#we are all products of both our circumstances and our choices

[brassandblue]

Having a lot of Thoughts about Arthur’s retirement from the Royal Navy not too long (roughly 10-15 years) after the conclusion of the Napoleonic Wars and how his personality/mental and emotional health did a sharp decline over the next 50 years. Like, imagine, it’s the 1820s, and you feel that politics are beginning to really hamper the thing you’ve put your heart and soul into supporting for the last 100+ years. You start to become disillusioned, recalling how one of your greatest maritime heroes had to fight the Admiralty for appropriate pay for his men and himself; you call how you’ve had to do much the same. 

It occurs to him that he has to really consider his future now, if it isn’t already too late-- he is a distinguished member of society at last, an Admiral, a Duke, and the facade of the elite is one he finally wears naturally after decades of crafting. What good can he do, out there at sea? He feels he needs to be at home, or at least out surveying the colonies, protecting Britain’s (his) interests. He’s had his royals, his government, the Admiralty, echoing the constant refrain of what is expected, what is needed of him. And what is needed is more. More money, more land, more power, more class, more knowledge, more charm, more charisma, more and more, more, more--

He thinks he’s up to the task of becoming That without losing himself and he sold his soul, debased his own principles in the attempt. In abandoning the Navy, despite it being an institution in and of itself, he cast away the virtues that he’d held while in it: Loyalty, consistency, discipline, frugality, moderation, commonality. He dove headlong into trying to meet impossible expectations and decided it was better to turn a blind eye, to enable the subjugation of others, and to profit off blood, than to be considered a failure.

[ariadne-mouse]

This post discusses addiction & mentions related heavy topics.

The addiction comparison for what Laudna has going on with Delilah is certainly not 1:1. Most obviously, addictive substances & activities IRL are not sentient evil wizards who have found a way to cheat death (that we know of). Put more seriously: in-universe, warlocks exist all over and the relationships they have with their patrons don't necessarily evoke addiction; someone saying they are a warlock does not mean are an addict. But I've seen a couple takes thrown around for why Laudna's connection with Delilah isn't or can't be compared to addiction, and I'd like to examine those briefly.

Let's start with the origin of their entanglement - it's notable, for instance, that Laudna's fusion with Delilah's spirit was not something she chose or was necessarily even conscious of at first; however, equally notable is that not all IRL addiction begins with a person making bad choices to do the addictive thing, such as in the cases of forced drug use in trafficking, painkillers post-surgery, etc.

There is also the point that Laudna would die if Delilah were to be removed, whereas addicts can put aside the object of their addiction. But here there is also grey area: in some cases, unassisted withdrawal from serious substances can in fact kill you. And for another angle, even when it is quit the object of addiction will still exist in the world somewhere; it cannot be completely removed either, and it is the recovering addict's challenge not to engage.

Next is the way feeding Delilah gives Laudna new powers she can use to help the group - and certainly, IRL addiction doesn't give you magical combat abilities! But a substance being abused may indeed provide an effect that the user can leverage to their advantage (stimulants for work productivity, alcohol for relaxation or confidence, etc). Addiction happens because the mind and/or body are getting something in return that feels good, at least in the short term.

I mention these counterpoints not to say it's all a slam dunk, but rather to point out that addiction is a hugely complex issue, both mental and physical, taking many forms. If you want an addiction comparison to apply to Laudna, or not, you can probably find a manifestation of addiction out there that aligns with your argument. Marisha and others of the cast using addiction to describe Laudna's behavior just gives us one (1) possible lens to orient her experience and motivations, and, critically, to envision a way out for her: to fight Delilah with every ounce of willpower she has, to ask for the support of her friends in that effort, and to shove Delilah back into the sub-basement of her brain and keep her there for good. A common adage around addiction is that there is no "curing" it, just the lifelong work of recovery; and similarly, if Delilah can't be fully removed from Laudna, she has been successfully suppressed before and could be again. I think it would be incredibly powerful to see Laudna take that journey! She has agency in her circumstances and she can seize it. Also, she still has responsibility for her actions when they harm those around her; addiction, like trauma, explains but doesn't excuse.

The addiction comparison for Laudna and Delilah seems to have mixed reactions from fandom, and that's fine! If it truly just doesn't resonate with you, fair enough - there are plenty of other valid ways to describe Laudna's behavior and circumstances, and not mutually exclusive with the addiction angle either. We don't have to pick only one way of interpreting what characters do (in fact I advise against it), and as the story evolves our frameworks of interpretation may change too. A lens is just a tool for understanding. But for the handful of folks on the two sides of the polarized reaction coin at the moment - those either overly defensive about the comparison or conversely leaning into it in an ugly, mean way - if you think the word "addict" by itself irrevocably condemns Laudna or deprives her of compassion for her circumstances, perhaps consider mulling over how you view addicts IRL.

[meddling-in-horror]

Giving Them the Moment: How Our Flag Means Death and it's Portrayal of Black Men is the Most Important Thing on Television Right Now

Note: written April 20, 2022

Media is an incredibly distinct way of communicating. It has a wide reach, and each person has their own interpretation of what they see. That’s the beauty of the medium as a whole. However, there are often downsides, especially when it pertains to the West. In the US in particular, there is a trend within popular media to lean towards propagandization. Whether it’s the idea that communism and socialism are products of the ‘Evil East’ or the lingering effects of the Motion Picture Production Code - also known as the Hays Code, the media monopolies have a firm grasp on what we as a society watch and enjoy. 

When you begin to play close attention to how the media portrays Black men, this becomes abundantly clear.

It is a rare thing when we see Black men whose characters aren’t portrayed as being the object nor the perpetrators of violence. In fact, only one mainstream popular show comes to mind: The Fresh Prince of Bel Air. But even then, the given circumstances of Fresh Prince revolve around Will’s escape from the violence of the ‘urban’ inner city. This vilification of Black men dates back to the 1910s with D. W. Griffith’s Birth of a Nation, and continued into the 1930s, where Black people were often personified as the monsters, representing the ‘exciticism’ of the world beyond the West. It is the ‘exoticism’ that has played a huge part in the dehumanization of Black men as a whole. But as a Black Queer person watching Our Flag Means Death, it is breaking that mold in an incredibly important way.

The Black men in the show are allowed to have fun.

This show is breaking barriers left and right. Of the major recurring cast of 15, over half of them are people of color. It’s overt and unflinching portrayal of Queerness when so many of its older viewers - myself included - have lived through the Bury Your Gays and Dead Lesbians tropes time and time again is overwhelmingly refreshing. Nearly all characters are Queer until proven straight and represent all parts under the umbrella, including Leslie Jones’ polyamorous pirate queen and Vico Ortiz - a non-binary actor - playing a non-binary character. 

But in a world where the narratives of Black men are so often framed around violence and brutality, the Black crewmates of the Queen Anne’s Revenge - Frenchie, Oluwande, and Roach - are allowed to be funny and vulnerable. Each one of them is starkly different from the other with identifiable characteristics that allow the audience to humanize them. The trio quickly became my favorites among the crew, with Roach being the stand-out amongst them. Samba Schutte’s often deadpan delivery never fails to draw a laugh from me, in particular the assertion that “meat is meat”. Frenchie, played by Joel Fry, is the quickest on the draw where his intellect is concerned, being posited in the show’s fifth episode as having had a hand in inventing the pyramid scheme while spouting the wildest of conspiracy theories and being afraid of cats (they’re witches, they steal your breath, and have knives in their feet, you know). The softness and constant vulnerability of Samson Kayo’s Oluwande may be one of the most important aspects of the show, as it establishes him as a reliable and trustworthy confidante to not just Jim, but to Rhys Darby’s Stede Bonnet as well.

They exist in their own separate spheres on the ship, going about their own separate business completely unbothered. While it is implied they lead violent lives as pirates, this violence isn’t used to define them as characters. In fact, Oluwande stated that both he and Jim engaged in piracy because they “had no choice”. The brief mention we get of Frenchie’s backstory implies that he lives a life of servitude, though whether that was as an enslaved person or a freed Black domestic worker is not mentioned. While there is little known about Roach so far, it is implied that his culinary skills are far beyond the levels of what is needed aboard a pirate ship.

The friendships and relationships they form within the crew aren’t built on violence either, but on open and honest communication. Most notably, the friendship of Frenchie and Wee John Feeny, played by Kristian Nairn. Fry and Nairn are an impeccable comic duo when their characters become ‘room people’, and the scene where they begin to design their new space is a personal highlight of the episode. Oluwande and Jim’s romance - played to perfection by Kayo and Ortiz - is one that revolves around both characters being almost devastatingly open with each other. Both actors play the emotional vulnerability of the characters well, and it is important to emphasize that it is Kayo’s Oluwande that moves to meet Jim where they are. 

While the show allows all its men to show varying levels of emotional vulnerability - an exception being offered to the emotionally constipated Izzy Hands, played by Con O’Neill - there is something so special about seeing that luxury afforded to Black men. This show has, in just ten episodes, has become a game changer for the television industry. It has proved that a show with explicitly Queer characters can become a massive sleeper hit, and that sometimes the best kind of historical show is one that is historical fiction. But it has also proved that you can create a narrative with Black men that doesn’t include their stories being framed in violence or brutality, that they can be funny, charming, witty, vulnerable, intelligent, complex characters with their own narratives that serve a purpose outside of a device of exoticism. It is this rare thing that makes these characters, and indeed the show as a whole, so important to its viewers. 

We deserve more vulnerability, more humor, and more humanizing content from these three men, and this show is one that is truly deserving of a glorious second season.

Sources:

Donaldson, Leigh. “When the media misrepresents Black men, the effects are felt in the real world.” 

https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2015/aug/12/media-misrepresents-black-men-effects-felt-real-world.

Kumah-Abiwu, Felix. “Media Gatekeeping and Portrayal of Black Men in America.” 

Opportunity Agenda. “Media Portrayals and Black Male Outcomes.” 

https://www.opportunityagenda.org/explore/resources-publications/media-representation-impact-black-men/media-portrayals.

Our Flag Means Death, (2022-). HBO Max.

