure out how to open that door."

You rolled your eyes and turned back to the lock, ignoring how your hands shook slightly as you fiddled with the knob. The silence stretched between you, heavy and thick, until you felt him lean in closer.

"Are you always this stubborn, or is it just when I'm around?" he murmured near your ear, his voice low and teasing.

Your breath hitched, and you bit the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from reacting. Instead, you glared at the lock as if it were the source of all your problems.

"Are you always this insufferable, or is it just with me?" you shot back.

He chuckled again, soft and infuriating. "Maybe I just like seeing you flustered."

Your grip tightened on the handle as your heart raced. You weren't flustered. No. That's exactly what he wanted, and you weren't going to give him the satisfaction.

"Don't flatter yourself," you muttered, shoving the handle harder in a desperate attempt to break free.

But in the back of your mind, as you felt his warmth against your back and his calm, steady presence behind you, you weren't sure if you wanted him to move away after all.

And then it happened. You felt it.

A subtle shift against your lower back, a hardness you hadn't anticipated. Your breath caught in your throat, your body instinctively stiffening. No. This was not happening. Not with him.

But it was happening. You could feel him—every inch of him—pressed against you. His breath hitched, barely audible, but you heard it. A soft, involuntary sound that sent a jolt through you.

Neither of you moved. Neither of you spoke. The silence stretched on, thick with tension, and you were hyper-aware of every tiny movement. His hardness pressed more insistently against you, and you couldn't stop the way your body reacted.

Without thinking, you shifted slightly, just enough to feel him more fully against you. His breath caught again, and you heard him swallow hard.

"Y/n," he whispered, his voice strained.

You didn't respond. Instead, you did it again, this time more deliberately. You rubbed against him, feeling the way he tensed behind you, the way his breath came in shallow bursts.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, his hands gripping the shelves on either side of you. You could feel him struggling to stay still, to resist the pull between you. But it was too late. You'd already crossed the line.

You pushed back against him again, your heart pounding in your chest. This was wrong. He was your rival. Your enemy. And yet, the way he was reacting to you—the way his body responded to every move you made—was impossible to ignore.

He groaned softly, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. His hips moved against you, almost unconsciously, and you could feel the heat building between you.

"You're not... stopping," he breathed, his voice barely audible.

"You want me to stop?" you shot back, your tone defiant.

“No,” he said between two moans.

He let out a low, guttural sound, his body pressing harder against yours. You could feel the tension in him, the way he was trying—and failing—to hold back.

And then it happened. He came.

You felt it—the way his body trembled against yours, the way his breath hitched, the way he let out a soft, almost pained moan. His hands gripped the shelves tighter, his body shuddering as he spilled into his pants.

The room fell silent again, the only sound the ragged breaths escaping both of you. You stood there, your back still pressed against him, your mind racing.

"Fuck," he muttered again, his voice rough and filled with frustration.

You didn't respond. You couldn't. Your body was still humming with the tension, the heat, the way he'd reacted to you.

And then, finally, he spoke again. "This doesn't change anything," he said, his voice low and firm.

You turned your head slightly, just enough to see his profile in the dim light. His jaw was clenched, his expression hard. "No," you agreed, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside you. "It doesn't."

But as you stood there, still pressed against him, you couldn't help but wonder—was that really true?

You hesitated, your heart pounding in your chest as you felt the heat of his body against yours. His breath was warm on your neck, and the tension between you was almost unbearable. But something in you resisted—this wasn't the time, and he wasn't the one who got to decide when things escalated.

Not like this. Not with him.

You took a deep breath, then stepped back, breaking the contact between you. The sudden distance felt cold, like you'd ripped off a blanket in the middle of winter. Luigi blinked, his expressive face flickering with surprise before it settled back into that infuriating smirk.

"What are you doing?" he asked, his voice low but laced with curiosity.

"I'm not doing anything," you shot back, crossing your arms over your chest. "You're the one who got us stuck in here. So, figure out how to get the door open."

He raised an eyebrow, that smirk widening. "Oh, so now it's my fault? I seem to recall you were the one who followed me into the lab in the first place."

Your cheeks flushed, but you refused to let him see how much his words affected you. "I didn't follow you. I had work to do. You just happened to be here."

"Sure," he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "And I just happened to get locked in here with you. Totally a coincidence."

You rolled your eyes, turning away from him to examine the door more closely. "Just fix it, Luigi. I don't have time for your games."

He stepped closer, his presence looming behind you. You could feel the warmth of his body again, and it took everything in you not to lean back into it. "What if I don't want to?" he murmured, his voice so soft it sent a shiver down your spine. "What if I think this is... convenient?"

You whirled around, glaring at him. "Convenient? Are you serious right now? We're locked in a lab, Luigi. This isn't some romantic comedy. This is a safety hazard."

He chuckled, the sound low and smooth, like it was meant only for you. "Romantic comedy, huh? So, you do think about us like that."

"I think you're delusional," you snapped, though your voice wavered slightly. "Now, either you figure out how to open this door, or I'll start yelling for help."

Your heart was racing now, and you could feel your resolve starting to crumble. Why does he have to be like this? You clenched your fists, trying to steady yourself. "Luigi, I swear, if you don't back off—"

"If I don't back off, what?" he interrupted, his voice dropping to a whisper. "What are you going to do about it?"

You spun around, ready to snap at him again, but the look in his eyes stopped you. There was something there—something raw and unfiltered. It wasn't just arrogance or amusement. It was... truth. And it terrified you.

"Why are you doing this?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He didn't answer right away. Instead, he reached out, his fingers brushing against your arm. The touch was light, almost hesitant, but it sent a jolt of electricity through you. "Because I can't help myself," he admitted, his voice rough. "Because every time I'm near you, I can't think straight. And I hate it."

You stared at him, your breath catching in your throat. "You hate it?"

"Yes," he said, his hand moving to cup your cheek. "But I also can't stop."

His thumb traced a slow, deliberate path along your jawline, and you felt your resistance melting away. This is a bad idea, your brain whispered, but your body didn't seem to care.

"Luigi..." you started, but he cut you off, his lips crashing into yours with a hunger that took your breath away.

For a moment, you froze, unsure of what to do. But then your body took over, your hands tangling in his hair as you kissed him back with equal intensity. It was messy, it was desperate, and it was everything you'd been trying to avoid.

He pressed you against the door, his body pinning you in place as his hands roamed over your waist, your hips, your thighs. You gasped into his mouth, your mind spinning as the world around you faded away.

"You drive me crazy," he murmured against your lips, his voice heavy with need. "You know that, right?"

You didn't respond. You couldn't. All you could do was hold on as he deepened the kiss, his fingers digging into your skin like he was afraid you'd disappear if he let go.

And then, just as suddenly as it had started, he pulled away, leaving you breathless and wanting.

"I... I've never done that before," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Luigi..." you whispered, your voice trembling.

He stared at you, his chest rising and falling rapidly. "We shouldn't do this," he said, though his eyes said something entirely different.

"Then why did you start it?" you asked, your voice barely audible.

He hesitated, then stepped back, running a hand through his hair. "Because I'm an idiot," he admitted, his tone laced with frustration. "And because I can't stay away from you, no matter how hard I try."

Your heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, you were at a loss for words. What do I do now?

Before you could answer, he turned away, pacing the small room like a caged animal. "This is a terrible idea," he muttered, mostly to himself. "You're my competition. My rival. This is only going to complicate things."

"You're the one who kissed me," you pointed out, your voice steadier now.

He stopped pacing and looked at you, his expression a mix of desire and resignation. "Yeah, I did. And I'd do it again if you let me."

Luigi's words hung in the air, heavy and undeniable. "I'd do it again if you let me." His eyes burned into yours, daring you to make the next move. The lab felt impossibly small now, the air thick with tension and the faint hum of the fluorescent lights overhead. Your heart raced, torn between the logical part of your brain screaming that this was a terrible idea and the part that wanted to see just how far he'd go.

You stepped closer, your breath hitching as his gaze followed you. His lips parted slightly, as if he was about to say something, but no words came out. Instead, he just watched you, his expressive face betraying a mix of anticipation and doubt. You reached out, your fingers brushing against the hem of his hoodie, and felt him tense under your touch.

"You're not going to stop me, are you?" you murmured, your voice low but steady.

He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. "Do I look like I want to stop you?"

