#because that is when the miniature horses have their classes and what am i supposed to do? NOT go help with miniature horses???

[theoldaeroplane]

I need things to stop HAPPENING

[carewyncromwell]

[HPHM] Carewyn Cromwell and Orion Amari Cinderella AU Moodboard

x~x~x~x

Once upon a time, there were two kingdoms at war -- the land of Royaume with rolling valleys and mountain ranges, and the land of Florence by the southeastern sea. Their conflict had started fifty years ago, rooted in a territory dispute that blew up in an assassination and full-scale war. Since then, the royal family of Royaume, including the young Prince Henri, was kept under very tight house-arrest. It also resulted in many families gaining status and power in the two nation’s governments through investing in war.

One of those such families in the nation of Royaume were the Cromwells, led by the cold and ruthless Lord Charles Cromwell. The Cromwells put in a lot of their own money investing in the War, and those investments only came back to them tenfold, making them incredibly wealthy and very well-regarded among Royaume’s royal court. The King of Royaume needed all of the financial assistance he could get -- especially since he’d spent a lot of money to hire a mercenary from an outside country to assassinate the Crown Prince of Florence in an attempt to end the War, only for the War to go on unabated when the King of Florence coughed up a replacement heir. And as luxurious as the Royaumanian palace and many of its country estates looked, a lot of the lower classes weren’t getting their fair share, around paying for the soldiers at war. There were rumors that Florence was better-off, since they simply used black magic to make money and food appear out of fat air, but that was widely considered to be unfounded rumors. Royaumanians were very distrustful of magic and those who practiced it, and Florence’s harboring of witches and wizards didn’t do much to endear the common man to their enemy country.

This was why, one day at the local market in Royaume’s capital, there was a lot of fuss made when one of the street vendors -- an old miser named Argus Filch --  suspected a strange man of buying ingredients for a potion.

“I’m not stupid, boy,” said Mr. Filch, looking over the stranger with suspicion. “You think those things you’ve been picking up like a crow look like anything other than some kind of black magic recipe?”

The stranger in question -- a young, tanned, black-eyed man with a beard and slightly-too-long dark hair -- responded with remarkable calm.

“I assure you, sir, black magic is certainly not my intention,” he said quietly.

“Oh yeah?” challenged Mr. Filch. “What’s all this for, then?”

“A friend,” the young man answered.

“A friend, eh? Some nasty old witch in the forest, I’m sure -- thinking of mixing up some poison potion -- ”

“Is there a problem here?”

Both men looked up, very startled.

A young lady astride a white horse had just come to a stop beside them. She was dressed in a light yellow gown with green sleeves and her ginger hair was done up in netting decked with pearls. It was a peculiar sight, to see so well-dressed a woman riding her own horse through the market rather than riding in a carriage, even if she did ride side-saddle.

The ginger-haired lady glanced at the dark-haired stranger out the side of her almond-shaped blue eye. Although her face was as stoic as a marble statue’s, there was something about her gaze that caught his attention. It was discerning, and yet...not cold. Not condescending.

The lady then turned to Mr. Filch.

“Good sir,” she said, “why do you harangue my escort?”

The dark-haired stranger blinked, but otherwise kept the surprise from his face. Mr. Filch himself blinked several times in rapid succession.

“Y-your escort?” he sputtered. “Then...you’re who he was shopping for?”

“That I am,” said the lady very coolly. “Is there a problem with my purchases?”

“W-well, yes, in fact!” Mr. Filch stammered, his suspicion returning even though he was clearly intimidated. “What could a fine lady such as yourself want with this sort of...pagan nonsense?”

The lady raised her eyebrows dryly. “‘Pagan nonsense?’”

“Yes!” said Mr. Filch, his voice becoming a bit louder in his defensiveness. “Rosemary, henbane -- ”

“I require rosemary for the kitchen staff, to season our meals,” said the lady at once. “And henbane makes for pleasant incense -- we use it to stifle the smell of cigar smoke, after large parties.”

Filch looked a bit abashed.

“...And what about the absinthe? That stuff’s pretty strong...and the catswort...”

“My uncle brews drinks with absinthe, as a palette cleanser after large meals....and surely you yourself know of how much house cats enjoy catswort? I believe I see cat fur on your coat.”

“Well, yes, but...but what about the Mandrakes?” challenged Filch. “That is pretty occult, if I’ve ever -- ”

“The Mandragora plant has some of the prettiest flowers I’ve ever seen,” the lady said, and her blue eyes grew a little narrower. “Now have I satisfactorily nullified your concerns? I’m afraid I have an urgent appointment at the palace, and I know my grandfather Lord Cromwell would be very displeased if I was late for it because someone suspected his family of aligning themselves with witchcraft.”

Mr. Filch suddenly went very, very white. “L-Lord Cromwell!? Y-you’re related to -- ?!”

He abruptly prostrated himself before her. “My lady!”

The display actually seemed to make the young Lady Cromwell look incredibly uncomfortable -- as if she hadn’t intended for the threat to make the vendor react with quite so much anxiety.

“Rise, please,” she said, and her voice seemed oddly remorseful. “That’s not necessary. Just be on your way and leave this man be, please.”

“Yes, my lady!” said Mr. Filch very quickly, looking no less anxious. “O-of course, my lady...”

