#I think if someone gets paid to make something critique of said thing is fair game (since the money is compensation)

[authenticcadence18]

this is not really my brand at all but I’m just going to rant about Toy Story 5 for a hot second because the D23 sneak peek made me so mad.

TLDR: Toy Story 5 (and 4) ruin what made the first three films so special.

I’ll start this off by saying I ADORE Toy Story 3. It’s one of my favorite Pixar films. I was 10 when this movie came out, I remember going to like three Walmarts just to find a Jessie doll, and carrying her around with me in my bag all summer. I still have that doll, she’s very special to me.

Part of what makes the first three films so good is the passage of time. First two movies came out within 4 years of each other (1995 and 1999), third movie came out 11 years later in 2010. Andy is a kid in the first two films, maybe he doesn’t age exactly four years between 1 and 2 but he doesn’t have to we’re still in the range of childhood years, in the 90s. When the third movie came out a significant amount of time had passed in the real world, and thus it had in TS3. We quite literally felt the passage of time in that movie along with the toys. THAT is what made that movie so captivating and special, those trailers were so bittersweet and magical and REAL. I remember it so well. The third movie also FEELS like 2010 that movie EXUDES early 2010s it’s so comfy and nice (minus the traumatizing fire scene ofc)

(more below the cut)

Nine years later TS4 comes along and even tho the animation is prettier and the film seems to take place in the 2020s. everyone is the same age. Bonnie has aged what, a year? Over the course of nine real years? whereas Andy went from kid to college bound in a similar amount of time? where is the real world connection?

but ya know I gave the film the benefit of the doubt, I saw it I liked it I loved forky. But the emotional connection wasn’t there the way it was for TS3. But oh well that’s it right? How do you continue the franchise after that ending?

but OH! NOW TS5 is coming out in 2026, seven years later and GUESS WHAT!!! BONNIE IS STILL A KID. Look at this concept art!! She is very clearly still a kid.

she’ll have been a kid for 16 years at this point!! what is this, despicable me? (that’s a rant for another day shdjdjdj)

And she’s an iPad kid now which I mean. Yes. That’s a relevant issue for today’s kids. A GREAT concept for a TS movie. But Bonnie is not the character to portray this storyline. She’s not one of today’s kids she is a kid of the 2010s she was born in like. 2005. BONNIE should be in college and/or starting her own career now. Not an iPad kid. The toys should be with someone else, maybe a younger sister or cousin.

Plus!!! Guess who’s back in Bonnie’s room! Woody!!! so much for him saying goodbye to the others forever to be with his one true love right? The end of TS4 was not my favorite initially but I applauded the writers’ decision to make such a bold choice and change to the status quo. It echoed TS3 in a way, even if it cheapened the end of that film somewhat for me (in my heart the true TS canon ends at TS3 and TS4 is just a possible timeline it could branch off into).

But I guess the moving sacrificial end of your film doesn’t really matter when you can just change it in the next film!! 🙄

I love the sequence of the first three films so much, I love how they take place in the eras they come out in while also moving the timeline along.

Bonnie going from being born in 2005 to the late 2010s AT THE EARLIEST for these films to make any sense makes no sense. and if she’s born in 2005 how is she an iPad kid??? TS4 should’ve come out way sooner, and it should’ve been about a different kid.

(and I KNOW lots of movies and shows have a floating timeline where the kids never age. Charlie Brown, Phineas and Ferb, The Simpsons. but for those shows the setting changing with time while the characters don’t is part of the charm. The Toy Story franchise could’ve been that way but Toy Story 3 fundamentally changed that.)

(And look let’s say the movie takes place in 2012 and Bonnie has a rudimentary IPad 4 or something. why are we just seeing the movie now in 2026?? the timelines don’t match up it doesn’t make sense no matter what.)

I feel an emotional connection to the Bonnie of TS3 because she belongs in that time period, in the early 2010s when cellphone technology was just starting to pick up, when I was still a kid. And I think of TS3 and my brain screams 2010S!! MIDDLE SCHOOL!!!!!

whereas when I think of TS4 I’m like “has it actually been five years? it feels like it came out like two years ago” bc there’s no passage of time within that film to anchor it to the year 2019. That film came out the year before covid and it STILL feels like it came out like two years ago. that is telling to me.

Seeing Bonnie still be a kid 14 (and what will be 16) years after her debut feels inauthentic to the precedent set by Andy and TS3. I’m sure the movie will be good bc Toy Story movies are always good. But they’ve lost that sense of realism, of moving time, of leaving something behind and NOT being able to pick back up right where you left off. That kept the TS movies grounded in bittersweet reality, that’s kinda the whole point. :/

[chocoholicannanymous]

If the Spit Hits the Fan (Glee) Pt XVIII

This is the last part of this. Of a story that I was pretty certain I wouldn’t finish and just posted the bit I had in my scraps and snippets tag for a lark. You read that, and you liked it, and your response made me want to try and finish it. And so here we are, ~29k finished fic. 

Thank you for the support.

Follows pt I, pt II, pt III, pt IV, pt V, pt VI, pt VII, pt VIII, pt IX, pt X, pt XI, pt XII, pt XIII, pt XIV, pt XV, pt XVI and pt XVII.

New York is big and loud and filthy and expensive.

Kurt's first apartment had been an absolute rathole. He'd shared it with four others, and his “room” had been a repurposed coatroom. There had been just enough place for a bed and a tiny table instead of a desk. He'd only brought the most necessary in way of clothing, and with the exception of two shirts hanging from a nail in the wall he'd been forced to keep everything in a suitcase under the bed.

He'd moved out after a month, tired of never being able to keep food in the kitchen, weary of the nicks surrounding the lock on his door – he'd replaced the old one day 1, but even the best of locks only went so far – and fed up with having to carry all his valuables with him at all times.

Luckily the Warbler network had activated and Trent's older brother had offered up his guest room (and if that wasn't a sign of wealth, a student in New York with a guest room, then Kurt didn't know what was) for the rest of the year provided Kurt find someplace else to spend the night on those occasions it was needed. During the fall it'd mostly been solved by Sebastian coming to visit and the two sharing a cheap hotel room, and during the fall by Kurt spending the night at Sebastian's apartment. It had been tempting to move in with Sebastian then, but Kurt had resisted and they both agreed they'd become stronger for it.

Living together had been tough, especially since Sebastian had a lot more money available than Kurt. They'd managed to find a balance though and looking back Kurt feels proud of the work they'd put in to make it work. Three years (and counting) together and these days Kurt is willing to proclaim that Sebastian is as much of a perfect boyfriend as it's possible to be.

Yes, New York is still loud and filthy and big, but it's also full of light and laughter and love. Kurt's learned to find his way around both city and school, and he's on track for graduation with excellent prospects. Life is good.

Of course, that kind of means he's overdue for a cold shower and unfortunately it comes as cold and icy as is possible.

“Blaine. I guess I should have known you'd turn up.”

Like a bad penny, Kurt thinks. His ex-boyfriend just smiles wider at the words, clearly not picking up on the undertones.

“Yes! I'll always come back to you, Kurt. We're meant to be – you're my soulmate.”

Kurt shudders. All these years, and he still haven't gotten over his negative reaction to those words.

“Yeah, I'm pretty sure you and I have different interpretations of what those things mean. Personally I can't see how someone who walked out of my life without a word years ago could be considered my 'soulmate', but that's me.”

“That's not fair! I never wanted to leave you, but my parents made me.”

Blaine does this thing with his face that resembles what Kurt remembers of Blaine's “I've apologized, sort of, and you should forgive me now” expression and Kurt thinks that if Blaine could see himself he'd never ever do it again. It's not pretty. It kind of looks like he's about to shit his pants, frankly.

“Right. Your parents. And why, exactly, were they so determined to get you out of Lima without saying goodbye?”

Blaine flinches, and Kurt can see the realization hit him. Strange. It's as if he never even thought about the possibility that Kurt would know about the lies Blaine had told. Emotions run across Blaine's eyes and face, one after the other, and Kurt just waits without even trying to figure out what's going through his ex's mind. He's beyond caring.

“Kurt, I... I, I have a confession to make. When I got home that last night, my parents, they were waiting up for me. They made assumptions, and I, I let them.”

Blaine's face twists, and a couple of tears start falling. Kurt would be touched, really he would, except he happens to know that Blaine can cry on command.

“I know I shouldn't have, I know it was wrong, I was just so afraid! I thought they'd throw me out, and so I kept quiet and did what they wanted. I'm so sorry I did that to you.

“I love you, Kurt!”

The thing is, he can remember when those words from Blaine's lips would make him melt. That's no longer true. Now he listens to them like he would a performance, and he finds them lacking. He should have gone for soft instead of intense, a hint of tears maybe, not volume and anger.

This isn't school though, even though it very much is a performance, nor is it worth critiquing. It's not worth anything, really. Kurt sighs a little, just wanting all of it to be over and Blaine to be gone.

“Here's the thing. I understand, I guess. In your shoes I would have been worried to tell my dad the truth too. I think just about every teenager out there would be at least a little afraid to tell their parents they got drunk and stupid.

“But I also think that just about every teenager out there knows that there's some kind of middle-ground between 'I got drunk and tried to rape my boyfriend' and 'my boyfriend drugged me and tried to rape me'. Except apparently you didn't. You just went with what would get you of the hook the fastest and easiest.”

“Hey! That's not fair!”

“Oh, it isn't? You doing what you did is okay, but me calling it what it was is unfair? Now, why am I not the least bit surprised that that's how you feel?

“You know, at first I didn't understand how you could do it. How you could say you loved me and then not just leave me, but let your parents believe that I would do something like that to you. Well, that you could let anyone think I'd do that to anyone.

“But as I said, I understand why you did it.”

A triumphant look flash up in Blaine's eyes. Oh, he's doing a pretty good job at hiding it – much better than he would have been able to as a teenager – but Kurt knows him, and he's looking for it.

“You threw me under the bus because you knew it'd be an easy out. You could have told your parents something else, anything else, but you chose the worst possible lie – one you had to have known would get me in trouble. You did it because it was easy, and it would get you of the hook – maybe even get you some sympathy instead of the punishment you deserved – and you did it because that was all you cared about. You.

“I always knew you were a bit self-involved, but I told myself it was just part of you being a performer. A healthy ego's pretty much a must, and I used to think that was it. Except it turned out you were so focused on you, and your needs and wants, that nothing else mattered. Certainly not me.

“It took me a while to accept, but I know now that regardless of what you said you didn't love me. Not really. You might have thought you did, but Blaine? Love means that the other person's just as important to you as you yourself are. And I never was that to you.”

He ignores Blaine's protests and just continues, projecting his voice to be heard over the barely restrained excuses and lies.

“The truth is that your lack of empathy and care for other people borders on Narcissistic Personality Disorder, and quite frankly I am better off for not having you remain in my life. Just don't expect me to thank you for it though.

“No one else will either. Do you realize how many people you worried with your little disappearing act? There was quite a few at Dalton who were convinced that your parents had shipped you off to conversion camp. They were counting down until your 18th birthday and from what I heard there was even the beginning of a fund to pay your way at Dalton if you escaped and were disowned.”

There's a triumphant gleam in Blaine's eyes. Clearly he's pleased about his friends being so worried about him and so ready to help him out. Kurt just wants to stomp that light out. Violently.

“Then when you didn't resurface after your birthday a few started worrying that your parents had you in a mental hospital, and there was talk of trying to stage some kind of rescue. That only lasted so long, of course.

“You see, somehow it's hard to convince anyone that their friend is practically jailed and in need of a rescue when they're seen out and about clubbing in L.A.. After all, these days everyone carries a phone, so the idea that you were unable to contact someone – anyone – and ask for help went up in flames pretty quick after that.”

Thad had been so angry that he'd made sure every single Dalton student that had ever know Blaine found out, and even the boy's most die-hard supporters had given up then and there.

They'd all understood not wanting to getting into a conflict with your family, especially when said family usually paid for college and any possible trust funds tended to be under the family's control for a while longer. What they hadn't understood was Blaine's total lack of communication. Email telling them that Blaine was okay but under orders not to contact anyone from Ohio would have gone a long way to ease worries, and was, they felt, the very least he owed them.

“Funny thing about you showing up here now? I can't help but remember that you turned 21 a couple of weeks ago. You didn't happen to get access to a trust fund then did you? Not that I actually care, but there are some old bets to settle.”

There wasn't, not really, but enough Warbler had warned Kurt about this very scenario with an added “I bet he shows up afterwards, thinking you'll take him back” for it to not quite be a lie.

Blaine splutters before launching into a long row of “explanations”, one more shitty than the other. It's obvious that he didn't expect Kurt to be angry with him, but instead to be welcomed with open arms. It's even sounding as if Blaine expected Kurt to take him back and just let him slide back into his life as if nothing had happened. Kurt isn't quite sure if Blaine intended for him to move in with Kurt and start a new life in New York, or if the idea was for Kurt to give up everything and follow Blaine back to L.A., but both options are equally ridiculous.

“Stop. Just, stop. I told you, I don't care. If you want to get in touch with any of your old friends from Dalton and McKinley and explain all of it to them, do so. But you don't need to explain anything to me. I don't want to hear it. Your window for explaining yourself to me closed years ago. It closed after you let your parents walk into a police station ready to have me charged with rape.

“Nothing you can say will ever make that okay. Nothing you say can make me forgive you.”

Kurt stops himself and takes a deep breath. There's so much he could say, so many accusations that could be made, so much hatred to be poured out.

Blaine's actions had gotten Kurt into trouble, and could have landed him in jails. They'd been what had stopped Burt Hummel from running from reelection after being asked – while nothing had come from the Andersons' accusations there had still been enough people who had known about it for it to leak and ruin a political career. After all, who cared if it was true when it made for a good weapon? And “local congressman buries son's rape charge” made for a great weapon.

Kurt had been willing to risk it, but his dad hadn't wanted to. Had it leaked the only way to prove Kurt's innocence would have been to make the video of Blaine trying to assault Kurt public. No good parent does that to their kid had been Burt's position, and Kurt had been grateful.

That didn't mean he wasn't aware of exactly how much that had cost not just his dad but the whole state. The man who'd replaced his dad had been the kind of bigot that wasn't good for anyone, not even his followers.

Kurt still blames Blaine for that, and even if he'd been insane enough to consider forgiving everything else he's never forgiving that. The chance of making Blaine understand any of that is minuscule though. The chance of him caring is even less.

There is, simply put, no point in spending even another second on trying to get through to him.

“You're not welcome here. Please leave. Goodbye Blaine.”

Once the door is closed and locked behind Blaine Kurt finally relaxes. He's closing the door on Blaine in more than one way, finally able to truly do that – because regardless of what he's hoped he's always known that one day his former boyfriend would pop up again.

“If he comes back you're filing for a restraining order.”

“He won't come back, Sebastian.”

“You don't know that. He did today, didn't he?”

It's obvious that Sebastian is coming from a place of care and worry, and Kurt feels himself soften. Blaine hasn't just been the monster under Kurt's bed during all of these years.

“Yes, he did, and no, I guess I can't really know. But honey, I really don't think he will. Blaine was reminded today that actions have consequences, and he found out I have the means to ensure said consequences. Coming after me and trying to change my mind is more work than he's ever shown himself willing to put in.

“After all, he's not the kind to stick around when the spit hits the fan.”

Luckily Sebastian is.

~ The end ~

[babytsum]

wanna be - m. atsumu

friends to lovers atsumu fluff because i said so.

warnings: none, just unedited so might be a lil sloppy lol, mention of konoha x reader (they go on like one date)

word count: 3.5k

wanna be by the internet (2018)

he remembers you from onigiri miya.

your baggy jeans, loose t shirt, eyebags. he remembers it all down to the way you stuffed your face with onigiris to the neon lights the shined outside. you were pretty, but he was indifferent. after all, he was miya atsumu, a player both on and off the court.

to you, he was miya atsumu, osamu's brother. and miya osamu was simply a friend who owned a restaurant and understood the crushing pressure of being a student with a part time job that struggled to pay rent. besides, one day you'd pay him back because you were one smart cookie, though he didn't know in what way. however, he did notice how atsumu made an effort to avoid eye contact while you introduced yourself. he didn't miss the color that made its way to his cheeks when you held your hand out for him to shake.

and he sees you again waiting outside his team's gym after practice.

that day, your hair was tied back. you wore a long coat that went down to your calves and loose black clothing under it. did you always wear loose clothes? you smiled and waved in his direction and his heart skipped a beat. he waved back excitedly until he turned around and saw hinata jumping up and down at the sight of your happy self. turns out, you were karasuno's manager in high school. atsumu, usually confident and cheerful, now sunk into his sweater while his teammate introduced you to the rest of the group.

"i know atsumu. i met him at onigiri miya a few weeks ago."

he nodded as you spoke. he barely knew you, but your presence had a significant effect on him, one that was beyond what he can describe.

so maybe he goes over to his brother's restaurant more, once or twice a week.

"so, how do you know hinata?" stupid question. hinata literally told everyone like a week ago.

"i went to karasuno and became the team manager for their volleyball team," you answered anyways, how sweet of you, "i actually got to see you and osamu play at nationals. that's where i first met him."

all of the sudden, atsumu wishes that he paid more attention to the pretty managers of the opposing teams. although, he does thank whatever higher power is out there that he got to meet you at some point and curses osamu for not telling him about you at all.

"i didn't know you knew (y/n) in high school."

"what do you mean?"

"i just didn't know that she was a team manager and all that, you know? i feel kind of bad for not knowing she existed."

"oh she definitely existed. who do you think i made extra bento boxes for when we went to tokyo?"

"those weren't mine?"

hinata invites you to watch him practice and he doesn't know if its a curse or a blessing.

on the one hand, you can see all of his talented sets and gameplay. on the other, he usually reached peak idiot during practices, at least that's what sakusa would tell him.

that's not going to stop you from sitting down and letting out a cheer for hinata's, and even bokuto's, spikes. you knew that shoyo and kotaro loved the support they got. it gave them motivation, made them perform better. of course, the team wouldn't mind that.

atsumu just wishes he got a few cheers or smiles from you.

the next time you see him, he's sucking face with some hot model with a drink in hand at a party that shoyo brought you to. you weren't surprised. you were close enough to osamu to hear him rant about his brothers antics, so you brush it off like usual when seeing two people getting a little busy. after all, you were here to take a break from studying

by the middle of the party, you're tipsy and cheering on bokuto who was shaking ass to hot girl summer. hinata is passed out on the couch in a fetal position while kageyama sits down and stuffs his face with rice. osamu joins him and witnesses the mess that is you and bokuto. atsumu looks disheveled and everyone already knows why, all of you just hope that the room he went to earlier was not the master bedroom.

