#had to chop it all off and that's ostensibly presented as a good thing? as positive character development?

[garr9988]

Was reminded of Greg and Future.

I'm gonna break into the beach house and hose him down with Hair in a Can while he sleeps.

[imtryingmybeskar]

So I'm sure we have all seen Pedro in the overalls today and my beautiful friend suggested a farmboy fic and I couldn't rest until I made it a reality.

*Disclaimers* I know nothing about farming, nor am I from the US. I imagined him as having a softer version of the Whiskey accent.

18+ only! You know the drill. 3.9k words.

The first time you saw him he was striding along the dusty road to your farmhouse, the sun at his back, his shadow stretching long ahead of him. Only someone looking for work and out of luck with it would be approaching at this late hour. From your perch at your bedroom window, you could look down and see the fatigue in the set of his shoulders, the dejection in the bow of his head. As he neared he stopped and dropped his pack to the ground before attempting to make himself presentable - raking his hand through his dark hair before setting his cap back on, dusting the legs of his overalls free of as much of the dirt of the road as he could, and finally straightening his back, righting his posture to make himself look strong, tall, not as hard up as he was. His rap at the door came as you were nearly at the bottom of the stairs and your dog, who had been peacefully sleeping at his approach finally woke and defended in a storm of paws and tail and barking.

"Hey! No!" you told her, and she quietened down and stayed where you told her to, in the line of sight from the doorway but no immediate threat to anyone on the other side. Opening the door you were greeted by the sight of a not-so-young-anymore man. Despite his efforts to clean himself up, his arms were streaked with grime and sweat and you could see the stains of his exertion under his arms and at his neck. His head remained bowed as he began to speak and you got the feeling he had replayed this spiel many times recently.

"Ma'am, I'm very sorry to trouble you. I'm here to see if you are lookin' to take on anyone at the farm at this time?" His voice was deep and rich with an enticing southern twang, sweet as honey whiskey.

"What kind of work can you do?" His eyes raised to your face and the hope you saw in their soft, dark depths almost melted you. As if he hadn't even gotten this far along with anyone for a very long time.

"Just about anything," he answered. "I can drive - harvesters, tractors. I can take care of all kinds of animals, muck 'em out, feed 'em. I've helped birth 'em too, though I know that time is passed for this year. I can sow and harvest by hand too if that's needed. And I can mend things, fences, roofs, you name it." Looking at him appraisingly, your curiosity got the better of you.

"Why are you on foot? Must have travelled an awful long way to get all the way out here." He looked down again, presenting you with the brim of his cap to look at instead and shuffling his feet awkwardly.

"I uh...I lost my own farm. Not too long ago. Sold everything I had to try and keep it afloat. Even my car."

"So, if I were to take you on-" his head snapped up eagerly again. "IF" you emphasised, "Would you be needing a place to stay as well?"

"If you had anywhere that could accommodate me, I would be most grateful for that, yes Ma'am."

"I want you to know that I've been out here on my own for a time. I know how to take care of myself. And I'm sure you heard and can see Tank behind me there." He was nodding as you spoke.

"I don't want no trouble. Just a job and a roof over my head." You eyed him for a few seconds more before stepping back from the door to let him in. He entered gingerly, staring around wide eyed as if he hadn't been inside a house for a long time.

"You hungry?"

"No...I mean, I don't wanna impose-"

"No imposition. If you're gonna work for me, you need feeding. Come with me." The dog whined a little as you approached, and you stroked her head. "Come!" you commanded the dog and she raced away ahead of you. Checking to see the man was following, you led him past the stairs and through the living area to the back. Here you had a small extension set up, with a bathroom and shower and a small room with a sofa which opened out into a bed, ostensibly for guests, though you hadn't had any for years. "You can get yourself cleaned up here. Any clothes you want to wash, you can do in the morning. There's no door to this room, so the only privacy you'll get is in the bathroom I'm afraid."

"This is...fantastic," he said in a low tone. "I've slept outside for a week or more, so this is just...Thank you ma'am," he finished, humbly. You left him to it and went to prepare him a plate of leftovers. When he finally emerged, scrubbed and fresh half an hour later, you bid him sit at the table and presented him with it. Without all that dirt streaking him and without his cap on you could finally see how good he looked and you had to tear your eyes away from the fullness of his lips before you went too far down that rabbit hole. The man was clearly desperate, hanging on to the shreds of the dignity of his old life by his fingertips. There was no way you were going to make him feel like he owed you anything by taking him in. You left him be until you heard him hum with satiated pleasure about ten minutes later.

"Better?" you asked.

"Better," he smiled.

"I see you've made a friend," you said wryly, gesturing to the large hairy head currently resting on one of his feet. You trusted your gut about this man, you didn't imagine him to be anything than he had said he was. But you had to be cautious for obvious reasons. The dog, however, had proved to be a truly excellent judge of character in the past and it warmed you to see her take to him so readily.

"I think I may have bribed my way into her affections. Chicken," he clarified.

"That'll do it," you smiled. He insisted on washing his own plate and then there was an awkward silence between you for a time as he stood in your living room, not really knowing what to do with himself. "Hey, you can sit and watch TV with me, or you can hit your bed if you want. I won't be offended either way."

"I...I think I will go to bed. I'm kinda lookin' forward to it."

"I can understand that," you said as you handed him pillows, blankets and fresh sheets to make it up with. "Just so you know, the dog sleeps down here too. She shouldn't wake you. And help yourself to water in the night, coffee in the morning. Whatever you want."

"Thank you," he said again, his eyes catching yours and looking happier than you had seen them thus far. "Goodnight."

The man worked like a machine. Having lived this life for many years, you were accustomed to being up before dawn, but he beat you to it the next morning, greeting you with a soft "Good morning," and handing you a cup of coffee that he had prepared. He kept up a pace all day, and you moved around each other around the farm, lifting your hands or voices in greeting when you passed. You couldn't help but notice how the soft cotton of his shirt creaked at the seams when he moved his broad shoulders, nor how deft his hands were at every task he set them to. The dog had begun to follow him everywhere and you found yourself liking that too, despite the mild sting of betrayal. He came in to help with lunch and after he washed up, set to chopping salad and buttering bread.

"This is gonna sound weird, but erm...your dog...she ain't partly deaf or anything is she?"

"No, why?"

"Its just, she comes when I whistle, but not when I call."

"Ohhh," you said, realisation hitting you like a wave. "Yeah, well, last night I might not have told you her proper name. I er...I wanted to make her seem a little more intimidating than she is. Just in case, you know. Hence Tank. Though she ruined that when she drooled all over your shoes." He gave a small chuckle, his eyes sparkling.

"So what is her name?"

"Cookie." At this, you heard the tell tale sound of Cookie's claws on the kitchen tiles. "Good girl," you threw over your shoulder at her.

"Well, that suits her a lot better'n Tank. She's so friendly."

"Only to the good ones. You should have seen her with the last man that came in here. She knew he was a wrong 'un. Took me a while to catch on, but I get there in the end." You turned your head to find him looking at you with sympathy and a touch of anger. "Like I said, I can take care of myself," you added and moved on with your day. In his first week staying with you he managed to do most of the little jobs that had been irritating, but not bad enough to address. The tap in the kitchen no longer dripped. All of the fencing was entirely without holes for the first time in forever. The roof of the chicken coop was renewed. You decided to celebrate by breaking out some beers in the evening and sat with him on your porch, watching the sky slowly turn from gold to apricot to scarlet. Once he had started to feel less awkward around you, you found him to be good company - intelligent and curious and with a good sense of humour and even your silences were now companionable, especially a few beers in.

"Need to plant some more things in the garden," he grunted, slurring a little. "Maybe some beets and some radishes?"

"That sounds good," you agreed, "but for tonight, just switch off a bit. Enjoy the beer and the view. You've more than earned it."

"Oh, I'm enjoyin' the view alright," he said. There was something low and sinful in his voice that made you turn your head to him in astonishment and definite interest, but as you did, his eyes grew wide and he started to splutter. "Oh God, I apologise. I haven't had a beer in months and I guess my tolerance ain't what it was. I...I didn't mean to offend. I didn't mean to say that."

"Didn't you?"

"No, I-I'm sorry." Putting your beer down, you came to stand in front of him, placing your hands on his knees and running them up his thighs.

"Are you sure you didn't mean it?" And suddenly the realisation of your own drunkenness came crashing around you. What were you thinking? You couldn't take advantage of him like this. He had nowhere else to go and he had said he wasn't interested. You straightened abruptly. "No, I'm sorry. This is wrong. I'm...I'm going to bed." And you did so, walking swiftly away before he could see the redness of your face.

The next morning, your coffee lay on the counter and you could see him outside the house pottering around. Berating yourself for an idiot for ruining the good feelings you had built up between you, you went about your own tasks in a crotchety mood. He didn't come in for lunch either, and you began to get a little worried about him. Deciding to tackle the problem head on, you brought him out a Tupperware with some food and some water. Eventually you found him in the barn, measuring some of the beams. He hadn't noticed you come in and you stood and openly stared for a moment at the sight of him with no shirt on under his overalls. It was pretty warm in here - you were starting to feel the effects yourself. His back was broad and muscular and his shoulder muscles rolled as you watched him reach up to measure something above him.

"Er...hi," you ventured, a little shyly. He whirled to face you, looking as if he had been caught doing something he shouldn't. "I'm sorry to bother you, I just thought you might want some lunch." You deposited it on the hay bale closest to you and carried on, keeping your voice light, "And to say that I'm sorry about yesterday. You said no and I shouldn't have pushed it. I don't want you thinking you have to do anything like that to stay here!"

"Thank you," he said softly as he made his way over to you. "But..I said no because we had both been drinkin' and because I didn't wanna take advantage of anythin' I wasn't bein' offered freely and honestly." His eyes raked over your face, black and piercing in the half light inside the barn. He was so close to you, you could smell the lemon scent of his soap and the musky smell of him underneath. There was a sheen of sweat across his chest and before you could stop yourself or think too deeply about what you were doing, your hands were upon him, feeling the taut, strong muscles of his pectorals. You bit your lip a little as you raised your eyes to his.

"You're not taking advantage," you whispered. "I want this." That was all the invitation he needed to crash his lips upon yours with a fervent desire. His big hands circled your waist and roved your back as his tongue begged entrance at your mouth. Your own hand moved down his overalls to where he was starting to bulge, massaging his length and making him moan into your mouth.

"Christ, I...I've not been with anyone for so long. That feels so good, don't stop." You heeded him, but also brought one of his hands from around your back to your breast where he began to knead it intensely and he groaned again, in between peppering your mouth and neck with kisses. "Fuck, you're so pretty. I thought so from th' first moment I saw you. I didn't know how to say..." For someone usually so reticent, he was on a roll now he had your tit in his hand and you were palming him through his overalls.

You snaked your hands up his body again and undid his overalls, letting them fall and pool around his feet where they landed. His body was gorgeous, broad and muscular with a little fuzz over his chest and running down his stomach. You ran your hands all over it, feeling the slickness of the sweat beading through his hair under your hands and feeling your own body begin to heat and respond in earnest, your clit throbbing a little between your legs. He kicked off his boots, and took off his socks and overalls in one swoop before taking you back in his arms and kissing you ardently again. His hand slid up your shirt and hiked it up, the sweat at your back making it stick to you a little. You broke the kiss to hurl it from your head and away, closely followed by your bra.

"Oh fuck baby, your tits are so beautiful. Lemmie taste you." He got on his knees in front of you and did just that, taking your nipple in his mouth and sucking on it harshly whilst rubbing your other nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Exhaling a moan of pleasure, you tangled your fingers into his dark waves and pulled him even closer, feeling his smile against your chest as his free hand undid the buttons on your jeans. You could feel the wetness in your underwear now, the telltale stripe of moisture under your cunt as he coaxed that sweet feeling all through your veins with his tongue and fingers on your nipple.

"I want you to fuck me," you gasped. "Need you to fuck me hard."

"Oh don't you worry, baby, I'm gonna take good care of you," he murmured against your skin as he pulled the material down your legs. "Fuck, you're so wet already. I can see it on your panties. I wanna taste you there too. Can I?" His big dark eyes looked up at you with pleading and what you would have called innocence had he not already been flicking his tongue back over your nipple, making you squirm and huff with the pleasurable tickle of it. In reply you pulled the rest of your clothes away from you, but before he could reach his prize you took his jaw in your hand and brought his head up to look at you. He was instantly attentive and alert, looking slightly worried, as If you might have changed your mind in the few seconds it had taken for you to remove your clothes.

"You can taste me, if I can taste you afterwards," you offered.

"Hell yeah you can," he muttered appreciatively as he got to his feet and lifted you on to a haybale. The straw poked you roughly and mercilessly, but you forgot about that when he leaned over you and kissed you deeply again. "Gonna make you feel real good, honey," he promised again before kissing a path downward. He hooked your legs over his biceps and ran his forearms up to your breasts, teasing your nipples again before diving right in to lick warm, wide stripes from your cunt to your clit. It had been so long since anyone had been intimate with you, your head felt dizzy and overwhelmed, but he took it to another level with the enthusiasm he brought to the task. He lapped at you and what you were leaking as if he were a man starved, pushing his face into you, so you could feel his patchy stubble rub against your inner thighs, and sucking gently on your clit. It took an embarrassingly short time before your breaths came stunted and your voice rose in a wail of pleasure as he drove you to your peak, the red hot lava of it flowing from your core throughout your body. He ripped a second from you when he pushed two thick fingers inside and curled them wonderfully to strike against that part inside you that you yourself could never reach. His eyes glittered with lust as you came down from your high and you swore you could come again just from the look he was giving you from between your legs. He kissed your inner thighs and wiped his mouth as he came in for another kiss, your taste all over his tongue and lips.

"Your turn." you announced breathlessly, as you got down from the bale on shaky legs. Not breaking eye contact, you knelt in front of him, the straw on the floor not much of a cushion for your knees. He moaned loudly as you raked your nails down his side, catching them on the waistband of his underwear and pulling them down, allowing his cock to spring free and bob up toward his stomach. You had felt that he was well endowed, but seeing him was something else entirely and you couldn't help the hum of appreciation that escaped you before you leaned forward kissed the reddened tip, his precum brushing over your lips. You looked up at him as you licked it off and could see his breaths coming heavy and wild, his shoulders and chest heaving in anticipation. His hands came around to tangle in your hair as you licked a swirl over his tip before taking it in your mouth and sucking gently whilst moving down his shaft.

"Fuck, baby. You're so good. C-can I move?" You brought your hands around to the firmness of his ass and moved him forward a little to give him permission and saw his head roll back in pleasure. He seemed to not want to hurt you and fucked your mouth much more gently than you thought he would. Your head bobbed further and further down his shaft until he was striking the back of it, making you gag a little. Raising yourself back off, you pumped him with your hand while swirling your tongue over his tender head. When you brought your other hand to cradle his balls he trembled a little under your touch. "Honey, I do not want you to stop, but if you don't I won't be able to fuck you before I come." You removed your mouth from him slowly, hollowing your cheeks and sucking hard as you progressed.

He helped you to your feet and reached down to stroke your clit again while he kissed your lips, the taste of you both mingling in your mouths. Turning your back to him you bent over the hay bale, presenting yourself to him and you heard a guttural sound of arousal behind you before the head of his cock was notching at your entrance and pushing in all at once, stretching you and making you whimper as he bent over your back and kissed your shoulder. "Are you ok, baby?" he muttered. "Does this feel good?"

"Yes," you whispered. "Now fuck me hard."

He bit down a little on the meat of your shoulder and whispered a low "Yes, Ma'am," before standing fully and beginning to piston his hips into you with forceful, firm strokes, his cock pushing further within you each time. It was overwhelming and even more so when he pushed down on your back further so that he was fucking down into you and sliding over your spot with each thrust. The change in pitch of your gasping moans and the wetness that you could suddenly feel around the tops of your thighs encouraged him to fuck you even harder, his cock swelling as he got close to his release and filling you up beautifully. "Like that, honey? Right there?" he grunted as you started to feel yourself lose control around him.

"Yes, there, please, don't stop, please," you begged. He captured your arms and pulled you further back toward him, and suddenly he was striking something white hot and golden inside and you were gone, your cunt pulsating around him and flooding him with you. Your head was so dizzied that you only noticed he had pulled you flush against his sweat-sticky chest when his arms were around you, grasping greedily at your breasts and the hot breath of his rich, deep voice was beside your ear.

"Where-"

"inside." He drove into you half a dozen more times before he cried your name aloud and you felt him pulsate strongly within you, jettisoning his spend into you with groans muffled against your shoulder. As he withdrew, he held you up gently before turning you and lying you on the bale he had just taken you over, coming to lie down beside you with his big eyes searching your face and his big calloused hands stroking the soft skin of your belly. The sweet summer sun was slanting over his face, turning his black eyes amber in its glow and you felt a welcome twinge in your heart as you took his face in your hand and kissed him.

[csykora]

Yeah, so, that’s been going on.

I am going to try to summarize what’s been up with Pasha. Thanks to @immoveableobject, the Moscow Times, and the Independent. This is going to be Drunk History in the sense that you should have a stiff drink or another coffee before reading. There��s…context.

After Nikolai II abdicated as emperor in 1917, the Romanov family were sent to live under summer-cabin-arrest in Tobolsk, in Tyumen region (western Siberia). Nikolai spent the summer reading books and chopping firewood to take his mind off things, which he wrote was his favorite activity.

Disagreements between Omsk (the capital of Tyumen) and an acquisitive Yekaterinburg (in the Ural region which neighbors Tyumen to the west), led Moscow to order they move the Romanovs back west. The guards transporting them contacted Moscow to say they had to take a route that passed closer to Omsk, which made Yekaterinburg think Omsk was going to keep them, so they called Moscow too and insisted the convoy stop in Yekaterinburg instead, where the Romanovs were stored in a local merchant’s house.

At that unrelated but unfortunate point, the Czechoslovak Legion came into it. This wasn’t a unit named for the country, which didn’t even exist yet: it consisted of ethnic Czechs and Slovaks who had been volunteered to fight with the Russian army back in 1914. Leaders in the Czech and Slovak homelands of the Austro-Hungarian empire thought this would improve their name recognition in the international community, and build credit toward their own independence after the war. Czech history is actually just dramatic irony.