That was all the confirmation you needed. Your hands moved to the waistband of his short, fingers fumbling with the button and zipper. He didn't help you, but he didn't stop you either, his hands hovering at his sides, he wasn't sure what to do with them —much like you. It was the first time you had ever been this close to a man. When you finally got the zipper down, you glanced up at him, and for the first time, you saw a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes.

"Don't overthink it," he said, his voice rough but soft.

You didn't. You pushed his jeans down just enough to free him, your fingers wrapping around his length. He let out a sharp exhale, his head tipping back slightly as you began to stroke him, — tasting his previous cum — slow and deliberate. His hands finally found their place, one tangling in your hair while the other gripped the edge of the lab table behind him.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, his voice strained. "You're not playing fair."

You smirked, your lips brushing against the tip of him before you took him into your mouth. His grip on your hair tightened, his hips twitching forward instinctively, but he stopped himself, letting you set the pace. You could taste the salt of him, feel the way he hardened further as you worked him with your tongue and lips. His breaths came in shallow gasps, and when you glanced up at him, you saw his eyes dark with desire, his jaw clenched as he fought to stay in control.

"You're—" he started, but his words cut off into a groan when you hollowed your cheeks, taking him deeper. His hand in your hair tightened again, not painfully, but enough to make your scalp tingle. "Oh, you're good at this."

You pulled back slightly, swirling your tongue around the tip before looking up at him. "You sound surprised."

He let out a breathless laugh, his chest rising and falling rapidly. "I shouldn't be. You're good at everything."

The compliment sent a thrill through you, and you returned your attention to him, sucking harder this time. His hips jerked forward, and he cursed under his breath, his fingers flexing in your hair. "Careful," he warned, though there was no real threat in his tone. "If you keep doing that, I'm not going to last."

You hummed in response, the vibration making him groan again. His free hand found its way to your shoulder, gripping it tightly as if he needed something to ground him. You could feel him trembling under your touch, his control unraveling with every stroke of your tongue, every flick of your lips. He was close—you could tell by the way his breathing hitched, the way his thighs tensed under your hands.

"Wait," he said suddenly, his voice strained. "Wait, I—"

You didn't stop. Instead, you took him deeper, your throat relaxing as you swallowed him down. His grip on your hair tightened almost painfully, but you didn't mind. You wanted him to lose control, to let go completely. And he did. With a low, guttural groan, he came, his body stiffening as he spilled into your mouth. You swallowed, your lips still wrapped around him as he rode out the aftershocks, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

When you finally pulled away, he slumped back against the lab table, his chest heaving. His hand fell from your hair, and he ran it over his face, letting out a shaky laugh. "Fuck," he said again, his voice hoarse. "That was—fuck."

You stood up, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. He looked at you, his eyes still dark but softer now, almost tender. "You're insane," he muttered, but there was a hint of a smile on his lips.

"So I've been told," you replied, your voice teasing.

He reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek. "Come here," he said, his tone softer now. You stepped closer, and he kissed you—tasting himself—slow and deep, his hands tangling in your hair again. It was different from the first kiss—less frantic, more deliberate, as if he was trying to convey something he couldn't put into words.

You could feel his heart pounding against your chest, his breathing ragged, and it only made you want him more.

When you finally broke apart again, you were both panting, your foreheads pressed together.

"So... what now?" he asked, his voice barely audible.

You hesitated, your mind racing. What was next? You were still rivals, still the same people we'd been five minutes ago. And yet, something between you had shifted, something that couldn't be undone.

Before you could answer, the sound of footsteps outside the door made you both freeze.

"Hello? Is anyone in there?" a voice called from the other side.

Luigi and you quickly pulled apart, your faces flushed, as the door swung open. One of the other counselors stood there, looking confused.

"Oh, there you are! We've been looking for you two," they said, oblivious to what had just happened.

"Uh, yeah. We got... locked in," Luigi said, his voice uneven.

"Right. Well, come on, we need you out here for the next activity," they said, turning and walking away.

Luigi glanced at you, his expression unreadable. "So... next time we're alone—"

"Next time," you interrupted, your voice firm. "We finish what we started."

— Sunset —

The air was thick with the scent of pine and campfire as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple. The camp was alive with laughter and chatter, but your mind was elsewhere. Luigi. The memory of his lips on yours, his hands trembling against your waist, lingered like a phantom touch. You couldn't shake it. The rivalry had always been intense, but now it felt like something else entirely.

You found yourself wandering in the beach, where you can heard the sound of the waves and feel the breeze against your skin. The faint sound of rustling leaves caught your attention, and you turned to see Luigi standing a few feet away. He looked nervous, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his shorts. "Hey," he said softly, his voice almost lost in the rustling of the waves.

"Hey," you replied, your heart pounding in your chest. There was something about the way he looked at you, a mix of vulnerability and determination, that made it hard to breathe. "What are you doing out here?"

He took a step closer, his eyes never leaving yours. "I wanted to talk to you. About... earlier."

You crossed your arms over your chest, trying to steady yourself. "What about it?"

He hesitated, his gaze flickering to the ground before meeting yours again. "I've never done that before. Kissed someone, I mean."

Your breath hitched. You knew he was a virgin, but hearing him say it out loud sent a jolt of electricity through you. "Neither have I," You admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

He stared at you, his eyes wide with surprise. "Really?"

You nodded, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks. "Really."

There was a moment of silence, the tension between you palpable. Then, without warning, he closed the distance between you, his hands reaching out to grasp yours. His touch was warm, his fingers trembling slightly as they interlaced with yours. "I don't want to stop," he said, his voice low and rough. "I want to know what it's like. With you."

Your heart was racing now, your mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. You wanted it too, wanted to feel him, all of him, but the rivalry that had always defined your relationship was still there, lurking beneath the surface. "What about this?" You asked, gesturing between him and you. "This... thing between us. Is it just about competition?"

He shook his head, his grip on your hands tightening. "No. It's not. It's never been just about that. Not really."

You searched his eyes, looking for any hint of deception, but all you saw was honesty, raw and unfiltered. "Then what is it?"

He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. "It's... I don't know. Something more. Something I can't explain."

You didn't need an explanation. You could feel it, the pull between you and him, the way your bodies seemed to gravitate toward each other without conscious thought. You stepped closer, your chests almost touching, and tilted you head up to look at him. "Show me," you whispered.

His breath hitched, and for a moment, you thought he might pull away. But then his hands were on your face, his lips crashing into yours with a hunger that took your breath away. The kiss was different from the one in the supply room, deeper, more intense. It was like he was pouring everything he had into it, every ounce of his longing, his desire, his need.

You responded in kind, your hands sliding up his chest to grip the sides of his face. Your tongues clashed, the taste of him intoxicating. He groaned, the sound sending a shiver down your spine, and his hands moved to your waist, pulling you flush against him.

Breaking the kiss, he looked down at you, his eyes dark with desire. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice strained.

You nodded, your own voice shaky. "Yes."

He hesitated for only a moment before scooping you up into his arms and carrying you deeper into the tent. You could feel the soft sand of the ground beneath you, and he gently set you down, his body hovering over yours.

"I've never done this before," he admitted, his voice trembling. "I don't know what I'm doing."

You reached up to cup his face, your thumb brushing over his cheek. "Neither do I. But we'll figure it out together."

He nodded, his eyes closing as he leaned into your touch. Then slowly, almost reverently, his hands began to explore your body, tracing the curve of your hip, the dip of your waist. Every touch sent a spark of electricity through you, your breath hitching as he moved lower.

His fingers fumbled with the button on your shorts, and you helped him, guiding his hands until the fabric slid down your legs. His eyes widened as he took you in, his breath coming in short, uneven bursts.

"You're beautiful," he whispered, his voice filled with awe.

His hands were tentative at first, exploring the curves of your body with a reverence that made your breath catch. And then he was kissing you again—starting at your collarbone, trailing down to your stomach, lower and lower until you felt his breath between your legs.

You tensed, your heart pounding in your chest. “Luigi,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

He looked up at you, his eyes blazing. “Trust me,” he said, his voice steady.

And you did. You trusted him enough to let go, to surrender to the waves of pleasure that crashed over you as he began to explore you with his mouth. His touch was hesitant at first, unsure, but quickly grew more confident as he learned what made you gasp, what made you arch your back.

“Where did you learn this?” You managed to say, your voice breathless. “In a book, uh?”

