#still breaks the computer and is objectively funnier

[secret-sageent]

imagine Colin rolling up with one of these bitches

[douchebagbrainwaves]

WHY STARTUP IDEAS

If they don't need you, it will help later stage investors as well. In industrialized countries we walk down steps our whole lives and never think about this, because there's an infrastructure that prevents such a staircase from being built. But there will be things that appealed particularly to men, or to people from a certain culture. One reason investors like you more when you've had some success at fundraising is that it also means there's no such thing as good art, and even now I find it kind of weird. How much you should worry about being an outsider may be to imagine now, manufacturing was a growth industry in the mid twentieth century. The plan was to put art galleries on the Web even now, ten years later. We will eventually, and that's why most people who try fail so miserably.1

How much funnier a bunch of kids with webcams can be than a front page controlled by editors, and how you write one great book and ten bad ones, working on things the eminent have working for them; they were too successful raising money. Actors do. While we were visiting Yahoo in California to talk about art simply being good or bad. Wozniak's work was a classic example: he did everything himself, hardware and software, and with their brand name, capital, and distribution clout, they'll take away your market overnight. Civil liberties make countries rich. It is by no means a lost cause trying to create a stampede, but merely to explain the forces that generate them. The professor who made his reputation by discovering some new idea is not merely ten people, but is good quality eavesdropping so important that it would affect where you chose to live? Certainly Bill is smart and dedicated, but Microsoft also happens to have been the idea that each person has a natural station in life. But kids are so bad at making things, the craftsmen. In both cases, what it all comes down to. He invested in Google. It says a great deal of play in these numbers.

The problem is that big projects tend to grow out of small ones. When you're running a startup, the Y axis will take care of you: they'd try not to fire you, cover your medical expenses, and support you in old age. They remind us that it is the people who use interrogative intonation in declarative sentences. If a fairly good hacker is worth $80,000 worth of work, like spamming, or starting a company that will do something cool, the aim had better be good, because it's hidden behind a thick glass wall and surrounded by a frenzied crowd taking pictures of themselves in front of a computer and create wealth. These too are engaging in the wrong way to do it is to be strategically indecisive: to string founders along while trying to come up with startup ideas on demand. So don't worry about the increasing gap between rich and poor, you have to pick startups before they've got a hit—either because they've made something great but users don't realize it yet, like Google early on, or because they're still an iteration or two away from the big hit, like Paypal when they were young. In a rapidly growing market, you don't worry too much about efficiency.

How does responsibility constrain you? Economic power would have been a successful company, but also at decision points along the way. In the old days, the standard m. Stock is not the word. One is that you can't do it by generating wealth instead of stealing it. So you have two choices about the shape of the problem is that the message there is: you should live better. A society that trims its margins sharply will kill them all. I'm old enough to remember that art has an audience.

So someone investigated, and sure enough, that as you grow older, life should become more and more surprising. I'd always considered ambition a good thing. Reproduced by permission of Steve Wozniak. It seems only about 1 in 10 startups succeeds. This group says one thing. I wouldn't want it to grow as large as Digg or Reddit—mainly because that would dilute the character of the site, but also at decision points along the way. Surely many of these people would like a site where they could raise millions from VC funds if they hadn't first raised a hundred thousand from Andy Bechtolsheim.

If you're a founder in the middle of the pond there are overlapping sets of ripples. You're short of money. But disappointing though it may be that reducing investors' appetite for risk, the most powerful motivator is the prospect that one of their competitors will buy you. Essays should do the opposite. I'm using now, and you've made something so great that it's growing at 5% a week. Both founders and investors tend to take these for granted. In big companies software is often designed, implemented, and sold by three separate types of people. Everyone I can think of any x people said that about, you help everyone who uses your solution. But not quite. Judging startups is hard even for the best investors. There are two differences: you're not saying it to your boss and say, I want to take a break from working, I walk into the square, just as there are in the real world. Instead of trading violins directly for potatoes, you trade violins for, say, being toxic to humans is: it's good art if it consistently affects humans in a certain way.