With that, he slunk away, back down the street toward his stall.

Lady Cromwell looked down at the dark-haired stranger again. His sparkling black eyes had not left her face for almost the entire exchange and were very difficult to read.

“Have you bought everything you need?” she asked under her breath.

The stranger inclined his head in a single nod. “Yes.”

Lady Cromwell nodded in return, a very small smile touching the corners of her red lips. “Good. Walk beside my horse for a block or so. I’ll escort you out of the market, so you can head home.”

She flicked the reins and started her horse off at a leisurely trot. The dark-haired man hesitated briefly, before adjusting the basket under his arm so that the handle hung on his shoulder and following her.

“That was some very clever thinking on your part,” he said quietly.

Lady Cromwell raised her eyebrows.

“You seem surprised,” she said dryly. “Have you never encountered a clever woman before?”

“On the contrary,” the man replied, “I’m fortunate to count several as my friends. But I must confess, I did not expect such kindness from someone in your position.”

“And pray, what ‘position’ is that?”

The man inclined his head respectfully. “A lady of the Cromwell estate, of course. After all, as you yourself said...your grandfather most assuredly would be offended if someone associated him and his family with witchcraft.”

Lady Cromwell shot a quick glance at him out the side of her eye. Then she faced forward again.

“...I suppose I...have never been that much like the rest of my family,” she said softly. “Excluding my brother.”

“The young Lord Tristan Cromwell?” asked the man.

“No -- Jacob Cromwell,” she replied. “He’s at the war front.”

The man’s dark eyes flickered with a strange, sad glint.

“I see...”

The lady brought her horse to a stop and faced the man more fully.

“Well then, this is where I leave you. I’m sorry if it requires more of a walk for you to return home, but I must be off to the castle -- I’m already running behind.”

“It’s no problem at all,” said the dark-haired stranger. “It truly is not so far of a walk for me.”

Lady Cromwell nodded politely. “Very well. Farewell, then, Mr...?”

“With respect, my lady,” said the man with a slight wry smile, “perhaps it’s best that we not share our identities.”

The red-haired lady cocked her eyebrows sardonically. “Seems rather rude of you, considering you already know mine.”

“Ah, but I don’t, truly,” said the stranger, and his black eyes sparked with something almost mischievous. “I know your family name, yes, but that’s not who you are, is it? And truthfully even who you are now isn’t really that important. I’d say who you wish to be is far more telling than who you are at the present moment.”

Lady Cromwell raised an eyebrow, intrigued a bit despite herself. “Really? And who do you wish to be, sir?”

His black eyes twinkled a bit more, making them resemble two miniature night skies with hundreds of tiny pinprick stars.

“...A free man.”

Lady Cromwell’s eyes actually softened a bit, almost sympathetically.

“...Well, I hope you achieve that dream, Mr. Freeman,” she said in an unusually kind voice.

She flicked the reins of her horse.

“Farewell!” she called behind her.

Despite himself, the dark-haired stranger felt his face breaking into a broad smile as he watched her gallop away.

“Farewell,” he murmured, “Lady Cromwell.”

Not long after she was out of sight, a familiar black carriage appeared around a corner, and the door cracked open so that one could enter it. With an airy sigh, the dark-haired man climbed into the carriage and shut the door behind him, before the carriage rode off.

Not long after, the woman who’d been called “Lady Cromwell” arrived at the Royaumanian palace. She received a lot of attention from the castle staff for her mother’s old dress and formal hair and make-up -- and when she approached the thrones of the King and Queen, she startled everyone with her greeting.

“Your Majesties,” she said lowly, her blue eyes downcast to the floor to obscure the faint nerves she felt, “my name is Carewyn. Lord Cromwell sent me, so that I may serve his Highness, the Prince.”

The King looked very startled. “Lord Cromwell? Then...”

His face suddenly burst into an incredulous smile.

“...Why then, you’re the new maidservant! Lord Cromwell’s serving girl! My, but you have cleaned up -- I never would have guessed!”

“Clearly Lord Cromwell treats his servants well, if even they look the part of a courtier,” said the Queen, and she couldn’t help but giggle behind her hand.

Carewyn successfully resisted the urge to scoff. Charles most certainly had not told her to come dressed in her mother’s old dress or doll herself up quite this much -- he wanted Carewyn to be eyes and ears for their family, not to draw attention away from her cousins vying for the Prince’s hand. But Carewyn had her own reasons for wanting to make a good first impression.

“Come nearer to me, child,” said the Queen.

Carewyn obeyed politely. She still had some trouble meeting the King and Queen’s eyes, but she kept her composure as best she could.

“Turn for me.”

Faintly confused, Carewyn nonetheless did so. The Queen looked very pleased.

“Oh, she’s just like a little china doll!” she said through a simpering smile. “Prince Henri is going to have such fun with her, wouldn’t you say, dear?”

“Yes, yes, indeed,” said the King with a chortle. “I don’t know if you’re aware, Carewyn, but my son has quite a knack for -- ”

“Father!”

Carewyn couldn’t stop herself from turning around in surprise as the man who had to be Prince Henri strode up the hall.

He certainly was dressed the part, that was for certain. He wore a doublet made of gold-trimmed purple velvet complete with a brocaded cape and a matching hat and breeches with white stockings and gold-buckled black shoes.

