#beat the disk horse

[kalpalatas]

western "leftists" sharing that tiktok of a korean woman talking about signing up for arranged marriage agencies as a gotcha against korean radfems. y'all are not very smart

[bucksboobs]

The nature of the Anti-Tommy fandom is that every so often (every other week) they accidentally recreate a 90s Gay Panic crime word for word.

[jlf23tumble]

>> To me, it reads more like people who don't follow other artists or go to other concerts. If your head is buried up the ass of One Direction, and you're used to being entitled and indulged

Ohhh, this tracks, ok! I'm a very new fan and couldn't figure it out, thanks for your thoughts.

Yeah, someone just reblogged my earlier post with a lengthy set of tags, saying that canceling one show v a whole leg isn't the same thing, and for real, true! BUT there are other examples of whole legs and whole tours, too (Jesus, that Adele debacle alone).... I'm not gonna sit here and pull every receipt, but examples abound! (And to the anon about the fine print, you take your chances when you buy a ticket, YOU ARE RIGHT, I'm on my phone and accidentally deleted your ask, but yessss. 100000%)

[flameraven]

This argument has popped up every couple months ever since S1 dropped, and I am so, so tired of it. So thank you for writing so clearly about why Aziraphale and Crowley are so important as queer rep. Yes, you can read them as gay, but you can also read them as trans and aro/ace and so many other identities, and that's incredibly important. Neil seems very aware of that, which is why "he won't call them gay," and I'm tired of people taking that position in such bad faith. S2 showed us that angels, at least, and probably demons too, don't really understand much of anything about human love or sex. They pay very little attention to the material world at all (enough to be freaked out by a mere matchbox!) It doesn't really make sense for them to be homophobic. All they care about is where a human goes after they die. The problem is 100% that Aziraphale and Crowley are on opposite Sides, not the gender they present as.

Probably an odd question, and I am terribly sorry if you’ve been asked this before. In Good Omens, is being gay considered a sin or is it just cool? Just wondering :)

I don't believe that the God in the Good Omens universe cares about that stuff, and I'm not sure that any of the angels (or demons) could accurately articulate what "gay" is or what human genders are anyway.

[xcziel]

XG TAPE #4 REACTION! | JURIN, HARVEY, MAYA, COCONA

[naffeclipse]

Forget-me-not

Reader x Sun and Moon

Commission Info

Thank you for @robinette-green for the lovely request! I adored writing this and making the boys so sweet to the reader! The reader is a clockwork animatronic who's trapped in an abandoned circus, and Sun and Moon step foot onto the forgotten ground and find someone in need of their help.

———

You watch another golden glow creep into oblivion upon the abandoned carnival and its sad, lonely inhabitants. The sun withdraws soundlessly like a stranger passing by. The Freak Show sign slumps, depressed. The once golden and galloping horses in the carousel have rusted into cruel, dark hues and no longer stamp or throw their wild manes back while children ride their once beautiful, gleaming saddles. The big tent—it hasn’t been big in years. It lies in sore tatters, wet from yesterday’s rainstorm with poles sticking up high and stringing along broken bulbs of once bright, yellow lights illuminating the darkness, promising fun to the humans who stepped onto the fairgrounds. 

You hate the darkness. You hate it more than being bolted down in place and left to host a game of ring toss no one has played in years. Your right arm is still extended in invitation over the green and brown bottles. The carnival owner couldn’t even allow you both of your arms, pinning your stance into place with bolts and leaving only your left hand to occasionally wave and flutter to catch the attendee’s eyes. 

After all the trouble he went to steal you away from your creator, you thought he would at least have taken you with him when the bright, colorful lights and happy, bouncing music came to a halt.

The soft words of your creator ring distantly, like a voice calling out through fog. You are—were his most beautiful creation. He whispered the words to you while he painted your lips red and bid you to take a look in the mirror.

You agreed. You were so, so pretty.

Perhaps it’s for the best that you don’t know what you look like anymore. You don’t want to look upon how rusted your clockwork inner workings have become. Your once pale and milky porcelain skin might be gray and slushy as the dirt along the pathways guests took, and that is not something you wish to know. There’s no doubt your red lips and silky red hair have been forsaken to the elements. You fear you are ruined. 

You are now worthy of abandonment.

In the darkness, you truly are forgotten. A hitch within your clockwork chassis catches and grinds before continuing, but the scraping pain remains.

Your attention is drawn back to the front entrance, a good distance away from you. Half crumbled with support beats cutting over the access in an ‘X’ shape, like a warning to not trespass this decrepit lot, shadows slink over the splintered and rotted wood. Long, lanky umbras move with a silence that is so strange and careful.

You squint your eyes. The urge to tilt your head slightly to peer better at the disturbance is cut short by the bolt in your neck, refusing to let your head tilt save from a slight side to side to give an enthralling smile.

You shouldn’t get too excited. It’s likely mere animals. A pair of raccoons or a stray dog who has lost its owner. Once, you watched a doe deer step softly through the wretched ruins, big wet eyes turning to you for one moment before the blurt of your automated voice lines jumped from your throat and sent the creature bounding away.

Nothing is yours here, not even the moment of daydreaming of you prancing out of this forsaken carnival like a doe deer. Free.

The shadows mingle into the dusky darkness. The blue-gray twilight reveals figures, and your mechanical heart chokes.

Two personages creep along the path winding from the entranceway. The same path leading directly towards the ring toss game; towards you. One dons a thick hood and cape, dark blue like midnight. The other’s head is sharper and unconcealed. A crown of jutting points frame the figure’s disk-like face, and a thick deep brown shawl gathers at his throat and falls down his chest and arms. 

As they pass into a silvery slant of budding starlight, metal glints on the crowned one’s face and the other hooded person’s hands spray out while scanning the darkness for threats, silver digits curling and uncurling.

Two automatons. Like you. But not.