"tsumuuuuu," you slurred as you spoke, a happy smile plastered on your face, "you're a manwhoreeeeee."

"what?"

"i'm joking, but also not," you kissed the tip of his nose, "you're a very nice boy."

he didn't know whether to be offended or flustered, especially with the combination of your little antics and the alcohol in his system, which only resulted in a strong of incoherent words that entertained osamu.

"man, i really wish you met her in high school. she was way worse." kageyama added, memories of you blatantly flirting with your close friends for fun.

"she really was. i believe the first thing she ever said to suna was 'holy fuck, how do you look so fucking hot while shoving those jelly sticks in your mouth?'" osamu laughed, the image of his teammate's red face playing in his mind, "the (y/n) you know is more tame, a stressed college student with a low alcohol tolerance."

you gave bokuto's ass another smack as you giggled at the way his ass jiggled. having athletic friends is fun, especially when the stress from your graduate studies needs to be relieved and their pro player money literally prevents you from paying for your own food. you were lucky.

the day after, you drive to the gym you knew they would be practicing at. of course, sakusa had the common sense to not drink the night before practice. his other three teammates did not.

atsumu is the first one to spot you, a big bag in hand, your hair tied back, another pair of loose jeans and a plain t shirt. it's more different from the flattering plants and small top you wore last night, but he wonders how you can look like this after a night of drunken fun. it was almost like you were glowing.

hinata greeted you first, taking your bag and thanking you for the food.

"are your heads okay?"

"i think i died last night."

"you die every time there's alcohol at a party, shoyo."

"hey!"

sakusa snickered while the rest tried their best to hide their laughs. you weren't wrong, though. shoyo does end up passing out on someone's couch after some energetic dancing.

"what about you, tsumu?"

"i don't remember anything that happened except for bo's ass."

"not even the hot blonde girl?"

"the what?" again, everyone failed to contain their laughs.

"you manwhore!" you chuckled, handing him his bento box.

"you should have seen how red he got when you kissed his nose!" bokuto chimed in.

"i did that?" your smile faded, "sorry, if i made you uncomfortable, tsumu."

"it's okay, i don't remember it." he lied.

the memory replayed in his mind again and a foreign feeling came over him. it was warm.

the next time he sees you, you're at osamu's house to taste test his new food. it's osamu's classic duo, his dear brother that loves to freeload off of him and his stressed grad student friend who also likes free food.

when atsumu walks in, you motion for him to sit next to you while stuffing your face. you're wearing baggy clothes again and he's pretty sure that you slept with your makeup still on from the night before.

"osamu, if you keep cooking like this, i think i might marry you."

"gross."

"what's gross about marrying the hotter twin?" you turned to atsumu, a smirk on your face.

"we look exactly alike."

"yeah, but he cooks."

atsumu couldn't argue with that. you were funny. you were always funny and warm even when talking down to him like this. and it made his heart beat faster, his face a little redder, his smile a little brighter.

fuck.

"i can cook."

"yeah, a pack of cup noodles." osamu responded while you chuckled in agreement.

"they're some fire ass cup noodles."

"yeah okay, playboy."

"playboy?"

"do you prefer manwhore?"

"no."

you throw your head back, laughing again at atsumu's expression. for someone who fucks around, he was easy to fluster. and you enjoyed it every time. the way he would look down in an attempt to hide his crimson cheeks, the slight smile that would rest in his face. he was pretty.

it all confirmed osamu's suspicions.

"you guys want to make every sunday a taste test day?"

"yes!" you responded excitedly. more free food? you're there.

"sure."

after osamu packed up some food for the two of you, both of you walked out. the early afternoon sun was scorching and your baggy jeans and oversized hoodie were not helping.

"you wanna get some coffee? i'll pay."

"what are you doing? trying to woo me or something, manwhore?"

"you look like shit and i think it's because you're tired."

"fair. but you have to drive me home first. i need to change and i do not want to walk to the bus stop."

"you didn't drive here?"

"i wanted to take a nap on public transport, sue me."

after a ten minute drive filled with food critiques, you finally made it to your house, quickly changing into some shorts and a t shirt that was actually your size. your raccoon eyes were fixed and you were back in atsumu's car in no time.

"i had no idea you existed up until a few weeks ago."

"nice way to start a conversation, tsumu."

"sorry-"

"you know, when i was karasuno's manager, i thought you were terrifying."

"how?"

"it was after one of your serves, you had this scary look on your face, but i forgot what you were looking at. you scored an ace, though."

"the fangirls."

"huh?"

"it was those squealin pigs that almost messed it up. i remember."

"you call your fangirls pigs?" you scoffed, "you're a whole manwhore." "yeah whatever, (y/n)."

you both went on to reminisce about high school memories, him mostly talking volleyball while you talked about shoyo and tobio being absolute dumbasses. he was interesting, really. his voice was smooth and his tone was always lively, always showing some emotion.

the cafe was mostly empty, a few people scattered around. the bitter taste of coffee met your lips as you hummed with delight.

"what are you looking at?"

"how are you drinking that shit? didn't you order extra espresso shots?"

"yeah, and? i see a ridiculous amount of condensed milk in yours, but i'm not saying anything."

"whatever." he chuckled.

everything was natural, both easing into friendly teasing comfortably. there was always some sort of glint in his eyes, a sly smile whenever he wasn't talking, reddened cheeks whenever you caught him staring.

being friends with miya atsumu was easy.

every sunday was easy. talking to him was easy. thinking about him was easy. a little too easy. and summer becomes fall. and fall becomes winter. and every sunday, there's a new source of energy you find despite your sleep deprived state.

"bo's sending me on a blind date." you tell the twins excitedly.

it's been awhile since you've gone on a proper date. you really haven't had the time for anything except for fooling around at a party once in a while. even if it went nowhere, at least you had something to distract you from the blonde manwhore who's constantly on your mind.

"oh, really?" osamu grinned, "i would have gone a date with you."

"liar. we both remember what happened while you were in school."

"yuck."

atsumu looked between the two of you, the gears turning in his head until it finally clicked.

"you guys went on a date?"

"sadly, yes," you chuckled, "we became closer friends, but that was not the move."

"agreed."

atsumu had already accepted that he had feelings for you. which he suppressed out of embarrassment. he had already accepted that you would have rejected him anyways. you called him a manwhore after all.

"when is it?" he finally asked, jaw clenching. his harsh tone wasn't intentional, but it was there nonetheless.

"next saturday. i'll tell you two about it when we taste test, again."

"you wanna get some milk tea after?"

"no. i have to buy a dress."

"oh."

atsumu watched you walk out the door, a cheerful smile on your face. he felt sick.

and when next sunday comes, you're an hour late.

you looked like you were up all night studying for exams. he recognizes the smudged mascara, the eyebags, the messy hair. except instead of your usual baggy clothes, it's a dress that loosely hugs your figure. he doesn't miss the way your nipples peaked through or the marks on your neck. nasty.

"samu, i'm gonna need more food than usual."

"you got it boss."

the sounds of the kitchen fill the room as you lay your head down. you turn to atsumu, eyes droopy and exhausted.

"you look like you had fun. who did bo hook you up with?"

"his name's konoha. he played for fukurodani back in high school. bo's such a sneaky lil shit."

"how?"

"i may have had a small crush on him in high school when i saw him at a training camp. i told bo and he probably remembered it and thought it was funny."

"nice," he replied, running his fingers through your hair, "are you guys going on another date?"

you closed your eyes, relishing in the feeling of his touch, "i don't think so. it was fun, but i don't think i like him that much anymore."

"ah."

he internally celebrated while osamu rolled his eyes.

and winter turns to spring in atsumu's apartment.

soft white walls, light brown cabinets, a fridge filled with his brother's food. a few photo frames hung around, the most notable once being a photo of osamu stuffing his face when they were kids. the best part was that osamu hated that photo, yet it was also the centerpiece of his table.

you set down the vase of flowers that you were asked to bring. something about making the party feel more "springy" or whatever atsumu said. you were expecting a nice apartment, atsumu was a pro volleyball player of course. but you weren't expecting it to be this nice.

it almost makes you sad. the fact you were constantly exhausted, studying, and stressed while atsumu was the same age having fun and being a playboy. god, this kind of sucks. why the hell was this man friends with you anyways?

"your dress looks so cute!" always count on shoyo to immediately make you feel better.

"you look good even in your big jeans, but you look even cooler?" bo added on, making your cheeks heat up.

while you and sakusa exchanged a small wave, atsumu came out of his room. an unbuttoned short sleeve, white shirt underneath, jeans. wow. god. fuck. and seeing you in the pink dress that flowed around your body, the sleeves being a little puffed, the same train of thoughts ran through his head.

"you needed help setting up?"

"uhm, yeah. can you guys get the plates out and shit?"

"you want us to shit on the plates?"

"shoyo-" you cackled at the confused tangerine headed boy.

it's a good thing you figured it all out before the guests arrived.

seeing kuroo and kenma after so long was refreshing. and the fact akaashi also had a caffeine addiction was comforting. and yachi? she was so grown now. your conversation with the two was interrupted by a tap on your shoulder.

"hey, stranger."

"konoha?"

you gave him a short hug. both of you caught up on the last few months, the situation being less awkward than you expected. it's not like he was trying to get in your pants again, what was the harm in talking? there's nothing wrong with two tired college students having a conversation, right?

suna's voice became distant to atsumu as he observed the blonde across the room. should he go there and save you? his question was quickly answered when you greeted the man with a hug.

"dude? can you hear me?" suna waved his hand in front of his face.

"don't mind he's just being a simp." osamu responded, a smirk on his face.

"am not!"

"for who?"

"(y/n) (y/l/n)."

"that cute manager from karasuno?"

"yep."

"you go, dude!" suna patted him on the back.

"i don't like her like that, we're just friends."

"why is your face red?"

"it's not red!"

"ooo! is atsumu afraid of (y/n)'s cooties?"

"suna, we're twenty three."

"and you act like you're sixteen with this lil crush, atsumu."

atsumu sighed in response. it was too late. you were going to go home with konoha, or maybe you two would go to his many spare rooms. and you would go on another date. fall in love with him. marry him. have his kids.

"she calls me a manwhore a lot."

"she's not wrong."

"aren't you two supposed to be supportive?"

"no." they both said in unison.

"look just offer to give her a house tour or something," suna advised nonchalantly, "works every time."

"good idea."

feeling a presence behind you, you turned around only to be met with a scary looking blonde towering over you. konoha kissed your cheek and bid you a farewell once he realized another figure grabbing your attention.

"house tour?"

"thought you'd never ask, manwhore."

after a tour of a guest room, a bathroom, and a washing machine, the two of you finally made it to his master bedroom. of course, the pillows on his bed were thrown around and there were a few shirts thrown on the floor.

"i may have forgotten to, uh, put those away."

"how are you gonna give me a house tour and forget to clean your house."

"i remembered to fold my blanket!"

"you don't fold your blanket when you wake up? do you even make your bed in the morning?"

"shut up."

you chuckled as he looked away, a poor attempt to hide his face. judging by the mess of clothing, the setter probably had no idea what to wear for his party. the one that was being hosted by him, in his own apartment, right now.

"i see you had a little fashion show this morning."

"i didn't know what to wear!"

"you're the host!"

"what if i looked bad?"

"who cares?"

he looked at you, a confused expression on his face. his eyebrows were furrowed, mouth slightly parted open. your eyes landed on his lips before you immediately turned away. you couldn't get distracted, but he looked so pretty. instead, you sat down on the bed, finding a pillow to rest your head against.

"if it makes you feel better, you look really nice today, tsumu."

"i did it! you finally didn't call me a manwhore!"

"you're still a manwhore."

he pouted while you threw your head back in laughter once again. atsumu took this as an opportunity to sit next to you on his bed, readjusting your head onto his lap. you looked up at his face, eyes boring deep into yours.

"what are you thinking about?"

"you."

"do i have something on my face?"

"no."

his fingers made its way onto your scalp, slowly massaging your head. a moan left your lips at the satisfying feeling. the past few weeks have only stressed you out, but atsumu's presence cushioned you when necessary.

"how's konoha?"

"he's okay, i'd honestly become friends with him if he wanted to."

"didn't he give you a kiss?"

"it was just a cheek kiss."

"you wouldn't mind if i gave you one, right?"

"who cares? i think everyone should give their homies a kiss."

and with that, his lips met yours. his were soft and warm, and though you were caught by surprised, you kissed back. you two melded together until you sat back up.

"i meant a cheek kiss, but whatever."

"you kissed back!"

"no, i didn't."

"did to."

"i don't want your cooties."

"are you five?"

you rolled your eyes, laying back down on the bed. he ended up giving you a kiss on the cheek, then slowly traveled to your ear, then your neck, then dangerously close to your chest. he laid down next to you, arms around your waist, head resting on the crook of your neck. you acted as if you were indifferent, but of course your cheeks still heated up and your heart was beating faster than usual.

"do you wanna be my girl?"

"no."

"rude."

he chuckled into your neck while you grinned, turning your head to look at the pretty setter. it only resulted in more kisses on your face which you happily received.

"is osamu still single?"

"don't even joke about that."

[sugar-petals]

Caro, im here for some enlightenment if you're feeling like it.

I have always loved the entertainment industry and fandom. However, for the past couple of years I've had trouble listening to any sort of music, or consuming any form of entertainment and art. I feel on alert everytime, scanning every content to make sure it stands by my values, to the point where i just can't enjoy.

I feel very aware that entertainers and artists are capitalizing on other people's time and attention. They seem to be on a constant mission to be validated by a ginormous amount of people. Is OK to, as a fan, entertain that need? Does that help the bigger picture?

Aren't some artists seeking so far out their social zone to be recognized, to "share their story" to a fault?

It's the age old idea(l) of the ever tortured suffering artist, but what good does it do to bathe in ancient putrid waters?

bit of a hyperbole, but asking the questions that are in everyone’s heads. i’d say it’s okay to support that need. it’s their job and decision, they ask us for feedback, and some legendary stuff can come to be because of that synergy. it’s not a bad thing to scrutinize content, many do, it’s a sound and needed social mechanism. but as you say, if it detracts from the excitement and original incentive altogether, it’s time to move to another niche or chapter (easier said than done if not often counterproductive to advise this). 

although — almost everything is fandom nowadays. going without it if you’re still wanting to participate, i think there’s unfinished business then, even if you’ve grown guarded because of a particular event perhaps. it’s only a matter of where you feel the best and navigate with ease without getting caught up in the downsides 24/7. the question is finding your comfort zone fandom then while at the same time finding it insightful and expanding your horizon.

the way of going about it is usually to return to where you started. if you go back to what first thrilled you, you’ll be feeling yourself in no time. also know that art plays with values and emotions rather than always 100% endorsing its portrayal. the grain of truth is there, but not gigantic. it’s acting and exploring, yes, for being validated and paid. if that transaction is aware and hurts nobody, it’s alright. idols are less tortured in the way you think and more tortured by other factors. the destruction is caused more by the outside than the inside, even if many idols internalize it. not saying there aren’t a couple who really want to fill a void. then again, that’s their way and they want to be seen and heard rather than us playing savior.

that artists want to go global is only fair and almost normal, with the scope of SNS and expanding possible audiences anyway. story is story, it just depends on how well someone connects with it. sometimes, you just like it because the beat is nice. if you feel alert with groups that have more serious topics, usually it’s the crack-heavy concepts that suit you better and lighten things up. when shinee hits the fantastic, fantastic, elastic you’ll go like oh yeah, finally someone understands me and stan for the shits and giggles and how iconic the memes are. literally just because. you have a good time for its own sake and the paranoia dispells. 

everyone has their right way of feeling entertained by a cause, artist, idea and so on, humans naturally gravitate to mimicry and music to socialize and reflect their existence if you go down to the root (research game theory, prehistoric tribal culture, and classical greek commentary about theatre), it only depends on the wave length and radio frequency you tune to best if you will. the entertainment industry is too gigantic not to feature something you really vibe with if you still want to dive in. there are performers you’ve scrutinized knowing they’re in it for a motivation that resembles yours. hell, maybe you just need to find a fandom and artist that values social critique of entertainment in the adequate measure. 

[hamliet]

Reflections of Su XiYan in Scum Villain’s Female Characters

I did not realize it was MXTX ladies week until yesterday. :( So I want to do a post/meta on the amazing women in each novel (not without critique), so let’s start with MXTX’s first one!

Scum Villain’s Self-Saving System, which while it may have more obvious narrative flaws than TGCF or MDZS (it sets up some plot points it kinda drops later, whereas TGCF and MDZS pretty much maximize every single aspect of potential), I actually think is just as rich, clever, and coherent thematically as MXTX’s latter two novels.

The plot points that are dropped, though, are actually almost entirely related to the set up the female characters as deconstructing the idea that they were just things for Original!Luo BingHe to collect. While it does do this to an extent with Su XiYan, Ning YingYing, and Sha HuaLing, it kinda… dropped the arcs halfway through for Ning YingYing and Sha HuaLing, and sets up but never really begins Liu MingYan’s and Qin WanYue’s. 

Su XiYan’s arc, though, despite it taking place in the past and being told to us, is entirely about refuting the role the men in her life ascribe to her... and all of the other female characters--all members of Original!Luo BingHe’s harem--represent a part of her. You could get, like, really Oedipal if you wanted to, but I’d rather not beyond simply saying it’s a pattern in stories that is definitely present here. Aspects of her story and character are reflected in each of the women who are love interests in Proud Immortal Demon Way. 

Our first refutation of how men treat and categorize Su XiYan is through her foiling with Ning YingYing. 

Shen Yuan notes that Shen Jiu sexually harassed Ning YingYing:

the original Shen Qingqiu had designs on Ning Yingying... [he] had dirty thoughts towards his lively and well-behaved disciples. Several times he tried to lay hands on them and almost succeeded at that.

Which is what the Old Palace Master did to Su XiYan:

He turned to focus his stare on Luo Binghe’s quietly sleeping face... nThe Old Palace Master gazed at him for a long while then sighed: “When you close your eyes, you resemble her the most. And also when you’re being cold.”

His eyes traveled over Luo Binghe’s face greedily. If he still had hands, he would have reached out to fondle as well.