“Henri, how good of you to join us,” said the Queen brightly. “Carewyn -- this is Henri Lancelot-Yves Andre -- Crown Prince of Royaume.”

Carewyn curtsied politely. “It’s an honor, your Highness.”

The dark-skinned prince Henri gave a bright white grin. “Ah, then you’re the new maidservant! I think I can see why you were sent over -- your fashion is on point, despite your dress being of an older style...”

He offered a hand politely to her.

“Come -- we must get you fitted appropriately!”

With faint hesitance, Carewyn rested her hand on top of the prince’s and followed him out.

“Fitted, Your Highness?” she asked. “I thought I merely would receive a uniform, once I arrived.”

“Oh, you will,” said the Prince brightly, “but no member of the castle staff is going to wear a uniform that doesn’t fit her properly -- I’ll need to tailor it. And please...call me Andre.”

Meanwhile, the dark-haired stranger called “Freeman” was getting an earful from the man in the carriage.

“Orion, you can’t keep running off every time you’re able to sidestep your attendants,” said the blond-haired man in the carriage. His arms were crossed, and although his expression was grave, it wasn’t particularly strict or reproachful. “There’s a lot of military strategy to discuss.”

“I learn a lot more about our enemy here on the streets than I ever could in a tower, McNully,” said Orion serenely. Once he’d finished organizing his basket of herbs, he lay it down on the seat across from him. “Don’t let me forget to deliver that to Miss Haywood, for the wounded.”

“You could stand to learn about your enemy in both places,” said McNully, “and you could also stand to think a bit more critically before disguising yourself and wandering across the border. Do you know what the Royaumanians would do, if they caught you?”

Orion considered this. “Hmm...perhaps that would make a good strategy. Cleopatra herself apparently smuggled herself inside a rug, so as to parley with Julius Caesar -- ”

“Yes, but Cleopatra’s older half-brother hadn’t been killed on Caesar’s orders beforehand,” McNully cut him off a bit more forcefully.

He sighed heavily.

“Orion...I understand you never asked for any of this. I mean, of all the people I could’ve seen becoming heir to the throne of Florence, I’d have said you only had a 3% chance of being picked.”

“Much obliged,” said Orion with a rather placid smile.

His face then grew a bit more serious.

“Even so,” he said quietly, “it’s my responsibility. And so is ending this war, preferably in such a way that balance is restored.”

“Kind of hard to do, when Royaume seem more interested in killing off royal family members than negotiating,” said McNully. “At this rate, I’d say the odds are slim they’ll accept peace over all-out surrender -- 10%, tops.

Orion shook his head. “Its leaders, maybe, but not its people. There is goodness among them. Patience, tenacity, loyalty, and fire. A desire for peace and stability, in place of war and loss.”

“And an irrational hatred of us, bred out of a fear of everyone and anyone even slightly associated with magic,” McNully pointed out.

“Not all of them feel that way.”

“A good 98% do.”

Orion glanced out the window at the large wall that marked the border of Royaume and Florence. Positioned in the distance were a battalion of Royaumanian soldiers shooting their guns and yelling -- no doubt they were being distracted just long enough for their carriage to slip through unnoticed.

“However slim the number,” said Orion quietly, “there are those here who don’t fear the unknown and mysterious -- whose kindness gives them courage...”

The face of the ginger-haired lady he’d met in the market rippled over the Florentine Prince’s mind again, and his lips curled up in a small smile.

“That’s something we can count as a blessing and use to our advantage.” 

[nauseateddrive]

I ALMOST KILLED MY FURBY by Kristine Brown

"One day, you'll say, 'I want kids.'"

Surely. Pfft.

"...so keep in mind that when you do have children, you know that..."

I find that when it comes to offspring, precedents are implausible. But, go on.

"When are you having kids?"

Thanks for your concerns, people older than myself. By the way, I'm twenty and I just moved in with the guy.

* * *

Many of these discussions took place in 2012. Today, I'm twenty-eight. A generous plenty say I look seventeen, twelve on days speckled with sunshine and free of humidity. I have not seriously dated a man in more than two years. Silence is joyful, and my bank account is calm. I should also mention that my vocal chords are so much less strained because I've hardly engaged in another argument about when to get pregnant, how many times, and who would perform tasks of necessity while the other did all the indoctrination. My first relationship - the only serious one I've had - was outwardly quirky in that Wall-E and EVE sort of way, but if anyone was our neighbor, he or she would tell a different story. My live-in boyfriend had a dogged coldness resembling Kevin Lomax from The Devil's Advocate, and my meltdowns were just as grating as Mrs. Lomax's pleas to just "make a baby." Oddly enough, he was the one proposing plans for The Spawning. I just wanted him to spend time with me more.

My opinion on kids? I would make for an unfit mother. Possibly because of maladaptive behaviors, my urge to crush Pepsi cans to bite-sized accordions, a desensitization to insults my friends would classify as "bullying." I couldn't possibly impart a set of ethics to foster happiness and prosperity in the life of a child. "Oh, but that would be my job, love bug." Let's assume that besides diapering, clothing, breastfeeding, and these advanced duties to follow, I couldn't possibly have any sort of influence on my child. Doubtful.