A whirl in your servos thrums a loud, exhausted sound, and you stiffen—as much as you can while bolted in place. 

What could two automatons want with an abandoned circus? You were never familiar with the world outside of your creator’s home before you were smuggled out against your will by the circus owner, but at the circus, you learned much. 

You learned of scavengers and automatons gaining their rights. You always wonder if that’s partly the reason you were left here to rot too—are you too human now to own but robotic enough to be neglected? 

They could spy on you in the darkness and decide to strip you for parts. Your clockwork clanks heavily within you like a clapper within a bell, beating against your brass heart. Can they hear it? You have to stop. Be quiet. 

The two automatons prowl forward. Their optics and audio processors strain not unlike hounds searching for a fox. What do they prey upon? The crowned one gestures towards the carousel, the ride well within distance to your ring toss game, and you must clench your jaw tightly to keep from whimpering. The hooded one dips his head but keeps moving forward. Your gears crank in jarring motions, jolting and jerking while you hope they take the parts they desire from the circus and leave.

The hooded one continues down the path. Your chassis tightens, and your fingers tremble in place while you keep your eyes averted, held above the automaton’s head but keeping him in the unfocused corners of your optics.

Please. Please, don’t. Your bottom lip quivers.

“Step right up and toss a ring to win a prize!” The words blurt from your mouth and startle all the ruins and everyone within.

Two pairs of glowing eyes fall upon you. Straightening and alerted, the shrouded automatons stare into your fluttering eyelids as you attempt to beg them to leave you alone. A spark burns in your throat. Your voice lines refuse to give.

One stops and reaches silver and blue digits up and lowers the hood slowly. A face gazes at you, scarlet eyes glowing in the darkness with a face like a crescent moon. A blue nightcap, slightly frayed and worn, and decorated in yellow stars, covers his circular faceplate. 

The other steps closer with a curious tilt of the sharp points framing the automation’s head, and enters the last of the blue-gray darkness before night completely takes over. A yellow face, grinning with round cheeks, observes you. Pale optics beam. 

“Hello, friend,” he speaks, voice bouncing low but with intrigue. “Why don’t you come on out? It’s alright, don’t be afraid.”

Your optics dart side to side. Helplessness settles over you, pinned in place by rusty, dark shame. 

“Do you need help?” The one with the pale yellow sun rays steps closer, his eyes narrowing in the slightest. “Are you stuck?”

The moon-face automaton slips closer. The glow of his gaze sweeps over the game you’re bolted in front of, and he fixates on your right arm stiffly held out in invitation as your fingers curl and clench. You glance down at him, wondering if your eyes plead in the way your mouth cannot.

Biting your bottom lip does not prevent another voice line from bursting forth, and inwardly, you crumple.

“Try your hand! One ring around the neck of a bottle wins a prize!” 

“Not stuck,” the lunar automaton turns to his accomplice. His cloak shifts like shadows under the arc of the moon. “Trapped.”

“Oh, you poor thing! Here, let us help.” The sunny one steps forward, his hands raised as if to pacify a wild creature. “And, if I may be so bold, your voice box sounds like it’s not your own.”

You wish to nod but only succeed in cranking your head halfway to the right, as if in a gesture towards your hapless situation. 

You wonder if they can see the ugly, rusty bolts pinning your body in place, holding you shackled to the ring toss game. They must, for the lunar face man slips closer, stooping down by your feet behind the barrier as he inspects the heavy metal securing you in place. The solar gentleman energetically leaps over the barrier and stops right beside you, hand on his hips. His shawl drapes darkly around him but his grin is bright like a new dawn.

You don’t dare hope. The niceness will fall away like a curtain to reveal the snarling, roaring beast behind it. They will strip you for parts or worse, mock you, revel in your helplessness, and slip back through the night, leaving you with only the daydream of a rescue.

Facing the sunny one, you hold your metaphorical breath as he pauses. He stares deeply into your optics. You stare back into the foggy gray irises he possesses, like a cool, misty fog gathering in the night only to be touched by the sun’s first rays of light. 

“Your eyes are beautiful—the same color as forget-me-nots.” The sunny automaton smiles.

Your servos slow to a calm hum.

“Come on,” he says and carefully reaches for your neck to begin unscrewing the bolt stuck in your throat, “You won’t be left to rust here anymore, starlight.”

Your insides melt, touched by their generosity.

Below, at your feet, the dark blue and silver automaton begins to unscrew the bolts holding your feet down. Rust scrapes away and a harsh squeak of metal echoes. You grunt, jostled but, strangely, you hold to hope like a feathered, tiny thing in your hands, hoping to watch it fly again. 

“We can fix your voice box,” the lunar one speaks in a slight rasp you find endearing. His gaze remains focused on setting you free. “We have a shop. We repair things sometimes.”

“That’s right,” the solar one chimes in, “We scavenge as well. Don’t worry, we’ve repaired a few automatons or two. You can trust us.”

When he pries the bolt from your neck, you can dip your head in acknowledgment. A strange sensation burns through your wires, heating you from the inside out. Emotion. You wish you could ask for their names.

“You look very delicate.” The one at your feet finally frees one of your porcelain slippers with a slow, cautious tug. “We’ll be gentle.”

He tilts his head upwards and flashes a grin. You find yourself warming in the face. Is he being a tease or does he not know how he sounds? By the mischievous glint in your eyes, you fear he knows exactly what he’s doing.

You try to pry your lips apart to find the right words, but all that leaves you is “Enjoy lots of fun! For a small price, of course!”

The automaton of yellow and gray hues glances briefly at you, tilting his heading in confusion while he begins to loosen the bolt stabbed into your right elbow. Holding his gaze, you speak with your eyes, almost pleading.

What are your names?

A spark of understanding answers in his pale optics, and he gasps.

“Moon, where are our manners? I’m so sorry, starlight! My name is Sun, and this is Moon.”