He paused, looking up at you with a smirk. “Maybe,” he said, his tone teasing. “Or maybe I just know what you like.”

You laughed—a soft, breathless sound that was quickly swallowed by the sensations coursing through you. His tongue was relentless, his hands gripping your hips as he brought you closer and closer to the edge.

You reached for him, your hands trembling as you undid his belt and slid his pants down. He was hesitant at first, his movements unsure, but as your bodies pressed together, skin against skin, a sense of urgency overtook the two of you.

He positioned himself between your legs, his eyes locked on yours.

"Are you sure?" he asked again, his voice barely audible.

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest. "Yes. Please, Luigi."

With a shaky breath, he entered you, the sensation both strange and exhilarating. There was a moment of discomfort, a sharp sting that made you gasp, but he paused, his eyes filled with concern. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice strained.

You nodded, your hands gripping his shoulders. "Yes. Please keep going."

He did as you asked, moving slowly at first, the friction between you building with each thrust. The awkwardness began to fade, replaced by a pleasure that was unlike anything you has ever felt. His movements became more confident, his body pressing against yours with a rhythm that had you gasping for air.

"Luigi," you moaned, his name slipping from your lips like a prayer. His hands gripped your hips, his touch firm but gentle as he moved inside of you. The tension, the rivalry that had always driven you, seemed to melt away, leaving only raw, unfiltered passion.

He leaned down, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was as desperate as it was tender. Your tongues tangled, the taste of him mingling with the sensation of his body moving against yours. The world outside ceased to exist, the night fading into a blur of sensations and emotions.

You could feel the pressure building inside you, a coil of heat that threatened to unravel at any moment. His movements became more erratic, his breathing ragged as he whispered your name against your lips. "I'm close," he gasped, his voice filled with need.

"Me too," you replied, your hands clutching at his back. The tension inside you snapped, a wave of pleasure washing over you as you cried out his name. He followed soon after, his body tensing as he found his release, his voice a low, guttural moan against your neck.

For a moment, you lay there, your bodies tangled together, your breaths mingling in the cool night air. Then slowly, he pulled away, his eyes meeting yours.

"So... that just happened," he said, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips.

The reality of what you had just done began to sink in, your cheeks flushing with a mix of embarrassment and exhilaration. “I’ve never tough it will be with you." you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

— End of summer back to university —

Back at university, it was as if nothing had changed. You still argued in class, still traded barbs at parties, still acted like you couldn't stand each other. But behind closed doors, in the privacy of Luigi's dorm room, it was a different story.

His room was small and cluttered, with textbooks piled on the desk and posters of his favorite bands peeling off the walls. But to you, it was your sanctuary. The place where you could let go of the act and just be with him. You'd sneak in late at night, careful not to be seen, and he'd be waiting for you, his lips claiming yours the moment the door clicked shut.

Tonight was no different. You were lying on his bed, his arms wrapped around you as you traced circle patterns on his chest. His heartbeat was steady beneath your fingertips, and the room was filled with the soft sound of his breathing.

"We can't keep doing this," he said suddenly, his voice cutting through the quiet.

You froze, your hand stilling on his chest. "What do you mean?"

"I mean..." He sat up, running a hand through his hair. "I don't want to hide this anymore. I don't want to pretend like I don't love you when we're around other people.”

Love. The word sent a shiver down your spine. You'd both danced around it, never saying it out loud, but hearing it now made your stomach twist with both fear and longing.

"I don't care what they think," he said fiercely, his eyes locking onto yours. "I love you. I want the whole world to know it."

You shook your head, sitting up to face him. A smile tugged at your lips as your heart pounded in your chest. His words hung in the air, heavy and undeniable.

"You mean that?" you asked softly, searching his face for any hesitation.

He didn't waver. "Of course I do."

Relief and warmth flooded through you, and without another thought, you cupped his face in your hands, leaning in until your foreheads touched.

"Then let's tell them," you whispered. "I love you too."

A large smile appeared in his face.

"No, I love you." He bids.

"Don't start a competition again..."

"Because you'll lose." He adds his smile still on his face.

Thanks you for reading all this ! If you have a request just ask I will do my best ! Which you all the best ! Love.

[injvns]

copy that - na jaemin

wc: 1.3k

notes: this turned from a kun fic based on a song to this thing from my little brain hole. not being able to focus can do wonders sometimes. hope u enjoy ᡣ𐭩

you wake up to the sound of the shower running.

that already ticks you off, knowing jaemin left you to freeze your ass off in bed before you were even conscious. you pull the sheets up past your face, trying to human-hot-pocket yourself back to a warmer temperature.

you've been with jaemin for over a year now, and you still aren't used to the fact that he's an early riser. it's just weird to you, and kind of annoying. you will finally be getting to the good part of your dream, and that is exactly when jaemin's body decides it's time to start the day. you love waking up to him, don't misunderstand, but it'd be nice to wake up to him a little later. 

you hear the blow dryer start, signaling he'll be back to bed soon. painstakingly you reach your arm out from the blanket cave you've created and feel around your bedside table for a good two minutes until you find your phone. maybe you should've waited to open it. the first thing your screen greets you with is a text from your boss letting you know you have to come in later today. it was supposed to be your day off.

now you're plain irritated. 

this was the first day in weeks you and jaemin both had off at the same time. facetime calls and messages that didn't get answered until 3 hours after they were sent were starting to get old. today was meant to be a day spent in the house, together, no interruptions, just you and jaem.  you managed to get it interrupted sooner than it could actually start.

before you can fully spiral, you hear the bathroom door open. you peak your head out from under the covers,

"you gorgeous, gorgeous man and your stupid, stupid sleep schedule."

he smiles that gorgeous smile at you, "good morning, beautiful," he approaches the bed, getting ready to flop himself on top of you, "how'd you sleep?'

"good until i woke up without you, and now my boss wants me to go in." you sigh as jaemin wraps himself around you, "i don't understand it, the company is huge! i cannot be the only one available."

"i'm sorry, beautiful." is the only thing he says, knowing he can't solve the problem, but wishing he could. sometimes you hate that he's the best. you hate that he's more worried about you than upset that your plans together are ruined.

"today was supposed to be about us, jaem." you feel your tears begin to well up, "i just wanted to be with you today."

"i know, baby." he lets out a sigh of his own, "is there any way you can get out of going?"

"i don't think so," jaemin reaches to wipe the stray tears that had fallen from your eyes, "saying she 'wants' me to come in was the wrong choice, she's telling me i'm coming in today." 

your boss is a great woman, you would even consider her a friend, but damn does she exploit the hell out of your friendship. if someone calls in sick, you're her go-to. if someone has a family emergency and needs to leave, you're the one she calls to replace them. hell, if she can't come into the office you basically end up doing her job for her.

"i think i have a good hour before i need to leave." you hate capitalism.

 you get no response from jaemin, only the consistent feeling of his hand smoothing out your hair, that is until he pipes up.

"want me to shower with you?" he winks, it would've been super corny if he wasn't super hot.

"you just showered?"

"offer still stands~"

"okay, then get off me already." 

he takes that as his cue to roll you both over until you are the one on top of him, then lifting you off the bed. he carries you to the bathroom with a newfound determination. as he sets you down on the bathroom counter you ask,

"whats got you so excited?" you can't hide the teasing smirk that makes it's way onto your face.

"always excited to see my beautiful girl's body." he says it so proudly you can't help but hit him out of embarrassment.

"shut up! don't get me horny before i have to leave for work, asshole." there is no bite behind your words.

"sorry! sorry!" he blurts, full of amusement. he definitely isn't sorry.

soft laughter filled the bathroom. for every morning jaemin wakes you up way too early, he makes up for it with a lifetime of memories filled with shining sunrises and dazzling smiles. as you go through the motions of preparing for a day that could've been so much better, jaemin stays with you for each second of it. from washing your hair for you, to drying it as you brush your teeth, to just being there as you get dressed. the day might be time lost, but the morning is alive and well and filled with you and him.  

"wait, pretty, before you leave," jaemin trails off, going to get something from under the bed, "i got us something."

you watch him move in the mirror as you put on your necklace, the one jaemin got you for your 9 month anniversary. he pulls a box out, not small enough to be jewelry, but not big enough to be shoes. it's got your interest piqued.

