#infinite oct

[magistralucis]

The Lantern Fair [Zultanekh/Djoseras snippet]

(More of the same fic I was writing in this post. After Szarekh imposes peace on their dynasties, the two princes roam a festival together and talk kindly side-by-side. The inspiration for this scene borrows from a flashback Trazyn has in The Infinite and the Divine, a wish-lantern ceremony to hail good health for the new year. Lantern fairs are a very familiar aesthetic to me (I'm Asian), and I wanted to draw something from that mood, that bright and breathless nowhere. More below cut.)

----------------------

It was like how he'd claimed, over the peace treaty they signed, that the next time they spoke it would be to greet Djoseras as dynast. In truth, that never came about, because they did meet again shortly afterwards. Szarekh's peace had far-reaching consequences. All the way over in Gheden, at a New Year's festival, did the two princes meet once more - where among the lords of a hundred dynasties, he recognized Djoseras right away.

"Hail to you, fair kynazh! Come alone, then, or with Oltyx in his splendid magnificence?"

It's a miracle what being in neutral territory can do, as haughty as the Nihilakh are and were. Helps to keep things objective.

Here is a catalogue of their last mortal meeting. Zultanekh is portly and handsome, Djoseras slim and graceful. Zultanekh wears rich warm fabrics, Djoseras cool and plain. Zultanekh is fond of the finer things in life, and would never say no to a sparkling goblet of sulphur-wine, while Djoseras is perfectly at home with a glass of tea. ("That's different," he'll protest when Zultanekh inquires if he does not drink with his brother, "Oltyx is my warrior's life.") In the company of others Zultanekh is a mirthful giant, a bold and booming and vivacious fire of a man; Djoseras, on the other hand, is a soft-spoken august creature, dark-haired and dark-eyed like a well kept secret.

Those eyes fix into his now. "Come together, and he is splendid indeed." Djoseras's voice is as stoic as ever, before it sharpens a little and his eyes flash with warning. "But I must tell you now: there's no room for two on the throne of Ithakas, no matter your fox-cunning."

That's his red hair again. The Crown Prince laughs. "Zultanekh gave you his word, did he not? He will not reckon with your brother. It is not Zultanekh you ought to worry about, but the admirers from your coreworlds, which he appears to be accumulating at a rapid pace."

He nods towards the square. He hardly needs to single out Oltyx among the crowd; ever since the younger scion came of age, he has been much wooed and courted, evidenced by the many lords surrounding his person. Standing closest to him is an exceptionally beautiful youth, turning heads by virtue of his existence, yet with eyes for Oltyx alone. ("The heir to the House of Aetis," Djoseras will explain later, betraying the slightest distaste in his tone, "on Sedh. His radiance is well known, though 'tis a pity to shine in a fringeworld.") The prince's sidelock has been cut and he is sturdier than ever, standing proud as a war hero ought to stand.

A fine sight, but a time come and gone for the older ones. "Already it does men our age no good, all this posturing and flattering. Be reassured that Zultanekh prefers a calmer soul. After all, is it not peacetime?"

It ought not to work, this level exchange of words. Peace does not become the necrontyr. Even so, Zultanekh is rewarded when the kynazh's expression softens in response. "Then it is not just you, since a dose of calm will do us all good," he muses, before - finally - a little smile breaks through. "I wish you luck in finding it, Crown Prince."

Not the thin blade-edged smiles of war. A genuine one, soft and slightly modest.

"Oh, I shan't struggle. Ithakas is a rose-garden even in winter."

He wants to see how far he can take this. If Djoseras was being his fastidious self he'd have pointed out that's the Nihilakh, with all the bright lights and vast nocturnal gardens surrounding them at present, but he has not. Zultanekh's eyes hood over with daring, and not a small amount of pleasure, as he steps forwards and offers his hand. "Since this is no place for our aged souls, Kynazh Djoseras, and the youth are content where they are - what say you to a walk?"

Djoseras glances down at it. Looks away, silver robes shimmering as he walks straight past him.

Stops, some eight steps ahead, before turning around.

"For once the Crown Prince would best lead." He says, and grins, sending love's long-lost shock though Zultanekh like a catastrophe.