They were highly effective against the Germans, and then sent east. By 1918 the Czechoslovaks were stationed all along the railroad into Siberia. They were not jazzed about the Bolsheviks. They turned around toward Yekaterinburg to express this.

The guards in Yekaterinburg, who thought the Czechs were coming to take the Romanovs, took them down into the cellar and executed them.

Time passed and so did the Soviet Union. The site of the executions became a church. That church has a shrine in the cellar. It’s not the same cellar, but an exact replica; the church was shifted a bit for a better foundation, so the actual site is now an outside wall. It’s called The Temple on the Blood, although, again, it isn’t on it. 

In 1981 the Romanovs were named martyrs by the Russian Orthodox Church Outside Russia. In 2000 the Russian Orthodox Church that isn’t outside Russia recognized them as passion-bearers. A passion-bearer is believed to have ‘faced their death in a Christ-like manner.’ A martyr is believed to have died defending their faith in Christ. So all martyrs are passion-bearers, but not all passion-bearers are martyrs.

The entire story is going to be like this.

Sometime around 1980, a different man who wasn’t named Nikolai Romanov originally but is now killed someone. He was, of course, a cop. He was sent to a prison camp in Tyumen region for thirteen years. When he was released, he says he walked the length of the Romanov’s last journey to Yekaterinburg.

At some point along the way he changed his legal name from whatever it used to be, became a priest, and took the religious name Father Sergei. 

He found a decrepit old monastery and rebuilt it, becoming the confessor for the nuns that live there. He found the pit outside the city where the Romanovs’ bodies were dissolved in acid, called Ganina Yama, and built a complex around Tsar Nikolai’s final resting place.

Except, again, he didn’t. The bones that had been found in Ganina Yama in 1919 weren’t even human. The Yekaterinburg guards didn’t manage to destroy the Romanovs’ bodies (they apparently didn’t bring enough acid with them, because this was all a fuck up), so they buried them in the forest a few kilometers away. The actual burial place was found in 1978 (with the last two children found a little ways away in 2007), and the Romanovs were finally given a funeral in St. Petersburg in 1998. The Orthodox Church did not attend, and still maintains this did not happen and the Romanovs are nowhere but Ganina Yama.

His new next door neighbor told the Independent she was doing the dishes one evening and looked out to see a bunch of strange nuns performing exorcisms.

 “They circled around the house; devil this, devil that. And then they put a cross outside our toilet.”

The monastery continued on, annoying their neighbors and growing steadily weirder, for years. Nikolai went from passion-bearer to martyr to a direct analogue of Christ, dying for Russia’s sins. Everything superficially connected to him became, at least to some Russians, holy. The monastery and pilgrimage site became one of the most popular in Russia. Father Sergei came to international attention for:

1. his writing desk, which is a coffin

2. getting big mad about the 2017 film Matilda, which is about young Nikolai fucking ballerina Matilda Kshesinskaya, which he very much did do. 

Politician Natalia Pokolnskaya, who attends Father Sergei’s services, had the film pulled and audited for its “anti-Russian” Tsar-sex scenes. Another follower of Father Sergei drove his car into a movie theater and then tried to set it (the car, although also the theater I guess) on fire with a Molotov cocktail after attending services at the Temple on the Blood. Another made his own film in response to the film, saying, 

“Imagine someone makes a film showing your mother as a prostitute and your father as a German gay porn actor. Go inside the church, look at the lord tsar’s blue eyes and you will see how moral he is.”

Everyone forgets the longer verses of John Lennon’s Imagine.

At some point in the mid 2000s, hockey player Pavel Datsyuk started going to Father Sergei as his confessor. He very much did do that, and stuck by him through the movie thing. When he won gold at the World Championships he gave the medal to the monastery, saying, “we won it together.”

This summer he told Championat, “Father Sergei has been my spiritual father for more than 10 years. [He] has a burning, loving heart, he sees me through and through." Maybe not a great choice of adjective, given the arson.  

Then coronavirus. 

This spring, Patriach Kirill of Moscow issued a decree to suspend church services. As in most things, though, the rest of Russia runs on the words, “Moscow is far away.” Whether or not the Patriarch has power to tell churches outside Moscow to do anything without a full Synod is its own debate: it doesn’t matter, because they didn’t listen.

Russian Orthodox churches held Pasha like usual, and a lot of people got sick, with at least one bishop dying and the virus spreading dangerously in monasteries. Patriarch Kirill repeated himself, threatening that any priest who conducts services with members of his congregation present may be penalized by an ecclesiastical court.

Father Sergei thinks coronavirus tests are an excuse for Putin to inject people with tracking devices, so back in June—you remember June, right?—he and a bunch of armed Cossacks holed up in the monastery, saying, “I’m not going anywhere... they’ll have to chase me out with police and the National Guard.”

Remember he is writing that statement on his coffin.

The ostensible head of the monastery, Mother Superior Varvara, did not appreciate Cossack boots on her carpets, and quit “to avoid unnecessary infighting, to which Father Sergei is prone, and give him a chance to come to his senses.”

Patriach Kirill and the ecclesiastical courts booted him from the church, although not the monastery, which he is very much still inside.

At that point we got reports that Pavel was holed up in the monastery with him to avoid coronavirus testing. There was a brief flurry on certain (old) parts of hockey twitter that Pasha was off his rocker.

His agent, Dan Milstein, responded by posting a video on twitter, accompanied by the comment, “Pavel Datsyuk’s morning workout and family breakfast at the cottage. Have a good summer everyone!”

It’s short, showing, for some reason, a man from behind against a generic wall. We don’t need to get into whether or not it is Pavel, and if so where and when. I’d hope no one but a hockey player hikes his socks up like that. But whatever Pavel’s role in creating it, in context there’s something unsettling about the choice of subject: like Nikolai Romanov, he’s chopping firewood.

[for-peace-war]

No, really. Lovecraft Country sucks.

These are spoilers, but I also don’t give a shit because it’s a bad show and I hope you skim enough to fucking skip it.  I took a few days to decide if I hated it enough to write this and well, I do. 

I will try my best not to say “X is a bad actor,” but instead stick with the characters as they’re intended save for one particular issue.

The Story

It isn’t very Lovecraftian.  And don’t take this as me saying Lovecraft was some kind of master of his craft.  I think he was an absurd racist that used xenophobia as his guise for what truly horrified the sane mind. That being said, the element of the unknown is definitely the hallmark of his world and that in no way is represented in this show.  It could easily be called “Goosebumps: The Black Version” and it’d be just as authentic--if not more so, really.

The story deals with the Bible (?) and magic that comes from uh, knowing the names of things.  You speak a made up language and then you do some kind of confusing magic that has no real purpose or point.  I sound dismissive of this because I am, to be clear.  They could have just as easily had this language be something whites stole from Africans and then perverted into their own means of power (it’d be a pretty easy parralel to any number of imperialist issues left behind in Africa, huh.)

But anyway, it has a tentacle monster. I think we see a big scary octopus at one point.  But the monsters are often in your face and it’s probably less scary than Stranger Things S1.

Honestly, the characters repeat “autumnal equinox” so much that I felt I was going to have a fucking breakdown.  Just the writing is very empty and no one seems to really care about anyone else on the screen except for in a rare moment between the only two characters that make it far and matter. 

Characters

They aren’t very good.  There are tropes present, which isn’t bad at all, but the way the characters interact, speak, and in general move us through the story feels stilted, often nonsensical, and entirely reliant on the viewer assuming that the latest sentence spoken is the only one that matters.

Atticus “Tic” Freeman

A war criminal that derives his power from the white blood inside of him. Again, dismissive but true.  We see this man struggle to connect pieces to a puzzle and eventually he pays the price for it, but not in the way Lovecraft would have someone pay for endeavoring beyond their realm.  Rather, something about fate and a book. Look, honestly? Who gives a shit.  Tic murders a woman in coldblood and it’s never really touched on.  There’s a lot that could be said about militaries, oppression, etc, but we often see these characters enact violence and then the story skips merrily beyond it.  So yeah, he summarily executes a Korean woman and then is later shown torturing another, but it’s okay because he feels a little bad and fucks the Korean sex demon woman.  More on that later.   I felt nothing for him.  He didn’t have some deep animus over being a torturing war criminal.  He was just kind of moving through scenes and having confusing fights with his girlfriend/baby mama.

Letitia “Leti” Lewis

This is what empowerment shouldn’t look like. It amuses me that the show claimed to subvert some kind of norms when the primary love interest (and ultimate heroine) remains the lightest skinned sister in the room.  She is able to maintain the appeal of the ingenue while at the same time having the understood attractiveness of her complexion. As far as Leti is concerned as a character, she too seems to be a pretty shitty person.  We hear that she has “transactional” friendships and she seems pretty much all about self-survival and rarely if ever puts up where others do.  She’s a heroine in the sense that the story makes her be heroic, but it never addresses how her flaws are ultimately all self-inflicted and unnecessary.  She could just not be a shitty person.

Hippolyta Freeman

Well. Hidden Figures was an excellent film, and I think that’s where Hippolyta came from.  In a more serious series, perhaps she and her daughter could have had a very touching arc that would deal with survival and exceptionalism in a world that maligns you for your very being.  Unfortunately, in reality she just comes off as a character that’s quirky in a world that’s also quirky and she doesn’t get to harness her power. There’s an entire episode dedicated to how she discovers who she is and the result is well, her hair turns blue and she makes robots?  I think the character TYPE is great, but they misused her here in all ways.

George Freeman

Well, well.  If the series had remained about George, Tic, and Leti adventuring through America and encountering sundown towns and monsters both human and otherwise, I think it’d have been okay.  The issue is, they wrote this series by the numbers so George is immediately thrown away.  He’s a wise and circumspect guy that has his own flaws (he has patrarchical notions built around protecting/babying his genius wife, clearly), but the flaws he has are understandable and well reasoned. George dies early on.  Then he sort of doesn’t, I guess? But the fact he did was really the nail in the coffin for this series.  The moment they did that, the rest just became empty strokes.  A story where George witnessed the others dying and going back to his wife and daughter would have had so much more heart to it, but well.  Uncle George is literally one of the few bright spots.

Ruby Baptise

Much like her sister, Leti, Ruby is a terrible attempt at showing empowerent on the one hand, and a masterwork on the other.  The bad first: she’s a rapist.  I’ve been called a nigger before and while it didn’t feel great, I don’t think I’d have been justified in just sodomizing the person that did it.  That entire sequence was weird and they tried to hype it as her reclaiming something, when really it spoke to a disgusting and gratuitous tendency toward Ruby: she’s always too much. Ruby, IMO, should have been Tic’s love interest.  In a sense.  First, because Wunmi Mosaku was a very attractive woman with impressive acting chops (she’s where I’ll break my moratirum, sorry), but also because it wouldn’t be what you’d see in every other show now: light-skinned pretty sister, dark-skinned sexual eikon.  And that’s the issue with Ruby there: she’s always too much.  She’s sexual by existing and that isn’t necessarily to her benefit since Leti, the good one, is an actual virgin before her sudden period sex. So the narrative has already spoken as to how it views sex. Yet, because they tried to give Ruby these strange strokes, she comes out as an interesting character.  She has feelings, aspirations, and dreams that she’s kept from and that’s very real. In a story about the absurd, a sense of realness is a familiar handhold to gather your wits.  She’s all that, really.  It’s why she has the best relationships in the show, which is AGAIN an issue, but well. I’ll say Ruby was never bad to have on screen though I was disgusted with how often her blackess (and Blackness in general!) became the source of grotesque horror.

Christina Braithewaite

This is where I get annoyed.  My issue with Christina is that she should have easily been the most hated character, but they overplayed their hand with not showing how nefarious she was.  In fact? Christina and Ruby’s relationship is the only meaningful, real, and understandable one in the entire series.  I felt no joy during her downfall, because I didn’t really get to see her doing anything bad? Just, consider what the show is.  It’s about Lovecraft’s lore, ostensibly, which treats all non (specific types of) white men like dogs.  So Christina comes at it from the “white” but “woman” perspective and you know, she has moments of duality that you can say is she more white or woman here.  But they don’t execute on how sinister she should be.  She’s a little rude at times? Yet she is the only person to treat Ruby like she should be treated and she’s the only person that seems to have a goal outside of “the quest.” It really bothered me that she came out so well done, because either they needed to have her for two seasons and make her far more nefarious after the first, or to just make her less a force for good.  She saves the characters more than a few times and pays for it by being killed when she’s at her lowest.  Yeah, it’s... a weird take.  

Ji-Ah

What can I say?  There are depictions of sex in the series, and they’re all negative: most of Ji-Ah’s scenes, Montrose’s angry self-loathing sex with his boyfriend, Ruby’s morphic horror scenes.  In the case of most of those, there’s something being said.  Ji-Ah is a monster, literally, that could be seen as Lovecraftian in the sense she’s an exotic Asian woman that kills men that sleep with her.  So, HBO was like “we’ll blow our tits and ass budget on her,” and she exists for a series of sex scenes and vague, inscrutable... shit, maybe SHE is the most Lovecraft of all the characters! Anyway at some point she joins the party after confusing drama with Leti because they both fucked Tic.  It’s okay though, because Ji-Ah isn’t here for any of that now.  She’s the one who had the best friend that had her teeth yanked out by Tic, and also who was there when he shot her other friend in cold blood, but they get over that and she’s now their friendly red panda pal or some shit.  It’s fucking trash.   Much like the Freemans (sans Tic), I think she’d have done great in another show. But they rushed her story and it felt less Ghost Nation (Westworld) and more Masturbation (Jordan Peele).

Diana Freeman

Confusing.  A stock character (quirky kid that does art, is impetuous, and won’t take no for an answer) that is given a lot of screen time.  When she sort of hijacks an episode when two ragamuffin girls chase her down and infest her or something because racist cops.  Well, the story veers to her direction.  What can I say?  If you like 11 from Stranger Things but wanted her to have Mike’s attitude, well.  Here you go.

Montrose Freeman

He could have been a good character, I guess. He seemed unnecessary and often was there purely for an x-factor of “uh?”  Like, his infamous scene where he slits a two-spirit Native American’s throat after we learn that this indigenous person had just been restored after being raped by bad guys.  So there’s that.  Also I guess he was self-loathing so he beat his son (that may not be his son???) and also liked fucking dudes, which was I think where we were supposed to care about him. It’s like someone saw Omar was a gun-wielding desperado of drug theft and decided, “Well what made him okay is he’s gay!”  But it didn’t add much.  I get he was angsty but other than Tic calling him a “faggot” (one of the few good scenes between them in terms of emotion), it all seemed empty and kind of meandering. At no point does Montrose seem a part of the team.  He just half-mumbles, gets angry, cries, and falls apart.

Captain Seamus Lancaster

He’s barely a character, but I need to include him for another point. He’s the “bad guy.”  I guess?  He uses the bodies of black men to stay alive, which is actually a really smart reference to black bodies fueling the American system, but it comes off as cheesy because it just never comes up.  He’s cartoonishly bad in a way that he’s less sinister than a meme.  Compare him to say,   Ridgeway from Colson Whitehead’s The Underground Railroad. One’s a sinister representation of an oppressive system and the other’s well, a joke.

Racism

How could this not be a theme?  The issue, as was shown with Lancaster, is that it isn’t even remotely handled with seriousness.  The best scene of racism is in the first episode when Tic, George, and Leti are forced to leave a Sundown county before they’re lynched by the racist sheriff.  The anticipation and animosity lead to some serious anxiety and it was a nailbiter.

But after that?  White people say “nigger.”  Then they get, I don’t know, raped or spit on or who knows.  A lot of black people talk back to the cops anyway in the 50′s and that’s cool.

But the real monsters of the series are all black people.  Let’s go through it: 

Tic brutalized women in the Korean War.

Montrose killed the two-spirit person.

Ruby rapes the shop owner.

Diane crushes Christina’s throat.

Ruby literally sheds her flesh in repeatedly gratuitous acts of the grotesque.

Even Ji-Ah, who’s not black, is a monster in the literal sense.  We do see the doctor that experimented on black people, but that’s about 5 minutes at the end of an episode that has a baby’s head on a man’s body so I was too busy laughing at the absurdity to take any real meaning from it.

The truth is, in Lovecraft Country, white people always should do their best to kill or keep black people down.  It definitely doesn’t speak at all to any togetherness or what have you.  Just, well. Magical negroes doing bad stuff because nothing can stop them.

The show misses the chances to show real horror in race.  Hell, the Tulsa Riots are reduced to a backdrop for a confusing book scene.  But then again, Emmett Till becomes a kind of empty reference point that we then see a white woman act out... for some reason? 

Again, the only characters with any chemistry are Ruby and Christina, which is very unfortunate for any number of reasons. As far as a statement that racism is bad goes, I mean. I barely saw it.  If I was a racist I’d be like hell yeah, Lovecraft was right they are dangerous.

Even when people try to indicate the horrors of it like, “Oh, the Korean War scenes are bad because we see how men are forced into the military complex!”  We didn’t see a white officer say “Shoot her, boy,” it was just two black guys killing women with no care at all. And no compeuppance, so that’s cool.

The Music

Sucks.  Thanks Peaky Blinders for making modern music over gif sets a thing.

Conclusion

I sure as hell would never watch it again.  If I can get one other person not to, then maybe it’d be worth it. It’s not a good show.  It’s not “smart,” and there’s no secret subversion in it.  It’s just... bad.

I won’t post on it anymore.  Please, in true Lovecraft fashion, trust me when I say that this show is so bad it cannot be comprehended. 

[diddlesanddoodles]

DUMPLING ch 46

There was no preparation anyone could have made to ready her for the sheer sound of a room full of sixty plus giants all speaking at once. Though it was nothing but idle chatter, the sound bounced off the walls and made her chest vibrate with the force of it. She was hesitant to admit it, but so many giants in one place made her very nervous. There were just so many of them and yet she knew not a one.  