"come see," he beckons you over softly.

you come up behind him to stare into the mysterious box and see— walkie talkies?

"huh?" confusion covers your features.

"i saw little dog toy ones when i was getting food for the babies, and i just figured it'd be so much nicer to talk to each other at work this way. i know it's still not the same as being together, but i thought it'd be nice to hear your voice whenever i want." he plays with the buttons on the walkie talkie as he talks.

your expression melts into one of pure warmth as you wrap yourself around the man of your dreams. you make sure to squeeze him as tight as you can; it blows your mind everyday that a man this considerate really made his way to you.

"t'ank yu" it comes out muffled into his chest.

he huffs out a laugh, the air comes and floats itself down over the top of your head, furthering jaemin's mark on you. it's not a mark in a possessive way, it's simply a mark that has been left over time. when a love is as deep as the one he has for you, it can't be helped that he unconsciously finds any and every way to connect himself to you further.

after that, you both decide its unfortunately time for you to start your day. jaemin drives you to work, leaving you at the office with a sorry but loving smile. his walkie talkie is pink and in the center console. yours in red and in your bag. he made sure to buy a charger for yours and his separately, 'so you can never get rid of me,' he says.

as you go throughout your day, constant updates from your boyfriend fill the usual silence of your office space. he lets you know when he gets back to the apartment, he lets you know what's happening in the book he's reading, and he lets you know when lucy sits on top of the book as he's reading it so that he'll pet her. you always make sure to give a response back. 

his voice is a welcome sound to your day and one that you hope you hear for all of your days. that feels like something too heavy to say over a walkie talkie so instead you say,

"hey, jaem, i love you."

your hear the line crackle to life, 

"copy that."

[tharizt]

i'd say interstellar song contest falls somewhere in between the zygon inversion and kerblam on similarly iffy politics.

actually let's compare this in more depth. because both the zygon inversion and kerblam feature revolutionaries who are presented as extremists who have "gone too far". but i still love the former story and hate the latter.

kerblam has charlie. inversion has bonnie. both are explicitly framed as rebels who want to overturn what they perceive as oppression. and both are framed as extremists whose ideologies are quickly dismissed as irrational and dangerous.

neither story meaningfully explores the root cause of rebellion. charlie’s automation-focused ideology is undercut while bonnie’s grievances are left vague or incoherent (treated like cattle how, bonnie? the story doesn't care enough to ask).

kerblam ends with vague reforms and no structural change. judy may propose the organisation becomes majority-organics, but there’s no guarantee anyone will listen. all of the worker characters die. the two bosses survive.

the background worker characters get one month off but only paid for two weeks. and instead of the horrible minimum-wage jobs being automated, they'll just hire more human workers to inflict further misery upon.

meanwhile; inversion sees the doctor enforce a fragile truce that resets the same failed peace repeatedly. kate’s memory has apparently been wiped multiple times. people keep getting slaughtered. each time, the doctor resets it to more or less how it was at the start.

both feature climaxes with the doctor confronting the antagonist; in both, the terrorist gets an appeal to emotion and neither seriously proposes alternatives to the existing system. radicalism is treated as inherently flawed or harmful, not a potential source of systemic change.

so, where do they differ?

first of all: kerblam addresses real-world issues like amazon-style capitalism, automation, and labor exploitation head-on. inversion uses metaphor.

zygons can never truly be about isis or refugees or imperialist wars or dysphoria, but it can orbit that territory. which lends the story to ambiguity, multiple possible readings, and prioritising a more coherent moral purpose.

inversion follows a clear moral arc with bonnie’s redemption paralleling the doctor’s trauma. she’s equated with him in the time war, framing her feelings as valid. she just needs to find a non-lethal third way, which ends up being stepping into the role of the missing osgood.

charlie gets no such treatment. he is killed off with no emotional payoff, no redemption, and framed as a generational pariah. he’s radicalised by being a millennial.

kerblam is cynical. it lacks any emotional sincerity. it undermines its initial setup with a confused message. but inversion is constructed with nuance, ambiguity, and clear intent by harness and moffat the entire way through with a coherent, optimistic moral.

it also helps that inversion is a major narrative climax in series 9, led by capaldi and coleman, who are the two greatest lead actors in the history of the show. they both deliver all-time nuanced and emotionally devastating portrayals.

so; the main difference comes down to empathy. the zygon inversion has deep empathy for bonnie even if it doesn't have an interest in her specific motives. it has deep empathy for the issues it explores. it has deep empathy for its audience. moffat (+harness) prioritizes empathy.

kerblam has no empathy for charlie and randomly kills him off in a blaze of fire. it has no empathy for the issues it explores and actively inflicts further misery on even more workers. and chibnall (+ mctighe) seems to despise the disaffected youth that is its own audience.

so, where does the interstellar song contest land? well, sort of in between.

there's nothing as explicitly fascist as "the systems aren’t the problem", it does have empathy for the oppressed, and it does end its story with giving the group a voice at eurovision.

naturally; none of this is enough. the story is still about how one individual person of a genocided group went "too far for his good cause" instead of being a story about the oppression.

the doctor still tortures this "evil freedom fighter" but does nothing about the corporation that is behind their oppression (if he's even aware of it).

and the liberal solution to the problem doesn't imply that the material reality of their home planet has actually changed at all, so the killing will likely just continue.

it's a horrible move to write this sort of story in this current political climate. rtd's entire modern doctor who era is deeply cynical in how it tries to faux-appeal to its liberal audience.

but there's just enough wiggle room there that i think you can place it between the zygon inversion and kerblam on this specific axis. moffat's attempt isn't as leftist as it should be, but it's still the best shot so far. let's hope future doctor who stories do better.

[pinene]

The USA is on the brink of complete cultural disintegration. It has been rotting for years now. Nobody knows their neighbors because they know they’ll probably need to move soon anyways. Many people can’t read and most just refuse to. Those with remaining patriotism essentially take pride in their own exploitation. Those without it are aimless and afraid because this machine demands blind faith.

I guess this is the way of all colonial projects and empires. But to me there’s something uniquely hollow and creepy about this one—the US commits genocide on the people who had lived on the land for generations, constantly incentivizes people to move closer and closer to its bloating border. offers people from other countries the chance to be part of the splendor of the imperial core if they just come here and deal with awful conditions quietly, they can hope to have children who will hate speaking their native language, American children. And their children could be millionaires. Just keep working, keep your head down. When the rich get richer that just means our future’s brighter.

If we are to suppose the American dream was once achievable, it certainly isn’t anymore. There’s bipartisan acknowledgement of this, and partisan explanations and solutions. But they always neglect the fact that the American dream isn’t sustainable under capitalism lol like, after a few generations, everyone would be pretty well off if all it took was hard work. But if everyone was well off, then some people couldn’t be ultra rich, and a few couldn’t be richer than god. Wealth has to grow, profit has to increase, or it all falls apart. The money is trickling upward and pooling around the rich, and most of the country is still operating under the impression that this is a good thing.

not to mention how racism and intolerance get worse when the economy does, how moral panics sooth financial anxieties. the rich and the money-seeking have so clearly bait n switched us. valorizing wealth leads us to blame anyone but the rich, blame anything but class. and now it’s reaching a point of further consolidation and openly squeezing more and more out of the 99%. They don’t have to even pretend anymore because most people are fine with it. tv shows about the wealthy are really popular. We are such an aimless people, prideful and tribal about the square borders of ruined land we live in, proud to suffer for the chance to get to give the bank and the government most of your paycheck to live somewhere and almost own a big car to traverse the emptiness. Angry that it’s all so hard, but forbidden to blame the system. Bleh

[klapollo]

I'm going to be honest. I really hate how the discussion has become "all AI is bad all the time always" and not "how can we regulate and improve AI in a way that will benefit people, not exploit them, and improve the world with a potentially useful technology that we can educate people on"

It just seems so defeatist to throw the baby out with the bathwater like this. Yes, as is typical under capitalism, AI has so far been used to some truly horrific ends. But, It also has the potential to do truly great things for people in a wide variety of ways. Why are we not fighting for an AI that is ethical, helpful, regulated, and understood by people so as not to be deceived by it? I don't want to stop the march of technological advancement, I want it to work for the benefit of people collectively and not just be exploited by corporations who want to hurt them. It's easy to see AI as completely bad when it's mostly been used for bad things, but there is a limitless amount of things we could do for people with this technology if we truly fought for it to be used ethically.

