#soul cringe

[13thpythagoras]

why Dune is crap

Tolkein and this English lit scholar explain my pov quite well

"

Martin Turner · BA in English Literature and Language, University of Oxford (Graduated 1988)

Tolkien stated “I dislike DUNE with some intensity,” but he did not give a reason why.

However, you don’t need to look far—only as far as Tree and Leaf—to understand Tolkien’s views on story and artistry.

Tolkien was interested in stories that were good for their own sake. Even in dark moments, the story should be a delight to the reader. By Tolkien standards, Dune is quite gratuitous in its bloodthirstiness, violence and corruption. Herbert takes a positive delight (it would seem) in describing the debauchery of the Harkonnens.

On a similar level, Tolkien always wrote in a way which was suitable for children. He discusses this in Tree and Leaf. He did not see any benefit in filling out his stories with sex and gore.

Tolkien’s world is ultimately a world of grace and kindness. These, to Tolkien, were the marks of the true hero, of whom Gandalf and Aragorn were the contrasting pinnacles. These are qualities almost entirely absent from Dune, which is much more focussed on power and revenge. This is somewhat like the difference between Shakespeare and Webster. The Duchess of Malfi has a very similar milieu to Dune. Tolkien’s own heroes were Gawain and Beowulf, rather than Machiavelli.

Tolkien describes world-building as an imaginative journey. He discusses the difference between simply writing ‘the green sun’ and thoroughly imagining it. To him, the imagination was the main thing. Dune, by contrast, is ‘Lawrence of Arabia in space’. Herbert was reportedly[1][2] very taken by the film,[3]and transplants the milieu wholesale into a science-fiction setting.[4][5] To Tolkien, this was an unacceptable shortcut. Remember that he criticised his friend CS Lewis for borrowing and mixing in Narnia. Herbert’s method is far more heinous, from a Tolkien point of view.

Tolkien loved language. He plays with it endlessly, and there is an extraordinary sound to his prose if you read it aloud. Herbert has a superficial reference to multiple languages, such as Chakobsa, but it is quite evidently that of the non-linguist.

Tolkien didn’t like preachy writing. It wasn’t just allegory he was opposed to. Dune is full of little asides telling us about ideal societies, and what it means to be human. It would have grated Tolkien on most pages.

Tolkien did not like modernism. Dune is a child of modernism in a much clearer way than, say, Foundation or Islands in the Sky. Its philosophy is a blend of existentialism, proto-New-Ageism, nihilism and rationalist scepticism. All of these would have seemed barren to Tolkien, and Herbert lets them go unchallenged.

Tolkien is concerned with heroes. Dune is concerned with anti-heroes. Herbert is quite explicit about this: “Here lies a toppled god / his fall was not a small one / we did but build his pedestal / a narrow and a tall one” (Tleilaxu epitaph, Dune Messiah).

Above everything, Dune had been very publicly compared to and described as the science-fiction equivalent of The Lord of the Rings. Tolkien would have been aghast to see what people thought was an equivalent to his writing, which was opposite in almost every respect.

Ultimately, Dune is full of the things that Tolkien detested, and having the book described as the equivalent of his own book must have irked him deeply.

Footnotes

[1] 

“Going Native” with Dune’s Paul Atreides

[2] 

Dune, 50 years on: how a science fiction novel changed the world

[3] 

Dune (1984) - IMDb

[4] 

Interview with Frank Herbert and Beverly Herbert by Willis E. McNelly

[5] 

Frank Herbert’s Dune and the Dune Series

"

Watching Dune is like watching a documentary of gratuitous violence rather than an actual story, even the director of Dune (2021) states this, Denis Villeneuve: "I tried to do a sci-fi movie like a documentary." [Nerds of Color]

Calling Dune punk-anything is like calling Godzilla a rom-com...

Dune's white savior complex is stinging and constant, and there is no defense, even as we see director Villeneuve attempt to defend on this point as:

"There is a storytelling trope called the White Savior where a Caucasian will go into a foreign land and act as a rescuer or messianic figure to the indigenous people there. And Herbert’s work has been criticized for falling into that trope. So how do you contemporize the story to avoid falling into the problematic areas that trope may potentially present?