[zproblematic]

So, I enjoy reading everyone's DP x DC prompts and stories! Very fun! And a recurring thing I see pop up is Clark getting dragged for not reacting well to Connor's existence, especially juxtaposed with Danny and his relationship and reaction to Dani.

I've also seen stories that have Danny specifically say that he entirely understands why Clark reacted like that and he doesn't feel it deserves condemnation or comparison to his own.

_

Here's the thing. I feel like the more accurate opinion on the situation would be somewhat in the middle of these two.

Because here's a very important fact to keep in mind. The circumstances behind them being cloned, the relationship they specifically have with the person cloning them, and their own lived life experience, which dictates how they perceived the situation, are different.

-

Danny is cloned at 14. He has a contentious relationship with Vlad who generally seems to want Danny as a son/heir, but there are times we see Vlad acting more like an annoying uncle than an outright villain. Danny has at this point gone through a myriad of traumatic things, including his own death, all within the span of a year.

Also keep in mind Danny is 14, his perception of what is happening is "Guy who is obsessed with my mom wanted me as a kid so badly he tried to make a version of me in his lab". Which is, so far as we are ever told, largely the goal here. Also, Danny has no exposure to the concept of clones or evil duplicates or anything at this point.

-

And then you get to Clark. He's a grown man near/in his 30's. His relationship with Lex is almost strictly antagonistic, and Lex is frequently actively attempting to either kill Clark or turn public opinion against him and get him publicly lynched. Clark has a rather stable and consistent life for someone in his situation, his parents are still alive and supportive, he's got Lois who is aware and supportive, he's got the Justice League at this point meaning he's got people he can connect to about his daily life. He's rather settled into heroism, didn't start it until adulthood and that was fully a choice he made, it has little effect on his civilian life most days.

Clark being so old, also his long-term relationship with Lois, paired with his understanding of subtext and human nature, means his perception of Connor's existence is drastically different. "Lex stole my DNA and made a child with both of our DNA against my knowledge and will". And here's an important thing to note. Connor technically isn't a clone, he's technically a petri-dish grown child with Lex and Clark as the parents. What does that sound like to you? Because to me it sounds like "Connor is functionally a product of date-rape from the man I hate most in the world as he keeps trying to kill me". Clark also has had multiple exposures to the concept of at least evil duplicates/ surprise family members, what have you.

_

So what do I think would actually happen here? 1) Danny acknowledging that no, Clark had no responsibility at all for Connor's existence, and had no requirement to act as a parent/family member. 2) However, Clark did have a responsibility to Connor as a mentor and teacher in gaining control of his abilities. Even if it was by getting his parents to share their experiences of raising him with someone else who was caring for Connor. Also, his active dehumanization of Connor was insanely inappropriate and uncalled for, as well as presenting doubt if he's actually equipped for diplomacy with the wider universe.

[aita-blorbos]

AITA for cooking meth with my former chemistry student, killing two people, and lying to my family about it?

I (50M) was recently diagnosed with inoperable, likely fatal lung cancer. I work at a highschool as a chemistry teacher, but both the pay and the students are terrible. Case in point, my "lab partner" (24M) - who we'll call "Cap'n" because of course he'd insist on a stupid nickname like that - not only completely flunked my class, but then went on to skip college entirely and become a meth-addicted drug dealer instead.

Understandably, I was a little shaken after receiving my diagnosis. It came as a surprise since I've never smoked, I keep myself in relatively fair health, etc. (Recently my wife has taken to vegan bacon- apparently it helps lower cholesterol, but I digress.) I haven't told my family about the situation yet; I'm still trying to figure out how to "let the cat out of the bag", not to mention I doubt my wife will take it very well.

As for deciding to try cooking methamphetamine, well. I'm not really sure how to explain it, exactly, but there's a lot of money in it, money that would benefit my family, and I don't have much to lose anymore. This may sound cliche, but it's as though I'm really awake for the first time in my life.

Cap'n and I formed a partnership by circumstance only; I found out he was in "the business" and offered to either turn him into the DEA or work with me, and he naturally took the second option. He had no idea what he was doing on the chemistry side of things - chili powder in the meth! applying heat to an Erlenmeyer flask! no wonder I flunked him, he clearly learned nothing in my class - but does know the trade.

(Note: Don't buy all of your supplies from the same store.)

Sorry, I'm getting too far into the weeds here, let me skip ahead. We purchased a trailer and drove out to somewhere in the middle of the desert to cook without added attention or need for dramatic cleanup if we had to leave the area in a hurry. Our first batch was, according to Cap'n, "pure glass." After all of that complaining, I had cooked the finest product he'd ever seen on the first try! Goes to show paying attention in school does pay off, ahem. In case any of you were reading this and thinking of skipping off to go and make highly illegal substances and risk years in prison instead of doing your homework. You all still have your entire lives ahead of you. I don't.

After making it, the next logical course of action was to sell. Cap'n said he had some connections - I mean, he is a drug dealer, I saw no reason not to trust him (I now see how little sense that makes.) - and came back with two men with guns pointed at both of us. You must understand, it was a kill or be killed situation. These are the kind of people who don't care about morals, or what's right or ethical or kind. If they'd lived... not just me, but my wife, my son, and my entire family would all be in serious, mortal danger. I had no choice.

Cap'n by this point had been knocked out cold- still alive, but entirely unhelpful with the situation at hand. I was on my own. So I offered to show the goons how I made the "glass", surely they wanted to see how it was done? And they did- I still can't believe that actually worked. But, ah, instead of actually cooking anything, I gave them... let's call it a chemistry lesson. When significant heat is applied to red phosphorus - a key ingredient in Cap'n and I's "extracurricular science project" - it oxidizes. Your result is phosgene gas, highly deadly, hence the "killing two people." One... technically isn't dead yet- somehow he managed to survive, I still don't fully understand how, but I'm... I'm working on it. Cap'n still has yet to get rid of the first body, so... technically I'm not failing to withhold my share of the cleanup, since he hasn't done so with his.

I realize now this is very long, but I wanted to explain the context for my actions. However, a tl;dr for those who might be in a hurry: I was diagnosed with terminal lung cancer, so with nothing else to lose decided to try to make some money for my family by cooking and selling methamphetamine. Coincidentally, a former student of mine was also in the business, and I convinced him to work with me. When we tried to put our product on the market, two people tried to kill us, so I acted in self-defense.

But I really, really must know... is what I did wrong? Should I have been content to live the rest of however-long-I-have-left working a miserable job as a public high school chemistry teacher instead? Should I have found a less fatal way of dealing with the two men who tried to kill me and my partner? AITA?

P.S. It's pretty late as I'm typing this so I might've made some errors in coherency or grammar, for which I apologize.

[beezusvreeland]

dear reader - chapter 5

summary: Miguel took the reader’s love and friendship for granted. Something he learns reading her column, when it’s too late…Or is it?

ship: miguel o'hara x f!reader // matt murdock x reader

______________________________________________________________

Chapter 5

“Look! If it isn’t the newest british member of our group!”, Hobie pointed as you approached your regular table at The Bar. 

You were hesitant to come in the first place. The thought of Miguel showing up at any moment made you anxious, not knowing what to expect — or, more realistically, trying not to expect a damn thing. 

“Hey, mate!”, you put your best scottish accent on as you gave your friend a tight hug. You missed your friends, dearly. Since you used your time abroad to do a digital detox, you had only talked to them here and there, with the exception of Gwen. 

She hugged you as soon as Hobie let go of you. “I missed you so much!”, Gwen said, squeezing you and then taking a step back to look at you. “Looking good, huh? Edinburgh treated you right.”

You smiled at her and Hobie poked your arm, with a smirk on his face. 

“Let’s see if you really learned something at that place. Tell me, love, what is the best thing to come out of Glasgow?”, he raised his eyebrow, certain that you wouldn’t know how to answer it. He was so wrong.

Stepping closer to him, you grabbed the unopened bottle of beer Hobie was holding and, with a smug expression, said: “The train to Edinburgh”. 

“Whoa!!!”, Hobie stood up and gave you another hug, jumping to celebrate you. Both you and Gwen laughed at his excitement. “That’s my girl!”

“You cut your hair.”

“Pav! We were waiting for you”, Gwen said. 

“I did, buddy, what do you think?”, you put your hands through your hair. 

Still looking stunned, he walked slowly towards you, analyzing your cut. “I should be furious you let someone else cut your hair…But you look fantastic!”, he faked out, finishing with a huge smile that showed his perfect white teeth. You hugged each other.

“It was an extraordinary circumstance, I would never do that to you if there wasn’t the need for it”, he nodded as you said it in his ear. 

“I’m so happy you’re back!”, Pav combed a lock of your hair with his fingers. “I have some products to recommend now that you have a new length.”

“I didn’t expect any less of you.”

“Oh, the gang is all here!”, Foggy stopped by the table as he greeted some of the customers. 

“Except for Miguel…have you guys heard from him?”, Pav asked and Gwen and Hobie shook their heads. You tried to ignore the concerned look your best friend gave you, focusing on your beer.

“And you are back!”, Foggy put his hand on your shoulder. “How was Scotland?”

“A dream”, you gave a sincere answer. As you raise your bottle, you realize it’s empty. Foggy did too.

“Come with me to the bar, I should give our favorite writer a drink of her choice…on the house”, he said, wiggling his eyebrows. You laughed and got up, as your friends complained that they should get free drinks too.

“So, what’s gonna be?”, Foggy was already at the other side of the counter, which he cleaned using the rag on his shoulder. 

“Wait. Really? I thought you were just messing with them.”

“Two rabbits, one stone”, he chuckled. “What can I get you?”

“A dry martini would be nice”, you shrugged. 

“Very fancy.”

“Oh, you know, I just got back from Europe”, you put your hand on your forehead dramatically, making him laugh.

Even though The Bar had become a hotspot, with several employees making and serving drinks and food, Foggy never stopped doing groundwork. He had the business side of things to run too, but still helped his staff and made sure to be present for his clientele. You really liked that about him.

“So, word on the street is you are very fancy but also single. Is that right?”, his question surprised you.