[genericpuff]

I feel like the major issue is that you can pay for something on apps like Webtoon, but you’re not paying for life. And if those apps go down— I believe two are actually going defunct now (pocket comics(?) and one other)— all that money you spent to read them legally is gone. And there’s no digital copy of the stories you bought either that you can save. So if you want to keep reading it legally, you have to go to another site, soend even more money (esp if you don’t remember where you left off), and hope that site doesn’t go down either.

It just sucks, man

True that, as much as I understand why Webtoons is gutting programs like DailyPass (capitalism gonna capitalism) it doesn't make it any less restrictive and frustrating especially when it comes to media preservation / ownership.

In that way, Webtoons' business model is contradictory to the nature and spirit of webcomics, which have always typically been free to read / free to access and made by indie creators as a side project / hobby / etc. (and that's pretty much why WT is struggling so hard to profit off them, because the Western demographic is accustomed to getting webcomics for free).

Making comics is also a LOT of work though, and so it's not unreasonable at all for creators to try and monetize their work in some way, whether it's through Patreon or ads or selling physical books. But there's such a fine line between supporting creators and exploiting audiences, and Webtoons has definitely crossed that line on more than one occasion.

I don't think people would hate AdPass/paying with coins so much if we knew exactly how much creators were getting on the backend - not necessarily specific numbers, just split percentages or something to that degree - but unfortunately WT has the ability to control at least half the narrative through their NDA's that prevent creators from speaking out about those details.

At the very least, it's good that it's become pretty common knowledge now - thanks to the few creators who have stepped forward and risked their jobs to share information about what they earn and/or what they put up with - that Webtoons is exploitative, it means people are more aware of these issue. But unfortunately, it's creators who get caught in the crossfire whenever readers rightfully want to boycott the platform or read pirated works because they were put behind extra barriers just because they're completed - because creators are the ones who lose out on the extra income and the viewing metrics which Webtoons uses to determine whether or not they keep their jobs.

It's a trap that Webtoons has deliberately placed within the webcomics scene, and it's probably the one thing they've succeeded at the most over the years, by creating this system that creators and readers alike struggle to escape from because it inevitably means someone has to lose a leg.

So yeah, fuck you Webtoons.

[apas-95]

Quick question, do you have to be anti porn to be a good communist, due to it being the capitalist manifesation of the commodification of women? while opposing the industrial production of it, that is studio porn, is a very obvious red line and shouldnt exist at all, is it wise to make a point of just hating All of it? I ask because some comrades in a server are discussing it and i wanted your thoughts

My thoughts regarding this are threefold:

First: it is important to understand the class character of any given institution, the failure to do so leads to errors. A common 'left' error is in attributing the negative aspects of an institution under capitalism to the institution itself, without understanding its capitalist character. An example would be the characterisation of the police as fundamentally an agent of repressing the people (when under socialism they are an agent of the people for repression of the bourgeois), or of the academy as fundamentally an arbiter of class access to certain roles in society (when under socialism it is straightforwardly an educator and enabler of technically-skilled labour). To some degree the abuses of the pornography industry are, doubtlessly, down to the social context it exists in, and in the exploitation of (lumpen)proletarians engaged in sex work.

Second: a vulgar 'proletarian feminism' which avoids this class analysis inevitably also commits the same ignorance of class in the opposite direction, and commits rightist errors. Commonly, in the advocating of an alliance with the bourgeois state and bourgeois police to 'protect women' - by criminalising one or the other aspect of sex work under capitalism. The status of sex workers as proletarians, and, when criminalised as such, lumpenproletarians, is essentially ignored. It must be understood that first and foremost the issue of sex work is a labour issue, and like any labour issue it can only be solved by the self-organisation and self-emancipation of the workers themselves.

Third: the categorisation of pornography as specifically an issue of the commodification and exploitation of women (as above) breaks down in the contexts of both male pornography and amateur pornography. Male pornography clearly does not involve the commodification of women (though it does involve the exploitation of sex workers!); and amateur pornography, produced, as it were 'as an expression of one's own nature', and removed from any valorisation of capital, clearly involves no commodification at all.

Generally it has been the case that socialist states have banned pornography and sex work once established. Sex workers who found themselves now unemployed under socialism were not, as in capitalism, made even more desperate and destitute - rather, they were happily able to take up other fields of guaranteed work. However, socialist states were generally established in impoverished, semifeudal nations, where the conditions of sex work were uniformly that of sexual slavery and prostitution. In the most culturally advanced socialist state, the German Democratic Republic, restrictions on pornography were much more lax. Certainly, the conditions of a modern, developed nation would have a major impact on the treatment of pornography under socialism.

[enriquemzn262]

Well, it’s sunday and I’m not doing anything important, so time for my current anime season watch list:

Rock is a Lady’s Modesty

The bi-anual girls rock band anime, this time centered in a ladies-only high school for the rich and powerful, with our protagonist, twin locks blodie Lilisa, being a recent arrival in the school following her mom’s marriage to a powerful guy, which forces her to be as proper and excellent as possible, all the while trying, and ultimately failing, to repress her love for rock.

Great animation, especially on the CGI, great music, very fun characters all around, so far a very engaging plot, and above all, superb chemistry between the two main female leads, which is as wild as the rock they love, although the last couple of episodes have robbed the anime of some of its energy, hopefully it gets it back.

8/10, its fun!

From Old Country Bumpkin to Master Swordsman

Isekai in everything but reincarnation (for now), follow Beryl, a middle aged sword trainer who has instructed countless (mostly female) warriors throughout the years, but who has never left his hometown, and therefore, never left his name in history, as his world is finally shaken when an old disciple of his, now turned into a high ranking warrior, comes to his dojo and takes him to the capital to train a new generation of warriors, while finally showing to the world how good he truly is.

Slow burn harem with OKish fights, a fantasy world so standard they don’t even try to flesh it out, mostly useless male characters outside the lead, and a plot that boils down to “he’s really the best, most perfect middle aged virgin man there is, if only he realized it!!!”, it’s serviceable but nothing amazing, watch it to pass the time

6/10

Uma Musume Pretty Lady: Cinderella Grey

It’s the horse racing anime, you know it, you hate it, I have lost followers and even mutuals over it.

So far its the best of the bunch, Oguri Cap has been a fascinating protagonist, with the simplicity of Special Week without her naïveté and clumsiness, the strength of Tokai Teio but without her weird ego, and the speed of Kitasan Black but actually capable of exploiting it to the end instead of burning out early, not to mention characters are for once allowed to be flawed, to cheat, to be petty, it’s great!

9/10, so far the best of the season.

Mobile Suit Gundam GQuuuuuuX

From the man behind Evangelion, comes a new take on the Gundam franchise, set in an alternative timeline of the original show: Follow Machu, an aimless high school student, as she accidentally joins an underground fighting ring for giant robots, and unwilling becomes the pilot of one of the few operational, mythical Gundam suits.

It’s… A mess, Machu has to be one of the most idiotic, impulsive protagonists I’ve seen in recent years, her female co-star, Nyaan, is barely a character to begin with, with little focus given to her outside of battles, the other supporting character, Shuji, being a complete enigma and basically just a source of drama after a weird love triangle that went nowhere was introduced, the minor characters keep proving time and again to be more interesting than this trio, of they survive that is, since the show has a knack at killing them off.

I will say, it has the best damn animation of this season, the giant robot fights are very well made and have a ton of variety to them, and the weird overarching plot of a possible war has proven far more fascinating than the actual one of “Machu want to swim in the ocean but also pilot the robot but also not really since she now wants to get into Shuji’s pants for some reason” that recently culminated in her arrest.

6/10, may get better.

The Apothecary Diaries season 2, cour 2

I have mentioned this before, so no description.

It’s great! The plot kinda slowed down after Maomao got kidnapped, but it has finally picked back up again, the mysteries just get bigger, and the stakes higher!

9/10, same score as Cinderella, because I can’t deny its quality, even though I like the horse anime a bit more.

And finally

A Ninja and an Assassin Under One Roof

Title says it all, an escaped ninja named Satoko with the ability to turn everything, bodies included, into leafs, starts living with a highly competent yet extremely messy assassin named Konoha, joining forces and helping Konoha rise in the underground assassin rankings.