That’s a very important question. And it’s why I thought Dune was, the way I was reading it, a critique of that [trope]. It’s not a celebration of a savior. It’s a condemnation and criticism of that idea of a savior. Of someone that will come and tell another operation how to be and what to believe… it’s a criticism. That’s the way I feel it’s relevant and can be seen contemporary. And that’s what I’ll say about that. Frankly it’s the opposite [of that trope]." -[Nerds of Color]

Is it though? It seemed to me like Paul Atreites frees the fremen and re-establishes his dynasty, this time as ruler of the universe. How is that anything except a huge shining perfect example of the white savior complex? Villeneuve and Herbert just kind of wave their hands and say "ehh it's the opposite" and walk off from the topic, and I'm just over here with an actual soul, left wondering, what in the goddamn fuck was that gaslighting?

Villeneuve and Herbert are like "Well it didn't end well for Paul, we fucked him up pretty bad in the end so therefore it's a critique of the white savior model"

and I'm just over here like,

you can't just kill the white savior and assume he's gone and you're rid of it, the Romans tried that and it didn't work out for them...LMAO fuck dune... sorry not sorry!! Long live liberty, democracy, education, justice, and Tolkien, not that glorification of fascist racist bullshit called Dune. /rant

[yellowistheraddest]

conform to their stupidity my boy...

[chanrizard]

DominATE World Tour ✧ SEOUL D-2 (240825) ending ment

© OVERHEAT915

[zarla-s]

TF2 Casual is still a bot wasteland (the petition's at 285k+ signatures currently and valve has said nothing) but every now and then you run into another real person which I consider a personal victory, haha. Under these conditions what else can you do, there isn't any other way to win! Shout out to you, CRINGE-ineer gaming, wherever you are.

Remember to go to save.tf and sign the petition if you haven't already! And if you still can lol. The bot hosters are big mad about the #fixtf2 tag right now from what I've been seeing in casual.

[patreon]

[jjkyaoi]

it’s so funny how they try to portray merlin as this embarrassing loser fool who brings chaos wherever he goes as if he didnt have like. a genuine harem. like all the knights of the round table are so unashamed of how they prefer him over arthur. gwen basically had a brief crush on him. morgana literally said “you’re not like merlin. he’s a lover” everyone who knows him is constantly talking about how pure and brave and selfless he is. lancelot knew he had magic and was js like okay with the idea of constantly lying, placing his own life in danger for him cuz that’s his little buddy. gwaine was LITERALLY in love with him. i don’t know what merwaine had going on but they probably hooked up the night they first met and don’t even get me STARTED on arthur pendragon

[tutterypuff]

I'VE BEEN SLEEPING A THOUSAND YEARS, GOT TO OPEN MY EYES TO EVERYTHING

[ghost-proofbaby]

the cool down (e.m.)

request: from the lovely @mrsjellymunson: Please may I have a 🍋 (with 🍓 elements if there’s room) with Eddie Munson (friends-to-lovers, or established relationship, or your choice of other) in a super-hot, uncomfortable van on a really hot day (or day into evening), where he and reader have to come up with ever-more-daring/inventive ways to cool down/off, and maybe they end up next to, or in, Lover’s Lake?? I’m thinking cool cans of drink/beer, water sprays, fans, wet clothing…

a/n: okay this definitely took on a mind of its own and i just realized i did not have any water sprays or fans or wet clothing, but i did have eddie come up with a sort of unique way to cool us down <3 i hope you still enjoy this, kittie!! <3 <3 (also, if you squint, reader is alluded to having a chronic illness that causes extreme weather conditions to affect them. and i mean, you really have to squint. it's just very very vague since i got lost in the sauce of smut).

warnings: smut, oral f receiving, reader is afab, allusion to oral m receiving at the end, temperature play (ice). minors dni.

wc: 3.2k+

come enjoy a sweet summer treat with me <3

First, it had been to go driving around to get your minds off the heat. 

And it had worked. Eddie’s van was certainly not any cooler than the trailer had been, but something about riding around the town aimlessly with all the windows down did get your mind off the unbearable heatwave. Something about Eddie, singing along purposefully off-key to his favorite songs, his hand resting lightly on your thigh as you laughed at him, made it all a little less terrible. His genius plan had worked – for the first hour. 

