Absolutely love that in any other story and any other fandom, there would be a slew of posts talking about how Eva Stratt is a “very complicated character with a lot of hidden depth;” but instead it’s actually like, no she isn’t complicated at all actually. She sends Grace to die to save humanity. Maybe she feels bad about it, maybe not. But she makes that choice knowing it’s the RIGHT choice, because it IS. It’s a SIMPLE choice. One man or billions of lives? There is absolutely nothing complicated about it.
And her depth isn’t hidden. It’s right there in the open. She’s pragmatic and uncompromising and ruthless, because she CARES. She cares about humanity. She NUKES ANTARCTICA because she’s not willing to compromise millions if not billions of lives just to maintain the planet’s ecosystem. Again, a very simple choice: billions of lives, or a planet that won’t support life in 30 years anyway if she can’t figure out how to stop that from happening. The RIGHT choice. An easy choice, for someone like Stratt who knows she will be held solely responsible for her crimes, but there will be people alive to do it.
I like the thought that she was always going to put him on the ship. that the other two science officers were just backups in case something happened to Grace. He was clearly the most qualified person for the job, why would she send anyone else if failure would kill everyone?
You know, I've read the book and seen the movie and I still have one question about her: who the fuck IS she? Like how did she get that job, you know? Who chose her? Like who is this woman that all of the world leaders agreed to do what she says?
She was an administrator at the ESA (European Space Agency) before her appointment to Director of the Petrova Taskforce by the UN. It’s never stated exactly what authority she had within the ESA as an “administrator” or why exactly she was chosen; just that she received an email that she’d been chosen and accepted that she’d become the world’s whipping post, regardless of whether she succeeded in saving humanity or not. So she decided she damned well better see it saved.
As for the theory that she always meant Grace to be THE science officer, I have to disagree. When reading the book, I understood it that she intended Grace to be HER backup; once she was tried and sentenced. Someone had to keep the Project running even after launch. The mission of the Petrova Taskforce wasn’t only PHM, it was to save humanity. Their work doesn’t stop after the Hail Mary is launched.
It’s explicitly stated in the book - if not in the film - that Grace is the First Officer of the Petrova Taskforce, regardless of whether he realizes it or not. I actually imagine that with DuBois’ and Shapiro’s death, Stratt was internally scrambling: because who the fuck is supposed to run shit on Earth if Grace is on the ship? But, as we all know, there simply was no other option.
Sorry to my moots for the dump and also don’t worry I’m chill: just havin’ a Very Time in My Life. It’s a pretty fun time, all things considered; but still A Time. Much love <3
Don’t ever let someone - even and especially someone who you love, and truly feels that they love you - make you feel guilt for not changing yourself to better suit their needs. This can be as minor as not going to bed at the same time they do; or not wanting to watch a movie spontaneously when they want to watch it, when you have other things you rather be doing, and have been doing. It can also be as major as not having the same sex drive or definition of what constitutes “true” intimacy; or the ways you choose to express yourself through your physical appearance; or your eating habits.
Sometimes, this kind of manipulation can be couched in the guise of healthy communication between partners, friends, family members, etc. But the recognizable factor is that there will be no compromise, even if they say there will be. If you go to bed at the same time as them several days in a row, or a few times a week, they will still be upset as soon as you stay up later. If you agree to watch a movie right that second even though you were in the middle of reading/writing/sewing/cleaning, they will still be upset the next time you don’t.
Because ultimately, it is not about you at all. No matter how hard you try to appease this sort of person, it will not work: because the problem does not actually stem from you. It comes from their own feelings of insecurity: their belief that if you will not change to suit them, then you do not truly care. If you cared, you would bend. If you cared, you would listen to them without thought to your own routines and desires.
It is a matter of ego, and it is not your responsibility. It is theirs. Compromise and listening are an essential part to any relationship, but it goes both ways. If someone you care about requires you to fundamentally change a part of your life to feel as though you care about them, then the relationship is - by definition - conditional.
Surround yourself with people who know exactly who you are and accept you for it. Who love you for it. Who tell you what they need from you plainly, and give you the room to do the same. And if conflict should arise, you figure out a solution that works for both of you. You deserve that.
Everyone deserves that. Never let someone convince you that you’re wrong simply by existing. They’ve known who you are the whole time.