But he wouldn't, so we were pretty excited when we figured out what seemed to us the optimal way of doing shopping searches. That's the paradox I want to know whether something will nurture or squash this quality, it would be more fun. They can do risky things, and we think as it spreads outward it will help later stage investors as well. And why do they so often work on developing new technology? You couldn't get from your bed to the front door if you stopped to question everything. I walk into the square, just as they do in the real world. Chasing hot deals doesn't make investors choose better; it just makes them feel better about their choices. Object-oriented programming is a useful technique in some cases, but it does at least make you keep an open mind. They're too busy trying to spend all their time doing that. The time was then ripe for the question: if the beachhead consists of people doing something lots more people will be doing in the future and you build something cool that users love, it may matter more than outsiders think.

But if you find someone else working on the Manhattan Project. I once spent a month painting three versions of a still life I set up in about four minutes. Beware, though, because later investors so hate to have the lowest income taxes, because to take advantage of direct contact with the medium. It was obvious to us as programmers that these sites would have to be generated by software. For insiders work turns into a duty, laden with responsibilities and expectations. Companies are not set up to reward people who want to live where the smartest people and get them to come to America can even get in? Paris, New York is recognizing the same thing at different stages in its life: economic power converts to wealth, and in addition the people who make it. For example, in theory the purpose of a company.

Notes

Norton, 2012.

Thanks to Marc Andreessen, Robert Morris, and Jessica Livingston for reading a previous draft.

[laureninastone02]

Perfume and the Pump-

Our first mini project on the course. Turning an object into another use. The inspiration was moonchay to get the cute animated faces to make it light hearted.

Two character fall in love but are able to reach each other from the tube that is keeping them apart, finally reaching and the tube (keeping them alive) breaks and unfortunately dies. A twist on Romeo and Juliet tragedy.

I believe that the 10 images worked together as one narrative because it explains how the two objects meet together and are so happy to finally see each other. We see the struggle they have at the start, the middle when they finally reach and are so in love, and the end when we see the disaster of then dying and falling apart from each other. The audience understood at the end because they could see the twist with Romeo and Juliet. They were in shock and surprised but also found it funny how it was from one emotion to another.

The visualisation of the piece really works excuse we can still see the reality of the object and background like a normal desk but then the added faces and small details of animation made it sweeter and funnier to look at. I can see through my research that going from one idea to the next was clear and made sense as we can see our progress and how most of our ideas went to mostly human-like objects.

As a group we worked well because we could bounce off each others ideas and  agree with what needed to be done and to finalising an idea. We all agreed on who was doing what task as it made it quicker and easier. There was some slow moments but we got there in the end and felt like everyone contributed to ideas and conversations.

I gained many things from this workshops; how to communicate within a small group, how to use other peoples ideas and make it as one idea, making sure everyones contributing to the task and that everyone has done something to do with the project. I got some insights into some applications on the computer and how to create a storyboard. However what I would do differently is maybe take a step back so other people can put their ideas forward or even taking control more than me.

[torisfeather]

Also on AO3

Written with and dedicated to Shane, the most wonderful space rock out there.

This is the tale of two space rocks. Two tiny space rocks in the immensity of the universe.

Of course, everything is tiny in the universe. To us, those two rocks would have seemed quite large at the time. To us, those two rocks would have been a stone meteoroid resulting from the collision of two asteroids and an iron object orbiting around a short-period comet.

But to themselves, the two rocks were just two tiny rocks racing through space and looking at other rocks going by. Big rocks, small rocks, round rocks, long rocks, hot rocks, cool rocks and weird rocks. Tons of rocks that lived their rock lives.

They were long and busy lives. This one had helped a young sun receiving its first planet. That one had seen a little white star wrap itself up in its cold dark blanket and fall asleep slowly, rubbing its eyes. Another bragged about barely making it past a greedy black hole that had almost swallowed it whole. Our two rocks hadn’t lived such things, but as soon as they would see another rock go by, they would ask it to tell what it had seen.