You dip your head again, bobbing up and down in excitement. You know their names. You haven’t learned anything new about anyone in so long…

When they free you from the ring toss game, you can hardly believe how the muddy path now leads you to the outside of the circus as Sun holds you gently in his grasp, how their strides are sure-footed and smooth, and how they look at you with concern.  

You vow silently to speak their names the moment your voice is free too.

*

You haven’t seen anything outside of the carnival in so long, you’ve almost forgotten the sight of dark, shiny paved streets and the lone lamp posts that light the way. Gray and dreary buildings line the streets. One, however, is cheerfully plastered in wooden stars painted bright yellow, and the door is a soft, sky blue with white fluffy clouds along the very top. 

Sun and Moon take turns carrying you. Their hands are careful, cradling you close against their cloak and shawl while murmuring that it’s alright. You’re safe. They’ll get you fixed up in no time. Moon cradles you in his arms now as Sun unlocks the door, and holds it open so you can be carried over the threshold. 

For an odd reason, it triggers your faceplate to heat up more than the colored rouge on the porcelain should allow.

Through the door, the interior of the workshop is set with tools ranging from smallest to biggest, shelves containing boxes marked, and small containers with different, shiny nuts and bolts. There are even some small containers with shiny, bronze gears. You haven’t seen a spotless floor in so long. There were always leaves and mud staining the path serpentining through the carnival. 

A table, coppery under a work lamp, awaits. 

“I’m setting you here,” Moon murmurs close to your audio processor before he lays you softly down with a gentle click of your frame against the metal. 

“I worry about how long you were left there.” Sun loses the shawl and locates a brown leather apron. Tools line the pockets as he swiftly ties it behind his back. His eyes are creased though he still smiles reassuringly. “By the amount of rust, I would guess years. For your sake, I hope I’m wrong.”

The answer is on the tip of your tongue. What comes out instead is a showy voice declaring “Whoever can ring three bottles wins the ultimate prize!” 

A whirl in your servos practically screams out your embarrassment. You lower your gaze. The stiffness in your joints is almost as unbearable as the voice lines the circus owner forced upon you. 

“Shush,” Moon says, his cloak falling away as he snags an apron similar to Sun’s off of a hook. “Wait for a moment, pretty thing, then you may have your words back.”

“That’s right,” Sun nods and shifts to stand close beside you. He grows still for a moment, his bright disposition falling behind a somber cloud. “We’re very lucky to have found you.”

You smile—not the forced, showy smile that has been plastered on your face while you lie in the ruins, but a true smile for the ones who rescued you.

Moon moves to the other side of the table. His hands, now gloved in black leather, hesitate. 

“We will open you up now.” The automaton turns flush along the spindle support of his neck. “Is that alright? It’s the only way we can fix your voice box.”

Sun leans forward, his smile still cheery while he modestly averts his eyes, “As well any other damage done from being exposed and negligent for… however long you were out there.” 

You never thought the solar automaton could be shy, and yet. 

You nod your head as it rests on the table. You feel safe, so much more so than when you were bolted in place. The circus owner did not ask you what you wanted then.

Moon and Sun move in tandem. It’s strange and beautiful, how effortlessly they weave their fingers to begin work. Sun unlocks your chassis and Moon gently lifts it open. You throw your gaze to the ceiling. You don’t want to know. You know they will find it horrible and awful, but you don’t want to see it and have it seared into your mind.

“You’re beautiful,” Moon utters.

You blink, as breathless as a machine can become.

“Your clockwork—is very beautiful,” a slight stumble from his raspy voice seals your fate. You say nothing. You press your lips together and wonder if you might overheat right here and now. 

“You are pretty,” Sun continues effortlessly, though there’s a slight trill to his voice that may give away his nervousness or bashfulness, you can’t decide. “Clockwork automatons are rare.”

The circus owner made mention of that.

You close your eyes as Sun and Moon narrate their every movement. Hands held down by your sides, you only occasionally shift or softly buzz as they clean and fix your voice box nestled within the bottom of your throat. They are so gentle. You never knew hands could be so kind, even if they are rummaging through your inner workings. 

Could they possibly let you stay?

The absurd thought enters your processor and you almost immediately shove it into a box and bury it deep into cold, black soil. 

“You’re doing so good.” Sun grins as he looks down into your chassis. “There. That should do it. Moon?”

“I’m done.”

Slowly, carefully, as if finishing a sacred rite, the two close up your chassis and tighten it back into place. You haven’t opened your eyes yet. A part of you wonders if you’ll only look out into the ruins of the circus again, and find this was all one blissful moment of a daydream. 

“Can you say something, starlight?” Sun’s voice washes over you.

“It’s alright if you’re not ready,” Moon answers in a low sound of comfort.

It falls past your lips before you realize you are not ready, but you so terribly want to speak anyway.

“Thank you.” Your eyes flash open, and you gape—the echo. Your soft, demure tones no longer strained into shouting and calling attention. 

It’s you.

Your hand touches your lips, and a sound between a laugh and a sob emerges from your voice box. 

“Thank you! Thank you!” You look between the two of them, overwhelmed. With the overhead lamp now touching their features as they sit back, grinning, you get to admire their handsome features. 

You two are very striking.

“Oh, my,” Sun chuckles, bleeding red in the cheeks, “Thank you!”

“You’re very sweet,” Moon murmurs, touching his nightcap with a slight bashfulness.

And you realize you spoke your thoughts out loud. You called them striking.

“Oh,” you begin to burn.

“It’s alright,” Moon says swiftly, interrupting your apology. “We would like to know what your plans are after this. Now that you’re free.”

“Free,” you whisper back. You clutch at your chest, over your clockwork heart, and marvel. “I…”

You have your voice back. Use it.

“I—if I may be so bold, may I ask to stay with you both? I won’t be a burden. I won’t stay longer than you will allow, and I—”

Sun sighs, dramatic and cheerful, as he finds your hand to hold it. 