However, the Old Palace Master never got anywhere with Su XiYan, because she fell in love with someone else and thereby refutes the idea that she’s his tool. In the original, Ning YingYing is rescued by Luo BingHe in the original. In the novel, Ning YingYing’s arc is about her discovering self-sufficiency. She doesn’t need rescuing from Luo BingHe; she can rescue herself, as is shown when she leads Ming Fan and the other disciples into a fight to protect Shen QingQiu’s honor after his arrest. When someone slaps her, she slaps back, twice--but Shen QingQiu gives her the energy. I would have liked (and think her arc was heading towards) her to grow to be competent on her own as well. 

Next, Sha HuaLing.  

Sha HuaLing represents TianLang-Jun’s assumptions about Su XiYan: that she was a deceptive seductress who would betray him for her own desires. However, in reality, like Sha HuaLing does in Proud Immortal Demon Way, Su XiYan betrays her race (for her, humanity, for Sha HuaLing, demons) for love. 

Sha Hualing was a pure-blooded demon, cruel and ruthless, cunning and artful, but fell irrevocably for Luo Binghe. After getting together with Luo Binghe, don’t even speak about killing for him; she even dared to do an outrageous thing like betraying the demons for him. 

Su XiYan, however, was never given the chance to fight back. In the actual novel, Sha HuaLing does much the same (betrays the demons), but Luo BingHe does not love her and she knows it. I think this is a good ending place for Sha HuaLing, assigned to fight against her father in the final battle (which she does), but we’re told rather than shown her development and we’re not told what led to this decision, which is a shame. 

Sha HuaLing is perhaps most directly foiled both in Proud Immortal Demon Way and in SVSSS by Qin WanYue. 

Qin WanYue, much like Su XiYan, is considered the perfect disciple of the Huan Hua Palace. Regarding Su XiYan, it’s noted: 

“That woman had shocking talent, was intelligent and sensitive when making decisions, and she had the aura of a tyrant. The Old Palace Master loved and cared for this private disciple. He thought of her as a pearl that should be protected in his hands and trained her to be the next Palace Master of Huan Hua Palace. No matter where he went, he would bring Su Xiyan along with him. The importance that he placed in her was abnormal.”

Qin WanYue’s symbol is a pearl that lights the way.

Luo Binghe picked up Qin Wanyue’s Night Pearl that had fallen to the ground and raised it high, as though it were a beacon. It awakened those who had frozen in place.

Not to mention in the original novel Qin WanYue loses a child in a miscarriage caused by someone else (Sha HuaLing) much like Su XiYan almost lost Luo BingHe when pregnant with him. Qin WanYue clings to Luo BingHe after the loss of her sister as something who might be able to offer her happiness. She’s not much different than Luo BingHe growing up parents and clinging to ShiZun: she who lost her sister and then clings to the person who saved her. But in her case, Luo BingHe does not return her affection, and I really had hoped/ expected her arc to end with her finding her own path.

Qin WanYue is also tasked with an action beneath her (much like Sha HuaLing): taking care of the Little Palace Mistress, the Old Palace Master’s literal daughter and hence another foil to Su XiYan. Her defining trait is her pettiness and cruelty, the latter of which Su XiYan is also said to have been capable of, as she began spending time with TianLang-Jun in an attempt to bring him down.

However, the mistress isn’t really set up with the potential for an arc like Qin WanYue is. 

From time to time [Qin WanYue] would cast a teary glance at Luo Binghe, as if expecting something...

[Sha HuaLing:] “how many times have you failed to seduce the lord yet still refuse to leave? If you don’t leave that’s fine, but you’re incapable of looking after even a single person. Her cultivation isn’t even as high as yours. You’re her senior martial sister. You didn’t stop her early and didn’t stop her late. All you did was to let her make this unreasonable scene in front of the lord. Who are you putting on this pitiful and wronged appearance for?”

Qin WanYue isn’t weak at all, but she puts on a weak act for Luo BingHe, hoping to attract a rescuer like she needed back then. I initially expected her arc to end with her accepting her strength and moving on form Luo BingHe (and from the little palace mistress). I still think it should have. 

And then we have Qiu HaiTang, whom I don’t think is set up as much for development as the others despite having more backstory on her. 

Still, Qiu HaiTang she was a woman mistreated and shamed by what had happened with her fiance Shen Jiu--just like Su XiYan was shamed for what happened with TianLang-Jun. 

“That’s right, if she hadn’t been so ill-fated as to fall for Tianlang-Jun’s wiles, she would have had such a bright and promising future and be a person of great renown today.”

“I don’t care what fantastic rewards are promised to me━having an affair with a demon and getting knocked up with a monster child is just plain disgusting. This kind of merit, I wouldn’t accept even if it was served to me on a silver platter.”

“Su Xiyan was probably too ashamed to remain, and thus ran away from the sect master.”

The thing is, all these roles--perfect disciple with great potential, brave enough to betray everything for love, endearing and caring, mistreated--none of these really capture the complexity and beauty of who Su XiYan really was... which is represented in Liu MingYan, the noted female counterpart to Luo BingHe, the main female lead. Liu MingYan conceals her face, which is too beautiful to be seen. 

Liu MingYan, like Si XiYan, remains mysterious; Shen QingQiu never sees her face uncovered, and the audience never really gets a clue as to what is going on in her head besides the mention that she cares deeply for her brother. Again, this is something I think could have and should have been developed more; she has the set-up for an arc with her conflict with Sha HuaLing being dazzled by her beauty and with her loyalty to her sect and brother, but it doesn’t go anywhere. She said to be “the number one female lead!” after all, and I think it’s entirely possible for her to maintain her aura of mystery and still... have an arc. Su XiYan did, after all, and she was dead before the novel began.

In the end, no one really can define whom Su XiYan was exactly, because she’s dead. What ultimately mattered, what defined Su XiYan’s legacy, was her final choice to save her son (and yes, it’s fair to critique that it’s again about a man, but it’s her choice). That’s why the story, in its penultimate chapter, has Shen QingQiu telling Luo BingHe: 

“Su Xiyan risked her life to give birth to you... 

“If I were in her shoes, I would not hesitate to drink [the poison for a fetus] regardless of how lethal it is. Then, after escaping from the water prison, I would absorb it all into my own body. Regardless of how agonizing and horrifying the process is, regardless of the price to be paid, regardless of whether it would be a painful death, I would never let this child suffer any harm.

“This is how I see it. You can take it as just an interpretation because there is no one who can tell you what Su Xiyan was thinking before she breathed her last. But if she really saw you as a disgrace, she didn’t need to do anything more. She could have just lowered you into the Luo River, on the coldest days of the year, in a harsh and frozen landscape━how could you possibly survive?... she also need not use the last of her strength and energy to put you in a wooden basin and push you away to safety…… You don’t even need to wait for someone to save you at all since you would have already become a wandering soul who met his freezing end in Luo River.

He’s healed, and he no longer needs to try to recreate his mother figure in over a thousand beautiful women like he did in the past. He can heal. 

Imo, it would have been even more powerful if the women then stepped out of these roles more completely, and became their own people. But I really do like all four of the main women I discussed here, and someday I’ll write more for them. 

[alittlecatastrophe]

On the one hand, criticism doesn’t change anything; while on the other, you are not just writing for a check. There is some kind of belief that there will be some kind of effect. What is the effect that you are going for?

I write criticism because I feel that if I am being made crazy by the distorted nature of the publishing industry, then other people are as well. I really believe that many people like serious books and serious engagement with books. There are not a ton of opportunities for them to feel part of a conversation. The fact that you basically have no power as a critic should be liberating—it should make people take more risks, do more experimental things, and be harsher if the book merits harshness. But they don’t, and it’s weird. Because if you do it in a fair, sane way there is no professional consequence, except that some people aren’t going to like you. If you’re nice to everyone in a fake way, lots of people aren’t going to like you either. So you might as well be honest.

Why does it seem like critics are scared of writing negative reviews?

There’s this tendency to protect authors, and often it’s a treat-others-as-you’d-want-to-be-treated thing, because many critics have books themselves. Your book is your baby, you worked really hard on it, so you deserve not to have to feel bad about it in any way. I don’t take that view. A writer is asking people to spend several hours with their book, to take what they’re saying seriously. As a critic it’s your responsibility to do that, and to take the reader seriously as well.

Critics also sometimes get this conspiratorial tendency and write as if they’re the only people who can see the true essence of the book. If they can pull out the symbolism, the complex themes, find a connection to Jane Austen or a theorist, I think they feel empowered, intelligent, and in possession of a wide range of references. Even though none of that is actually there, and what you’re looking at is something someone got paid quite a lot of money to make in the hope that it would get turned into a TV show.

Often the book that might be negatively reviewed more or less expresses the correct political views, and the author seems to come from a good place, and critics might think the aesthetic choices that go into expressing those ideas don’t matter enough to justify criticism. But they do matter. And then there’s a certain point where you have to ask, did no one tell the writer this book was bad? Did really no one say anything? Which is also a question of how the sausage gets made. Because they probably did not. It would be sad to be a writer that nobody criticizes, because that means nobody is taking you seriously or engaging with your work, and to a certain extent you’re being used to make money.

Shouldn’t we cut writers some slack because it’s hard?

It depends on what kind of book it is. As a critic your responsibility is to assess what the author is intending to do, whether that’s a good aim, and then if they executed it well. There are two types of bad books. One, your aim is completely stupid and misguided, and you should not have written a book that attempted to do that. Two, and this is more common in my world, you had this nice aspiration that you did not remotely execute. Yes, writing is very hard, and no book really lives up to its aspirations, but once you’re an adult you can’t be writing bad books all over the place. People might read them! It’s not your right to be a writer. It’s not your right to be read. It’s not your right to be a public figure. A just society is one where everyone has a home, food, healthcare, an education, and vacation for four weeks a year. A just society does not mean everybody gets to be a celebrated writer if they want to be. If we consider literature important, we have to critique it rigorously.

If it is an economics question. What can a writer do to not fall prey to the insidious marketing machine? What can they do to contribute to a more critical literary culture?  

If I am going to send a message to my people [again, ironic tone] then I will say, “If you have even a halfway fair critique of something you are not going to get in trouble for it.” You are not going to scandalize an editor at the New York Times because you said a book that they thought was good was in fact bad. It is their job to be mature about this sort of thing, and if you approach it in a serious way it’s not going to affect you. They might not want to be friends with you, but they probably weren’t going to be friends with you anyway.

All this said, I do feel increasingly that the books being celebrated are more complicated than they used to be! And I feel like we’re on the verge of a good phase in criticism.

It feels like we have lost our sense of proportion. However, we don’t need to worry about everything, it is okay to let some things go. How do we regain a sense of proportion?

This is an internet inflected thing. I don’t know if it has always been this way. On the internet, everything is out of proportion. Things that are very important do not get a ton of play. Whereas things that are totally stupid become very significant. You end up trying to find deep meaning in stupid little things.

It might be best to remember that reading hard books is hard. I don’t think it’s supposed to be easy to read Dostoyevsky or Ulysses. You don’t just sit down and read those books and that’s that. The work you do to understand them generates the meaning. Once you have had that experience, the superficial experience that is produced by entertainment tugging at your heartstrings has much less of a wow factor.

How do you handle the tension between working toward a collective goal (whether that be political or just in the way we talk about books) vs the pitfalls of putting people under our own personal theories?

When I write I am constantly asking myself is this right? Is this right? Is this right? Am I just doing this because I have a bad feeling that I am trying to expel from my body? I always think of it as some kind of scrubbing. Get rid of the received wisdom, the cliches, and everything else you’ve read. What do you actually think? What is the book actually doing? The whole point of literature, man, is that we are all one people and we have a lot in common. We might have radically different views or perspectives but we are mostly the same. If you keep that in mind the other stuff falls into place.

I Feel That I Am Being Made Crazy By the Distortion; an interview with Lauren Oyler

[somethingusefulfromflorida]

TLDR: Republicans believe themselves to be infallible and cannot be convinced otherwise

Republicans think America is perfect and always has been, while simultaneously believing that America is DOOMED and ON THE EDGE OF COLLAPSE at all times and want to bring us back to the Before Times™ when men were men and women were household appliances and minorities were someone else’s problem.  If you bring up a genuine critique of American culture or history they throw a pissbaby shit fit and start spewing nationalist platitudes, “America: Like It or Leave It!”  All their complaints stem from their perceived self-importance being eroded; they don’t like to realize that other people with differing opinions exist and should have their voices heard.  If a “brown” or a “black” or a “red” or a “yellow” is allowed to speak, that just means there’s one less space for a “white.”  All their complaints come from a slippery slope argument that if we don’t model our society after their specific cherrypicked interpretation of The Bible then we will degenerate into amoral savagery.

They say being gay is an abomination and allowing it will damn our children to hell; what they really think is that it’s gross and they don’t want to see things they think are gross.  There’s literally no good argument against marriage equality besides “I don’t personally like it.”  America is not a theocracy, so the belief system of Christianity should not be construed as the law of the land.  This stems from their belief that the Bible is infallible, “because the Bible says so.”  They don’t know and don’t want to know about the history behind it, nor the very contentious political landscapes at the times the books were written, nor the personal biases of the very human authors.  If the Bible is a literal textbook, then why?  What makes it so special?  By whose authority were its contents collated and designated THE Good Book?  If the Bible is literal, why not the works of Homer, or the Epic of Gilgamesh?  Just because the Bible says the Bible is right doesn’t make it so.  For the record, I am a Christian, and I think the Bible is just an old book.  I’m a Christian in that I follow the teachings of Christ, which can be summed up as “DON’T BE AN ASSHOLE.”  I live by that, and All the ChrINOs (Christians in Name Only) need to learn it.  Jesus would be ashamed of what he saw today.

They say that abortion is baby murder, on par with ritual human sacrifice and Satan worship. They don’t understand biology, they have a Sunday School understanding of philosophy, and live in a world so black and white that they can’t even imagine a reason someone would have an abortion besides that they’re a terrible person; a woman who would have an abortion is unfit to be a mother in their eyes because they see abortion as equivalent to smothering a baby with a pillow because you don’t want to take care of it anymore.  “He or she is alive, he or she has a heart beat!”  Well, at this point is is just a blob of tissue, not a living person; a heart beat alone does not make something alive or dead.  Your life comes from your brain, not your heart.  If someone is alive the moment their heart starts, then they must be dead the moment is stops, so CPR is necromancy.  A person isn’t considered dead until their brain is dead, so if they wanted to argue that life begins at brain activity they would have a stronger argument, though still weak because brain activity is not personhood either.  Patients in permanent vegetative states on life support may have some brain activity, but they are effectively dead.  There is no way a judge, appointed by senators elected by the people of the United States, can prove that not only do souls exist but that they are created the second a sperm fertilizes an egg.  If “souls” exist, they aren’t so much created as built up over time as we gain new experienced and our brains develop.  What we are is electricity in a ball of meat jelly in our skulls, and that comes to being at a point after which abortions are already banned.  Conservatives also just want to control women; Roe v. Wade isn’t explicitly about the right to an abortion, it is about the right to body autonomy.  Do women have the right to control their own bodies, or do they defer that right to their fathers and husbands?  Are women people or property?  Can a man make decisions on a woman’s behalf?  “You must forgive my daughter; as a simple minded woman she’s fallen into a stupor of female hysteria.  We’ll have the family doctor bring out the smelling salts and leaches.”

They say that certain vices are crimes against God, but only when some people do it.  Divorce is a sin because marriage is sacred, except when a conservative does it, then it’s totally justified because of such and such explanation.  Tattoos are the mark of the beast, worn by degenerates and lesbians, except when a conservative does it, then it’s just art and harmless self expression.  Marijuana is a gateway drug and we need to lock away its addicts and throw away the key, unless a conservative does it, then it’s just recreational, no big deal, we don’t want to ruin the [white] boy’s future because of it.  A black person who does cocaine is a criminal, a white person who does cocaine is a public figure (you’d be surprised how many actors and politicians regularly use coke; they have to have high energy 24/7 in case there are any cameras, so they need uppers to keep themselves presentable).  This all springs from the fundamental conservative philosophy of “it’s okay when WE do it, but not when YOU do it.”  That’s the long and short of it.  The in-group is allowed to do things, but the out-group isn’t.  It’s the Us vs Them mentality taken to the logical extreme; WE are people, THEY are monsters.  WE are allowed to have faults, THEY have to stay in line and follow all the rules.  OUR lives matter, THEIR lives are lesser.  When you strip away the showy bits and get down to the core of their beliefs, everything stems from their desire to hurt anyone who isn’t them.  They want power, they want to be special, they want the Good Guys™ to always prevail over the Bad Guys™, and they want to be the ones to decide who is good and who is bad.  Their opinions are the only ones that matter, everyone else is wrong because they’re not them.  Now, it’s not like you could solve every problem by opening up your mind to new opinions; there are some issues that are indeed black and white with objectively right and wrong answers, but they live in a world where they are incapable of being wrong.  They see personal growth as a betrayal of the self, that admitting a fault is terrible, that apologizing and learning from a mistake is traitorous.  No, they have to double down on every single one of their beliefs to re-instill it in their minds.  They can never doubt themselves, because God will punish them forever if they ever have doubt.  They can’t ask questions or look at things from other perspectives because that would be an admission that their perspectives are fallible.  They are afraid of changing their minds so much that they refuse to even listen when someone explains their opinions because they don’t want to have their minds co-opted by Satan’s LIES!  If they hear something convincing, it’s all over, their entire world collapses, everything they believe is a lie, they lose, they go to hell forever, The End.

That is the dichotomy under which Republicans live their lives.  Nothing matters but what they believe.  They don’t believe what they believe for logical reasons, so no amount of logic will ever make them not believe it.  They’re making up their own rules to win.  You’re playing Rock-Paper-Scissors and they throw Nuclear Bomb, which defeats all three, so you lose.  You say that’s not fair, they say tough.  You throw Nuclear Bomb, and they say they have a bomb proof shield, so the bomb doesn’t hurt them but kills you, so you lose.  You can’t even beat them at their own game because they’ve been playing it longer, and they cry foul when you stoop to their level, suddenly saying that you need to be the bigger person, walking right up to the line of admitting that what they do is wrong but not quite getting there, simply reverting to the complaint that you shouldn’t be allowed to do it.  “I can, but YOU can’t.”  That’s why it infuriates me when nobody ever calls out a Republican for their hypocrisy.  They do something, a Democrat does that exact same thing, they cry foul, but nobody ever says “well, you didn’t have a problem when you did it,” they just try to excuse their own actions rather than demand justification for theirs.  Democrats are always on the defensive, they always look like they’re losing even when they’re winning, so the Republicans can use that to build their base and rally together for the occasional victory (Democrats won 7 of the last 8 presidential elections; the last Republican to legitimately win the presidency was George H.W. Bush in 1988).