Then, it had been to go to the gas station and get slushies. 

An even better plan than his original one, honestly. You’d gone from staring at his dash while the van stalled at a red light, desperately trying to focus on anything but that creeping sickness at the edges of your mind, when he’d brought it up. One moment, your stomach is dropping as you feel that familiar light-headedness. The next, your en-route for a cherry slushy, on your doting boyfriend’s dime. 

You win some, you lose some. 

The losing being the terrible affect the heat currently had on you now that you were laying out in the back of Eddie’s van now, parked at Lover’s Lake, the water doing nothing to cool the smothering breeze enveloping you two. 

“So, did you bring me all the way out here to kill me, or just stare at the lake all night?” you ask after taking another sip of the tart frozen treat currently cooling both your mouth and palms. It’s melting fast, the plastic cup holding it never standing a chance against your body heat mingling with the summer air. 

Eddie had insisted upon coming straight to the lake after the gas station. Urging you to walk back to the van faster as he’d held a cup in each hand; one blue raspberry slushy, and one mystery styrofoam cup he refused to admit just what it contained. 

As Eddie speaks, you can see his purple stained tongue, “Who says I’m gonna kill ya?” 

“All the movies,” you drawl, stretching your legs out in front of you, the soles of your sandals not even reaching the edge of the van. The thrown-open doors sway ever so slightly in the wind, “Why else would you bring me here, so far away from civilization?” 

“So no one could hear you.” 

You can’t help the laugh that immediately slips out. You nearly choke on your straw you’d lifted back up to your lips, side-eyeing him through a few wild coughs. 

“Excuse me?” 

He clearly hadn’t processed what he’d just said, because his eyes go wide as he attempts to backtrack, “Wait, wait, wait! No! I just- I didn’t mean-” he pauses and sighs, leaning his head back to wipe a frustrated palm over his face, “Oh my God, sweetheart, I’m not going to kill you. I didn’t mean it in a murderer way – I meant it in a horny way.” 

The horny comment nearly goes entirely over your head, “You’re not going to kill me? That’s something a murderer would say- wait, did you just say you meant it in a horny way?”

You both stare at each other for a short while, matching blown out pupils and chests rising in sync as you both suck in impossible bursts of parching oxygen only to blow them out in rapid successions. 

“I did,” he finally breathes out, timidly reaching behind him, revealing that styrofoam cup once more. 

Not even a drop of sweat on it yet. It’s holding up tremendously better than your slushies had. 

“What’s in the cup?”

You’re feeling bold, ignoring the pooling perspiration at the nape of your neck as you scoot yourself a bit closer, fighting a smile. 

“Well, I know the heat bothers you a lot…”

“Right.”

“And I was trying to think of ways to cool you down…”

“Of course.”

“But also just take your mind off of it, in general.”

“That all sounds great, Eddie,” you lean forward, slushy cup pressing into your kneecap as you reach forward for the mystery cup. Eddie is quick to fling his arm up, keeping it far out of your reach, “But what’s in that damn cup?”

Instead of answering right away, he grins slowly, wiggling his eyebrows comically until you roll your eyes at him. 

“Fine, keep your secr-”

“Lay back for me, baby.”

He purrs out the command, the sweet nickname a cherry on top. 

In a blink of an eye, your joking boyfriend has vanished, someone more confident and commanding in his place. A sight to see, really. There’s only a few times you’re awarded the sight: when Eddie is navigating you through crowded bars with a steady hand pressed to your lower back, when Eddie is hosting his weekly DnD nights that you’ve earned a lifetime invite to, when Eddie is on a stage and entirely within his element as his first sweetheart hangs from his shoulders.

And whenever he has you like this, already compliant and doe-eyed, a toying smile tugging at your lips as you follow through with his demands. 

It’s a welcome switch, a welcome presence. 

“Good girl,” he awards you softly, and you have to choke back a giggle. 

He was just a stuttering mess, defending himself like a clumsy fool. An adorable dork pulling at your heart strings. And now, he’s a vision of assuredness. Of determination. 

It’s hot. It’s great. It’s enough to get your mind off the dwindling summer heat that rises around the lake’s perimeter. 