“I thought you would never ask, starlight!”

Moon’s hand slips under your anxious fingers. His nod echoes his solar counterpart’s enthusiasm. You turn your head between both of them, your lips parting in awe.

“Thank you,” you whisper. “Sun. Moon. Thank you.”

[burst-of-iridescent]

not to beat the "sokka's misogyny" disk horse even further into the ground, but while i agree with the take that sokka being sexist logically doesn't make sense, i would go further to say that the water tribes themselves being sexist is both illogical and thematically contradictory.

the flaws of each nation in atla have always been linked to their element, and specifically what those elements represent. fire is the element of power; power, left unchecked, leads to imperialism and authoritarianism. earth is the element of substance and stability; stability, prioritized too highly, creates and justifies the rigid class system and rampant corruption of ba sing se. air is the element of freedom; freedom, taken too far, becomes irresponsibility and abandonment.

meanwhile, water is the element of change... therefore the water tribes cling to antiquated ideas about gender roles instead of adapting with the times (especially when the times involve a fucking war going on).

not only is this unrealistic, it also breaks the thematic pattern of the nations' flaws being virtues taken to extremes, and how this dovetails into the show's overall message about the importance of balance. if we're keeping with the pattern of virtue and vice being two sides of the same coin, then the flaw of the water tribes has to be related to change. and here is where some of the (badly executed) ideas in the comics and legend of korra could have come into play: change, left uncontrolled, can lead to progress... but at the cost of tradition and spirituality.

(imagine a nwt cut off from the world and forced to rely solely on itself, ingenuity and creativity flourishing out of sheer, desperate need. imagine a nwt where waterbending is nothing more than a tool, used to build and defend and maintain a fortress always at risk, its spiritual origins slowly lost to time. imagine a nwt more military than community, whose architecture and technology far exceed anything the world has ever seen, who look down upon their less advanced sister tribe, and see no need for the avatar - after all, where was he when they had no one but themselves for the last 100 years?

when warned that the fire nation is coming, they show no fear; they have held strong on their own for the last century, bolstered by their weapons and wits, and will continue to do so. you need the spirits, aang implores, and is met with derision, for there is no place for spirits in a society always chasing more, greater, better. the spirits have not helped us before, avatar. why would they now? we are all we need.

when the moon spirit falls, unprotected and forgotten in an abandoned, rundown spirit oasis - so do they.)

not only would this fit better thematically, it would also ensure that the nwt's flaw plays a role in its own downfall. where the fire nation's warmongering resulted in the poverty and suffering of its own people, and the earth kingdom's corruption led - at least in part - to the fall of ba sing se, the misogyny of the water tribes is never shown to negatively impact them in any way. the north isn't defeated by the fire nation because they relegated half the population to healing. the south doesn't suffer raids or lose their waterbenders because they (supposedly) didn't let women fight. this lack of narrative punishment means that - outside of a few girlboss moments for katara - the sexism of the nwt isn't significant to the overall story whatsoever.

furthermore, while the ba sing se arc last almosts half a season, and the fire nation's actions drive the entire show, this supposed systemic oppression of women shows up for one episode in the first season before disappearing entirely. pakku is reminded of his lost love, magically turns into a feminist, and somehow the entire tribe follows suit? no one else protests, not even the other students or the chief?

and yet, though there are still no female waterbenders other than katara, or agency for kanna in her relationship, or any indication that women stopped being forcibly betrothed - the entire issue is simply swept under the rug and never brought up ever again in the show. i understand this was a children's cartoon made in 2005, and that even having female characters openly speak about and challenge misogyny was a radical feat for the time and genre, but the reality of patriarchy is that it's structural, sustained and immensely difficult to resist - if the show was going to depict that resistance, it should have done so with greater depth and nuance, as it did for many of the other difficult topics it tackled.

ultimately, handwaving misogyny away like it never existed is far more disrespectful to katara's character, her fight against injustice, and the girls who saw themselves in her, than simply toning it down or removing it could ever be.

[kalpalatas]

folks who port casual tumblr fandom discussions over to twitter but as Controversial Discourse deserve a dunk in a bucket of ice i think

[sharp-rosee]

Hey funny story: I haven't been around Tumblr at all for months, but today someone told me menalez had deactivated or something so I came on here and looked it up. First result was a post by you, i checked out your blog and wouldn't you know it your most recent post had you defending me post mortem lmfao. I sent an anon to the other woman too but it seems she won't post it so to clarify to you: when I supposedly said "studies showing violence suffered by bisexuals are cringe and useless" what I remember thinking about that is that those studies that I've seen are never used to try to understand why bisexuals suffer such insane rates of violence (more than homosexuals) and trying to stop it. I've only seen them be used as battering rams in discourse when homosexuals criticize bisexuals. Which is crazy for such a serious issue and totally trivializes it lol. Also that my explanation for it was that such studies show that many abused people incorrectly id as bi for a time. You can disagree or wtv just those were my points, she made it sound like I'm cheering on women beating if they're bi or something. Also your defense of me (thanks queen lol) is accurate if you were wondering. I used to be sorta pro strict separatism but I outgrew the anger/ denial phase of "most women will partner with men" and reached acceptance. Most people are built for romantic partnership, that's just human nature, I can't be hating het women just because their lot in life in that means they're more likely to be abused. Just because I'm not drawn to men, or even much to romance, doesn't mean I should act like that's everyone else too and judge them on that standard, I accept reality and want women to be safe within that rather than pointlessly hate on them and get all worked up because some women have boyfriends..

Well I'm also a mean asshole, I'm sure you noticed, and I definitely would give the bi girlies on radblr a hard time here at the time lol. I don't have the "one side" sort of takes on this divide on radblr. It was funny but I can't feel the energy to that anymore since leaving tumblr, way too few bis or gays irl to care about that stuff. But at the end of the day these are my actual takes on all that disk horse. Funny to see it immediately on such a causal stroll around here lol

-sleep3r4gent

QUEEN I used to follow you ♡ at least when I was crypto a few years back I did.