I keep calling him my “work crush” here, but honestly by this point he’s just my friend. I’ve learned so much about him, and we’ve spent so many hours outside of work together; that reducing him to a “work crush” feels like a disservice. Do I have a crush on him? Sure. Does my heart still flutter at the memory of kissing him? Of course. Do I hope it’ll happen again? Yeah.
But beyond that: I enjoy our talks together, alone and with other friends. I love that I understand the context to his stories without needing an explanation. I love the easy camaraderie we’ve built, the way we understand each other better now; even when we’re at work and unable to be our full, authentic selves. Even if we never kiss again, I’m glad he’s in my life. I’m glad he’s my friend.
When we take our smoke breaks, he tends to time his to mine when possible, and sit next to me so we can bitch about work, or just crack jokes. Every time I invite him to go out to the bar with me/us, he shows up; and then he comes back to my roommates’ and I’s apartment to talk for hours. Whether that’s with a few of us or just me. When we say goodbye on those nights, he hugs me tight: and when I say, “thank you for hanging out,” he says, “thank you for everything.”
Regardless of any physical attraction, I’m so glad that I’ve suddenly been gifted yet another person in my life who just fits. In whatever capacity, it feels like he’s supposed to be here. Not even with me - specifically - but with the family I’ve built. Perhaps it’s too early to say. But in any case, I’m glad to be counted among his friends; and happy to count him among mine.
So sorry to be gay on main except I’m NOT: WAH. WAH. WAH. WAH. My god. I intentionally dressed cute tonight and invited my work crush out. He came out, but notably did NOT try anything; when it has already been WELL established (theoretically and practically) that I am receptive to kisses. Instead we just had an amazing conversation and hung out for hours. WAH. Not ONLY does he think I’m hot and want to kiss me, he also just wants to talk to me?? Um, hell the fuck yeah?? He’s comfortable with me?? We took a walk?? He said was tired today when we met up, and yet he STILL hung out with me until the sun came up?? WAH?? I AM GAY??
I don't think it's unreasonable for our public officials to be expected to prove they're alive and not in a coma to be able to retain their office.
If someone were, as a random example, say hospitalized for over two weeks with no explanation, I think that should automatically trigger a special election to replace them.
If you're still able to do your job, then prove it. And if you're not, then you're actively obstructing democracy by not stepping down.
Which is to say, that if a public official were to pass away or into a coma, and their handers choose to obfuscate that fact, this should be seen as intentionally obstructing democracy.
And there should be, you know, consequences for the people who would do such a thing.
Yeah so my work crush made a move on me last night and then we made out and cuddled on my couch, and then today at work it wasn’t weird or awkward at all so I’m pretty much winning at life rn~
I explained the concept of "blorbo from my shows" to my 71 year old immigrant grandfather because I referenced it in passing and I thought nothing of it, until today when he said "I think I'll watch peaky blinders tonight and see my blorbo from my shows" referring, of course, to Cillian Murphy playing Tommy Shelby
English isn't his first language so he's not super in touch with modern slang, so I've been accidentally teaching him to talk like a tumblr user. His favorite thing to say lately is "me when I'm a little hater" when he's like talking shit about the neighbor's son
I explained the “x before gta6” meme to my immigrant father and he, in turn, explained to me how back in his day in Romania, they had the same type of joke, except instead of it being gta6, it was about the imminent death of a singer named Gică Petrescu, who everyone was continuously shocked by because he refused to die. Every time a momentous event happened people would say, in essence: “This happened and Gică Petrescu hasn’t even died yet?!?”
So. He understood the gta6 meme immediately because they apparently had the same thing in Romania when he was young, except way, way more morbid
yall are so fucking weird about gnc people. a woman wears a suit and she's "conforming to the patriarchy". a man wears a skirt and he's Secretly A Trans Egg. have you considered It's Fabric
I once said something along the lines of "why does everyone assume that every gnc cis man is an egg" and was harassed for it and sarcastically told that obviously the treatment of cis men should be our biggest concern and that I didn't know anything about egg culture (I do). You do realize that gnc people are queer too, right? You realize I can concern myself with "smaller" problems, because I love gnc people and am concerned about their well-being? You realize that telling people they must be trans because of their presentation is just as bad as telling someone must be cis for the same reasons?
