#feels a bit weird attempting to dispense 'advice' like this

[javic-piotr-thane]

oh interesting! i can’t read books at the moment so i havent read any of them. that makes a lot of sense ab leadership. i like my little hc that they made it more communist - ianto did behind the scenes stuff/correspondence w thr queen etc, tosh was coordinating from the hub, & then the other two also pitched in for other causes (nice and vague, well done me hahah). i actually wondered when i rewatched KKBB if they had spread out the leadership & then the writers were like ‘haha nope!’. ive read a lot of nice ianto takes over fics which is probably swaying me a bit lol

i actually dont mind broken! its a bit strange but i think it fits well enough. its more that i dislike that it (kind of) limits the options for fan-decisions on when they sleep together first. while lots of people are happy to wiggle canon about and create wonderful new things, lots more tend to stick w canon as is (or major points) and i think defining when they first sleep together gives it a bit more weight and impact (even belatedly) on the episodes (& fanworks). i mostly enjoy the plotline otherwise (although the sleeping together did catch me off guard the first time!)

thats true about fandom shaping it. i am still very much on the fringes - i think i follow you & perhaps one other tw blog - just because i find fandom a lot of stress and i’m in my early 30s so lots are younger - but i’m working my way through the available fic (well, mainly the ones on ao3 ik there are many on LJ that i am gonna have more trouble finding later lol) and that probably is shaping my view of characters. some more than others, i suppose. but i have been finding a lot of ooc representations (for me) which makes me think perhaps theres a fandom-intent on portraying them. i cant quite word this!

i’ll do a comparison - i consumed a lot of HP fanfiction, it was my main fandom for fics for a lot of years, and my first fic ever. and now i cant tell you for certain which portrayals are true to canon, and which are based in fanon. because i stopped engaging w canon (for many reasons including the most obvious) and now i’m left wondering - eg was that how neville was in the books or is that how fandom has shaped canon into their own desires and interpretations. and thats not to say thats a negative! because i think fanon is incredible. but i do wonder when i read a fic without that background, without the decade of engaging in fanfic as it shifted, if i am reading it as OOC when it’s actually in character for the fanon version of the character.

i hope that makes sense, i have a lot of trouble with coherence lol

you're making sense!! this is a problem ("problem") for many fans i think, which is why engaging with the source material (when possible/comfortable, obviously, i know which situation you're referring to) can be important if you really want to keep your interpretations close to canon. (you might not want that, or not care, at least in particular instances; something something Sherlock actually makes 100% of the tea on the show with his name and not John.)

as for fic that feels OOC to you; if you don't like it, i recommend you learn to spot it early and avoid it. simple as that. god knows i went through that phase in my early time in this fandom XD you have to read a bunch to figure out what you like and don't like in the first place, i think, but after a while it tarries out and might only shift slightly afterwards - and you know what to avoid and what to seek out.

[jayahult]

Now, a bit back I saw someone complaining about a site called the Mythcreants, which seems to largely be a writing advice column / blog-type-thing. Now, I try not to badmouth someone without at least giving them a fair shake, and I checked out their site. I think there's an attempt to do some good work here, but I also think what's presented is vastly incomplete and often odd. The problem with writing advice is that it's sort of like financial advice or really any sort of advice - it can easily do more harm than good if delivered incorrectly, and broad generalizations and "musts" and "shall nots" are often wildly unhelpful when making contact with reality. Mythcreants often runs afoul of this, and I kind of wanted to just dissect that for a bit.

The first thing that I feel like is noticeable is their rather extensive Q&A column. I think in terms of advice, Q&A columns are perhaps some of the best ways to dispense it because it's most often someone with a specific problem who comes to Q&A for a solution to that problem, making the diagnosis and subsequent advice usually highly specific and applicable for that specific person, and more broadly applicable once you start spiraling the ideas from that specific application out. Now, the selection of these questions is... sort of weird? Some of them, certainly, are great choices. For example, one person asked "How can I spot bad faith critiques?" That's a great question for a beginning writer or even someone more experienced who feels like they're being harangued a bit too much. No further notes. Others, however, feel... listen, I know I just said Q&A is great because it's specific, but these are too specific or so simplistic that it feels awkward. A lot of the questions are great big "cans" - can I do this, or can I do that, which to me feels like a sign that a lot of these questions are coming in from novice writers who feel like they still need to ask someone for permission to do something. And that's not an insult to them - I was there, once upon a time - but one of the truly wonderful things about writing is realizing that you're very free with it, that you "can" do anything so long as you feel it is a satisfying way to write that resonates with you and your audience.

Many are also "cans" about social impact around marginalized groups - certainly great questions for any author to ask. But I don't think "can" or "should" or "ought to" is really the right way to look at that sort of question. I myself am a trans woman, and I'm disabled mentally and in some respects physically, though many of those physical disabilities have become less noticeable with my adulthood. There are times when I really do see some depictions of trans and disabled people and feel uncomplicatedly offended. I think we can all safely gather round and laugh at Sia or The Good Doctor for being backwards and stupid when it comes to this sort of matter and so on, but it's rarely so clear cut, especially from the perspective of an author or artist. The important part is to be thoughtful, read closely on a topic if you're trying to represent it properly, and then not much else can be done besides consulting members of a marginalized group directly and doing your best to actually write it. I've lived about two decades now and if there's anything I've learned it's that being impolite or insensitive when making a best effort is maybe the least concerning thing that a person can be, at worst an annoyance; and so it is not tantamount to an author to make it their sole priority. The advice from Mythcreants seems well-intentioned in this respect, but with all I've said in mind it also feels insufficient in that area, if that makes any sense. It seems more focused on what one ought not to do rather than looking at the vastness of the possibility present when one really looks at the diversity of the human race and the ways in which we are different.

Additionally, I personally feel like - and this is rude, but I don't know how phrase it - the Mythcreants hate fun. Or at the very least, they hate things that might be interesting in the context of a fictional novel. For instance, they have an article entitled Five Anachronisms That Fantasy Needs. It starts off by being on the face of it inaccurate by saying that it is "historical almost by definition," largely ignoring the vast number of fantasy stories that take place in the present day or near future, but let's move right on past that. The list - spoilers for a several-year-old listicle, I guess - consists of modern medical knowledge, birth control more reliable than sheepskin condoms, acceptance of differences (ex. class, race, gender, sexuality, etc.), reasonable fashion trends (ex. no codpieces, restrictive corsets, lead-based cosmetics, etc.) and standardized time-keeping. The problem I have with all of this is that fundamentally speaking these are things that many people find deeply interesting topics and love reading more about them. People love reading about societies that have bizarre ideas about medicine, that have prejudices so exotic that they seem to turn the world on its head, they love a dramatic pregnancy scare, they love the biggest, stupidest codpieces and most carcinogenic makeup you could imagine and they love having no clue what year it is. Maybe not so much on the last one, but you're sort of picking up what I'm putting down, no? What people find fascinating about past societies is reflected in our fantasies because they are interesting things; the past is a foreign country that we love to explore and play in with fiction, and most audiences are here for that sort of thing. Don't take it from me! Brandon Sanderson apparently has written a hit series about an entire society of feudalistic magical hand fetishists and he's a best-seller. Haven't read it though; still getting around to that one.

Another example of this is their article on "Five Tips for Avoiding Disorientation in Your Opening Hook." I think this is sort of a silly endeavor in the first place. Confusion in an opening is an almost certainty, because nothing has been answered yet and nothing established. There's something to this that I like to call "the Star Wars rule," which basically says that if something's function is self-apparent by how it plays in the story going forward, then you can use that to your advantage and minimize further explanation. If you off-handedly mention that Blahian wine, then audiences will very quickly make the connections that it's probably really high-quality or has sought-after characteristics, because they're probably familiar with the fact that good French and Italian wines are also pricy and have sought-after qualities. You only really need to elaborate on that when, per say, the character from Blah reveals that he's secretly blighted the vineyards to drive the wine prices through the roof and make a monopoly or something, and you can elaborate on how he specifically did that, or what in Blah let him do that, and it'll all cohere. What this means, ultimately, is that you can throw uncertain or unknown terms into fiction and they will be able to come to understand those very quickly by context because humans are generally pretty good at that, and they'll respect you for letting them figure out that little mystery on their own. They focus, for instance, on the opening to Blindsight: "It didn’t start out here. Not with the scramblers or Rorschach, not with Big Ben or Theseus or the vampires. Most people would say it started with the Fireflies, but they’d be wrong. It ended with all those things."