It’s a yuri dark comedy, lots of cute girls dying at the hands of Konoha, superb animation almost at the level of Gundam, weird dark humor that it’s either “what if Satoko behaves like an abused wife”, or “what if this down in her luck cute ninja with hopes and dreams dies in an absurd way after failing to avenge her fallen comrades?”, characters that range from flawed but relatable to just assholes, and an almost non-existent plot that never takes itself too seriously, it may just be the most mean-spirited actually funny comedy anime I’ve ever watched.

7/10, beware of the fanservice.

Dishonorable mention

Ranger Reject season 2

Not even bothering to add a GIF, the animation got so downgraded it’s insulting, and the current arc it just finished adapting, the dream school one, is in my opinion, the worst of the manga, I check it out from time to time just to see what is adapting, so I may catch up soon, but I can’t honestly recommend it to anyone.

3/10, at least the characters remain good.

[bunnydracula]

copyright abolition / post-fandom thoughts dump bear with me if these are half-baked riffs cuz they’re half-baked riffs:

i think the reasons people actually share work on ao3 and attribute it to fandoms are more complex than many people realize. i speculate that many people are more afraid of potential copyright strikes than they realize, which reveals how much of a cudgel IP actually functions as. people want their work to get *read* and they want to express where something “came from” / what inspired it, which is a fine impulse, especially when the alternative seems to be coy about where your projects began and even to make a career out of producing “original work”, which is so fucking loaded as long as IP is the foundation of our creative pursuits.

i think we’ve all seen fairly wild/interesting work that we wouldn’t know is related to an existing IP without the author identifying it as such lol. and we’ve certainly seen “bad fanfic” where stuff’s out-of-character in less… shall we say… engaging ways! so what actually motivates people to place their work under a protective legal model that would (theoretically - ao3 is not necessarily actually safe but that’s another post lol) prevent copyright holders from coming after them so long as the work is not monetized? is it that all of this work falls neatly under a “fanworks” umbrella, or does a lot of different kinds of work get crowded into opposite sides of a binary created by intellectual property as a pillar of modern capitalism?

what attitudes has IP instilled in us regarding iterative / transformative works? what iterative work do you love and consider original, and what socioeconomic circumstances did it come out of? what if it had been released on ao3 first, would that make you uncomfortable and suspicious? i speculate that a lot of discourse around subject matter and “problematic” source materials actually boil down to knee-jerk copyright defenses (think abt tumblr discourse disavowing the locked tomb series every few months bc the author once posted homestuck fics). like do you hate this new work because it resembles another work that’s bad (notice you perhaps do not have the same energy for the source material that is allegedly so toxic that everything that touches it is diminished) or do you hate admitting that all art, in some way, is iterative? would admitting that make you realize that IP is a completely arbitrary system of domination and exploitation?

derivative art is made every day lol. there is no meaningful way to “fight against” derivative art. but we can ask what socioeconomic circumstances actually produce it (why are we gonna keep seeing trailers for movies that look like other movies? it’s not because filmmakers are stupid or smart - it’s because there’s never actually been a problem with IP passing hands or transforming so long as it does not disrupt the economic order that IP enforces). something something osgood perkins can rip off the silence of the lambs for millions of dollars but tsotl “fans” are just cringey babies with their hannigram smut (while NBC hannibal couldn’t even use the character clarice starling bc she was already owned by another network. yes the estate of a dead author is split between television networks. are we ok with this?)

so then maybe we can ask why new work is so demeaned by ever passing through the Fandom label. is it perhaps that fandom itself is an economic label and not some fantasy of spontaneous heartwarming community founded on mutual interest lol? is fandom actually a source of freedom, or is the label confining the limits of your imagination?

idk how to tell you this but much of what constitutes modern fandom that ao3 claims to uniquely protect is actually completely legal via any number of channels that might actually threaten copyright as a censorship tool. you are allowed to produce porn parodies and that isn’t necessarily “fan” behavior. you don’t have to be a “fan” to stick your hands into work that you love. you are allowed to do media criticism. you are allowed to remix any number of images and shapes. you can copy and trace and fucking steal if you can get away with it and your fear of doing so only allows intellectual landlords to get away with charging rent for more and more creative possibilities — names, faces, logos, fucking styles — and you’ll cheer and clap as what is considered “real art” gets narrower and narrower, mistakenly thinking you’ll be next in line to copyright your dipshit characters or be exploited in service of the next legal iteration of your favorite property.

it made me crazy when steamboat willie entered the public domain and everybody was drawing the rat getting fucked. you could draw the rat getting fucked before! parody and criticism are protected forms of expression! you can draw mickey getting fucked right now, but you won’t cuz you’re scared shitless of disney and even if you’re not worth financially ruining the “let people enjoy things” fandom liberals do the social leg of their dirty work for them!

copyright is the modern enemy of expression, and fandom is a honeypot for young artists to misattribute their best urges and ideas to their inspirations, mistakenly making a faustian pact with the assholes who are holding the art that they love hostage. what are we left with when our home movies get taken down because a song was playing in the background? our hair and our fucking teeth?

our dreams are made up of everything we see in our waking lives, and putting “universal” original art on a pedestal (fucking joseph campbell everything’s-a-hero’s-journey horseshit nonsense) while degrading referential art is an incredible way to never see anything new. what you are thinking about as fanfic/fanart right now can actually be something else - something better than another “original” property that will subjugate someone else with the “fan” label. it’s available to us right now actually. you can take it.

[docholligay]

I have no idea how wild the fandom for Hadestown is. If you don’t know me, if we’ve never exchanged words, and you have BIG FEELINGS about Hadestown that any level of critique will set off, I very much encourage you to move it along. I can’t do Hamilton 2 or whatever. (If I know you I will give you more leeway FOR SURE. I just want to keep strange weirdos out) 

First, I have to provide a little bit of context: I got in on the ground floor with Hadestown. 

Yes Doc, I too, have been obsessed with it ever since it was in previews--no, I mean, i saw folk singer Anais Mitchell perform the whole thing like 15 years or whatever ago in a converted garage venue. 

I wasn’t even in town to SEE HER, I was in town to see a different artist and this was back when live music was a bigger thing and not a dying scene, and people just bought tickets to whatever was playing on a free night. I like folk music, I liked the idea of what was then being called a folk opera. It was instant love. Orpheus and Eurydice is one of my favorite myths, I am from a rural and exploited place, I loved everything I heard, some absolutely glorious poetry going on there. Bought the concept album, forced so so many people to listen to it all the way through. Forced jetty to listen to it on our road trip! Before the musical came out even!

I have been following this musical ever since then. I kind of thought it would never get made! I followed the original version, and then the broadway one. What I’m saying is, I have what now amounts to about fifteen or so years of history with this musical, and all the changes it has gone through, and all my individual feelings about each of those changes. My evaluation necessarily lives within that context. 

This was part of the reason it took me so long to see the Broadway! I wanted the emotional space to feel however I felt about it, even if that ended up being, “I fucking hated that” and it’s hard to have that when someone buys very expensive tickets and a trip for you to see something you’ve been following for years. Part of jetty’s gift of this was “And you can hate it!!” and I knew she meant it, because when you watch something move and be workshopped and change, you get a lot of feelings about it. 

So I can’t really go, “I liked Hadestown/I didn’t” I mean, I have loved hadestown for a very long time. If all you wanted to hear was , ‘Did you like it?” oh yes! But I have at least four versions sitting my head right now, and they are all next to each other for evaluation in a way that someone who has only experienced the broadway can’t have. 

I want to provide this knowledge because my thoughts about it go so far beyond what is currently being staged on Broadway. No, this is not going to be me saying, ‘Everything was better with the concept album!” no, some things are, but this isn’t that I promise. 

Everything below this is spoilery

So, originally Hadestown was a slightly different story and admittedly, one that spoke to me more than the story I saw last night. It was a lot more specific in its earliest days--it was about an impoverished mining town. Hadestown was the company town, underground, and there was basically no mention of Hades and Persephone being actual gods, anything was winked to, but it was mostly about how the holders of capital have all the accountability of gods. The whole thing had a much stronger anti-capitalist framework, and Orpheus and Eurydice were basically naive kids who thought they could avoid involvement with the mine. Obviously, this very much spoke to me. It was matching my freak exactly. 