“So,” he continues, popping the lid off the cup finally. There’s not a sign of liquid nearing the rim of the cup where you can see, and your face twists in a bit of confusion, “Here’s what’s going to happen – here I have a wonderfully not melted cup of ice,” he tilts it, and you can finally see the pebbled ice cubes. Suddenly, the entire situation has become significantly less funny, “And you’re clearly in need of a cool down. See where I’m going with this, sweetheart?” 

You do. But it’s more fun to play dumb. 

“I don’t think I do,” you sigh out, stretching so that your tank top rises and exposes your midriff, “Might need a demonstration.” 

It’s a vibrant green light for him – he’s quick to set the cup aside and focus all his efforts on undressing you. Hands that are still shaking – because it’s Eddie and his hands will always shake when it comes to you – and eager fingers tracing lines over your hips before he fiddles with the button of your jean shorts. Taking his time with each caress, murmuring words that strike flames within the pit of your stomach, a more welcome internal warmth than what the summer offers. 

He pauses once the shirt and shorts have been discarded, and you almost think for a moment, he might begin to pepper soft kisses across your exposed skin. 

He doesn’t. 

He grabs the styrofoam cup once more instead, keeping eye contact with you as he pulls an ice cube out. Before he formally places it between his lips, he pauses, leaning forward with a glint in his eyes as he instructs, “Think you can stay still for me, baby?” 

Funny how easy it is to turn to stone until someone requests it of you. 

The ice cube is slotted between his lips, pretty and pink as they wrap around the salvation that quickly starts to melt. A drip of water is already running down his chin by the time he’s leaning down over your body, not yet touching your spasming abdomen, just hovering as he watches the way your body fights against his instruction. 

No words are needed – even if he could speak with the ice in his mouth – as his eyes flick up to yours. Arson umber pupils that command you silently. 

Stay still, they whisper. And you try to – you really, really try to. 

The first drop of cold water hits your skin as it shakes from restraint, from stuttering breaths, from anticipation. He’s teasing you; he’s taking his time as he grows closer and closer to properly pressing the cube and his lips against you. You swear, for just a moment, this entire grand idea was doing the opposite of its purpose. Heat was radiating off of you in waves, with no plans of cooling down any time soon. 

And then his lips are on your skin. 

Sweet relief, chills racing down the spine, a sigh slipping past your lips as your back arches desperately. He’s pinpointed the exact center between your hips, just below your navel, with everything you’ve begun to crave. Lips losing their heat with every passing second and the tip of the cube trail around in a lazy circle as he keeps looking up at you with half-lidded eyes, corners of his mouth twitching with the temptation of a smile when your fingers tangle in the roots of his hair. You have half the mind to completely undo his already ruined bun – you have half the mind to guide him to exactly where you need him most. 

“Fuck,” you gasp out, voice barely a hiccup over the cicadas. It feels nice, it feels good. 

The stifle of the van’s air is all but forgotten as he just keeps trailing the ice along your skin, letting it slowly melt until there’s nothing left but the remnants of a chill on his tongue and lips. And he takes those frozen lips, quickly putting them to use as he lets them drag along a pathway to your left hip. No rush. You’ve both got all the time in the world as he presses a hard kiss to that hip, lips pursing and sucking a bit before he shifts to make his way to the right one instead. 

Teasing, taunting, relieving. 

By the time he’s made it to the other hip, the heat has begun to creep back up. 

“You look real pretty like this, you know?” he asks you, hand shooting out blindly to get another ice cube, “Just laying here for me, sighing all cutely and shit,” your fingers tighten in his hair, “Oh, do you like that, baby? Like me calling it how I see it?” 

It’s in his confident tone. The buzz shooting straight through your brain that drowns out the sounds of summer when he talks to you like this. Every syllable has you preening for more of his affection, his attention, his approval. 

You’re finally dizzy with want and need rather than summertime sickness. 

“You’re a fucking vision,” his breath is hot against you as he says it, waiting for just a moment before he lifts up and yanks his shirt off with boyish charm. When he settles back between your legs, he makes a point to lay the backs of your bare thighs against his naked shoulders, sweaty skin sticking to sweaty skin, “I would do anything for you. Fucking anything. Say the word, and it’s yours.” 