The two rocks couldn’t see each other often. They had to obey the Great Gravitational Law, that decided where they’d go, when and at what speed. They had to follow larger objects and attract smaller ones. It was always the same thing. But the two rocks ended up meeting each other, one day, between two orbits.

“Tell me your story,” they had both asked when they saw each other, and both had been surprised. They were usually the one to ask that question. So, they both started, and stopped at the same time. They started to laugh.

“Do you ask this to every rock you meet?” asked one.

“Of course. You?” the other said.

“Always! Have you heard a lot of stories?”

“Plenty! And you?”

“Tons! Tell me one first, and then I’ll tell you mine.”

And so they did. The two rocks told each other stories, one after the other, until the Law separated them. So they promised to do it again whenever they’d see each other.

It became a habit. When they’d see each other from afar, even from very far, both rocks cried to get the other’s attention, and started telling storied from so far away they had to yell to be heard. And when it was time to go separate ways again, they tried to leave as slowly as possible, so that the moment would be longer. Since there could be decades before they saw each other again, they often had a lot of new stories to tell each other. But after several meetings, they eventually ran out of stories to tell. So one of the rocks had an idea.

“The planet that was blown up by that huge asteroid, what if that was where the little comet I told you about came from?”

And the other added, stunned. “Of course! How many moons did it have, remind me?”

And the two rocks suddenly had an infinity of new stories to tell, not stories they were told but stories they imagines, inspired by what they knew. When one didn’t know what to come up with, the other rebooted the whole thing with a new idea, funnier and more interesting than the first one. The two rocks shared a universe of stories, so numerous and different nobody remembered what was true and what wasn’t.

But then, one day, as one of the rocks saw the other and cried out to it to come and join it, it realized the other wasn’t shouting, that it was going slowly, that it was sad.

“What’s the matter?” it said when the other was close enough to hear.

“Every time I go around this system,” the other explained, “I slip past a little planet, a little bit closer each time. Last time, I barely made it. Next time, I am sure I will crash into it, and I won’t be able to see you again.”

The rock didn’t understand at first. Then, when it understood, it felt overwhelmed with sadness. “That’s not possible! You could try to avoid it one more time! Just once!”

“I’m sorry, friend, but it’s probably the last time we are together.”

So, for the first time, the two rocks spent their meeting in silence, going as slow as possible, gazing at each other and praying to see each other again. The meeting was way too short, and soon it was time to go separate ways again.

“Goodbye, friend. Remember our stories, alright?” the rock said before leaving again.

And the other rock, the one that circle around a comet, just refused to say goodbye. Instead, as it saw its friend leaving, it dug deep into its own strength and, in a desperate attempt, disobeyed the Law to take the same direction the other had taken. It didn’t want to lose the other storyteller.

The other rock saw it follow, amazed but glad to had its friend with it. “You are going to be in trouble!”

“I don’t care!”

And this is how the two storytelling rocks, one following the other, started their last trip around the Sun. They joked about being two rebels trying to overtake the unfair power of the Law and the merciless reign of the Sun. They told each other someday anarchy would prevail in the universe, and all the celestial bodies would be free to go wherever they felt like going and to follow whoever they wanted to follow. Everyone let them dream, since they wouldn’t live for very long anyway. Nobody ever heard again of the rocks that fell down.

Soon, too soon, the two rocks saw approaching the little blue planet they were going to crash into. It was pretty, from afar. It had a single, pale, tiny moon that greeted them both when they raced past it.

“I’m scared,” one said.

“Me too,” the other said.

“So it’s over?”

“Yes.”

“That’s a shame, we knew so many stories. Nobody will hear them now.”

“Maybe there are other storytelling rocks out there, and we didn’t meet them.”

“Maybe there are two just like us, and they are both in orbit around a planet, and they are always together.”

“Maybe they’ll actually manage to rebel against their sun.”

“Maybe they’ll break the Law in the entire universe.”

“Say?”

“Yes?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

And as they said this, both rocks felt irresistibly sucked down by the gravity of the planet its inhabitants called Earth.