Sometimes, whether at work or in a doctor's office, I witness an angry child thrashing a baby doll, or a careless, soporific child who drags the tiny mannequin by the hair. The parent may reprimand the child, and might even say: "Look what you did to your baby. No, don't do that!"

I can't say I've had these experiences, at least at a very young age. I never took an interest in baby dolls. Now, I do remember having multiple miniature dolls either given to me by older children or found in the clamor of Saturday swap meets. I do remember the Ken and Barbie, not genuinely Mattel but sufficiently humanoid to warrant their being called such. And with the screech of cheap Velcro, their garments were gone, and Ken slept on top. Well, I thought they were sleeping, but adults were displeased with my mission in choreography. I never saw those miniature knockoffs again. Predictably, I was supervised as I played with the Native American doll set. The male was removed, and eventually, so was the horse.

The clarity of my childhood memories astounds a handful of people, partly because of my current tendency to gloss over details and fail to follow directions. I could readily retell the plots and messages of numerous commercials in the mid-to-late '90s, the older Generation X-ers nodding and smirking in a way that asks, "Why do you know all this?" I was especially terrified of public safety announcements. "Only you can prevent forest fires" disconcerts me as much as "Hi, I'm Chucky. Wanna play?” But one campaign I couldn't tolerate was the one with the shaken baby. The teddy bear etched in stone, the infant's screams in the background, a camera in a dance of epilepsy. Then you see the whole tombstone and something along the lines of "Our Beloved Child." I think I was five or six at the time, but that was quite a horror flick.

What the frustrated adult committed against the baby, I would replicate three years later. To my Furby.

We were better off then and at this point my parents had learned the rules of Keeping Up with the Joneses. But they didn't buy the Furby. Even now, I question the merits by which he entered our home. Oreo. That's what my babysitter's older sister introduced him as, placing the box in my twiggy little arms, pinching my cheeks because that's what people do to you when you're eight, chubby, and loudly pretentious. She was fired the week after. I still remember being asked if the Furby was supposed to be paid for.

So consensus states that Furbies are Satan's little mercenaries. Infantilized Gremlins, wingless bats with beaks, sorely mutated flying monkeys. Whatever they may be, and in whatever year they were manufactured and marketed, we know that each and every Furby could use obedience classes with S.T.F.U. Consulting (I suppose we should add "LLC" to this, protecting the venture from lawsuits should the classes not work). That little gem plastered onto their foreheads? I don't believe it was ever a sophisticated camera, or a recording device. I couldn't teach Oreo anything. If I couldn't make him dance like my friends could with theirs, how could my children follow simple rules? Not that I was making this irrational connection in 1998, but my friends often joked that as much as I carried that loudmouth around, he was "kinda" my baby.

Furbies have this creepy voice a bit too similar to that of an aggressive cougar you've either known or heard of with a burgeoning case of emphysema. Yes, I also remember some graphic anti-smoking ads. I think above all demands, mine's signature croon was "Hungry." I'd press my finger on its plastic red tongue to hear those simpering "Mmmm"s and so many "Hungry"s that wouldn't cease no matter how often I fed the damn thing. Frustrated, I'd bury Oreo beneath layers of blankets, chuck him in multiple pillowcases, wedge him beneath the wall and my mattress. His nighttime cravings annoyed us all. 

There was a point where I was reprimanded harshly for walking by Oreo during his "naps." We had had it with his shit.

We couldn't figure out how to turn the fucker off. Honestly, I don't remember anyone even taking steps to activate the Furby. He came into the world as is. It's eerily similar to those robotic babies they hoist onto high school freshmen in state-mandated health class. Abstinence only, this will teach you. And in those health classes I do remember some frustrated girls perpetrating acts of legitimate mannequin abuse. Kind of like those angry toddlers in doctors' offices. Oreo once again begged for food. I couldn't quite teach him to dance on cue. He never did anything other Furbies did in all the commercials. I knew you could rub them on the tummy and all, but I thought, "What if I turn him upside down?"

And he hung from my grasp, looking very much like an obese bat that lost its wings long atrophied. Characteristically, he screamed, "Weeeeee. Fun!"

My intention was to punish him. So I shook him.

"Weeeee. Fun! Tuba, woah! Do do do do do dooooo..."

(Oreo uttered this phrase multiple times. I could never really make out exactly what he was saying, but I am certain that he did say "Tuba.")

As my hands were too tiny for one to do all the handling, I tried to spin him around. Really, I churned the animatronic butterball in multiple directions, my arms growing tired, my frustrations projected.

"Woahhh! Woahhh!"

I continued with this odd punishment.

"Woaaaahhhh! Me scared!"

The cry was loud. But that "Me scared" was a bit unsettling. It was a mix between a coo and a gasp, like he knew what I was trying to do. But I continued in my campaign to silence Oreo.

"Whooopeeeee! Fuuuunnnn!"

Blatantly contradicting the sentiments expressed immediately prior. I continued.

"Woaaahhh! Me scared! Heeeee."

That "heeee" actually sounded remorseful. I felt a twinge of remorse. But it wasn't enough, as I did continue.

Repeatedly, he would cry about being scared. And suddenly, a snorting sound. And while he hung upside down, the base of his odd little person in the clutches of my white-knuckled hands, he spoke the awaited mantra.