Right as he places another ice cube in his mouth, dropping cool fingertips that are wet with condensation to trail from the peak of your knee and down, you take him at his word.

You say the word. 

“Kiss me,” you beg.

“Where?”

Not a taunt. Just a clarification. The game is up, and you both know it.

“There.”

“We’re not teenagers,” he snorts, voice a bit garbled as he passes the ice from cheek to cheek, “Use your big girl words.” 

This time, your hand is his hair does remove the bun entirely, hairtie lost somewhere recklessly to be found later as thick curls wrap around your fist. “Jesus Christ, I want you to kiss me on my fucking pussy, Eddie. Is that what you want to hear? Quit teasing and-” 

“Your pussy?” he interrupts, eyes darkening ever so slightly, tsking slightly, “No, no. That won’t do. Because from what I can see, this pussy is mine, sweetheart. She’s purring for me right now, dripping like these damn ice cubes-”

“Then kiss me on your damn pussy.”

Another ice cube is slotted between his lips, one you hadn’t noticed him grabbing, and he does exactly as he’s told. 

The cold shocks you initially, nearly making your hips jump away from his touch entirely. But you can’t as his forearm comes over to rest across the hips he’d just worshiped, other hand tightly gripping onto the flesh of any thigh he can grab onto, pulling you tighter and closer to him. 

The same circles he had just trailed beneath your navel return in a new location, skimming your clit now. 

“Oh my God,” you whine, shoulder blades digging into the uncomfortable surface of the van’s floor below the makeshift padding of blankets, “Please, please.” 

He doesn’t tease you and ask you to spell out what you’re imploring of him this time. What small bit of the ice was left in his mouth slips out, slowly trailing down, down, down. Lighting a path of incessant mercy along its way as it skirts around your clit, ending up nearly slipping inside of you as it slows at your entrance. 

A cold, freezing trail of water left behind, and Eddie’s hot tongue is quick to follow it in reverse. 

He deliberately keeps it flat, avoiding filling you where you want it most. 

He’s still taking his time, moving slower than the cube has as he laps at your folds steadily. One long stride, and you’re squirming. The contrast between the heat of his mouth and the chill that the ice had left behind sends you whirling, stomach clenching as you let out more little gasps. 

It only eggs him on. 

He flicks your clit with the tip of his tongue to finish his path, moving back only to take a sharp breath of his own before his lips wrap around it and suck. 

The steady rhythm of suction elicits countless moans from you, all trailing off into desperate whispers, both hands fully buried in Eddie’s curls as he has to fight harder to keep your hips pressed down. Praises of his name, pants of keep going. Your vision blurs in a way that doesn’t send panic through your bones, and you welcome the tunnel vision as he lets go of his grip around your thigh to press his fingertips against your entrance. 

He mumbles something, a reverberating hum that has you clenching around nothing, but he’s not willful enough to take his mouth off you long enough to properly enunciate. 

“What - ah - what was that?” you breathe out, hardly able to get the words out around your pants as you feel that pressure building between your hips, desperate for release. 

Willpower in overdrive, he pulls himself away from being buried against you, “I said, I want you to come for me, sweetheart.” 

To emphasize his point, he plunges in two fingers, curling them in a petting motion that spells out your demise. 

Your body reacts to the words before your brain can catch up. That pressure, the ever growing knot building, building, building – it snaps within a second of his lips finding your clit again. 

His fingers, knuckle deep in your cunt. His nose, buried in your bush. The cold, still lingering with a vengeance against the odds. 

The sensory overload does you in. You feel weightless, unaware of just how hard you’re tugging on his curls or the slight rhythm he’s built with his own hips against the blankets below. The high rushes over you, drowning out everything in its path and wrapping you up just as the summer warmth had previously. And he’s relentless, carrying you through every wave, never once faltering. 

You understand what he’d said earlier – you’re glad no one can hear you at this moment as you throw away any false God and only say prayers in Eddie’s name. 

White vision fades to black, and your entire body goes slack as your eyes flutter shut in exhaustion. The sweat covering your body almost offers some relief as a breeze wiggles its way through the van’s back doors.

He crawls back up your body slowly, coming home to the space you allot him as you further spread your trembling thighs and he peppers the lightest of sincere kisses up your ribcage. Warm lips you feel drawing roadways until he’s finally lining them up your neck, your cheeks, your own hot lips. 

