#hate his New Yorker ass

[vermillion-merlot]

Average New York resident

[metallicmikus]

Modern Newsie headcannons: NYC edition

i know the newsies live in nyc but a lot of the headcannons aren’t about them living in nyc so i came up with some

- Race sleeps a lot on the subway, mostly when he’s with albert cuz he knows albert will get them off at the right place. When they’re standing on the subway, and race is leaning his head on albert’s shoulder, al will keep his arm around Race’s waist so he doesn’t fall. If he’s asleep while they’re sitting down, albert will make sure his head doesn’t hit the wall.

- race and al use one pair of air pods on the subway to listen to the same music

- jack hates the subway (country boy at heart)

- finch will always ask someone if they would get up for crutchie to sit down if they’re are no empty seats

- race just knows the manhattan subway and streets by heart (native new yorker lookin ass)

- david carries hand sanitizer with him for after using the subway cuz you don’t know where everyone’s hands have been (the other newsies catch on cuz it’s smart)

- david is TERRIBLE at navigating the subway system. it’s overwhelming to him. he has cried while trying to figure out where they’re supposed to go when going somewhere new and jack takes over and never lets him navigate again. (unless he really wants to)

- race fanning albert while they wait for the subway (it’s hot as fuck down there)

- i know a very popular hc is that one of the newsies (usually jack) has a van, but realistically, these mfs don’t own cars 😭

- albert and jack will almost always take the stairs over the escalator

- race has fallen asleep alone on the subway and ended up somewhere completely different than where he was headed, which is why he now usually only sleeps if he’s with someone else

- most of the newsies live in lower manhattan (duh), but some of them live uptown north of central park. jack and crutchie live in the bowery with medda. the jacobs live in the lower east side (many jewish families settled there when they moved to nyc). races family lived in east harlem, but they moved to lower manhattan when race was a baby. spot and elmer are roommates (they live in brooklyn)

- race family is the classic italian roman catholic family

- david, sarah, and les are first generation immigrants from poland

- finch has picked up a pigeon off the streets on multiple occasions

- most of the newsies have never really left the city

- you know the newsies are constantly joining broadway lotteries

- race works at the broadway dance center (sky flaherty core)

- albert has no patience for slow walkers, he weaves in between people. he always looks like he’s on a mission.

that’s it for now !!

[imdead770]

Dallas with a s/o who lived in NYC too and has a similar accent as him pls🙏🙏 (Also I love love love you’re writing keep doing what you’re doing!!!)

Dallas Winston x Reader - NYC

Authors Note - I have like 3 asks before this but I love this and it means it get to write a NY accent and that's so fun

Sorry for never writing yall

No excuse I'm just lazy 💞

¤ Just a warning this is super stereotypical

¤ I'm sorry I'm from the south I don't know yall so I'm going off stereotypes 😭😭

¤ First of all people can barely understand either of you

¤ I mean everyone else has a southern accent, they're used to that

¤ So an accent that sounds like you're drunk 24/7 isn't exactly easy to understand

¤ If you're both from New York, you already have a lot in common

¤ The fights, the accent, the road rage, the food, all that

¤ Now I'm from the south, I haven't met a lot of New Yorkers

¤ But the ones I have met always have such a resting bitch face

¤ So like whenever someone introduced you to Dal (or the other way around) you both had that same, natural glare

¤ And somehow you both got the 'holy shit, you're a New Yorker too??' message

¤ I don't know how but New Yorkers just know if you're a New Yorker

¤ It's like a 6th sense

¤ So naturally you're both mean to each other

¤ The others are like 'oh shirt they hate each other'

¤ You don't

¤ Like eventually you leave and Dals all

"She ain't bad."

¤ And everyone's all

"You just insulted each other like.. 25 times?"

¤ And he just nods and lights a cigarette like he didn't just meet his second favorite person in this town

¤ Naturally you both see each other at some pizza place

¤ Probably one that's closest to greasy NY pizza

¤ This is meant as a compliment, yall have such good pizza omfg

¤ You both realize just how much you have in common

¤ How thick the air is, the random guy getting his ass beat as you're just minding your business, the fact nobody here can understand certain words you say

¤ You two understand each other

¤ If Dallas would ever open up to someone about his trauma (he wouldn't), it'd be you

¤ He knows you've seen at least a sliver of the same shit he did

¤ Anyways, both of yall love to hype of New York together

¤ Like really play into the stereotypes

"Oh ya', a rat nearly ate m' face off once"

"WHAT??"

"Happen'd to me, too"

¤ You both think it's hilarious

¤ Plus yall love to make your accents thicker to confuse people more

¤ Slur the vowels together, mumble more then you need to, then watch people try to figure out what the fuck you just said

¤ Dal gets all mad if someone asks him to lighten up the accent

¤ I think you both like hanging out together because it reminds the other of home

¤ Like Dal almost forgot what a New Yorker who wasn't him sounded like

¤ Plus if Dal ever met your parents, even though he's rude and kind of dangerous, they might tolerate him more

¤ Yall intumidate so many people omg

¤ Like half of that town are sweet southern people

¤ So seeing two New Yorkers you get the classic

"Ew, they're yankees"

¤ Yes we really do say that 👍

¤ But people get all scared cuz they're like 'omg they're gonna shoot me'

¤ Again, you both think it's the funniest shit

¤ Like being yelled at by a New Yorker is scary enough

¤ But TWO

¤ It's like you two are so intimidating together it's perfect

¤ Of course Dal asks you on a date to some pizza place and you two walk around the block sharing a cigarette

¤ Another thing

¤ You're actually used to the cold and he's so, so grateful for that

¤ Everyone else in Oklahoma gets all shivery the moment it's less then 60

¤ Like you don't complain about it and he loves that so much

¤ Back to the topic

¤ Date goes great

¤ Once you two become a thing you fight a good amount

¤ I mean you're from the North, it's natural (I think?? This might be stereotypical so sorry)

¤ Even people from the South fight with Dal so this isn't any different

¤ But since you're both used to fights the insults are crazy

¤ Like the gangs jaws have dropped hundreds of times with what the two of yall come up with

¤ Like it's the most foul, disturbingly impressive, heart breaking insults

¤ Then the other returns it with a snicker and another just as horrendously good insult

¤ Match made in heaven

[punkeropercyjackson]