No space rock knows how painful it is to get through an atmosphere. You’re surrounded by millions, billions, millions of billions of atoms, too small to be seen, yet so many they scratch and scratch the surface. It burns like a sun, it harms, it hurts. The two rocks, as they fell, sincerely thought they were dying. They felt themselves burn and crumble away, leaving behind them a trail of bits of themselves, like two little comets.

Then one of the rocks hit the earth, and the pain slowly fainted. At first, it was surprised that it was still alive. Then it looked around. There was sand around it, and other rocks, big and small, and even rocks that didn’t look like rocks. But it looked weird itself now. It had burned so much while going through the atmosphere it had become tiny, ridiculous, a speck of what it used to be, and it was all black now, like coal, and on the white sand you could only see it. There was liquid water, a little further away, and it started to dream it could bath in it to cool off after its fall.

The other rock was gone. Maybe it had burned completely. Maybe it had fallen somewhere else. It didn’t know. It was alone. All alone. Had it had eyes, it would have cried. It thought it could stay with the other until its last moments, but now it was alone, without any way of finding it. So the rock didn’t say anything. And let itself live quietly on the white beach.

Time went by. Sometimes, the planet’s inhabitants would come on the beach and walk around it. It listened, in silence. One day, a child picked it up and sat it at the top of a sandcastle. It wasn’t the first time. But then, when the sandcastle crumbled apart, the child found it again and brought it back to their grandmother who was reading in a deckchair. And the grandmother agreed to keep it.

She wrapped the rock in a handkerchief and dropped it inside her pocket. The rock could see anything anymore, it was even lonelier, and the tissue wrapping it up was rubbing against it and reminded it of the time it fell into the atmosphere. It hoped it wouldn’t last for too long. But when the grandmother eventually freed it, it wasn’t on the beach anymore.

She set it on a dusty shelf, above a desk, in a small bedroom. The walls were beige, the curtains were blue, and the wooden floor would shine every morning when sunlight flooded the room. There were a computer, books, a globe and picture frames. On the shelf, around it, there were plastic trinkets, seashells, an old varnished chestnut.

In that bedroom, people came and went. Usually, they were young. Their nose in papers. Staying awake even when the moon greeted them through the window. Never more than one at the same time, but they never stay for too long. One year, two years, and they left. The grandmother that came to clean up every couple days ended up leaving as well. The rock wondered where she had gone but never got an answer. A younger woman replaced her. When the room was empty, she would come inside to cry, sometimes. The rock felt sad for her, but still kept quiet.

The young people coming and going through the bedroom knew a lot of things. The rock was curious, and from its shelf it could see everything they did. Some struggled with weird symbols on white boards and drew on squared paper. Some compared tree leaves pictures and carried around cages with white mice in them. Some knew very long words and what they meant. Some used very long words to mean something. And the rock listened, and learned what they knew. After all, what else could it do on its shelf?

One day, one of those young people noticed it. He took it in his hands and looked at it up close. “Ma’am,” he said to the woman. “Isn’t that a meteorite?”

“I don’t know, maybe?”

The rock thought it was a pretty word to say it came from space, but it was still easier to just say “space rock”.

“It looks nice, you should put it in a museum.”

“Is it worth it? It’s just a rock.”

“Maybe to you, but it would be of more use somewhere people can see it, instead of locked up in a student’s room.”

He put the rock down, and it thought the woman was probably going to accept. Which was good for it had never seen a museum.

The woman took it there one week later. As the grandmother had done before her, she wrapped it up in a handkerchief and put it in her pocket. The rock thought earthlings had really weird ways of carrying things around. When it was free again, it was blinded by the white light of a small lab. A big man with a mustache and round glasses was staring down at it from behind a huge magnifying glass. He examined it for a moment, then wrote something on a notebook before putting it in a plastic box, with other rocks.

The rock wondered if that was really a museum, it didn’t look at all like what he’d imagined. The room was empty, there was nothing to see. But the big man eventually picked up the box and left the lab, and this time it really was a museum.