I'm never going to shut up about how shitty the queer community treats gender non-conforming people, especially gender non-conforming men.
also the treatment of gnc cis men tells me a lot about how you'd treat gnc trans men. like, you think that if a man likes feminine clothing he's secretly a woman? do you know how many people have told me i'm not "actually trans" because i like feminine clothing? stop reinforcing gender norms i am Begging
You guys need to recognize that the push to treat ace and aro discourse as stupid infighting that never left tumblr is indeed a manifestation of the continued erasure and devaluing of asexuality, aromanticism, and and ace and aro lives in an effort to pretend that the people who did it weren't part of a reactionary hate movement that completely decimated two entire marginalized communities both on and offline.
Like I try to be nice about this but I have seen SO many fucking people being like "lol yeah ace/aro discourse was one thing" and that is deliberate erasure of real and important queer history in service of dodging blame on the parties that did this who, for the most part, never fucking apologized or owned up to it, or, in the case of a few blogs I still see going around, clearly still stand by all of it and just hope you don't point that out, and ofc, no one ever fucking does.
Stop downplaying the absolute fucking devastation the queer community did to ace and aro people and our communities. If owning it makes you uncomfortable, good, go make it right, and start by not fucking lying about what happened, thanks.
Not fr about online discourse, but actual real applicable ace erasure in the queer community, that I have directly experienced: I - a trans man - met my ex-boyfriend a little more than a year ago, on my birthday. I had gone out to my usual bar w my friends, and we hit it off. He came back to my place, we smooched a bit, he slept in my bed. Slept. That is it. The next morning I was VERY clear that I was grey-ace. He said, “Oh, me too!”
I was like, “Oh sick, that’s perfect! This is great, then!”
It did not take two months before sexual activity (something we had been engaging in, in the honeymoon phase - and it was fun - he is very physically attractive to me without being necessarily sexually so) became something that was not just wanted, but expected of me; something he pouted over if I wasn’t willing to do. Which is, y’know, not fun or endearing or exciting; which are the things I engage in sexual activity for, not pleasure. He accepted the word “no,” but most of the time attempted to make me feel guilty about it. Because, as he said: “I am ace, but I’m really horny for you.”
And if we did engage in - enthusiastically consented to - sexual activity, he found ways to lament that because it was not penetrative: it did not count, or was in some way lacking in intimacy, care, or loving intent due to its non-penetrative nature, despite absolutely being a sexual act.
I had iterated my identity as grey-ace, not open to penetration (and autosexual) before we ever officially dated. We dated for a year, and yet it still was an issue throughout the relationship and when we separated. Again and again, I said, “I don’t want to.” “No thanks.” “I’m good.” He would accept the words: and then he would pout. Or continue to try and make out with me while rubbing his dick against me. Or ask me if he could jerk himself off while I kissed him. And then inevitably try to guide my hand downwards, unless I firmly drew it back up and kept it in place. Or he whined until I compromised my boundaries to get it over with.
Because to him, my “no” meant “maybe.” Meant: “if I push the right buttons, it’ll become a “yes.””Meant: “as long I don’t touch you and you don’t touch me (until I ‘can’t help myself’) it’s fine that I’m treating you as a sexual object for my desires.” Meant: “your no is a no until I whine or beg or pout or make you feel guilt and shame for not actually loving me; but if I feel like I’m making you do it than I don’t want it! Except I do because I’m horny, which is not a problem that can be solved on my own at all without my partner involved, of course. So you’ve gotta pretend to me that you actually do want to, even though I know you don’t! I can ignore your wants for mine, as long as we both pretend I’m not doing that.”
There were occasions in which I was enthusiastically consenting: they were few and far between, and always under a specific set of circumstances which he eventually grew to resent. He would use statements to make me feel guilty: “I don’t feel like you find me attractive.” “I feel like I love you more than you love me.” “Why do you only want to do xyz?”
He resented that I didn’t find sexual activity with another person to be a priority. He resented that I was able to say “no” and mean it, even when he was very much in the mood. For as much non-sexual affection as I showed him daily, he could not accept that I wasn’t sexually attracted to him. Because I am not sexually attracted to anyone, on an actual level.
It is not why we broke up; but it is why I initiated a conversation about it a month before we did. He had quit drinking cold turkey in that time, which is why he said he gave me the cold shoulder for a week; but we had a conversation before the coldness regarding the fact that I did not think we would ever have penetrative sex, because of certain medical reasons and the fact that I did not want to. Or any sexual activity without enthusiastic consent, for that matter.