Percy Jackson was black as hell.He's literally a New Yorker from El Barrio who's dad is fucking POSEIDON and a mama's boy that respects women and disrespects men and Sally raised him in the ways of the sea not because of Poseidon but because SHE'S loved it her whole life,is seen as a troublemaker on sight for no reason other than 'he looks scary' and this dated back to since he was a little kid and everybody targeted him even ADULTS so he became a bully beater and protector as a lifelong core trait as he stood up for kids who didn't even like him since it's the right thing to do,is autistic with no masking game because the socialization he was given never taught him how to and physically incapable of not running his mouth and cocky as fuck but also super sweet and self-loathing and hates authority and power from constant childhood trauma at their hands and isn't a pussy about fighting against them EVER even the whole ass entire gods getting on his nerves and him letting them know it by proffessionally instigating,he explicitly has 'a mediterranean complexion' i.e melanin and sea green has multiple shades and he looks EXACTLY like Poseidon so he dosen't need to be a lightskin/biracial to keep his look and he acts like a goofy but capable dad all the time to younger people and there's even a moment of him insulting a group at his middle school by calling them 'rich white boys'

'Percy Jackson is bisexual-coded/transmasc-coded'PERCY JACKSON IS AFROLATINO-CODED!!!!!As far as i'm concerned his full name is Perseo Isadore Jackson and he's dominican with an actual identity and pride instead of the Rick-adjacent 'headcanons' by the fake woke Pjo fandom.RIZZ CITYYYYYYYYY HE'S FROM MANSHATTAN!Him and Virgil Hawkins and Grace Monroe and Hobie Brown should hang out actually

[swifty-fox]

@bcolfanfic number 1 enabler so heres some Curt/Ken tenderness for the late night crew

Sequel to Bcol's

and immediate sequel to my drabble here:

Curt can tell when Gale has fallen asleep because the entire house seems to take a breath. He lays in the guest bedroom still in his clothes from the airport. From the gym. Hadn’t even stopped at his shoe-box apartment to change out of the loose black joggers and shirt with his nametag. His windbreaker wasn’t nearly enough for the Wyoming winter.

“John had a gun.”

Janie’s got a gun Janie's got a gun her whole world’s come undone from lookin’ straight at the sun.

Curt taps the tune out on his chest and glances over at the blinking alarm clock. Only Buck and Bucky would still have an honest-to-god analog clock in their home. But it’s comforting in a way, reminds him of childhood where things like suicide didn’t yet exist. Three-thirty AM. The witching hour his mamo would say and blow a kiss to the Brigid's Cross over the door frame. It’s late, painfully so and Curt’s eyes are so tired they feel covered in sand. But his body is wired, wide awake; fingers stained from drywall and fresh paint flecks. 

The hole was patched.

The aftermath was going to take a lot longer to fix.

Now that Janie's got a gun, she ain't never gonna be the same.

His phone chimes suddenly and he tugs it from his pocket. He knew he was hot shit but a Grindr notification this far out in the middle of nowhere was a surprise. He swipes past it without even looking. Ken’s name is at the top of his list, several unread texts from hours ago left unanswered after Buck’s assurances. 

New York was two hours ahead of Wyoming. The sun would be rising there. 

He tries to tell himself he doesn’t need to talk to Ken. It just felt right to update him on their friends. It wasn’t about Curt and whatever comfort he needed from the younger man. You didn’t seek comfort from things that meant nothing. So it was nothing. So he shouldn’t reach out.

Besides, he shouldn’t text Ken so early when the other man was probably deep asleep, shouldn’t text him and make him feel guilty for missing any updates on Bucky. He flicks his thumb up and down, hovering over the cracked-barely-beyond-use phone screen.

“Fuck it,” he mumbles, exhaustion and dialect blurring the words together into a mumbled ‘fuggit’.

He flicks out of imessage and opens Discord. Ken’s icon was lit up, the scrolling text below it taking Curt a moment of squinting to decipher. He wasn’t old, he was tired thank you.

KennyLemon playing Among Us.

Sweet boy, Curt thinks and then pulls a face at himself. His stomach untwists the smallest amount. 

The discord call rings for all of half a second before Ken’s voice comes over the phone.

“Curt?”

His stomach untwists just that much more. “Heya Kenny. You should be asleep.” 

“I couldn’t.” 

That's what Curt loved. Liked. Hated. About Ken. He was so sincere it was sickening, cracked his damn molars with it. How he’d made it through everything without bruising that tender center of his beyond repair was a wonder to Curt. Like a peach, one Curt was more than used to sinking his teeth into. 

You got one juicy ass Lemmons.

“Curt.”

“Yeah Ken?��� He liked it when the kid said his name. Made something in his chest go all soft and gooey like chocolate. 

“I said, how’s Bucky and everything else?” 

Curt blows out through his lips, tries to exhale every bit of breath in his body until he could sink into the mattress and hide from this whole damn day.

“Brains all where they should be.” 

Sometimes it was good to be vicious. It kept him from feeling too much, feeling too tender. He was a New Yorker, take away his meanness and he’d be a hermit crab without its shell.

“Jesus, Curt.”

“I dunno what t’ tell ya Kenny. He’s halfway across the state where we can’t talk to him. Buck’s half dead from exhaustion or shock or both. I spent half the night patching a bullet hole in a wall my best friend tried to put in his head.” To his shock, his vague horror he feels his throat closing up, his eyes growing hot with burning tears. “Fuck.” He sits up, wipes his eyes violently and tries to yank his jogger leg up to get the straps of his prosthetic. The soft fabric catches on the plastic, on the velcro, on anything it can find. “Fuck,” he spits again just because he can.

“You okay B?” Ken’s voice was so soft and tender Curt wants to bare his teeth at it; just to protect himself. He does, only cause the other man couldn't see and so it wouldn’t hurt his feelings. 

“Can’t get m’damn leg off.” He mumbles, feeling hot shame mingle with the frustration. It was all grief anyways, hidden cleverly behind the mask called complex emotions.

“Wish I was there. I could help you.” 

Curt closes his eyes. Sweet boy. Wish you were here too Kenny.

He didn’t catch feelings. Was renowned for it, prided himself on it. He kept things casual because it was better that way, could see the way Ken was skittish as a stray kitten at the idea of anything real. He wasn’t about to go wading around in someone else's shame, but it did hurt in a special sort of way knowing the fear Ken battled with.

“It’s pretty tense here right now anyways. Probably for the best youse not.”

Kenny’s silent for a long time and Curt tries to swallow his regret, finally winning the battle with his leg and dropping it to the floor with a pointed thump. Take that you bastard. “Yeah you’re probably right.” 

Aw Hell. “It’s not that I don’t want you here Kenny.” He says haltingly, rubs a hand through his hair he still liked to keep short, “I just- I want you here a lot. First thing I wanted to do when Gale finally went to bed was call you.”

“Oh.” Kens voice was a little shaky.