I think this is actually a really good opening, not knowing anything else about the novels. It's... pithy, you know? It gives the immediate feeling of some old guy on a porch telling you about something he lived through that other people didn't. Immediately, what we're being told is that the world is like our own - there's Big Ben and Theseus and Rorschach are familiar names - but something's happened with them that's quite enormous and led to a very big conclusion involving vampires and scramblers and a group named the Fireflies. After all, we don't usually talk about big national monuments with this sort of tone unless something very bad happened to them or in them. The audience immediately knows that the story is going to somehow cover all of these things and they're going to figure out what this all means as it goes along. It being a little confusing doesn't make it bad - it makes it intriguing. The article then goes on to urge authors not to use confusing labels, including not referring to characters by multiple names early in the opening (ex. replacing Paglino with Pag, Gardner with Gard) and minimizing metaphors. I can at least agree with keeping the narration consistent, but I feel like that's true of most writing, opening or not. All of this feels like the writers of Mythcreants expect authors to write books for people who are not curious and are not interested in learning about what they're reading about, or that they think that writing is tremendously weakened by being even slightly ambiguous or potentially confusing for an audience. And again, you don't have to take this one from me. One of the most popular game series of the last ten years was Dark Souls, which has story elements that are almost indefinitely obscured or simply unknowable even in the opening, and people love that, they love debating what version of events is true and what's really going on and they find great joy in that. Hell, last year we got Signalis, a game that opens with a cutscene where the main character picks up a semi-obscure late 19th century horror novel before listening to a German radio station repeating "ACHTUNG! ACHTUNG!" before repeating a series of numbers while the main character's face starts dissolving, and then quotes from H.P. Lovecraft start flashing on the screen along with several characters we don't know about, a highly technical fictional BSOD screen and then just the title.

You know what people said to that?

"We love it, give us more, we will speculate about this for months."

Now you may ask, Jay, where are you going with this? Surely you have some sort of grander point about how bad writing advice tends to stem from a prescriptive view of writing that fails to take into account the complex realities of the real world, fantasy worlds and the authorship thereof? And, well, yes. That's the point. This advice is overly specific and prescriptive, and it seems to cater to people who haven't strongly developed their own style and authorial interests that tend to create strong audiences in turn. That's really it. I just chose to tear into Mythcreants because they were around and I had a lazy afternoon to do so. I do hope that if they do see this, they don't take it too harshly. There's nothing unsalvageable about their site or their general milieu, and if someone got something out of their advice I'm glad. I just don't see them as being all that helpful personally.

[gizkasparadise]

cdrama rec/review: le coup de foudre

KDRAMA AND CDRAMA MASTER LIST OF REVIEWS

Series: le coup de foudre / love at first sight / i don’t like this world, i only like you Episodes: 35 w/ a special Genres: then & now, slice of life, high school to adult life, romance, reunion/getting back together, working with the ex Spoilers in the Rec: for set-up/light ones for character backgrounds If You Like, You’ll Like: the reply series, sad-looking dogs that are loved very much, because this is my first life (VERY similar male lead), sibling love, my sunshine but if people were nicer and had significantly better hair, multiple couples that are all a lot of fun

Rank: 10/10

PREMISE

flashback to 6-8 years ago (because the OP here can’t remember lol): it’s desk selection day in qiao yi’s classroom! a very dramatic moment for all high schoolers, qia yi has to select who she sits next to. because she’s at the bottom of the class ranking, she gets last pick, which essentially narrows down her choices to that creepy kid who writes love poetry to every female student in the class and yan mo, the scary genius student who has placed 1st in their class since...forever.

taking a gamble, qiao yi goes with yan mo. yan mo eventually agrees to tutoring qiao yi outside of class and they become friends. then...friends? if you know what i mean. it’s very sweet and cute. only problem is that yan mo is both a genius and from a Family of Means, and so is already planning on attending cambridge (yeah, fucking cambridge) after graduation. not wanting to separate, yan mo asks qiao yi to come with him and she agrees to study hard so she can get accepted to a university in the UK, too.

but then, well, bad shit happened. 

qiao yi ended up staying in their home town, yan mo left for cambridge, and we got two v heartbroken teenagers on our hands.

4 years later, yan mo returns after studying in the uk, and by chance they end up bumping into each other. angry because qiao yi hurt him, yan mo puts up an ALOOF AND COLD AND I DONT CARE AT ALL front that she sadly buys. but after he leaves for the big city to pursue a business opportunity, qiao yi harnesses some amazing big dick energy to go after him, in a sort of inverse DONT LET HER GET ON THAT PLANE! move. very abba. 

the plot bounces between their (and their friends’) high school years, their lives as reunited adults, and their future lives as married folks. i love it very, very much.

MAIN CHARACTERS

zhao qiao yi

as a high schooler, qiao yi was a quiet girl with low self-esteem, who consistently ranked at the bottom of her class and was always attempting to retreat into her school tracksuit like a turtle. despite this, qiao yi has some solid friends and is always kind if somewhat shy or uncomfortable in certain situations. as a adult, qiao yi works as a television producer and is clearly more confident. 

she buys truly awful graphic t-shirts as thank you gifts that one feels obligated to wear. falls for scams easily. will help you fold 1000 paper stars for your boyfriend even if she hates your boyfriend because she’s ride or die like that. look at how cute she is no one is allowed to be mean to someone as cute as this.

yan mo / “frank”

if you liked se hee in because this is my first life, you’re in luck because here is a 10% angrier version. at first, yan mo seems cold, aloof, snobbish, pretentious, arrogant...

okay, but he’s ALSO got a lot of feelings and will help people out. well, at the start of the show, he’ll help two people out. but that expands to like 10. so, progress! in high school, he falls for qiao yi in the typical Cannot Spit It Out fashion, buying her sentimental cans of coke, PUTTING IN ONE EARBUD SO SHE CAN LISTEN TO THE BEATLES WITH HIM, feeling Weird about her tying his tie, and single-handedly ruining a for-profit afterschool tutoring business in about 30 seconds, because they weren’t teaching qiao yi anything, and he knew he could do it better. tbh he completely fucking destroys a lot of things and people in under a minute. #ruthless

he’s very protective of qiao yi and rather than explain it, here is a clip from the special episode where yan mo confronts another student who left a love confession meant for qiao yi in his desk by mistake (subtitles have to be selected under settings, but it’s subbed in english):

zhao guan chao

zhao qiao yi’s twin brother, who has always placed 2nd in their classes after yan mo. despite his high grades, he comes off as a laidback teen heartthrob and has a reputation for being a flake and a playboy. BUT he’s legit a chill dude and clearly popular for a reason--he gets along with (almost) everyone. he loves his sister and is extremely protective of her, especially since she’s so shy and has low self-esteem for Reasons That Will Be Explained in the Tragic Backstory. he’s such a good brother. the best brother. also looks out for qiao yi’s best friend, wu yi. understands the value of shoes.

hao wu yi

qiao yi’s best friend, and another classmate of The Crew. i say this with so, so much love, but she’s got a lot of chaotic dumbass energy. struggling along the bottom ranks with qiao yi during high school. she has the worst taste in men as a teenager, falling for the guy who literally bullied her in like. ep 2. thankfully she’s got qiao yi and guanchao.

the trio are close, and that doesn’t change as they grow up. wu yi ends up becoming a novelist who writes pop and steamy romance novels and has a significant teenage girl fanbase. it’s amazing. 

fei da chuan

my boy. another classmate, he, qiao yi, and wu yi make up the official Dumbass Trio of their high school class and have adorable adventures + solidarity in it. he’s also yan mo’s uncle. somehow. because rich people families are wild. while he’s got a place to live, he more often than not crashes at yan mo’s, who Does Not Like It. but da chuan does not notice or care. 

abrasive but 100% sincere about everything and toward everyone. people will think he’s an asshole or a gangster but then he’s secretly feeding abandoned kittens in the corner or something. as an adult, has the best business casual outfits. serves as a big brother figure to a lot of people, but qiao yi in particular. cannot, cannot fucking do math.