“Well…yeah. Which street is that?”

“Pav.”

“Oh, right.”

“The thing is, I have a friend who I think you’d really like”, Foggy said, as he mixed liquids with his gear. 

That surprised you even more. It was nice of him to think of setting you up though. You survived the past few years with only a couple of dates with weird guys you met on Tinder and an intense pining for Miguel O’Hara. You wonder if other opportunities of meeting new people would have come up if you weren’t so focused on him. If you had been just like him — sleeping around with whoever you wanted, without any concern for attachments or people’s feelings whatsoever —, you probably would be at a different point in your life. Maybe even met someone great and lived together, a crib or two for the creatures who were made from both of you. 

“I’ve known him for my entire adult life and he has always been a great friend to me. To Karen too, they worked together for a while before she started working at the paper.”

You remembered a conversation you had with Karen once, where she told you her boss at the law firm had encouraged her to pursue her passion for journalism, that without that, she probably would have never found purpose in her career. 

“If he is so great…How is he still single?”, you take the beautiful glass of martini Foggy offers you. “This looks amazing, thank you!”

“You are welcome”, he nodded. “He has focused a lot of his time and energy into building his firm and helping people. Now he is at a point where he can finally work normal hours and have a personal life.”

“Okay…you can give him my number. I can’t promise anything, but I’m willing to talk to him based on your pitch.”

Foggy clasped his hands and took his phone out of his pocket. “That’s great! It’s going to be great!”

“Are you already texting him?”, you chuckled.

“Already did, now I’m telling Karen, she can’t wait to see Matt finally going on an actual date.”

***

Miguel was running late, but he had a good reason, he thought: he wanted to find the book you wrote about in your column, the one you gifted him on his birthday. He had moved furniture, taken things out of his closet and raided his home office but, so far, nothing. He hadn’t been able to think of anything else since he read about it. It was frustrating because Miguel remembered receiving the box, but you were right, he never opened it. And he had no fucking idea of where it was. 

At first, anger was what moved Miguel in his pursuit. He wanted to find the book and shove it on your face, it was just a stupid little thing, you were being way too dramatic about it. But the anger was soon replaced by sorrow. To think you put it all together, wrote everyone’s stories, including your own and even had it printed, was devastating. It was such a thoughtful thing to do. You had always been so thoughtful, with everyone, but it felt like especially with him. There were several instances of him casually mentioning something he had to buy or a shore he had to do and, months later, you would give him what he needed or showed up to help him. And all he gave you was a box of chocolates. 

He didn’t have it in him to say it out loud, but he was just so embarrassed. Miguel knew he was a good looking guy and, since he was a teenager, he became used to not having to make much effort. People liked beautiful people. People liked doing things for beautiful people. It was ridiculous, he now realized, but it had never dawned on him that he had to give in order to take. He had no idea how to do that. 

Frustrated with himself, he decided it was better to meet the group at the bar empty handed instead of not going at all. Miguel wanted to know if things were okay between the two of you. You never answered his email or the other texts he sent you trying to start conversations — Just watched the new Transformers, thoughts? Hey, what’s the name of that place with the dumplings? Gwen showed me a picture of you in front of a castle, is it the one where Queen Mary lived? You've always talked about it, I hope you had a great time . 

Miguel’s eyes searched for you as soon as he stepped inside the bar. He spotted Gwen’s blonde hair, then Hobie and Pav. His stomach started turning, something that rarely happened to him, at the thought of being too late or you not showing up at all. In his head, he had it all figured out: meeting in person, the two of you would reconnect through inside jokes, all would be good and the uneasiness inside his chest would go away. 

The plan went out the window when Miguel finally spotted you walking from the bar to the table with a martini in hand. You looked different. The same, but different. For starters, he was pretty sure you had done something to your hair. But it wasn’t just that. There was something about your walk, you stood straight and didn’t look down at any point. You almost looked taller that way. A guy nearby took his eyes out of the game on TV to check you out. Miguel didn't like that one bit.

“Hello, your grace, fancy of you meeting us here”, Hobie stood to shake Miguel’s hand, who gave him and Pav quick hugs. 

“Sorry, I lost track of time”, Miguel said.

“Shocker”, Gwen pointed, giving him a side hug.

And then there was you. Did he ever stare at you for longer than a few seconds? Because there was no way he never noticed how big your eyes were. Or how pink your cheeks got when he got closer. The effect he had on you…Miguel was way too aware of it now. He knew a lot of information about your feelings and secrets, even though the writing on your column was never meant for him to read. You were so sure he wouldn’t take interest in you or your work that you were pretty open about your life, even in anonymity. Would he even know how to act around you like he didn’t know so much about you? Miguel had to get out of his own head.

“Hi”, he said, not knowing what to do with himself. “You are back.”

“Yep, at the bar with you losers once again”, you shifted your gaze to the rest of the group. Miguel noticed it. He felt a little weird about it all, you didn’t even give him a hug or a kiss on the cheek, like you always did. 

“First you cut your hair with a stranger, now this”, Pav complained, clearly as a joke. “You offend us, my friend.”

So you cut your hair. That was it, it used to be long. Miguel had always liked it that way, even though he had no idea how or why he even had a preference in the first place. However, you looked great with your new do. He could see more of your face that way. 

“Sorry, Pav, I’m starting to feel all of the exhaustion and crankiness from the jetlag.”

“Apology accepted”, Pav winked at you. 

“I think this is my cue”,  you got your purse and stood up from the table. 

“No! Already?”, Gwen pouted. “I still wanna hear more about your scottish adventures.”

“Give me a couple of days to recover and organize my life back again and we’ll do it. Maybe brunch this weekend?”

“Ugh, Miguel hates brunch”, Pav groaned, looking at him. It was true that Miguel thought brunch was stupid: to him, people should either have breakfast or lunch and that was it. If the meal happened at any point in the morning, it was breakfast, after noon, it was lunch. It made a lot of sense to him.

“Lunch it is, then”, Hobie declared, looking bored. 

Miguel noticed that your eyebrows furrowed just a little bit. His friends actually enjoyed that stupid meal and you loved it. He had always been proud of being a contrarian, being so headstrong that the people around him had no other choice but to accommodate his needs. So much so, the group didn’t even start a discussion, it was easier to do whatever Miguel preferred.

The way Pav complained, your annoyed expression. You barely even looked at Miguel since he arrived and you were already leaving. Moved by the fear of making you even angrier at him, he said:

“I don’t mind brunch”.

The four friends all looked at Miguel at the same time. 

“Are you for real?”, Hobie was suspicious. 

“Yeah, I can eat breakfast things and not think about it”, Miguel shrugged. 

“Okay…”, Gwen was cautious, as if she was dealing with a wild animal. “Brunch on saturday then.”

“Sure, I really have to go now.”

Gwen and Pav gave you hugs and Hobie got up to escort you to the front of the bar, where he would have a smoke. 

“Bye, Miguel”, you finally looked at him. You were serious, but still polite. However, using his name after years of several nicknames was a low blow. It was intentional. His looks and charm wouldn’t be enough this time. He would have no other option but to deal with the consequences of his actions.

***

Dear reader, 

I am back and more inspired than ever. During the past few weeks, I have dedicated myself to make a dream of mine come true. And it did. Suddenly, it was real, not some fantasy I created in my head. That is really powerful, if you ask me.

Life has a funny way of bringing things together. I spent the past years wishing I could go on a nice date, preferably with the guy . That never happened, obviously. There had been a few encounters, mostly guys from dating apps that were looking for a one night stand. By the time I took a break, I had given up. I read way too many romance books growing up and it was all just fantasy, right? Well, things didn’t happen the way I imagined them, but maybe there is a little bit of hope left.

There are a lot of annoying “advices” people in relationships give single folks. There is the classic have you tried the dating apps ? Which is something only someone hasn’t had to use them to find love say. There is the you just need to put yourself out there . And, my personal least favorite, you will find love once you stop looking for it . These have something in common: they are meant to make the single person feel bad, like they are not doing enough. But I doubted these people weren’t looking for love or fully knew who they were when they met their partners.

All this to say that there are many elements that lead two people to meet and, if they are lucky, fall in love. Chance is one of them. Sometimes the circumstances are just right. Like a friend trying to set me up with a friend of his. He was sure we would get along, I allowed him to give his friend my number, fully thinking nothing would ever come of it. 

Then my phone started buzzing. It was him, the friend of my friend — let’s call him Charlie —, calling. Not texting, not DMing on Instagram, actually calling. He was nice, said he wanted to introduce himself and make sure that I wasn’t uncomfortable with our friend wanting us to meet. We talked for a little bit about how we met this friend we have in common and the neighborhoods we live in. Then he asked me out to dinner on saturday night and it was so smooth I said yes before even realizing what was happening. 

He called again a couple days later to confirm our date and ask if I liked italian food, because he knew a place. We haven't even met in person and he has already been more present than all my flings together.

I am trying my best to not put any expectations in it, it is nice to actually have this experience. You know, of being asked out and making plans together. Who knows what will happen, but it feels good to be excited for once. 

Until next week! And remember: never take advice from someone who’s falling apart.

Love, 

The Writer

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dear reader playlist

[bengiyo]

Hi Ben!

I saw Vee from You're My Sky in your most misunderstood characters list and now I'm curious, what's your opinion on this series as a whole? Gifs tell me that it has a high production value, great cinematography and Suar in it, so I'm quite tempted to give it a go. But it's rarely talked about so... is it really worth a watch?

I love You're My Sky because it was the first show to follow in the wake of I Told Sunset About You and try to bring rich color, engaging cinematography, and and structured presentation of character dynamics after ITSAY. It's also a sports BL that takes its sports portion super seriously. It's also the show you should watch if you like when the younger guy is pursuing the older guy, because that's true for all three couples.

The show has three couples in it, and I really liked how the show kept all three couples at about the same moment emotionally throughout the entire runtime. It meant that we sometimes wouldn't see one of the side couples for a while, but I much prefer that to having the couples be in really different places and throw off the emotional tone of an episode.