I don’t know how you’d even begin to fight someone who is this far down the rabbit hole of self denial.

Democrats self-reflect, Republicans self-deflect.

Democrats are progressive, Republicans are regressive.

Now I’m sure there are no Republicans reading this, but if there are they’ll make themselves known and “totally refute” everything I’ve said with some paper thin argument that doesn’t stand up to scrutiny, but they don’t care because it stands up to them.  They only need to show one example of a Democrat failing to write off the entire party; they only need to show one black Republicans to deny the existence of racism; one gay Republican denies homophobia; one women denies sexism.  They are the party of tokenism.

They will point out the mote of dust in your eye and ignore the plank in their own.

Debate me, I have nothing better to do with my time, I’m a dirty libtard cuckflake soyboy beta with a case full of participation trophies and handouts paid for by other people’s tax dollars (funny, they think handouts are for degenerates, except when they get them.  Inheritance?  Privilege?  Never heard of them!)

[sympathyfortheblinderdevil]

All Is Fair Ch. 3

Anticipation

Tommy hung up the phone and sighed. Her voice was different; she sounded nervous, and that could mean that some of the more unsavory parts of his reputation had caught up with him. One reason he wanted to spend some time with Lia is that she seemed unbothered by his legend. Sure, she checked up a bit when she realized that he was Tommy Shelby, but she was hardly trembling in awe of his status. She still told him that his art was “pretentious”, and he still remembered the shape of her dark red lips as she said it.

 “Fuck,” he whispered and leaned back in his chair.  

 “It was her cousin,” he thought. He recalled the look on Jenny’s face as she approached the pair of them. Lia had leaned closer to him to share her amateur critique of that ghastly Picasso, and Tommy was having a not so subtle look down her dress. “She couldn’t get Lia out of there fast enough.”

 He opened a drawer and took out a directory of Birmingham city offices. He turned a few pages and trailed his finger down to the spot where Jenny’s department was listed “Arts and Leisure.” He thought of calling to personally thank her department for their support of the auction but hesitated as he reached for the phone. Ada had been the principal contact, and he imagined that a call from him would seem heavy-handed—exactly the image he was seeking to avoid.

 Women who were jaded by way of their privileged upbringing were all Tommy saw anymore. He looked forward to seeing Lia because she seemed different, more modern. Tommy craved the company of someone like her, someone who could be a diversion. If she was going to be worth his time, she wouldn’t let the opinions of others get inside her head.

 ***

 Jenny had resigned herself to the fact that Lia was hell-bent on seeing Tommy’s invitation through, and she might as well get used to it. She had discreetly asked around about Tommy’s recent business dealings and charitable contributions and had come away with satisfactory answers. He made his money from the import and export of car parts, had a legal gin distillery, and five homes for orphans— all with exemplary records. Maybe she had overreacted, she thought. This was, after all, just a date.

 She would feel better, though, if Lia would take her warnings a bit more seriously. Lia had always been a bit of a dreamer. As a kid, she never did very well at school despite being highly intelligent. She was always lost in a book or daydreaming instead of paying attention to her studies. She was not scatterbrained and could hold forth on serious intellectual topics, but she was not very practical. Jenny feared that her cousin viewed Tommy Shelby as an adventure rather than the flesh and blood leader of the Shelby Family. It was a feeling that Jenny couldn’t shake.

 On Wednesday night Lia stood in the middle of her room in her bra and drawers, surrounded by dresses that she had tried on and promptly discarded. She had spent the last few days consumed with anticipation for her night with Tommy, and now things seemed to be falling apart.

 “He’s already seen me in my good dress!” Lia squinted at the pile of fabric at her feet and rubbed her temples, “I guess I’ll just go naked!”

 Jenny found the scene comically tragic and offered to help. “I’ll find something of mine that will do.”

 Lia cupped her breasts and sighed in exasperation, “What will I do with these?”

 “I’ll find something,” Jenny laughed as she walked down the hall to search her wardrobe. “Besides, Mr. Shelby would think that you were gorgeous dressed in a coal sack. I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

  The purring sound of Tommy’s Bugatti was a sound foreign to the ears of Jenny and Lia’s neighbors, and the sight of Tommy Shelby was truly remarkable. Nosey housewives peeked from behind curtains and barely cracked doors as he approached the Montrose girls’ house. Before he could knock, Jenny opened the door to welcome him in. The less time the neighbors had to gawp at their esteemed visitor, the better. She ushered him into their warm sitting room and offered to take his coat and hat.

 “Please, sit down. Lia will be ready in a moment.”

 They took their seats, and Jenny watched as Tommy took in their modest sitting room. He noticed that it was not unlike the parlor that Polly had fixed up for them on Watery Lane, although the room he currently sat in had far fewer examples of religious iconography. They sat in two light blue chairs that were draped in lace doilies. A sturdy looking couch sat against a far wall.  There was a fire in the grate of a small fireplace and Tommy noted that the worn rug before it was scarred with tiny burn marks from embers that had popped out through the years.  His eyes followed the brickwork up to where there was a portrait of Lia’s grandparents above the mantle, and they sternly looked down their noses in judgement of the gangster as he sat waiting to defile their granddaughter.

 Jenny cleared her throat and spoke, “It’s not much, but it’s enough for us. The house used to belong to my parents.”

 Tommy nodded and reached into his pocket for his cigarette case, “It is very nice.” His eyes searched the tabletops for an ashtray. “May I smoke?”

 “Of course.” Jenny motioned toward a smoking stand tucked just behind his chair. Although Tommy’s manners were impeccable, she felt odd in his presence and struggled to keep from fidgeting with her bracelets. She told herself that he was just a man, but he owned this town, and that was hard to get around. She had decided to ask him if he would like some tea, but Tommy spoke first.

 “Jenny, may I call you Jenny?”

 She nodded and Tommy continued, “You’ve lived in Birmingham your whole life, and you’ve no doubt heard some things about my family… things that may be of concern to you since I want to spend time with Lia.”

 Jenny sat up straighter and she glanced at the stairs before returning her focus to Tommy. “Go on, Mr. Shelby.”

 “Please, call me Tommy.” He looked at her earnestly and his lips curved into the faintest smile.

 “Alright, then. Tommy.”

 He leaned forward slightly and lowered his voice. “I want you to know that Lia is safe in my presence. We’ve all had to make certain decisions, make certain sacrifices, do things to advance in our chosen careers. However, in recent years my past work has paid off. I no longer need to do those things that you may have heard about.”

 Jenny’s face couldn’t hide the apprehension she felt, but she softly replied, “Thank you for your assurances.”

   Just then, Lia came down the narrow steps that led into the room.

 She wore a simple dark green, dropped waist dress that she had paired with her grandmother’s opal broach. Her hair was held in place with a velvet band that came across her forehead, and she had borrowed Jenny’s “good” beaded shawl. Though she didn’t have money, the girl had style. Somehow, with the help of her cousin, she had pulled together an outfit that could pass for the latest fashion. She would fit in perfectly wherever Tommy took her.

 Tommy stood, and the spark behind his eyes lit up when she walked into the light. He had thought about her often in the last few days, his mind always returning to the way that she bit her bottom lip when he asked her if she would have been so honest with him if she had known who he was. She was doing it again. She was biting her lip as he stared at her and smoked.

  ***

 The sun’s glow had nearly disappeared below the horizon by the time Lia climbed into Tommy’s car. He usually used a driver, but not tonight. He offered her a cigarette, and when she declined he lit his own. As he drove through the narrow streets of Small Heath he stole a glance at her. She was looking his way and ventured a small smile.

 “I gather that you have learned more about me since we last met… Like where I work, where I live…”

 “Does that bother you?” Tommy asked.

 “Not particularly. I was happy that you called.” She smoothed her skirt over her knees.

 “Mmmmm,” he hummed.

 They drove in silence for a few moments with him looking her way at intervals. Finally, he spoke again. “And what about you? Do you know who I am now?”

 She licked her lips and replied, “Yes.”

 She shifted in her seat until she was facing him. Her shawl softly sparkled in the gathering dark, and her red lips stood in contrast to her pale skin. Tommy considered her answer. It really didn’t tell him much. She knew that he was a businessman and an MP, but did how much did she know about the Peaky Blinders?

 “I don’t care about all that, Tommy.”

 They didn’t speak again until Tommy pulled the car down a narrow, dark lane. It was then that he suddenly asked, “Do you like boats?”

 “Sure. Although I can’t say that I’ve been on too many of them.”

 Lia turned toward Tommy and in the fading twilight she could barely detect a smile playing around his lips.

 “Good. Because we are having dinner on a boat.”

 Tommy maneuvered the car through the gates of Charlie Strong’s yard and Lia could see a faint glow in the distance. When they neared the canal, she could see what it was. Tommy coolly watched as Lia brought her hand up to her mouth and gasped.

 Earlier that day, Tommy had instructed Charlie and Curly to ready their best longboat for the night. Lights were strung along the fore end leading up to the cabin and they twinkled and reflected light off the black water. The smell of roasting meat and the faint sound of music drifted on the breeze.

 They walked toward the spectacle as Tommy guided her with a gentle hand on the small of her back. Cobbles crunched beneath their feet and the sky was pitch. Lia felt like they were the only two people on Earth.

 “What’s all of this?” Lia softly asked. She felt like Alice down the rabbit hole; it was all so surreal.

 “This is me Uncle Charlie’s scrapyard, and this —he gestured toward the boat — is where we are going to have dinner.” Tommy wanted her all to himself, and so he had brought her to a place where he could be sure that they would suffer no interruptions.

 Tommy boarded first, then steadied her by holding on to her waist as she climbed aboard. She was distinctly aware of the pressure of his thumbs just above her hip bones as she stepped down onto the deck. She stumbled a bit and tottered into Tommy.

 She took in Tommy’s laughing eyes. “I told you, I’ve not been on many boats.”

 “You’ll be fine now. You’ve already done the hardest part.” As he spoke the laughter faded from his eyes only to be replaced by something softer.

 She was close enough to see the curve of his glossy black lashes, the tiny lines at the corners of his eyes, and the scars on his cheek and the bridge of his nose. She had promised herself that she wouldn’t get carried away, but she could feel her neck relaxing as her face turned up to his. His lips were inches away from hers and her eyes were sliding closed when she stopped herself. She forced herself to pull away. “I’m glad you were there to catch me.”

 He still had his hands on her waist when she turned to see faint candlelight flickering inside the cabin. The table was laid with fine china and crystal glasses stood next to a bottle of champagne. A covered roasting pan and a vase of flowers were in the center.

 Completely dazzled, she smiled up at him, “Tommy, I have never seen anything like this before.”

 “Well it’s time you have then, isn’t it.”

[americanroyalwatcher]

Why we love Kate, not Meghan

I’ve been seeing the “If you love her (Catherine) you don’t need to hate her (Meghan)” meme going around on IG. I had to clear things up for myself and anybody this resonates once and for all. Let me first start off by saying my feelings for Meghan Markle are not of hate. I find her and Catherine beautiful in their own respective ways. I only abhor Meghan’s behavior, actions, total disrespect for the Royal Family hierarchy, trying to curry favor with the public through her PR attempts, and blatant sense of entitlement.

We are only typing words online making it difficult to decipher a tone of voice. Since there is none to be heard or facial expressions detected, you can take it much more worse, dramatic, and catty than it really is. I try to write as clearly as I can to convey my meanings as fast I can churn it out for everyone to read. I do it so my opinions are not misunderstood to be of jealousy, hating, bullying, or racism. I feel I have to restate this as I’ve gained many new followers and likely new spies or just plain curious folks. It would be truly wonderful to meet everyone I interact with online, follower, spy, or passersby. That human interaction is missing from this very anti-social media platform.

So, let me say I am none of those four things above. In fact, I was quite enthusiastic initially with Meghan Markle’s debut into the royal scene. She of course is a far cry from the typical posh British blondes Harry dated. It was refreshing and new. She was a Californian, ethnic, and American just like me, who came from a disjointed family. She was a breath of fresh air as a new addition, but that quickly turned into mush when that engagement interview revealed her domineering, controlling, and insincere personality with the camera. I took her saying she didn’t know THAT MUCH about Price Harry, not that she didn’t know him or the royal family. This is often restated incorrectly. Her statement during the interview came off as if Prince Harry’s royal-ness wasn’t a big deal to her. That they’re equally on the same plane and their names hold the same weight as far as that statement went. That initial interview showed her ego on display and the Vanity Fair magazine she interviewed for as a tell all after it was revealed she was Harry’s girlfriend. Shortly before that, in November 2016, she had Harry write a foolish statement asking the public to leave her alone after she made a false report of someone breaking into her Toronto home. Then she goes on to do that Vanity Fair magazine. The hypocrisy. Harry could never turn back after that. It was more binding than a wedding if you ask me.

Even her ex-best friend Ninaka Priddy told DailyMail, “I know the Royal Family was something she found fascinating. She had one of Princess Diana’s books [Diana: Her True Story] on her bookshelf, and even when she was with Trevor she told me she wanted to go and stay in London for at least a month. I can’t remember exactly when this was, but she was married to Trevor and starring in Suits. She mentioned about wanting to go to London a couple of times. I wasn’t shocked or even surprised to hear about Prince Harry. I know she used to love The Princess Diaries — films about a commoner who becomes part of a Royal Family. She was very taken with that idea.”

Meghan would relish the thought of living a real life Princess Diaries scenario. Everyone in her family circle knew she was infatuated with the idea of being a modern day princess with power. She admired Princess She-Ra. In her defunct Tig blog she wrote, “I, for one, was all about She-Ra, Princess of Power. And grown women seem to retain this childhood fantasy. Just look at the pomp and circumstance surrounding the royal wedding and endless conversation about Princess Kate.”

That was a huge red flag to me. Her best friend knew her since she was 11 and they were inseparable like sisters, like family. So, I take her words seriously as to who Meghan really was. She stopped talking to her after three seasons of Suits. Fame got to her head. She left her then husband Trevor, who helped her get on the show. She was out for a more “empowering” position in life. She used who and what she could to get where she is today. She downplayed her knowledge and awareness of the royal family big time and it really came back to bite her.

Meghan had her sights set on expanding her name and fame somehow someway since Suits was wrapping up with her supporting role being axed soon. Unhappily, her marriage to Trevor Engelson ended abruptly by her (mailing her rings back my mail), after almost 10 years of supposed true happiness finding The One. According to her ex-best friend she knew since she was 11 years old. She left him for Corey Vitiello, a highly celebrated chef in Toronto after her career took off some with Suits. Corey was also cooking for Prince Harry when Meghan first met the royal. He runs a chicken restaurant chain called Flock. Roast chicken, anyone? Yes, Meghan has commented time and time again her specialty is roast chicken. She picked up this talent likely from living in common law marriage with Corey in Toronto. That’s also what she was cooking when Prince Harry proposed? Gosh, what a coincidence. The Sun said, “The pair split in May 2016 - with the Telegraph reporting that Meghan was still with Cory when she first met Harry. The prince was in Canada to promote the Invictus games in May 2016. The chef refused to comment on the rumours that the Prince was part of the reason their relationship ended.” Hmmm, also a suspicious coincidence.

I don’t knock her for watching out for herself and trying to put her name out there. It’s a dog-eat-dog world in the acting industry. She was only successful in Toronto with Suits. Hollywood was the ultimate goal and dream. Her father Thomas Markle was a successful Emmy winning lighting director for Married with Children. She basically grew up on set and likely salivated at the fame and attention she would get being one. As a narcissist, this would feed her ego majorly. She was never going to be more famous than an extra in those random comedies or low-budget made for TV movies. She was pushing nearly 40. That’s the career death age of actresses in North America, maybe everywhere. She wasn’t a Meryl Streep or Viola Davis. She had to think fast. She did. Man, did she hit the jackpot with Harry. Apparently, their relationship wasn’t even revealed to Harry’s family until 6 months into it. All that time, Thomas Markle kept his mouth shut about it. He was loyal to his favorite daughter and paid for her expensive upscale schooling her entire life, even some in college. She ghosted him for making a foolish mistake with the media when he didn’t recieve an invite to the wedding. This time period was key to her sinking her claws in to Prince Harry’s vulnerability, weaknesses, broken and damaged self. She does want to be another Diana, but all she is now is a mother-wife to Harry. As her ghosted former best friend said, she is very calculated.

Using others as a stepping stone or tool to get where you want is extremely cold-hearted, but that was her MO. There is a reason a trail of ghosted, dejected lovers, family and friends have come out of the woodwork since Harry said his family was the one she never had. HAH. Cry me a river. Samantha only came out when that was openly said. What a stupid, hurtful, foolish statement Harry. This was during the Christmas Service at Sandringham she attended when they were only engaged. That’s unheard of. Even Catherine Middleton, wife of the heir didn’t even get invited to any outings until they were officially married. I commend Prince William for his caution as he had much more to lose than Harry with his choice of a wife.

Prince William was extremely worried about the tabloids and press doing what they did to his beloved mother to Kate. They chased Kate around and staked out their cameras at her flat. They followed her to work. They shoved cameras in her face getting in and out of cars. She was very chill about it. Alarmed, but civil. It was chaos. She was a BIG DEAL. She was marrying the heir to the British monarchy. Prince William was a dreamboat. Many of us were very fascinated by who his choice was. When they married, there were years and years of ridicule with comments about her “Waity Katey” nickname. He made sure she has as much time living a normal private life before becoming a royal. She needed to withstand the public scrutiny as his on and off again girlfriend first. It wasn’t a matter of him getting coldfeet. He was protecting her. They were college friends first then fell in love over the course of 6 years or so. They had a solid foundation.

She even had a few incidents where her skirt flew up too high revealing too much as well as her chest. It’s all trivial superficial things, I know, but it matters as a royal. We do the same with Meghan. It’s the optics that need to be taken into consideration. I’m fine with critiquing dress style, as there’s a certain decorum needed in a royal family. She, Kate, needed to dress more prudently to avoid mishaps. There were several in her first few years. She has improved beautifully and has her style down to science. Kate had many of the criticisms Meghan shares as far as entering in the royal family goes being a commoner having to do with dress code and keeping her mannerisms appropriate at events. There are many comments on old articles saying how Kate was smiling way too much at this same event years ago. How her hair was too long. She needed to stop twirling it and have some respect for her role and the dignity of the event. It was the Remembrance Day Sunday event at Whitehall in 2013. The two years before that, she garnered the same scathing reactions from the public.