"Wooooo. Wooooo. Wooooo. Something something. Cocoa."

(Again, it's often hard for me to properly recall exactly what that thing said. I'm pretty confident he said "cocoa." He had some decent taste.)

And silence. For a good two years. Despite several jabs and pinches in evenings to follow, Oreo persisted in his slumber. Or coma.

Twenty years later, and I'm ordering books on Amazon to better address my anger, impatience, and tendency to seethe. Babies, and children in general, stay absent in my plans. But really, no one would take the story of Oreo seriously enough in reviewing my constant fears. That day, I became a little scared of myself.

Kristine Brown shuffles between poetry, prose, data entry, and wishing she could properly fly a kite. She photographs strangers' cats and writes poems for them. You can find these poems on her blog, Crumpled Paper Cranes (https://crumpledpapercranes.com). Her writing appears in Hobart, Philosophical Idiot, Burningword Literary Journal, among others. Her novel, Connie Undone, will be released on March 1st, 2020.

[kynimdraws]

A little PSA: An explanation of Ovewatch Ana’s “Tal/탈” skin

I am getting tired of people hating on Ana’s Tal skin and while I have expressed my discontent over this unnecessary discourse on twitter I might as well crosspost on tumblr because of non-Koreans trying to spread misinformation about my home country’s culture.

(Ana voice): SHHHHHHHHHHHH calm down kids it’s grandma

Disclaimer: I am Korean. My mother is a Korean teacher who has taught me Korean history/culture. My uncle teaches in a University about Korean history. Chinese cultural appropriation topics will not be mentioned here, because I am not Chinese. Someone with better knowledge about that than make their own posts elsewhere (please).

A quick googling of “tal” or “탈” will give you the following definition (lifted from the all-accessible wikipedia page). I bolded the most relevant parts of this excerpt since I will go into more detail about it in the next paragraphs:

Korean masks have a long tradition with the use in a variety of contexts. Masks are called tal (Hangul: 탈) in Korean, but they are also known by many others names such as gamyeon, gwangdae, chorani, talbak and talbagaji. Korean Mask come with black cloth attached to the sides of the mask designed to cover the back of the head and also to simulate black hair.

They were used in war, on both soldiers and their horses; ceremonially, for burial rites in jade and bronze and for shamanistic ceremonies to drive away evil spirits; to remember the faces of great historical figures in death masks; and in the arts, particularly in ritual dances, courtly, and theatrical plays. The present uses are as miniature masks for tourist souvenirs, or on cell-phones where they hang as good-luck talismans.

The one Ana is specifically wearing is a type of 하회탈 (hahoetal), which describes a type of mask used during theatre (하회별신굿탈놀이) and dance (탈춤) since the 12th century. These performances consist of a cast of character archetypes, which are depicted by the masks. Many of the features in the masks are exaggerated for humorous and dramatic effect. Here are a general list of masks that commonly seen.

Fun fact, Ana’s mask is a hybrid of the Kaksi/각시 and Yangban/양반 mask. And maybe a little bit of the Halmo/할미 depending on the mask design.

These mask plays were performed in villages to ward off evil spirits and to convince the local gods to protect them and bring prosperity. A certain aspect of these performances are also comedic, and a chance for performers to poke fun of the ruling class and taboo subjects like sex. While this is not tied to the Lunar New Year specifically, such performances were done during special occasions like those holidays.

Now you may be asking “this is part of a religious thing! Isn’t that disrespectful??” And trust me, this depiction is FAR from being offensive to most Koreans.

Yes the tal was used for shamanistic rituals, specifically associated with “muism” (무교/신교). However, muism is not a popular Korean religion. While there has a recent uprise in people practicing it/being interested in it, Muism has always faced discrimination in Korean history. Confucianism, Christianity, and even Japanese colonialism has demonized this religion and it was nearly forgotten/eradicated. The most known incident of this is called the misin tapa undong (미신 타파 운동) describes a period from 19th century to the 1980s where various parties (both outside and inside Korea) tried to eradicate muism through various means, including burning down local shrines and villages that were known to practice them. People had to be in hiding so avoid persecution.

Fortunately the Korean government has indirectly protected Muism by making several aspects of their religious traditions as national Korean treasures, including the 탈 among other things. But it is important to note that whole 탈 culture is secularized now. It does not have the religious connotations that it was known for. Hell, the masks are one of the most recognizable features of Korean culture (and seen in many souvenirs). There are places in Korea that preserve this tradition and perform it to the public to spread awareness of its history (the 안동 village every September has an arts festival for all traditional Korean performing arts). FYI, Koreans who appreciate this are not muists themselves, and no one requires you to be one. Lunar New Year is largely a secular holiday, after all.