Gentle gentle, be gentle with him Curt. His ma’s voice; always lecturing. You’re too rough Curt, Slow down Curt. Don’t push good things away just cause you’re scared Curt.

“Just so you don’t forget.” He finishes awkwardly “I like havin’ you around.” 

Curt thumps AC/DC against the hollows of his ribs.

Little lover, I can't get you off my mind, no, Little lover, I've been trying hard to find.

“You’ve got a real way with words Curt.” Ken teases.

They laugh, Curt pitching his low so as not to carry through the too-empty house “If y’wanted a poet you wouldn’t be with me.” He teases. A question hidden in a statement, the first time he’d dared acknowledge there might be something.

Because fuck he wanted Ken here. Couldn’t lie to himself now that he was hearing the younger man's voice over the phone. Wanted to tuck him against his side and bury his nose into those curls; sweet smelling and warm. Wanted to press him into the mattress and remind himself that they were alive and things were okay. Ken was sweet and sugar, sometimes Curt swore he licked it off the man’s skin. Whispered it into the shell of his ear as he ground his hips into Ken’s ass until there wasn’t a single ounce of space between them.

“You taste like dessert Lemmons.”

Curt grunts and adjusts himself. He couldn’t help his brain, his drive. But it felt beyond wrong to start anything right then and now.

“Yeah,” Ken smiles. Curt can tell. Ken smiled with his words and his body, just just his sweet mouth. “You’re right.” 

Too sweet, too sincere. It made him violent, made him want to bruise and mark and tease. He rolls onto his stomach with a groan, pressing his face into the mattress and counting backwards from twenty. 

“I wanna fuck you Kenny.” His words are muffled into the duvet but still legible. 

Ken sucks in a quiet breath, Curt can practically hear the other man blush. 

“You’re just sad and scared B.”

Curt squeezes his eyes shut so hard dots spring up behind his eyelids, his throat burns hot and it takes him several breaths to stave off the tears. 

“Yeah.” he mumbles “But I still wanna fuck ya.” 

Tug his curls, lick his stomach that wasn’t quite flat despite his fit state (Curt liked it that way). Kiss him til his lips were swollen and red. Red as his pretty curved cock when Curt took it to the root and slipped two fingers inside. Ken liked his fingers, he said. Liked how thick they were, the way the callouses caught and dragged inside him. The strength of them, liked to wrap his lips around middle and index and drag his tongue between them until Curt lost hold of his already thin control.

“You don’t gotta fuck away all your feelings sweetheart.”

It’s not bitter or reproachful, Ken’s statement. It’s gentle and kind. A reminder out of love, a lever opening the floodgates on the things Curt tried to keep in control. 

He gasps. The bed sheets are wet with tears, his nose running with snot. Fucking gross. 

“I dunno how t’ fix this one Kenny.” he whispers “The goddamn bullets still in the wall, rattling around in there like a fuckin ghost. I asked Gale if we should try to get it out and the look on his face-” 

“You can’t fix it for them.” 

“Whatdy-”

“You can’t,” Ken insists. “You can hold ‘em up and support ‘em and do all the things Gale can’t manage right now but the only one who can fix Bucky is Bucky and the only ones who can fix Buck and Bucky are themselves. You can’t put that burden on yourself or you’ll crack and all youse will end up resenting each other.”

“When’d you get so smart huh kid?” 

“I’ve always been smart, and don't get weird on me.” 

Curt sniffles loudly and grossly that Ken remarks on it, making them both laugh. 

It’s Buck and Bucky he owes his life to, who he would lay down his own for. But right now he doesn’t know what he’d do without Ken Lemmons.

It’s a sobering thought, a terrifying thought; one he can sit with for only a few moments before he’s drawn into that reactionary headspace of fuck, bite, take this tender thing and force it inside your ribcage before it hurts you. 

Kinda fucks you up when you’re raised that drinking a guys blood is the ultimate act of devotion.

“I miss you.” he says and fuck him he means it.

“Take care of our boys and come home soon B.” 

[roadtogracelandx45]

Paradise Undone |2 | S. McGarrett

Two

Emily bade her oldest brother goodbye and made him promise to be careful before she slipped out of the office and waited in the hallway until Steve followed her and pulled her into the stairwell. His mouth covered hers desperate like he had the last night they had in Japan. "Steve, I'm so sorry about your dad." She mumbled against his mouth, "I tried to get out of my shift to go but McCormick wouldn't let me leave." Sara McCormick was her superior officer and hated Emily and how quick she was on her feet and the smart-ass attitude she had when she knew she was right.

Which was a lot of the time and they both knew it.

He shook his head as if he were waving her statement.

He didn't want to see her in a moment of weakness. She only knew him as a strong leader and that's what she needed to keep picturing him as. "You don't have to be strong all the time. Not around me." Not wanting to talk about it, he pressed a bruising kiss on her mouth. The vibrating of her phone pulled them apart and she muttered a curse. She pulled it out of her scrub pocket and groaned when she saw the message, "Sorry, I got to go back to base." "Come over later.' It wasn't a question, it was an order. "Of course." She returned with a smirk as he bent his head to kiss her again. "Go, we don't need Sara punishing you for being late again." She pressed another kiss to his mouth again before going down the stairs.

***

Emily was still tingling when she walked into the hospital. She knew that Steve had been back in Hawaii for the funeral but she didn't realize he had stayed. Of course he had, he wasn't going to rest until the man who killed his father was caught. But what surprised her the most was him working with her ultra stuffy serious older brother.

"You good Williams?" McCormick asked as she came around the counter and placed her phone down on the desk.

"I am fine, my brother just got hurt and I went to double-check his injury." She answered.

The older woman gave her a look, 'It's not that. You saw McGarrett."

Emily pursed her lips together and picked up the files that were on the desk to go through. "McGarrett? As in Commander McGarrett? The man you almost got court-martialed for?" Jane, one of the the other nurses who had been with them for a long time asked as she joined them.

"That would be the one." The lead nurse returned a smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth, knowing that she would be getting under Emily's skin.

"His father died, he is on the Island." The blonde said shortly as she started flipping through the files. "Did you see him?"

"Yes, he is my brother's new partner." The former New Yorker finally spat, knowing that she wouldn't be able to keep it from them forever "And no we don't need to talk about it. It's not any of your business."

"It may not be our business now Sargent but when he breaks your heart it will be." Sarah commented as the girl tapped her finger against the files, "And you know he will, he loves Catherine Rollins just as much as he loves you."

"Let me make one thing completely clear ma'am. Steve McGarrett doesn'tnor will he everlove me. I am just a piece of ass for him." She snapped, "That's it. Excuse me."