Kate has really come into her own despite the awful criticisms and judgement on her class. She has bore the years and years of cruel digs to her with great decorum and stride. She has NEVER COMPLAINED. She has come in to her own identity as a mother, wife, future queen consort, charity patron, and most importantly a genuine person with the public. I quote The Sun highlighting past labels calling her a "work-shy social climber, the lucky girl whose sole job in life was to sit around looking pretty until William proposed." That's all turned into something solid and magical.

She has an ease with others that makes them comfortable in her presence you don't expect from such a senior royal. She has bloomed. We love her for that and how she lets Prince William shine by supporting his role as heir through their duties and appearances together. She also shines equally if not more than Prince William. Her children are absolutely gorgeous and a delight. We have all come to adore her because she has earned it. Yes, with the public you have to earn our love.

With Meghan, it seemed as if they were marrying then having a baby at warp speed before Harry decided to change his mind without knowing her family and past. They weren’t allowing the public to let us see Meghan in a positive gradual light, but a social climbing one with all her past history written online for all to see; also through the testimony of friends, families, her attention-seeking Instagram posts, colleagues etc. She hadn’t proved herself worthy yet to the public like Kate. It was hitting the ground running to be her own brand and name through Harry’s family.

On a superficial level, Kate and Meghan are not fashionistas or supermodels. But they are always photographed with what brands they’re wearing for all to see. That’s the fun part of watching all royal women, their outfits and accessories. But with Meghan it goes PAST and BEYOND outfits and style. It’s an entire plethora of reasons. She’s a whole different “beast” as she likened her unfair treatment in that Africa interview. All that have nothing to do with her ethnicity. The criticisms we non-Markle fans share with her are as followed:

• ghosting those friends and family members she used to put a notch on her belt

• using Princess Diana’s name to beautify her tainted image

• using Harry and his weaknesses to crawl her way into the royal family

• portraying such an affected manner in which she speaks, interactions with others, and overall pretending to be royal instead of being herself

• wearing inappropriate revealing attire to events, not adhering to dress code

• being rude and demanding to royal staff and even film and restaurant workers before marrying Harry

• constantly stepping in front of Harry as if he was the non-royal at events, inserting herself in conversations and trying to be the center of attention, a know-it-all

• making herself out to be a self made millionaire when she was more like a thousand-aire after Suits owning no real estate, cars or possessions to note beside an expensive heel collection

• taking credit for things that she did not do entirely on her own but passing it off that she did

• upsetting Duchess of Cambridge who she should have allied with for assimilation

• planting her PR stories to try and break up the image and marriage that the Cambridges have naturally built

• constantly trying to one-up the Cambridges while they go about their duties, her seething envy is quite evident by trying to take the light away from their causes

• inconsistent stories of how she and Harry met, supposedly it's Misha Nonoo, but who knows

• implying she was pregnant, all but announcing it with that navy blue coat halfway open at Princess Eugenie's wedding

• overly flicking her coat open constantly and prancing around with her hand on her ever changing bump (whether real or not we will never know)

• embellishing her character by feeding us accolades of herself every chance she gets, especially on Sussex Royal

• rarely ever using the titles of more important senior royals, but overusing her HRH on herself

• having famous Hollywood friends constantly speak for her and how amazing she is, many whom she had NEVER met prior to marrying Harry, but invited to the wedding anyway; leaving out her own family members (especially her loving father who made a foolish mistake) on both sides who did nothing to warrant such cold-heartedness

• preaching about carbon footprints, only having two children, and saving the environment all the while jetting around in private jets around the world sparing no expense

• portraying this image of a humanitarian when she herself is seen constantly in astronomically priced bespoke, couture, and designer clothes and accessories that taxpayers find (well over a million now dollars as the 6th in line’s wide); paid or not by designers to advertise for them

According to The Star, “It’s a figure so staggering it’s worth revisiting. According to estimates — based on totalling up the approximated or stated retail values of everything she’s been seen wearing since November 2017 — the number is hovering around the $1.5 million mark. On her and Harry’s official visit to Ireland this spring, for instance, Markle wore over $52,000 worth of fashion in just two days.”

They also stated “The majority of Markle’s expenditure this year went toward her two wedding dresses: That Givenchy ceremony dress is thought to have cost around $330,000 and her Stella McCartney dress (or the capsule collection’s 46 replicas released after the wedding, at least) sold for $5,800. That’s a bargain compared to the $93,000 she spent on the Ralph & Russo frock she wore for some of her engagement shoot. Add in a $6,500 Oscar de la Renta dress to a wedding here, a $5,000 bespoke Carolina Herrera frock to a Trooping the Colour there, and well, you get to that million mark pretty quickly.”

• then there’s the vacant Forgmore Cottage that wasted taxpayers money if $3 million to renovate; apparently they don’t even live there as she’s in SoHo accommodations and he in his Nottingham Cottage

• playing media games with the facts and dates surrounding the birth of Archie and never allowing him to be photographed until it was on African soil for a docu-drama

• pleading for privacy over and over then showing up unannounced at events uninvited,

• filming a tone-deaf tactless documentary in Africa, revealing how she felt she's didn't have a fair shake in the royal family, the absolute nerve of she and Harry

• suing the press for racism and hate stories when she herself courts the press daily (she did pap walks in London right before it was announced she was Harry's girlfriend), when she has herself and Harry to thank for all the negative press as there's not one story pointing out criticism of her ethnic background

• lastly, there are the extreme fans called the “sugars” who go around defending MM every chance they get in a rageful manner like packs of rabid dogs if we comment on how we don’t like her style of dress or try to reason with a differing opinion to theirs on a certain news story

Have I missed anything? Likely so. I’m still new to this whole Markle debacle so excuse my errors and typos. The soap opera does go on and there are so many details and shady ways Meghan has portrayed herself past and present. From what I’ve seen, heard, and read from her own mouth and those who knew her well, “she’s a witch” as Candace Owens put it bluntly. I truly wanted to give the benefit of the doubt to her when she kept shooting herself in the foot.

She is NOT where Kate was when she married Prince William either. Kate was 29, unmarried and very close to her family with no previous marriages. Today, her family appear to be her rock solid support outside of Prince William. She assimilated well with the other royals who she now calls family. She listened to counsel, respected the centuries of tradition the monarchy had always followed. She won our hearts. Through and through, she can credit her great inner strength she possessed to overcome the constant ridicule to become the well loved future queen consort of Britain. That is no easy feat.

Meghan was 37 and many times divorced (one annulled with Joe Giuliano, an attorney she married after college), so maybe three if you count the common law marriage with Cory in Canada. Trevor was her first official one. So Harry may be her 4th! She had lived many lives before with connections to SoHo, being a yacht girl, then there are her ties to the wretches Jeffery Epstein, Hillary Clinton, Weinstein and their global agenda machine I would have to write a dissertation on to explain.

She appeared to have used her first official husband Trevor, a successful producer in his own right (she got a cameo in his film Remember Me with Robert Pattinson) to get her role on Suits as he’s done excellent for himself in the film industry as a producer. Meghan was somewhat popular in Toronto from the supporting role. She was being phased out soon after her relationship with Corey started as well. She needed a plan, along came Prince Harry one fine clucking night. Then, she set her sights on getting setup with him by Markus Anderson or Misha Nonoo; who knows with all these conflicting stories.

I said good for her at the start. At first it was incredible to see an ordinary girl from LA had married into such a high profile family, to a real titled Prince, no less! It was inspiring and fun to fantasize. Nevertheless, Meghan’s actions listed above, the various first-hand testimonies of people who were family and friends pre-Harry, her hellbent PR attempts to heighten her name, her lack of honesty, her contrived behavior pretending to be a coy ingenue, the scary desire to be Princess Diana by hunting Harry like a sport, and all the stories coming out about how she was searching for a famous British man to elevate her profile, and likely so much more to come, are why we are here with these accounts today.

Hate is such a blanket word overused nowadays in the media. But she has earned that word all on her own. We’re here to disprove and retort the stories churned out daily by her team Sunshine Sachs that continue to deceive the public. Everything is out there to see. Her character is out there to decipher online. You just have to stop reading the fluff and self-promotion and find her true nature pre-Harry to see her scheming social climbing insincere self-serving ways. So, please don’t make us out to be hating, racist, jealous, bullies because we don’t love her like we do Kate. Move past that because we’re tired of hearing it. There’s no other argument anymore for her sugars it seems. Excuse me for not buying Meghan’s pseudo feminism and humanitarian image. She is far from that of a humanitarian. Everything is written on the wall for her. She only has herself to thank for it.

[captainchrisfics]

The Book

About: A first person pov narrator released a book about S.H.I.E.L.D. and let’s just say she didn’t give it a stellar review after Natasha released all of the records. It struck a chord with Steve so he tries to confront the author, but ultimately she ends up comforting him instead.

Word Count: 2,901

“One of the best contemporary attempts at grappling with the unfortunate truth that even our heroes are human. This book is a triumph for unraveling and understanding the honest history of America.” -The New York Times

I leaned back in my office chair for support, absolutely astonished that my work had received such a positive review. My book about S.H.I.E.L.D.’s, for lack of a better word, shit-stained history was just recently released into the world. It was my first and I’d been working on it forever, although when Black Widow released all of their classified files it made my job a hell of a lot easier. Still, it felt like baring my soul to the whole world and allowing them to judge me, giving everyone with an opinion the opportunity to pick me apart. Much to my relief, most of the feedback was praise.

Publishing this book was more nerve-wracking and all-consuming than I could ever even start to explain- it’s taken years, but thankfully the countless late nights I spent typing away at my laptop paid off. After receiving my post as a history professor at NYU, I felt like I’ve been playing catch up constantly. It’s not that I’m under-qualified. Just that most of my colleagues were much older and more established than myself, which has been entirely daunting. But the success of my book has given me the leg up I needed to stop second-guessing if I belong at this desk.

I was pulled from my thoughts by an angry voice calling my name from down the hall and asking where my office was. I sat straighter, craning my neck to try to get a better look as I listened. “Where is she?” whoever it was repeated again, this time with more urgency and anger. Through the crack of my office door which hung ajar, I saw the silhouette of a man with a frame that made me feel dwarfed just looking at him.

The secretary surrendered once he slammed a hand on her desk, probably scaring the hell out of her. He took a step back from her and apologized profusely for his outburst in a guilt-ridden tone. Then, he stepped toward my door, slowly at first then all at once. I braced myself, trying to swallow every ounce of anxiety trying to burst from my stomach. He knocked on my door, pushing it open with an arm swollen with intimidating muscles, without waiting for my welcome.

He took a seat opposite me at the other side of my desk so quickly I didn’t have time to protest. I noticed he carried a copy of my book, one that was already so worn and filled with post-its popping out from all of its edges, even though it had to be a recent purchase. I thought, maybe he was a curious student at best? A crazed fan at worst? As I tried to rationalize what gave this man any right to storm into my office, all of my questions were answered when he took off his disguise (if you could even call it that, I don’t know how I didn’t recognize him sooner).

Without the raised hood and tinted sunglasses, it was apparent that the person sitting about two feet away from me was none other than Captain America himself. I cleared my throat, trying to sit straighter if it was even possible. Stunned, I closed my mouth and opened it again a few times before stuttering, “Steve Rogers, sir, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

I reached across my desk as I extended my hand to him. I watched as it hovered in the air, shaking with my nerves while he stared for too long before finally meeting me in the middle for a handshake. “I wish it was under better circumstances ma’am,” he said in a tone that toed the line between measured and seething.

My eyebrows stitched together in confusion as I gulped down my nerves again. I certainly didn’t want to be on this super hero’s shit list. “I imagine it has something to do with my book,” I said, eyeing the copy in his hand.

“It is a gross assassination of an organization that has done more to protect you and millions of other Americans than you will ever know,” Steve asserted, cracking the spine as he opened the book too harshly. He read a number of my lines to me, followed by the well-worded critiques I assumed he’d scribbled on his notes.

“And this thing you wrote here about when my team and I rescued Bucky from Hydra- that isn’t even how it happened!” Steve went on, tossing a hand up in the air as if it gave his point any more power. He told me the story in a way I’d never heard it in any other account, but it wasn’t fair.

“Can I stop you there?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest with a little huff. Steve paused as he turned the page, the breath he’d sucked in to fuel his next rant sitting idle in his puffed chest. I pushed up my glasses, trying to appear more authoritative in the face of the super soldier. “I’ve dedicated the past few years of my life to following others’ research and doing my own extensively. I understand that you know the truth since you were there, but the rest of us weren’t so you can’t hold historians to your standard as a breathing primary source when we’ve been picking through false narratives and speculation since you crash landed in Antarctica.” I raised my eyebrows at him, inviting him to challenge me.

“With all due respect,” Steve said, though his tone would suggest otherwise. He was all but seething, the muscle tightening with the clench of his jaw gave him away despite his attempt to appear unbothered. “I’ve dedicated the past few years to ensuring you have that freedom and before that it was Peggy. We’re a part of that history and if you’re going to tell our stories then you should be telling the truth. I’m not saying you should know everything, but if you aren’t at least trying then why are you writing this book at all?”

I let Steve’s question hang in the air, familiar with the sharp look on his face. I’ve been teaching long enough to know when someone would always insist they were right. Especially in a field like history, where so much is left to interpretation, there’s so many disagreements and so many people who refuse to accept that they might be wrong. The sureness in his hard, blue eyes and tightness of his jaw told me he wouldn’t accept anything short of being right about this.

In an attempt to remain open to criticism. I sighed, leaning back in my chair as I waved a hand to signify he had the floor. “Go on,” I muttered. I had to give it to Steve, he made some great points. From his perspective, I could see how I hadn’t countered my bias as much as I could have and I was open to considering that I may not have every fact straight.

Some points however, like how he said I criticized Peggy Carter for failing to ensure there weren’t any double agents when that was often impossible especially in an organization as large as S.H.I.E.L.D., were unfounded. Steve went on and on as he vented more than anything, tearing each post it out after he said his piece and tossed them into my recycling bin. The pile was so high I worried they would start an avalanche. He reached a point where he was projecting his frustrations onto my work and misinterpreting what I meant, which was coincidentally when his voice started to raise and the veins on his forehead became more pronounced. Once Steve stopped to take a breath, I seized my opportunity to interject.

“Mr. Rogers, firstly allow me to thank you for your service. I should have earlier, but I was pretty caught off guard by all of this,” I laughed nervously, gesturing between the two of us. He nodded and muttered a quiet thank you, leaning back in the chair he barely fit in between the arms of. “Now,” I continued, not pegging Steve Rogers as the interrupting type. “You of all people should know the destruction S.H.I.E.L.D. caused, all of the damage they were capable of doing. I mean, for decades there were Nazis embedded in the structure of an organization meant to protect us and we were none the wiser,” I said, trying to refrain from using my lecture voice on a guy who could be my grandpa.

Steve cracked a smile, though I didn't get the joke. He was probably thinking about how I didn’t know the half of it- which was partly true. Nothing I could read could compare to his life experience. I had to stop my internal nerd from entirely reveling in the fact that such an important piece of living history was just an arm’s reach away from me. I had to stay on task, especially since I was defending myself and my work.

“I’m a historian first and an American citizen second, in my opinion. I want to pursue the truth, understand it and help others make sense of it, even if it paints my country in a poor light and especially when it is difficult to do so,” I said, gaining confidence with each moment he continued to listen to me. Steve nodded, seeming to find common ground with me on this sentiment at least. After all, he has the reputation of prioritizing his moral compass over the law and order even as a soldier.

“I apologize for any hurt or frustration my book has caused you and I assure you that some of your criticisms were just misunderstandings, maybe due to my presentation.” I bit my lip, always one to have trouble with actually admitting when I was wrong. Even so, Steve had a right to how my book made him feel and I felt an obligation to apologize for it.

I could see the hurt rise in his perfectly blue eyes again once I brought it up. Steve shrunk even more into the chair, looking like a dud firecracker that’d finally fizzled out. “It’s just that-” Steve’s voice caught in his throat, seemingly unsure of how to find its way out. He swallowed and started again. “I’m sorry if this is overstepping any bounds, ma’am. Your book just struck a chord with me. Since Peggy’s death,” his voice cracked, stopping him for a second as he composed himself. “I just miss her so much and…” Steve didn’t finish his thought. As the tears started to escape his eyes, he dropped his gaze to the floor.

It was strange watching a superhero break down. Sure, we always see their victories on every news station and even hear about their shortcomings on occasion. But watching Captain America cry, his shoulders shaking and his lungs gasping as he wept, somehow made me feel weak. Seeing the symbol of America’s strength, someone so intrinsically connected to this country, grieving the loss of Peggy Carter was almost appropriate. It didn’t stop my heart from trying to leap out of my chest or the yearning I had to wrap this stranger up in a hug until he could breathe again. Before I could process what I was feeling, let alone make an attempt to comfort him, Steve sat up straight again. He had a stoic expression and seemed to be begging me to ignore what had just happened with his puffy eyes. I couldn’t.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” I said softly, reaching across the desk to place a comforting hand on his shoulder. I tried not to notice how his muscle bulged, tightening uncomfortably at my touch. “I can understand how you could take my criticism of her creation as an attack on her character. Honestly, I love Peggy Carter so much,” I gushed, letting a little bit of that nerd loose.

“As a kid with a passion for U.S. history, you can imagine there aren’t many women to look up to. Fewer compare to her strength and courage. She’s such an inspiration to me and so many others, I never meant to speak badly of her.” I tried to maintain a steady tone as I held such intense eye contact with Steve, his eyes welling up with tears again.

Steve chuckled a little, though it was still so sad. “She was a badass huh?” he smiled as he remembered her fondly. Peggy had just died recently. It still must have been so raw for Steve, someone who knew her so well. I always thought their story was so interesting; the way they loved each other to each of their ends was the kind of fascinating story that made history so interesting to me.

That changed when Steve Rogers of all people stormed into my office. They weren’t just characters in my textbook. He was a real person whose strong jaw tightened when he was angry, who defended those he cared about, who cried until he couldn’t catch his breath. She was someone he loved so deeply, and so much more than that.

“Language,” I chastised jokingly. Steve grew tense and apologized, taken aback by my scolding. Watching him squirm only made me laugh harder. Once I reassured him I was only kidding, Steve seemed to think it was pretty funny.