Now, do you want to see some of the reactions KOREAN FANS had about the Ana skin? Here are few I got off from twitter, with translations from yours truly:

BTW that Ana tal skin is my aesthetic - (x)

That Ana skin is really good ㅇㅁㅇ....tal is really making my heart flutter* - (x)

*간지뿅뿅 is not a really easy thing to translate since it’s a combo of a sound effect and an emotion??? It’s a positive response either way

Ana skin ㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠtal is so good ㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠ - (x)

OMG Ana’s skin is tal LOL that is exciting - (x)

Many of these really are happy their culture is seen! And it’s not depicted in a mocking manner and the overall design is quite lovely, with Korean-design motifs in her clothes. The few relatively negative tweets about her skin are how the cloth may be too bright/gaudy compared to the mask, which is sort of true. The mask is supposed to be seen clearly to show what character the performer is playing out. But the color scheme really looks like those worn for the Bongsan talchum (봉산탈춤), another variety of tal (they are all within the same province btw). And a lot of Korean traditional color schemes are pretty gaudy too.

Alright, so I have told you all I can about the tal culture. Now the you may be asking the following question, summarized well by this tweet:

I think Ana looks awesome in general but what was the concept behind her new skin ???? She’s Egyptian so why wear a Tal? - (x)

To be fair, I was also fairly surprised by the choice for having Ana have the Korean-style skin before I became super ecstatic to see my culture be represented. I do agree it is odd to see a Muslim/Egyptian/Arabic character (two groups that don’t really celebrate Lunar New Year from what I can gather) to be chosen for a Korean skin, but that matter sort of falls into the “Muslim/Egyptian/Arabic culture is underrepresented in Overwatch and gaming media in general” topic and I am not knowledgeable enough to discuss that in detail. A Muslim Overwatch fan has written about this matter here if you want to check it out.

But back on point, is this skin an example of YELLOW FACE or CULTURAL APPROPRIATION? No! When did being Muslim/Arabic/Egyptian =/= you can’t celebrate/appreciate other cultures and their traditions? Did you only want Koreans to get the skin? I am all for D.Va getting more skins (and MAYBE more KOREAN OVERWATCH HEROES) but why restrict the Korean theme onto just one character? Cultural appropriation is when people INAPPROPRIATELY disrespect a culture by mocking them and disregarding the traditions of said culture. Ana is not doing any of this. Besides, Korean tal culture is not closed off to non-Koreans, and there are Korean cultural socities that are willing to offer classes on this and will even teach you how to do the dance/plays (i.e. Sejong University has a site for it). 

FYI because I am Korean, I cannot say how Egyptian/Muslim/Arab fans feel about Ana wearing Korean attire for Lunar New Year. I have talked to a few Muslim OW fans/friends about this and given their differing opinions on the matter (including the OP of the muslim underrepresentation post I linked earlier), I cannot really make a confident assumption on how these people generally feel about the skin. On Korean fandom’s end though, we love the skin! It’s great Blizzard took the time to research Korean culture and make a skin that isn’t mocking Koreans. And Blizzard does have some ties with Korea itself due to its HUGE gaming culture/fanbase, so it is possible BlizzKorea has gotten input there for this event. Being between two BIG Asian countries (Japan and China), Korea is often left out and this event was a really nice breath of fresh air. We are represented!! We are not some invisible culture between the big two!!!

And if you are not part of this culture, just PLEASE let other people speak out about the matter before getting on your moral high horse to talk about appropriation. 

Now, does that mean the Korean fandom thinks Blizzard is a perfect company? NO! Honestly the entire event is MOSTLY about Chinese culture (with some Korean stuff squeezed in between). Other Asian countries that celebrate Lunar New Year have been ignored (i.e. Southeast Asian cultures and some Indian cultures celebrate Lunar New Year and they are not included despite Symmetra being Indian, etc). These discrepancies are good starting points to discuss underrepresentation in media that Blizzard can learn about and hopefully include in their future updates. From what I can see, the Overwatch developers have been receptive to this feedback so it would be good to have that convo in their official forums too.

FYI, I personally feel like there could have been more Korean stuff for this event period. In America at least, it really sucks that Lunar New Year is ALWAYS called Chinese New Year despite other countries also celebrating it...RIP. But I appreciate that this game has made Korean culture more visible. Here’s hope to more visible Korean stuff in gaming and elsewhere! Where is my “새해 복 많이 받으세요” voice line for D.Va? I demand answers Blizzard!!!

Anyway, hope that has taught you something new, and Happy Lunar New Year to everyone!

[gradientofcats]