“Still with me?” 

You only hum in response, hand feeling blindly to lightly caress his bare back. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he chuckles, breath fanning out against your temple as he places a last few kisses, just because. 

When you finally force your heavy lids back open, you’re welcomed to the sight of whiskey eyes and a soft nose, shining for a reason only the two of you know. You swear, you can’t decipher if the pink smattering across his cheeks and bridge of his nose is from the heat, or from a  proper blush at the sight of you. 

It makes your insides melt more than any hot summer day. 

“It worked,” is all you laugh out, pads of your fingers still pressing softly into the smooth skin of his shoulder blades, a weak attempt to bring him closer. 

“It worked?” 

“You took my mind off the heat.” 

His lashes might be fluttering even more than your own, hips lowering against yours, heavy and bated as you come back down to Earth. You swear he’s never been prettier than he is right now, with you all over his mouth and bangs sticking to his forehead from the sweat. 

You almost card your fingers through them, expose the spanse of skin beneath just to offer the softest of kisses in return to him. Almost. 

“Good,” he grins with a boyish mirth, looking overly accomplished, “Did you ever even doubt me?” 

“Maybe.”

Your teasing tone has him poking out a tongue that’s a few shades lighter of purple than before, him finally rolling his body off of the top of yours. 

“I’ll give you a minute,” he jokes, throwing his head back as your eyes follow. You can see a bead of sweat making its way down his cheekbone, slipping away into his hairline, “And then I’ll fuck that doubt away.” 

Your stomach flutters as your eyes wander, taking in his exposed neck, following the creases in his skin down his chest. The way his stomach shakes a little with each breath, and the way you zero in on each quiver of that dark line of hair starting at his navel and disappearing into the band of his pants. 

The very obvious, very strained bulge within his pants. 

Suddenly, an idea comes to mind. 

You sit up a bit faster than is smart, and you ignore the stars in your vision as you quickly situate yourself to perch by his hip. He starts to lift himself back up, hands already flying out to keep you steady, but you only swat them away as you lean over him to grab an ice cube out of the styrofoam cup. 

“I think I’ll need more than a minute,” you lie, pressing him back down fully, movements full of determination as he watches you with hooded eyes, “How about for now, I give you a taste of your own medicine, pretty boy?” 

The ice is slotted between your own lips, and the whine Eddie lets out is answer enough.

[kimi-karma]

My attempt at fallen children undertale ocs (Part 1??? 3/6)

So I caved 🗿 Pedia has talked a lot about their soul children to me, and I finally went “Eh I’ll try” and here we are.

Head in hands

[nevesmose]

Curze grinned at the First Captain suddenly, transforming his visage into a death’s head rictus lit by febrile eyes. ‘Now you have met my brother, you must surely prefer crows to ravens.’

That was a joke, thought Sevatar. He did not understand jokes. ‘My lord, are we finished?’

For some unfathomable reason, that made Curze cringe, and he nodded like a rebuked child.

Konrad Curze: The Night Haunter by Guy Haley.

[rosyelement]

admittedly i've been thinking about them lately.... sad!

[drawnfamiliarfaces]

close

too close?

(the correct answer is all 3 at the same time of course)

[drowsystarlight]

He swears this is anatomy research for humans who transcend godhood

[lunarharp]

if i just told you i love you would this world change

[mfdragon]

Really wanted to explore the idea of how he can “switch alters” visually while keeping it relatively minimal and thought about making his goggles adjustable.

So he just has 3 settings on it and each one visually looks similar to how his robot form’s eyes look.

[calicobunnyrabbit]

whoa! it's, like, symbolic.

[yararambles]

I could've had a normal, more socially acceptable interest but my brain decided in 2020 that Obey Me was what it was going to flash before my eyes as a core memory when I die and it's been locked in ever since. I'm afraid that six of my last seven minutes of brain activity will be Obey Me.

Loading screen with the music. Losing to a SSR that I've already got maxed out. Surprise guests. Dance battles and missing the very last hit to get a combo on Nightbringer. The joy of a Solomon demon voucher sale and the horror of opening up fab snap for the first time.