For a moment he stares, heart stirred to breaking point, before collecting himself. Outwardly it's as if nothing happened. But for once, he feels he can do naught but follow.

Let it be known that Gheden that night was a phantasmagoria of wonders. Along every quarter incense burns sweet upon altars, and the whole place is lit up like the sun, though the winter be cold and dark. As the princes walk through the Lantern Fair they are shined upon like dialectics, turquoise like polar night against Zultanekh's red, the gold mellowed by Djoseras's silver. They spend long stretches of time in silence to take it all in, but spend just as long in deep conversations. Lost between a hundred dynasties, for this one night they might talk man to man - and there's a surprising amount of the world they see alike.

They see other things too. Other people. High up on a ziggurat they glimpse their host, the lead archivist of the Nihilakh, playing senet with the famed diviner of the Sautekh. Now that's a pair seething to strike like vipers one moment, yet are as thick as thieves the next, couched in some arcane understanding afforded by mutual experience. The young could stand to learn from them. They trade silent bows with the Overlord of Pyrrhia, who is alone and melancholy as always. Perhaps he will be so until the end of the world. Zultanekh points out on a balcony the nemesor from the East, the one who oversaw their peace treaty, fanning himself slowly as if he's seen it all. Djoseras expresses some misgivings about his commoner vargard, not in that he's present but that he is idle, nestled faithfully by his master's side. "That may well be the nemesor's wish," Zultanekh suggests gently after they've passed by, for it did not escape his notice how content the pair looked. The Crown Prince has a generous heart for enjoyment. "Does heka preclude rest, Djoseras? No, it does not. He has every right to command it as much as he would action, and to do so tonight makes sense."

Djoseras sighs, exasperated. "They are too leisurely out here in the East, it is unorthodox; it shall be their detriment." What follows, however, is no moral judgement on the nemesor nor the vargard, but a surprisingly vulnerable confession. "I have thought... much about this peace of Szarekh's, in the time we have been apart. Doubtless he wishes for us to be at ease. The necrontyr have ever wished for a purpose, and it would not do to carry our many grudges into it. Yet I do worry about where that leaves us, whether in his pursuit of his great purpose he will erase all of ours. Will we remain how we were after this war? Or will we be subsumed - dissolved - vanished into this calling of the Silent King?"

"Might we not change but remain ourselves?" Zultanekh does not give much thought to those things. He's had the privilege of not needing to, it's true - it's not the Ogdobekh who are concerned about their independence, nor how to define themselves - but for most part, it is simply due to his easygoing nature, confident in every course Anathrosis set them upon. "If not for Szarekh's treaties, would Zultanekh have believed that he would one day walk the same road as the prince of Ithakas? To agree on peace was itself a shift in our ways of thought. Who's to say we cannot permit more?"

"But I do not wish to be changed. I should like to remain myself, thank you very much."

It is clear his answer displeases the kynazh, although he does not have the will to pursue it strongly. After all, it will be millions of years before Zultanekh will understand Djoseras envied him this night, and lamented he could not be the same. Djoseras pauses, his cheeks flushed with rare emotion (Zultanekh admires the height and curve of them quietly), before he glances up at Zultanekh and all is calm again. "I apologize, Prince Zultanekh. It's just that we have been shaped by war, my brother and I. Knowing that we go from there to another war, I..."

A lock of hair has fallen across his forehead, disturbing the surface. Zultanekh longs to brush it back for him. "I do not know whether to call that change, meaningfully speaking."

"If it would reassure you, I can say this much: between the old gods and fair Djoseras, Zultanekh knows whom he would rather have as his enemy. Is it not meaningful that the nature of the combatants is different?" Zultanekh smiles then, and bids the kynazh stand closer; there's a group of Nihilakh lords passing by. It's not quite hand-holding, but Djoseras does not refuse him when Zultanekh touches over his shoulder, which feels like victory enough. "Like you, I was forged by war. I am curious to see what follows it. Say that Szarekh has his way, that the Old Ones are defeated - will we choose peace again, or disorder? I do not know, but I am eager to find out."

"Eager?"

"Yes. Perhaps some day, you will see the excitement in it too."