“She definitely was,” I resigned as we grew serious again before launching into a story about how she fought fiercely on behalf of the first woman who was elected to Congress, defending her in the face of every press-concocted scandal. Steve’s eyes lit up as he laughed, saying that the Peggy he knew was no different. He told me about the time she punched some pig-headed soldier so hard he passed out after he’d called her Queen Victoria.

By the end of our meeting, which lasted nearly two hours even though it felt like minutes, we’d swapped so many stories it felt like I knew her. Steve caught his breath from laughing after I told him a particularly funny thing about a time she told off Howard Stark. He cleared his throat before saying, “Thank you for this.” I tried to brush it off and tell him not to worry about it, but Steve cut in. “Really, it’s been a long time since I’ve felt like someone gets it.” He reached across my desk and held my hand as if I was anchoring him. It sent sparks up like watching that firecracker reignite with my touch.

I just smiled at him, not quite sure where to go from here. Steve stood and I followed suit. We just looked at each other for what seemed like too long of a moment. I smiled awkwardly, ready to excuse us from this uncomfortable situation with the justification that I had a class soon, which wasn’t a lie. Instead, Steve pulled me close to his chest from across my desk as he wrapped his arms around me. I was immediately enveloped in a comforting safety. Steve seemed to radiate protection, even more so when you’re pressed so tightly against his chest you could almost feel his heartbeat. “Thank you again,” he whispered in my ear, causing my skin to erupt with goosebumps.

I nodded, feeling so small and feeble in comparison. I felt like that wasn’t good enough though. I mean, I know there’s no instruction manual for handling a superhero who stormed into your office before bursting into tears. Still, it didn’t feel like this was the way we were supposed to end. Steve pulled away, smiling at me so sweetly with a tenderness in those beautiful baby blues I couldn’t ignore.

Before I could think twice, my lips moved almost in muscle memory despite being so out of my depth. “I have to go teach a class soon,” I said too quickly as the words tumbled out of my mouth. I had to ask before I could get in my own way. Steve sighed and nodded slightly, stepping to the side to make room for me to leave. I couldn’t say if it was true, but I thought he looked disappointed with his eyes to the ground and the corners of his mouth drooping ever so slightly. Throughout our conversation, I noticed Steve seemed to be too stoic to read half the time.

Instead of grabbing my briefcase and making my way to the education building a few blocks over, I kept talking. “Would you maybe want to get coffee later? We could keep doing… whatever this is,” I concluded, nervously rocking from my heels to my tiptoes subconsciously. Steve perked up immediately, lifting his head to look at me with this adorable twinkle in his eye. He hid it behind his sunglasses before pulling up his hoodie again, looking nothing like any random guy walking down the street now that I knew he was Captain America. The next thing I’d have to expose S.H.I.E.L.D. for would be their pathetic disguises. Steve’s smile was crooked as he said, “I’d really like that.”

[writingonjorvik]

If I Could Ask the Devs 10 Questions: A WOJ Interview

I think if you’ve known me for a while, you probably know I would jump at the idea of getting to interview the SSO devs, particularly because they tend to have internalized or cherry picked interviews that only focus on what they want to tell us, and not on the questions the players tend to have about the game. So if I could have an interview with the devs, these are the 10 questions I would ask.

Sidenote: I have 10 core topic questions with some brief follow-up questions for clarity. If you counted, yes, there would be more than ten, but there are ten core areas.

What kind of updates can we expect for this year; in terms of new areas, horses, features, etc.?

When can we expect the return of bigger area expansions with full side quests prepared for them and secrets like in the Harvest Counties and Valley of the Hidden Dinosaur launches?

Speaking of updates, about 80% of SSO community wants to see the older Gen 1 & Gen 1.5 models updated across the board like with the update to Gen 1.5. Considering that this is a super majority, and these horses are paid for content, what does SSO intend to do to meet this request from its player base?

Again, since this content is already been paid for, would an “upgrade” feature for purchased old models require additional payment, making player pay to make already purchased content playable again?

If opposed to updating earlier gen models, why does SSO ignore something a super majority of their players want that seems it would also benefit the devs work load?

How does SSO plan to counter price bloat, like what’s happened on the upgraded pets?

Expected counterpoint: SSO has said that the walking pets are more expensive because of “all the hard work that went into them.” This is both a sunken cost and false equivalence fallacy. It’s the developers’ job to continue to make SSO better, and make better content for the game. That should not result in bloated prices for players, but rather more product that they can spend their money on. Saying that “all that hard work” just went into making expensive content diminishes the rest of the work made on the game and it trivializes the job the devs are supposed to be doing. It’s your job to make content for the game. We should not have to pay extra for something we already paid for, and certainly not at a bloat of 4-5x the initial cost for a few bonus animations.

On the note of purchased content, over 70% of SSO’s player base thinks that the game is overpriced, but 90%, regardless of their opinions on fairness, say they would buy more often if the prices were lowered. Is there any intention to lower the prices around SSO to make it more accessible?

Is there any intention is making supplementary content, like more unique items in the merch store that aren’t simply designs with your logo on them?

Would SSO be able to release the comic in English any time soon?

Are there any plans to rerelease the Starshine Legacy games on Steam or the teams merch store?

SSO prides itself for being a narrative oriented story. Are there any plans to establish an official writing team on SSO?

What about a canon wiki about the series?

One of the things the devs have stated about the genderlock on SSO is that it’s to create a space for women in gaming. Does SSO donate to any charities that support girls to play video games like Child’s Play, Code Liberation, or Games For Change, or charities that help women in general like National Women’s Law Center, Dress For Success Worldwide, Girls Not Brides, or Futures Without Violence?

What actions outside of having female leads and job equality is SSO pursuing to promote gender equality?

Can we expect the ability to get magic powers that we can use outside of cutscenes?

Would this involve the “power-up” system the devs have discussed before?

What kind of new customization can we expect in the future of the game?

Would this include the return of the housing function?

Will this provide more options for other gender presenting players besides femme?

Would SSO consider letting the player input their own pronouns into the game without changing the story in any other way?

Would SSO ever consider switching to an expansion based system over the weekly release schedule?

If not, why is the weekly release better for the game than having larger, less frequent updates?

If they would, what would this mean for daily content, in terms of daily quests and achievements, as well as the payment system for an expansion?

Would SSO ever bring back more fan generated content, like the T-Shirt contest?

With SSO branching out to more unique types of story telling, would SSO hold contests for writing companion short stories or producing audio stories like Texas Bluebells?

Will SSO release a public list of community guidelines, so both players and moderators know what is correct behavior, and so also ensure that moderators are upholding SSO’s rules and not personal ones?

What about an internal reporting system to simplify reporting?

Question I Think Would Be Asked Of Me

1. Why are you so critical of the game?

Ok. Here’s the essay.

I suppose it would be easy to say that it’s out of spite. And there’s probably some of that in there. Some innate bitterness over the fact that the PR team, for a period, actively deleted anything critical, regardless of content. The fact that they outright lied about empirical data the players were giving the devs (see the AQH release). Sure, there’s the fact that I’ve seen and had SSO’s dev team do a 180 on me from offering me a space on the mod team for trying to promote a better community to having their devs and outreach insult and demean me on the basis of my comments being “critical.”

And it does drive me a little nutty to see the devs so successfully have turned their player base on anyone who might critique the game. To see my hard work trying to get players to be decent people in the game turned on its head when I say one word crosswise about something that might make the game better. And I’ve be wrong to say I don’t get frustrated when I talk about changes SSO could apply with after being a gamer for way longer than most of the people debating me, with enough research done on my own to be the basis for a master’s thesis, only to be told by someone who SSO is their first video game telling me how the industry works. But that’s really not it. 

So, here it is:

Star Stable is one of the only non-combat MMOs in the world.

Let me repeat that; Star Stable is one of the only non-combat MMOs in the world. And I imagine that invokes a sense of pride, like you’ve hit some kind of niche. But that’s not a truth because of some lucky chance.

Non-combat MMOs survive on small niche markets, before consistently dying off because of failure to expand beyond their initial targets. And it’s not for lack of trying. People love non-combat games; Animal Crossing, Harvest Moon, Stardew Valley, Nintendogs, Roller Coaster and Zoo Tycoon, the Myst series, so on. But when those games refuse to look passed their niche, to expand and improve, they have historically failed as MMOs because one niche cannot fund an MMO.

And where SSO has survived on the niche market of “horse girl fantasy,” it is most certainly not expanding. SSO talks about its overall player count being in the millions, but ignores that fact that for every unique player there are five duplicate accounts, which is a metric that continues to bloat. That out of 12 million players, only 3% of those players are regularly active, compared to most MMOs which will hit 15-25% of their player base regularly between expansions. And no matter how you swing those numbers, no matter how much more you bloat the prices, that is not a long term lifespan. You can’t survive on that niche.

I genuinely believe SSO could help influence the industry. And I don’t mean that in a “if you follow all my ideas, everything will end up perfectly.” I’m not always right, and I’m willing to admit that. But the fact that SSO has been so resistant to any criticism results in a mob mentality with its core player base and it ostracizes anyone who can’t put up with that attitude any longer. Not only does it put the developers into an echo chamber where they can’t improve, it continues to push away the people who care enough to sit down and explain why they’re frustrated. You tighten that niche. You limit your market. You run out of resources.

And I do think SSO has already made leaps ahead for parts of the industry. The number of people who say SSO was their first MMO, their first game, is amazing. It’s great to see a game helping young people get into gaming, particularly girls who, when I was their age, were bullied for even liking video games. So for SSO to make that platform is amazing. But they cannot abuse that by taking advantage of new gamers who don’t know any better about how games are made or sold. I feel, and I feel this of every company, not just SSO, that there is a moral obligation to do right by people, and not to take advantage of their ignorance. And with such a powerful platform to invite young people into this sphere, into making new games and telling new stories, it is imperative that SSO does right by people.

I’m hard on SSO because I care, immensely. You could say I have a fixation on the game, really. I am invested in the survival of this game. But you can’t survive without getting better. Not to mention, the criticism SSO gets is free! From thousands of people. When I edited my book, I paid over $2,000 for my two editors I worked with, and that’s not even getting into beta readers and reviewers. I would love to be able to get feedback for free like SSO does. Because it’s an opportunity to improve because we are never going to be perfect. And if SSO wants to survive the trends surrounding their genre, then they can leave no room for quarter to people like me. Not out of oppression of people’s voices, but by listening and making a better game.

Thanks for your time.

[bhaalble]

Alistair: A Defense, a Critique

I PROMISED AN ESSAY

I DELIVER AN ESSAY.

So here we go. What’s up Ferelden, its him, ya boi

So, let’s start off by clearly delineating some things that Alistair is, and more importantly, what he is not.

I think there’s a tendency with Alistair critical posts to treat the worst possible version of Alistair as the “real him”, which is more than a little unfair. Unhardened, kinda bitchy Alistair is a part of him, yes, but its a part of him that only arises when your Warden is continually a dick to him, and I think it’s fair to say that none of us are the best versions of ourselves when we’re constantly being treated like shit or ignored. Furthermore, this isn’t really something we do when we talk about the other characters. Zevran straight up tries to murder you if you don’t have his approval ratings high enough and somehow most people don’t see Zevran as inherently a backstabbing little shit.

So, let’s run down the list of common accusations and overturn them

Alistair is not stupid. He’s just…not. Morrigan jokes, yes, but Morrigan tends to see everyone as an idiot for not sharing her worldview, including your Warden. The one who jokes about Alistair being stupid more often than anyone is Alistair, but as we see time and time again, he’s rarely the most trustworthy source for his real complications.

Alistair may not be a scholar and can make some pretty boneheaded statements, yes, but he’s hardly alone in that department for the DA:O crew. His retorts show some real wit behind them at points. He can demonstrate great social awareness (e.g. catching on to the fact that the Grand Cleric sending him, an ex-templar, to interact with the Circle Mages was definitely an intentional slight). Furthermore, I’d like to point out that he managed to catch on to the Chantry’s bullshit all on his own, before he racked up dozens of counts of mage abuse (*cough* CULLEN *cough*). He still shows some effects of the templar’s training, (especially in his treatment of Jowan and Morrigan) but I’d argue that this is hardly a surprise. He’s been subjected to it 24/7 since he was a child. But he’s aware, and based on the other templars we meet throughout the game that on its own shows some serious introspection and critical thinking.

Alistair is not selfish. While he has his moments, I don’t think that’s really who he is, deep down. Take, for instance, his forgiveness of Arl Eamon. He hasn’t seen Eamon for years. The expected arc would be that he waits for Eamon to wake up, gets an apology, and then forgives him. But based on how he talks about him when you enter Redcliffe, its clear that he’s already forgiven Eamon, and is honestly more than a little ashamed of his behavior. Frankly, this is more selfless than even I would be: imagine being twelve, having lived your life as a street urchin because your adoptive father simply won’t treat you any different than he treats his paid employees, only to be sent away from the only home you’ve ever known because your presence embarrasses his wife. Frankly, I think Alistair would be justified in resenting Eamon for it, but it’s clear that he doesn’t. He calls him a good man from beginning to end.

Furthermore, I think what the Guardian says to Alistair is telling. He doesn’t just feel sad that Duncan is gone. He feels guilty. He, deep down, genuinely believes it should have been him. He wishes he could throw himself on the sword to save his mentor. Then there’s the ritual to consider. It takes some convincing (because of course it does) but with little fuss, Alistair will sleep with a woman he genuinely dislikes (which hoo boy does this make a consent conversation more than a little shaky) to conceive a child that he will never get to see. He, a bastard child cast away from his father, is essentially doing the same thing. All to ensure that he won’t risk his friends dying. Even an unhardened King Alistair casting off a non-human non-noble Warden, while it of course hurts, to me shows a sense of latent responsibility. He genuinely loves and cares about your HoF, but he has the sense that this matters more. That even though he never wanted this burden, he has to carry it as best he can.

What Alistair is is immature.

I want to draw a fine distinction here because I think we tend to use immature interchangeably with “selfish” and “stupid”, so it can sound like I’m contradicting myself. So, to explain myself: I use “immature” in the sense of a symptom, rather than a personality.

For an example of “immature as a personality”, look no further than Tony Stark in like, the first half hour of Iron Man (arguably Tony in the rest of the movies too but ashfagdkh follow me here)

Early Tony Stark is very much someone who is irrepressibly immature. He is capable of being an adult, but he chooses not to be, valuing his own desires above pretty much everyone else’s. He acts out simply because he knows no one will stop him, chases the shiniest, biggest toys he can get, and throws a fit when he doesn’t get his way. He treats other people’s time and needs with a flippant attitude, generally behaving like they are literally side characters who only matter so long as they help him get what he wants.

This isn’t to say there isn’t a reason Tony is the way he is (his relationship with his father being a big contributor), but what is important is that Tony is fully capable of being otherwise, knows it, and chooses not to. He revels in his shamelessness, believing that his immaturity is a sign of his intelligence. Everyone else acts like an adult because they have to, but Tony acts like a child because he is smart enough and rich enough to get away with it. Call it a sort of Capitalist Peter Pan syndrome.

By contrast, Alistair strikes me as immature as a symptom. First off, his age is important to factor in here. Alistair is 20 (my age, which is trippy as fuck). He is barely done being a teenager by the time you meet him.

There are further factors that have stunted Alistair’s emotional maturity, even for the average 20-year-old. He jokes about having been raised by Mabari, but its very clear there weren’t a lot of adult influences in his life at a young age. He mentions Isolde ensured that the castle wasn’t home to him long before he was sent to the Chantry. Imagine being under ten and feeling like you were unwanted by a person who has the power to make your life miserable in every imaginable way.

Then, once he was moved to the Chantry….well, if the Circle is any indication, the Chantry doesn’t exactly know how to accommodate children. Alistair made life a merry hell for the priests but it’s clear he wasn’t treated very well by them. Then straight into templar training. All of this while barely interacting with the outside world and shunned by his peers for his status as a bastard. Kids need to engage with other people in order to grow up effectively. With that in mind, it’s frankly stunning that Alistair has as much care for other people as he does.

The observation of Alistair’s immaturity is exactly groundbreaking either. Think about his dream in the Fade. We see Alistair at his most honest and vulnerable, fully convinced of the illusion. And it seems his greatest dream is to have the family he never got as a child, via his sister. Alistair behaves childlike to the point of parody in this dream. He pleads like a child and tries to entice the Warden to stay by begging his mom sister to make a special meal, his favorite. Hell, the whole “hardening” subplot is basically about the Warden forcing Alistair to let go of the childhood he never got to have and moving forward into adulthood.

His immaturity doesn’t just express itself in the obvious childlike behavior, however. Even though we tend to forget that Alistair is a junior member of the Wardens and is barely more experienced than the HoF in terms of actually fighting darkspawn, I think we can all agree that tossing the decisions on someone who’s barely past their Joining probably isn’t great behavior. Pretty much every comment he makes, about mages, blood magic, elves, even women, also read as the words of a man who simply does not have the world experience yet to really know how to engage with people who aren’t like him. It doesn’t mean these comments don’t….yanno, suck, but there is rarely any real malice behind them. Despite the hardships in Alistair’s life (of which there have been many, I grant), he has still been on the receiving end of certain privileges by virtue of being a man and being human non-mage, and it is clear he is still unlearning the prejudice inherent in that. His youth doesn’t excuse how hurtful or ignorant his comments can be, but its the unfortunate truth that, especially for those of us who grow up relatively privileged, being mindful of the Other is a learning process.

However, the main reason I view this immaturity as a symptom more than a personality is that I think Alistair has a genuine desire to grow past this. He acknowledges that he complains a lot, with an additional note that “and you haven’t been having an easy time of it either”. If you push back on his comments (or at least when the game gives you the chance to), he’ll usually apologize for it. And as I said, the hardening storyline to me indicates that Alistair is more than ready to grow up. He’s just still learning how to do it.

None of this, by the way, means that you have to love Alistair. Its more than easy to be annoyed by him, especially for a non-human and/or non-noble character. In the interest of full disclosure, it took me romancing Alistair to move past simply tolerating him. But I think its time for all of us to stop pretending Alistair is something he isn’t. He isn’t really a side character as much as he is a deuteragonist. More than any other companion (except, arguably, Morrigan), Alistair has a character arc that acts in response to your own characters. He grows and changes over the course of the narrative in a way that parallels how the story treats him, and if you create an Alistair that behaves like an asshole, well, you might want to take a look at how you’ve been treating him

to

[teamwindsorroyals]

I am personally annoyed as hell with the people saying shes faking the pregnancy. I don’t care for Markle but she is pregnant no doubt. I do think she was padding early on though.