SUPPORTING

“alicia” / cheng youmei. an old family friend of yan mo’s who is very posh and rich and dignified. studied abroad with him at cambridge, and is cold toward qiao yi after arriving back in china. cosplays B)

teacher gao. everyone’s high school teacher who later owns a bar that seems to be there only for dispensing advice. seriously. there is no way this bar is economically sound as the only customers you ever see are gao’s students coming in one at a time for Wisdom and you never see them pay for anything. also the bar has no fucking roof and is directly above traintracks. i have hang-ups about this bar

lin shu. yan mo’s mother. very sweet and pretty and a ballernia turned program director. is almost never home but clearly loves her son. du chaun’s sister. somehow.

zhao suyin. qiao yi and guan chao’s mother. one of her kinks is roleplaying condor heroes characters? okay okay okay

tian weimin. qiao yi and guan chao’s stepfather who works as police officer. best dad award. he’s so sweet and corny and peak dad humor. he loves them kids & they love him back

grandpa. yan mo’s dog in high school. a very old basset hound with sad eyes:

dollar or d. i cant tell you anything about him, other than he used to be a stray and yan mo says he’s ugly, which, rude.

DRAWBACKS

plot...hm. there’s SOME plot, but this is about characters + romance + friendship + family. if you’re looking for scheming mothers-in-law or tragic car accidents or secret destinies this isn’t the one for you. similar in vibe to Reply 1988 (they even watch the show in the show :’D / make references to it)

OKAY SO every plot summary i’ve seen says that yan mo is in a relationship with someone else when he gets back to china. no he is not. i say this because it was a huge turn off for me/initially put me off watching the series. he is definitely a one-and-only type. there’s no cheating in this show. lmao, hell, neither of the mains are even interested in anyone else but each other

i liked du chuan and his love interest a lot, but they definitely didn’t get as much screen time as the others

while it’s clear qiao yi + yan mo are the mains, another couple gets a lot of screen time as well. this might be a skip if you don’t like multiple couples/secondary relationships in a show

i surprisingly enjoyed the high school storyline a lot more than the adult one? which is super weird for me, but idk i was sad when it was over because it was so cute.

some...weird technical decisions. every once in a while, the camera will have like a nostalgia filter and then it disappears and then the edges get a bit blurry and idk it feels very film school 101 to show that what’s on screen is a ~memory. the soundtrack/music is sometimes also too loud--to the point where it can drown out the actors (particularly janice wu in the high school arc, since qiao yi is soft-spoken)

REASONS TO WATCH

the lead actors (janice wu + zhang yujian) are legit two of my favorites and they have great/easy chemistry. all the actors are amazing. everyone’s loveable

SIBLING GOALS the zhao twins are amazing and they’re both each other’s biggest fans. gaunchao had some really heartwarming brother moments

i love love lmao. this spoke to a lot of my favorite dynamics: exes reunited/having to work together, childhood sweethearts reuniting as adults, “gangster” and princess, childhood friends turned lovers, bickering couples, cold man who actually has a lot of feelings, lots of people being overprotective, idk. everything was just great. 0 complaints on any of the ships.

i genuinely liked every character other than that one piece of shit poppa zhao. even alicia, who’s put into the stereotypical rich bitch role, was actually really fun and subverted a lot of expectations for this trope

it’s just. real cute y’all. probably my favorite cdrama and definitely in my top 10 (maybe 5?) dramas overall.

FINAL THOUGHTS

i love them ;;

[xxisxxisxxis]

Gateway Drug | Part Fifty-Two

Wattpad

Word Count: 3.2k

Warning(s): explicit language, drug abuse, violence, sexual situations

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"Ah!" I squeal with a small giggle laced through it, Nikki's lips pressing to my shoulder while he pulls out of me and his cum spills on the inside of my thighs that are wide open.

My leg's hooked over his hip as he lays behind me with his arm snaking around my waist, between my breasts, while his hand has a solid hold on my throat.

When he's done, he's pressing one last kiss to my cheek before rolling over on his back, reaching for something on his night table.

I shift to my back, staring up at the mirrored ceiling to see him holding something out to me.

I turn my head to look at him just as he's taking my hand and sliding my wedding ring back on, pressing a little kiss to my hand before grabbing at my jaw assertively, kissing me.

"Apology accepted." I say once he pulls away.

"Yeah, ditto." He chuckles, kissing me one last time before I'm giving out a content sigh and sitting up to go shower.

Once I get out, I dry off and wrap myself in a towel, brushing through my wet hair with my fingers as I step into our bedroom to get some lotion on and get dressed.

"Wait, wait." Nikki stops me as I squeeze lotion onto my hand and I look up at him and raise my brows, seeing him grab his camera from the drawer in the nightstand. "Okay, drop the towel and oil up nice: I'm gonna need something to keep me company while I'm in the studio for countless hours the next several weeks."

I roll my eyes and hold back a smile, throwing my towel at him and it hits him in the face.

"Woo!" He cheers, tossing the towel away and I cover my chest just as the flash goes off and I shake my head a little, ignoring him collecting the dispensed Polaroid as I start putting my moisturizer on.

When I'm finished, I'm pulling on sweat pants and hooking my bra, about to pull a tank top on.

"Hey, Viv?" Nikki asks me.

"Yeah, babe?"

"Is the Lord's prayer important?"

I furrow my brows, finding it odd that's he's asking.

"Well, it's the template Jesus gave Christians to use when praying so yes, it's very important." I reply and he nods a little.

"So...like...what is the prayer, exactly?"

I drop the tank-top in my hands, my eyes widen, and I look at him like he's lost his mind.

"Okay, who are you and what have you done with Nikki Sixx?"

"Ha, ha." He sarcastically lets out.

"No, seriously, either you're a clone, had a bad dose of drugs, or your body is officially done with and dying and God's jabbing at you to throw one last 'hail Mary' attempt at salvation before you croak."

"No, I just wanna know what I need to say when I pray to you." He replies with a smirk and I pretend to nearly trip and fall on the floor as if it's slippery.

"Woah, woah, woah, you gotta give me a warning before you say something so slick." I tell him, grinning and he pulls me onto him, laughing. "And to answer your question, it's 'Our Father which art in heaven, Hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done in earth, as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil: For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, for ever. Amen'." I finish, deciding he wasn't even listening, but I have a weird feeling he's taking notes. "Seriously, though, why're you asking?" I add, my fingers fiddling with the various necklaces hanging around his neck.

A devious, childish, sneaky little tug of his lips his highlighting the "up to no good" look in his hazel eyes as his pointer finger traces the crucifix around my neck before meeting my gaze.

"Just curious."

Just a dumbass.

I finish dressing before stepping out to check the mail.

When I come back, I realize there's a handwritten note pinned to the door.

It's signed by our accountant and I roll my jaw.

It was $2,500.00 last May, which means he's been going through $5,000.00 a day.

"Uh, Nikki?!" I call coming into the house with the mail and the letter, going to our bedroom where he's plucking at his bass, waving the letter.

"Yeah?" He asks.

"Sixx 1 & 2,

Sixx 1 is still spending exponential amounts of money on heroin a day. I left a warning last May, and said Nikki will either be dead or the two of you will be completely broke by May this year. That still stands because the amount being spent has doubled since then. Slow down." I read it off. "Nikki, it was $2,500.00 last time so he's saying you're currently spending $5,000.00 a day on smack?!" I raise my voice. "How the hell can someone possibly do that much heroin--or any freaking drug--in one day?!"

"Viv--"

"--That's $1.6 million a year! Did we even make that much last year!" I scream.