Also, I'm glad you clarified because the way some women on here seem to hallucinate things they read almost makes me feel insane as well. Like you sending an ask saying you never thought of a certain perspective is not indicative of you agreeing and obviously one can change their opinions over time.

I really have no opinion either way tbh, I myself am straight and in a relationship, and have had others on my last blog send some anons calling me a "dick worshipper" and other misogynistic BS, but they stopped once I didn't let it bother me much. It's so obviously a group of trolls that it's embarrassing that they still believe it enough to keep bringing back the same users, some like you who aren't even misogynistic, to further their persecution complex.

It even is more annoying because these are the women who made Mena/Moideater leave, the above drama is a big reason why. The way radblr will still reblog posts from very racist blogs and not bat an eye but then freak out over a clique of women who aren't even radfems really does show what demographic makes up this site.

I know it gets exhausting to be involved in arguments, but it's nice to know you're still somewhat around. I hope you, Mena and Moid come back someday. If not I understand. But I'll never forget any of them and I haven't forgotten you 😭😭😭

[shalomniscient]

not 2 get into shipping disk horse but my biggest pet peeve with beiguang is how beidou is sometimes portrayed like this good hearted dumbass and YES she IS good hearted but she is also the only person ever to beat ningguang at chess. TWICE. she’s way smarter than she’s often given credit for ok thank you for coming to my tedtalk

[piosplayhouse]

This artfight "discourse" goes around every year and it's seriously like beating a dead (disk)horse at this point but truly if you get FREE art of your OCs that someone made you in their free time and you purposefully ignore or even worse shittalk it because it's not "quality" enough for you you are truly a miserable person! I would rather take 1 headshot done in crayon by an artist trying their best than a million professionally rendered pieces done by a popular artist drawing with no passion just because they want a ton of free art in return

[shortpplfedup]

Tomorrow's a big day for me so I of course woke up in the middle of the night in a spiral and can't get back to sleep, so I'm gonna try to get out some thoughts I've been having about chemistry and sexuality on screen, especially in the stuff I've been watching lately.

When I'm referring to sexuality here, I'm most often not referring to sexual identity, but to how characters experience sexual desire and respond sexually to each other, which is directly related to ideas of onscreen 'chemistry' as it's seen and judged by audiences. I see chemistry often conflated with heat levels by audiences as well, and I definitely think those are two separate things. This is a thing that's been coming up for me over and over again in the BL space as I find myself...let's say often not into the pairs that others are into, and more into pairs that others don't see as having chemistry. I'll also I guess come out here and say I've been on my own journey of discovery recently, realising I'm acespec, very likely demi, and alongside that (because as I've mentioned often both here and on @the-conversation-pod that I process my feelings through media) thinking about how I bring that lens I didn't even know I was looking through to my analysis of The Stories™️.

@absolutebl has written a lot about their 3 dimensions of good chemistry as physical, emotional and intellectual, and I've found that to be a useful frame. I tend to use 'vibes' a lot to describe what I feel in character interactions, because a vibe between people is such a specific and personal thing for me, and sometimes resists more objective and perhaps useful explanation. 'Vibes' also mirrors my own experience of sex, romance and attraction. To use ABL's frame: physical, emotional and intellectual dimensions of attraction/chemistry are just inseparable for me. And perhaps most importantly for the way I view sexuality on screen: physical attraction is driven for me by intellectual and/or emotional attraction, but never the other way around. In other words, I can see how being intrigued by a person or emotionally invested can make you horny for them, but horniness on its own, while fun to watch, is not really something I get.

Right, with all that preamble out of the way, here are some recent characters and pairs I've found myself really feeling the vibes on that I thought were maybe misunderstood.

Kawi, Be My Favourite

Even when Krist does the work to beat the 'bad actor' allegations it seems he can't catch a break...lol. Kawi is the character who finally compelled me to write this, because I think Krist was doing some great subtle work on emotional attraction and sexual discovery via emotion that got lost in a Disk Horse stampede based on a throwaway line from a secondary character. Kawi had to have feelings for Pisaeng, and then think about what that meant, in order to reach a place of sexual desire. And then that desire didn't look like desire is expected to look, and so its genuineness was questioned. Audiences don't generally see fondness and deep affection as 'sexy', or accept sexual desire as something one has to think about. But I truly appreciated seeing Kawi take this particular journey towards having sex with Pisaeng and having a clearly joyous experience once he got there. The chemistry these two have isn't 'hot' but it is very grounded and emotionally resonant and I found it very affecting to watch.

Cher, A Boss and A Babe

I mentioned on the pod when we talked about ABAAB last season that I very much enjoyed Cher's journey of sexual discovery from 'do I like this?' the first time he and Gun kiss progressing through 'I think I like this' and 'I definitely like this' and eventually to 'gimme dat body' when they have what I called 'married sex' near the end of the show. @bengiyo mentioned on this same episode liking that Cher has to try out physical intimacy with Gun multiple times to determine how he feels about it, and I agree. That's a very undiscussed paradigm, that sex is often not immediately enjoyable/desirable, and wanting to try again because you're still not really sure isn't a bad thing. Their big final sex scene is another scene that isn't 'hot', but there is a very specific and deliberate heat in Cher's eyes when he undresses Gun and looks at his body that sells the physical dimension of their chemistry.

Ray/Sand, Only Friends

I enjoy how grungy and unromantic the sex is on Only Friends because that's how a lot of casual sex actually is. These people are mostly getting their rocks off, not really falling in love or even connecting emotionally or intellectually...except for Sand and Ray. Sand is the kind of man who probably feeds stray cats, so he finds Ray intriguing despite knowing he's a disaster area. Ray is desperate to feel something other than the void inside himself, and he likes the way Sand spars with him. Neither of them is really horny for each other in the traditional sense, and the sex is almost rote in its progression but was definitely fire for the two of them regardless because of the intellectual stimulation driving it. Alas their minds can't fuck, so their bodies will have to suffice.