**

"Commander McGarrett? Can I help you with something?" Sarah asked as the Commander came onto the floor where they were working just before quitting time. "Where is Williams?" He asked they had brought him in after the whole incident with Victor Hesse and he knew that Emily was there. "Locker room." The redhead tilted her head down the hall to the room.

"Thanks." He answered tensely before he walked down the hall and peeked into the locker room.

The blonde was standing at her locker standing with her back to him, her eyes on her phone. "Hey, you.' He greeted causing her to spin and look at him dropping her phone with a thud onto the floor.

"Steve! What happened?"

"Caught Victor Hesse."

'Victor Hesse? The bastard that you have chased all over the world for 5 years?" Emily questioned as she stood up on her tiptoes to look at the cut and butterfly bandages on his cheek. Not that she didn't trust the nurses downstairs, she did but it always made her feel better if she could double-check their work.

Steve nodded as his free hand caught a hold of her waist and pulled her into him. "He killed my father." The blonde hissed and shook her head, she knew all about Victor Hesse and his brother Anton, she had even been on a task with him and other SEALs trying to hunt them down before she got injured. "Is he dead?" The commander was quiet as his fingers dipped under the material of her scrub down to trace a pattern across the skin of her lower back.

"Steve? Is he dead?" She repeated, cupping his cheeks in her hands, her thumb rubbing against the non-bruised cheekbone.

"Yes." He answered after taking a deep calming breath, he made the right choice of asking to be taken to the hospital on base so he could see Emily afterward, she offered a different sort of comfort than Catherine did.

She offered not only the physical aspect of everything but the emotional side of things, it oddly felt like she was the one that completed him. But he wasn't ready to go to that step yet.

"Can you give me a ride back to the palace? I need to check on your brother and the others" He finally said, pulling away to look at her.

"Of course." She returned pulling away from him fully to gather her belongings.

"Have you seen the hell hole that he has your niece going into it?" "Yes. I tried to tell him we could get a place together that wasn't as bad but he refused, he doesn't want help." Emily had fought with her brother about it, wanting to get off of the base and away from most of the girls in her unit. But Danny stayed stubborn and didn't listen to her or their mother. "What are you thinking?" The Commander smirked, he had to give it to her, she caught on very easily and was usually right there with his plans.

The exact opposite of her brother.

**

At first, Emily wanted to stay behind in her car and let Steve go in and check on her brother and the rest of the team but he insisted that she come in and meet the other two members of the team and he thought that the gift card to the hotel would sound better coming from both of them compared to just him. Instantly, the natural shyness that she had came forth and she grabbed onto Steve's good arm, her blue eyes going from the men working on setting up stuff to the glass office.

"Emily!" Danny's voice exclaimed from his office, "You won't be what he did this time." "What else did you do to my brother?" She asked looking up at the Commander and then at her brother who looked more upset than he had earlier that day. 'He drove a police cruiser onto a freighter boat." "You did what?" She shouldn't have been surprised but she was, Steve was known to do stuff like that especially if he thought it would get their mission completed. Danny nodded smirking, this was a good way to get her to stop seeing him, "He drove a car onto a moving boat with me in it.' Chewing on the inside of her bottom lip thoughtfully before giggling, "Yeah that's pretty on track with him.' "Em, I don't want you seeing him anymore." He ordered causing her to laugh even more before turning back to the two other people in the bullpen. 'Yeah, I don't think that is going to happen." Steve chuckled if she didn't listen to her mother what made Danny think she would listen to him

[matan4il]

Oh my God now some idiots are claiming that Hamas is treating the hostages well and that it's Israel that is killing the hostages. Are you FUCKING KIDDING ME WITH THIS BULLSHIT!?!

God I want to punch some of these idiots so bad. They are literally doing the same shit the Nazis they hate are doing.

Hi Nonnie!

Absolutely this. Hamas is releasing a few of the hostages to make it harder for Israel to start the ground action. They're not doing it out of kindness, they're trying to save their own asses. The overall picture of what was down by Hamas is too abhorrent, and seeing this elderly woman before and after her being kidnapped and beaten is no exception to anyone with morals:

Trying to claim anything else is expecting all of us to go into a collective Stockholm Syndrome.

For those who don't know, this is a phenomenon named after a bank robbery in the Swedish capital, Stockholm. Two men held four bank employees as hostages, at gun point, inside a bank vault, under inhumane conditions. But by the time the hostages were released, they saw their abusers as benevolent:

When hostage Elisabeth Oldgren complained of claustrophobia, he allowed her to walk outside the vault attached to a 30-foot rope, and Oldgren told The New Yorker a year later that although leashed, “I remember thinking he was very kind to allow me to leave the vault.”

The emphasis is mine. Anyone who calls Hamas humanitarian, wants Jews to react as if allowing us to walk outside the vault, under the threat of gunfire, and while kept on a leash, is a kindness.

NO.

This daily update also addresses this antisemitic spin.

Take care, lovely! Your well being is more important than anything those hateful, morally broken people have to say. xoxox

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[baltimorebullets]

Like the New Yorker before me, this week’s viewings will cover THE SUBSTANCE (2024), which I actually saw a week or two ago but am still thinking about, and A DIFFERENT MAN (2024), which I did actually see this week and am kinda bummed about A24’s throttling of its release. As they are both very heavily about The Body, I am going to talk about The Body, so here is a very broad content warning about that. Also, my “reviews” are diary entries. With spoilers. On we go!

TRACK ONE

So one opinion I have that I can’t quite square even with myself is that I’m fairly anti-cosmetic and plastic procedures. It’s a stance I can’t defend from reasonable counters concerning bodily autonomy, especially when it comes to gender-affirming care. I can’t imagine myself as someone with any authority to say, any right to judge, what people have to just live with. I don’t think I have much to add to one of the hot topics when it comes to choice feminism vs. liberal feminism. But I guess that’s the magic of Genre and Cinema to give some new form to discussion.

The Substance is disgusting. As in, it’s body horror, and I spent multiple scenes hiding behind my hands, groaning out loud, kicking my legs. And please believe I am generally someone who believes in the holy sanctity of quiet theater experience; it was all involuntary responses to an undeniably visceral movie. There was the obvious parts to it — lumbar punctures into oozing, infected wounds are gross — but undeniably the momentum also rode on the rush of schadenfreude, watching and waiting for someone to pay the price for not following the rules. No one has ever been more botched than Elisabeth Sparkle is by the end of this movie.

I texted a friend after leaving that the ending is a Carrie for the modern era. Blood and blood and gore and tits and blood. Elisabeth — some form of Elizabeth — crying out, “I’m still me.”