"We? Vivian, you've never worked a day in your fucking life. There is no 'we made', it's what I made. And because I'm the one who made the money, I can do whatever the hell I want with it so just hop off."

"Nikki, baby, we have bills, and insurance didn't cover as much on my time in the hospital and follow-ups as we had hoped so we have to spend money on necessities and not..." I trail off, calming myself down, rubbing my forehead, trying not to start crying.

"Viv, I'll handle it." He tells me after a moment of quiet between us. "Alright?"

I rub my lips together, letting out a sigh as he holds his hand out to take the stack of bills from me.

I hand them over, not saying a word more, before leaving him to continue scraping up motivation to actually write something.

He wrote "Wild Side", which completely reworks and assaults the Lord's prayer...then the bastard listed me as a co-write because, "well you told me what the prayer was to begin with so technically you helped me write it."

When the conservatives went digging around once the album was released, they dragged me through the mud when they saw my name attached to a bastardized version of something sacred to christianity and I heard every degrading, yet passive, insult any holier-than-thou Bible-biddy could throw at me.

I stopped going to church for quite a while after that because I didn't even want to face the possibility of all those people smiling in my face while thinking, "she's not the really for God."

"Valentine's Day?" I ask Doc, raising my brows. "...Really?"

"Well, they wanna get a good feel of Nikki and you're obviously a part of his life, so they figured spending Valentine's Day with you two would be pretty interesting." He explains.

"I don't want anybody getting a good feel of Nikki's anything." I reply stubbornly, crossing my arms.

"Yeah, and Viv won't let me pull out the really special techniques while someone's in the house with us." Nikki adds. "And she only lets me do them on special occasions."

"Nobody's feeling anybody else, and you two sodomites can have all the fun you want once the interview is done with. It'll take four hours, tops." Doc says, looking at Nikki. "We're gonna have to start promoting the album."

This is the selling point.

Nikki sighs, rubbing his face, groaning.

"Fine." He gives up, looking at me. "We can entertain the nosy bastard for a few hours, I guess."

"I suppose." I roll my eyes.

"Thank you." Doc let's out with relief.

"Was that it?" I ask him, glancing around his office.

"Oh, yeah." He nods.

"We drove down here just for you to tell us something you could have easily called and told us over the phone?" Nikki asks next.

"Yeah, 'cause I wanted to see how you look and sure enough you look like shit." Doc states and Nikki rolls his eyes. "Which reminds me, clean up your house and make yourself seem like you're not on drugs. K?" Doc gives us a parting word of advice as we stand up to leave.

"Yeah, yeah, got it." Nikki waves him off, leaving in front of me.

"Viv." Doc says to me and I nod reassuringly.

"I'll make sure he keeps it together for the interview."

"Thank you, you two be careful on the way home."

"We will, bye." I shut the door and follow Nikki out to his Jeep.

"I really don't feel like dealing with the press." He grumbles, looking at me now with his sunglasses on and I give him a small smile.

"Maybe it won't be that bad."

"I don't like people I don't fuck with in my house. It's my house. My space. It isn't a fucking amusement park that's open for review." He cranks the car and I put my seat belt on.

"Baby?"

"What?" He says a little harsh.

"It will be okay." I pat his fluffy hair. "K?"

He doesn't answer, actually pouting like a spoiled little boy.

When he ignores me, about to start driving, I raise a brow, unbuckle, and my fingers slowly fumble with the button on his jeans as his pout falters and his smirk replaces it, followed by the sound of a content, groan-filled sigh, and the back of his head hitting the back of his seat when I get my mouth around his prick.

Once we get home I'm wiping the remains of slobber and cum from my lips and he's struggling to keep his legs from collapsing.

"Are you okay?" I ask him smugly when his leg shakes a little bit as he unlocks the front door.

"Watch it, Sixx." He warns as he points at me, his hand popping me on the ass when I walk in front of him to go inside, and I let out a small shriek, following it with a laugh.

My laughter abruptly stops when I see Vanity watching T.V.

She actually seems sober enough, but she looks like she just came off of a bender.

Nikki and I look at each other.

"Oh, there you are. Nikki wasn't answering the phone and I wanted to see him." She tells us, her eyes glued him, and he sighs.

"Well, I'm here. What do you want?" He asks her in a snap, taking his jacket off.

"Nikki, quit being rude." I tell him quietly.

"Showing up to people's houses uninvited is rude." He replies, glaring at her.

"Not when I gave her the code to the gate and a key." I state.

His eyes bug for a second and he's raising his brows at me.

"You what?"

"Tansy has the code and a key, Tommy, Vince and Mick have the code and a key. Izzy, Steven, Slash, Duff, Axl--"

"--That's different." He cuts me short.

"How? They're our friends and so is she." I point out.

"If I'm not welcome I can just go." She says, grabbing her coat.

"Bye." Nikki says just as I say, "no, it's okay."

He and I give each other dirty looks.

"I was actually about to start cooking dinner and invite some friends over so feel free to stay, please." I offer to her. "Nikki, I need your help in the kitchen."

He follows me and I yank on the ends of his hair once we're alone, scolding him.

"Will you stop being a jackass to her?!" I whisper-yell.

"Can you stop being so fucking nice to people? It's stupid."

"Oh, God forbid Nikki Sixx be married to someone who's not a complete bitch." I roll my eyes, grabbing a few pans from our cabinet and he let's out a heavy breath.

"She's fucking crazy, Vivian." He argues and I turn to face him.

"You say the same thing about me any time I piss you off. I really believe she's a good girl, Nikki. She just needs one, good, solid friend that isn't just friends with her to have someone to do drugs with." I explain.

"Oh, yeah, Viv, she's really good...at being a fucking slut."

I pop him in the side of the face and point my finger at him.

"You don't talk like that about Vince or Tommy or Robbin so why the hell talk like that about her?"

"Because she is one." He ignores me and I let out a breath. "Some of the dudes she's fucked are married." He adds.

"Tansy has slept with married men, is she a slut, too?" I ask him and he rolls his jaw. "What I thought."

"Viv, I really don't--"

"Okay, Nikki. Whatever you say." I interrupt him, grabbing some things from the fridge. "She's an awful person, got it. Can you please help me with this so I can clean up the house some?" I ask.

He hesitates for a second before opening the packet of chicken on the counter I pulled from the fridge.

"Thank you." I smile, kissing his cheek, before leaving him alone so I can get the house in nice shape.

To say Nikki projected shit onto Vanity would be an understatement. Her hands weren't clean, of course, but he would often externally put her down the way he internally put himself down for what the two of them were doing to me. It was moments like that, that I looked back on after finding everything out, and would want to hit myself.

He practically told me they were sleeping together without actually saying "hey, I'm screwing this woman that you think is your friend, and you're being too nice and naive to think we wouldn't do that to you."

"Tommy and Heather, Vince and Sharise, Tansy and Vanity, Duff, Slash, Steven, Izzy and Axl." I tell Mick how many people will be at dinner and I hear him let out a breath on the other end of the phone.

"I don't know, Viv." He tells me.

"Mick, c'mon, I haven't seen you very much the past year."

"I don't know..."

"Mick--"

"--Mick, get your ass over here so we can have a good time. We're gonna see you in the studio tomorrow, anyway, so just come celebrate the commencement of the start of the new album." Nikki says after he takes the phone from me.

Mick says something and Nikki grins.

"Alright, bye." He hangs up. "He's in." He tells me.

"Thank you for snatching the phone from me, dickhead." I say, half-joking.

"Okay, I am this close," he holds his pointer finger and thumb centimeters apart from each other. "to bending you over my knee and beating your ass."

"Promise?" I reply, grinning, and he tugs me closer to him, but just before our lips meet, Vanity is walking--more so bursting--into the kitchen.

"Nikki, when are we hanging out?" She asks him, nearly bouncing on the balls of her feet.

Nikki's hands dig into my hips as if he's channeling his frustration instead of being rude.

I know what "hangout" means, and I don't need him cracked out, especially not now with guests coming over soon.