Basically, people wanting to inhale each other is definitely fun to watch, I'll grant that, but I like getting to explore different kinds of functional sexuality and chemistry on screen, and don't buy a lot of the 'no chemistry' reads.

[adrenaline-van]

I've seen multiple comments saying it's worse but it's actually a pretty standard YouTube apology. Obviously it's a testament to his shitty character that he'd not make something that breaks the infamously poor mold of youtuber apologies - he acted better than everyone else for so long, so holier than thou, but did the completely predictable and precedented things done in every bad apology video. He focused on one bad thing without properly naming it, he brought up the toll being cancelled took on him for sympathy, he apologised for the way people "felt", and left in the sobbing to manipulate peoples feelings. It was bad and an episode in his saga, but in terms of YouTube apologies it was nothing, it was bogstandard, it was crap, yes, but its only recency bias that's making anyone say its worse than toxic gossip train. If they had come out in opposite order, nobody would be saying James's one is worse, don't be silly. Just don't be silly.

Obviously the James somerton apology is terrible and garbage and doesn't address or even properly name the issue. It is still not worse than toxic gossip train. Don't be silly. If toxic gossip train ever gets outdone it will be just as inescapable a meme: your grandma will know about it, it'll get parodied on SNL, it'd be all anyone could talk about. James Somertons apology is bad but you'd obviously have to know about his drama decently well to understand why and there is still a 1% chance someone could watch it and genuinely believe he's remorseful which you cannot say about toxic gossip train. There's a lot of hubbub made about realising that he is a human and not harassing him and well, saying he's worse than Colleen Ballinger should definitely be going to far

[wetcatspellcaster]

Did you see Neil Newbon’s take that Ascended Astarion is the real him free to act on cruelty and violence and the spawn is the one with the mask? Yeesh.

Ooooooh, THAT'S the disk horse that's happening right now!! I knew something was happening (I felt a tremor in the waters) but I had no clue what it was lmao, I don't follow cast stuff.

I will try to respond to this in good faith, but I'm not very good at fandom discourse and so I'm afraid it may not be the answer you want.

I can see why that reading might make people angry, but I dont have strong feelings about it. Obviously, it's not my take on Ascension, but from the beginning I've been very upfront that my take is serving the genre I'm writing in and the ship dynamics I find hot. My Tav is lawful good to an unhealthy extreme, and that was how she was conceived in her Early Access bullying phase. And meanwhile, I wanted to be in a Gothic horror where he's obsessed (morality chains will do that to you) and they beat the shit out of each other. I have to make the Ascendent a monster, for that to work, and for people not to feel guilty every time they enjoy watching him getting stepped on lmao.

But I do feel like there is a morality policing around Astarion's ending that I don't want to partake in. This might seem dumb for me to say, given that my Tav is a veritavle walking moral policeman, but that is bc I fucking love Villain/Heroine ships, so I am literally right there, at the Devil's Sacrament with everyone else.

While I like the good ending and prefer it for many reasons, I would agree with a reading of Newbon's words that it could be read as a mask. This might be bc I mask with the best of them, am doing it right now even as I write and edit this ask 20 times. There's masking as an outright lie, and then there's masking as 'gotta get through day to day life as a functional adult without everyone suddenly deciding they hate me'... I personally think its nice that spawn!Astarion cares about other people, and cares about being a functional member of society at all! It shows he's no longer a lonely outcast.

I could also go deeper (the autism really shining through in this reply) and say it's a mask, in the sense that this has been deemed the 'polite' and morally correct ending, that is acceptable to others and enables the player to feel good about themselves. Which is often a way we derive pleasure from media, and not wrong in and of itself! Making Astarion good makes players feel good - that's not wrong, but if we're comparing endings, we have to acknowledge it. An Ascended Ending doesn't really cater to that impulse... unless the player really likes to be dommed (more power to them).

Unfortunately anon, I can't sit here with my most popular fic being an Ascended!Astarion fic, and pretend that there isn't a bunch of fascination or interest surrounding the Ascended version of his character. People clearly want to explore the implications of his evil ending and indulge in the excess of it, but feel bad doing so. People don't ascend him in-game, but they go to my fic and other people's fic because they want to have some space to enjoy the implications - in the sexiness, in the timeline where Astarion has revenge, in a timeline where he is obsessed with Tav etc. I mean, just look at me, I can't sit through the Ascended scene, but I'm here writing a fic about it!!

The fact that it seems to happen more in fic than in playthroughs tells me, if I was to get super deep in a tumblr ask, that people feel guilt about it. Some kind of mask is being employed, by someone, somewhere, in that mix. So I'm not about to add to any of that kind of policing. It would be pretty disingenuous of me to get my most feedback from an Ascendent fic I am writing, and then judge people for liking Ascendency narratives...

So while I don't have much interest in pretending the evil ending isn't the evil ending, that doesn't sound to me (second hand, through you, with my brain seeing 7 or 8 different implications) to be what Newbon is saying. He's just saying that the Ascendent is the less palatable Astarion to other people and that spawn!Astarion still has some kind of mask or a politeness filter on. Which... yeah. Kinda. In my world, I like that Astarion decides its worthwhile to restrain himself, because he has things to care about potentially ruining. But that's still in many ways employing restraint. People don't just stop masking, they learn to care about what others think in a healthy way. They have friendships, relationships, other ties to the world, that make them want to be something other than a cruel or violent or evil version of themselves. I think that's nice, and far less lonely but um... yeah. I can see Newbon's point, even if I don't want to like, live or die by it.

[lilith-devi-nyx-elsword-theorist]

Alright time to say it, and I'm pretty sure everyone's figured it out.