Of course I felt bad. I felt like an asshole. That’s the whole thing. Elizabeth is never a bad person. She’s not even a mean person. She just got older. What that meant to her existed outside of herself. 

So, I found Contrapoints’ video Beauty to be one of her weakest, and while I value Envy a lot, I was equally unimpressed by her decision to leave the Kardashian disdain as just envy. I’ll take their money, sure, but there is also something peculiar in the experience of my eyebrows, my mouth, my skintone, my ass but not my stomach becoming a trend, something to be bought—

And then, on the horizon, like the great evil it is, some TERF rises up and starts in on and it’s the same for the commodification of womanhood—

Anyway, I’ve been recreationally starving myself this year. By some measurements, it’s gone pretty great. I talk about it with exactly no one, because I don’t want to hear about it. Once again, I find myself caught between a diet culture that I hate and fat acceptance that I full-heartedly believe in, but, also I’m still doing this. And not for health reasons. I’ve always breathed easy, my joints have always been strong, I’m never sick, except for all the times I just say I’m sick because I’m so constantly and deeply miserable it’s hard to explain any other way, and by some definitions of disability, it’s an accurate description, so. 

More than my body feels like my body, it feels like a site of neglect, and not in the way people who hate fat people mean it, but in the inhale deeply then list everything that has ever gone wrong in your life starting from conception sort of way. My body that is a poor body and a rural body and an abused body and a neurodivergent body and a Black body and a body of my family before it is my body. Any choice I made was preceded by those realities, which is to say there was no choice but to withstand, until I reached this point where I can make decisions about what I want for myself, from this body. 

… Want? Aw, fuck.

TRACK TWO

So the protagonist of A Different Man, Edward, has a leak in his apartment ceiling. He’s too embarrassed to have someone come by and fix it. The hole gets worse. Eventually, a piece of rotten wood falls free, into Edward’s face, and takes a chunk with it. The wound heals miraculously fast, because he is on a drug that will cure his neurofibromatosis.

When Edward goes to the doctor, he explains that the whole “chunks of face falling off” thing is kind of scary. The doctor dismisses him. He goes home. He spends a sweaty, bloody week literally clawing his face off, revealing him to be Sebastian Stan. 

Once that’s done with, he calls someone to fix the hole. He denies being the man — Edward — who lives in the apartment. He goes out and gets a blowjob in the bathroom of a seedy bar. He changes his name and gets into real estate. Edward was an actor.

Not a particularly good one, it’s worth noting.

I’ve kind of painted myself into a corner here, because I’ve read a fair bit about director Aaron Schimbergm’s motivations with this movie, and because I feel that in some real ways it’s dangerous to put A Different Man and The Substance too close together, and I don’t know the point where (over?)sympathizing with the experience of living with a physical disability becomes patronizing. But seeing A Different Man called shocking was, for me, a bit like seeing Parasite shocking. Which is to say, I wasn’t shocked, because the feel of it was too real. The anonymous Guy was cured, and, in denying Edward, lost himself in a real way he can’t reclaim. And for what? Adam Pearson’s Oswald is loved, and talented, and confident, and appreciated, and Guy is still Edward in all the shitty little ways, too.

Schimberg is pretty clear about the treatment being for medical motivations, driven by the medical team, over aesthetic purposes, both in interviews and within the film. Edward has had countless surgeries to address his condition, and it affects his vision, his hearing. Schimberg himself has a cleft palate and had dozens of surgeries related to it that, as a child, he just had to watch happen through a mirror. There’s a steady theme in the movie about #OwnVoices, which I understand to be Schimberg responding, in part, to the response to his last movie, and Pearson’s role in it. Once again, there’s the obvious side to it, that representation and diverse creative expression are desperately necessary, but also the flipside of it: the discourse, the cannibalization, the alienation within the question of Is this still yours?, then back home to What are you without it? Does it even matter?, and the answer, the fierce defensiveness within Yes, it matters, it’s me, still, always.

INTERSECTION

In I Saw The TV Glow, which is just about the most painful coming out allegory I’ve ever experienced in my life, a character monologues about asking to be buried alive, trying to convince another character, Owen, to join her:

I counted to 10,000 without skipping any numbers. I pissed and I shit my pants, and I forced my mouth to produce whatever saliva it could muster just so I would have something to drink. 

— and I think, the script I found doesn’t show it, but I’m pretty sure the character looks into the camera and says, “And that was part of it.” — 

I screamed as loud as I could for help. I apologized for the whole thing. And I begged God for someone to come along and save me. I tried and tried to claw my way out, but that burnout guy had packed the dirt in too tight, just like I had asked him to do. And then, after I don’t know how long, I felt myself start to leave myself. … 

And then I was clawing my way up out of the ground. And then I was at the surface, gasping for air, rain pouring down on me. Thunder and lightning. And I was finally back there. Back at our old sleepaway camp. And just like I was waking up from a bad dream, that whole life… that whole reality where I was Maddy Wilson… drifted away. Like a brief hallucination that, after a few moments, I could hardly even remember. And all those memories that had felt so real washed away with the rain back at our old sleepaway camp. And I was me. I was finally me again.

Whatever it is that I feel, I do not believe that the human body is a sacred temple that should not be tampered with and for which a perfect form exists. Change, by choice or force or nature, is inevitable, and beautiful, and natural, and also terrifying.

In the great trans health text that is Youtube, there are countless, countless hours of postsurgery content. Incisions, swelling, draining, bruising, stitching, scarring, all carefully documented for the usual reasons, and so that the next person goes in slightly less blind. 

There was also this nonbinary person I watched once who was transitioning while on a low dose of T, and I can’t remember what exactly they were talking about, their voice or their facial hair, but they were saying, “Well, do I actually dislike it, or do I just feel vulnerable, having other people see it?” and I was just like, aw, shit.

I’m not, like, unaware that the changes I’ve committed to in the last year or ten have by and large been socially demanded of me, and they have done very little to make me happier. I have been slapped pretty viciously back into place for trying for better. I do get caught between the idea that, well, this is adulthood, and a certainty that something has gone very, very, very wrong, and I carry it with me everywhere I go, and everyone can always see it, and that’s why things are the way they are.

And I don’t really want to be bullshitted, you know? Elizabeth’s problem was that she got old. That’s real. There’s a lot of real shit that goes into living in a body like mine. And more than anything I just don’t want to deal with that bullshit.

… But is that true? There are parts of me that I would be horrified to lose, not because I draw from some deep well of self-worth but because it’s me; you cannot tell me my eyes would be better by any meaning of word if they were blue.

But the other stuff. Oh, the other stuff.

If I got The Substance’d up, what would crawl out of my back? A better version of myself, according to who? To what? What performance would be required of them? 