They followed corridors, climbed up stairs, and the rock wondered where they were going like that. It could see things behind windows and tiny tags, but it still didn’t talk. The big man eventually stopped inside a small room with dark walls and planet posters. He opened the box and took the rocks out, one by one, to set the down on different shelves, behind different tags. And when he was done, he left without looking back.

No rock talked in the room. Rocks are not usually talkative, but these ones seemed to have forgotten they could speak. So the rock kept quiet for it didn’t have anyone to talk to.

Soon, earthlings started getting in and out of the room. They looked at the different rocks. Some had big curious eyes, and some looked bored. The rock was bored too. It missed the other storytelling rock. It had been years since they’d talked. It wondered for a second if, like the other rocks, it didn’t know how to do it anymore.

Then it suddenly hear a familiar voice cry in the room.

“I’ve known black holes that weren’t as boring as this place!”

Most people in the room started looking around, wondering who had said that out loud. It was quite funny, but the rock didn’t pay attention because it knew who the voice belonged to.

“Is that you, friend?”

“Yes! Yes, it’s me! Where are you, friend?”

It was the other storytelling rock’s voice. The rock couldn’t believe its ears and scanned the shelves. “Here! Here! The top shelf!”

“I can see you! Can you see me? I’m right in front of you!”

And the rock did see, on the shelf right in front of it, another rock like it. Had it not talked, it would have never recognized it, the poor rock had also become black and tiny, like a piece of coal. But the rock was filled with joy from having found its friend again, even though they had to yell to hear each other, from either side of the exposition.

“What happened? Where were you?”

The rock told it fell on a beach, just like it. A child had picked it up and brought it back home. It was set upon a fireplace, and for years it saw the life of a happy family. Everybody told jokes, parents and children alike, and everybody loved each other. And one day, the eldest daughter had noted this black rock, sitting above the fireplace, came from space and could be useful to a museum.

It had spent several months in this room before cracking, that day, mad from all the silence. Good thing it was also the day the rock had arrived.

It told its story as well. They had so many things to say, so many things to tell. Earthlings were amazed by their conversation. Slowly, they feel silent around them, captivated by the storied the rocks told so well. But the two rocks didn’t care, they had finally found each other again.

They told each other old story, invented new ones, and earthlings would come in numbers to listen. Some wanted to take them back to the lab to know how they could talk, but protests rose from the visitors. Soon, the people in charge of the museum gave them their own exposition: the two rocks, together on a small table, stressed by a pretty white tablecloth. They kept talking, and earthlings kept listening to their stories. The one that had spent time in a student’s room had learned many things and made the story believable. The one that lived in a family have discovered humor and made the stories genuine and enjoyable.

They loved each other more than ever. Sometimes, they’d stop telling their storied and just compliment each other, tell how much they loved each other, how happy they were to be together again. And they laughed together from how cheesy they sounded, and kept inventing stories, always new, for a public that never grew tired.

And sometimes they’d stop talking together and didn’t speak for an amount of time, and earthlings wondered if they didn’t love each other anymore. Earthlings were wrong, they still loved each other and would probably love each other until the end, for it was a love that didn’t depend on anything, not even themselves. Sometimes, they just didn’t want to talk. So they kept quiet together, and in the end, it was like talking. Talking or not wasn’t important, as long as they had the choice to do it or not, that they were together and could decide to say whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted.

They were never separated again. They stayed together, in that museum, talking and not talking, forever. When there’d be no more earthlings to listen to them, they’d still be there. And when the sun would die, millenniums later, taking with it all of its closest planets, the two rocks would still be together, telling the thousands of stories they imagined.

[his-naughty-little-kitten]

On SebaCiel and other things

I am greatly surprised that nobody had written about this before. To be honest, I'm even more surprised at how some SebaCiel shippers simply take the blame when they are called pedophiles, rape apologists, and abuse supporters. So I thought it was time already to clarify some misconceptions that those antis have burned so strongly in their own minds.