Hi, my name is Brittany. I am 20 years old. I have a mother, a father, an elder brother and an elder sister. I have 6 cats, 2 dogs, 2 horses, miniature pony, 3 chickens, and a rabbit. I have 4 friends and a few acquaintances. I have a boyfriend named Andrew and we've been dating for 2 months. I have a collection of over 1000 books. I am severely depressed and have undiagnosed anxiety issues. My mother is going off her anti-anxiety medication and has been tapering off for 7 months now and has been experiencing withdrawals. My father is always at work, my sister is always angry at me and my brother was recently diagnosed with severe depression and anxiety as well. I feel so alone. I hate my life and myself. I'm never able to be with my boyfriend, so he's probably going to dump me in a few days. I'm never able to be with my friends and I don't know why they're still friends with me. I really like Andrew, but I feel like he's sick of me and how difficult I am. It's getting to the point where I think every conversation we have, he's going to tell me that it's not working out and he'll break up with me. This is my first relationship. Up until I met Andrew, I hadn't even held a man's hand before. He's very patient and understanding and I don't know why he's still with me. I wouldn't stay with me. I deserve to be alone. He always wants me to stay over with him in the city, I want to but I can't. I was supposed to go over to his place yesterday but he cancelled because of the severe storm blowing in. I keep inconveniencing everyone around me. I am a waste of space. I am in my final year of university but I failed my English class and I need to do one more option class. I'm costing my family so much time and money. I don't deserve an education. I hate myself more than I could ever express but I don't say anything because my mother is incredibly unstable right now and I don't want to cause anyone more stress. I hate myself. I wish I could go back to when I was six, back before everything happened. I wish I could have my childhood back. I don't remember what life was like before mum got cancer. I don't remember not having to take care of her. I don't remember not being anxious or scared all the time. I hate myself so much. I'm ashamed of myself constantly. I know it's selfish, but I want someone to take care of me. I have spent all my life caring for others. Just for a little while I want to be the one being cared for. I don't want to be alone anymore. I miss Andrew and his hugs. I just want a hug from someone stable, someone who wouldn't make me feel bad for latching onto them. I feel stupid writing this down. I am stupid for writing this down but no one is going to read it anyways so I guess it's fine. If Andrew breaks up with me, it's okay. It'll be okay. He'll be happy and I won't be there to cause him anymore stress. God I don't know why he's with me in the first place. I get the urge to hurt myself sometimes. I want to. Right now, I want to, but I never have. I want to feel safe. I want everything to be alright. I just want a hug. That's all I want.

[wingskribes-blog]

WING FIXES THE UNIVERSE! 1. STAR WARS: THE LAST JEDI

The Last Jedi, is probably the most contentious of the nine Star Wars films released so far. Some seem to love it. Others say it’s undeserving to hold its place in the series. Both camps seem to span the cross-sectional gamut of casual and hardcore fandom. So too are there are those—maybe even a majority—who will work up what little enthusiasm they can find to tell you, “It was okay. Not great, but okay, I guess.”

Well let me be the first to say, ALL of you are right. Star Wars: The Last Jedi is as GOOD as it is BAD. And on the whole, it’s kind of just ‘inoffensively, meh’. But this is not a Kribes’ Review you’re reading. No, this is a Wing Fixes the Universe! No ratings here, Dear Reader. No, here we get into what Last Jedi should have done to be a truly fantastic film. Here we fix EVERYTHING. So let’s begin!

(Of course … there will be spoilers.)

  The PROBLEMS

1)      TONE: Star Wars has never shied from a joke (“Shut him up or shut him down!”), but the jokes, quips and gags have usually managed to hold themselves ‘in universe’. That is to say they are played to the situation, or to one character or another, not to the audience. They are not slipped in just to keep the audience laughing. And when they are, it rarely goes well. Then we get Jar Jar bumbling his way through a platoon of tanks. We get Obi wan and Anakin trapped in a force-field with saying, “How did this happen? We’re smarter than this!”

Well, perhaps The Last Jedi isn’t quite as dense as say, The Phantom Menace, with these class-clownish winks to the audience (though it’s close) but it takes them much further than the franchise has ever allowed before. We get Poe’s crank call to Hux, Luke milking that alien’s testicle-boobs, the crying-eyed porg staring up at Chewie, and so many little moments that just don’t feel like Star Wars. We will fix this.

2)      PACING: Battles are great but they slow things down. Too many and they tend to blend together; they become boring. Character arcs are vital but you must move your characters through these arcs! You can’t just linger and show them banging their heads again and again against the same wall! (As we get with Rey on the island.)

3)      STAKES: When every sequence is offered up like a climax, you stop caring by the third one. Build your tension so we care whether the heroes win or lose in the end.

  The FIX

1)      THE TONE: We’re going to have to re-script everything. I don’t mean a major overhaul here (yet), just stripping and replacing the wallpaper. No more pandering to the audience. No crank calls. No alien milking, or space-nun near misses. e.g. you can keep the porgs but they can’t just be there to be cute and silly. Give them a tiny sub-arc with Chewbacca. 1) Stepping off the Falcon he sees them immediately. They scatter at the sight of him. 2) They chirp in the night and Chewie has trouble sleeping. He covers his ears and grumbles. 3) He finds they’ve infested the Falcon and he gets legitimately angry. 4) After destroying the First Order’s air support on the crystal planet, the Falcon is forced into a crash landing (which would just be a better way for Rey to arrive) and the poison gas mentioned in Force Awakens is about to flood the ship. Chewie grabs a handful of porgs before running out then puts them down on the ground outside. Yes, it’s still corny. But corny is fine in a Star Wars. (e.g. R2 launched through the air by a swamp lizard.) But at least they have a place in the story now; they’re not just there to be cute and sell toys.

2)      THE OPENING: If you’re going to start with a big battle, make it mean something. Don’t just tell me some jokes, show a few explosions and then kill a Red Shirt I’ve never seen before but am supposed to care about for some reason. What you should do is make this sequence its own miniature movie starring Rose’s sister. Poe shouldn’t even be in it (except on the communicator telling them to ignore retreat orders). Start with the sisters saying goodbye. (This grounds the one sister’s sacrifice and gives us reason to care when she dies. Simultaneously, it helps us to care about Rose later on, and makes her sudden importance as a main character much less jarring.) Now you can give all the turns and tension of the battle to this plucky, determined bombardier. There’s plenty of story and emotion to be dug up here. Find it Don’t give us the opening battle from Revenge of the Sith. Give us the first twenty minutes of UP.