He said he did not care about the sex, during that conversation. That we could never do anything sexual again and he was would be fine. I knew he was not being truthful; but I still chose to believe him, because I did and in a way still do love him. But then he became cold. Not staying over, barely speaking to me, every hello and goodbye kiss a simple peck on the lips that I had to coax out of him. So, I prepared for a breakup. We went out to lunch. It was tense. Again, he barely spoke to me. I drove him home. I brought it up, saying, “Do you want to just be friends?”
We did not break up that day. We took a walk. We both cried. I told him I was tired of feeling like I had to change for him. He told me he didn’t expect or want me to change. He told me it had absolutely nothing to do with sex and he was just irritable from the alcohol withdrawal. He told me he was proud of me for standing up for myself, as I am terrified of confrontation and this was a very large one. After I had vented for a while about how much I did not want to break up with him and that the situation sucked ass, he asked if it would be okay if he tried to change my mind. Of course it was. I wanted him to. Our 1 year anniversary was in a month. I was planning on making him a scrapbook.
So I let him convince me. We stayed together. He seemed for all the world like he had accepted my grey-ace identity (though he was and had never been comfortable with the idea of me masturbating without him, which obviously I still did as an autosexual). He accepted that I never want to be sexual in the morning. He accepted the set of circumstances that got me in the mood, occasionally (but not always).
We had a lovely anniversary. We exchanged gifts, had an entire day together with an amazing dinner. We dressed to the nines and broke open an expensive bottle of his favorite bourbon that I had won in a buy-at-a-discount raffle because I knew it was his favorite. He told me if we shared two ounces every year on our anniversary, it would last us 15 years. Not quite a promise. But something.
We went to my room, and I said I wanted to check in with my roommates for just 30 minutes, see how their day had been; after spending 14 uninterrupted hours with him. He let me go easily, after a (what I considered playful at the time) pout. After those 30 minutes, I came back to my room to a back turned away, and silence. Then, eventually: “I wish you would choose me first, just once.” 14 hours together, versus 30 minutes with my friends. Notably, we hadn’t engaged sexually that night, and we didn’t. His words made me cry.
“Oh, no. Shit, I - I made you cry on our anniversary.” And it ended up being me that comforted him, as we eventually drifted off to sleep.
Three days later, he broke up with me. We had watched a movie with my beloved roommates and one of my roommate’s beloved that was FANTASTIC. (The Night is Short, Walk on Girl, if anyone is interested. Highly recommend.) My boyfriend had seen it when he was in college and adored it, but for some reason after we finished it he had a crisis about how he was so old now (he’s 30), and he doesn’t connect with it the same way. We all tried to explain that the point of the movie is that one is never too old to relish life, to slow down their clock a bit - but he wasn’t having it. He punched his leg repeatedly, slapped the wall, and then - after a good twenty minutes of doing so and me asking him to please stop - to which he responded with annoyed sighs and kept doing it - asked me to go lay down in my room with him.
I told him, “You can, I’m enjoying hanging out with my friends.” I did not want to be alone in a room with someone who was acting agitated and somewhat aggressive, even if it was not directed towards me. He huffed and continued his tantrum for about fifteen more minutes before he seemed to realize I really wasn’t going to lay down with him. He went to the bathroom then to my bedroom, slamming doors and generally throwing a tantrum because I had enjoyed a film and wanted to hang out with my friends.
Whatever. It worried me, but I hung out with my friends. I checked on him at one point, because I was worried about his mental state (his crash out over the film was not unheard of but indicative of a bad mental state, for him). A couple hours later, he came back into the living room and pouted at me for a few minutes as I read on my phone, then asked me again to come lay down with him. To be entirely honest: I did sigh, because as aforementioned, I hate confrontation and I didn’t know how he was feeling. Bracing myself, I bid my roommates goodnight and went to my bed. I plugged in my phone as he settled on his side - sitting up as I laid down - looming over me.
“Is it really such a hardship to spend time with me?” (Yes, he said ‘hardship.’ I’ll admit we’re both dramatic bitches with the vocabulary to match.)
“Of course not, honeybee,” I said, then nothing else because he was - as I have mentioned - making me fucking uncomfortable.
“Well then why did you sigh like I’m an inconvenience when I asked you to come in here, then?”