"I don't think that's a good idea, Vanity." I explain to her as politely as I can.

"Why not?" She asks me.

"Just not aright now." Nikki tells her, actually more tolerant than he was earlier.

I don't know if I'm shocked because he's not being an ass to her, or because he's  turning down the opportunity to go hit a crackpipe. 

Vanity looks at me for a split second--a very short, nearly millisecond--as if I'm the fucking Devil, before it vanishes and she smiles at us.

"Okay, I'm gonna be in the bathroom freshening up." She tells us, walking in the direction of the guest bathroom, and I let out a breath when she's gone.

"You mean you don't wanna greet our guests naked, waving a gun, and accuse them of being the FBI before opening fire?" I ask him.

He just gives me an unamused look.

"I'm gonna go change before that 'ass beating' is administered." I suggest.

"Yeah, good idea."

I change, put on some makeup, and run my fingers through my hair to comb it out before stepping into the kitchen to help Nikki finish up.

I'm met with uncooked food.

"Uh...Nikki?!" I call, glancing at the clock to see it's 8:00pm.

People will be here any minute.

I go looking for him, smelling the familiarity of cocaine.

"Oh my God." I say to myself, opening the guest bedroom to see Nikki and Vanity crouched over their pipes with a mountain of blow out.

They look at me with wild eyes.

As if on cue, the doorbell rings.

"Please be someone sober. Please be someone sober." I repeat, shutting the door as I step to the door.

I open it to reveal Duff and the guys.

"I need help." I tell them, sounding panicked. "Nikki and Vanity's cracked out."

"Um, w-we were gonna ask you for help." Duff tells me.

"What, why?"

They move over and I see Tansy, shaking a little.

"Are you--"

Before I can finish, a familiar "BANG" is sounding through the house and is joined with a loud, ear-shattering shriek of glass breaking, and we hit the ground, Duff securing me under him before a second shot is fired, breaking more glass, causing Tansy to start screaming and crying from under Axl and Steven.

I thank God when Nikki doesn't shoot again, instead the sound of him scrambling to get to his closet, and the sound of Vanity's heels scampering along with him has me sighing with relief. I hear him slam our bedroom door, and Duff runs his thumbs under my eyes to wipe at tears that I had no idea were even coming out of me.

"Holy shit." Izzy mumbles. 

"Are you okay?" Duff asks me and I nod as he helps me up.

"Tansy?" I ask her gently, she's got her hands over her ears, tears streaming down her face.

Axl carefully steps into the house as I continue to reassure Tansy.

"Uh, Viv?" Axl asks.

"I got it, Viv." Steven tells me, trying to calm Tansy down.

I follow Axl into the house, and I'm taken back by the sight of our entire ceiling in the living room shattered over our couches, the carpet, the coffee table, the T.V., it's a giant sheet of sparkling, sharp, shards of mirror.

It seems like forever just staring at the damage done to my house, and I'm unable to get words to come out of my mouth.

"Dude, is Tansy alright?" Tommy's voice sounds at the door and we snap around to see him.

I hear Heather and Sharise outside before Vince comes in behind Tommy, their brows raising at the sight of the mess.

"Hooollllyyyy..." the blonde singer drags out.

"You alright?" Axl asks me, and anger rolls through me, my teeth grinding together.

"Viv?" Tommy adds.

"Doc. Bob. Now." Is all I'm able to say.

"On it." Tommy doesn't waste a minute stepping through the glass to get to the phone in the living room while Axl tugs me back outside to avoid murdering Nikki.

That was the first straw that began the process of breaking the camel's back.

[nokomiss]

Happy 4th! I would love something with Dick and Tim having fun patrolling or working on a case together, maybe with a moment where they have to pull off a little acting for undercover/incognito reasons. Dick/Tim is my favorite but a brotherly dynamic would be great too if you are feeling that instead! Thanks for being open to prompts!

So the morning started out… weird. And by weird, that meant Tim was startled awake by Dick Grayson jumping on his bed while belting out an off-key rendition of “Blue Suede Shoes.”

“Go away,” Tim tried, shoving his face deeper under the pillow and pulling his legs up into the fetal position, attempting to keep from getting bounced on. 

Dick ignored him. “Rise and shine, time to fight crime!”

“Crime doesn’t happen at--” Tim blearily poked at his phone, “Eight-thirty in the morning.”

“Crime is always afoot, Timmers,” Dick replied. He hopped off the bed and poked Tim in the side. “Come on. We’ve got that thing you said you’d do with me. You and me! Incognito! It’s gonna be great.”

Tim had absolutely no memory of whatever mission Dick was claiming that he’d agreed to. “When, exactly, did I agree to this?” 

“Uh, four weeks ago,” Dick said. “When we were patrolling the East End. Remember? The night we rescued those puppies?”

Tim definitely remembered the puppies, they’d been adorable. And Dick had said something about---

He opened his eyes, and actually looked at Dick for the first time. He was wearing a spangled, fringed jumpsuit that wasn’t the infamous early Nightwing costume. It was white, with bell-bottoms and a plunging neckline, with a rhinestone-studded belt. His hair was in a pompadour. And he struck a pose, one hip out, head bowed, arm in the air.

Dangling from the arm in the air was another white sequined jumpsuit, this one featuring a cape with a bejeweled eagle on the back.  

“No,” Tim said, horror-struck, as he remembered with sudden clarity Dick mentioning a tip he’d gotten about a shipment of drugs being smuggled through at an upcoming Elvis convention, and Tim laughingly saying that he’d only go if there were costumes.

“Yes,” Dick said. “We pinky-swore, Tim, you can’t back out now.”

It was true; they had. Tim sighed and got out of bed, taking the jumpsuit from Dick. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“This is easily the best undercover gig I’ve ever had,” Dick confirmed. “Shake a leg, we don’t want to be late!”

Tim dressed quickly. The jumpsuit didn’t feel as weird as it ought, given what he wore out every night, and he kind of enjoyed the short cape.  Dick produced some shiny satin scarves to complete their ensembles -- blue for himself, red for Tim, which made him smile, and even big gold sunglasses.  After his hair had been fixed, he had to admit they both made pretty good Elvises; he doubted anyone would identify them as members of the Wayne family, at the very least.

On the ride to the convention hall -- a mid-sized one, Tim noticed, with minimal advertising, even though, as far as he knew, Elvis impersonation didn’t trigger any of Gotham’s major rogues -- Dick updated him on the case. He’d done a decent amount of footwork on it already. There was supposed to be a major shipment of newly produced narcotics coming in through the con somehow. The only solid name he had was Geezer, and Dick was unsure if that was a description or a name.

“So we’re going to stalk every geriatric Elvis we can find?” Tim said. 

“Stalk is such a negative word,” Dick said. He looked unfairly good as Elvis, and Tim was mildly concerned that they were going to draw unnecessary attention to themselves. Tim himself at least knew he wouldn’t; the jumpsuit he was wearing was too big, and made his lean frame look scrawny instead. It was the trick he’d used in high school to avoid looking too fit, but Dick had not chosen to go that route himself. 

 Tim planned on making fun of him for that.

Arriving at the convention center was a treat, as he and Dick fit in perfectly. Almost everyone in attendance was wearing Elvis costumes, the majority of which were white rhinestone-crusted ones similar to the ones they were wearing, with a few black leather outfits or gold suits mixed in for fun.  

They spent two solid hours moving through the crowds, listening to snippets of conversation and looking for suspicious body language.  They focused on the convention hall with its dozens of booths filled to the brim with Elvis merch.  They were the likeliest spot for surreptitious drug deals, though Dick’s information hinted at a much larger operation than just two-bit dealers.

In actuality most of the time was actually spent trying on ridiculous hats, posing with various other Elvises, at one point joining in on a giant karaoke flash mob to Jailhouse Rock despite not knowing the choreography (Dick hissed, “Just shake your pelvis, it’ll be fine” and lo and behold for once that advice was spot on) and in general having a grand time.

It was, actually, such a grand time that Tim started to become suspicious that this wasn’t actually a drug bust but actually just an outing to an Elvis convention.