It is not that now. And that’s both totally expected, and disappointing to me personally. The show now is much more of a, I’m trying to put this in a way that feels less insulting because I don’t mean to be, very Captial L Liberal. Audiences who can afford Broadway tickets will eat up the vague notions of wishing for a better tomorrow and ‘show the way the world could be’ and putting this back into the framework of a story of the gods instead of the utter lack of choices available to people, that the game is rigged from the start, and Orpheus even having this chance is both an exception and a test hades expects him to fail. I get why this happens. Literally every story that has ever been brought to Broadway has had to be made more palatable to a broader audience. The story it is now, is much much more broad, much more life affirming or whatever, and much more easy to hear. I think I would like it better if I didn’t know the story from the very first versions. 

But that was not a problem last night! That was a problem when i heard the previews out of Alberta! So I’ve had years to adjust to knowing that they were going to blame Orpheus a lot more. Which I love that the Broadway seems to have backed off of! The Alberta production really sort of LAID INTO THE BOY in a way I aggressively did not care for, because it was the antithesis of the story as I understood it. Love that they took that back a step. 

Anyway, so, things I loved about the musical last night:

The staging of Wait For Me fucked SO SEVERELY that honestly it makes me forgive like 90% of the things I don’t care for in the final Broadway version, that I thought were done better in other versions. I almost cried, it was EXACTLY what I would have pictured in my head after hearing it all those years ago. It was incredible. I wish I could see it again, and study it. I am thinking about it right now! It will live rent free in my head. Perfect. 

The gal who played Eurydice has clearly listened to Anais Mitchell albums, because she sounded SO MUCH like Anais that it even took me back for a moment. 

I’m not sure if this is praise or a criticism: 

I don’t know how I feel about having Hermes as an overall narrator! I go back and forth on it and have since the Alberta came out. If I were going to do it I would do it differently than it is currently staged. Jetty was talking about how she loves when the instrumentals are onstage, and I’m the exact opposite--I mostly find it crowds the stage while not bringing much interest for me. But in general, i both like it and do not like it, to give a very useful critique. I don’t hate it, for sure. I love the opener for Wait For Me II. But overall I will probably need to think about it for another 15 years. 

Frustrations I have:

 I think I have decided that even for the MASSIVE INSANE BUCKWILD flaw of seemingly blaming Orpheus for Eurydice’s decision, the Alberta is the best version. I think I prefer the concept album on a personal level for a lot of things, but I think the Alberta is, well for starters, definitely more complete--the concept album has some massive gaps in it that desperately needed filling--but it preserved a lot of the poetry that the Broadway version seems to have stripped out while being much more mass appealing. I was particularly GALLED by the rewrite of Epic III, one of the things in the Alberta version that made me say, ‘Wow I am prepared to forgive a lot of horseshit for this song, my god” 

NEVER FORGET WHAT THEY TOOK FROM YOU

They took out "The heart of a king who loves everything like the hammer loves the nail" imagine writing that line and scrapping it, are you HIGH, fuck me running.

And I think this summarizes a lot of my frustrations about the changes between the Alberta and the Broadway. It no longer sounds like a folk opera. It has lost a lot of the poetry of the original, folk music being very grounded in lyric and somewhat less in vocal theatrics. 

Also, and this might just be an actors thing, I did not get any sense that Persephone and Hades love each other…at all. Part of the appeal for human beings named Doc who are me is that they love each other, and they can’t stand each other, and I didn’t FEEL that at all. Like i said this could be an acting thing--I was not overly impressed by our persephone broadly. But taking out her part in Chant II I think also really contributes to this problem. 

This is both the Alberta and Broadway versions: I MISS THE FATES BEING A REALLY TIGHT 40s STYLE GIRL GROUP SOB SOB SOB. In the original, the fates were the only characters ‘outside’ the story, and this was indicated stylistically by the fact that everyone else was singing folk music, and they were singing in this very different style. The idea fifteen years ago was that they actually would be dressed all in that style, but yeah, none of this happens now and i find it SOOOOOO disappointing personally. I hate their stupid costumes I hate the ‘rougher’ style of vocals I hate it so much ahahahahha. If I was going to force Anais to change one thing it would actually be this, even though it is insanely petty and silly. 

The best version of when the chips are down:

I don’t know if literally any of this is what you were looking for but I somehow deeply suspect not. I am IN THE SHIT with Hadestown though, so if you have any specific things you wanted to ask about or have me talk about, let me know! I am just cutting this off now because it’s already at 1700 words and I’m not sure anyone cares that much about my journey with the only musical I can truly say I knew about when it was still a twinkle in someone’s eye. 

(Yeah Doc, I have a question: Do you have anything mean to say about the concept album? OH BOY DO I. Some of it is to be expected like, "Uh, Anais you need the rest of the story here girl." but a huge one is I fucking HATE that she got Justin Vernon, who you know better as Bon Iver, to do Orpheus. He SUCKS. He sounds bored the whole time because that is how that motherfucker sings. I have HATED it since day one. Reeve Carney is perfect and literally what I started my local women's prayer and casserole circle to petition the Lord for.)

[selamat-linting]

me : obviously any business would want to cut costs and the adoption of ai makes sense when you see it from that perspective. i think LLMs is a tool, its not inherently bad especially if you look at how it helped with biomedical researches, and honestly the issues i've seen with it is mostly related to labor rights issues, the nature of a fragile economic bubble, and people's general incuriosity enabled and amplified. that being said, i've seen mostly small business that are cheap and kinda shitty that uses it so "ai art" has that tacky vibe i dislike just like how i hate the microsoft corporate art style. seeing wwe using it is not exactly surprising to me, they've never really got rid of the tacky "company on the verge of bankruptcy" image no matter how high their production budget gets. like, every show, every video package seems like one last bid to tell their investors theyre profitable even when they've been number one in pro wrestling for decades.

that being said i probably wont start gassing them up if they actually hire artists for the show. its wwe, lol. a corporation like any other. i mean, hollywood hires artists and its mostly underpaid vfx and cgi workers, a lot from the global south. plenty of us animation studies outsource their work to other countries like korea and japan, underpaying them in the process, and erasing the work and skill that goes into it by slapping a US brand to it. or i can argue the whole scale of it and how normalized it is makes it more harmful than the occasional use of "ai art". also, back before CGI was a thing there are cases of actors left disabled or very ill from special effects make up too! everything has its downsides and risks, and as long as mainstream / pop art is produced under capitalism, its not going to be free of exploitation. and i think hyperfocusing on one issue while forgetting the rest and losing the bigger picture is pretty silly isnt it?

my inflammatory reddit user alter : your disgusting and exploitative use of artists (ai art) vs our authentic display of human collaboration and ingenuity (outsourcing and underpaying animation workers from "nameless" studios in asia)

[arthurianlegend144]

Mouthwashing, Capitalism and the illusion of individual choice.

I have made two posts about Mouthwashing and Capitalism, but I want to make a longer post about it. Also, I would like to read what others have to say about the subject :D

Let’s define some words first: 

Capital: difficult to be defined, but let’s summarize it as the way the capitalist society works, it’s not a thing, but all the social relations that make capitalism exist. 

Ideology: as defined by Marx, it is the ideas of the elite that are forced onto the worker class to maintain the current system

Marxism: also known as historical materialism, it analyses social conflict between classes, classes relations and social transformation. 

To be clear, this analysis will be Marxist in nature, if you don’t agree with the Marxist way of seeing social interactions, then I am afraid this post isn’t for you.

To start, let’s think about Pony Express. A lot of people have already expressed how all things considered Pony Express acts like the average corporation: cold and incompetent. But is it really incompetent?

A feeling I think is very common for the majority with people who have class conscience, but not a deep understanding of the machinations of capitalism, is the feeling of confusion. Why are things so cruel? Why are people agreeing with those things? Why does injustice exist? The thing is that for those injustices and cruelty needs to exist for the capital to maintain itself. 

Pony Express isn’t incompetent, it’s cheap by design. The system is always there, looming over those characters and their social interactions even when they are away from Earth. So much so that when in a dire situation, they are still scared of losing credits. 

A bunch of other posts, including mine, have talked about how hopeless the situation was in the Tulpar, because of the company’s rules, so I won’t repeat myself. But like I said before, keeping systems that enable abuse of all kinds are a feature, not a bug. That’s why a lot of Marxists think that individualizing causes weakens them, since the root cause of why those problems still exist is capitalism. If people are busy hating others or getting tortured, they won’t notice they are all getting explored. 