But let me explain a few things here and a Theory + possible spoilers if its true.

Kieran definitely wasn't as much of a skilled trainer then as to now, he's mostly shy and behind his older sister, he looks up to her and he's surprised to see the protagonist beat his sister in battle which has him admire us.

During the story Kieran eavesdropped the True story about what really happened about Ogerpon and the Loyal Three, he's distant and cold towards the player and Carmine. I understand his resentment and frustration. But Kieran's actions are fueled by his obsession, and desire to be stronger just like Ogerpon. His obsession about Ogerpon was ruined because Ogerpon chose us, his dream with Ogerpon was destroyed, everything he had was ruined. Thus he wanted one thing, the desire to become stronger so we could battle him listen to his themes, ones more gentle soft, and less complicated, we see him as he's definitely skilled but not in the way we'd see him. The final battle with him is a more complicated hard, it's us being confused and not seeing how he's turning, we're a way out for him, he's stuck he wants out. (More to this in my theory section.)

I enjoy his entire character, and here's the thing people don't realize that Kieran hates us and Carmine, but realize he doesn't specifically hate any one, he'd definitely resent his own family about the whole truth being kept from him, and we feel it, not shown but the music shows his complicated life.

And here's where people are mixed

Most hate Carmine because she's "controlling, mean, etc." well, some older siblings can act like her irl, I mean that literally. What Carmine shows is that she'd be verbal, but not physically abusive to her brother. How he made friends is most likely her being a threat to any new friend he'd make I mean this as a "possibility" and when she comes to tell us about how Kieran has no skill in Ogre Oustin, we could also assume that he wasn't as a skilled trainer so Blueberry Academy would definitely see her as a " Champion" for her serious capabilities of a trainer. I personally enjoy her as throughout the Kitakami story SHE'S the one helping us fight the Loyal Three, SHE took responsibility of Kieran's actions (though indirectly caused as we don't really know what made the Loyal Three come back but I will get to that as a theory section hold your horses.)

The Indigo Disk Story THEORY!!!

Carmine is definitely treated as a "Champion" we know who we'd fight as a final battle which is Kieran, but the characters wont know except for Carmine.

the Master of the Loyal Three was obscured it was "shown" as a thing in Peachy's shop. I have a crazy idea, which I wrote out on a piece of paper at work and lost it but I do remember most of what I wrote.

Kieran's emotions are unstable, his mentality is unstable and being fueled by getting stronger. The Master, is granting his "Wish" to his pure desire of being a Strong trainer, this is the Purple Aura around his right hand in a scene, and possibly seen faintly on a poster. Whether this Master is controlling Kieran or it's fueling his desire to defeat the player.

When we're going to face the champion of Blueberry Academy, we won't see Carmine, we'll see Kieran he's determined, he's ready, he throws his pokemon to battle, but the Master comes out last it's the one who made Kieran lose control of himself, he's been reckless then, and it knew what he was capable of, so it chose him as it's trainer temporarily.

Whether this is during or after Terapagos is depending on how it goes.

If we have Ogerpon in our team Kieran might snap more " Ogerpon..... Why? Why didn't you choose me!? ....Whatever, I will battle you." The theme might be a remix of Kieran's theme but a more dramatic overtone, then it will hit with a sad emotional portions we'd battle Kieran as serious as he is, and controlled by the Master. Once the Master is defeated, it will let go of Kieran and release him to us Kieran might still feel some desired wish to battle us, but this time he's in a more controlled environment as opposed to then

while the Loyal Three Master will most definitely flee somewhere for us to capture it since it's already weakened but because it wasn't necessarily in a Pokeball, this mean's it will definitely challenge us again in a weakened state like how we dealt with Necrozma in Ultra Sun Ultra Moon.

What I'm essentially saying is The Master Granted the Desired wishes to Okidogi, Munkidori, and Fezandipiti. This means it fuels on the negativity of those who want their wishes, meaning it saw potential in Kieran and fueled his negativity to make him lose control to use it. I know this sounds very much boosh, but I just wanted to make this theory and it would definitely be buried along the way and want people to see this theory.

[f1-giuki]

Well hello darling 👀

I saw your plea for escape from contract law, so here I come! *falls of the disk-horse like a drunk knight*

Red, White and Orange-Nassau buuuuut… make it switched!

For Want of a Nail: Charles as the prince and Max as the music genius 👀 the scene I shall leave up to you 🫶🌻

Hello darling!! Sorry if it took me a shit ton of time to answer but I’ve been away and I was overwhelmed by the amount of things I had to do sjsjsjs.

Yoongi’s third mixtape just came out, and the amygdala performance inspired me to write this thingy and the amount of lestappen content of both yesterday and this morning made me crazy eheheh, so here it is💖💖

If in Red, White & Orange-Nassau the roles were inverted Charles would be the perfect prince charming, very pretty, very media trained, without a political opinion, the middle man in everything, and Max would be a punk-rock singer, a bit of a mixture between Lewis Capaldi in sense of talent and sense of humour, and Joe Strummer. Max is against monarchies and he hates rich people who don't pay taxes, so Charles is his number one enemy. Charles doesn't have an opinion about Max, he just thinks he's a bit untidy, with his long hair and his vintage leather jacket, and sometimes he talks a lot of shit.

But back to the scene, it's the kiss scene:👀👀

[...]

As the DJ lets the beat drop Charles and Charlotte look at each other and laugh, he kisses her then, holding her waist gently and she cups his face gently with her slender fingers. They both smile in it and something starts gnawing up his stomach, something green and unpleasant. Jealousy. Max realises which feeling it is as he sees his feet carrying him away from the ballroom, wandering and getting lost in the Royal Palace of Monaco.