And when it’s done, let’s see Rose in the background, mourning her sister as everyone else celebrates. Only Leia sees this. Then it’s Admiral Holdo who berates Poe for disobeying orders. (Moving up her introduction to reduce how jarring her sudden importance is.)

3)      THE ISLAND (A): Rey’s time on the island needs to be WAY shorter. And less silly. When Luke comically chucks his lightsaber over his shoulder it undercuts Rey’s entire Episode VII story arc, reducing it to a three-second, not-terribly-funny sight-gag. Have him look at it instead, then look at her and walk past without touching it or saying a word. Then we get the short montage of her following him around as he does his day-to-days but he refuses to talk to her. NO MILKING. We see time pass in shots of her sitting outside his door at night, eating food she brought from the Falcon. Each time there’s less food in her pack. Until there’s none. Then Luke steps out, glares at her, and places a bowl of stew in front of her. As he turns away, she begs him to tell her why he won’t help and seems to have turned his back on the Force. He appears as if he’s going to answer but before he does, we cut away to…

4)      THE CHASE: The First Order chasing the Resistance’s ships is so boring you only really showed it in the background of other events. So obviously, it needs to change. What if they’re hiding instead. In a nebula or something. Poe wants to take a flight of X-Wings out and see if he can cut a hole in the First Order fleet for them to escape through, but Holdo says he has to stay and protect the cruiser. Instead of mutinying, he highjacks some fighters and goes out anyway. The cruiser’s attacked and he barely makes it back on time. He expects to berated by Holdo but finds out that Leia’s woken up while he was out and that’s when she slaps him.

5)      THE ISLAND (B): Rey begins communing with Kylo. We get TWO scenes of Luke showing Rey what the force is and isn’t (no more). No Dark Cave. And TWO scenes of communing. No Kylo’s version of what happened with Luke. We still get Luke’s version. Luke and Rey fight when she tells him she’s going to Kylo. She leaves him with words that are a callback to his “I must face Vader” speech in Return of the Jedi. He is left to ponder his choices.

6)      SNOKE/REY/KYLO: a) Forget Rey’s parentage! If her parents weren’t important, there’s NO REASON the characters would be talking about them. Just because it’s a mystery to the audience, doesn’t mean it is to them! At least change Kylo’s line to, “I know where your parents are.” b) Give us something about Snoke’s background. I mean, who the fuck is this guy all of a sudden, anyway? Maybe he was Sidious’ rival but lost out to becoming the previous Sith Lord’s apprentice. A single line is all it would take. 3) Cut the fight with the New Imperial Guards to no more than ten seconds. It added nothing. It wasn’t exciting. And even if they’re the best fighters in the army, I just didn’t believe they’d last that long.

7)      CASINO: There’s so much wrong here. Too much. Fixing it would require major structural changes more significant for a small article could fit. Let’s just say, the following issues need to be dealt with:

For starters, it just doesn’t fit. Allowing Fin and Rose to leave the chase and then come back to it without anyone noticing is an odd choice. If escape pods are so hard to track, why doesn’t everyone just get into them to get away? Even if I missed something and they gave a reasonable explanation for this, why would they call Maz? How does Fin even know how to reach her when he’s been unconscious since the last film? And then we get them walking around Casino World gawking and judging as if they’ve completely forgotten their friends are currently dying in large numbers. We’re shown more urgency in the escape of the horse-aliens than in the near-total destruction of the Resistance.

Plus Benicio Del Toro’s character, another important character who jarringly appears out of nowhere, not only adds nothing to the story, but is dull to watch too. And could Captain Phasma at least be fighting them to get to the last shuttle before the ship explodes? Instead of just because she’s a villain? And could we see Gwendoline Christie’s whole face, while she’s alive?!

8)      YODA: Cut this whole scene. Yoda looked terrible and didn’t act or speak like any Yoda we’ve seen before. It added nothing to plot or character that we didn’t already get, and could as easily be accomplished the Return of the Jedi callback from Rey (as suggested above).

9)      THE LAST STAND: This was actually mostly quite good. The Luke stuff was great. Just a few changes. Why are Fin and Rose flying salt-speeders? Neither of them are pilots. Find something else for them to do. And as I mentioned before, crash the Millennium Falcon. Have Rey try to take out the Battering Cannon and make it seem like she’s going to take it out. But then she gets hit by a ground turret and is forced down. It’s a much better entrance for Rey. Beyond that, the sequence is good.

10)   BOY WITH BROOM: This scene is the only reason I didn’t suggest cutting the Casino Planet altogether. Having the film end with a seed of hope is both a great throw to Episode IX, and a powerful moment in its own right. That being said, it wasn’t done particularly well. The Casino Kids were a pretty small facet of the Casino Planet arc (which is kind of fucked up if you think about it). So their impact in this scene is not as strong as it should be. When you sit down and rework the Casino arc (as prescribed above), make sure the kids are more relevant to its development.

 And THAT dear reader, is how you will fix this most mediocre addition to the Star Wars franchise. Follow my council and I promise, your work will be better. Your work will be everything it should be. Your work will be FIXED.