Our primary pairing is between Thorn and Tupfah. They are childhood friends. Thorn followed Tupfah to his college after a few years and was confused why Tupfah no longer plays basketball. Theirs is a friends-to-lovers story where Thorn has been pining for a long time.

This show let us also see them spend time as a couple and face real complications that a couple of two aspiring professional athletes would face, including availability for college practice and potentially ending up with different clubs. There's also a great deal of examination of the kinds of coaching environments athletes might suffer or thrive under.

The second couple, Saen and Aii, aren't a sports couple, but Aii is older and graduating. He's focused on leaving Thailand and pursuing a professional career in Japan. In them you get a determined, sociable younger pursuer and a standoffish older interest.

I really liked where they went with this couple because we got to see a grandmother giving a knowing smirk when she enters the bedroom after their first night together, and we see them deal with the impending stress of being in a long-distance relationship for likely years.

I wrote about Vee in the ask you mentioned, but to reiterate, Vee is assigned to work with his sister's boyfriend on the track team. Vee, being the flirty little shit he is, teases Dome and is having a good time until it gets way too serious for both of them and he's having a panic attack in the middle of a race.

Their story is compelling because it doesn't end in success on screen. The social politics of their attraction make it impossible for them to consummate this romance under the current circumstances, and the show explores how this choice impacted the sister as well.

And then there's the basketball! This show does so much cool shit with the camera and the frame around the basketball itself. It also has a robust supporting cast in the basketball team. There's a beautiful scene of the whole team giving space to Thorn and Fah to figure out something important, and there's another lovely scene where they talk about gender identity.

Truly, as a man who enjoys sports and sports dramas, they did not fuck around when it came to doing the sports portion of this. The only other BL I remember being this serious about the sports was maybe Project S: Spike. Almost all the gifs are going to be the romance stuff, but the sports stuff in this show is well done.

I'm a big fan of this project, and I think it has some of my favorite presentations of masculinity in genre. I will probably rewatch it after I finish this UWMA rewatch.

Thanks for the ask!

[opinated-user]

SPOILERS for Across The Spider-Verse below, specifically the ending of it, people who have not seen the movie keep scrolling

It's really funny that Lily thinks people wouldn't like Hunter if he was black because fandom has lost their collective minds over Universe 42 Miles Morales aka The Prowler. There's redemption fic, there's fic shipping him with all kinds of people, there's reader x miles 42, there's cosplay, there's angsty fic where people sympathize with him, there's roleplaying blogs, fan made merch, fanart, fan edits, "Miles G. Morales needs a hug" is an AO3 tag, there's fic for him in multiple languages and the movie hasn't even been out for that long, he's got fan-made playlists...

Lily took over a decade to write one black character but that reluctance to sympathize with black people is far, FAR from a universal trait. Most people, upon seeing how dead inside alternate universe Miles is after losing his dad, instantly sympathized with him because it's so obvious that loss has just broken him. The flat affect, the thousand-yard stare, the refusal to empathize with others - this kid is very clearly not coping with loss well. Fandom response has been almost totally positive and caring. He's a teenage boy so adult fans are very "this poor kid" and teenagers are very "you don't understand, he's making bad choices but he's not a bad/irredeemable person". I have rarely seen people this united in wanting a character to be alright but even people who aren't super into him have said that they don't want him to die or get hurt in Beyond The Spider-Verse because, much as he presents a threat to our hero, he's a victim or circumstances and a product of his environment.

Even people who don't want him to have a redemption arc really applaud the ATSV team for writing a black villain with the same complexity, full backstory and depth as they do black heroes. Even people who want to see Spider-Man Miles kick Prowler Miles' ass do not dislike the angsty teen on the wrong side. Being black is not an automatically disliked or unlikeable trait.

Her saying "if Hunter was black, you'd dislike him" is not just wrong, it's the actual opposite of what we're seeing in fandom right now. When handed an angsty black boy we all instantly decided we wanted to protect him even as we gushed over how cool he is.

Lily's statement is projection. It says a lot more about her than it does about fandom, because she says that as if sympathizing with a black character is a rare thing in her mind.

And yeah, Lily, that is rare... for you. The rest of us aren't racist like that.

and you know why that is... simply put, because the spiderverse is a well written movie. it's a movie that treat it's characters with a lot of care and sympathy, so we as the audience can sympathize with them. being able to do that with most of the cast as black characters is not only to be expected, but just the norm. people like complex characters that aren't just one single note. LO literally can't understand that when she wants characters to be like that, she's in the minority. more people will always prefer a character that goes through arcs (both positive and negative), that evolves, that changes, than one that remains static. she absolutely can't grapple with that fact. i already explained before that there would be other issues, thematically speaking, if hunter was black so it was actually a good thing that he isn't and how much better those themes are represented by having Luz to be black too. but if the only difference of him was his race, literally nothing else about how he is written and treated by the narrative, the fandom would love him just the same. the only difference is that LO would then go out of her way to try to argue about how much better the show would be if he were a underage lesbian too. her misconceptions about fandom is what happens when you only have an skewed notion about fandom racism from a singular black person. by only learning through stitch and not any of the other black fans that have spoken about the subject, LO has come out with the idea that fandom is all inherently racist all the time and black characters (because we know she doesn't care about any other race) never receive any kind of attention, ever. so the best way to combat racism... is just to dislike white characters harder. which i hope i don't have to explain how useless that is. if the questions are, does fandom racism exist? have black character being treated unfairly compared with white ones? has fandom gone out of their way to treat not only characters, but also non white cast members, in cruel ways that didn't deserve at all? all of that is yes and that has been ignored for way too long. we also ignored for way too long how many times this racism came from the canon itself, by sidelining POC character with great potential (Finn, Poe and even Rose are example of this) or never given them a chance to shine at all. but things are getting better, precisely because of works like the spiderverse, and because black characters are being put at the front and center for more diverse stories that people are connecting to. this, this is how you actually combat fandom racism.

and all LO has to say is how much she hates this movie tried to be too artistic.

[blurscolours]

The Devil And The Deep Blue Sea | Part Eleven

Masterlist

Summary: An attack on Arthur’s imprisoned brother Orm leaves him with no choice but to rely upon you, a friend made due to unfortunate circumstances nearly a decade ago, to provide safe haven while he restores peace to Atlantis. Suddenly tasked with sheltering a sullen former king results in a very different summer vacation than you had originally envisioned, but changes both of your lives forever.

Warnings: Menstruation, Discussion of Societal Expectations of Women, Orm is Surprisingly a Feminist, Mature/Explicit Themes [manual stimulation - f receiving, unprotected sex, vaginal penetration, multiple orgasms, hormone related sensitivity] - 18+ only.

Word Count: 2282

It happened every month, consistent and predictable, and yet the onset somehow managed to bewilder you time after time. As your eyes opened that morning you immediately understood why your lower back hurt. You swore softly under you breath as you could feel the blood between your legs and tried to slide out of the unprotected sheets.

He lifted his head at your expletive, eyes immediately focused and prepared for the worst. He blinked as he caught a glimpse of the blood on your sleep shorts as you managed to get to your feet.

“You’re hurt.” He sat up quickly.

You blinked and then shook your head. “Oh, no that’s normal…I just totally forgot it was time for it to happen. I’ll be right back.” You felt him relax under your lips as you pressed a kiss to his forehead and went to the bathroom to grab some sanitary products. You changed your shorts and got the dirty ones soaking in cold water to draw out the blood. You came back to bed and pulled the covers back fully, inspecting the top and bottom sheets and exhaling in relief as you had thankfully managed to not mark them.

“Sorry I woke you up like that.” You apologized and slid back into bed with him quickly; the cottage had cooled off substantial overnight.

His arms wrapped around you, and he shook his head seemingly lost in thought.

“For all our biological differences, the similarities are truly telling.” He spoke into the comfortable silence.

“Well, as your mother was able to conceive Arthur…humans and Atlanteans must be quite closely related.”

“Mmmm…Well we were technically human, I suppose, before the Great Fall…that changed everything.”

You nodded against his shoulder feeling the usual fatigue now that you had been up and about. You could feel his eyes on you as he was watching you closely. You offered a reassuring smile.

“Are you ready for breakfast?” You asked, sitting up.

He nodded slowly. “I believe so, yes. I will join you in having some eggs.”

You smiled more and slid out of the bed again, heading to your room to get dressed in something with more fabric to compensate for the cooler temperatures. You squinted an eye shut while brushing your teeth – oh yes – there were the cramps. You fished some pain killers out of the cupboard and took them before heading to the kitchen to cook with him.

As you were eating you found yourself starting off into space a lot, the sudden drop in hormones was such a drain on your energy. He was watchful but remained silent as you cleaned up together.

“We should finish chopping that wood today. I’ll show you how to make sticks of kindling so we can start fires more easily.”

He nodded and the two of you headed outside into the clear, comfortable day. You grabbed the large axe for him, and the gloves and a hatchet for you. He took the axe and continued to quarter the logs as you carried them into the well stocked woodshed. You were actually grateful he had not found more trees, there would have been nowhere to store the wood.

You grabbed a few example pieces of kindling and handed them to him once the wood was all neatly stacked.

“This is what we’re going to make next. It’s much easier to light something small like this on fire, before adding the bigger logs once the flames are hot enough.”

He examined them critically before watching you demonstrate how to split the small pieces off a larger piece of wood. Your hand was a lot closer to the head of the hatchet to better control your swings, and you were not using as much force. He took the hatchet from you and after a few tries was easily replicating the tidy pieces of kindling. You scooped the pile that had accumulated as he switched to a new piece of wood, tucking them away in an orderly fashion.

You returned to watch a new pile growing at his feet, risking a stretch of your aching back, your lower abdomen making you wince and press a hand to try and soothe the ache of your cramps.

“You’re in pain.” He commented and you lifted your head to see that he had been watching closely. “Why are you working if you’re in pain?”

You swallowed and shrugged a little. “If women stopped working whenever they were in pain…” You trailed off as he looked non-plussed. “Society expects it of us…expects our contributions despite the monthly discomfort.” You did not have to energy to sugar coat it.

He set down the hatchet and shook his head.

“Well, I do not…what helps?” He said firmly.