They were dressed in such finery and jewels that they whole of them seemed to sparkle as they milled about. The marble floor had been polished to a high sheen and the Vhasshalan sigil hung from banners all across the ceiling. The entire room was red and gold and white and glittering.

...and very intimidating.

Long tables lined the edges of the room and were adorned with deep crimson table clothes trimmed with gold fringe. There were glittering white plates of bone china and crystal glasses with far more utensils then seemed necessary. To add to the extravagance of everything else, tucked away in the corner were literal stacks of wine barrels. However much wine sixty or so giants could consume over the course of a single dinner, Nenani was worried that by the end of the night that the entirety of them would be too sloshed to find their own feet. Let alone be sober enough to open their purses.

“You’d think that,” Jae told her with a grin, adjusting his sleeve over bulk of his split. His arm was healing very rapidly thanks to Yaesha’a careful ministrations and perhaps one or two healing tonics from Maevis, but he would still need a split for a little while yet. He was dressed in a very finely tailored doublet of a deep green brocade with silver embroidery and his hair was combed neatly across his scalp. To Nenani’s eye, he looked so very different then his normal self, but he presented very well and she had to turn away to hide her blush when he caught her staring. He very politely deigned to not notice. “But you’d be surprised how lose your purse strings become the more wine you drink.”

“I wouldn’t know,” she replied with a hapless shrug, playing with the end of her hair. It had been washed, brushed, and braided with intricate plats and the bottom tied with a small clip embedded with an opal. Not too dissimilar from from her fire opal, but an eighth of the size and more white than orange. “I don’t drink wine and I don’t have any money.”

Her dress felt very heavy, the sleeves alone seemed to weigh her down most of all. She had tried to sneak on her belt beneath her shift before she slipped into the dress, but the amulet created too distinct a bulge. And so the belt and amulet she was forced to leave behind. However, she was able to slip on her vambraces before either Lolly or her mother spotted her and just as she knew they would, the billowing sleeves hide them perfectly. They made her feel a little more prepared for what was to come. And though there was no physical battle ahead, it would still be a battle of sorts. She lamented that she could not find someplace to slip her dagger.

Never in her life had she worn so much...stuff. Any one piece of her garb was likely worth more than several months or even a year’s wages would bring to someone back in their fishing village in the Souhthlands. If tonight did not bare the fruit they sought, perhaps they could simply sell her dress. Surely it was worth a gold piece or two.  

……………..

The plan was simple enough. Once the wine had made its precursory rounds, Master Donal would announce the King and Queen and from there, they would make their formal entrance. Once they had been seated at the head table, Donal would then announce Oira’s entrance...

As Queen Aine Elaine Oira of Silvaara.

It had been the subject of much contention at the previous day’s supper, but eventually Oira agreed with Warren’s argument. If there was ever a way to get the Lord’s attention and quickly...it was the abrupt announcement of the restoration of the Silvaaran throne. Rumors had spread like wild fire among the gossipers and what was needed was a good splash of cold water.

It was from there that Nenani would make her official court debut. Ostensibly to create a sort of distraction from the reaction Warren knew they would receive by her mother’s entrance. Escorted by Jae, she was to walk all the way around the head table and bow to both King Warren and Queen Rosanna before taking her place beside her mother with her title and rank confirmed. Warren would then follow that with a proclamation declaring the Crown’s support in recognizing Oira as the true heir to the Silvaaran throne. In Nenani’s mind, having her mother recognized as Queen of Silvaara seemed much more important that her being introduced to the court. Lolly had much such a fuss about it.

The notion of presenting both the Queen and a living heir was apparently too strong of a lure, however. So much so that Rosanna argued for it vehemently.

“If there is one thing the Lords are beholden to beyond the allure of coin, it is the laws of inheritance and the value of of a healthy living heir. And with the little prince as a spare, any claim that your bloodline is too weak will have little to no standing. And don’t worry a bit about any claims the Princess is a bastard. I’ve heard such gossip and a declaration of legitimization is simple enough to have written up. If there is one thing being raised in the Ibronian court has taught me, it’s how to play the game of inheritance.”  

The more Nenani learned about how a court operated in general, the less and less it seemed to make sense. So she chose to see the night not as a party, but like Jae and Farris both told her: It was a dance. A game of chess or a deck of cards. Everyone was a skilled player and all vying for the winning hand.

Farris’s last warning to her before she went to get ready that morning seemed very apropos.

“Don’t expect a drop of truth from any damn one of them,” he said. “Most of those fuckers in that room will be the same Lords and Ladies who backed the Blood King in his path to genocide. They ain’t yer friends, Dumplin’. Keep yer wits about ye and be smart. Be safe.” He had paused and gave her an encouraging smile, pinching her arm teasingly. “And try not to light anyone on fire.”

She refused to make good on any such promise.

...........…………

Master Donal was dressed much in the same manner he always seemed to be and Jae confirmed Nenani’s observation with a grin. “He’s always dressed to impress. If you thought Lolly was strict on decorum and manners, she’s got nothing on Donal. The man has a pair of socks for every day of the week, plus back up, and a spare. Just in case one gets a hole and throws his entire rotation off. And he always wears black. For the longest time I thought he might be a widower and was just in forever morning, but nope. He just liked to wear black. His wife lives down in the village. Met her a few years back. Really nice lady.”

Nenani and Jae stood a little off to the side of the small waiting room. The royal couple stood close to the doors, waiting to make their entrance and Rosanna was fidgeting with the collar of Warren’s doublet and adjusting is sleeves until she was satisfied. Oira stood alone in the back of the room, silent and staring off into space. She was dressed in a long gown of silver velvet and gold silk with sleeves that far surpassed Nenani’s. The high collar hid most of her scares and gave her a very regal appearance. There had been discussions of whether or not she should wear a wig, but ultimately it was Oira who decided not to hide her chopped locks.

“Let them stare,” she had said. “I will at the very least have their attention.”

In the end, they settled for a subtle distraction in the form of a diadem of white gold studded with an enormous ruby. A small, thinner diadem was chosen for Nenani with single pearl emerald that hung down from it at the center of her forehead. If she shook her head, it jingled and she found it a useful way to distract herself in the long hours of quiet beforehand.  

Standing there alone and lost in her own thoughts, Oira failed to hear Warren call her name until the third time and her head jerked up. “Y-yes?”

He gave her a patient smile. “Are you ready, m’lady?”

There was a world of weight to those words and everyone in that small room felt it. Nenani picked nervously at the edge of one of her vambraces under her sleeve.

“Yes,” Oira replied, her chest rising and falling as she took several quickened breathes. “I am.”

Warren nodded and then looked to Master Donal who gave a small bow of acknowledgment. Two footmen passed them and each took hold of one of the doors, opening them wide, and the sound from the great hall spilled inside. Master Donald stepped out and all at once the droning sound lessened as dozens upon dozens of eyes turned towards him in heightened expectation. He stood to the side of the door and in a loud, firm tone said, “His Majesty, King Warren I and her royal highness, Queen Rosanna.”

Arm in arm, the King and Queen of Vhasshal entered the great hall as one and there came a great rustling of clothes and hard bottom shoes on marble as the whole gathering of lords and ladies bowed deeply as their liege entered. The forms of the royal couple disappeared from Nenani’s sight as they turned to take their places at the head table and there was a long pause before Donal turned his gaze to Oira, a silent question on his face. Nenani watched her mother straighten her shoulders and look towards the door and it was then that she understood it was not just her that was viewing that night’s event as a sort of battle. Her mother was too and if her stance was anything to go by; she was ready for it.

Her mother gave Donal a curt nod which the Steward returned with an almost encouraging smile. But when he turned back to the room, his face was placid and neutral. Oira turned to look at her daughter and for a moment they simply stared at one another. Inexplicably, Nenani had a thought and she smiled.

Papa would be proud of you.

Almost as though she heard it, Oira gave her daughter a taught smile, eyes shinning, and then Donal’s voice rang out.

“Her royal highness, Queen Aine Elaine Oira of Silvaara.”    

They did not break eye contact as her title and name were announced and only when the giants beyond began to murmur and whisper did Oira turn away and begin her march. Beside Nenani, Jae gripped her arm. “It’s gonna be all right. She can do this. And so can you.”

She turned to Jae and tried to smile, but suddenly felt emotions well up inside her. “...I’m scared.”

“I’ll be right here the entire time,” he told her. “You have nothing to worry about. No one’s going to want to risk their social capitol by making a scene and there will be guards all over the place. Besides, you’re a lot braver then you think.” Jae seemed to consider her for a moment and then leaned down to delicately plant a kiss on her forehead, just below the hanging gem of her diadem. When he pulled away, her face felt hot and she could meet his eye. “Sorry for teasing you earlier.”

Before she could formulate any kind of response, Donal’s voice rang out for a third time and the bottom of Nenani’s stomach dropped to the floor.

“Her royal highness, Princess Nenani, Duchess of Ravenwood.”

…………….

She did not remember much after hearing her name and title. Oh Gods, she had an actual title now. Ravenwood. Where the hell was Ravenwood? She was a Duchess. But also a Princess. How? How did that work? Why had she not bothered to ask? Oh Gods, it was too late now...

She remembered walking from the dim side room and into the blazing light of the great hall, the noise wafting over her like waves. Jae was beside her and gripping her arm as he escorted her, but then there came a point where he had to release his hold on her and she had to step out into the fray alone. Giant faces watched with giant eyes that stared as she stiffly walked to the front of the table and curtsied to the King. She did not remember looking him in the face and yet she recalled him smiling and gesturing for her to come join them. Jae was at her side again and he helped her up the steps and when she finally came back into herself she was sitting beside her mother who was saying something to her in a low voice, but she could not hear.

In the corner of her eye, she saw the King stand and she craned her neck to stare up at him, her mind still a thick fog of shock. Her mother stared too, but a hand reached back to grip Nenani’s and that seemed to bring her out of it. She stared at her mother’s hand and felt her trembling fingers.

She squeezed back.  

“My honored guests, Lords and Ladies: I hold no pretense to the truth of my intentions tonight. Many of you, most in fact, are well informed of a particular rumor. That of the resurfacing of a surviving member of King Haeral’s family; his youngest daughter Aine Elaine Oira. In my younger years I was happily acquainted with the Princess as she was an intimate of my dear late brother, the Crown Prince. He considered her a close friend and confidant and I too share that familiarity. So it is much to my pleasure I am able to confirm beyond all suspicion and conspiracy that the woman before you is indeed the same Princess whom loved and cherished Thadeus just as we all did and still do. And it is my interminable honor to stand here before you this night under the Gods’ watchful eyes and our great country’s sigil to declare that I, King Warren, recognize and welcome her majesty, Aine Elaine Oira; Queen of Silvaara.”

She was not sure what she had expected beyond this point. All at once, whatever planning had been made passed their initial entrances was lost to Nenani as both her and her mother stared out into the crowd of giants. They looked so different than the kind and friendly faces of the other giants she knew. The King said what he had said and then…what?

It started off with silence. A stunned silence. And then from the back came a loud hoot and several giants began to clap enthusiastically and slowly the rest followed until the only thing to be heard was the thunderous rush of applause and intermittent cheers. But between the smiling and cheering faces, Nenani could see some other dip down to whisper fervently between one another. And some did not bother to clap or hide the distasteful expressions from their faces. After nearly a minute, Warren held up a hand and the din ebbed away. Nenani’s ears were ringing.  

“A decade ago, Vhasshal and Silvaara were great allies with a thousand years of peace between us. Tonight, in the spirit of reconciliation and the restoration of the Silvaaran throne, I bid you all to drink and dine with me as we welcome her highness the Queen and her daughter and heir, the Princess Nenani to our court.”

Warren’s gaze met Nenani’s and with the eye facing away from the crowd, winked.

…………………………

It had been Nenani’s intention to sit quietly and allow the festivities to go one without her participation, but others seemed to have a much different idea. Several lords and a ladies made a beeline for her to introduce themselves though no real conversation was had beyond pleasantries. Their names were nearly all but forgotten by the time the next lord was waiting for introductions.  

Off to one side of the room, her mother and Warren were already in a deep discussion with a small group of lords and Rosanna was speaking to several ladies. But at last, there was a lull and Jae and Nenani were left to their own devices at the table and she was given a moment to breathe and relax. Or rather, attempt to. Though she was not a fan of it, Nenani had already drunk her entire glass of hippocras, hoping the mildly alcoholic drink might calm her nerves. It just made her tummy hurt and everything taste like cloves.

“It seems to be going all right so far,” Jae commented lightly, sounding pleased. “No outbursts. Everyone seems to be behaving themselves.”

“There’s still a lot of wine left to drink, though,” Nenani replied. “That might change.”

“All that wine,” Jae grinned and leaned back into his chair. “It must be killing Keral not to be here.”

“Oh, aye,” said a voice from behind them. “It’s just plain murder...”

With a start, both Nenani and Jae turned in their seats and stared in shock to find Keral leaning against the wall just behind them. He was dressed not in his blue ranger’s coat, but a gray jerkin with black trousers and his hair was neatly brushed and pulled back into a loose queue.

Jae barked out a laugh. “Did you brush your hair?”

The ranger raised an eyebrow at him. “As a matter ‘a fact, I did. I see they brushed yer’s fer ye.”  

With a frown, Jae raised his hand up to run his fingers across his hair. “Her majesty the Queen doesn’t believe I’m capable to brushing my own hair anymore.”

“I’m inclined to agree with her,” Keral chuckled.  

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in normal clothes before,” Nenani said with a smile.

“Hard to believe I own anything else, eh?” Keral asked. “Had to dust this old thing off. Surprised it even still fits. Haven’t worn it since before I became a ranger.”

“What are you doing here anyway?” Jae asked and then added with a cheeky smirk, “Tryin’ to sneak some of the good reserves?”  

“Unfortunately no,” he sighed. “I’m workin’.”

“Working? Doing what?” Nenani asked.

Keral regarded her with an amused smirk. “Someone’s gotta keep an eye on you two. You attract trouble like flies to honey. And there’s quite a lot of flies buzzin’ ‘round in here.”

“Hey,” Jae frowned. “We resent that.”

“Oh I’m sure ye do, lad. I’m sure ye do plenty,” Keral chortled, his shoulders shaking. He looked passed them, a sly glint entering his eye, and he pushed off from the wall to gestured out towards the crowd. “But I’ll leave this particular fly to ye. Since I know how much you must’ve missed his company.”

“What? Who?” Jae asked and turned back towards the front just as Keral walked away.

She heard Jae cursed.

“What?” Nenani asked, turning back around as well and catching sight of a giant making his way towards the table.

  She knew Lord Colem before he even opened his mouth to introduce himself. Just as Jae and Queen Rosanna had said, his garish yellow coat was a startling sight and was visible from half way across the room. The yellow was faded and slightly greenish as though the fabric itself was feeling ill. The cuffs and collar were lined with black bear fur and the buttons were made of brass and polished to a high sheen. It was a long, ugly thing that billowed out around his knees and his white linen and lace cravat puffed up from his collar, pushing against his pointed chin and smartly groom goatee. The whiskers of his mustache were waxed and twirled, making it look as though he had fine tusks protruding from under his nose.

And to further his eccentricities, instead of walking across the room he...more or less danced. Or rather, his steps were so flowing and exaggerated that Nenani wondered if she was supposed to laugh. She regretted Keral’s departure all the more.    

“Oh no,” Jae grumbled and leaned over to whisper at her. “Abandon your dignity, Princess. It’s about to be stripped from you.”

Nenani felt her entire body stiffen as the prodigal lord approached the table.

As he closed in, his entire upper body dipped into such a deep bow that for a moment, he disappeared beneath the edge of the table before sweeping back up with an expression of pure delight. “Princess, it is my deepest honor to make your acquaintance. I am Oliver Colem, third Duke of Westchester, at your grace’s eternal survive.”

He held out his hand, index finger out, and Nenani was struck dumb with how to proceed. Jae jerked his head and pressed the back of his hand to his lips and Nenani frowned. But she turned back to Colem, who did not looked put off at all. Rather he looked highly amused. Carefully, placed her hand onto his offered finger and his large head dipped down and kissed her hand. Her entire hand. And most of her wrist. When she pulled it back, moister than before, she shuddered.

“Um...hello, my lord,” she replied, trying to discreetly dry her hand on her skirt. Her nosed burned from the strong odor of his cologne. “L-lord...Colem. It’s very nice to meet you.”

“I must tell you, your grace looks absolutely beautiful,” he said, placing a hand to his breast. “Yellow compliments you so very well. As you may have surmised, I am very partial to the hue myself.” He then turned his attention to Jae, his smile widening into an excited grin. “And young Master Jae, my dear boy. Look how much you’ve grown! And how smart you look in that brocade.” As he rambled, Lord Colem reached out and patted Jae on the head. Large fingers brushed against his carefully combed hair and made a quick mess of it. To add salt to the open wound of Jae’s shrinking tactile tolerance, Colem then pinched Jae’s face between two fingers and cooed at him, “Oh, I haven’t seen you in such a long time, you were just a little smidgen of a thing but only a few seasons ago and now look at you! Why you’re practically a man!”

“O-oh okay, that’s enough,” Jae said, red faced, and he pushed the lord’s fingers away from him. “There’s only so many ways I can tell you, Colem. No. Touching.”

“Such a miser you are, Jae,” Lord Colem pouted, but his eyes sparkled with good humor. “You use to be such an affectionate little boy.”

“Forgive me for giving you the wrong impression all these years,” Jae replied flatly as he tried to fix his hair. “Because I do not recollect ever enjoying being stroked like a lap dog.”

“Oh you wound me. Truly, I mean no offense. Just tell me off should I overstep my bounds.”

“Overstep?” Jae scoffed, still trying to brush his hair back down. “Colem, you danced across them.”

“Well then please allow me to make some amends,” Lord Colem said, turning his eyes back to Nenani. Though he was still smiling, there was a sudden serious tone to his voice. “It is my understanding that King Warren and Queen Aine seek to rebuild Silvaara. And to raise the capitol needed, you look to our house of lords as potential investors. Am I correct, your grace?”