“So why didn’t you bring the brat instead?” he asked as they got fried peanut butter, banana and bacon sandwiches. Now that he was thinking about the day critically, he was doubting everything. This was exactly the sort of dumb adventure that Dick would normally love to drag Damian to, under the guise of exposing him to quote-unquote culture.

Dick cast his eyes around and said, “I love Dami, don’t get me wrong, but some things are sacred.”

“Oh,” Tim said, “you didn’t want him to harsh your vibe by refusing to wear a jumpsuit.”

“Exactly,” Dick said, nodding. Several hours in and Tim still wanted to laugh when he really focused on what Dick looked like, especially since he’d truly taken to the role and was doing a lip snarl to punctuate nearly every sentence.

“But Jason would have eaten this up,” Tim pointed out. It was exactly the sort of over-the-top nonsense that Jason excelled at, despite denying the fact vehemently. “Or Cass. She would have been an incredible Elvis. She would have crushed Jailhouse Rock.”

“You wanna make this a family outing next time?” Dick’s whole face lit up. “Awww, baby bro!”

“Shut up,” Tim muttered. “There’s totally not a next time.”

“Crime never sleeps, Timmy, and look at how many shady individuals are here.” Dick pointed to a toddler taking a few wobbly steps then tripping over its bellbottoms. “I mean, by next year, there’s a crime lord in the making.”

“Not what I said!” Tim said, laughing. “I just wondered, you know, why me, out of everyone.”

Just like that, the laughter dropped from Dick’s eyes and he straightened up. For one brief second Tim could see how he managed to be a convincing Batman, and then Dick said, “Tim, you’re important to me, you know that, right? I knew this was going to actually be a fun mission for once, and I miss having fun with you.”

Oh. Tim knew logically that they hadn’t spent as much time together recently as they used to, especially as they used to back when he was Robin, but he hadn’t thought that Dick missed it as much as he did.

 “I’m glad,” he said, and didn’t duck away at all when Dick wrapped him up in a bear hug, then continued to lead the way with an arm draped over his shoulder. 

“There’s a panel starting soon about theories on Elvis’s current whereabouts, I bet there’ll be plenty of geezers there.”  Dick led the way to a room off the main convention floor.

Sure enough, given how dated the Elvis-is-alive theory was, most of the audience and the entire panel were decidedly geriatric.  The panelists presented theories that were in depth and crazy enough that Tim almost wanted to look into their veracity, even though he knew that if Elvis had truly not died, some superhero would have surely come across him by now and he would have heard about it. 

The audience was of far more interest. Several of the Elvises would get up, whisper to another, then disappear behind a curtain for a few minutes.  Tim elbowed Dick when he noticed, and Dick nodded.  They snuck around to the curtain, and peeked behind it.

Another Elvis, this time in statue form.

Tim shrugged, unsure as to why people were sneaking in to see a statue of Elvis when there were easily a dozen other animatronic ones at various points on the convention floor.  They approached slowly, but the statue was just that: a statue.

“Weird,” Tim said.

Dick shrugged and looked at it closely. “Pretty good likeness.�� He poked it in the chest, randomly poking at various rhinestones, and there was a faint whirring sound from within the statue, and the rhinestone belt popped open like a quarter candy machine and dropped two pills onto the floor.

They stood for a moment, blinking at the revelation that they’d found a secret narcotic dispensing machine disguised as an Elvis statue. 

“Huh,” Tim said, “I’m gonna be honest with you here, I didn’t actually think this was a real mission.”

“I mean,” Dick said, “I can see why it would be outlandish. Guess we wait here and kick the ass of whoever comes to try to collect money from us?”

“What if it’s the old Elvises?” Tim said. “Is it morally okay to kick geriatric ass?”

“We can gently kick their ass, I guess?” Dick said. “Real delicate-like.”

It was a truly embarrassing moment to be a vigilante. The narcotic ring was masterminded by three guys in their eighties who probably had dealt to the King himself, and Dick and Tim had to very delicately immobilize their scooters and zip-tie them before alerting the police. They waited in the little anteroom making sure no one else stumbled across the drugs or dealers until they heard the approach of officers, then slipped out into the crowd just as the dance-off began.

Dick of course insisted they join in before leaving, and Tim had to admit he was glad; it was a sight to see.  

[tobiasfarnal]

Against Medical Advice

Private Mary Sparklecog sat on a small stool in the Oribos Idyllia happily eating a piece of sugar-encrusted fish and looking at the latest missive from her Knight and giggled a bit.

“PVT Sparklecog:

CDR Felmourn has issued the medical company a task; to ensure the well-being of KNT Farnal for the duration his attentions remain engrossed in his current magical project.. whatever that may be. I have decided that the responsibility of this task is to be placed on you. Please ensure that KNT Farnal does these four things; eat, hydrate, bathe and sleep to promote his well-being while his attentions are otherwise elsewhere. As his personal aide, and a medic no less, he will defer to you in matters pertaining to his health.

If you have questions, please return to the Enclave earliest. I shall expect a report on your work at the close of KNT Farnal's  project. If KNT Farnal has any questions, please show him this note. KNT Farnal, this serves as my direct order to PVT Sparklecog.

Respectfully,

 - K. Brightmaul, KNT

3A1 A/OIC”

 “Oooo,” the little gnomish medic said to herself.  “I get to give orders to a Knight!  Yay! Oh, this will be fun and Knight Farnal does sometimes get a little sleepy and bleary and sometimes stinky, so he does need someone to look after him.  Weird that Knight Brightmaul’s hand got all jumpy underlining that word ‘will.’ Something must have interrupted her.” She slid down off the stool – missing once again the Height Adjustment Module she’d scavenged in order to make Captain Tinkertorch’s radio equipment functional here.   Some fucking Knight can’t take a bath and you get put on the shit duty, said the Voice in the back of her head.  An entire medical ward full of wounded, our ass kicked so severely we had to run, and you’re confined to barracks, then made the babysitter of the snot-nosed kid.  If the little bastard can’t keep his shit together well enough to eat his lunch, then what the fuck is he doing anywhere near the field?

She ignored the Voice. She always ignored the Voice.  The Voice was a terrible, hurtful, bad, meany person.  The Voice thought that all there was to life was family melting away to radiation or friends falling behind enemy lines.  The Voice didn’t understand how good life could be if you just…looked at it right. So she pushed it down, like she always did, then put on her bestest, brightest smile and trundled off to find her new charge.

                                                           ***

She didn’t have to look far.

She found him, clothes rumpled, staring at some weird set of arcane symbols on the wall of the Enclave, just next to the Idyllia.  The bags about his eyes told her all she needed to know about his state of sleep, though he didn’t have the odor he sometimes accrued.  

“Knight Farnal?” she asked from behind him.  

The Knight jumped a bit, clearly startled, though Mary had made no attempt at stealth.  Mary giggled at the reaction as this officer took a moment to compose himself before speaking.

Dumbass knows we’re not secure here, and he lets himself get taken by surprise that easily?  Doesn’t need a medic, he needs a bodyguard.  Or a fucking brain cell, that’d help.

Mary’s smile grew wider as she pushed the Voice back down.  “Sir?  I’ve been sent by Knight Brightmaul, because you’re being a silly-billy and not sleeping or eating or drinking or stuff and that’s not good for you and so I’m here and I’m going to help you and you’re going to feel sooo much better when we get you on—”

“—yes, Sparklecog,” said the Knight in a clipped tone, cutting her off.  “Thank you.  I was told to expect your presence.  We can have further discussions once I’m done ensuring this ward line is secure.  It’s the first time I’ve had our new allied mages do the work, and I need to make sure that it’s up to snuff.”