“Well…earlier you seemed kind of…mad. And it made me nervous, so…”
“What do you have to be nervous about?” And it was like he legitimately didn’t know.
Honestly, I don’t remember the rest of the conversation much. I know he said, “I wish I could’ve been good for you.”
And I said, “Um, what are you talking about?”
“You know what I’m talking about.”
“No, I really don’t.”
Silence. I waited him out for about five minutes. As I watched him: I thought about how beautiful he was, but also how immature, how mean, but also how I still loved him. And no matter what came out of his mouth, I would -
“I think we should break up.”
Have you ever felt that certain kind of blanketing dread fall over you? It starts in the back of your skull, then drops quick down your spine, settling in the pit of your stomach: and then you’re numb for a second. Your mind is calm, and blank. Because it can’t be real, but it is. And he’s still talking, explaining why, but you don’t hear any of it.
“We can still be friends; you’ll be better off without - “
“I can’t do this right now.” You twist off the bed, throw your bedroom door open and close it behind you. Take a sharp left, quick down the hall, into the toilet closet; door slammed shut behind you and you’re crumbling, sobbing silently (almost screaming with it), until you can’t be silent anymore. You choke on the gasps, on the cries you can’t contain. You’ve cried quietly your entire life, but you’ve never experienced heartbreak like this.
Have you felt like that? I did. And do you know what happened then? He followed me. Honestly, I wanted him to. I wanted him to tell me he didn’t mean it, he was drunk, he was sorry. I heard the door open - as I was faced away from it, curled in on myself, trying my hardest and failing not to make any noise. And he sighed. Like it hurt him to see, yes; but also like it burdened him to fix, to comfort. Like my reaction was an inconvenience.
He tried to pull me into a hug. I resisted. He held me as best he could, with me curling still further in on myself. He tried to soothe me and justify himself by telling me things I already knew. “You deserve better,” and “you’ll do better without this stress,” and “I gotta get my shit together.” I couldn’t take it anymore. I threw my arms around his neck.
I denied it all. “No, no , no , nonono - “
I begged, though it went against my self-worth. “Please, please, please, pleasepleaseplease please!”
I knew I was begging not to sleep alone, even if “not alone” meant “rubbing his boner against your ass in the morning even though he says he doesn’t know he’s doing it.” I knew I was begging to wake up next to someone, to have someone to talk to when everything else in my life was going wrong; even when “talking to someone” meant him treating me like a baby who couldn’t make my own decisions. I was begging for things to stay normal, even though I knew he was right.
Eventually, my tears dried. We were sitting in the dark. I stared into it blankly, feeling bereft, and asked, “Have you made up your mind, on this? This is what you want to do?”
He tried again to explain that he was breaking my heart for my own good. I asked again, “Have. You made. Up. Your mind.”
A long, long silence. Then: “Yeah. I have, but you’re gonna - “
I stood up in the dark and reached for the door handle. His hand came up to frantically but loosely grab my wrist. “Hey, no, let’s keep talking; I really think - “
“Um, you just broke my heart,” I said, looking over my shoulder to where he still sat on the ground, “I don’t think there’s anything else to talk about right now.”
He sat with that for a second. “But you always say we’re supposed to communicate…”
“Yeah. When we were in a relationship. But, y’know,” I shrugged. He was staring at me, like I was the one who hurt him. I sighed, turning my face away to stare at the door handle, my hand wrapped loosely around it. I gripped it tighter. “I love you.”
I looked back towards him, voice choked and fresh tears welling in my eyes without falling. “But this really fucking sucks, man.”
This is a true story. It happened a week ago. Some people you are supposed to trust more than anyone will see your asexuality as negotiable. They will see it as an obstacle to be overcome, something they can persuade you out of. They will try to push and push and push your boundaries. It is extremely important that you do not let them. They may say one thing, but mean another with their actions. They might use your genuine love for them as a weapon to make you believe that, “oh, well they aren’t asking for that much. I can humor them this much at least, if it means that much to them.”
No. You are supposed to mean that much to them; and if you do, they will never ask you to compromise your comfort and your boundaries like that. Especially if you communicate your identity up front like I did. Do not let someone who is meant to love you unconditionally turn you into an object they can mold because they wanna get their rocks off. You deserve better. I deserve better.
One day, we’ll meet someone who fucking knows that.