[k-i-l-l-e-r-b-e-e-6-9]

ℌ𝔲𝔪𝔞𝔫 𝔄𝔱𝔯𝔬𝔠𝔦𝔱𝔶 - 𝔒𝔟𝔰𝔠𝔢𝔫𝔢 𝔗𝔥𝔬𝔲𝔤𝔥𝔱𝔰 𝔒𝔣 𝔘𝔫𝔠𝔬𝔫𝔱𝔯𝔬𝔩𝔩𝔞𝔟𝔩𝔢 ℑ𝔫𝔰𝔞𝔫𝔦𝔱𝔶

[catdammitjackie]

omg... i forgot i hadn't cleared out my likes fully since 2021.. yeah there's no way i'm finishing tonight.. byeeeee

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Zuck’s gravity-defying metaverse money-pit

Tomorrow (Oct 31) at 10hPT, the Internet Archive is livestreaming my presentation on my recent book, The Internet Con.

Think of everything that makes you miserable as being caught between two opposing, irresistible, irrefutable truths:

"Anything that can't go on forever eventually stops" (Stein's Law)

"Markets can remain irrational longer than you can remain solvent" (Keynes)

Both of these are true, even though they seemingly contradict one another, and no one embodies that contradiction more perfectly than Mark Zuckerberg.

Take the metaverse.

Zuck's "pivot" to a virtual world he ripped off from a quarter-century old cyberpunk novel (reminder: cyberpunk is a warning, not a suggestion) was born of desperation.

Zuck fancies himself an avatar of the Emperor Augustus (that's why he has that haircut) (no, really). The emperors of antiquity are infamous for getting all weepy when they run out of lands to conquer.

But the lachrymosity of emperors has little causal relationship to the anxieties of tech monopolists! Alexander weeps because he just loves a good conquest and when he finishes conquering the world, he's terminally bored. That's not Zuck's problem at all. When Zuck attains monopoly status, his company develops an autoimmune disorder, as his vicious princelings run out of enemies to destroy and begin to knife one another.

Any monopoly faces these destructive microincentives, but tech is exceptional here because tech has the realtime flexibility and speed that brick-and-mortar businesses can never match:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/19/twiddler/

Sociopaths with tech monopolies are worse for the same reason that road-rage would be worse in a flying car: adding new capacity to indiscriminate self-destructive urges turns ordinary car crashes into low-level airburst warfare:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/28/microincentives-and-enshittification/

The flexibility of digital gives tech platforms so much latitude to break things in tiny increments. A tech platform is like a Jenga tower composed of infinitely divisible blocks. The Jenga players are the product managers and executives who have run out of the ability to grow by attracting new business thanks to their monopoly dominance. Now they compete with one another to increase the yield from their respective divisions by visiting pain upon the business customers and end users their platform connects. By tiny increments, they increase the product's cost, lower its reliability, and strip it of its utility and then charge rent to restore its functionality:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/24/cursed-bigness/#incentives-matter

This is the terminal stage of enshittification, the unstoppable autocannibalism of platforms as they seek to harvest all the value created by business customers and end users, leaving the absolute minimum of residual value needed to keep both stuck to the platform. This is a brittle equilibrium, because the difference between "I hate this service but I just can't stop using it," and "Get me the fuck out of here" is razor-thin.

All it takes is one tiny push – a whistleblower, a livestreamed mass-shooting, a Cambridge Analytica – and people bolt for the doors. This triggers the final stage: the "pivot," which is a tech euphemism for "panic."

For Zuck, the pivot got real after a disappointing earnings call triggered a mass sell-off of Facebook stock, history's worst one-day value incineration, which lopped a quarter of a trillion dollars off the company's market cap:

https://www.bloomberg.com/news/articles/2022-12-19/dramatic-stock-moves-of-2022-led-by-meta-dive-nordic-flash-crash

This was when the metaverse became the company's top priority.

Now, in my theory of enshittification, the step that follows the pivot is death: "Finally, they abuse those business customers to claw back all the value for themselves. Then, they die":

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/21/potemkin-ai/#hey-guys

Many people have asked me about the conspicuous non-death of Facebook! That's where I have to fall back on Stein's Law: "Anything that can't go on forever eventually stops." Facebook can't continue to annihilate value, alienate its workers, harm the public, hemorrhage money in support of a mediocrity's cherished folly forever. Can it?