Nenani nodded meekly and feeling quite out of her depth. “Yes. But...I’m not very good with all that.”

“Well, let me not overly complicate things, then,” he said. “I wish to contribute to your cause, Princess. But not as an investor.”

Jae was glaring at Colem with high suspicion. “As what then?”

“As a benefactor.”

“What?” Jae scoffed and crossed his arms. “So you’re just gonna what? Give us money without any expecting any sort of return?”

Lord Colem nodded, eye bright and grin wide. “Precisely! No expectations or strings or conditions.”

Jae blinked, squinting at the man, and then looked to Nenani who could only shrug in equal confusion.

“Wait? You mean...really?” Jae asked, the hard edge he showed to Colem softening slightly. He eyed the giant up and down. “...how much?”

“Fifteen thousand.”

Jae nearly choked. His eye were wide and he regarded Lord Colem with an unabashed bafflement. “You’re joking...”

“Oh, I do enjoy a good jape,” Lord Colem declared. “But in manner of business and money, I never jest. I am quite serious.”

“That’s...I mean...whoa. That’s...a stupid amount of money.”

“Indeed,” he agreed, placing a hand on his chin and nodding thoughtfully. “A handsome sum to be sure, but what good is money if you cannot spend it on that which you hold dear?”

Jae tilted his head as he seemed to look at the lord afresh. “Never realized you were such a Silvaaran sympathizer...y’know. Seeing how close your father and Captain Acker were and being such good pals.”

“Who’s Captain Acker?” Nenani asked.

“Before Keral was captain of the blue rangers,” Jae explained. “There was a man named Acker. Some people called him the Blue Wolf. He’s why the rangers have the terrible reputation that they do. Lord Colem’s father and he were good friends. His estate supplies the indigo dye used to make their coats. Without the Colem family, we wouldn’t have the rangers.”

Colem’s expression soured and he stood back to his full height. “I would prefer if we keep my family out of these conversations, Master Jae. I live for the future and what better things may lie ahead of us. Best we leave the past where it belongs.”

“Uh-huh,” Jae replied, not seeming convinced. “Well, you can understand why I would be suspicious of a man who readily gives a decently sized portion of his family’s fortune to forward a cause that is at complete odds with his father’s legacy and family reputation.”  

“Is it so hard to understand?” Colem asked. “As you pointed out, my dear boy; my father became a wealthy man under King Nethrin. And I to this day still reap the rewards of that plunder. But answer me this: how well might you sleep in a bed bought with coins earned through thoughtless killing and murder?”

“So is that why you’re giving so much?” Jae asked. “Guilt?”

  Lord Colem gave a shallow bow, his eyes growing distant. “I will only say this: His Majesty is not the only one who eagerly seeks to rewrite his family legacy.”

......................

BONUS ART:

Poor Oira looks like she’s drowning in all that velvet...

[falconemuses]

Disclaimer: Everything below is just my own personal experience, it in no way invalidates anyone else’s experiences or identities, you are all valid, please don’t mind a random idiot wondering aloud into the internet. Have a good day.

sometimes i wonder if i’m trans.

such a weird thing to wonder about, i know. a lot of people seem to already know since they were little. and even the ones that don’t, from what i can gather on the net, it’s like, because they grew up in a super conservative society and once they got onto the internet they had an epiphany moment. i’m.....still /mimes floating/.

i just saw a tumblr post about some lady having watched birds of prey and feeling super empowered and hyped up and then being mad about the fact that men get to feel like this all the time because most stories are made for them. and that she had a discussion with her boyfriend and he was like “eh...it’s alright but it wasn’t made for (someone like) me so it’s difficult to enjoy it” and she was like yeah that’s how (she) feels all the time because most media is made by and for men and she (and many other women) have learnt how to see the world through a man’s eyes in order to like, partake in stories and shit. i’m not paraphrasing it very well, here’s the link. and....yes of course it’s a very valid take except.....why......do i completely sympathise with the bf. x_x even though i’m ostensibly a “woman”. like all the shows she listed, made by women, starring women, for women, i just - have that feeling of - what she said, “it wasn’t made for (people like) me”. but i do like a lot of shows/stories made by guys for guys starring guys! and guy characters! and i don’t think it’s a lack of well-written ladies, like, all the shows that are praised - not by media conglomerates, by actual women - for having good female leads, i’m like, ehhh, can’t relate. and i somehow enjoy mediocre guy-centric shows and guy characters??? like potc, and merlin oh my god. (gawain is super cool) and my PoE duellist. such a showy arrogant asshole. omg.

and there’s other pointers, too. like i first started contemplating the possibility when my friend complimented my boobs while trying on dresses, and then i had a BSOD and ended up crying in the dressing room, which is not a normal reaction to people complimenting your body. and then she was like, maybe you’re trans. and i was like, am i?? :O and then there’s the fact that i, as a child, for some reason thought i would magically become a MAN at puberty. this doesn’t even make sense but yeah, i just thought, somehow, the sheer force of my personality would bend nature to my agenda, or something, because people’s looks always match their personalities in fiction. imagine my disappointment. xDD but then i thought this was a thing like all women wanted to be men at some point because of patriarchal society and “manliness” is a thing to be aspired towards.....this sounds so much like i’m digging myself into a hole, doesn’t it.

BUT THEN!! i don’t want to transition. okay, this is mostly like, a monetary and practicality and just me being shallow problem. like, hormones and surgery is expensive as hell. i can’t even get a decent counsellor, LOL. and then there’s the whole - how the fuck am i going to find a job when all my educational transcripts have <feminine name>  on them, and then i show up like..??? will anyone even HIRE me?! and the last thing, which is honestly just me being shallow - i think i look okay as a girl. i don’t think i would look okay as a guy. i think i would probably look below average. for one i am short. for another i have attempted all those face-changing apps and oh my god. i mean if somehow magic happened and i could pick my ideal body without the pain and cost of surgery then yes i would become a cute guy immediately but since magic is NOT happening, then - if i don’t want it enough to at least work towards it, then.....can i really be so considered?? and like, i probably present even more feminine than most of my actual cis female friends, who nearly to a one chopped their hair off in university. i on the other hand am attempting to grow it to my waist. and i like skirts and jewelry. so....it’s more convenient to just continue being a girl, right?!?!! 

ughhh. i’m CONFUSED. i feel like a traitor for not liking the Stronk Women shows. but on the other hand. ?????? 

[starker-stories]

🎉Happy Birthday To Me🎂

Reposting this for Tony’s 50th birthday

May 29, 1970

Tony wasn’t one to pout. He would deny it to his dying day. Well, his re-dying day. Honestly, it was ridiculous. He’d spent most of his life with one day never mattering more than another. Especially this one. He was usually busy trying to find an excuse not to come home from school after term ended. Or busy with an internship. Or busy working. Or just generally busy. Which he should be today.

But life had slowed down a little. A little more once he and Peter moved in together. With his lover waiting in bed for him every night, he rarely stayed up past midnight in the workshop. Peter insisted that he eat at least one meal a day. Which he did. Breakfast. With Peter. Which he did today. Exactly as usual. Like every single other day of the year.

Well, not every one. Major holidays were observed now since Peter enjoyed observing them. And Peter’s birthday was certainly never missed. How could Tony forget the day they finally got together? After he’d valiantly waited three years, until the boy turned twenty, to ask him on a date. The birthday dinner ended with Tony asking him to move in with him. When they hadn’t even dated. When they hadn’t even kissed. When they hadn’t even done anything yet. Rushing ahead of the typical schedule, earned him a laughing, but emphatic ‘yes’. Tony had never been one to do anything typical.

After they got home from dinner, Tony gave Peter his first birthday present. Before they lived together, Peter’s birthday fell in the category of everyone else’s — usually forgotten and then made up with a ‘get yourself something nice’. Tony’d put the kid on his personal account. Ostensibly the account access was for the kid’s lab budget and school expenses. But it was unlimited, the same as Pepper’s was, even after their ‘til death do you part’ divorce.

His twentieth birthday present was something ridiculously expensive. Peter objected of course, but stopped when he noticed that Tony had actually been hurt at his rejection. It wasn’t that he was trying to buy Peter’s affection, it was that picking out the perfect present had taken a lot of work. And in this case, writing the perfect inscription (when Tony’s mind didn’t exactly work in that direction!) Of course it was expensive. Tony found exactly what he wanted to get for Peter (and wrote words; actual romantic words!) It wasn’t like he’d ever looked at a price tag in his life. Or that he wasn’t a billionaire. A million five was nothing to him. And it was pretty. He knew Peter would love the beauty and appreciate the craftsmanship of the delicate wheels and cogs turning underneath the glass. He simply hoped the back of the watch would prove equally as beautiful of a reminder of both his birthday and the change in their relationship. The tears Peter cried proved that.

That was the end of the price tag argument. Which meant that every year Tony spent months before August tenth planning. (To be honest, he started thinking about it on August eleventh). Twenty-one was a bit more modest. Peter had been asking to learn his way around the garage. Tony found the perfect thing to teach him on. He bought an absolute wreck of a ’70 Dodge Coronet convertible. It had its original Hemi engine — though in about as good a condition as the body. It was a four-seater, so Peter could take his friends with him. But the best part was they’d work on it together for the rest of the year. He gave him the keys at a special breakfast. Tony knew Peter would spend the evening with his friends taking him out for his first legal drinking binge. That was fine with him. As long as they spent the morning together. That set the pattern for the years after.

Twenty-two, the year he got his BS, they left the following day for the start of his present. Peter was spectacularly hungover from the party Ned threw for him (drunk Peter was hilarious as it was found out the previous year, and his best friend couldn't resist.) But the flight attendant made a mean bloody Mary as they flew to Italy. It was the start of an absolutely indulgent vacation that lasted until it was time for Peter to begin his masters’ study. Without interruption. By Stark or by the Avengers. Just the two of them.

Last year, when Peter turned twenty-three… well… that was the day Tony proposed. Enough said.

Their wedding was scheduled for Peter’s twenty-fourth. But Tony’s birthday was a month and a half before Peter’s. It wasn’t like he particularly wanted to remember the fact that on May twenty-ninth he was turning fifty and his fiance was going to be twenty-six years younger than him on their wedding day.

So it was ridiculous to be pouting over Peter’s hurried leave after their breakfast. He’d decided to do concurrent masters in chemistry and mechanical engineering. (He’d loved working on the Coronet.) That meant year-round study. Which he was late for, he announced, leaving with his usual cup of coffee and a handful of bacon.

Going downstairs to the workshop would just give Tony more time to sulk as he pretended to work. So he headed further downstairs to the twenty-fifth floor and his office at Stark. If he was going to be miserable, he might as well actually go down to his office and… ugh… look at whatever Pepper left sitting on his desk since he’d last bothered to show up.

The situation was only made worse by the fact that Pepper remembered. But it was made infinitely better when Morgan showed up for lunch, giving Tony an excuse to beg off the rest of his day to take her shopping after they ate. For which she was already, at only eleven, developing quite the passion. It didn’t help that her dad indulged that passion to an outrageous degree and refused to listen to reason. Pepper was going to be far less than thrilled that the basement of her brownstone was going to be converted into a full lab for their genius daughter. Their shopping consisted of clearing out the nearest scientific supply house. But at least Tony didn’t buy her half of FAO Schwarz this shopping trip. (It wasn’t even anywhere close to half, though that trip claimed Pepper’s attic as Morgan’s playroom. Pepper clearly needed a bigger house. Morgan was a growing child.)

Tony got home very late for dinner (after dropping Morgan off at home and dealing with Pepper’s wrath), but since today was apparently no different from any other, it wasn’t unusual for him to be very late for dinner.

And nothing was missed. Peter was sitting at the dining table, surrounded by books and nibbling on a ham sandwich.

All right, Tony would admit to pouting, and sulking, when he begged off later that night, claiming exhaustion from his and Morgan’s adventure.