Charlotte starts laughing as their kiss ends. But she turns serious once she doesn't spot Max anymore in the room. She taps Charles’s shoulder. You can tell him, her glance says. Charles nods and he wiggles out of the crowd, trying to think where Max might have gone. He looks back at Charlotte in the middle of the dancefloor and she rolls her eyes and indicates the left. Charles raises a thumbs up to her and he starts walking towards Max. He knows that there is only one room that Max could have gone to that way. He reaches the top floor and hears the sound of a piano echoing in the empty hall.

Max is playing, beautifully, Clair de Lune by Debussy. The picture is idyllic, the room is dark, the giant crystal chandelier is turned off, but there is a bit of light peeking inside. There is a huge open window on a wall and the sea breeze is moving the soft white curtains. The Moon and the stars are out in the sky. A nice finishing touch if it were a painting. Charles grins and rests with a shoulder leaning on the door post, listening to Max. Maybe this is what being in the painting The Boulevard Montmartre at Night feels like. Charles doesn't say anything for the five minutes of the piece.

"Debussy, huh?" Charles asks.

Max looks at him with a gaze that Charles cannot describe differently from nostalgic. "Yeah, it helps me clear my mind," he answers quietly, blinking a few times to better see in the dark the man in front of him.

"Didn't take you for a classical piano guy, to be honest," Charles says with his nice accent. He seems both amused and endeared. Max wishes he wouldn't have to think about such things.

Max rolls his eyes and he moves a bit to the side on the piano chair, to make space for Charles. The Monegasque sits down and Max starts playing again, Charles can't take his eyes off Max's hands. Max can't stop think about their thighs touching. He clears his throat and looks at Charles. Wrong move. Max coughs a little bit more.

"Debussy is one of my favourite composers. He was an impressionist musician, he's, how can I explain this to you while I'm drunk... Oh! Think about Monet, think about Impression sunrise, the painting, the mellow and blurry and slightly numb feeling you get by looking at it. His music is that way, too. Instead of using the precision and clarity of the classical scales, Debussy preferred the ambiguity and vagary of the pentatonic and whole-tone scales, which is like, complicated shit, I don't have the mental capacity to explain it to you..." Max says, gesticulating like a madman as Charles looks at him with a dopey smile. He should stop, that's what Max is thinking about.

"May I?" Charles asks and Max nods.

The Dutchman watches as Charles puts his hands on the piano. They feel awfully at ease, in a position Max strangely recognise, relaxed and tangerine shaped. "That's C major, everything starts from it," Max says and Charles grins and starts playing a tune that is much too familiar to Max. It's Reverie by Debussy and Max's brain goes haywire. He can't understand anything anymore, Charles is there, next to him, their arms brushing as the Monegasque plays the piano so softly. Max has to focus on the notes to be sure that he isn't dreaming the whole thing.

Max keeps his mouth shut in religious silence. Everything is Charles, his hands, delicate and with a royal ring on them, travelling on the keyboard of the beautiful piano forte. Those are the hands of a pianist, a tormented one, one that Max would like to know, maybe write a song with. Hands he would like to hold and turn warm when they're cold. He doesn't understand what has changed. Confusion is still present in him mind, with a flowery warmth.

When Charles stops playing his eyes are spanking. He lowers his hand and the knuckles brush against the back of Max's hand at their sides. Max looks at Charles’s face in profile, gaze running down his features touched by a ray of moonlight. Max's cheeks feel too, it's something as intoxicating as the liquor he drank, but it's not liquor, it's more dangerous. The Palace is awfully quiet, the party seems like a distant memory, Monaco is not the centre of the world anymore. Max feels silly to admit it, but his world just ended up in that empty room with white clothes over expensive furniture.

Charles keeps looking at him, holding his gaze, softening his smile.

“I really like Debussy too, he's true to his feelings. I am usually numb to most things, but he makes me feel emotions I thought I buried deep somewhere...” he says, his accent peaking out more prominently.

Max nods and looks at their hands, they are next to each other, Charles's pinky on the C major note, Max's pinky on the B right behind it.

"He's not the only one who makes me feel things..." Charles whispers as he moves his finger imperceptibly and Max decides to do something stupid. The angles of his mouth quirk up and he caresses Charles’s finger. A spark.

“I'm going to do something very stupid, is it okay?” Max asks.

"Mhm..." Charles murmurs and he turns his head close to Max's.

Wow, those are a pair of green eyes, like the forests in Belgium.

It is all very anticlimactic. Max's heartbeat feels heavy in his eardrums, but as their lips touch everything stops. The only thing left is the ringing in his ear, but it stops too as Charles’s slender pianist hands adorn his face like a crown jewel. Max feels like the most stupid idiot on Earth. Of course Charles had to be a pianist, a romantic who loves impressionism. If their lips weren't tangling Max would beg him on his knees to play Chopin. He would gladly cry and kiss him some more. Charles moves one of his hands on the juncture of Max's neck and his brain shuts down.

The kiss is like watching the Abduction of Proserpina, with hands gripping the poetic soft flesh, conflicting feelings, standing in astonished awe. Max likes it. So he lets himself taste Charles’s lips, sweeter than honey and intoxicating as red wine. He leans into the kiss and Charles’s mouth opens, welcoming his tongue. It is something so trivial but Max swears he has never experienced such a deed or posed his hands on such a wonderful pair of hips. Charles’s thumb gently stroking his cheek, and that turns too much for Max, he can't hold himself in composure anymore, he moans in Charles’s mouth, with no intention of stopping.

But something happens in Charles’s brain, though, and Max can't feel his hands on him anymore. The Monegasque releases him. He looks Max in the eyes, green and sparkly, with a hint of gold. Max can't find an answer in that brief glimpse he catches, not in his current state. He hears Charles say a quick French curse and, differently from the kiss, Charles runs away quickly, before Max can even steady himself on the piano stool. He rests his head on the piano, a cacophony of notes play as he touches his lips with shaky fingers.

“Shit!”

-

Hope you like this babes!!! Thank you for saving me from fucking contract law i hate that shit💖