I think this post here has basically all the important points of things that are wrong with Pony Express, I would recommend reading it before continuing reading this post.

I will also elaborate on why I think Jimmy is a good representation of ideology. Like I said in the post I linked, I think Jimmy has a little bit of class conscience, because of one of his hallucinations (the one of him watching the TV), and by what Curly has said about him, Jimmy was probably struggling financially before Curly found him a job. Despite knowing that he is being exploited and oppressed, Jimmy is blinded by the hopelessness of ideology and his own paranoia.

His friendship with Curly is especially soured by ideology, despite knowing he is from the worker class, Jimmy can’t see Curly as an equal. Curly may have a bigger salary and a higher position in the company, but he is also being exploited, he is burnt out and getting ill by his work environment. Jimmy is so blinded by ideology that not even the knowledge that he is oppressed is enough to stop him from lashing out and hurting others in the same situation as he is. Jimmy used the system that Pony Express made to enact his anger.

I have expressed before that I think Jimmy shouldn’t have been in the Tulpar in the first place. But Pony Express is like every company, pretending they care about their employees mental health, while they wouldn’t pay for any medical bill and would put a man like Jimmy to work in an isolated place that can make any sane person go insane. Health isn’t important, what’s important is for them to work like horses until they can’t work anymore, becoming useless to the system.

Then we arrive at the illusion of individual choice. All the rules that Pony Express made were designed to keep employees quiet and scared of punishment, the perfect environment for abuse. I think it is specially cruel that they gave the captain a gun and also made a rule that all accidents in the work place aren’t their responsibility. If Anya or Curly actually used that gun, I am sure they would be punished, and Pony Express wouldn’t be held responsible for what happened. 

There was little they could do to avoid more conflict or to avoid the situation all together, so much all the characters seem to have accepted that’s how things are. No safety, no comfort, just work and work in precarious situations, stepping in eggshells trying to avoid getting punished all the time. They rarely complain about their work environment and when they do, they seem to have normalized how dangerous everything is, Jimmy isn’t the only one getting fooled by ideology.

Individual choice isn’t real. Anya wanted to be in medical school, Curly wanted to be satisfied with his life, Swansea was just doing what was expected of a “good man”, Daisuke felt like he was good for nothing. And well Jimmy… Jimmy was very mentally ill, in an ideal world he shouldn’t even be worrying about work, but he needed money. 

In the end of the day, we talk about Jimmy’s responsibility, but he isn’t the only one that will never be held responsible for what happened in the Tulpar. The only thing that Pony Express will actually regret is the fact they lost more money by losing the mouthwash cargo. They will blame the crew for what happened, whether they find Curly in the cryopod is irrelevant, because they won’t take responsibility for causing suffering their workers couldn't escape.

I guess that’s what I have to say for now, if you guys want to add something or disagree, I will be more than happy to discuss things.

[metatheatre]

"Again we have deluded ourselves into believing the myth that Capitalism grew and prospered out of the protestant ethic of hard work and sacrifice. The fact is that Capitalism was build on the exploitation and suffering of black slaves and continues to thrive on the exploitation of the poor – both black and white, both here and abroad. If Negroes and poor whites do not participate in the free flow of wealth within our economy, they will forever be poor, giving their energies, their talents and their limited funds to the consumer market but reaping few benefits and services in return.

The way to end poverty is to end the exploitation of the poor, ensure them a fair share of the government services and the nation’s resources...

The tragedy is our materialistic culture does not possess the statesmanship necessary to do it. Victor Hugo could have been thinking of 20th Century America when he wrote, "there’s always more misery among the lower classes than there is humanity in the higher classes."

The time has come for America to face the inevitable choice between materialism and humanism. We must devote at least as much to our children’s education and the health of the poor as we do to the care of our automobiles and the building of beautiful, impressive hotels. We must also realize that the problems of racial injustice and economic injustice cannot be solved without a radical redistribution of political and economic power...

So we are here because we believe, we hope, we pray that something new might emerge in the political life of this nation which will produce a new man, new structures and institutions and a new life for mankind. I am convinced that this new life will not emerge until our nation undergoes a radical revolution of values. When machines and computers, profit motives and property rights are considered more important than people the giant triplets of racism, economic exploitation and militarism are incapable of being conquered. A civilization can flounder as readily in the face of moral bankruptcy as it can through financial bankruptcy.

A true revolution of values will soon cause us to question the fairness and justice of many of our past and present policies. We are called to play the Good Samaritan on life’s roadside, but that will only be an initial act. One day the whole Jericho Road must be transformed so that men and women will not be beaten and robbed as they make their journey through life. True compassion is more than flinging a coin to a beggar, it understands that an edifice which produces beggars, needs restructuring.

A true revolution of values will soon look uneasily on the glaring contrast of poverty and wealth, with righteous indignation it will look at thousands of working people displaced from their jobs, with reduced incomes as a result of automation while the profits of the employers remain intact and say, this is not just.

It will look across the ocean and see individual Capitalists of the West investing huge sums of money in Asia and Africa only to take the profits out with no concern for the social betterment of the countries and say, this is not just...

A true revolution of values will lay hands on the world order and say of war, this way of settling differences is not just.

This business of burning human being with napalm, of filling our nation’s home with orphans and widows, of injecting poisonous drugs of hate into the veins of peoples normally humane, of sending men home from dark and bloodied battlefields physically handicapped and psychologically deranged cannot be reconciled with wisdom, justice and love.

A nation that continues year after year, to spend more money on military defense then on programs of social uplift is approaching spiritual death.

So what we must all see is that these are revolutionary times. All over the globe, men are revolting against old systems of exploitation and out of the wombs of a frail world, new systems of justice and equality are being born...

Our only hope today lies in our ability to recapture the revolutionary spirit and go out into a sometimes hostile world, declaring eternal opposition to poverty, racism and militarism. With this powerful commitment, we shall boldly challenge the status quo and unjust mores and thereby speed the day when every valley shall be exalted and every mountain and hill shall be made low and the crooked places shall be made straight and the rough places plain...

So let us stand in this convention knowing that on some positions; cowardice asks the question, is it safe; expediency asks the question, is it politic; vanity asks the question, is it popular, but conscious asks the question, is it right. And on some positions, it is necessary for the moral individual to take a stand that is neither safe, nor politic nor popular; but he must do it because it is right."

-- Martin Luther King Jr., 1967

[thebeesareback]

I would love to have a Hunger Games short story about, well, anything. I would especially like to have one which focuses on the families of the career tributes.

Because it must be so strange! Everyone we see in District 12 is aware of exactly how awful the Games are. They all hate them and know it's a slaughter and live in fear. But for districts 1, 2 and 4? Its an honour. Allegedly.

Imagine raising a child and watching them excel at killing and physical activities. You think this is an opportunity to bring wealth, prestige, honour to your family and your district. So perhaps you'd encourage them! You raise this perfect little killing machine, and try to reconcile them with the funny little baby you held and loved. Then you watch them die, on TV, and their killers come and visit your district. Would you feel angry? Ashamed? Heartbroken? If you've got other children, would you want them to volunteer to try and claw back pride?

Let's say that your child did win. They don't come back, not really. Think of Finnick. A 14 year old boy who's killed people and then been sexually exploited around the Capital. You might have raised a beautiful killer, but now he's haunted by nightmares and desperate to protect Annie. Your whole family is in danger if you don't comply with the Capital's requirements. That's not glory: it's horror.

There's an offhand line in the second book where a previous career tribute is reaped and has to return to the arena. The night before the games starts, he goes around to everyone, shakes their hands and apologises because he's going to try and kill them the next day.

I've heard soldiers talk about how they feel like frauds. In the UK we have a charity called "Help for Heros" which works with military and ex military personelle, and apparently it can be strange to have people thank and congratulate you for fighting, because you feel guilty for hurting people or upset because you couldn't protect other soldiers. I imagine Suzanne Collins would have lots of thoughts about this, given her personal history. She grew up with a father who served in Vietnam and witnessed his PTSD firsthand.

Back to the books. If you parented a teenager who came back a killer, would you be afraid of them? In denial about what they've done? Disillusioned? Ashamed? I think there's plenty which could fuel a fascinating character study or short story.

Also, if you're a fan of The Hunger Games, check out Girls Gone Canon's coverage. It's excellent