After another two days, Tony simply got over it. He was fifty years old for chrissakes. He hadn’t been upset over a missed birthday since he was five. Just because Peter remembered for the past three years, didn’t mean that he was going to continue. Tony would occasionally remember someone’s birthday back in the day. Sometimes, accidentally, even twice in a row. He was busy. Peter was busy. Birthdays were an irrelevant marking of the passing of time. And he had made time irrelevant anyway.

~~~~~

Peter made breakfast that morning. Tony knew before he even got out of bed. He smelled the previous failures. He went to shower, giving the kid time to start over… yet again. The omelette waiting for him looked about as good as the one he served Pepper after the Whiplash incident. Before he had his personal chef teach him how to cook. And the bacon was only slightly black around the edges.

At least the kid had learned how to make a proper cup of coffee. But Tony smiled as he ate it. When they were married, and offence wouldn’t call the event off, he would suggest calling his former chef to give a lesson, or three dozen, to Peter. Maybe even save the Queens Fire Department and make it shared lessons for both him and May.

Peter teased him about being an old man now, officially. Tony took it in stride. He had just turned fifty after all. Then the kid led him to ‘Peter’s’ Star Wars room (that they actually shared, though Tony admitted that to no one.) Sitting in the middle of a new display case was a miniature of Darth Vader’s TIE fighter that was the prop actually used in the filming of the Death Star trench run.

They both babbled on endlessly about the trivia surrounding its use. Including the oft-heard story about how, out of his friend group on Long Island, Tony always played Vader. But new to the story was Tony showing Peter a scan of the schematic he made when he was seven (as the boy-genius son of Howard Stark, every paper he so much as scribbled on had been kept.) He built his own TIE after wrecking four of the toy ones. His lasted the rest of the summer but was lost sometime after he went to school. This one, though fragile and would never be touched, was infinitely better.

Which led to them spending the day on the sofa, watching the ‘original trilogy’, which as always, earned Peter a glare when he referred that way to the only Star Wars movies that existed. Six hours later, much of the movies had been missed due to kissing. But it wasn’t like they hadn’t seen them multiple hundreds of times already. Tony didn’t like to go out on his birthday. Dealing with the crowds of the curious and paparazzi wasn’t his idea of fun. Since Peter had ‘cooked’ breakfast, he started cooking dinner.

Tony was chopping vegetables when he noticed that Peter had become quiet. Not just quiet, but still.

“I forgot,” Peter said sheepishly.

“What did you forget?” He scraped the onions into a hot saute pan.

“Your birthday.” Peter ducked his head. “I forgot it.”

“You’ve got to be kidding? You just gave me the best present I’ve ever gotten in my life. You didn’t forget anything.”

“Yeah, I forgot. I was so involved in writing my quantum mechanics paper that I forgot your birthday.”

Tony laughed. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

Peter shook his head. “No. I forgot.”

Tony’s laugh turned into a giggle. “You mean you raided my ridiculously small collection of recreated Pym Particles and cracked into the safe where I keep the time GPSs to go back in time and fix the fact that you forgot my birthday?”

“Yes!” Peter said in a huff. “You should be angry with me!”

Tony went around the counter and gave Peter a hug, followed by a quick kiss. “Pete, how can I be angry with you for that? You got me two birthday presents. The TIE fighter is great and I love it. But you created another whole branch of the multiverse just so you could give it to me.”

“Two branches,” Peter said, ducking his head again. “I had to go back and convince the owner to sell me the TIE.”

“Oh that is fantastic!” Tony leaned back, still holding Peter around the waist. “Two branches of the multiverse exist where my fiance, the brilliant Peter Parker, was so involved in his quantum mechanics paper that he forgot my birthday.” He brought Peter into a passionate kiss. “You are amazing and you are going to be the perfect husband for me. Because that… that is such a me thing to do it’s not even funny.”

Peter laughed. “It is, isn’t it.”

“Yeah. Why do you think I wrote ‘to the next Tony Stark’ on my glasses and not ‘to the next Iron Man’? You’re almost more me than me. I love you, baby.”

“You’re burning the onions.” Peter grinned. “And that is such a me thing to do.”

Also on AO3

[abdifarah]

Bloody

There was never a time when Spike Lee wasn’t Spike Lee to me. I seem to remember being born with images from his movies pre-installed on my mental harddrive. School Daze, one of the first few VHS’s in our house, was a favorite of my mom, and seemed to always be on in the background. Watching it recently, I had a this is water realization: “This is a musical?!” The movie’s mechanics and construction were so overly familiar as to be invisible. 

I love Spike Lee the way Americans love Jesus. More than any particular film (He Got Game, Do the Right Thing, and Malcolm X are three favs), I love everything Lee represents, has represented, and what I’m sure he will continue to represent. I knew even before instagram was invented that he would be great at it. And I am sure whatever mechanism comes next that facilitates a creator’s connection to their audience, Spike will embrace and master it like a surfer to the waves. Spike is always Spike, which probably facilitates his uncanny ability to appear comfortable in many worlds, from high art auteur filmmaking, to pop culture fare, to sports documentaries to political commentary. He is unapologetically ambitious, unapologetically confident, unapologetically black; a trio that America works hard to keep separate. He believes in the imperative of his movies and will do anything–hawking merch, launching a Kickstarter, starring in Capital One commercials–to get them made. 

Spike’s work is not just black, but majestically black, sophisticatedly black, dangerously black. This man made Bamboozled, a movie about a television exec that makes a modern day minstrel show! There are obviously a small handful of other successful and busy black filmmakers, namely Tyler Perry and Lee Daniels. Their movies do the necessary, but not-that-interesting work of simply putting blackness front and center. But the vision of blackness of Daniels or Perry has always felt like it was for someone other than me; someone either less black or less smart. Spike’s films, while often informative, never preach or pander. They assume a black outlook as a given and not an oddity. His films are challenging and do not often resolve with easy lessons. They incorporate the broad history of film and culture and do very little to catch the audience up. It is his way of showing respect to us as viewers.

Even when I do not like a Spike Lee Joint, I always admire the chutzpah, which for me is higher praise than simply liking or enjoying a work of art. Spike will go down as one of the most prolific filmmakers. He prides himself on his goal of producing a major work annually, as opposed to many of his contemporaries like Paul Thomas Anderson or Quentin Tarantino who move at a more leisurely clip. I wonder if Spike’s breakneck pace emanates from a conscious or subconscious fear of being forgotten, and having the door closed on him; ending up like so many other promising directors of color or women directors that after successful early work find it harder and harder to secure funds and get new projects greenlit. Spike has spoken candidly of the trouble he has getting movies produced, even as a celebrity director. While historically impressed by the amount of output, I now wish Spike Lee felt the freedom and permission to slow down.

Da 5 Bloods has so much in it that I love, and multiple scenes that I found genuinely moving, but this is a mess of a movie. For a film about finding buried treasure, Lee seems to be unaware of how much gold he’s sitting on. The movie undertakes the meaty premise of having four older black Vietnam veterans return to the site that indelibly changed them, mostly for the worse, to find the remains of their inspiring troop leader, Stormin’ Normin’, and a chest of gold bullion boosted from a crashed plane and hidden in the deep jungle. They returned to America after the war broken by what they saw and unable to partake of the freedoms they supposedly fought for, but like all black folks attempted to make the most of this reality. Their meeting in Vietnam is a college reunion of sorts, if you went to college to major war atrocities, and ptsd. Like any good reunion plot, each man has their post-war war stories; divorces, estranged kids, bad breaks, bankruptcies. 

They are different, almost unrecognizable to each other. Delroy Lindo’s, Paul, once a black militant, is a Maga hat wearing Trump supporter, but they are all family still. I could have watched these dialogues amongst black men who lived through civil rights, survived Vietnam, but are still fighting their own private wars all night. I wanted to stay in this movie. But about halfway through the tone of the movie shifts and whatever this movie was supposed to be about tragically steps on a landmine. The movie changes from a subtle portrait of these GI’s, their relationships to each other, and their quest to lay to rest the ghosts of the past, and becomes a gory shoot-em-up and basic-bitch heist movie, albeit with some still compelling scenes dripped in, mostly involving Paul. 

In New Orleans you can often see a big storm rolling in from miles away. The writhing clouds, tinged with the primordial reds and purples of sundown and coursing with whip snaps of lightning, mesmerize to the point where you forget you’re about to get drenched. Delroy Lindo’s performance similarly entrances as he descends like King Lear into paranoia and madness, enroute to self-sabotaging the mission and his relationship with his fellow soldiers and his doting son, who has stowed away on the excursion. Spike Lee’s casting has always indicted the rest of Hollywood, by highlighting the black actors and other actors with looks were deemed too “ethic” or too “this” or too “that”, but who have more chop in one of their nostrils than many on the A-list could muster sitting on each other’s shoulders. Why is Lindo not considered one of our great actors? 

While some of the creative and plot choices can be forgiven as artistic liberty, the depiction of the actual Vietnamese people in the movie is hard to justify. Other than a compelling cinematic portrait of the historical figure Hanoi Hannah whose radio broadcasts entertained and taunted American soldiers during the war, the other Vietnamese characters in the movie are pretty flat at best and ugly stereotypes at the other extreme. One of Lee’s perpetual explorations across all of his movies has been the destructive violence of racial stereotypes. Do the Right Thing ends when Police indiscriminately kill Radio Raheem, perceiving the imposing black man as only a threat and not a beloved community member and human worthy of dignity and protection. Blackkklansman presents us with a black man who is also a cop and all of the complexity that entails. Strangely, Lee regurgitates the worst stereotypes of the Viet-Cong in the group of Vietnamese mercenaries serving at the behest of bloated Jean Reno’s french gangster (and Donald Trump surrogate?) who ambush Da Bloods for their gold, leading to the films Tarantino-esque bloodbath ending. The climactic scene which sees Da Bloods, like retired athletes, reliving their glory days as soldiers by extension glorifies the Vietnam conflict and the killing of the Vietnamese, which is disappointing and sad. For a director that for decades avoided tidy popcorn conclusions, this film and his previous outing, Blackkklansman, basically end in good guy vs. bad guy gunfights. 

Da 5 Bloods should have been Girls Trip but with Vietnam vets; former friends with divergent lives butting heads and ultimately reconnecting; learning from while burying the past. There’s a strange moment in Da 5 Bloods before the movie breaks bad when the gang finds a pistol hidden by Clarke Peter’s character, Otis, the ostensible leader of the adventure. For battle worn vets they seem weirdly squeamish at the thought that one of them is packing. These astute Spike Lee characters, knowledgeable of movie and theater orthodoxy, understand that if a gun appears, at some point it's going to go off. Perhaps they, like me, were lamenting the inevitable end of the more dynamic and challenging first half of the movie. Maybe through them Spike Lee is voicing his own reservations about the pending violence of the film. Either way, Spike, like Otis, shouldn't have brought the gun.

[mst3kproject]

Miami Connection

 From the title you have probably already guessed that this is an 80’s drug movie, and you are mostly right, but Miami Connection is so much more. The director was Woo-Sang ‘Richard’ Park, a South Korean film-maker who wanted to break into the Western market despite not speaking any English.  Those of us who know anything about bad movies are already going oh no, because that’s how Troll 2 happened.  Park’s American buddy who was gonna help him do it was Young-Kun Kim, a taekwondo-instructor-slash-motivational-speaker who decided to write, produce, and star in the movie himself because hey, he’d seen movies and it didn’t look that hard.  Oh no, that’s what Hal Warren thought when he set out to make Manos!  And since these guys couldn’t afford actual actors or stuntmen, they cast a bunch of Kim’s taekwondo students, who thought the movie would be great publicity for their band!  Oh no!

The movie opens with a drug deal in a junkyard being interrupted by biker ninjas, who kill everybody, steal the cocaine, and run. Just a Tuesday night in 80’s Miami, really.  Having thus introduced the villains, we now meet the heroes, a fantastically talentless 80’s rock band called Dragon Sound.  Their newest member is Jane, the new girlfriend of lead guitarist John.  Jane’s overprotective brother Jeff does not approve of John, and he hangs out with the coke-stealing ninja bikers from the opening, so he could easily make good on his threats… what he doesn’t know is that the members of Dragon Sound are all training together in taekwondo, and they’re more than ready to take on him, the entire dojo, and a rival band!

Miami Connection is the Starcrash of martial arts movies.  It is completely, irredeemably terrible and yet it never stops being entertaining. The ‘plot’ is mainly a series of ass-kickings, strung together with dialogue scenes that discuss the consequences of the previous fight and set up the motivations for the next one.  I am in no position to judge anybody’s skill at taekwondo, since I can’t tell Karate from Kung-Fu (of course, neither could the people who made the Karate Kid remake), but very nearly everything else in the film is absolutely awful and funny as hell.  I could list hilarious moments for several pages.

The dialogue is stunningly banal, especially when it’s expository.  Both Jane and keyboardist Jim narrate their own tragic backstories and both are bad but in very different ways: Jane doesn’t sound like she particularly cares about the deaths of her parents or her brother’s gang involvement, while Jim weeps like a baby while he whimpers about his mother telling him to find her lost husband.  Later when Jeff is killed in a brawl, Jane doesn’t sound too cut-up about that, either. She’s certainly not nearly as upset as Ninja Biker Dojo Master Yoshida, who gets a flashback that makes it look like Jeff might have been his boyfriend.  My favourite line in the whole movie is when another member of the band, Jack, complains about Jeff and “his darn gang, selling their stupid cocaine!” like a six-year-old who wants his turn on the X Box.

Because nobody can emote, the ‘acting’ in the movie mainly consists of a lot of yelling, and their favourite thing to yell is “son of a bitch!”  They don’t use it as an exclamation the way Reb Brown did in Space Mutiny, it just seems to be the only insult the writers could think of. It gets funnier every time you hear it.

Costumes seem to consist of whatever everybody wore to set that day, with the exception of the black ninja pajamas (ridiculous-looking as always) and the t-shirts Dragon Sound wear when they perform.  The latter feature the name of the band in ‘Vote for Pedro’ font, and nothing else.  I own one of these.  You can buy them at teepublic.

The plot is an absolute mess.  Why does Yoshida think eliminating Dragon Sound is the key to controlling the drug trade in that area?  They haven’t done any vigilante stuff at that point – they just react when Jeff attacks them.  I get why the rival band, who were fired from the nightclub so Dragon Sound could play instead, would want them out of the picture, but the ninja bikers seem to have no reason to care.  Meanwhile, said rival band just kind of falls out of the movie and is never seen again.

I don’t know who the main character is supposed to be.  The story starts out being about John and Jane’s star-crossed relationship, which could have had a Romeo and Juliet angle with Jeff’s death but doesn’t. Then they slide out of the way as we focus on Jim’s search for his missing father, which keeps us busy a while, but then the final showdown is between Mark and Yoshida, who have so far been secondary characters.  Jane isn’t even present at the ending, although Jim’s father does show up to recite some more utterly terrible dialogue as he reconciles with his son.

Jim, John, Jack, Jane, and Jeff.  Did Kim just think all American names start with J?

I’m not sure how old Y. K. Kim’s character Mark is supposed to be.  He and the other bandmembers are room-mates, and he dresses like them and rides around in their convertible with his feet up on the dashboard.  He talks and acts like them and tells people that his bandmates are ‘like brothers’.  But whereas they’re all in their twenties, Kim was forty-one when this movie was made and there is no attempt to hide that.  Is he just supposed to be hip with the younger generations?  Or did they actually expect us to believe he was fifteen years younger than he looks?

           There are long sequences in which nothing happens. We see the band play a whole song at the club, twice, and then one of those songs is re-used for a montage sequence of characters at the beach.  The latter does not further the plot but it does show us a lot of women’s butts with wet bathing suits clinging to them, as well as the world’s best-dressed nudist. There’s a sequence of taekwondo training that runs several minutes, and which does nothing but set up a single finishing move that will recur at the climax.  There’s a biker company picnic like the one in The Hellcats but without the interesting parts.

Literally everybody in this movie practices some kind of martial art, including the nightclub owner and the drug dealers… but I figure that was just the 80’s.  Also, this movie taught me that men in the 80’s took their sunglasses off as a sign of respect, much like removing the hat in earlier decades.

What the fuck is up with the dancing crop-top dude?  Even the guy who’s about to fight him looks confused by him.  He was so weird I thought he’d be a good stinger, until we arrived at Miami Connection’s ultimate stinger moment – a car turns a corner, revealing a bunch of motorcycles on a collision course with it, and John, in the driver’s seat, says, “ugh, ninjas.”

On a slightly more serious note, the movie does have an ostensible message, which is spelled out between the last shot and the closing credits: only through the elimination of violence can we achieve world peace.  This is kind of a silly statement because, yeah, that’s what peace is, but also because we’ve just spent this entire movie watching people beat the shit out of each other with hands, feet, and whatever they can grab.  The script is aware of this contradiction, though, and stops at several points to remind us that taekwondo and other martial arts are not merely fighting techniques but ways of life that promote discipline of the body and mind and strong bonds between people.  This is the side of taekwondo that Dragon Sound plans to promote during their world peace tour, and the message seems heartfelt enough even if the delivery is lacking.

In that light its interesting to note that this disciplined martial arts lifestyle seems very much at odds with the hedonistic biker one that Yoshida and his followers also participate in.  The two stereotypes conflict on every possible level, right down to ninjas being quiet while motorcycles are loud.  I think this might be an attempt to paint the baddies as hypocrites, but I honestly don’t know.  It’s equally possible that ‘biker ninjas’ were just the coolest-sounding thing Kim could think of.

After that list of suckage, I do have to say that there are two or three things Miami Connection does astonishingly well.  Both the night shots and the gore effects are pretty good – especially the night shots.  You can always see enough to tell what’s going on, but it’s not so bright that you don’t believe it’s night-time.  I’ve seen way worse in movies with way higher budgets.  The fight choreography is also shockingly effective sometimes. It never turns taekwondo or any of its other martial arts into some kind of artsy dance performance.  The fight scenes are brutal, and you believe that the people in them are fighting for their lives.  Maybe not the best thing for their message that taekwondo is the key to world peace, but pretty effective if you’re just here to enjoy the chop-socky.

Being so terrible and yet so much fun, it’s no surprise that Miami Connection showed up on Rifftrax Live in 2015. Y. K. Kim was a pretty good sport about it, too – apparently he’s happy his film has finally found an audience, even an ironic one.  That puts him much higher on the dignity ladder than Joe Don Baker or Sandy Frank, and even if he seems like a bit of a huckster I have to hand it to him for that.

[vapormaison]

Best of 2019 Vaporwave Release 3/4: Sensual Loops SPECIAL EDITION by Cyber Club

As vaporwave matures and enters the mainstream, I often find myself having discussions with vapor heads on reddit about the iconography of the genre. I realize that this is a bad idea, but cannot help myself. More often than not, they are pointlessly terse, and tend to be tediously teleological — the type of argumentation featuring enough loops of logic to cause a medieval Byzantine monk’s head to spin.