So we’ve got a half-awake moron double-checking wards set up by the Horde.  We’re all going to die here.  You get to watch everyone die again.  And again, and again, and…

The Voice kept on like that, but Mary stopped listening.  Instead, she gave Knight Farnal a giggle.  “Oooo, you’re working on super-cool wardy-safe stuff, right?  I was on Derrinar’s patrol, and so I like that there’s wards to make us all safe and stuff when we’re being all talky here, that’s a big yay, but don’t you think that it can wait for you to get some sleep because you’ve been up and awake even though you’d been putting together that meeting with our new allies and then you opened that portal and now you’ve been working all night just double-checking someone else’s work and maybe that can wait for eight hours while you—"

“—Shut up, Private,” said the Knight in a whip-crack order tone.  “I know your orders.  And I will sleep, I promise you, once I know these wards are secure.  I’m not risking another security lapse like FOB Indestructible. Am I understood?  That.  Will. Not—”

It wasn’t Mary that moved her hand.  It was the Voice.  The big meany-head in the back of her brain where she put all the bad stuff that had happened to her.  She knew she had to guard against it at all times, but every once in a while it slipped the leash and took control.  Like now.

Knight Farnal looked down at the hypodermic needle the Voice had ejected from Mary’s wrist-dispenser and into his thigh.  Then he looked at Mary, an expression of pure disbelief and shock on his face for just a moment before the sedative cocktail took effect and his body went slack.

The Voice wanted to just let him hit the stone floor of Oribos, but Mary had control again.  She tapped a couple of buttons on her other wrist, and her patient-moving units had deployed from her waist, levitating up to catch Knight Farnal as he crumpled and ensure that his fall into unconsciousness was safe. “That wasn’t very nice,” she said, more to herself than anything else.  “Maybe if I’d talked to him more he would have seen that he had to follow his orders and get some sleep and eat and bathe and stuff.”  As she spoke, she deployed her H4ND-EE unit to begin dragging Knight Farnal’s unconscious form back to the medical section of the Idyllia.

Fuck him, said the Voice.  Your orders are to make sure he sleeps.  Mission a-fucking-ccomplished.  

Mary sighed and continued onward, wrestling with something she hadn’t wrestled with in a long, long time. For the first time since the end of the Fourth War…she wasn’t sure the Voice was entirely wrong.

[the-desolated-quill]

The Doctor, The Widow, And The Wardrobe - Doctor Who blog

(SPOILER WARNING: The following is an in-depth critical analysis. If you haven’t seen this episode yet, you may want to before reading this review)

I actually went into this one cautiously optimistic for once. While there were a few problems with it, Moffat's adaptation of A Christmas Carol was pretty damn good overall and surprisingly touching at points. (See, I do say nice things about Moffat sometimes. So I don’t want anymore hate mail saying I’m just a Moffat hater. I’m not a Moffat hater. I just despise shit writing. It’s not my fault if most of what Moffat writes is shit, is it?). Granted I wasn’t too keen on the idea of Moffat adapting The Lion, The Witch And The Wardrobe. I’m not exactly a fan of CS Lewis (misogynistic prick), but I figured I’d give Moffat a chance. It might be really good.

Was it? Well... I suppose it’s not the worst thing he’s ever written.

Things don’t exactly go off to a promising start. Remember when the Doctor said it was time to step back into shadows? Go into hiding? Stop being so big and noisy? Well this episode opens with the Doctor blowing up a spaceship. So much for hiding. And don’t get me started on the Doctor falling to Earth and trying to put on a spacesuit whilst in the vacuum of space. I know the science in Doctor Who has always been incredibly dodgy, but this is taking the piss.

Anyway the Doctor is rescued by a woman called Madge and he vows to return the favour. Three years later, during World War 2 (yes again), Madge and her family get evacuated (to an empty house, which is unusual. Also Madge is evacuated with her children. Why I don’t know. Either she’s a lot younger than she looks or Moffat hasn’t picked up a history textbook in a while) and the Doctor returns to give them the best Christmas they’ve ever had.

Let’s quickly talk about the family. First there’s Madge, played by Claire Skinner. Not a particularly interesting character, but she seems likeable enough. I enjoyed her resourcefulness at the beginning with the lockpick and everything. I also liked her emotional dilemma. Trying to give her children a happy Christmas while at the same time handling her own grief toward her seemingly dead husband and attempting to put a brave face on it. Her husband is played by Alexander Armstrong, who gives a good enough performance with the small amount of material he’s been given, although it’s a bit hard to take him seriously as an RAF pilot considering that he played an RAF pilot in the comedy sketch show Armstrong & Miller. Every time he talked, I kept expecting him to start complaining about how he wasn’t allowed to wear his ‘well hardcore trousers with all the pockets and shit’. Their children are less effective however. Cyril is a gormless troublemaker played by a child actor who gives a performance more wooden than the trees. And finally there’s Lily, who... exists. She breathes in oxygen and breathes out carbon dioxide. That’s basically her main contribution to the story. (And don’t forget, trees absorb carbon dioxide and release oxygen, so Lily is in fact making a very important contribution indeed).

We then spend some time enjoying some wacky hijinks with the Doctor, including spinning armchairs, taps that dispense lemonade, a train set built into a Christmas tree, and hammocks. While I’ve never been very fond of Matt Smith’s Doctor, even I have to admit I found this amusing. I think it’s because of how humble it all is. The Doctor isn’t being weird just to show off how weird he’s being like he normally does. He genuinely wants make this family happy.

And then it’s off to Narnia.

At first things are pretty suspenseful. Christmas trees that grow their own baubles, mysterious footprints and a wooden building shaped like a giant Playstation Move (remember those?). But as things go along, you get the sense that the episode is treading water a bit. Let’s face it, there isn’t actually a plot here. Sure Moffat tries to shake things up with the wooden statues and Bill Bailey in a space marine outfit. He even name-drops Androzani in the hopes that it’ll get classic series fans like myself excited. But it does little to disguise the fact that we’re basically watching a bunch of people trudging through the snow for 45 minutes with not a lot actually happening. It’s a bit dull. In fact name-dropping Androzani might not have been the best idea because all it did was remind me I could be watching The Caves Of Androzani right now instead of this.

Bill Bailey is utterly wasted. Who casts a brilliant comedian like him as the comic foil? Whose stupid idea was that? It hurts especially because you just know if he was doing most of the jokes, he would knock it out of the park. instead it all feels really awkward and forced. The other two Androzani miners just aren’t very good. And more to the point, what are they all even doing there? They’re using acid rain to harvest the trees, but why do they need to be there on the ground? And why, other than for the sake of plot convenience, did they leave that mechanical walker behind?

It soon becomes clear this is supposed to be an environmentalist story. The souls of the trees wanting to escape from the destructive influence of man. A worthy cause I suppose, even if it is a bit old hat. It’s a pity it doesn’t really make sense. So their plan to escape is to just wait for a human woman to conveniently happen upon them? Bit weak, isn’t it?

And then of course Moffat’s trademark sexism comes creeping back in. When her children disappear, mild mannered Madge suddenly shifts to the Moffat default of a gun toting sass machine (where did she even get the gun from anyway?) because that’s the only way Moffat knows how to write women. Apart from anything else, it’s just boring by this point. She manages to incapacitate the Androzani miners with ease, she manages to operate the mechanical walker despite the fact it takes years of training to do so apparently, and she absorbs the souls of the entire forest. How is she able to do all of that? Because she’s a mum. Yes ladies, it’s your capacity to bear life that makes you strong.

Moffat thinks he’s a feminist. I think he has an extremely unhealthy and patronising obsession with the female reproductive system. Also he doesn’t seem to understand how relationships actually work (which is a bit worrying considering he’s married). Newsflash: A man following a woman home alone in the middle of a forest is not romantic or charming. it’s just fucking creepy.

Yeah, so anyway, after some convoluted bullshit that gets everyone back home and brings Madge’s husband miraculously back from the dead, the Doctor goes off to visit Amy. I was more than happy to see the back of her, so you can imagine my disappointment when she showed up at the end. (And with a water pistol to assault carol singers with. What a delightful person). The episode concludes with an oh so poetic tear trickling down the Doctor’s face while the audience simultaneously groans with embarrassment at such a cliched ending.