Sighing in defeat you grudgingly admitted “Rest and painkillers…heat…time… I’ll be fine we’re almost done.”

Wordlessly, he took your hand in his and pulled you towards the cabin.

“Where would you like to rest?” The rest was not a question, simply the location.

“Uh…I guess the living room? I’ll watch something on TV.” Reading didn’t hold the same attraction for you today.

He led you inside and you settled on the couch there.

“I will finish making kindling of the wood you set out for me. Is there anything else you need until then?”

You shook your head, more than a little stunned at how…forcefully caring… he was acting. The words would not normally belong with one another, but they were a perfect description of his behaviour. You heard the door close as he headed back outside and pulled out your phone to stream something mindless on the television.

As the episode was coming to an end, you heard him return to the house and he sat at your feet, eyeing the content on the screen.

“Why don’t I put on something you would enjoy as well…” You scrolled through some of the offerings, thinking about the topics he’d seemed most interested in over the last few weeks. He had been particularly fascinated by the war in Vietnam – a war of futility that had not ended well for a world super-power. One that was a source of shame and not discussed again until decades later. That settled it. You pulled up the Ken Burn’s series on Vietnam and set the first episode to play.

He was quickly absorbed in the immersive documentary and settled onto the couch with you. Rather than pulling him into your arms, you shifted to lean against him, and he wrapped his arms around you warmly. Despite your own interest in the topic, the combination of his warmth and your fatigue made your eyelids heavy. After a number of slow, fighting blinks, you let your eyes slide shut and stay that way, dozing for an episode as he continued to watch with deep interest.

The first three days of your period passed this way – quietly, in the comfort of his embrace, exploring the offerings on your various streaming apps. Your energy returned, your pain lessened, and on the fourth day he chose a ridiculous series about the hunt for Atlantis. He was settled between your legs once again, leaning back against your chest. You groaned as the title popped up on the screen.

“I apologize on behalf of all humans and insist this is not representative of us as a whole.”

He chuckled richly, his hands cradling yours, fingers tracing along the backs of yours, thumb caressing the inner wrist of your right hand, making you shudder. The show was preposterous. His touch was distracting. You leaned against his ear and murmured your invitation.

“Come shower with me…” You hoped you sounded seductive, rather than like a needy lover.

The look in his eyes as he turned to scan over your face gave you hope that you had succeeded. Your teeth sank into your lower lip slightly in anticipation and he smoothly stood, holding out a hand to help pull you up. Sliding to your feet, you led him into the washroom, and turned to slide his shirt up and off. Once his face was free of the fabric, you leaned in to kiss him as your fingers worked the fly of his pants open.

His mouth was hungry and insistent on yours and you realized that he had been patient with you, but his desire was just as intense as before. He worked on your pants as well before pulling back to work your shirt up and off, hands eagerly cupping your breasts. You yelped slightly as they were more sensitive and he responded by loosening his grip, switching to airy kisses along your tender flesh above the cup of your bra. You shuddered and pulled his pants down eagerly before kissing his temple and turning to get the shower running at a warm, but not too hot, temperature.

He took advantage of your position, unclipping your bra and sliding the straps down your arms with grazing fingertips as his lips marked a trail down your spine. You arched your back to meet the softness of his lips, letting your bra fall to the ground. You slid out of your underwear and tucked the sanitary product out of sight before stepping into the warm spray of the water and looking back at him. He licked his lips and divested himself of his underwear before promptly joining you, closing the door to the large shower stall as he sealed your lips in a hungry kiss.

His hands cupped the sides of your breasts, thumbs circling your nipples with featherlight touches. His touch was calibrated to your heightened level of sensitivity and had you arching against him with needy moans. His hips pressed against yours, pressing you into the shower wall in turn. You could feel his desire stiffening against the crease of your hip and you rolled your hips forward encouragingly. A rumble emanated from his chest and reverberated through yours as one hand left its delicious torment on your breast and slid between your legs.

His touch here, too, was featherlight and you felt him shudder as he found you already warm and slick. His fingers fluttered along your slit and near your pleasure point, but rarely made direct contact to avoid overly sensitive flesh. Your breath was coming in short pants under his skilled fingers and you slid one leg around his waist, pulling him closer. His forearm easily protected the space he needed to continue teasing you against your demanding grip. Fingers circled your entrance before tentatively dipping into you. You keened wantonly against his lips, and he latched his mouth onto your throat before plunging one and then two fingers into your damp heat.

“Orm!” You gasped his name enthusiastically, head rolling back to rest against the wall, eyes clenched tight in pleasure. He lifted his head to drink in the expressions of your face as his fingers thrust into you, thumb circling the silken skin around your clit. Your body quivered as it was just right…just what you needed…just a little more.

“Look at me…”His voice was hoarse with lust and, as you opened your eyes, you could see his pupils were blown, just at the sight of you. You moaned hungrily and bucked your hips to his hand.

“Close…” You panted.

“Come.” Was his reply as he curled his fingers into the deep seat of your pleasure and you rose up onto the toes of your one foot still on the ground, wailing as you convulsed in pleasure. You were vaguely aware of his tortured moan as he watched you fall apart in his arms.

His fingers left your body and he carefully unwound you from him before turning your back to press against his chest. You could feel the hard ridge of his cock pressing against your buttocks and you reached forward to brace your hands against the wall as he spread your legs with his before bending his knees slightly. He surged up, thrusting his cock into your body still contracting with waves of pleasure. An agonized moan fell from your lips at how incredible it felt to be stretched by him. You felt his tongue tracing along your spine, up along the back of your neck as his hips picked up the rhythm his fingers had begun.

You were grateful for the way his hands gripped your hips possessively, unable to fully trust your quivering legs as you were quickly pulled back up into the dizzying climb towards release. The snap of his hips against your butt, the pattern of the warm droplets of water falling from the shower head onto your skin, the feel of his greedy tongue on your neck and shoulders…they all combined with his pulsing cock deep inside you to push you into the abyss of ecstasy with a new rapidity.

His teeth grazed your shoulder as he growled and thrust through the waves of your second climax, seeking now only his release, desperate, hungry. The pure animal need of it had you losing your grip on the wall and his hands quickly shifted to hold tightly your breasts, keeping you upright as his thrusts became more erratic.

You swore thickly as a third orgasm was ripped from your sensitive body and he rammed into you thrice more before you felt his powerful release deep within you with a desperate cry that almost sounded anguished. You slumped against the wall, allowing him to fully support you as he cleaned up you, drying you gently and redressing you with your guidance to ensure your clothes were protected from your blood.

He carried you to bed and slid between the blankets, holding you as you fell asleep.

Read Part Twelve

Masterlist

[nyrandrea]

Of Blood and Oil - Chapter 7

Summary: The little stray cat had brought salvation to the robotic inhabitants of the Walled City in their darkest hour, now it was time for them to return the favour.

(Takes place after the events of Stray, so there will be spoilers!)

Start from the beginning here!

Also available to read on AO3!

Clementine prided herself in being able to hold her nerve, even during high pressure situations, which made her the perfect candidate for dangerous missions and impossible circumstances.

Even so, she was finding it difficult to hide the tremble in her voice as she spoke to Zbaltazar.

“...Are you still there?”  

“Hm?”

“I said that Momo has just came along to pick up the little ones.”  

“Uh huh.”

“I think he said he’s coming your way with them.”  

“Cool.”

The screens behind Zbaltazar’s limp form frowned. “Are you feeling quite alright, Clementine? You’ve barely said a word.”  

Clementine didn’t even look up at them, her eyes focused solely on Zar himself. The way he hunched over looked so...painful. Then again, he couldn’t feel anything, could he? She couldn’t imagine what that was like, to have no control over your own body to the point that thinking is the only thing you can do all day. Trapped in your own RAM with all the time in the world to hate the one that left you like this.

“...You detest me, don’t you?”  

That snapped Clementine out of it.

“What?! Of course not! Why would I?”

She didn’t even mean to sound so panicked, to sow the seeds of doubt into Zbaltazar’s head. But it felt like the more she opened her big mouth, the further into the rabbit hole she dug.

“We haven’t spoken since I got out. You have rarely looked at me since this call began. And judging by your vacant expression, I highly doubt you have listened to a word I’ve said.”  

A silence fell between them as Clementine struggled to come up with an excuse.

“If...you don’t want to be friends anymore...”  

“No! I do!”

“I would hold no ill will towards you.”  

“Ugh! Why are you like this?!” Clementine finally exploded.

“...Like what?” Zbaltazar cautiously asked, like he was tentatively stepping around a bull in a china shop.

“Like...that! So forgiving! You should be mad at me! Why aren’t you shouting...blaming...hating me?!”

Clementine sighed in defeat.

“Would it make you feel better if I hated you?”  

“I don’t know...maybe?”

“Then I hate you.”  

Clementine frowned. “Say it like you mean it, then I might believe you.”

Zbaltazar let out a hearty chuckle, forcing a small smile out of her as he did.

“You got me,” the limp robot said. “But how can I blame you when you already do so much of that for me?”  

She turned away.

“Clementine, it was only circumstances that made me like this. Bad luck. Being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Such is the way of things.”  

“But it was me that forced you into it!” She argued. “If it wasn’t for me, you’d be...”

“Still like this. Because nobody forced me into anything. I wanted to go, Clem. We both knew the risk.”  

“But you’re the one that’s had to live with the consequences.”

“In every single thing we do, we are choosing a direction. Our lives are a product of choice.”  

Clementine huffed, trust Zar to get all philosophical on her.

“Please stop punishing yourself,” he said solemnly. “And me.”  

“I’m sorry,” she said. “That wasn’t fair on you.”

“It’s water under the bridge,” Zbaltazar said, a lighter tone to his voice.“So, will you be able to come over for a visit tomorrow? I can show you my crib, as the kids would say.”  

“Sure, I’d love to.”

Zbaltazar waited a moment, like he was expecting a quick-witted remark at his expense as Clementine had a habit of doing in days gone past, frowning when it never came.

“Right, well, I look forward to it then.”  