Another note, I don’t like some of the articles that have been put out against her as some have had racial undertones but others have been legit criticisms that Kate has also gotten and people still label that as racist which it isn’t. I even had one person accuse me of jealousy and racism when I said that Meghans spending was bad optics. Apparently saying something is “bad optics” means your jealous and racist. I understand royals want to look like “royalty” but there’s simply no reason to spend 500k on clothes in less than a year on clothes.

I think it’s sad to see her fans have this misconception about royalty and think royals have to spend thousands on top designer brands just to look ‘royal’ when that’s simply not the case. It’s like they think the royal family is the live version of all the disney films where they need to be in jewels all the time or something. It’s like they don’t realize that’s there’s good brands, good quality clothes that don’t cost thousands and you can still look like a royal. It’s not just the clothes, it’s also the way the royal carries themselves and takes care of themselves. Showing up to an engagement with a messy bun and ill-fitted clothes isn’t a good look. People think it’s “chic” but this is royalty not hollywood or high school. They also say that her spending is justified with the amount of engagements shes doing but that is also NOT justified. This is where Meghan needs to take a page out of Kate’s book and realize that there are certain events that do not require a 5k outfit. The other excuse is “building royal wardrobe” like really? No other royal has had the need to spend 500k in one year on clothes & they do more engagements than she does. 

My other note, I don’t think the marriage will last. I never thought it would last since the statement was put out. Harry always seemed like the type who would be the one to divorce atleast twice. Hes not stable like his brother & unfortunately never has been. I definitely see divorce rumors by next year. 

I don’t consider myself one of those crazy tinhatters but I didn’t need anyone to tell me this marriage was doomed from the beginning. They both rushed into things and had too many misconceptions about married life. There’s too many other red flags as well. It’s a shame. 

I’ve stood up for Meghan regarding some of the racial undertoned articles but in regards to the sexist & classist articles, her fans should be looking in the mirror with how they treat Kate & the Middletons before bitching about the “sexist & classist” articles against Meghan. The shit they’ve called Kate & the Middletons is disgusting especially when they turn around and bitch about a “sexist” article against Markle, like really? Kate has been bashed for over a decade, so Meghan fans need to grow the fuck up and realize that all royal wives get hammered by the press. 

Cont.

I’m not saying all crap articles against Meghan are warranted but her fans are absolutely atrocious. 

They’ve called Kate & Carole sluts, hags, crinkly bitches etc all over twitter and then five minutes later will tweet an article thats “sexist” against Meghan and will go into pure rage. Clearly these fans haven’t seen the crap Kate has been put through and those who say that they have, yet still complain on articles about Meghan, are the biggest liars. 

Her fans refuse to accept any ounce of negativity towards Meghan and that right there is toxic and the definition of a cult! It’s unhealthy.

Her fans think she’s been treated unfairly yet she got an engagement with the Queen right off the bat, a more expensive wedding than the future King/Queen that the RF paid for no less, christmas with the RF as a fiance as well as other engagements as a fiance that nobody else got, she got quite a few patronages from the Queen within 6 months of marrying. Shes gotten so much that others haven’t, her fans have no room to complain. She’s spending more than any other royal and her fans say shes being treated unfairly? PU-LEASE!!

ok I’ve done my rant for the day.

************

Hi, Anon, Thanks for your submission 😊 I’m just going to edit in my reply.

*********

OK, I resorted to going on my desktop as my phone was driving me crazy.  Probably better as I’m a fast typist.

I started my Tumblr five years ago. When Cressida and Prince Harry broke up, I chose to not rebrand my Tumblr.  I’m happy with the various themes I tend to share.  Of course if there is anything about Cressida that I want to share, I do.  I thought she was (and she is) a class act and her family are fascinating. They’re this fascinating, blended (as in half siblings) family who are related by marriage to the equally fascinating Bransons.

So five years ago and later, I did check Twitter more.  But TBH I prefer Tumblr as people curate interesting content here.  Some of it is recent and some of it is historical. And some of the Tumblr users in the Royal Fandom are extremely knowledgeable.  I’ve learnt a lot!  I also prefer the more visual format.

I do use Twitter just a touch and recently I had someone send a tweet my way with vitriol about CB?  Why? What is CB to this person?  I checked that person’s Twitter feed and it was a whole bunch of obsessive nonsense in support of one Royal and against everyone else. I think if you’re thinking about a celebrity or royal that much, you simply have too much time on your hands and you need a hobby.  I don’t even bother engaging with such people.  It’s an immediate call for blocking.

I was surprised the other day to read someone’s comment that they were too young to remember PW and the DofC’s wedding.  Wow!  That set me back a bit.  Lately, people have been sharing videos showing what the DofC went through with the hoardes of paparazzi while she was dating for the better part of a decade.  I think it’s important to know that about her. Chelsy also had these issues.  And for two years Cressida had to struggle with it as well and still experiences the after effects of her dating PH years.

I think that you can compare the Middletons and MM. Both sides are self made in their own way.  The Middletons are the British version of living the American Dream. MM made a meteoric leap from being a suitcase woman in a slinky dress to a supporting actress and aspirational lifestyle blogger/Instagrammer.  From there she parlayed her way into circles in little ol Toronto that included every person in town who knows PH.  Plus she was chummy with JT (Justin Trudeau).  She certainly knows how to work her social connections.  So if you don’t like the Middletons for their “rise” in society, then you can’t like MM, and vice versa.

I’m not sure why people choose to hurl such vitriol at the Middletons. And with such language.  And I’ve seen the B word put under MM’s photo too along with a lot of critique about her looks.  I always cringe when I hear the age 40 hurled at her as if it’s an insult. If these people are not someone’s cup of tea, fine.  Then focus on something else.

As for MM, it was PH’s choice to want to get married after a relatively short courting period that was mostly done at a distance.  I think that they should have waited longer. But they made the decision and now they need to make it work as they continue to get to know each other.

My rule of thumb is to never write anything about anyone  - including Royals - that you wouldn’t say to their face.

Also, I think if you are fan and you want your favourite Royal to survive in the BRF over the long run, you should encourage harmony and getting along.  On the side of the fandom and hopefully wishing for the same within the BRF.  You should celebrate the positive and not encourage division.

Of course there is room for constructive critique.  MM said she wasn’t really aware of the BRF before she got married. (TBH I don’t believe that.)  But many fans have been following the BRF for years and even decades.  Of course that is looking in from the outside.  But they’ve seen all the drama unfold and know that while it’s not easy to marry into a large and affluent family, it’s even harder to marry into something like the BRF.  As is the case with most large and wealthy families, individuals are in their own silos looking after their own concerns and interests.  You have to tread carefully so as not to threaten anybody or step on their toes. So if MM is making repeated missteps and outsiders can see them, it’s fair to call out the problems.

Leaking to the press?  Not a good idea.  Being seen to be more demanding of staff members or spending more money than others?  Also not a good idea. Of course these just might be spin jobs from other camps but we know how perception is 9/10s of reality as far as onlookers are concerned.  I think it’s better to put your head low and keep a simple profile.  They say a good leader will join a company and will spend six months walking the halls and getting to know the employees before making any major changes.

It’s also been my observation that whether you’re Prince Philip, Princess Diana, the Duchess of Cornwall or the Duchess of Cambridge, if you’ve married into the BRF you can’t take the spotlight away from your spouse.  That’s just how it works. If you choose to not heed this advice, you will encounter push back.

The fashion part is an interesting one. I don’t like this notion of “oh there’s an event tomorrow.  Let’s see what the young and senior female royal is wearing”. They aren’t clothes hangers.  Their first priority is to visit a charity or represent a charity.  Promoting a fashion brand (hopefully from the Commonwealth) is an extra perk.  Many of the senior BRF wear expensive clothes - both casual and fancy. The Duchess of Cornwall is very well dressed and is a leading example of looking fabulous in her 70s. Even the casual clothes they wear can be expensive. EG boy are the Le Chameau rainboots that the DofC wears expensive.  But then for the average person, most of those clothes are expensive.  Even a L350 dress would seem too much. And if the Royals had to wear dresses under L100 for example, like most of us do, they would have to choose from over priced and poorly constructed dresses made out of thin fabric. (Such is the reality of fast fashion these days.  The struggle is real when we hit the shops.  I prefer thrift stores, as a result.)

I don’t think they have to wear clothes from Britain and the Commonwealth all the time but, if you think about it, there’s a vast array of options from Britain and the Commonwealth.  There are some gorgeous clothes out there that could inject interest into Brand Britain and also designers from other countries.  MM has worn some Canadian brands and that’s great.  But it’s a good idea to switch it up and not look like she might be connected to Jessica Mulroney’s business interests.  That perception is out there strongly and that needs to be axed.  If JM is offering styling advice for free, you have to ask - what is the benefit for JM financially?

I’m a bit surprised by the amount of negative press circulating right now. Maybe that’s the reality of having so many more fast moving and soft news outlets like social media. I hope that it will get better after the Sussex baby is born.  Maybe having the Sussexes move off into a little cottage in the woods of Windsor is a good idea after all.

Thanks for your submission. I hope I expanded on the main topics you raised.

[falcon6]

Learning to Create

It’s really difficult for me to admit that I’m an artist of any capacity. A lot of times, I consider that sort of term to be dedicated only to the working artist. You know, the ones who actually get paid for their work. The ones who end up creating things for everyone. The ones I admire greatly, to the point that I consider them to be living on Mt. Olympus while I’m stuck at a temple waiting for a chariot up a very steep road.

The place I work at now is a place where I don’t get to really create for myself. I create for other people. When I’m done there, I seldom get to make things for myself at home. There is an effort, of course, when I’m able to do so, but it’s hard to be that focused after toiling a retail job for 7 hours a day. You end up taking the opportunity to decompress and that ends up becoming an 8-hour decompress and you need to go to bed. That’s how it is for an adult, I guess. Don’t recommend growing up.

And that “9-5 Job, Now Do Nothing For Hours” mindset is something I need to work on, to be sure. In my mind, I see myself as someone who needs to be able to do something. I can’t make art to decompress, because art is supposed to be something important. I toil and toil, thinking about the process I need to decide on doing. “How do I become an artist like my favorite artists?” “What is the correct methods of learning it?”

How do I climb the mountain and join the greats?

In my monthly stint of introspection, I was watching a friend play Paper Mario: The Thousand-Year Door. To this day, it may still be my favorite game. Watching it again brings back a lot of genuinely good memories, both inside and outside of the game. The charm that filled the game’s varied and interesting world and cast has still yet to be matched for my personal tastes. And for years, it was the game I played whenever I needed a good pick-me-up.

Watching him play it for the first time and getting to hear the same sort of reactions I had to it 14 years ago ended up bringing an...odd memory back to me. And it involves this image.

Low-Quality Vivian For The Low-Quality Needs

Perhaps not this specific image in particular - the internet could have phased out that one- but something similar to it.

See, back in 2004 I was just getting in on the whole Internet thing. This was back when people used what was called an “internet forum”. This was a place where people can post their thoughts on a wide range of topics, such as: “How do you jump in Metroid?”, “This game sucks”, and “Do you think Kingdom Hearts 2 will be on Gamecube?”.

I was part of one forum for a good part of my teenage life. I started at around January of 2004, in fact. I suppose I consider that a turning point in my life if I remember it to that degree.

I was fairly active in that forum. And as I began to make my posts, I began to notice something. At the bottom of every post was what you called a signature.

Copyright Falcon 2018, filed under the Trademark of Best Girl 2004

They were a cute little way to signify that you were the one who was making the post. It was one of the small creative outlets this particular forum had given users, though you still needed it to be both 45-ish pixels tall and kept at a low file size to help those with 56k modems.

Typing that out makes me feel really old.

There were people who were making these small images underneath their posts and the cool, hip guy I was as a teenager was like “OH BOY I WANNA DO THAT TOO!”. Of course, in order to create this sort of stuff I had to be...sneaky.

Back then, I found a pirated copy of Paint Shop Pro 7. It worked decently enough for me, but as I was a young lad with strong moral values - I didn’t even curse until well into my later teens, the frickin’ twit - I felt extremely guilty doing this. So for my birthday that year, I ended up getting a legit copy of Paint Shop Pro 8. It was at that point, I suppose, that my desire to create stuff was ignited. I was thrown into the wide world of graphic design, making sigs for myself and others.

I eventually upgraded to Photoshop 7 - after throwing away all of those moral values and growing the confidence to say the fuck-word - walking even further into this new world for me. I started making signatures for people in flashier ways, abused lens flare to the point of blinding half of Nintendo fanboys, and even dabbled in creating wallpapers for people to use. This was back when 1024x768 was the norm, if you can believe that.

I talk about this because when my friend was playing TTYD, I decided to look up art of some characters again, and found Vivian - one of the party members in the game - once more. Only, this time, in a way higher fidelity than I had 14 years ago.

Best Girl in A Good Resolution.

In general, I’d consider TTYD as the game that first got me encroaching into graphic design. This was not due to the game’s art, which is still fantastic, but because of so many people suddenly wanting signatures of their favorite new party members in that restrictive 48 pixel height.

I would get private messages in the forum asking for sigs with Mario, Goombella, Koops, Yoshi, Vivian, Bobbery, the X-Nauts, Bowser, Peach...Rawk Hawk a few times...even had Zess T. the cook in there. It was wild.

So imagine my surprise going through Google Image Search for a post about Vivian and finding an image of her that was extremely close to the kind of art I had to work with back then. I worked for a long time trying to figure out how to deal with the blur of the pisspoor scan with its low resolution and JPEG artifacts. Back then, finding official art was pretty difficult alone, and official art that actually looked like it was scanned with proper care? You were basically stuck with what you had and needed to figure out how to hide it. The people who could find clean concept art became our dealer providing the good shit while we provided our services to others.

Otherwise, you just worked with what you had. This was problem solving. Back then, you didn’t have access to as many tutorials as you do now. You absolutely didn’t have as much access to tablets. Those were from Wacom only and they were expensive. So you were essentially on your own, only getting help from the occasional artist who decided to make small tutorials on the forum.

Thankfully most of the people for signature requests were also teenagers as well, who just thought you were amazing for doing this for them.

I suppose all this reminiscing got me thinking about that mountain again. The paths up the mountain are long but they’re rarely ever getting longer or shorter, just easier to traverse. Nowadays, tablets are so much easier to acquire and art programs have gotten a lot more manageable. Art you want to look at or study or even use for your small projects are readily available, with services that makes buying personalized art easy and supporting artists even easier.

The knowledge about art programs and processes is nigh-infinite at this point. You can get a young artist’s commentary about their own virtues of art in a single tweet at lunch and get an experienced artist’s commentary at dinner. You can get atelier-level art lessons for free on Youtube.

Almost anything you want to learn is feasible now. Climbing the mountain is easier than ever.

So naturally, with my inferiority complex in full swing, I always have to ask myself why I haven’t started climbing the mountain yet. Why haven’t I just started the trek up the mountain pass already towards becoming a technically-skilled artist?

And the answer is, I am.

It’s just at my pace.

When I was a kid playing make-believe with others in the playground, I was making steps. Throughout all my teenage years of making signatures for people, making wallpapers for others, and even making a properly-awful sprite comic, I was making steps. When I was getting people stealing my sketchbook and making marks over my drawing of a Sonic character at lunch in high school, I was still making steps. When I was being critiqued by people for my skills in ways I felt were unfair or spiteful, I was still making steps. Every time I open Photoshop or SAI and stare at a blank canvas and will myself into making a mark on there, I’m still making a step.

Every step further from the start point, which is far and away from where I am now.

In my mind, I still can’t help but feel like where I should be is as some sort of master of art, but it’s really not fair to me. In hindsight, if I had drawn something every single day with intent, I could be a technical genius with knowledge of all the principles of design lodged firmly in my mind. It sounds amazing, but that’s not something I did.

Considering “what could have been” ignores what I am now. I am someone with knowledge in these various programs for over 14 years. I’ve dabbled in multiple projects, some in my own design. I can consider those things invariably shit, but the stuff I did there was stuff I did on my own terms, which I learned from. I wrote fanfics, did signatures for people, made wallpapers and webcomics, designed websites, did roleplaying, made a storyline based on friends’ characters in an MMO, and played tabletop games creating characters that became some of my favorite creations in my lifetime.

I would never want to trade that away for some sort of technical skill level-up. I’ve made too many great friends because of all of this. I am who I am because of how I’ve gotten here.

Learning how to create is all about taking the opportunities as they come along. Even this post is, essentially, me seeing one image online after a game session with friends and getting a nostalgia blast for something completely unrelated to the game itself.

The act of creating is simply doing. If you do, you create. If you create, you create art.

If you create art, you are an artist.

Don’t let your inner thoughts dissuade you from that fact, ever.

Thanks for reading.

[convertidophoto]

Screeching Weasel should always made me smile

I am convinced that when anyone first begins to delve into any style of music there are certain bands that “mean” more than others.  To my ears My Brains Hurts by Screeching Weasel was the best punk record by any band recording at the time of its release.  This was, at the time for me, a no-B.S./no-discussion fact and I was not interested in debating the point with anyone on any level.  The crux of my argument was how could you listen to that record and not want to smile and singalong.  When Screeching weasel popped up on the Common Ground calendar, I could not believe it. I was going to get so see the best damn punk band in America at the time and if you disagreed, you were wrong!

During 1991 punk was to me encompassed sounds as variegated as Siouxsie and the Banshees, the Dickies, Negative Approach, Born Against, Youth of Today, Flipper, the Big Boys, and Napalm Death.  In my mind, Punk was not a specific sound, or a physical look, or a fashion statement; punk was more a way of approaching daily life.  In short, punk meant doing or saying what you wanted, how you wanted to say it, when you wanted to say it, if only because if you did not say it no one else would do.  Of course, one did all this with the explicit understanding that you accepted fully the costs and benefits of your choices.  Exemplifying my belief was Screeching Weasel.  In the face of scene splintering into SxE, grindcore, crust, NYHC, Ska-punk, Dischord, peace punk, and SoCal Bro-core, Screeching Weasel played an unapologetic mix of the musical pop stylings of The Dickies and The Ramones punctuated the unvarnished lyrics/opinions of Ben Weasel.  