So a problem I have with gender hypotheticals along the lines of If you woke up like— or Would you press a button that— is that I am petrified by the concept of actual change, and my actual flesh body feels really dicey subject to gamble on. Do I want my voice and my hair and my skin and my muscle and my fat and my face to be different? Do I want to look someone in the eye and introduce myself different, and have them look at me different?

I just want to feel better.

And, besides, that’s all rhetorical, because I’m not transitioning, I’m losing what could be called a significant amount of weight. Which, again I don’t even know how to talk about. I’m not really proud of it. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that it started the second I got my head back above the poverty line and away from my last living situation. I don’t care to imbed the idea in another person’s head that it is a good and necessary process, especially in the hows and whys of how I’m going about it. I spend many hours of most days hungry, and semi-frequently Google What is my body doing? only for Google to say You might be malnourished, to which I close the tab and try to remember to drink more water and take my multivitamin. I don't know how to say this without romanticizing ~the struggle~ or minimizing its impact, the effort, why it's not as easy as people thing. All I want is better.

Semi-frequently, when people talk about their weight loss, they talk about how their self esteem is still shit, or that they hate how people treat now, actually, compared to before, or they feel numb, depressed, hollow. And people will respond, but the health benefits, which, yeah, of course, and it takes time for your brain to catch up to the progress you’ve made, and, also, it’s grief, of who you were, who you had to be.

I catch myself being nostalgic for times and places that tore me apart all the time. All the time. But they’re gone, now, choices already made, doors already shut, so of course they still feel safer.

So there’s the reality, right, of that double consciousness of people very much do look at you all the time and instantly make decisions about your value and abilities. But there is also very much the point where reasonable defense crystalizes into shame, and, well.

A thing in all of these movies is that, for as dramatic as every change is, there remains a steady, unmovable constant that you are still you, and no amount of sleepwalking denial or radical transformation or miracle cures can touch that, and trying to deny yourself can be absolutely fatal. Elizabeth got a very pointed warning from another user of The Substance, before she continued barreling towards her finale: “It gets harder each time to remember that you still deserve to exist. That this part of yourself is still worth something. That you still matter. Has she started yet? Eating away at you?”

She had, of course, and, god, yes, okay, you caught me, THE CINEMA and ASK POLLY of THE CUT, I am so fucking ashamed of existing, unfinished and imperfect and hurting and so unsure of everything, and I don’t want anyone to perceive me until I’ve accurately rendered myself a product I can be proud of, and it all sucks so fucking bad, and I have no clue what I'm supposed to do different at this point.

SO THIS IS A MOVIE REVIEW?

… Huh? Right. Right right right. 

PROS: Thank god these were movies for adults and not Dove commercials, because oh my god. Like I said up top, thank god for genre, because what better than horror and comedy to really crack open a few ribs and not judge a single soul for it. 

CONS: The Substance should have been ten minutes shorter. Not a lot shorter, but just enough to light a fire under the editor’s ass to get shit done a little tighter. A Different Man’s last little movement was pretty, like, whatever. Kind of familiar, honestly, because I also frequently know a few more scenes past what should be the final scene of a story, but sometimes you really have already said what everything you need to say. 

CONCLUSION: Very different movies, both crafted very well.

[liminalmemories21]

4 and 32 please :D

Thank you!

4 - Who gets road rage?

I think almost definitely TK. He learned how to drive in New York City, but spent most of his time driving there behind the wheel of an ambulance, and okay, yes, people are shitty about getting out of the way, but in the end he's got sirens and a big ass ambulance, and a permanent right of way.

He never really had to drive himself in NY - took the subway, like any self-respecting New Yorker. The car culture of Austin took some adjusting too - took him about six months before he caved and admitted that he did actually need his own car. Hates sitting in traffic, bitches about the people who don't use a turn signal, mutters imprecations at the people who cut you off just because they have to get to the light first even though they're just going to sit there waiting for it to turn green like everyone else.

Carlos drives when they're together, not because TK's not a good driver, but because it stresses TK out to drive, and Carlos is pretty philosophical about it. (that being said - if you asked who was more likely to speed on the highway - Carlos 100% all day long - if you're not doing 10 over the limit why are you even on the road, 15 over the limit is basically just keeping up with traffic, 20 over the limit is where he cruises). TK can't believe he's never been pulled over.

32 - Who is more likely to update their social media sites?

Depends on the context. Carlos has a very locked down accounts - basically, if he hasn't met you in real life, you don't have access. And he's good at posting official pictures - birthday parties, Memorial Day at the Ranch, Thanksgiving at the firehouse, wedding pictures.

TK's accounts are open to pretty much everyone - although he's blocked a lot of the people he used to know in New York (definitely Alex) - and he posts a lot of random snapshots of his day - the firehouse, waiting in traffic, the almond croissant he's eating, the smoothie his dad made him - always posts food pics when they try a new restaurant. But there are very few pictures of people, and the ones that are up are the only ones he's got friend locked. Carlos asked him once, and he'd shrugged and admitted that he'd had a lot of his privacy violated in New York, he wasn't going to do that to anyone else without their express permission.

Tarlos Inbox Game - Who is More Likely

[theconstitutionisgayculture]

Your anon ask about the SNAP program brought up a lot of things from my past. 10 years ago, my father's girlfriend forced him to sell the house that he and I owned. Foolishly, 3 years prior, he wanted everything in his name instead of mine for tax reasons, which as he was in his 70s, there were many reasons to do this, so I came off the mortgage and deed. This bit me in the ass when she forced him to sell. I lost all of my equity in the house, and a lawyer I consulted said that I had no leg to stand on coming off of those things. I wasn't working the best of jobs and had some things eating away at my wages. I went to the welfare office for emergency housing. To call this one of the worst experiences in my life is an understatement. It led to me being homeless for a few months before I could afford to support myself at a motel. Anyhow, when meeting with the case worker, she utterly humiliated me. First by laughing at me and my situation. Once she composed herself, she told me that you're a single male. I don't have to do anything for you. Just leave, get another job and act like a man. The shame was unreal and still burns deep to this day, despite being way better off now. There was nobody I could appeal to, as she made it clear that if I challenged her or raised my voice, security or the police would remove me and that anyone else is going to say the same thing. Since I was so defeated, I retreated to my car, sat there for a few minutes before just totally breaking down and losing it. Thank you ny state for employing some cow on a power trip that said you're a single white male, just get a second job, I've got nothing for people like you

I'm sorry that happened to you, anon. That lady was a piece of shit, and emblematic of the problems with modern welfare. It's often said that men who were bullies in school become cops, and women who were bullies become nurses, but I think a lot of those men and women go into social work too. I'm glad you're in a much better place now, and even though I don't live there anymore and I hate New York with a passion, I still feel the need to apologize for how my birth state treated you. I've hated living in NY, I've hated the state government, I've been angry at New Yorkers, but this is the first time I've been ashamed to say I'm technically one of them.