Admittedly, it sure seems like it can. Facebook's metaverse pivot has thus far cost the company $46,500,000,000. That is: $46.5 billion. That's even more money than Uber torched, seeking to maintain the illusion that they will be able to create monopolies on both transport and the labor market for driving and recoup the billions the Saudi royal family let them use for the con:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/11/bezzlers-gonna-bezzle/#gryft

Don't worry: the Saudi royals are fine! They cashed out at the IPO, collecting a tidy profit at the expense of retail investors who assumed that a pile of shit as big as Uber must have a pony under it, somewhere:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/19/fake-it-till-you-make-it/#millennial-lifestyle-subsidy

Uber has doubled the cost of rides and halved drivers' wages, using illegal gimmicks like "algorithmic wage discrimination" to squeeze a little more juice out of the nearly exhausted husks of its workforce:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/12/algorithmic-wage-discrimination/#fishers-of-men

But Stein's Law hasn't been repealed. Drivers can't drive for sub-subsistence wages. Do that long enough and they'll literally starve: that's what "subsistence" means. We lost a decade of transit investment thanks to the Uber con, at the same time as traditional taxi drivers were forced out of the industry. Uber can't be profitable and still pay a living wage, and the fantasy of self-driving cars as a means of zeroing out the wage-bill altogether remains stubbornly, lethally unworkable:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/09/herbies-revenge/#100-billion-here-100-billion-there-pretty-soon-youre-talking-real-money

Which means we're at the point where you can get off a commuter train at a main station and find yourself stranded: no taxis at the taxi-queue, no busses due for an hour, and no Uber cars available unless you're willing to pay $95 for a ten-minute ride in a luxury SUV (why yes, this did happen to me recently, thanks for asking).

As more and more of us are exposed to these micro-crises, the political will to do something will increase. This can't go on forever. "Don't use commuter rail" isn't a viable option. "Walk three miles each way to the commuter rail station" isn't viable either. Neither is "Pay $95 for an Uber to get to the station." Something's gotta give…eventually.

"Eventually" is the key word here. Remember the corollary of Stein's Law: Keynes's maxim that "markets can remain irrational longer than you can remain solvent." Sure, anything that can't go on forever eventually stops, but that is no guarantee of a soft landing. You can't smoke two packs a day forever – but in the absence of smoking cessation, the eventual terminus of that habit is stage-four lung cancer. Keep hammering butts into your face and your last smoke will come out a crematorium chimney.

Zuckerberg hasn't merely blown a whole-ass Twitter on the metaverse with nothing to show for it – he's gotten richer while doing it! In the past year, his net worth increased by 130%, to $59 billion, thanks to an increase in Facebook's share-price, driven by investors who stubbornly remain irrational, keeping the Boy Emperor solvent long past any reasonable assessment of his performance.

What are these investors betting on? One possibility is that the rise and rise of Facebook's share-price represents a bet on technofeudalism. Since the Communist Manifesto, Marxists have been predicting the end of capitalism. That end seems to have come, but what followed capitalism wasn't socialism, it was the return of feudalism, an economic system where elites derive their wealth from rents, not profits:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/28/cloudalists/#cloud-capital

Profit is the income you get from investing in capital – machinery, systems, plant – and then harvesting the surplus value created by workers who mobilize this capital. Capitalism produces massive returns for its winners – in the Manifesto's first chapter, Marx and Engels just geek out about how productive and dynamic this system is.

But capitalism is also a Red Queen's Race, where the winners have to run faster and faster to stay in the same place. Capitalism drives competition, as other would-be winners pile into the sector, replicating the systems that the current winners are using and then improving on them. This is why the prophets of capitalist end-times like the FBI informant Peter Thiel say that "competition is for losers."

Capitalism's "profits" stand in contrast to the feudalist's "rents." Rents are income you get from owning something that other people need to produce things. The capitalist owns the coffee-shop, but the feudalist owns the building. When a rival capitalist opens a superior coffee-shop and drives the old shop out of business, the capitalist loses, but the rentier wins. Now they can rent out an empty storefront in the neighborhood everyone's coming to because of that hot new cafe.