1.- So we are all pedophiles...

 pedophile

[ped-uh-fahyl or, esp. British, pee-duh-]

noun, Psychiatry.

An adult who is sexually attracted to young children.

I always find this one very funny. They think we are all attracted so children! Oh, my god... Let me tell you something, this one is even funnier when those who say it then ship Ciel with someone else too, be it Lizzy, an OC or any other character. Because, you know, Ciel is the problematic part of this argument.

Of course, everybody has their own favorite character, but when it comes to the SebaCiel shippers, what is it that they find so appealing about the ship? I understand I cannot answer this in the name of the whole fandom, but I think a good part of it will agree on the following; we do not fantasize about Ciel.

I am not going to argue about how SebaCiel is not ilegal, problematic or immoral in it's most pure form, because everybody knows that already. Any normal person with some common sense as well as the ones who, like me, study law, are well aware that underaged girls and boys date older men rather often, that love is not regulated or penalized and that child abuse is only a crime when there is a sexual behavior. Liking someone, regardless of the age, is not a crime unless you act on it.

So I am going to skip the introduction and go right to the problematic point; yes, there are a lot of SebaCiel supporters who ship it sexually, me among them. Does this mean that they're all depraved old men who hoard child porn on their computer and jerk off to it? Who knows. Maybe some do, maybe some don't, maybe some Cielizzy fans do, since they ship children too. But the point is, what's the profile (from a statistical point of view) of the average SebaCiel shipper?

We know the majority of the Kuroshitsuji fandom is female. We know that based on GFantasy (Kuroshitsuji publishing magazine) surveys as well as the author's word, and it can be easily proved. We also know that a big part of the readers' ages range from 14 to twenty-something, which can also be proved through GFantasy surveys, or simply checking around the profiles of the Kuroshitsuji bloggers. This gives us an idea of what kind of age and gender the shippers might be, as well as probably reject the dirty old man's theory. But, how is this relevant to the topic at all? A twenty-something young woman can't be a pedophile? Well, yes, she can. But it is unusual, again from a statistical point of view. But then, why do they ship it? And to answer this I have to travel back in time to the not so ancient times in which I was still an underaged high schooler who was starting to get into the series. A time in which many of my female classmates were all crazy over certain male teacher in his forties (yes, you read well, forties) and my best friend couldn't stop talking about her favorite male idol, who was at the very least ten years older than her. I don't know whether you find this shocking or not, but through my experience I was realizing the already well documented fact which is that young women tend to find older men more appealing. But this doesn't have anything to do with shipping, or even with Kuroshitsuji, does it?

Those who are into the yaoi/bl fandom are probably getting my point already. And this is because the japanese bl genre, which is in fact aimed at women, often uses feminine males as protagonists, so a female reader can relate, unlike the real gay erotica, which uses manlier characters, and similarly to the hetero erotica in which the heroine often represents the reader's ambitions. And I'm sure that you've guessed who the more feminine part of the SebaCiel ship is. Ciel is the perfect heroine. He's beautiful, domineering, hard to get, dresses cutely and has the hottest guy ever all to himself. So, do we find Ciel appealing? Yes, of course. He's a well written character with good looks and innate sexyness. Do we fantasize? For sure. Any woman dreams about putting on that lacy lingerie, knee-high stockings and stilettos just like him and seduce their man. But, is he arousing? Hmm... No. Or at least, not without Sebastian.

I don't know whether or not Cielizzy shippers (and other Ciel shippers) write smut, and to be honest I really don't want to know, but if there's something twisted in a handsome man getting it on with an underaged yet highly sexualized, borderline crossdresser boy in high-heeled boots, there must be something equally sick in an underaged girl getting it on with that very same boy.

And then why do we ship it? Because we like little children getting naked? No. Because we like older, handsome, dark, devilishly seductive, adult men getting naked, and we don't like to see them snatched away from us by some other woman, fictional or not. And since Ciel retains that feminine, yet not quite female appeal, he's the perfect match for the true object of our fantasies. And for that reason, I don't think that SebaCiel shippers are any more pedophilic than the rest of Ciel x (?) shippers.