[beachesgetpeaches]

I can't deal with the two extremes at this point. I've seen some act like Matty is a godsend that never did anything wrong, because it was all an "act". I've seen the other side act like he murdered someone.

There is a middle ground. He might just be an immature asshole that made shitty edgy jokes. He wouldn't be the first. He won't be the last.

More than anything, and this is just my opinion, I feel like a lot (not all) of Swifties are upset, not because of what he said or did, but because he makes Taylor look bad and it calls her activism into question. Some of them seem to think liking an activist makes them an activist or morally superior.

This is probably all over the place, but that's kind of how I feel. Matty is an ass, as always. But Taylor was never an unproblematic champion of marginalized communities.

I think at this point, fans might just need to accept that maybe they aren't amazing people, and maybe it's okay to just like their music or...stop buying it. Taylor breaking up with Matty tomorrow won't make her a better person.

Sorry, that was longer than I meant it to be.

I actually love that my ask can be a place to vent and share opinions so no apologies needed for the length. But I agree, there are two extremes which kind of just seem to feed each other... and it's not constructive at all.

It also means that if you say something that disagrees with one extreme you are likely to be treated as the other. Though in this case I've gotta admit that I've seen more of it from the "hate matty" side than the defend side - though this could just be the side of the internet I am in.

And with that kind of mindset it means that people who are in the middle (which I think is the closest to the truth, not to idk pat myself on the head or anything) and recognise that Matty has fucked up, and that we should criticise some of his actions, while also maintaining that he is not actually racist/antisemitic/islamophobic/thedevil/etc... those people are being ignored. Or worse, they just get bunched with the other extreme side and called racists, white-feminists, and yknow the rest.

Not to mention that I do think Matty in his statement to New Yorker was onto something with how he said "let me get as close to X as possible, so you can see how good I am"... kind of like, look at me calling out what everyone else is calling out to prove how moral and good and worthy I am. When, in fact, all of those reactions are doing nothing because ultimately Matty (in this case) is actually not a racist, has stood for things that need standing up for, and is actually not actively harming people. Beyond hurting feelings of people online (?).

(and I guess here I understand the wish from some fans that he addresses things or apologises, but I can't speak on t1975 fandom account since I have not been a part of it for the many years they have been active)

Either way, to me it seems that people still have not learned to listen/read for themselves instead of reiterating the things they read without forming their own opinion.

@yallcantread has made a few really well written, well documented posts about this specific topic, which I would encourage people to read through.

[metallicmikus]

don't be shy what are your ralbert headcanons 👀

oh my god where do i even begin 😭😭😭 i’m like THE ralbert blog on tumblr !!!! i’m insane about them i need to formulate my thoughts

- albert hates physical touch unless is race

- albert’s love language is quality time

- race’s is physical touch/words of affirmation

- cannon era these mfs cuddle in the winter cuz race gets cold and albert is warm

- t4t !!!!!

- modern race lives in albert’s hoodies and he doesn’t even remember that they were originally albert’s

- albert’s been in love with race since they were kids

- best friends to lovers

- in modern they grew up in the same apartment complex

- albert gets jealous easily, not like crazy jealous, but he gets jealous. he hates it. if someone is flirting or talking with race, albert will make himself known like hugging race from behind and burying his face in his neck.

- asexual albert and hyper sexual race, but it works

- race hates when people call him Antonio (even tho his ass picked out the name), except albert ofc

- pet names albert uses for race: babe, baby, hun, darling (when he’s feeling fancy) but he also whips out the italian pet names like caro (dear), tesoro (darling). He also calls him Toni, Tonio, and Anton.

- pet names race uses for albert: al, albie (classic), baby, babes, red, freckles. he also loves to call him the most wack shit sometimes, like he will call him whore endearingly.

- modern race will double, triple, quadruple text albert, spam text him until he responds and he’ll just tell him random facts about what he’s fixated on

- a lot of y’all say they can’t cook, LIES they’re italian new yorkers, they can both cook (race is better). and the love to cook together when they can.

- race is a dancer and albert is a musician

- they hyphenate their last names when they get married

- i hc albert’s bday as halloween, so they go on dates to like haunted houses and shit

- they’re not super keen on pda, minus some hand holding and little kisses

- they have matching bracelets

- they give each other their t-shots 🫶🏻

- race begs albert to send him photos of him like flexing whenever he goes to the gym and when he doesn’t he’s like giggling and kicking his feet

- albert is very clingy to race when he’s drunk

- race likes to be the big spoon cuz he needs to hold stuff while he’s sleeping, UNLESS he’s cold or in a mood and needs to be held

- modern ralbert would definitely have a few kids and be those like punk dads (i hc albert as goth but he dresses basically like sky dresses and that race is a bit punk)

- race bites to show affection /nsx

i’m so insane about these two it’s not even funny

[cto10121]

R&J Clown Takes Round ♾—Part 11

In which someone wrote a song with the lyrics “Romeo was full of shit / Juliet, she fell for it / But I’m not an idiot” or something along those lines and the Instagram people lapped it up, the sweetest clown bait. Perhaps too clownish, though, for we actually do see some pushback. Wonder of wonders! Also featuring some stray Gnomeo and Juliet clownery here and there. Allons-y.

“Romeo /= Cool”

Gnomeo and Juliet does suck ass, but again, dude. Dude. Mercutio is canonically his friend. He literally chose Romeo and Benvolio as people to hang out with. As in, people he personally liked. If you don’t think Romeo is cool, then you have no business stanning Mercutio, who obviously does think Romeo is cool, at least before he turned all ~pussified. Or else he wouldn’t be amused/miffed/lowkey worried at Romeo’s mooning over Rosaline. Or, er, be the one to consistently ask where he was.

As for badass and cool…these are very loaded terms—badass can mean anything from macho stupid American pow-pow bullshit to honest heroic acts—but at the very least Romeo canonically gets shit done. He decides to search for Juliet and does. He climbs the garden wall and, after some consideration, shows himself. He talks to the Friar about him marrying the two like he said he would. He refuses to fight Tybalt. When Tybalt kills Mercutio, he decides to fight Tybalt and kills him. And when dumbass Paris comes along and threatens to turn him in to the authorities, Romeo kills him off and honors his last dying request to be buried next to Juliet.

No and also no.