A knock at the door made Clementine frown as Zbaltazar smirked at her from the monitor.

“Good luuuuck~” the robot sang before ending the call.

“Good luck with wha—” she threw up her hands when the connection cut. The rapping at the door continued, growing in strength and frequency.

“Alright, alright! I’m coming!” Clementine shouted as she made her way through her messy apartment. Though she was in the process of building a home outside, she couldn’t bring herself to leave Midtown just yet. The place was...charming, in its own unique, sleazy way.

“What...?” She trailed off as she swung the door open to a beaming Momo cradling the little outsider, who looked as fed up as she did.

“...do you want?” she finished. Narrowing her eyes when that big, stupid grin wouldn’t leave his screen as he rocked the feline back and forth.

“I’m not in the market for adoption,” she said, moving to shut the door and groaning when his massive foot prevented her from doing so.

“It’s just for an hour!” Momo exclaimed before pausing to think. “Or two. Puweeaase?”

She gave him a disgusted look. “Just for that, absolutely not. Besides, I got stuff to do.”

“So do I!”

“Like....?”

“...Stuff!”

She rammed the door against his foot.

“Ow! Okay, okay! I maaaaay or may not have lost the other kitties and need to go find ‘em with Guardian’s help.”

Clementine face-palmed, shaking her head.

“What? He’s insanely good at tracking.”

“I-I don’t even—God, fine I’ll take him. Give him here,” she finally caved in, holding out her hands to take the mewing furball. “You better pray that you find them.”

Momo waved a dismissive hand. “Ahhhh, I’m sure they probably wanted to go back to Zbaltazar, you shoulda’ seen it, there were colourful fishes all over his monitors!”

“Right,” she said, absent-mindedly rubbing one of the little outsider’s paws with her thumb.

“Yeah!” Momo awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. “So, you two patched things up yet?”

Clementine raised a digital eyebrow. “There was nothing to patch up. We’re fine.”

“Right , right...” Momo nodded as he wrung his hands together before swiftly moving on, bending over slightly to wiggle his fingers at the cat. “Now yew be good for auntie Cwemmie, okay? Such a pwecious wittle—Ack!”

Slamming the door in his face, Clementine smirked as she carried her new tenant to the window, who in turn angled his head up to give her an unamused look.

“What? He deserved it,” the robot defended herself as she set the cat down onto some musty pillows. “Nobody calls me auntie Cwemmie and gets away with it.”

“Mrrrr?”  

“Okay, except maybe you,” she said, looking around the apartment to make sure Momo hadn’t magically snuck in to witness what she was about to do. “Because yew are such a cutie patootie, aren’t ya?” the robot cooed with a big heart as she gently massaged his furry cheeks. “Look at that wittle smushy face!”

She could see why Momo did this now, but the attention didn’t last long as a shrill beep came from her pocket, instantly snapping her out of baby-talk mode as she answered it.

“Yeah? What’cha got?”

...

“Awesome, I owe ya one. Whereabouts did you say again?”

Grabbing a pen and paper, she hastily scribbled down an address. Gently shooing away the onslaught of attention seeking as those same furry cheeks rubbed against her hand as she tried to write. If it were any other situation, she would have relented, but this was too important to miss.

Hanging up, she took the little outsider’s face again, looking him straight in the eyes. “Now listen closely, I’ve gotta go...run an errand. So, you’re gonna be staying here yourself a little while—hey! Pay attention...!” she tried not to give in to his cute charms as he started licking her fingers.  

“I’ll only be away for a little bit, in the meantime you take a nap or somethin’, Doc said you gotta rest, right?”

Before the orange tabby could get a word in, Clementine swiftly made her way out of the apartment and looked down at the piece of paper as she walked the neon-lit streets of Midtown, striding with new-found purpose.

‘I’m comin’ for you, Blazer.’  

xxx

Much like the rest of the city, Midtown had been mostly abandoned, with a scarce few residents like Clementine only staying because they still had some work to attend to. Most had decided to try and move their businesses to the settlements beyond the wall, and judging by the empty buildings and shuttered shops; they had succeeded.

The city was golden in the light of eventide, as if it was nurturing some happy memory of times passed. It left a somewhat bittersweet feeling in Clementine’s core; pride that they’d finally freed themselves of a life dictated to them by drones and walls, resentment that it meant some traitorous sleazebags had managed to slip through the net.

Until today.

Rounding a corner into an alleyway, Clementine scanned the immediate area, frowning when only a few rats came scampering out the dumpsters as she double- triple -checked the address that was given to her.

Crap. Had she been duped again? Was everyone out to get her these days?

Seething with rage and preparing to add another name to her hit-list, the rev of an engine and blinding headlights revealed a dump truck heading her way, stopping mere inches away as the driver killed the engine and leaned out the window.

“Hey buddy, can ya move outta the way? ‘Less you wanna be turned into scrap.”

He stopped suddenly when he realised who was in his way; pixelized sweat beads running down that familiar blushing face.

“If anyone’s gonna be getting turned into scrap today, it’s you,” she bitterly replied.

“What...? I-I don’t...Look, If I’d known you were g-gonna be here...” Blazer stuttered as he got out of the truck.

“What? You wouldn’t have come?”

“N-no. That’s not what I meant,” the older robot said, fiddling with his Hi-Vis vest as he struggled to come up with the right words. “C-Clem. Look, I—”

A smack to the face shut him up instantly.

“Do not call me that. Only my God-damn friends get to use that name. Remember that? When we used to be friends? When we had each other's backs and didn’t rat each other out?!”

Blazer retreated with his hands up defensively as Clementine backed him up against the hood of the truck. “I’m sorry, okay?! I know what I did was—”

“Terrible? Awful? Downright unforgivable?”

“All of that!” Blazer conceded, nodding vigorously. “But I was desperate for money; I... owed these guys and I didn’t see any other way to pay ‘em back.”

“What was it you said? You valued money more than friendship or camaraderie?”

“I valued my limbs! The b******* were gonna harvest me for parts if I didn’t cough up the cash!”

Clementine faltered a little. Blazer had never mentioned anything about debt when they were working together. He had always seemed so focused on the task at hand, maybe a bit too focused now that she thought about it.

She shook her head. “But you didn’t care what would happen to me or the little outsider! You threw us to the wolves! Didn’t you care about that?”

Blazer avoided her hard gaze. “Not at the time, no. I was just relieved that I was finally free of my burden. That I could walk down the street without constantly looking over my shoulder. I... I didn’t care what happened to either of you.”

The robot flinched as Clementine angrily raised her fist.

“Now, hang on! I’m not finished!” He said, sighing in relief when the impact never came. “When the city opened up, when I saw the sky for the first time, I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t believe that you and the little furball actually managed to free us all.”

Clementine stayed silent.

“It made me realise that...this was my chance to finally clean up my act and get a proper job, try and lead somethin’ of a normal life. So... here I am.”

“A trash collector,” she deadpanned.

“Waste Collector,” he corrected. “Pays decent and... I feel like I’m actually doin’ something useful. Suppose the city’s a bit like me in a way; dirty, unlawful but with a bit of TLC could become somewhat decent again.”

Besides the terrible analogy, Clementine was almost envious of Blazer. How he managed to scrape his way out of what would have been certain death, seeing the error of his ways and bettering himself for it by providing a service to the city that would seem redundant to most.

“I’m actually glad you came this way, Clem. I know it’s a cheek to ask but...I was hoping you might forgive me.”

A memory crossed her RAM—of Zurks piling onto Zbaltazar as they crawled out of the sewers, escaping the bloodshot gazes that yearned for their deaths.

“Not a day goes past that I don’t regret what I’ve done.”

Zbaltazar’s body was heavy and limp as she dragged him into Antvillage, his head twitching and glitching as venom coursed through his circuitry.

“I know I’ll need to carry these mistakes with me for the rest of my life.”

Her core threatened to burst as she embraced him one last time.

“But I think I can be a better person, if you’ll let me.”

Not even daring to look back, she climbed up the pipes to Midtown, knowing full well that she was never returning for him.

“Clem...?”  

Clementine saw nothing but red.

“No...” she muttered. “No, you don’t get to just make those choices and expect everyone to just forgive you. Why should you get a second chance when Companions who are twice as brave, loyal and actually value your friendship are forced to live with the consequences of your actions!”  

Picking up on the tension and intensity of her voice, Blazer didn’t even bother struggling when she grabbed his vest and shoved him against the truck with so much force that there was a groaning pressure of metal being pushed upon metal.

“You don’t deserve a normal life. You don’t deserve friends and you sure as hell don’t deserve any more chances when you’ve had time and time again to make up for what you’ve done. You...have been nothing but a failure over...and over again...!”

Clementine’s grip slackened as her fists shook with...fury? Resentment? At who? Blazer?

Or herself?

It was only then she realised that Blazer’s eyes had wandered down.

“Hey!” She shouted, her hardened resolve returning in full force. “Eyes up here when I’m talking to you!”

“Uh...we uh...have company...,” was all Blazer could stutter as he pointed a shaking finger behind her. Following his gaze, her eyes fell upon the little outsider. He was just...sitting there, watching.

“How long have you been there?” Clementine demanded, making sure to tighten her grip on Blazer should he use this chance to slip away like the snake he was.

“Mreh eh?”  

“Ugh. Whatever. Just...go back to the apartment, okay? I’ll be...finished here soon enough.”

Turning back to Blazer—who was still practically sweating—she took a moment to decide what to do with him. She could just beat him up and get it done, but that just didn’t seem like enough. She wanted him to suffer, to pay—to really pay —for betraying her trust like he had.  

It seemed the little outsider had other plans.

“W-what’s it doing?” Blazer nervously asked when the cat started winding between their legs—more notably Blazers. Purring and rubbing his head against the robot’s shins, affectionately curling his tail around the ankles and gazing up at him, slowly blinking.

“He’s...forgiving you.” Clementine realised.

“What?”

“You got trash in your audio receptors?” She snapped. “I said he’s forgiving you. Though I’m not sure why.”

“I... really?” Blazer asked with a question mark as he looked down. “Even after all that s*** I put you through?”

“Mrah!”  