2.- ... And we also promote child abuse...

 Rivers of ink have been spilled on this topic. By both parts. On how Ciel is or is not a child, the nature and requirements of consent, what and what not was child abuse in victorian era and how it translates into the contemporary world... I'm not in the mood to repeat all the arguments that have been given. Instead, I'm putting the canon universe aside and talk solely of the nature of law that, I'm aware, is very different in my country and the US.

First and foremost, in my country, sexual activities of any kind aren't considered child abuse when the underaged partner is older than 13, unless the teenager has been deceived to give his consent. Which means that it is licit as long as it is consensual, and promoting a licit act is, once again, not illegal. I am not breaking any law.

But then, what about morals? Yes, I've read a lot of posts of morality and immorality regarding this topic. It is funny how those who believe to be more righteous talk about morality as if they held the ultimate truth. But let me tell you what my college professors, magistrates and connossieurs of law think of "morals"; nothing. And with this, I'm not saying that morality is useless, or that it shouldn't taken into account, simply that 1. Law doesn't always reflect morality. That your laws forbids adults to have sex with consenting teenagers doesn't mean it is immoral. I could as well argue how I find limiting someone's freedom of choice regarding their deepest intimacy to be far more immoral and against the very human nature. And 2. Every single person has different morals. Morality is an opinion. No human holds the absolute truth. What is considered immoral has changed through the ages and it will keep changing with humanity. So be humble, and never attempt to force your view of things into anyone else.

And on a side note, I have a constitutional right to voice mi opinion and promote my ideas, regardless of how immoral, and the attempt to stop me through coercion, including bashing, insulting and shaming, is indeed a crime, so most of the antis are actually breaking the law, not the shippers. So yes, if my crime is doing what I am allowed to do, then I plead guilty. Guilty of being an apologist of freedom, of opinion, and of course, of shipping! :D

 3.- And then they say we romanticize abusive relationships...?

This is yet another interesting point, and from here we leave the boring world of law and come back to Kuroshitsuji! <3

So, after seeing that shipping SebaCiel is not illegal nor immoral, we can discuss whether or not it is abuse. It is not child abuse in canon, as age of consent was only for male/female relationships, male/male being an entirely different thing that they called sodomy and didn't have anything to do with age, as well as the fact that Ciel was given his title at the age of 11 in an official ceremony, obtaining the status of head of the family which equals to adulthood to all legal circumstances. Yet someone could argue that a demon from hell could as well coerce a little boy into something lascivious, couldn't he? That he could force, hurt and otherwise violate his consent. It is not hard to believe but, does their relationship work like that? I don't think so.

An abusive relationship is "a pattern of abusive and coercive behaviors used to maintain power and control over a former or current intimate partner. Abuse can be emotional, financial, sexual or physical and can include threats, isolation, and intimidation."

This doesn't sound much like SebaCiel to me, no matter how many times I read it. I truly can't recall a single situation in which any of the things in that list took place. I do, however, notice a strong power-play in which the two of them struggle to maintain control over one another. But, to what extent is it dangerous? It is kind of obvious that for Sebastian is not dangerous at all, so one could make the mistake of believing that Ciel is the weak part. And I wonder if they realized that Ciel is the Master, the owner, the dom, the one handling the riding crop, binding the demon to his will. There's no argument about consent, because what he doesn't like he can stop it with a single order, restrain the demon, make him kneel. And yes, the demon could break the contract, set himself free and take the boy forcefully. But he doesn't, because he loves it. The proud, beautiful and foolish human who doesn't surrender to him.

Of course, this is open to character interpretation, but I think the power-play in Kuroshitsuji is very strong, as well as the subjacent bdsm undertones and themes that we have seen so many times in cover art and official illustrations, as well as in Yana's previous yaoi works. I wanted to point out these themes because a relationship based on dominance/submission is not the same as an abusive relationship, and once again it is all about consent and the sub's power to stop it at any time.