(Fun fact: I actually literally wrote a whole short story on how this very premise Would Not Happen, even in an everyone-lives AU. I’ve submitted it to The New Yorker and other magazines because I giveth no fucks. All my fucks, alas, are flown away, look at them go.)

More Romeo Hate Dumb (Reprise, Ancora Più Brutto)

No pulse nor breath no pulse nor breath no pulse nor breath—

Shakespeare’s tragic protagonists do not usually have just one “tragic flaw.” But even if Romeo’s “tragic flaw” is his impatience, then it certainly Juliet’s as well.

And considering that Tybalt did not know about R&J, Romeo does not “expect to end the family feud after one discussion.” He just doesn’t give a reason why he won’t fight him.

Color in the cheeks = life even if 1) Servant tells you wife is dead in Capulet’s crypt and 2) You see her interred in Capulet’s crypt and 3) She literally has no pulse or breath and is cold to the touch. Clown logic at its finest.

The R&J Defense Squad Is Here!

Romeo was a discord mod, Juliet was his kitty

When the clownery is literally so bad random ass commentators handed Clown OP their ass just by speaking facts.

“Their story was fine but their romance was horrible—” Without the romance, there would be no story. It’s the axis around which almost everything happens. Otherwise it’d just be two families who hate each other for no good reason doing the Hate(tm) for three hours. Oh, and they have nice, obedient, frankly basic-ass children, I guess. It’s like those people who try to argue that having any conflict in stories is white supremacy or something.

The unofficial motto of this blog by this point.

[punkeropercyjackson]

I hardly think Luke being the main og villain and Percy the protagonist and the best hero in-universe is 'liberal' writing

1.Luke was literally the HERO OF THE GREAT PROPHECY and is spoken of positively post-death

2.Luke was a white cishet blue eyed blonde male who grew up in a summer camp and was it's leader that the kids viewed as a parental figure of sorts and the reason he's bad is he took advantage of them by grooming them to join his child army and treated boys of color(Chris and Ethan)badly but was attracted exclusively to the underaged girls he abused(Annabeth,Thalia,Silena and Kelli dosen't have a canon age but passed for a high school freshman with no apperance change except hiding her Empousa features)and never actually did anything to fix the system except hating the gods and Percy is a dark featured(black hair + mediterranean complexion described,which means brown skin)New Yorker raised in El Barrio and grew up getting bullied nonstop for being disabled and poor with an abusive stepdad but never stopped being a bully beater no matter how many schools it got him kicked out of,had a whole subplot of proving himself unlike traditional men to a girl who's implied to be persian because she was so traumatized by an awful man she became a misandrist but also just in general throught both Pjo and Hoo without even trying the rest of the time and fights to protect and for the rights of both lower classed greco-roman beings and irl minorities as well as insulting his and their oppressors in his narration and often verbally,including hating the gods before Luke did at his age and told them when he was younger than Luke in TLT too to get they asses in gear with no fear or hesitation and rejected their offer for power in the same breath

Like of course Percy is the good guy.Luke's just good at propaganda and you guys always fall for it because he's the palpable vision of 'revolutionary' unlike Percy,he's safe,he's conventional,he knows how to talk smart.But at the end of the day,which one of them stood up for what was right as only a child instead of perfectly fitting multiple kinds of fascism as a grown man?

Anyway 'Luke Castellan apologists' in bio niggas breath some fresh air,invest in a dating app and help the countries suffering thanks to the kinds of people your racist cradle robber was written to represent instead whining about the show but not going after Rick for his fence sitter shit

@thisismisogynoir

[fruitzbat]

want to hear why you hated morbius

what I'm saying is probably what everyone has been saying more eloquently and comprehensively in the year since it came out, but I'm procrastinating on writing my own shit so I think I'll get into what leapt out at ME during the two hours of my life I lost to it a month ago:

First and largest strain on my suspension of disbelief would be right off the bat (hehe) in that Michael Morbius and Milo (Matt Smith, of the bad dancing clip fame) have a disease where they need to have their blood manually replaced (iirc) several times a day. The way that this manifests for them is weakness and having to walk around with canes or an IV pole at all times. Periodically, their machinery malfunctions and they pass out. Like, Michael can still be sent off to school in The Big City with some support (he needs his blood manually replaced, like his kidneys don't work), but Milo and one of Michael's later patients is basically bed/house-bound (they need their blood manually replaced, like their kidneys don't work). There is absolutely no fucking way that any of these people should even be alive, let alone, like, outside or going to school. The ramifications of not having the ability to filter your own blood? Like, a completely non-functioning liver or kidneys? What about the immune system, especially if you're talking about someone needing that many transfusions? Your body makes so much of it, and you need that replaced several times a day, and it seems to be an inborn disease so this is something that would need to be caught at once. Unfortunately, I think that this is one of those illnesses that kills you as a baby. I don't know enough about blood diseases to know how real this kind of illness might be, but I think the writers didn't either, which is a shame.

One of the big pressures on our boy Morb once he becomes a vampire is that his artificial blood that he invented, which is supposedly a 1:1 perfect match to human blood, isn't sufficiently nourishing him and he needs The Real Shit. This is never really elaborated upon.

The fucking hospital he works at has no funding to fix the goofy-ass serial killer hallways or to pay the nurses to run when one of their patients is going into shock, but has enough for Morb's fuckin vampire bat turret in his office, which is just THERE like a dentist's fish tank.

There's a public school across the street which only seems to house shithead pre-teens who come out to point at the "freaks" (read: effectively the cancer patients). Milo loses his special little origami note from Michael, the kids find it and he asks for it back, and these kids fucking jump him? for no reason?

Morbius starts morbing on people. His beautiful assistant has seemingly zero qualms about this. I mean, slay, who am I to judge, but this man will not fuck you. He doesn't know how.

The cops jump ALARMINGLY fast to the conclusion that it was vampires, given that this is a universe where the supernatural is arguably not the most prevalent presence in the daily lives of New Yorkers.

The cops in this in general. Wild, even for a superhero movie. One of them tries to do the whole fucking "handcuff flick" thing to Michael without anything resembling probable cause,

There is like absolutely zero setup for the conflict between Milo and Morbius within the context of their vampirism. Like, you could see the resentment from Milo when it came to the fact that Michael was the "favorite" and brilliant and madly successful etc, but the framing for their moral schism is minor if not nonexistent.

[zanzibarhamster]

the more i think about revolver ocelot, russian native, having a southern drawl when he speaks english... like, he is clearly leaning into the cowboy thing, because he thinks they are cool, more power to him ig. but if he *wanted* to have a different accent in english, could he? or was he exposed to too many westerns at a tender age for such a thing to be possible? would he refuse on principle?