“...Thanks.”

Clementine observed the scene; the calm serenity of it all. The way her little recruit seemed so in-tune and understanding of Blazer’s genuine remorse and letting go of the negative emotions and memories. Moving on with whatever positives remain. Is this what Zbaltazar meant when he asked her to stop punishing herself?

“...You can go.”

Clementine released Blazer and shuffled back with her head hung low, fully expecting him to take the opportunity and scarper back into the dumpster truck, maybe even try and knock her down for good measure.

Instead, he closed the gap between them and hugged her tightly.

Blinking in shock, Clementine stiffened at the contact, instincts screaming at her to push him away in case he had a hidden knife and was intending to literally stab her in the back this time.

“I’m...so sorry.”

He was trembling ever-so-slightly, but she didn’t return the hug, and after a moment, pushed him away at arm’s length.

“I... don’t think I can ever forgive you for what you did,” Clementine said. “Justice and integrity are... important to me, and you broke those principles.”

Blazer looked down, holding his arm.

“But...my friend once told me that forgiveness brings the liberty to heal the heart, the soul and mind. That it’s a chance to begin anew and... break the shackles of self-loathing,” Clementine paused for a moment. “So... I’d like to try.”

Blazer nodded appreciatively, bent down to place his hand atop the little one’s head in silent gratitude and hopped back into the truck. He didn’t leave right away, instead tapping his fingers against the steering wheel as if he was deciding on something.

“Do you...want a lift back?” He finally asked.

She was about to refuse when the little one let out a massive yawn and laid down on his side as if he was preparing just to fall asleep in the middle of a cold alley. The pitiful sight brought a small smile to Clementine’s screen, but it made her realize that nightfall was starting to creep in. If she walked—carrying a heavy lump of fur, no less— the remaining Zurks would be prowling about before she got back, looking for an easy snack.

So, she swallowed her pride and nodded.

“Then hop on in,” Blazer said, opening the other door for her.

“Come on, little guy,” Clementine gently prodded with her foot, frowning when the furball didn’t budge.

“Meh!”  

“I’m not picking you up.”

“Eh eh...”  

Only moments later, she was hoisting herself up with one hand while the other had his highness tucked under her arm, settling him on her lap when she managed to climb into the seat.

“Fussy l’il thing, ain’t he?” Blazer said as he pulled out of the alleyway and into the moonlit road.

“You would be too if you had been nearly ripped to shreds,” Clementine bluntly answered. “No small talk, eyes on the road.”

“You uh...got it, boss,” Blazer stammered as he shut his trap and focused solely on driving.

A small part of her wanted to keep snarking at him, chastise him for every little bump and instruct him on how to actually drive. But instead, she spent what little energy she had left stroking her little charge, his purring soothing her shot nerves and lulling her into sleep-mode as the white-gold moon ascended into the black heavens.

Perhaps one day, Clementine would be able to forgive herself too.

xxx

Chapter 8 --->

[denimbex1986]

'There's a film released in cinemas this week that questions the very notion of life itself. It's situated on the precipice of the dawn of a new world, with its supporting star-laden players instrumental in mapping a path for history in secret while everyone else sits back unaware that everything is about to change. It ruminates on the very idea of what makes us human, the idea of ‘the other’, whether there's truly such a thing as autonomy or if we're all simply pawns to be picked up and disposed of when we are no longer useful. It raises the unanswerable question of how or if we can ever go back once our eyes have been opened to the untold horrors we're capable of experiencing. That film is Barbie.

In case you haven't heard, Greta Gerwig's Barbie and Christopher Nolan's Oppenheimer are opening on the same day. One tells the story of everyone's favourite childhood doll while the other explores the mind of the man responsible for the atomic bomb that decimated Hiroshima and ended WWII. On the face of it, you'd be forgiven for thinking that Nolan's examination of humanity's capacity to harm others and what that reveals about us when we let it happen would be the more existential of the two – living in the mind for three hours of the person playing god with tens of thousands of lives does naturally raise some ethical concerns. You will inevitably sit through Oppenheimer interrogating personal qualms about empathy and our capacity to compartmentalize human suffering in service of the greater good, all of which is aided along by Cillian Murphy and the live-in supporting actor that are his cheekbones externalising every moral quandary across his face. But it's Barbie, somehow, that will shake your core more than the Trinity Test reverb.

Margot Robbie's Barbie saying “Do you guys ever think about dying?” was latched onto from the very first Barbie trailer, way back before every product known to man was saturated in pink. It was clear then, and now, that rather than a sugary sweet jaunt into the life of the plastic and fantastic, this film's purpose was to be a brutal philosophical study of the mortifying idea of being alive.

Barbie's (Margot Robbie) journey starts with her perfectly-manicured and matriarchal life in Barbieland shaken by an unknown outside force - the real world. She then has to venture on a journey to reality, where she's rudely awakened to societal problems like patriarchy and oppression as well as crushing personal issues like loneliness and what it's like to be a 14-year-old girl. In her tow is Ken (Ryan Gosling), whose only motivating thought since creation is how to be as close to Barbie as possible.

Barbie is a movie about existentialism. It's about questioning who we are, what we are and, yes, if we're “Kenough” at the end of the day. Behind the glitter and the bleach-blonde bouffants, Barbie and Ken are on opposite but equal journeys to personal enlightenment. For Barbie, the idea of going back to a blissfully unaware life after discovering that the concept of Barbies make women feel bad instead of empowered in the real world is troubling. Ken, on the other hand, who has only ever had one purpose, is paralysed by choice with the realisation that his life can take multiple routes. The pair are caught in the crosshairs of being both sentient and someone else's idea, battling with free will and the omnipresent predetermined rules about where to go and how to act. Ken beaches and obsesses over Barbie, as is his design, while Barbie is essentially nice, beautiful and doesn't think about changing her circumstances at all. Their dream worlds are shattered by the introduction of chaos, something that is deeply relatable to anyone watching. Sure, none of us are factory-made dolls living in a tangible nether world (that we know of!), but being at the mercy of external and unpredictable forces is what ultimately ties us all together.

Where Oppenheimer tells the story of the creator, Barbie tells the side of the creation. In Nolan's crafting of that history, Oppenheimer sits above the world as its hesitant catalyst for destruction and we, the viewers, are the people being played with by chance. It's easy to feel connected to Barbie in that regard, as we too are forced to prevail with a vague sense of constant dread at the endless possibilities of time and the universe. From big to small to everything in between, Barbie reckons with all the ways perceiving things can be kind of a drag. Oppenheimer may drop the A-bomb and change the course of human history forever, but Barbie just found out that heels hurt and are lowkey problematic, actually. Who really is suffering more?'

[thekatea]

One Day Off

Watched: 2023.06.01

“It’s not about getting better. The next stage just comes...

Then comes another stage, followed by more stages to go”.

I don’t think I have ever watched a show that introduces so many interesting topics to think about in such a light and heartwarming manner. The episodes might have been only 24 minutes long, but the impact lasted for hours, making me reflect on my opinions, thoughts and behaviors.

From the opening till the end - it felt both realistic and strangely eccentric and dream-like. Following Ha Jyung on the trips allowed me to take a moment to just relax and enjoy the views and the scenery. The straightforward and honest personality of our female lead added to the charm. I also appreciated how real her character was - a normal person in normal circumstances, taking a break from the busy and overstimulated world.

The wide range of topics tackled in the show included, but was not limited to: reflecting on our past goals and dreams, the role of an educator, adults' involvement in creating certain paths for children, focusing on their future rather than the current happiness, the disagreements and different perceptions generations have, where we always villainize the other side, not seeing the flaws in our own thinking and behavior.

We were faced with questions like: is striving for success correct, or should we just focus on doing what we love, even if it does not bear fruits? Why is it so hard to show interest towards another person and since when saying “I love you” or even “I like you” becomes so hard, that we found new ways to convey exactly the same emotions?

This is not all, and I’m sure each and every person would focus on different aspects, different scenes and different lines - seeing their own unique version of what’s presented in the drama.

Lee Na Young was such a perfect casting choice to portrayal Ha Kyung. On one hand her character was truly relatable, on the other hand she had her own charms and quirks that not many people possess. Creating a character that is both unique, but also relatable is not an easy job.

The production was stellar. All episodes were filmed, directed and edited in a similar fashion, but at the same time, all had specific tricks that enhanced whatever story was told in each episode. Be it adding more blur and slightly distorted shots to create these dream-like sequences, or using first person perspective to make viewers connect to the scene and potential feelings the characters are experiencing. The soundtrack was the cherry on top, making me want to drop whatever I was doing and set on a trip myself.

Overall, I feel like no matter how much time I would spend on writing this review, it would be impossible for me to truly convey how much I love One Day Off. It's a rare clean 10 for me.

[ciswomenofficial]

I’m not sure if I’m entirely happy and comfortable with framing abortion and hrt and stuff as being fundamentally due to people as a matter of principal on the basis of “bodily autonomy.” That just seems to be neoliberal individualism to me, and framing it as radical is revisionism. The idealism of this view is clear when you consider the implications of how such a principal would play out in reality: as with other liberal ideas, it acts as though people who are in fact unequal in tangible terms can be made equal by the mere institution of a right while changing nothing of those peoples tangible circumstances. Consider the other side of a coin: is it bodily autonomy for a woman to get an abortion when she’d like to keep a pregnancy? But what if she isn’t able to afford a baby? There are economic factors making it so that some women who’d like to have a baby can’t, and others who’d like to can. What if a woman would like to have a baby, but her husband would leave her to the majority of child rearing? Would this inequality not push her hand towards one option, despite what she wanted to do with her body? Multiple base and ideological factors put pressure on women both ways, and a mere principal that cannot fulfill itself in our current economic circumstances is of no immediate relevance.

While I hardly think that anyone should be forced to have a child, the extreme of this ideology of “autonomy” ends with people saying “I don’t owe society anything,” as though they are their own rugged individual, as though they are not tied into and benefiting from other people as part of this world, as though another life growing within them is nothing more than a “leech,” as though they have never been such a “leech.” The bodily autonomy argument is simply an anti-scientific, liberal individualist rhetoric, and cannot be taken to be an acceptable argument for abortion rights.