Pre-internet music shopping was about diligence and the experience of finding a record that informed your world differently.  In many instances, I had only heard of records from seeing them on “want-lists” or trading friends of auction adds in the back MRR.  Many of the classic HS records could not be heard unless you had a copy or new someone who had a copy.  It needs to be said over and over…it was FUGGING hard to find punk records.  Every week Chris and I would scour the used bins at Direct Hit, RPM, Forever Young Records, Recycled Books and Records, Half-Price Books, and many more little shops.  The efforts paid dividends as we connected with other punkers hunting records, the clerks who came to know us and would hold records for us or inform us of cool stuff upcoming that we should buy.  It was not convenient like now where you can read a review of band and stream or download their entire catalog in minutes.  It was through this near obsessive exercise of hunting that I first heard Screeching Weasel.

The first Screeching Weasel song I heard was “This Bud’s for You” off the MRR compilation LP They Don’t Get Paid, They Don’t Get Laid, but Boy Do They Work Hard (A D.I.Y. Complication) and I loved it!!  [I read later that the song was a joke but I don’t care.]  That LP is a classic and straight forward punk sound of the music and low-brow critique of SxE found in the title made that song my favorite. [This is no mean feat on an LP that also has Nausea, Christ of a Crutch, Jawbox, Dissent, the Detonators, Amenity, Cringer, and the Libido Boyz amongst others.]  I could empathize greatly with the anti SxE mindset; I was not a drinker of any note and I genuinely liked many of the SxE bands.  What I did not like, however, and still do not like are those that take themselves seriously rather than taking their responsibilities seriously.  More precisely, what I did not like was a more militant brand of SxE that would be known as Hardline which was beginning to rear its intolerant head in scenes around the country. I think it was this that ole Ben was targeting.  Regardless, the upbeat tempo, no frills hc punch of the song and production to match made it a standout on the LP and as a result the song made it on every comp tape I made for a few years.  In the end, the comp LP did what comp LP was supposed to do; it made you want to locate more from the best bands and I was on the hunt for Screeching Weasel.

It must have taken me nearly a year or so to find any other Screeching Weasel records.  As was often the case, our local stores didn’t stock any of their stuff and frankly they really were not the sort of band that dominated want or trade lists.  It appeared that during the late 80s and early 90s Screeching Weasel were still largely a regional band.  When Lookout Records! advertised that they were releasing the new Screeching Weasel record this began to change.

My Brain Hurts was a breath of fresh air to me when I bought it at Direct Hit Records.  Instantly, that album made much of what I been listening to or hearing sounded bloated, stale, plodding, and second-rate.  Admittedly, this was a slight overreaction but what’s the point of being young and excitable if you are to be staid and stodgy?  

The album had everything I loved about punk; the songs were catchy, it sounded timeless but remained rooted in the rooted in the past, there were no throwaways on the album, and it did not sound like anyone else at the time though clearly it remained complimentary with many bands that existed at the same time.  I played the LP to death when at home and the cassette I made of it, did its duty holding out until the end in my car’s tape deck.  I made EVERYBODY who rode in my car listen to it; friend and family alike found no reprieve or respite from the bouncy sounds when rolling with me.

By the time the day of the show arrived my proselyting meant that instead of the usual two-some, Chris and I, we browbeat another two or three of our friends to make the drive into Dallas to see Screeching Weasel. Upon arriving, it looked like this would be one of the biggest shows at Common Ground.  The street in front of the club was rent with mommy and daddy type cars.  Clearly, the suburbs were emptying tonight and all the punkers and punkettes were coming to the show.  This only added to my nearly irrepressible excitement.

Dallas had a dearth of good local bands during the early 90s.  The majority of bands merely aped their favorite bands; no matter how well a band executes this maneuver it is depressing to those that realize this. Sadly, I thought Pasty Face was such a band.  Their earliest shows saw them trying to sound like the Bad Brains to which they gradually added funk influences ala the Red Hot Chili Peppers.  By the end of their run, Pasty Face was an overt RHCP tribute band without the name to match.  Importantly though, they brought out paying kids that would ultimately benefit the headlining band.  I knew they pulled a crowd but I assumed that all the kids at Common ground this night were there to see Screeching Weasel.  IT was not the first time I was proved wrong.  Mercifully though, I chose to schmooze rather than watch Pasty Face. I cannot remember whether we were inside or outside but we just killed time as distant from Pasty Face as we could waiting for Screeching Weasel.  

Just before the band was about to start, my buddy Todd grabs me and asks if I wanted to work the stage lights.  I had no idea Common Ground had stage lights much less that they “needed to be worked”.  Of course I said yes, it seemed asinine task and I was the person for it!  As the band took the stage Ben commented into the microphone, “Where’d everybody go?”  Then only did I noticed that the crowd that once numbered 150-200 was now down to about 35 people.  [I always stood near the stage and had no reason to look behind me.]  Inexplicably and to my amazement, nearly everyone left!! Clearly most of the crowd were friends of Pasty Face and never heard of or did not care to hear Screeching Weasel…bless their hearts!

Despite the fleeing hordes, Screeching Weasel played on entertaining immensely those that remained.  In fact, the only thing that appeared to hamper their ability to play was the stage lights.  In my ignorance and exacerbated by my glee, I was flicking the switches along with the drummer beat.  I think Ben said something about it giving him a headache and making him nauseous or something like that as Todd came walking over to me in a hurry and forcibly removed me hands from the lighting controls.  Fair enough I thought, now I was free to go stand with remaining crowd in front of the stage.  The band sounded so much better from the front than the side of the stage.  

In the few breaks the band took between songs Ben talked a bit about the songs they were about to play or told amusing anecdotes.  The only funny story I remember was about the song Jeannie’s got a Problem with her Uterus. After playing that song at an earlier show, a woman came up to Ben and let into him about that song stating he was a misogynist because he wrote that song. Ben quipped that he had to wait until he got home after the show to look up what misogynist meant to know what she said to him.  The remainder of their set is lost to the ages and I can only smile thinking about it so I am guessing I enjoyed it.

           As per usual, I could not tell you how many songs they played or which other songs they played but apparently I loved it.  Those people who came with me all agreed that Screeching Weasel were great and we all left happy we came.  Before we left though, I bought a shirt and a 7” from the band that validated what I told everyone.  Though it long since stopped fitting, I still have my “Choosy punks chose Screeching Weasel” t-shirt.  The following years were good for Screeching Weasel as their popularity only grew as did my enjoyment for the band.

           It would be another couple of years before Screeching Weasel were to play Dallas again.  I think it was during the spring or summer of 1993 that they appeared on the calendar for Club No.  On this tour, Screeching Weasel had The Queers as an opening act. Oh yeah, it was going to be awesome! Unfortunately, Club No closed unexpectedly so nearly all of the shows cancelled and never happened.  Thankfully though, Todd and the coolest record store owner in Dallas stepped into save the day.  Kelly Keys offered her store for Screeching Weasel and The Queers to play a pass-the-hat show if I remember correctly.

           Direct Hit Records was small storefront in Fair Park area of Dallas.  It was at most 20 feet wide and 50 feet deep.  Nonetheless, it was an oasis in Dallas.  Kelly was a fan of underground music and she did everything she could to stock as much new and used records, tapes, CD’s, videos, and magazines as possible.  This day, Kelly pushed all the racks to the back to make some room for the bands to play and for a small number of people to watch.  Todd hipped me to the show and I drove in from Fort Worth for the midday show. I was like a kid at Christmas.  In my mind I was imaging the set list they would play replete with all my favorite songs.  This was not to be the case though.

           In keeping with the intimate nature of show, Screeching Weasel decided to play a “special” set. As Ben explained they were on their way to California to record a new album.  Since this was a small show and no too much unlike practice, the band decided they would play their entire new-as-yet-unrecorded album song for song in order.  This was the first time I ever heard Anthem for a New Tomorrow.  I must admit to preferring the versions I heard that day to the studio versions.  That album and My Brain Hurts remain my favorite Screeching Weasel albums to this day; yes, wiggle isn’t too bad either.

           Over the years, I had two more chances to see Screeching Weasel play in larger venues.  I did not go to either show.  It was not because I do not like them anymore (I still thought they wer very good) or because Ben is an asshole (boy howdy he was/is!!) but because something about them changed.  We all remember how they famously stopped playing live for a while and then their records became spotty.  Also during this period the band acquired an air of circus like hype and I didn’t care for it. For me the strength of the band was the workmen like way they went about being in a band.  Once that changed and when they became “a thing” they no longer seemed fun and frankly their albums no longer left you smiling.  The wit, humor, and bounce that punctuated their albums was replaced increasingly with bitterness, hype, and songs that are best described as filled then the whole Riverdales thing happened.  I’m still scratching my head about that…

           Screeching Weasel will always occupy a happy place in my life; my wife and I bonded over our shared loved for their early records when we first met 24 years ago. Occasionally, we still breakout those old albums and reminisce about how much we enjoy them.  Unlike me, my wife has never seen Screeching Weasel play live. It is for that reason we are going to see them play in Portland, OR this summer.  I am not sure what to expect of them 25 years after the last time I saw them but just thinking about the show and the two shows I already saw has me smiling again; for that fact I thank them.

[another-chorus-girl]

“Erik House” Chapter 5

Karimloo stepped inside the house just as dawn was peaking over the horizon. 

Rarely did he enjoy leaving his new home-as the place was growing on him as weeks passed-but he did need to stay in peak physical condition. At least the gymnasium was open morning, noon, and night. If Karimloo went during the silent dark hours, less people would be around to gawk. It's not everyday people see a man lifting whilst wearing a slicked down wig and mask. 

Although Karimloo was mildly surprised to see a boy there also wearing a rather strange mask. The boy glanced his way a few times in between reps but other than this kept his baseball cap brim down over his eyes and continued his exercises

Karimloo paid the boy little mind and let him be.

He was just heading up the stairs when he heard an ungodly shriek.

"For the love of treble clef! Not again!" Karimloo heard from upstairs.

"Oh what now?!"

"Some of us are trying to sleep after hours of composing!"

The shriek had come from the parlour, and as Karimloo creeped closer he heard sniffling.

"My little darling....no...." He hard a mumbled whimpering.

Several dishevelled Meriks came bounding down the stairs.

"I swear if that's Harley screaming again, not even his hand at the level of his eyes will save him." Warlow grumbled.

Gerik yawned stumbling down the stairs.

"What's all this commotion about?" He mumbled, the Meriks too sleep deprived to show discontent at his presence.

In the parlour was a slumped over Jerik, cradling a large furry motionless lump to his chest.

"No no no" The estranged long haired man weeped.

"Seriously?" Panaro griped, "It's a rat!"

Jerik shot him an offended glare, "Don't say such a thing about her!"

Kerik stumbled through the crowd.

"What's all this noise?" He asked, running his hand through his now messy hair.

"You!" Jerik pointed an accusing finger, "Your little beast killed my Sofia!"

Kerik angrily stomped over, "How dare you speak that way of my little lady! Ayesha has certainly more class than your vermin minions! If anything she did that one a kindness!"

As if on cue a mew was heard. The Siamese feline in question strutted through the parlour.

"Shoo! Shoo!" Jerik shouted as Ayesha's ear went flat against her skull, giving him a venomous hiss.

"You're scaring her!" Kerik exclaimed, running over to scoop Ayesha into his arms. Once in her master's embrace, Ayesha's demeanour changed as she purred lovingly against his chest. "Splendid work my girl."

Still cradling the dead rodent Jerik ran out of the parlour and back outside.

"I think a certain someone earned herself a little treat." Kerik cooed, heading for the kitchen to give a well deserved feline a saucer of milk -- "No no please you made a mistake."

"But she looks just like her! I'm certain!"

"No! You're mistaken."

"I say what's going on?" Crawford asked, seeing several huddled around the window.

"We have a guest." Mauer said.

"What? But who would-?" He paused, glancing out the window to a familiar sight.

Rain dripped against the glass but they could easily make out a figure in a blue cloak that was approaching the main door of the house. Lifting the hood revealed long brown curls and fair pale skin. She was accompanied by another fair haired woman, but she had a mass of golden blonde hair.  

"Is it truly!" Crawford gasped, disappearing down the stairwell.

Knocking on the door, it was opened to a startled Kerik.

"I'm sorry mademoiselles can I help you?" He asked, startled to see the women at the door.

Confused Lerik gave Winslow a bewildered look hearing the commotion from the foyer. Scribbling something down he showed Winslow the parchment.

'Callers?' It read.

"Yes, um I'm looking for the master of the house monsieur." The blonde said. somewhat perplexed by the man at the door. He had a pair of familiar eyes, but she knew this could not be him.

"I see, well you must know he doesn't like to be disturbed. We try to abide by that rule." Kerik explained a warning glance at the basement door.

"I appreciate your concern, but we've met before you see and I-"

But Kerik felt the door yanked open as Gerik poked his head out.

"Christine?!" He asked the other girl, strolling to her side. "It's been too long my dear!"

The brunette took a step back.

"I apologise monsieur, you have me mistaken for-"

"Oh my! What happened to your voice?" He asked concerned, taking her hand. 

"I mean it's lovely but you sound so different. Oh but that's-"

"Remove your hand right now monsieur," Gerik froze hearing Crawford's icy tone. Backing away, the older man stepped passed Gerik.

The dark demeanour immediately changed as he laid his mismatch eyes on the brunette.

Crawford smiled, "I knew it was you darling!" Taking the brunette in his arms the two embraced lovingly as she smiled up at him.

"It's so splendid to see you," Her pale blue eyes practically glimmered.

"And I you my dear, but please do come in. You'll catch your death a cold out here"

Leading her in the house, Kerik and Gerik turned to the blonde.

"I'm sorry, it is cold outside. Please." Kerik widened the door open. Neither Sarah or her companion were anywhere to be seen. Christine was offered a seat in the parlour by the masked man.

"I'll go get him for you" He replied, hesitantly opening the basement door. Then he paused, turning to Gerik. "Say why don't you do it?"

Gerik scowled, "Do I look that naive?"

"Well you actually thought you were a good sword fighter"

"Is this suppose to butter me up?"

Kerik sighed, "You're right, I apologise."

Gerik smirked, "Thank you."

But this was a short lived apology as before Gerik could react, Kerik seized his cravat and dragged him to the doorway before unceremoniously letting him tumble into the basement.

"Thanks alot! You're a pal!" Kerik called, before closing the basement door. His yellow eyes turned to Christine's startled expression. "Oh don't mind him he'll be fine...perhaps."

She had been told of this place but even still she was certainly caught off guard. One of the men seated wore a giant helmet, and a tight black suit, the other dressed in many layers, wearing a mask concealing all but his eyes which stared at her intently.

He jotted down something, handing her a paper.

'Have we met?' Lerik wrote.

The blonde shook her head, "I'm afraid not monsieur."

Suddenly the door slammed open and Gerik sprinted up the stairs.

"I swear, it's true!" He stammered

"You better be certain" A disgruntled older voice sighed, sounding rather annoyed.

Christine stood at the sound. So familiar, could it truly be?

"And maybe next time you decide to disturb me-not there will be a next time-perhaps you could go about less noise? Honestly I-"

Erik paused, golden eyes wide.

The blonde smiled, clutching a piece of hemming on her dress nervously. "Hello Erik"

"C-Christine?" He stammered. If his face were visible beneath the black mask his mouth would be agape like a fish. "I...Well I mean. It's so, you're really here?"

"Of course!" She said, clasping her hands together. "You sent me a message remember?"

"Yes of course. But frankly I never imagined you would receive it so quickly. Or that you would come."

"I'll always come back Erik. Always to you," She smiled.

"I just...Oh it's just-" Erik didn't finish feeling the blonde wrap her arms around his waist.

"I missed you too maestro." --

Panaro glanced quizzically as he stepped out of his room. Several Meriks were peeking around the corner leading to the parlour where music was ominous from the pipe organ on their floor.

"What are you-?" He asked but several whipped around, shooting him a look.

"SHHHH!"

Panaro scowled at being shushed. Trying to get a glance in the parlour, he noticed why so many were staring, seeing the chestnut haired beauty beside Crawford on the seat in front of the instrument.

"She isn't the only one that showed up," Warlow whispered. "A blonde showed up as well. The Swedish fellow down the hall was disappointed."

"I don't understand?" Panaro mumbled, watching Sarah place her arm over Crawford's as he continued to play for her.

"From what I gather her precious boy had an unfortunate circumstance. She was left alone when he passed and her teacher was the shoulder she cried on. And it would seem she's no longer crying on it anymore." The Jones explained.  

All of the sudden Panaro could make out some sort of sound from above. Not a very flattering sound.

"What is THAT?" Panaro said through gritted teeth.

"It seems our tone deaf tenor's lady called on the house shortly after those two arrived." Carpenter chirped in.

"Miss Emmy is just as musically inclined as her companion upstairs," Mauer sighed, "That's why they've taken to playing in the parlor I suspect."

Panaro was somewhat envious of the older man. Not wishing to gawk in on the two, Panaro was heading down to his chambers when he stopped at Karimloo's ajar door.

"Not joining the viewing area?" Panaro joked.

"No. I'm not too shaken to see a lady in the house as everyone else seems to be."

He paused, "So you're saying you don't miss her?"

Karimloo knew someone was going to bring up Sierra.

"I didn't say that. It's just that, I understand her choice. And she and I we....there is lingering friendship. But I know now she won't ever be my companion."

Panaro nodded sadly. Letting Trista go was difficult for him as well. He felt a familiar feeling as Karimloo described it.

He turned to leave the man in peace.

"You don't have to go you know," His voice called, Panaro's shoulders flinched.

He cocked his head back to face the slightly taller man. "Really?"

A smile graced Karimloo's lips as he offered him a chair. "Please. I could use another set of ears to critique my work."

Panaro could not resist music's call, especially this man's music.

-Many of the Meriks will share some traits with their respective actors, hence why my Karimloo actively works out like the very real (and gorgeous) Ramin Karimloo.

-Yes the boy lifting was Eric from the film “Phantom of the Mall: Eric’s Revenge. Any appearance he makes will be minimal but I couldn’t resist

-So even though the Meriks go by last names in the House, I decided the Christine’s will all go by their respective first names of their actresses.

-Panaro is referring to Trista Moldovan as his respective Christine, Sierra Boggess as Karimloo’s due to their popularity in 25th at the RAH, and of course Sarah Brightman being Crawford’s original and the first Christine.

-Going a little factual here. Sadly Sarah’s Raoul in this case Steve Barton is no longer with us having passed away in 2001.

-Yes Emmy as in Emmy Rossum from the 2004 movie.