Like I said, The Doctor, The Widow, And The Wardrobe isn’t the worst Moffat story I’ve seen. It’s not outrageously bad or anything. It’s just not very good. Also, apart from the WW2 setting and the snowy forest, it doesn’t seem to have anything to do with The Lion, The Witch And The Wardrobe whatsoever. In my opinion, the biggest crime this episode commits is that it’s just really, really dull to sit through. My advice is to just watch A Christmas Carol again.

[theonlyphatman-blog]

The backstory

So, who is this blog really for? You, me? I’d like to thing that it might just be something we can both benefit from, whether you’ve stumbled here by accident or have been trawling the Internet for some other poor sod in at the other end of the boat. Don’t worry, I’ll keep pumping out the water if you do!

My father died a little over two months ago, very suddenly and without obvious warning. I say the word obvious because, although his heart was not in tip top shape and he had received an atrial fibrillation some months before, he had been discharged by the specialist two months prior to his death with as clean a bill of health as could be expected, and told to report back for a check up in a years time.

The idea of this blog is that in a world that moves at a constant 90mph, I may just find the time and space to process this major milestone in life that comes to us all. Otherwise the world just keeps on spinning at its frantic pace which coupled with a gorgeous wife, beautiful one year old daughter and self employment as a musician, leaves little time for processing and digesting such an event. A process that in the past I have not done and paid the price further down the line, I should hope not to make the same mistake twice, but then I’m just your average bear so anything is possible.

Also, why write my thoughts on what the experience is like down? Well I think they come more easily for me than speaking at times, and let’s face it, death is hardly the topic of conversation that flows freely and easily in day to day life... Friend: “How are you doing this fine day?” You: “Aside from a heavy feeling of utter desolation and bewilderment at the fragility of life in the face of my loss, and the subsequent realisation of my insignificance to history, I think I’m doing ok”... you’d probably be considered less weird if you dropped your trousers, pulled a moonie and pretended to be chicken. But that’s the way of the world, and so be it, my only aim here is to attempt to tackle this taboo one blog post at a time.

For now though I am going to close, and add more contextual stuff as time goes on for fear of boring you dear reader, utterly witless. However, I will dispense my first bit of learned advice. Tell your parents you love them. Even if you think saying those words will mortally wound you, just say them. If it really is too much then just say it in another language, my personal favourite is the Finnish “Minä rakastan sinu”. Because unless they themselves are Finnish, or the next Netflix Scandanavian crime series is set in Finland, they won’t have a clue what you just said.

But you’ll always know you said it.

[taylorwritesaboutthings]

sunburn

4-17

Monday was the first day since last year that the temperature reached 70 Fahrenheit, so I buttoned up my short jean dress, with a felt pin I’d just made as my star accessory, and left my unbrushed hair to match my mood. Before drawing class, I laid out on the beach with some friends, my pale legs reflective, trying to absorb the vitamin D and warmth. I think I ate a salad, but I couldn’t feel my hunger, only how crunchy the leaves were and how the slight breeze was making me cold. As I skid the front of my shoes on the slope of pavement, I kept hearing Mia’s advice, while ineffectively suppressing my expectations. She knew about the time when I belayed Adam at rock climbing and joked with him at painting class, so she suggested I give him a teasing poke on the arm. She specifically said on his arm muscle, but I cringed. Flirting seemed strange and irrelevant even though I hadn’t seen Ezra around him for a few weeks now. I didn’t know whether I could, or wanted to, be her anyway. But I rejected it as shyness, and so I was here, with my short dress and hopes. I found a piece of my hair tickling my elbow, so I bunched it up in my palm, then blew it away as a makeshift dandelion seed.

I really wanted some kind of comment from Adam, but as we stood behind our boards, sat along the crit wall, and in a circle for break, he was detached and ignorant of my costume. He seemed tired and more distant than I am most of the time, and I was friendly but slowly clouded over, sheltering my shoulders and mood with an off-white sweater. I exhausted myself from sweeping my hand across the drawing and from my habitual dancing that was probably annoying my neighbors. At least my pin was close enough to listen and empathize to me whispering the lyrics of a french song. I repeated “oubli moi” until I wrote it in a doodle’s speech bubble, then in black pen upon my forearm.

By Wednesday, I ironically rewrote the fading letters then kept my sleeves up in case I forgot about it. Mia happened to come by the nature lab during my shift, and noticed the phrase with a pouty expression. I self-consciously pulled my sleeve back down, hoping my pathetic mood wasn’t as clearly written. I was waiting to tell her, since she withstood all my overthinking and drama, but instead focused on pressing my xacto along a sheet without cutting myself. I didn’t lift my forehead and we had simple conversation about the first warm day and goosebumps from wind.

After circling the pantry the 30th time, I looked up from the black mark on my skin and found Adam at the waffle maker. He asked what I was up to lately, and I said cafeteria work (humorously) and that I like his shirt (genuinely; it was an earthy grey.) He grinned and placed his waffle at a table. A bit later he came over to the fruit station, and I appeared to be daydreaming with one elbow leaning near the baskets of oranges. I noticed his shirt coming towards me, but pretended to be carefully arranging the apples. He tapped my head quickly as if to surprise me, but he could tell he was caught and grinned at his failure. Out of instinct I gave a relaxed laugh, but still felt the tapping uncomfortably clearly hours after he finished breakfast.

I remained dizzy all the way through painting class. We attempted a few jokes, switched places for a better angle, he waited up for me during break, and we got blinded by the sun while eating our snacks. While we grouped with some classmates near the canal, I remembered Mia’s mission again; I was inches away from his grey shirt but miles away simultaneously. Ignoring it as best I could, I looked down at my elbow and wished I had never made a wish at all.

We had written crit that day as well, so we each took home our classmates’ notes on our piece. I deciphered which was Adam’s as soon as I sat on my couch; it was written in pencil (the one I lent him), with beautiful ‘y’s and a smudge of purple paint that I recognized from his pallette. Finally washing off the “oubli moi” in my bathtub, I tried to focus on the drips from the faucet that made perfect rings in the water, but the tapping was making louder vibrations.

I told Mia my whole day while she opened her eyes wide as if her imagination was unable to be seen normally. I was too tired to calm her down, and she convinced me to ask him out. He was only here a semester so I wouldn’t run into him again and the tapping would fade. My fingertips were far enough from my head, so they typed his name and sent a sticker, then followed it with a short message.

When he finally replied the next afternoon, I tensed even before opening my phone. He agreed, suggesting we invite Kevin, upon having ice cream with me as a break from weekend studio work. I rechecked my words and realized how vague I had been. I crossed my legs tighter and tried to convey that sweets aren’t really Kevin’s thing (they aren’t actually, he complains when he eats sugar) and we picked out a time in the afternoon. Supposing it was set, I queasily returned to my homework, distractedly petting an eraser with my pinky and gathering the shavings next to my laptop. I had four piles and ¼ of a power point when my phone lit up again. He wanted clarification, which broke me but I admired him for it anyways:

I’m sorry I’m tone deaf, you’re not asking me out are you? Because I’m not dating anyone or anything this semester. Sorry to be weird.

The predictable and obvious reaction was to cry all afternoon, until I was so weary I didn’t remember what I was sobbing about. I found the words on my arm again and called Mia so I wouldn’t have to see her in person. I could imagine her instinctive head tilt and shock-absorbent mass of hair as she reproached me over the phone. She accurately called me a baby, pointing out that he still has a beautiful face and still would hangout with me. Warning me from some experience I never knew of, she claimed that the un-date would be terribly awkward.

My first un-date was nothing as I feared. I accidentally directed us all the way to Wickenden to a place that didn’t exist, but he seemed unaffected and Providence felt smaller with agreeable weather and our constant exchange of information. Our backup option was frozen yogurt on Thayer, and the machine dispensed dairy tasted fresh like water after the sun and so many words had dried me out. We parted with a smile, and I contently returned to my room to do some chores. When I changed into my pajamas, I realized I got a blister on my toe and a sunburn in an X from my sleeveless dress. As I rested my shoulder against my mattress, I realized the tapping was gone, instead the stinging hugged me and lulled me to sleep.