A recurring topic that baits me every single time is when a poster attempts to criticize the album art of a record, dismissing the entire work on the based on “anime” aesthetics. While this might seem like an argument so off-center and reductive that it’s parody— I’d encourage you to go on r/VaporVinyl and take a look at some of the posts replying to threads about Cyber Club’s Sensual Loops LP series. It’s not pretty, and representative where some of the fanbase is at the moment. Adding to my shock was when one of the self-appointed critics outed themselves as twenty three years old. At that moment, I was forced to confront my own bias. I had mistakenly assumed that the puritan was an out-of-touch Gen Xer or a Baby Boomer. Aesthetic intolerance is not exclusive — and plenty of Zoomers are members of this trash clique as well.

What really boggled my mind, however, was that the user had picked vaporwave out of all the other possible genres to go on their Nipponophobic soapbox against. A quick look at the aesthetic movement as a whole (sonically, artistically, etc.) establishes it as what I would assert as a primarily millennial genre — less of a statement about its creators and consumers, and more about the broader, overarching cultural milieu in which in developed. It was birthed in the decade that heralded the mass-consumption of Japanese media in the Western marketplace. Many of its early practitioners got their start chopping and screwing anime OSTs and hip hop. Future Funk effectively appeared on the sonic map by the sampling of Japanese city pop. What is even worth arguing here?

But that which bothered me even more was the user’s stubborn refusal to even listen to the album. You can not buy a vinyl because you just have a particular aversion to cover art — that’s fine! Better yet, you can not buy a vinyl just because you’re not a fan of the sound. Those are two perfectly fine reasons not to partake in a release. But then to go on reddit and complain about an album aesthetic for something you haven’t even listened to? Come on, fam. Level up your praxis. It is the whitewashing and the boorishness that is most infuriating. I’ve legitimately never heard of anyone who dismissed an entire album’s music purely on the basis of its vinyl cover art before.

And shame on them, because they are sleeping on one of the best works of 2019.

The limited edition of Sensual Loops 1 & 2 is another LP that I had the luxury of listening to while on my East Asia tour. I brought the album (among others) with me to visit a very good pal of mine, Han, who’s retired to Hong Kong. Much to my relief, he’s in a comparatively spacious apartment over in the Tai Wo area — by no means the stereotypical postage stamp — and has set up a little audiophile pad that I’m most envious of. His setup is devoted to all things B&W, and I got a beautiful listen of the album on a pair of impressive and almost imposing 700-series floor standers. Powered by the Cambridge Audio Edge series Amp/Pre combo, this was far above even my paygrade. But after working as a salaryman for two decades, he was finally able to invest in his endgame system. And what an endgame it is!

Getting the chance to listen Sensual Loops on this system cemented my opinion when I had first heard it’s release digitally: I was listening to an instant contender for the best vaporwave release of 2019.

Sensual Loops 1

Introduction immediately fills your speakers with a wide, warm guitar and horn loops that feature just enough static noise to distinguish itself as a vaporwave track. I always like it when a little minute-thirty track gives the amp a little exercise. It also proves to be a perfect sonic setup for the next track, which is ostensibly what every “intro” track should do, right?

Night carries that guitar riff from Introduction but adds a playful variance with a synth loop, and vocals that I believe are sampled from that Philly Soul classic “Children of the Night” done by the Stylistics and the Jones Girls’, among others. All of the moving parts here do wonders, syncing together in a perfect arrangement. Both Han and I commented on just how bright this played on his JBLs, which is a testament to the mix and mastering work here.

Love & Affection definitely feels the most retro-vapor of all the tracks on Sensual Loops 1, beginning with a series of loops, riffs, and synth chimes that feel as if they were picked from a certain collection of sitcoms of an early nineties vintage. The heavily distorted vocals and hypnotic drum kits pop in after about a minute to give the track an almost deep house feel as it progresses. The “all mine” hook then crescendos into a symphony of drum hits that conclude the track with a real sonic flutter in the air when played with high-end speakers.

Pain accelerates the rather slow pace of the album up to this point. I’m a big fan of the synth arrangement that opens the track, and I schmood even more with the powerfully funky vocal set that carries the track throughout. But with its short length, it does feel more like an interlude or setup for what I consider to be the highlight of the LP.

Memories is our certified slapper. It starts off immediately with an incredibly catchy synth chord arrangement supplemented by a fantastically tweaked vocal sample from the fantastically, alliteratively-named Melba Moore, another funky soul queen who needs a revival in the contemporary lexicography.

Sensual definitely swings the record a bit further away from the future funk and back towards the vapor-funk side of things. Back are cyber club’s usual array of jumpy, tinny synth chords and manipulated vocal micro-samples that still provide a really robust sonic experience on the hi-fi system of your choice. When the vocals make their appearance about ninety seconds in, I was expecting them to sound much less rich in the middle than they did, which was definitely a present surprise on the mastering side!

Alone is a beautiful cacophony of micro-samples with a vocal track manipulated to sound like an 80s ideal of a future robot gf. I’m not sure how else to describe this track except as pure atmosphere. The fluttering synths, muted percussion, electric highs that send tweeters bouncing — it’s difficult to precisely describe how a track like this comes over a hi-fi system like the Edge. It just pulls out every detail from an immensely dense track like this and does it every bit the justice it deserves.

Paradise ends up taking a traditional funk and re-engineering it into a sort of quasi-tropical sound similar to some of the early Aloe Island Posse bangers. It’s got a much more lo-fi edge to the track then most future funk takes on a track like this, and creates a really unique and playful experience.

Bliss is almost raw synth pop with a hardened vapor edge to it. Although the original sample is from a very soulful electro R&B outfit — the Loose Ends — we get aggressive drums and synth loops that bring this closer to Paula Abdul than anything that could be traditionally considered rhythm and blues. Just enough manipulation of the vocal sample and some well-timed percussion hits make this more fit for a night out than a baby-making session in, which is both remarkable and a testament to cyber club’s skill.

Sensual Loops 2

Intro captures a little more of than urban-turned-Island soundscape that we caught a glimpse of in Paradise. I’m eternally impressed by this, as it seems like Cyber Club never gets too caught up in the production to bring this too far from its vapor essence while still making this a great lede in its own right.

Sensual was a track I was initially expecting to be a remix or redux of the first Sensual from Sensual Loops 1, but I’m glad to see this piece of bass-heavy vapor exists as its own full-bodied track in its own right. It grabs you immediately with its “I’ll never give up on you” vocal loop spliced in among its synth array, and carries you through with an intriguing arrangement of instrumental loops and micro-samples throughout. The low end can really shine here with the right system.

Hold Her Now is a piece of nostalgic, vintage vaporwave straight out of the Saint Pepsi era. Ostensibly a creative cut-up some New Jack Swing that absolutely slaps with the right electric guitar riff and synthetic percussion hit, it harkens back to when vaporwave was in its “peak aesthetics” phase of production and plunder-phonic glory. Perhaps this reminder of what vaporwave used to be unfairly biases me, but it’s definitely a listen for the nostalgia driven old-heads.

Affair is the type of track that sounds completely different on certain types of stereos. While Han’s stereo brought out the crisp, wide vocal mix — perhaps a testament to Cambridge’s design history, my Harman Kardon/KEF pairing brought the synth flares here to the fore. The testament to this track is that I really enjoyed both profiles, and Affair sounded robust and detailed throughout.

Kiss is one of the tracks that I felt coolest on upon an initial listen, which is perhaps a statement to just how much I enjoyed this album. When presented with the innovative arrangements of tracks like Hold Her Now or Memories, I was left feeling that Kiss doesn’t do enough in its minute thirty second runtime. That being said, it’s fun. And that’s what music can and should be at the end of the day, isn’t it?

Touch heaps on that vapor memory with some creative vocal layering, tinny and distorted high-end flutters, and an electric horn that came out swinging in the Cambridge system, much to my surprise. It’s clear at this point that Cyber Club has created a very particular listening experience here, and I’m oh so fond of it.

Special makes a funky classic fresh and electric again, which is what I’m really starting to vibe with in terms of the Cyber Club oeuvre. It serves as a sort of confirmation, a celebration and an altogether fantastic close to the LP.

Vinyl Physicality & Listening Experience

I like black vinyl. This milquetoast statement has earned for me the ire of some enthusiasts on r/VaporVinyl when I post on my alt-account there. Because vaporwave attracts curators with “experience” in the music industry, I’ve been told by “serious LP collectors [who know] label managers” — the type of folks who spin on $100 Crosley turntables bought at a Kohl’s Black Friday sale — that new black vinyls just doesn’t sell anymore. Not for vaporwave, at least. A release should have a colored vinyl or not release at all!

This was a take from the same twenty-three year old who wouldn’t purchase Sensual Loops because of the hentai on the cover — so take that for what you will.

I’ve always liked the supplier that Sic Records uses — whoever they are. The vinyls always have a bit of mass and heft to them, leading me to guess that they’re probably in the 180g range. But that’s just my finger test. My Jungle2000 vinyl feels just as weighty. I’ve always believed there’s a definite spectrum with black vinyls — from the frail Qrate cheap options to the high end audiophile oriented waxes like the beautifully crafted Victor Japan and Columbia waxes from the late 80s and early 90s that you see most city pop and anime OSTs pressed on.

The masters on these records are definitely intriguing for the format. My biggest critique of vaporwave vinyl at this point is that some labels don’t take the requisite care to put out a good vinyl master, and often just end up going all-in with poorly optimized digital release ones. The folks at Sic definitely know what they’re doing — because this ended up playing great on a number of systems and speakers, from my KEFs and H/K setup, to a friends Technics mid-fi rig, to Han’s Cambridge endgame. Each time, we got a wide-but-not-too-wide play without the sound edging towards the bright end of the spectrum too intensely. I think this is important because it respects a lot of the samples used. The mixing work done on a lot of the Philly soul here definitely had a certain muted approach that really brought out the most from the vocals and left instrumental arrangements to a moderately more ambient role. I get that impression of continuity here and love it for that.

In short, you should snap up this release while you can. It’s a great release, and fuck the vaporwave nannies who’d shut down Cyber Club’s best two albums without even a listen. May that /u/ go down with u/hoesmad_ on r/Vaporwave’s wall of shame.

[cabbagebender]

Keith's Galra Traits Headcanons (Spoilers Through S8)

Please note, I am not a biologist, and I am kinda b.s.ing a lot of this, though I did cursory research. Please correct me if you know better and I'm talking nonsense.

Based on Canon:

Retractable fangs.

Remember that time in s6 when Keith randomly sprouted fangs while he was screaming in pain? I actually think those might be his normal teeth, except usually they’re buried far enough in his gums to simply appear, maybe notably sharp, but still human-looking. Most Galra have pretty prominent fangs already, but I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s some kind of defense mechanism in response to extreme pain that makes them push out further. For a full Galra, this would probably turn the fangs into a formidable weapon; for Keith, it... probably just makes him better at eating steak.

Superhuman stamina.

Also, remember the Blade of Marmora Trials in Season 2? The Trials that pretty much consisted of Keith getting his ass kicked over and over again in increasingly outnumbered fights? And how he just... kept... going, even with an injured shoulder and no chance for rest or recuperation? Okay, yeah, sure, determination can do a lot, but earlier in the episode it's established that Keith and Shiro are down there for two quintents – roughly two days. Even if Keith isn't fighting the whole time, he's still fighting for like... at the very least, ten hours or so. And he messed up his shoulder in the first fight. Humans can do some crazy stuff in high stakes situations, but since he does have the option to stop fighting and doesn’t take it, I wouldn’t be surprised if his genetics are helping him out here.

(Note - this could come along with a reduced need for oxygen, since in s8 “The Grudge,” while all the full humans are collapsing from CO2 poisoning, Keith, Zethrid, and Acxa are doing just fine without their helmets -- though, this might not apply because the humans have had their helmets off for quite a bit longer when we see them)

Either A) no tear ducts, or B) no emotionally-linked tear process (neurologically).

While we've definitely seen Keith cry, we've never actually seen him shed tears. 7x1, “A Little Adventure,” (seen above) is a really good example. When Allura tells Keith that Shiro might not make it, Keith’s eyes start quivering, and his voice gets all choked up. The subtitles even say "[sobs]" – but his eyes remain totally dry. This show is very fond of making characters' eyes well up, so it isn't a matter of animation convention – of all the paladins, this dry-eyed crying is specifically a Keith thing. Since I can't remember ever seeing a Galran shed tears, I'm gonna go ahead and hypothesize that they just... can't (but if I'm forgetting something, please let me know).

Protective inner eyelid (translucent, yellow).

When I mentioned the 'no tear ducts' hc to my friend, he suggested that maybe Galra have a protective inner eyelid instead. My immediate thought was that maybe this was what gave their eyes the yellow tint. They could very well just have yellow scelera, but we know from 6x5 “Black Paladins” that Keith can blink his scelera from white to yellow to white again, and Zethrid's damaged eye in s7 is clouded over white instead of yellow – possibly suggesting the natural color of the eye beneath.

So if Keith has a physical inner eyelid, rather than some magical Galra-rage transformation that turns his eyes yellow, why don’t we see it before the fight with Shiro, and why do we never see it again?

Theory: The process of lowering the inner eyelid is manual, like winking, not automatic, like blinking. Most Galra learn how to do it as children, and find it effortlessly simple, but Keith grew up not even knowing the extra eyelid was there, much less how to use it. After spending time with other Galra (either the Blade, or his mother), he learned how, but he’s not very good at it. He can use it, sometimes, but he can’t quite keep it put the way other Galra do most of the time.

When Shiro punches his helmet off, they’re on a space station high up in the atmosphere; there’s dust and debris and all sorts of things flying about, and it makes sense that he would want to protect his eyes -- but the moment Shiro distracts him by calling out his aggression, he loses his focus, and his eyes blink back to their usual appearance.

(As an additional headcanon, the thickness of the third eyelid varies from Galran to Galran and can distort the appearance of the eyes, which is why some Galra, like Thace, appear to have no irises/pupils at all; some, like yellow-eyed Keith, appear to have narrower irises/pupils than in reality, and some, like Krolia, have similar irises/pupils to humans and Alteans)

Based on Science (Cross-Species Hybridization)

Can't have biological kids. Typically, offspring of two different species are not capable of reproducing, due to inheriting different numbers of chromosomes from each parent. There are some exceptions, but they tend to be in cases where the two parent species are very closely genetically related, and somehow I get the feeling that humans and Galra... aren't.

May or May Not Be Galra-Heritage / Species-Hybrid Related

No facial hair.

While I’m totally here for trans Keith hcs, if we strictly follow canon, we did see his parents naming him as a baby, so he’s probably dmab. Yet, after two years in the wilderness, from around ages 19-21, there isn’t a hint of stubble on his face -- which, like the dry crying, isn’t an animation convention, because Shiro and Sam both grew facial hair in “The Journey” and Sam’s time as a prisoner, respectively. Galra can grow beards - Warlod Ranveig has a spiky mutton chop situation going on -- but since Keith is a two-species hybrid, it’s possible he has some unusual chemical balances that mean he doesn’t present traits that both of his parent species do -- in this case, facial hair.

(I know not everyone can grow a full beard, but he has very dark hair and very light skin -- even the slightest bit of peach fuzz would leave a visual mark)

Psychic Powers. Keith is almost definitely at least a little psychic (I'll go into that more at some point, but short version – sensed the energy of a lion that wasn't his, often responds to things the moment before they happen, was able to pinpoint Macidus's next location by just closing his eyes and feeling for it), but I'm not sure if that's connected to his heritage in any way.

No Canon Basis (Just for Fun)

UV Vision. The Galra ships are so... dark. It's really not conducive to any kind of efficient work. They're also very purple. I think it'd be kinda neat if Galra can see further into the ultraviolet spectrum than humans can – so their ships look dark to us, but the Galra can see just fine. And it’s fun to imagine Keith growing up in the desert with UV vision although maybe not if he doesn’t know how to use his protective eyelid.

Birthmark. Listen, I would love to hc that Keith has some kind of purple vitiligo going on on his torso or legs, or maybe some kind of Galra-like three-toe situation going on, but thanks to the swimsuit episode in s2, we know this guy is human-looking pretty much all over. Still, I'm gonna claim the few square inches they didn't show and say that Keith has a purple birthmark on the side of his upper thigh. His Galra traits don’t all have to be entirely hidden -- Keith knew something was up when he went to the Blade of Marmora, he kept asking them to tell him “where I come from” -- so I like the idea of him having a trait that could, ostensibly, be explained away as a rare human mutation, but in the context of him having an alien knife, makes him start to wonder.

[disasterhumans]

Fjord and the Nature of “Evil”

Now that we’re getting into more of Fjord’s patron lore, I figure the “Fjord is evil!” theories will begin popping back up, so I wanted to write this to sort out why the “X character is evil” theories/assessments tend to irritate me so much. 

Disclaimer: I’m not at all an expert on how alignment is “meant to work” in Dungeons & Dragons, and am mainly relying on the 5e PHB for this. Mostly this is me thought dumping my observations about Fjord and how they line up with my understanding of “evil.”

So, what is “evil?” Obviously that’s a question with no easy answer and has led to centuries of philosophical argument. But let’s go with a basic definition.

As far as denotative definitions go (outside the scope of D&D) we have: “profoundly immoral and malevolent.” Note the specific use of the word “profound” in that definition.

From his observable behavior, Fjord is not obviously “profoundly immoral” or “malevolent.” He may join in the general chaos that is the Mighty Nein, but generally speaking their actions mostly fall into either “mostly trying to be good” or the not-profound flavor of “immoral.” (Matt said that the Nein “wasn’t a moral group,” not that they were “a profoundly immoral group,” or “an evil group.”) The closest we’ve seen him get to “malevolent” is him threatening Algar. He’s also had a few dispassionate moments (e.g. not feeling moved to save Kiri).

As far as Dungeons and Dragons goes, the Fifth Edition PHB isn’t ultra specific about how it breaks down the “good v. evil” axis and the “law v. chaos” axis, instead providing brief definitions of each individual alignment.

Lawful Evil creatures methodically take what they want within the limits of a code of tradition, loyalty, or order

Neutral Evil is the alignment of those who do whatever they can get away with, without compassion or qualms

Chaotic Evil creatures act with arbitrary violence, spurred by their greed, hatred, or bloodlust

Going through the descriptions of D&D alignments (in reverse order):

Fjord categorically does not act with arbitrary violence, and does not at all seem spurred by greed, hatred, or bloodlust. Again, the only exception to this I can think of is him chopping off Algar’s hand--which was arguably driven by hatred and/or bloodlust, but was also a very impulsive decision. By definition, Chaotic Evil characters would have a difficult time hiding their true alignment.

Fjord is occasionally dispassionate, but wouldn’t describe him as being utterly without compassion. That’s entirely disproven by nearly every interaction he has with Beau and Jester. And he doesn’t seem to have any desire to do “whatever he can get away with.” In fact--impulsivity aside--he is often one of the only members concerned with ramifications (e.g. him threatening Caleb for putting the team at risk by taking the scrolls in “Midnight Espionage.”) While a Neutral Evil character could ostensibly mask their alignment, in Fjord’s case it would also imply that he was fundamentally putting on an entirely different personality.