Feudal and manorial lords also made their fortunes by extracting surplus value from workers, but these rentiers don't care about owning the means of production. The peasant in the field pays for their own agricultural equipment and livestock – control over the means of production is necessary for worker liberation, but it's not sufficient. The worker's co-op that owns its factory can still find the value it produces bled off by the landlord who owns the land the factory sits on.

The jury's still out on whether American workers really see themselves as "temporarily embarrassed millionaires," but America's capitalists have a palpable, undeniable loathing for capitalism. The dream of an American "entrepreneur" is *PassiveIncome: money you get from owning something capitalists and/or workers use to create value. Digital technology creates exciting new possibilities for rent-extraction: a taxi-operator had to buy and maintain a car that someone else drove. Uber can offload this hassle onto its drivers and rent out access to the chokepoint it created between drivers and riders, charging all the traffic can bear. This is feudalism in the cloud – or as Yannis Varoufakis calls it, cloudalism.

In Varoufakis's Technofeudalism, he describes Amazon as a feudal venture. From a distance, Amazon seems like a bustling marketplace of manic capitalism, with sellers avidly competing to offer more variety and lower costs in a million independently operated storefronts. But closer inspection reveals that Amazon is a planned economy, not a market.

Every one of those storefronts pays rent to the same landlord – Amazon – which determines which goods can be offered for sale. Amazon sets pricing for those goods, and extracts 45-51% of every dollar those sellers make. Amazon even controls which goods are shelved at eye-height when you enter the store, and which ones are banished to a dusty storeroom in a distant sub-basement you'll never find:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/06/14/flywheel-shyster-and-flywheel/#unfulfilled-by-amazon

Zuck's metaverse is pure-play technofeudalism, Amazon taken to the logical extreme. It's easy to get distracted by the part of Zuck's vision that will convert us all into legless, sexless, heavily surveilled low-resolution cartoon characters. But the real action isn't this digitization of our fleshy wants and needs. Zuck didn't spend $46.5B to torment us.

The cruelty isn't the point of the metaverse.

The point of the metaverse is to rent us out to capitalists.

Zuck doesn't know why we would use the metaverse, but he believes that if he can convince capitalists that we all want to live there, that they'll invest the capital to figure out how to serve us there, and then he can extract rent from those capitalists and start earning "passive income." It's an Uber for Cyberpunk Dystopias play.

Zuck's done this before. Remember the "pivot to video?" Zuckerberg wanted to compete with Youtube, but he didn't want to invest in paying for video production. Videos are really expensive to produce and the median video gets zero views. So Zuck used his captive audience to trick publishers into financing his move into video. He fraudulently told publishers that videos were blowing up on Facebook, outperforming boring old text by vast margins.

Publishers borrowed billions and raised billions more in the capital markets, financing the total conversion of newsrooms from text to video and precipitating a mass extinction event for print journalists. Zuck kept the con alive by giving away (fewer) billions to some of those publishers, falsely claiming that their videos were generating fortunes in advertising revenue. These lucky, credulous publishers became judas goats for their industry, luring others into the con, the same way that the "lucky" guy a carny lets win a giant teddy-bear at the start of the day lures others into putting down $5 to see if they can sink three balls in a rigged peach-basket.

But when we stubbornly refused to watch videos on Facebook, Zuck stopped spreading around these convincer payouts, and precipitated a second mass-extinction event in news media, as the new generation of video journalists joined their predecessors in Facebook-driven unemployment. Given this history, it's surreal to see publishers continue to insist that Facebook is stealing their content, when it is so clearly stealing their money:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2023/04/saving-news-big-tech

Metaverse is the new Pivot to Video. Zuckerberg is building a new world, which he will own, and he wants rent it to capitalists, who will compete with one another in just the way that Amazon's sellers compete. No matter who wins that competition, Zuckerberg will win. The prize for winning will be a rent increase, as Zuckerberg leverages the fact that your "successful" business relies on Facebook's metaverse to drain off all the value your workers have produced:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/18/metaverse-means-pivot-to-video/

This can't last forever, but how long until Zuck's reality distortion field runs out of battery? That's the $46.5B question.