 And with this, I'd like to put an end this long review, as well as to agree with some anti's last popular point, which is that fiction affects reality. It really does, so enjoy it as much as you can, and learn from it all the things you might not experience in real life. Immerse yourself in a good story, make research, be critical, ship as much as you want and never, ever let anyone exert any kind of censorship on what you can read, watch, like or ship. ;)

[stoneheartedblog-blog]

75

I’m working from home today— work was cancelled in anticipation of a big-ass storm that has yet to materialize. Whatever. I’m in the basement office, still clearing out fucking email from last month.

Yesterday was a busy day full of meetings. Smack in the middle was my counselling appointment.

The original plan was for my wife to join us in a psycho-education session that would catch her up with where I was at and possibly/likely transition us to a couples-therapy approach. What happened with my mother sidetracked the agenda however and she opted to stay back and let me work with the therapist on a plan for dealing with blowing up mom’s game.

Turns out that was a good call.

The counselor spent the hour talking about the reasons why (bitch be toxic) and why I always seem to let her continue to abuse me and my family (bitch be mind-wormy). It was an interesting conversation and I guess that’s the value in a counselor who doesn’t have any particular stake in the game. She can be objective and guide you to what feels to be the right decision. I already know how Mom is going to play this out-- already saw some of that with my sister. My aunt called last night (I ignored the call), but I’ve yet to hear from my brother (I won’t ignore that one). 

The plan:

Ignore Mom at all costs. This is a 100% break. There are no half-measures. She won’t respect any boundaries and I won’t be able to tell when she’s in my head until my lovely notices and things become an issue. The only solution is prevention.

If there is going to be an interaction via circumstance (family gathering or critical health incident), I will have to disengage from her and work with others. This will be her go-to approach when nothing else works. She has to be persona non gratis. If there has to absolutely be a direct interaction, don’t engage. Keep a professional demeanor. This is one case where a mask is appropriate-- the right mask.

With my siblings or anyone else, the topic of mom will have to be greeted with a halting phrase like “this is not a topic I will be part of; we can talk about something else”. I suspect that, initially and then later, the guilt will be laid on thick through others. I don’t have to accept that burden and woe to those who do. That’s their choice, not mine.

To allow myself to let go of the anger (and I will anyway, it is my nature), I need to remember why things are the way they are. I lose things to passing time. This is a good place to use a tool.

I already have a construction called “Doug’s Rules of Work” and I’ve already been thinking about making a broader “The Rule of Doug” as a collection of behavioral reminders and cues. 

The one here that stands out is a simple mantra:

I will not let Mom worm into my head.  When she is, it makes me a bad person.  And I hurt the woman I love.

Cause and effect. I will remind myself of this as often as it takes. I don’t have to be angry (and I shouldn’t be). But I must remain vigilant.

This also scratches an itch with respect to my constant learning habit. It gives me a way to put my relationship and “better man” research into something actionable. More thinking to do here to make it real. Not too much tho. This is a time for action.

Funny story. I told my lunch-table peeps about the Mom Incident and I got applause. I guess I’ve been complaining for far too long, with far to little action. That’s a good nugget to remember.

When I got home, we talked for quite a bit and I made a point to reflect the experiences of my days-- not just the facts, but the stories of the people I interacted with and my thoughts and feelings. It feels good to share but I’ll have to be intentional about doing this. 

Not only do I need to keep Mom out of my head, but I need to keep myself out of there as well.

I decided to eject my computer from the living room as it’s a time-sink. When I’m in the living room, I’m relaxing, watching TV, being with her. When I’m in my computer, I’m doing something-- I have an office for that. If the computer hits the living room, it’s for a good reason (like playing a game). I can’t multitask effectively; I just do all the things half-assed.

The rest of the evening went well. I hit the gym and got my ass kicked. We took turns bathing, then watched a little BBT together. Without my laptop, the show was funnier and more enjoyable. I was aware of her presence more and we could chit-chat.

Before I went to bed, I looked at her and said it felt like a good day. She nodded.