Of the three Evil alignments, Lawful Evil seems like the most “viable” alignment for Fjord to secretly be, as it would allow for ongoing machinations, whereas the other two evil alignments seem designed to account for descriptions of day-to-day behaviors. But, again, we don’t really have any in-game proof that Fjord has some sort of complicated long-con going on beyond “I want to learn more about where my powers come from.” And that may well lead him down an evil path, but power is not an inherently evil motivation, and it doesn’t mean that’s Fjord’s starting from an evil place. At this point the relative evil v. goodness of said power appears to have more to do with his patron’s alignment than Fjord’s.

At worst, with the information we have to go on--which is Fjord’s in-game actions--he’s Neutral, but easily influenced by the moral standards of those around him. Some parts of this fandom seem to have a tendency to take any sufficiently “not good” action and label it “evil.” Which in my mind robs these incredibly layered characters of their moral complexity while also weakening the strength of what we mean when we say “evil.” Ostensibly, “evil,” is reserved for the most morally repugnant.

And actually, I fully believe Travis that Fjord, before meeting the Mighty Nein would have at least believed himself to be Lawful Good (“counted on to do the right thing as expected by society). Fjord grew up outside of the empire and spent much of his adult life within the micro-society of working on sailing ships. Fjord was accustomed to being a hard-working member of a crew. And a crew has to work together and follow orders for the good of the ship. Furthermore, Fjord (and Jester) made a point of warning the Nein about the seriousness of committing crime on the Menagerie Coast, which in combination with Travis describing Fjord as Lawful Good, I will take to mean that while living in Port Damali he did actually act in a lawful manner. In my view, this is why he takes particular issue with Sabien.

I think my main problem with “Fjord is evil,” theories is that, first and foremost, it requires believing that nearly everything either Travis or Fjord has said about Fjord has been a lie or, at best, disingenuous. And I don’t just mean factual information--it would also likely require believing that Fjord’s entire demeanor, personality and emotional expression was a facade. And while that’s not technically impossible given his deception score, and the fact that Fjord has not been insight-checked very often by most of the party, it still feels like a stretch. And honestly it would be narratively unsatisfying to believe that literally everything we know about his past and motivations are a lie. At present what we know about Fjord is:

He was raised an orphan with no orcs around him (this appears to be true not only based on what Fjord has literally said, but about his demeanor when talking about orcs, and the fact that it made him feel strongly enough to want to help other orphans). Being raised as the only member of his race, with little idea of his lineage (and experiencing a lot of bullying), seems to have made Fjord feeling particularly vulnerable and unsure of himself in a lot of different ways. As others have argued before, Fjord is likely easily won over by people who are openly supportive and friendly toward him, and potentially more susceptible to manipulation (borne out by his low wisdom score). Fjord likely also places a high value on loyalty, in keeping with his original alignment.

Fjord’s captain--Vandren--died after another crew member--Sabien--blew up the ship. There have been some theories that Fjord was actually the person who blew up the ship, but even if that did happen, it seems to me that Fjord genuinely believes it was Sabien. Almost every time Fjord brings up Sabien he is visibly angry, and while they’re in Nicodranus he asks almost everyone he meets if they know Sabien. Maybe Fjord is looking to get rid of the only witness to what was actually his crime, but seeing as most people probably believe there were no survivors of that explosion, putting himself back on Sabien’s radar seems ill advised. (Also, if Fjord blew up the ship, how did Sabien manage to escape? The implication for each of their survival is that Sabien set the explosion into motion but abandoned ship before it triggered, and that Fjord’s patron saved Fjord. Meaning that assuming Fjord is telling the truth, that Sabien would assume Fjord dead as well.) Once again, Fjord valuing loyalty above other moral concerns would seem to be driving his anger toward Sabien, which very much reflects his frustration when Caleb appears to place the team at risk.

After making his pact with his patron (something that Fjord seems to not be entirely aware of) and receiving his warlock abilities, Fjord wanted to learn more about his magic by seeking out Soltryce Academy. As far as I can tell, most Evil!Fjord theories rely on him having an ultimate “evil” goal. But while Fjord may not necessarily be entirely open and honest about his past, and is certainly being guarded about the specificity of his patron, he has actually always been quite vocal about his personal goals. And, yeah, he could be lying or bluffing about just wanting to “learn more.” But if that’s the case, it wouldn’t have meant anything or have made any sense for him to suddenly change the nature of his goals post-Lorenzo. Fjord has never covered up the fact that he’s overwhelmed by his sudden acquisition of powers, or the expectation from the rest of the Nein for him to assume responsibility. And his talk with Beau the other night about how since receiving his powers he’s moved from trying to solve problems through communication to solving them with combat and power seem to imply that he feels uncomfortable with this shift in himself. Again, the specificity of that conversation seems not to jive with an “evil” person trying to assimilate (Fjord could very well just have mirrored Beau’s words without contributing anything of substance).

Above all, I think that Fjord is a vulnerable and easily overwhelmed (and potentially easily manipulated) person who values loyalty and trust in those around him above most other moral concerns, and is thus willing to run with the moral alignments of his companions if it means maintaining cohesion (e.g. when he tells Nott that he won’t try to change her). The only times he truly objects to the decisions the others make is when those decisions appear to put the group in danger. That being said, his recent conversations with Beau suggest that he views himself as being a largely good person, and is currently experiencing some regret over personal moral choices he has made recently. [EDIT: Also, while Fjord definitely seemed excited to meet someone going through the same experience as him, he also seemed uncomfortable with the way Avantika expressed her...devotion to Uk’otoa. (At one point, I believe Travis said ooc “I feel so uncomfortable,” but that may have been in response to all the innuendo.) And despite him finally revealing the falchion to her, he was still distrusting of her by the end. Where we stand right now, it still seems like Fjord is more firmly in “learn what the fuck is going on mode.” And not, “alright I’m gonna be a cultist now,” mode.]

There is certainly a lot of moral contradiction and conflict that Fjord is experiencing right now, but in my mind that internal conflict and confusion--and the strong likelihood that Fjord’s patron is evil--is far more compelling than some eleventh hour plot twist that Fjord has been secretly evil all along.

[krispyweiss]

The Best of Live Music 2018

Another year is coming to a close and with it, another year of wonderful - and a few not-so-wonderful - live-music experiences.

In an effort to accentuate the positive, Sound Bites is devoting this space - and many column inches of copy - to review excerpts from his favorite concerts of 2018. They’re grouped is as good an order as he could come up with in categories of A+, A and A-; shows of B+ and below didn’t make the, uh, grade.

The numbers in parentheses indicate the number of times Sound Bites has been privileged to see the artist in question.

A+

I’m With Her (3) at Southern Theatre, Columbus, Ohio, Nov. 5: Though I'm With Her are incomparable, the closest thing might be Crosby, Stills and Nash, if that group ditched the rock 'n' roll and managed to stay on key always. Their version of John Hiatt's "Crossing Muddy Waters" is to Hiatt as CSN's "Blackbrid is to the Beatles - an improvement on what’s already essentially perfect. There really are no words to describe the intensity of their performances, which have been on a steady uphill climb on their three Ohio appearances in the past 15 months, even though their first of those, in Cincinnati, seemed impossible to improve upon.

I’m With Her (2) at Memorial Hall OTR, Cincinnati, Ohio, March 5: Even if it’s 100 degrees, sweaters or jackets should be required at any I’m With Her concert, because Sara Watkins, Sarah Jarosz and Aoife O’Donovan’ll send shivers up and down concertgoers’ spines. Take any superlative modified by any adverb, and you still couldn’t adequately describe the quality of this concert.

Rhiannon Giddens (2) at Memorial Hall OTR, Cincinnati, Ohio, May 20: Barefooted in a yellow, floor-length skirt and a black blazer, with playful splashes of red dye in her black hair, Giddens sawed her fiddle and clawed at her banjo for about half the evening and spent the reminder of her time onstage using her greatest instrument - her expressive voice. Jumping, punching the air to accentuate notes, losing herself in the music with her eyes up in her thrown-back head, Giddens was entranced by the music and cast the same spell on the audience. Part opera singer, part jazzy chanteuse, part Southern wailer, part preacher, Giddens is a nearly supernatural force - like a once-in-a-century storm of music - the rare vocalist who spends entire concerts spitting out notes most singers would be happy to hit once a night.

Magic Dick and Shun Ng with Acoustic Hot Tuna (8) at Jorma Kaukonen's Fur Peace Ranch, Pomeroy, Ohio, Nov. 10: It's too bad Fur Peace Ranch doesn't have a marquee because seeing the billing of Magic Dick and Hot Tuna in lights would've been priceless. As it went, hearing the former J. Giles Bard harp player paired with virtuosic, wonder-kid guitarist Shun Ng headlining over Acoustic Hot Tuna was also priceless, as the top of the bill put on one of those impossible-to-believe concerts and Hot Tuna were their typically terrific selves during their warm-up slot on a cold, frost-filled Nov. 10 concert in Pomeroy.

An Exclusive Evening with Jorma Kaukonen (5) at Gramercy Books, Bexley, Ohio, Nov. 15: Jorma Kaukonen answered questions, read from his new memoir and played a few tunes when he held court in front of 60 devotees inside Bexley's Gramercy Books. The guitarist's only bookstore stop on his tour to promote "Been So Long: My Life and Music" was billed as “An Exclusive Evening with Jorma Kaukonen” and found the Jefferson Airplane and Hot Tuna co-founder perched on a barstool taking questions from former Rock and Roll Hall of Fame chair and Zeppelin Productions founder Alec Wightman and the audience; reading from the book; and showing off his unique picking style on chestnuts such as the Airplane's "Embryonic Journey" and the "trad." "How Long Blues."

A

Outlaw Music Festival feat. Willie Nelson (12) and Family, Van Morrison (4), Tedeschi Trucks Band (8), Sturgill Simpson, Lukas Nelson & Promise of the Real (2) and Particle Kid (2) at Hersheypark Stadium, Hershey, Penn., Sept. 8: Though he's absolutely earned the right, Willie Nelson probably shouldn't follow Van Morrison and the Tedeschi Trucks Band. He followed an uncharacteristically jovial Morrison, who, dressed in his trademark dark suit, fedora and shades visited many corners of his storied songbook in a generous, 90-minute set. Meanwhile, the 12-piece Tedeschi Trucks band slayed the smallish audience in the cavernous stadium. And Sturgill Simpson played a jaw-dropping, 80-minute concert that was boiling stew of blues-based rock with the faintest hint of outlaw spice.

John Prine (2) at Ohio Theatre, Columbus, Ohio, Sept. 28: John Prine and his four-piece band played a career-spanning, genre-bending, tear-jerking, joke-telling show that found them running through all of this year's The Tree of Forgiveness - but not in sequence - along with many of the best tracks from Prine's songbook.

The Del McCoury Band (3) at Sugarloaf Mountain Amphitheatre, Chillicothe, Ohio, July 8: Despite fronting and giving ample spotlight time to his band, Del McCoury was the obvious star of this show, his acoustic guitar cutting through the music every time such a riff was necessary, and his voice hitting high notes most men can’t reach in their 30s let alone on the cusp of their 80s. He was in a playful mood and granted so many requests, he good-naturedly stumbled over lyrics to long-dormant tracks such as “40 Acres and a Fool” and “Blackjack County Chains.”

Huffamoose (2) at Ardmore Music Hall, Ardmore, Pa., Nov. 24: At the Ardmore, the Philadelphia-based Huffamoose played a triumphant, 17-song, 105-minute set just outside its hometown that featured cuts culled from its four LPs - its long-out-of-print, self-titled debut (on the local 7 label) and ’97’s We’ve Been Had Again along with the two most recent ones - and demonstrated that although much has changed, much has remained the same. This was the rare comeback concert where the words “we’re gonna do a new one” weren’t bad news.

David Byrne at Rose Music Center at the Heights, Huber Heights, Ohio, Aug. 11: Whether David Byrne is a simpleton masquerading as a genius, or - more likely - an intellectual hiding behind inane lyrics, the former Talking Heads frontman is nevertheless quite impossible to figure out even after 40 years of pouring himself out with his music. And Byrne is perhaps the only musician who can sing about donkey dicks (“Every Day is a Miracle”) and “Toe Jam” and somehow not come off as a cretinous moron.

Taj Mahal (5) Trio at Thirty One West, Newark, Ohio, Sept. 22: Playing a resonator guitar and with his solidly in-the-pocket rhythm section - the Taj Mahal Trio, ladies and gentlemen - right with him, Mahal got things going with a double greeting of sorts, playing rock-infused versions of "Good Morning Little Schoolgirl" and "Good Morning Miss Brown" back to back. These set the tone for an uproarious evening of song in which Mahal played the blues on his banjo and hollow-bodied electric guitar, played reggae on his ukulele, played folk on his resonator, played boogie-woogie on his piano and played rock 'n' roll on his acoustic guitar.

James Taylor (12) & His All-Star Band with Bonnie Raitt (2) at Schottenstein Center, Columbus, Ohio, June 30: It’s not only Taylor’s catalog, but his presentation, that keeps fans coming back decade after decade. Not only does he switch up songs from tour to tour, he also tinkers with arrangements to keep things fresh. Raitt’s show would’ve been disappointing as a stand-alone concert. But as an entree to Taylor’s portion, it fit nicely.

Toubab Krewe (2) at Thirty One West, Newark, Ohio, Nov. 26: The five-man rhythm section known as Toubab Krewe took concertgoers on an aural journey that lifted off from Newark and went 'round the world during a stupendous, all-instrumental concert inside Thirty One West. It takes serious chops and exceptional song craft to hold an audience's attention for two solid hours while never singing a word. Toubab Krewe have both and both were in full flight Nov. 26 in Newark.

Dead & Company (7) at Blossom Music Center, Cuyahoga Falls, Ohio, June 20: If Dead & Company wanted to prove something with their 100th show, they did. They proved that they are finally & truly a band - a band capable of putting together complete, knockout shows, rather than throwing a few solid punches surrounded by the musical equivalent of rope-a-dope.

Alison Krauss (4) at Fraze Pavilion, Kettering, Ohio, June 15: If the term Americana means anything, Alison Krauss is defining it on her solo tour in support of Windy City, on which she and her seven-piece band touch on virtually every type of music a group could possibly cram in to 90 minutes of stage time. Throughout the evening, Krauss accentuated the music with clipped chords and short runs on her fiddle. Though she was clearly the star, she happily allowed her bandmates to shine just as brightly as she did and seemed genuinely flattered to have each of them along for the ride.

Marty Stuart & His Fabulous Superlatives at Memorial Hall OTR, Cincinnati, Ohio, March 30: Stuart and the Fab Supers were terrific. Ostensibly a country band, they’re equally adept at playing rock ‘n’ roll, rockabilly, surf music, honky tonk, folk and bluegrass and did all that and more exceedingly well for a near-sell-out crowd that was as energized as the music itself.

Steep Canyon Rangers (7) at Midland Theatre, Newark, Ohio, Feb. 2: The Rangers spent two generous hours running through tracks new and old in a concert that ended with an enthusiastic standing ovation that caused guitarist Woody Platt to suggest we all follow them to the next gig in Chicago.

The Avett Brothers (2) at Fraze Pavilion, Kettering, Ohio, Aug. 14: The Avetts made Sound Bites cry as band donned at least 10 musical guises over the course of its staggering, two-hour, 10-minute show. From the first note in daylight at 8 p.m. sharp to the final bows in darkness, shortly after 10, the audience was on its collective feet, singing along to nearly every word, as the band held them rapt with its eclectic mix of county, folk, classical, rock and even a bit of prog that featured cello solos, bowed bass, rhythm banjo, piano-cello duets, screeching guitars and lengthy pieces that featured piano and organ a la the Band.

Larry Campbell & Teresa Williams (3) at Woodlands Tavern, Columbus, Ohio, Feb. 28: The couple set the standard early, opening with the Carter Family’s “You’ve Got to Righten that Wrong” before moving into their own “Surrender to Love.” Historical and contemporary. Universal and personal. It was a pattern that would continue all evening as Campbell on guitar, mandolin and fiddle, laid down a bed for the pair’s luxurious harmonies and Williams’ occasional rhythm guitar and shakers and made Sound Bites wonder yet again why Larry Campbell & Teresa Williams are playing bars to scores of fans instead of playing arenas to thousands.

Phil Lesh & Friends (14), Hawaii Theatre, Honolulu, Hawaii, Dec, 31, 2017: This show counts because one-third of it took place on Jan. 1, 2018, and because it was the best Dead-related concert Mr. and Mrs. Sound Bites had seen in ages as Lesh covered not only his former band, but Funkadelic, the Band, Velvet Underground and others.

Los Lobos (17) at Rose Music Center at the Heights, Huber Heights, Ohio, Aug. 7: Los Lobos are so hot, they can parlay a short-handed opening set into a standing ovation from a half-full house of George Thorogood partisans, who found themselves cheering the band from East L.A. as if they were the second coming of the Destroyers.

Richie Furay at Natalie’s Coal Fired Pizza and Live Music, Worthington, Ohio, Aug. 12: Richie Furay - best known as the Buffalo Springfield vocalist/guitarist not named Stephen Stills or Neil Young - plumbed the Springfield, Poco and Souther-Hillman-Furay Band songbooks during an acoustic set that followed an afternoon show earlier in the day. Daughter Jesse Lynch joined Dad on vocals and tambourine on all but the opening salvo of Poco’s “Pickin’ up the Pieces” and Springfield’s “Sad Memory.” At 74, Furay looks and sounds 20 years younger with a full head of salt-and-pepper hair, a life of clean living on his face and a voice that still shows why producers tapped him to sing Young’s songs with Springfield.

Todd Rundgren’s (37) Utopia (3) at Taft Theatre, Cincinnati, Ohio, May 10: Just as Utopia was essentially two bands, this was essentially two shows. Billed as Todd Rundgren’s Utopia, but featuring a four-piece reminiscent of the group that emerged after Rundgren’s proggy big band dissolved, the quartet of Rundgren, bassist/guitarist Kasim Sulton, drummer Willie Wilcox and last-minute replacement keyboardist Gil Assayas (who stepped in for the ailing Ralph Schuckett, who stepped in for the ailing Roger Powell), powered through a nostalgic - material ranged from 1972 to 1985 - 130-minute concert that served as a musical way-back machine for the Utopians in the two-thirds filled house. The arc of the band’s diverse songbook was on full display and as amazing as ever.

Todd Snider (10) at Stuart’s Opera House, Nelsonville, Ohio, June 22: An 80-minute, solo-acoustic performance that was both musically and comedically pleasing, as Snider combined his insightful numbers - and a few choice covers - with split-your-sides-open stories that often appeared mid-song but somehow didn’t interrupt the flow.

Elizabeth Cook (3) at Thirty One West, Newark, Ohio, May 16: Over the 80-minute solo set, Cook - who popped cough drops because of a cold but sounded healthy - mostly eschewed heartrending numbers like “I’m Not Lisa” and instead sung of an ex-husband who preferred beer cans to her can on “Yes to Booty;” the alcohol-fueled atmosphere she grew up around on “Stanley By God Terry;” recovery on “Methadone Blues;” and resilience on “Sometimes It Takes Balls to be a Woman.”

Cheryl Wheeler at King Arts Complex, Columbus, Ohio, March 24: Cheryl Wheeler was at turns funny, tender and socially conscious - but mostly funny - always folksy and 100-percent entertaining. We laughed - so hard we cried. And we looked forward to the next Cheryl Wheeler concert and the opportunity to hear the things we missed while doubled over in hysterics.

Los Lobos (16), Memorial Hall OTR, Cincinnati, Ohio, Jan. 25: Missing bassist Conrad Lozano, who was replaced, and multi-instrumentalist Steve Berlin, who was not, Los Lobos played an aggressive, one-set show that immediately erased any disappointment the absences might have caused.

Bettye LaVette at Jorma Kaukonen's Fur Peace Ranch, Pomeroy, Ohio, Oct. 13: Bettye LaVette was backed by guitar, bass, drums and keys/piano as she explored 12 back pages from all eras of Bob Dylan's songbook, from protest anthems to Christian declarations of faith, from well-known numbers to obscurities written between the 1960s and the 21st century. Indeed, the only person who might have rearranged these songs more radically than LaVette is Dylan himself.

Jorma Kaukonen (3) At Natalie’s Coal Fired Pizza & Live Music, Worthington, Ohio, June 13 (Early Show): There’s something refreshing about the way Jorma Kaukonen refuses to cash in on his legacy as a founder of the famed San Francisco sound with the Airplane. And as he played and sang his grizzled blues like a man walking the Mississippi Delta in the first part of the 20th century, it was again clear that Kaukonen chose the right path.

A-