Why then should we support abortion rights, if the argument of bodily autonomy is rhetorically open to the ideology of the enemy and incapable of fulfilling its own premises? Not because of any nonsense about individual choice, but as a goal to an end: a tactic to limit the expropriation of reproduction by the ruling male capitalist class, who see the majority of the benefits of childbirth. While we shouldn’t limit childbirth entirely, as that would be tantamount to defeatism, we absolutely should to the point that what children their are will be raised in healthier, better environments, and so that women, as a class not as individuals, can take more charge over their lives and (re)production.

On the trans issue, why then should we support hormone therapy if not for individualist reasons? For one thing, there is the shared precedent under a society operating under liberalism that allows abortion protections, which particularly highlights the failings of those who immediately take anti-transsexual action while, in theory, supporting abortion rights. But additionally, because transsexuals, as oppressed people, have considerably higher rates of suicide without hormones. The closet is not a pleasant environment for anyone, and those who would resign the transsexual to the closet, frankly are traitors to all gay and bisexual people who need nothing more than to be ideologically repressed. Those who would resign the transsexual to being “an effeminate men” or “a masculine woman” claiming that this is more of a challenge to patriarchy are idealists, paying more attention to what is (in their own head) subversive than to the base elements tangibly responsible for oppression, as though society is to be subverted by cleaver performance art and not restructured at the material level. We will have better luck if we ideologically and politically train the transsexuals into activists while supporting their material interests and leading them away from suicide so that they may become key activists with different insights due to their different class positionality than cissexual women.

In short, we should not be basing our actions off of, or justifying them based off of liberal individualist ideas and idealist principals, but based off of the tangible concerns of real people, not as individuals, but as classes. There is no magic idea that we just need to write as a law to make everyone equal, there is no higher principal for its own sake, there is only the helping along of some (oppressed, exploited) classes, and the repression of other (oppressive, exploiting) classes. This is the only way to reach equality.

[princeescaluswords]

How would you personally have gone about Kira seeking help with her chaotic fox spirit if you were in charge? In the past, you've mentioned she could have sought out other older kitsune through her mom and I've also noted how you kept the sk*n w*lkers Davis horribly appropriated from Navajo/Diné culture and cosmology in two of your fics (that I've noticed) and tried to give them more respect than canon did.

Would you give more (or actual) screen time to show how this effects Kira, Noshiko and Ken? One of the things I loved about your fic with Kira is that it did some of that such as the very authentic, visceral feeling of seeing loved ones grow older/sicker and Kira being upset she lost out on so much of her life. I also liked the detail of how Kira earned two tails in a short amount of time in comparison to her mother, not because either is ~better~ than the other but just that each person's life path and the circumstances, trials and tribulations therein, are different.

Well, for me -- and I'm more than willing to discuss it with those who disagree -- the difference between employing the spiritual and cultural figures from cultures other than your own in an ethical manner and appropriating them is the respect you give the cultural context in which the figures exist in their original cultures. Yes, I have used these figures in my stories Dreadful as the Storm and the Lightning, All Our Yesterdays, and Termination Shock because I think that their appearance important to the characters I'm trying to explore, but I hope I gave those particular cultural figures the respect they deserve.

On the other hand, in my most recent work, The Sticking Place, I've excluded Shiprock entirely in favor of having Noshiko take Kira to an enclave of Kitsune in Los Angeles in order to explore both the nogitsune storyline and Kira's own predicament.

My problem with that plot in Season 5B is not that the production used indigenous cultural figures in the story, it's that their use turned out to be so shallow as to be effectively appropriation. Regardless of what they may have intended by including the sk*nwalkers -- and I'm sure they intended something because they paralleled them with the Dread Doctors in both number and inscrutability -- the execution left much to be desired. Arden Cho revealed that a lot of the scenes she shot in 5B were cut (most likely because of their terrifically bad decision to end Kira's role on the show), and I can't help but wonder if we had been able to watch those scenes, the presentation of the sk*nwalkers would have been less exploitative.

It would have been so easy to not do this. Why did Noshiko go to Shiprock rather than to her own people? We see her unloading silver bars, so it wasn't like she couldn't have flown to Japan if there were no other kitsune in California. Was she afraid? Ashamed? We observe that the sk*nwalkers were powerful, but there are other powerful individuals out there, what made them the best people to go for help? Why did they seem hostile? Is it their nature? Were they offended? If so, why did they offer help when Kira came to them again? Were they planning something else? We learned nothing of their specific natures, nothing of their motivations, nothing of their role in the greater supernatural community.

To me, there is where the disrespect lies. They were used a means to an end, something with cool visuals and vaguely menacing atmosphere without requiring anything like exploration. The production couldn't take the time to find a way to give us their names, but they did find the time for a Gratuitous Butt-Spin. :P It's unethical, and it doesn't matter to me if the original scripts went into it more deeply -- the finished product did not, and that was a choice. In my writing, I choose differently.

Now, I'm not claiming perfection, and I'm more than open to criticism of my use of the sk*nwalkers in my fiction. Indeed, if someone thinks I've botched their portrayal, I encourage you to come and tell me about it. I think that the barest minimum you can do in telling stories that explore spirituality, religion, and myth is preserve the context from which they arose with. Teen Wolf failed in this instance.

[doorajar]

"Grey Rainbow" (2016) starts oddly, for a BL. During the opening credits we see mostly straight couples; the opening dialog presents gay marriage as a lecture-room topic, and then we meet our couple, reunited after being parted by circumstance for a couple of months (the time span is unclear).

They bicker like lovers who are getting a little tired of each other, until it develops that they are just roommates--or so it seems.

See what I mean ? Stay tuned. The fact that in the signature shot used at the front of the episodes Nuer has a bandage on his temple--and the somber hues of that same image--should maybe alert the viewer to the ultimately tragic nature of this story ...?

(An irony, considering l'm watching this series while KinnPorsche is front and center of each week, is that Nuer's opposite is called ... Porsche.)

"Do you know what I really wanna do most ?" "I want to travel alone with you, to somewhere far away ... far enough that no one knows us ... holding hands, and hooking arms over neck ... without having to care about what others think." "When will I be able to do that ?"

"Have you ever loved me at all ?"

A lot happens after the middle of Episode 2: Nuer's Jane breaks up with him, declaring him to be (not in these words) bisexual--whereupon he goes a little berserk and slugs her new boyfriend. Thus, the bandage on the temple--is this the first BL nursing carried out on the curb in the dark ?

By the end of the episode the two have become one. "You can't break up like this. I'll tell Jane she was wrong." Nuer: "What if she was right ?" They kiss. Porsche's soliloquy, above: Nuer wasn't asleep after all, and heard all of it ...

By the end of Episode 3 (of four hour-and-a-quarter eps) both sets of parents have gotten the news: their only sons are in love. Nuer's maa takes it hard at first, but comes around; Porsche's paw passes out at the table (nice timing, P ?) and wakes in a hospital bed only to start cussing out his wife. Bad scene, Bix ! After more fatherly histrionics, Nuer tells Porsche that he can't take it and is ready to quit the relationship. Aw, geez ...!

Yes, I know this story doesn't turn out rosy--I was told that, going in. But isn't there a pall hanging over this tale, more or less throughout ? From the title, to the dark signature image, the somber music often heard, and the curiously affectless Porsche, there's a downbeat atmosphere created and maintained, that the sunny smile that flashes periodically across Nuer's funny face can't really overcome.

So it's come to this: l'm taking bets with myself on who gets bumped off before this is over. (Call it a defense ploy against the angst of impending tragedy ?) Right now, Porsche is unreasonably insisting that Nuer remain in Jane drag for their visit to the temple to pray for Jane's recovery--thus he deserves to die, sez I.

But of course that's just a misinformed guess. The death when it comes, though sudden, is surrealistically announced just before it happens. And the aftermath is dreamlike--or it would be if not for some more of the clumsiness that mars this production at certain moments. Most jarringly, who is the girl we've never seen before but who Porsche seems to know: which little girl now a teen (?) is she supposed to be ?

Not a satisfying ending, l'm afraid, though there's an effort made to get us past it. There were a few sweet moments throughout the story; I won't say it was a waste of time. For 2016 perhaps it's as much as we could expect ?

The final lines, spoken by Porsche: "Being gay, unlike being a drug addict, isn't a choice; it's natural." (I paraphrase). There were other and longer lessons for the audience, about acceptance and forgiveness, sprinkled throughout. The actors and the acting were fine. The latter half of the drama was set in rural Chiang Mai, with domesticated elephants filling out the cast of characters. About five hours running time in total.

I'm sorry this four-part miniseries didn't inspire a more spirited or informative review from me. Maybe next time ...?

[changeling-pr-department]

Are there any negative side-effects to being love-drained?

At last, a proper question!

There are negative effects to being fed upon in the same manner as there are to being drained of blood. Often, it does very little lasting damage. A creature having blood drawn out of them will feel woozy for a short period, and a creature having their love eaten will feel emotionally drained.

But like with blood, there is a point where it becomes less safe, a point which varies from creature to creature. This is nearly never reached, because past a point, permanent damage can be done (those in the human would likely recognize such damage as reminiscent of depressive disorders), and this, obviously, is not productive to those who need love to survive. A considerable amount of love can be drained before this point.

In the most severe circumstances, an individual can be drained of love entirely, leaving them an emotionless husk. These subjects lose the capacity for emotions, as well as the will to live, and die swiftly if not forced to remain healthy.

This final stage is almost never reached by conscious choice. Changelings, like most sapient creatures, can reach a point of starvation past which rational action is difficult to impossible- we simply reach it.... more quickly than most. Of the cases of creatures being fully drained, all but a few have been the result of this state.

Since I know any ponies reading this will have it in mind, our cocooned food sources are kept extremely healthy, both physically and emotionally, and are fed a constant supply of magical and chemical formulae to ensure their productivity. Beside the risk of muscle atrophy for long-term residents, and the risk of temporary emotional withdrawal from losing access to the magic we provide, there are no health concerns.