Elton John (3) at Schottenstein Center, Columbus, Ohio, Nov. 2: If Elton John is really going to quit touring when his current trek ends - in 2021 - he’s going out in top form. From the first, teasing note of “Bennie and the Jets,” to the final, lingering sounds of “Goodbye Yellow Brick Road,” the musicians tinkered with arrangements just enough to keep things interesting for people who know these songs as well as they know anything. And if this is really farewell - and if "Yellow Brick Road" is really the last song 18,000 Columbus residents will ever hear John play live - it's a fond one.

Tedeschi Trucks Band (9) at Palace Theatre, Columbus, Ohio, Nov. 9: The 12-piece band begun its "An Evening With" show just after 8 p.m. with a 55-minute opening set that set the table for what came later. Singer Mike Mattison wailed the blues and crooned jazz when he joined Susan Tedeschi on incendiary renditions of "Key to the Highway" and "Right on Time," the front woman got introspective on Bob Dylan's "Going, Going, Gone" and the group wound up powering through yet another spell-binding concert of originals and covers that spanned the past 100 years of music and its myriad styles.

Todd Rundgren (38) at Express Live!, Columbus, Ohio, Sept. 12: Always unpredictable, Todd Rundgren is even more so when he tours as Unpredictable. On these occasions, he and his long-time band - guitarist Jesse Gress; former Tubes drummer Prairie Prince; Utopia bassist Kasim Sulton; and keyboardist Greg Hawkes of the Cars - work off a list of several dozen original and cover songs and play the ones that strike Rundgren's fancy on that particular evening. And on this night, the result was a wildly diverse, two-hour set of songs that bounced around nearly as much as Rundgren’s career itself.

Bruce Hornsby (9) & the Noisemakers at Columbus Commons, Columbus, Ohio, Aug. 24: Hornsby and his current band channeled the pianist's former band, the Grateful Dead, and their taking-the-music-for-a-walk ethos. Stretching it out is a way of life for Hornsby & Noisemakers, who played just 16 songs in 130 minutes.

Roger Daltrey Performs the Who’s Tommy at Fraze Pavilion, Kettering, Ohio, July 2: On a stage packed full of musicians, Daltrey, the Dayton Philharmonic Orchestra and members of the Who’s touring band played Tommy front to back. And they played the shit out of it. The Philharmonic was a fully integrated part of the show, kicking off the concert with “Overture” as it’s always been meant to be heard; turning “Tommy Can You Hear Me” into a whimsical pops-concert moment; adding welcome flourishes to “Sally Simpson;” and filling “We’re Not Gonna Take It” with majesty.

Peter Rowan’s (2) Twang an’ Groove at Jorma Kaukonen’s Fur Peace Ranch, Pomeroy, Ohio, June 16: Once one of Bill Monroe’s Bluegrass Boys, a co-founder of Old & In the Way and author of classics including “Midnight Moonlight” and New Riders of the Purple Sage’s signature song, “Panama Red,” both of which were played toward the tail end of Set Two, Peter Rowan has been a part of some of bluegrass’ most-important 20th-century moments. He’ll be 76 on the Fourth of July, but his hands are still supple, his voice still able to climb to high-and-lonesome heights with his yodel intact, as his version of Jimmie Rodgers’ “Blue Yodel No. 3” demonstrated.

Dead & Company (6) at Riverbend Music Center, Cincinnati, Ohio, June 4, 2018: Anyone looking to understand why Dead Heads keep going back to see former Grateful Dead members year after year, decade after decade, needn’t look any farther than Dead & Company’s June 4 performance in Cincinnati. It was - by far, and until June 20 - the best of the half-dozen Dead & Company concerts Sound Bites has attended since the group came together in 2015.

Steve Kimock (3) & Friends at Ardmore Music Hall, Ardmore, Pa., Nov. 23: “Were gonna sort of front-porch our way in to this,” Steve Kimock said as he and his Friends took the stage and cooked up an ethereal, post-Thanksgiving stew that slowly bubbled into the one-off band’s - which came together for a special Black Friday performance in the City of Brotherly Love - opening number, KIMOCK’s “Careless Love.” It was a show that satisfied like a second helping of turkey.

David Crosby & Friends (2) at Kent Stage, Kent Ohio, Nov. 28: David Crosby, Michael League, Becca Stevens and Michelle Willis came into Kent and over the course of an hour-and-40-minute performance proved themselves a top-tier acoustic/harmony group that, with the right setlist, could be a salve for those still mourning the loss of Crosby, Stills and Nash. But with only a few exceptions - excellent exceptions but too few nonetheless - the quartet stuck with 21st-century material, resulting in a concert that consisted of near-perfect execution of fair to very good songs.

Steve Earle (3) & the Dukes (2) at Newport Music Hall, Columbus, Ohio, June 10: Steve Earle is like an outlaw version of Bruce Springsteen, singing everyman songs with a left-wing political bent that’s sometimes so subtle, people will miss it if they’re not playing close attention. Also like Springsteen, Earle finds himself in the midst of a late-career renaissance, as a triad of fire-breathing tracks from 2017’s So You Wannabe an Outlaw were among the highlights of a career-spanning set that opened with a full performance of 1988’s Copperhead Road.

Hubby Jenkins at Jorma Kaukonen's Fur Peace Ranch, Pomeroy, Ohio, Oct. 20: This was a fascinating concert - musically, spiritually and intellectually. Prior to taking his audience to church in a gospel-heavy second set, Hubby Jenkins took them to school, using his brief, 45-minute first set to educate concertgoers not only about the African origins of the banjo he was playing but the evolution of African-American culture and stereotypes via slavery, the Black Codes and Jim Crow and the minstrel tradition.

An Acoustic Evening with Lyle Lovett (3) & Shawn Colvin (2) at Templeton-Blackburn Alumni Memorial Auditorium, Athens, Ohio, March 21: It was one-third Lyle Lovett, one-third Shawn Colvin and one-third the Lovett-Colvin comedy hour. Together, the three-thirds equaled an evening of well-rounded entertainment.

12/27/18

[moonwalkertrance]

In a remarkable, televised 55-minute meeting with about two dozen Democratic and Republican lawmakers earlier this month, President Trump twice proclaimed that any immigration deal would need to be “a bill of love” — setting an optimistic tone for averting a government shutdown with a bipartisan solution.  

“It’s like the wedding where someone actually stands up and objects to the wedding,” the lawmaker said. “It was that moment.”

That meeting nearly two weeks ago, and the president’s ambivalence, marked the beginning of yet another period of Trump-fueled tumult that helped push the federal government into a shutdown at midnight Friday. Pinging from one upheaval to the next — while clearly not understanding the policy nuances of the negotiation — Trump clashed at different times with Democrats and members of his own party, who grew increasingly exasperated with the president even as they sought to cast blame upon the other side.

“I’m looking for something that President Trump supports,” Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell (R-Ky.) said in public frustration at one point late in the negotiations. “And he’s not yet indicated what measure he’s willing to sign.”

Trump is a self-proclaimed dealmaker who has struggled to close critical deals as president — an unreliable negotiator who seems to promise one thing only to renege days, or even hours, later. He boasts of being “flexible” and has few core ideological convictions, yet often seems torn between his desire for a bipartisan “win” and the pull of the nationalist populism he ran on. In politics, he resembles at times an amateur jazz musician — moody and improvisational, but without the technical chops to hold a piece together.

The early weeks of 2018 have felt eerily similar to those of 2017, as upheaval has consumed the president’s agenda and message — including the shutdown battle, a tell-all book chronicling a president at sea and news of a payout before the 2016 election to a porn star alleging an affair with Trump.

“Negotiating with President Trump is like negotiating with Jell-O,” Minority Leader Charles E. Schumer (D-N.Y.) complained on the Senate floor Saturday, some 12 hours into the shutdown. “It’s next to impossible.”

This account of Trump’s divisive role in shutdown negotiations is based on interviews with more than a dozen lawmakers, White House advisers, government aides and Trump confidants, most of whom requested anonymity to discuss private negotiations.

The talks seemed to begin with promise. Trump loved the positive press he received from the Cabinet Room meeting-turned-reality-show on Jan. 9. He hoped to be the bipartisan dealmaker who could both keep the government open and provide legislative protections for “dreamers,” the nearly 690,000 young immigrants facing deportation after Trump announced an end to Barack Obama’s Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals (DACA) program, according to an outside adviser.

“The construct that always works for the president is saying, ‘Bush couldn’t get it done, Obama couldn’t get it done, but I can get it done,’ ” said Jason Miller, a former Trump campaign adviser. “That is his sweet spot.”

Two days into the negotiations, on Jan. 11, Trump the negotiator seemed to signal he was ready to deal — inviting Sens. Richard J. Durbin (D-Ill.) and Lindsey O. Graham (R-S.C.) to the White House to present their ideas for a compromise to stave off a shutdown.

But when Durbin and Graham arrived, they found an angry president, surrounded by hawkish immigration opponents and no longer amenable to the deal he’d praised in phone calls just hours earlier. At one point, Trump dismissed immigrants from African nations as coming from “shithole” countries and wondered why he had to allow them into the United States. He also said he would prefer people from countries such as Norway. The racially charged remarks reported by The Post thrust the president into yet another controversy of his own making and further complicated the shutdown talks.

Despite his vocal frustration, Graham continued to try to work with Trump, turning a televised Senate hearing with Nielsen the following week into a personal appeal to the president.

“So Tuesday, we had a president that I was proud to golf with, call my friend, who understood immigration had to be bipartisan, you had to have border security,” Graham said, referring to the initial Jan. 9 meeting and addressing Nielsen as if speaking directly to Trump. “But he also understood the idea that we had to do it with compassion.”

Graham flung his arms apart and concluded: “Now I don’t know where that guy went. I want him back.”

Trump, meanwhile, viewed Graham’s increasingly public criticisms as disloyal, according to one outside adviser.

Within Trump’s broader orbit of outside friends and confidants, however, there was growing concern that a shutdown would offer only “downside for the Republicans,” said another informal adviser who recently spoke with Trump.

This adviser added that some allies worried Trump was making poor political decisions and would struggle with the optics of a shutdown — including images of Trump and some of his advisers departing for the World Economic Forum in Davos, Switzerland, this coming week.

“That’s the Democrats’ ad: Your government closes, and Trump does a fundraiser at Mar-a-Lago and half the Cabinet goes to Davos,” the adviser said, referring to a scheduled event at Trump’s private Florida club Saturday night.

About a week out from a possible shutdown, Trump, too, was becoming frustrated. He groused that his staff had “failed him” by not reaching a better compromise on Capitol Hill. Morale among mid-level staff in the West Wing and Eisenhower Executive Office Building had plummeted, said two people familiar with the mood inside the White House.

As the shutdown loomed, the president grew more erratic. In the first week, he set off a 101-minute scramble after tweeting that Congress should vote against a foreign surveillance bill that his own White House was championing after watching a segment on “Fox and Friends.” This past Thursday, he did it again — taking to Twitter to suggest that the Children’s Health Insurance Program should not be included in any short-term spending bill. The stance directly contradicted the strategy of congressional Republicans, who were attempting to use CHIP to lure reluctant Democrats into supporting the plan.

A White House official called it “deja vu.”

The president, however, did not seem to fully grasp just how problematic his CHIP tweet was for his own party. Minutes after tweeting his criticism, Trump spoke by phone with McConnell, according to people familiar with the conversation. Trump praised the Republican bill, showed no reluctance when McConnell explained his plan to forge ahead with it and made no mention of his tweet, these people said. Trump also reassured House Speaker Paul D. Ryan (R-Wis.) that he liked the bill as it was.

The whole episode left congressional leaders puzzled: Why, they wondered, would the president tweet something negative about their legislation and rattle Republican lawmakers without ever raising concerns with them — and then act as if nothing had happened?

Sen. John Neely Kennedy (R-La.), speaking to reporters Friday night about his general frustrations with the process, said that “our country was founded by geniuses, but it’s being run by idiots.”

Meanwhile, Trump had also begun feuding with his chief of staff, John Kelly, who had helped impose discipline in the White House and shared many of Trump’s more conservative immigration views. But he and Nielsen had also been privately complaining about Trump’s campaign promise to build a wall on the southern border as ill-advised and “silly” since their early days in the administration, when Kelly was secretary of homeland security and Nielson was his senior adviser, according to a person familiar with their discussions.

Against that backdrop on Wednesday, Kelly told lawmakers in a private meeting that Trump had “evolved” on his view of the wall and that some of the more hard-line immigration policies Trump had pushed for during the campaign were “uninformed.” He repeated the general message in a television interview the same day.

The president was furious and pushed back against his chief of staff in a series of tweets the next day without directly naming him. “The Wall is the Wall,” he wrote. “It has never changed or evolved from the first day I conceived of it.”

The final 24 hours before the shutdown played out in a dizzying series of private huddles, frenzied phone calls and belligerent public pronouncements from both sides. Through it all, the president remained mercurial and unreadable even to those ostensibly negotiating with him.

Rep. Mark Meadows (R-N.C.), head of the conservative Freedom Caucus, said Trump called him Thursday to say he wanted the House to debate a more conservative immigration bill being proposed by Rep. Bob Goodlatte (R-Va.). But the president also said he did not want a shutdown. “He mentioned that several times,” Meadows said.

And Trump — who has previously told associates a shutdown might be good for him politically — complained that he would be blamed for any outcome. Shutdowns, he concluded, never help the people in charge.

He made an impromptu call Friday to Schumer and invited him to the White House, worrying congressional Republican leaders and aides who feared, in the words of one, that they were “about to get hosed.”

Many Republicans relished the spot Schumer was in — torn between liberals positioning for a 2020 presidential race and centrists facing reelection in 2018 in conservative states — and wanted to keep him under pressure.

Over cheeseburgers in the private dining room just off the Oval Office, Trump and Schumer discussed a comprehensive deal that would include an immigration component and keep the government open, along with disaster relief and budget caps. Schumer signaled he would be open to considering funding for Trump’s border wall and providing more defense spending, but he wanted the president to agree to a five-day measure to keep the government open to give both sides time to negotiate something longer term.

At one point, Schumer asked Trump to tweet in favor of a short-term bill to pressure others, officials said. The top Senate Democrat left the meeting buoyed, telling others that Trump seemed willing to strike a deal.

But as the day wore on, McConnell urged Kelly to not give in. Worried White House aides began making calls to their counterparts on the Hill, assuring them that Trump wouldn’t “give away the store,” in the words of one top Republican aide. The president summoned Meadows and Rep. Raúl R. Labrador (R-Idaho), another member of the Freedom Caucus, to the Oval Office for a long meeting, even as aides to Trump and Schumer discussed possible deals in writing.

Trump called Schumer a few hours later and said he understood there was a deal for a three-week measure to fund the government — the first that Schumer had heard of any such deal, according to one person familiar with the issue. At another point, Kelly called Schumer, telling the Democrat that his immigration proposal was too liberal and would not work for the administration.

Schumer wondered aloud to his members about what, exactly, had changed.

“What happened to the President Trump who asked us to come up with a deal and promised that he would take heat for it?” Schumer asked on the Senate floor shortly after the government shutdown had begun at midnight. “What happened to that president? He backed off at the first sign of pressure.”

But early Saturday morning, there was no Trump to be found. He was cloistered at the White House away from public view. Another promising deal — so tantalizingly close — had somehow slipped away.

[recentanimenews]

Irozuku Sekai no Ashita kara – 01 (First Impressions) – Modest Magic

That term up top, modest magic, is used by the protagonist Tsukishiro Hitomi to describe her practice of repeating the same thing over and over in her head—in this case, that she’ll be fine alone—until it eventually comes true. It’s a spell, but a very simple one, and yet, it’s done all the time and it often works.

However, it doesn’t seem to be working too well for Hitomi; ever since her best friends in life left town, the color in the world has slowly drained from her sight. Even on a dazzling night of fireworks, she sees everything as a flat, even monochrome.

Classmates invite her to join the festivities, but Hitomi has promised to meet her grandmother Kohaku at a certain spot. There, Kohaku presents her with a device that will enable Hitomi to travel back in time. Why exactly she’s having Hitomi doing this (and why Hitomi doesn’t seem to have a say in the matter) are not explained.

But perhaps, like in Kiki’s Delivery Service, this is just the right time for a mage of Hitomi’s age to do what her granny is having her do; an initiation of sorts. The time travel is depicted as a ride aboard a bus driving through a glittering blue either of countless floating images.

Continuing the whimsical transition, after paying the strange magical creature that’s driving the bus a fare of cookie sticks (or something?) Hitomi alights and falls straight through the ground—which is made of clouds—and lands hard in the bedroom of some random guy (or is it random that she lands there?)

What doesn’t seem to be random is when she is. Her grandmother’s spell was aimed at sending her back to when she herself was in high school, which was about sixty years ago…in other words, our present year 2018. Once there, granny promised, Hitomi would eventually learn why she had to go, ostensibly by learning from her granny’s own high school-age self.

When the guy comes home and enters his room, Hitomi hides under the bed, and when he steps out, she escapes out the window (the mechanical latch for which briefly flummoxes the girl from the voice-activated future). While escaping, a classmate of the boy to which room belongs captures video footage, presuming the boy (whom she identifies as Aoi) was up to no good.

Once she escapes, it’s confirmed: Hitomi has traveled to the past. The glittering, skyscraper-packed skyline of her time has been seriously downsized. It looks a bit different, but it feels the same.

Those same classmates who saw her go out Aoi’s window spot her looking lost and confused, but don’t judge, and happily lead her to her destination: the town magic shop. Whatever the condition of the shop sixty years in the future, in 2018 it’s bustling, with folk young and old availing themselves of the wares.

Hitomi is disappointed to learn that Kohaku, her grandmother, is currently away on a trip to England, with no certain return date. But Kohaku’s grandmother—i.e., Hitomi’s great-great grandmother—is there, and believes both Hitomi’s letter and her story.

She sets Hitomi up in the spare room in the attic of the house, which Hitomi learns is practically brand-new in 2018. She remembers the house and the room as being much older of course, and a cozy, comforting place where she was once read bedtime stories.

There’s a coziness to the show at this point that pervades her interactions with her relatives. It may be a different time, but it’s the same family, and they’re just as warm and kind back then as they are in 2078.

The next morning, Hitomi sets off to initiate a search for her azurite earring. Turns out it’s already been found—by Aoi’s nosy mother, who heard rumors of a girl jumping out his son’s window. She’s not mad at Shou (Aoi’s first name), but as a single mother would prefer her son’s girlfriend properly left out the front door. The thing is, Shou has no idea what she’s talking about…and he’s not lying!

Shou’s house is where Hitomi decides to start, but just as she approaches it he exits, and she decides to follow him instead. Keep in mind, her whole world remains stubbornly monochrome at this point…until she finds him sitting in a park, drawing on a tablet.

His drawing is the first thing in a long time she’s seen in color, and the shapes spill out and dance around, adding vivid color back to the entire world around her. It’s only temporary, however, and once she snaps out of it, Hitomi finds she was dancing and twirling in front of Shou like a total weirdo, and he asks her who the heck she is.

Thus begins P.A. Works’ latest original series, which proves to be a different kind of modest magic, as many their works tend to be. Irozuku isn’t overly flashy (despite having literal fireworks in its opening moments), but rather so far is a quiet and delicate, yet rich and sumptuous affair. Animation, character design, and soundtrack are all top-notch; even KyoAni-esque.

Personally, the moment she saw color on the tablet caused goosebump-inducing. That was also the moment I was sold on this show. Its solid technical bona fides are there, but Hitomi herself isn’t as immediately charming as, say, Shirahane Yukina (though Ishihara Kaori has the chops to remedy that). In any case, I’m definitely going forward with this.

By: magicalchurlsukui