The market can certainly remain irrational for a hell of a long time. But the market isn't the only force that regulates corporate outcomes. Regulators also regulate. Europe's GDPR is now seven years old, and it plainly outlaws Facebook's surveillance.

For nearly a decade, Facebook has pretended that this wasn't true, and they got away with it. Mostly, that's thanks to the fact that Ireland is a corporate crime-haven with a worse-than-useless Data Protection Commission:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/15/finnegans-snooze/#dirty-old-town

But anything that can't go on forever will eventually stop. Facebook has finally been dragged into EU federal jurisdiction, where it will face exterminatory fines if it continues to spy on Europeans:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/07/luck-of-the-irish/#schrems-revenge

In response, Facebook has rolled out a subscription version of its main service and its anticompetitive acquisition, Instagram:

https://about.fb.com/news/2023/10/facebook-and-instagram-to-offer-subscription-for-no-ads-in-europe/

For €10/month, Facebook will give you an ad-free experience across its service offerings (it's €13/month if you pay through an app, as Facebook recoups the 30% #AdTax rents that the feudal Google/Apple mobile duopoly extracts).

But this doesn't come close to satisfying Facebook's legal obligations under the GDPR. The GDPR doesn't ban ads, it bans spying. Facebook spies on every single internet user, all the time. The apps we use are built with "free" Facebook toolkits that extract rent from the capitalists who make them by harvesting our data as we use their apps. The web-pages we visit have embedded Facebook libraries that do the same thing for web publishers. Facebook buys our data from brokers. Facebook has so many ways of spying on us that there's almost certainly no way for Facebook to stop spying on you, without radically transforming it operation.

To comply with the GDPR, Facebook must halt surveillance advertising altogether. There's no way to square "spying on users" with "you can't surveil without explicit consent, and you can't punish people for refusing."

And of course, "not spying" isn't the same as "not advertising." "Contextual advertising" – where ads are placed based on the thing you're looking at, not who you are and what you do – is hundreds of years old. Context ads underperform surveillance ads by a slim margin – about 5% – but they're vastly more profitable for publishers. That's because surveillance ads are feudal, controlled by rentiers like Facebook, who own vast troves of the surveillance data needed to run these ads. Traditional ad intermediaries (agencies, brokers) took 10-15% out of the total advertising market. Ad-tech companies – the Google/Facebook duopoly – take 51% out of every ad dollar spent.

Eliminate surveillance ads and you torch their feudal estates. Facebook will always know more about someone reading a news article than the publisher – but the publisher will always know more about the article than Facebook does:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2023/05/save-news-we-must-ban-surveillance-advertising

There are rents under capitalism, just as there are profits under feudalism. The defining characteristic of a system is what happens when rents and profits come into conflict. If profits win – for example, if productive companies beat patent trolls, or if news publishers escape Facebook's rent-extraction – then the system is capitalist. If rents win – if investors continue to bet large on the metaverse as its losses pass $50 billion and head for the $100 billion mark – then the system is feudal.

Anything that can't go on forever will eventually stop. The question isn't whether the platforms will eventually become so enshittified that they die – the question is whether they will go down in an all-consuming fireball, or whether they'll go down in a controlled demolition that lets us evacuate the people they've trapped inside them first:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/09/let-the-platforms-burn/

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/30/markets-remaining-irrational/#steins-law

Image: Diego Delso (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Puente_de_las_cataratas_Victoria,_Zambia-Zimbabue,_2018-07-27,_DD_10.jpg

CC BY-SA 4.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/

[tiffycatblog]

plotting out the timeline of some of the horrible things that happen to Tim and my god the 2000's fucking had it out for him

Batman #618, Oct '03 - Jason comes back and slits Tim's throat

Robin #129, Oct '04 - Tim's friend Darla gets shot in front of him

Identity Crisis #6, Jan '05 - His dad dies

Batman #634, Jan '05 - Bruce tells him Stephanie's died

Teen Titans #29, Dec '05 - Jason beats him up again in Titans Tower

Infinite Crisis #6/7, May/June '06 - Conner dies

Batman #657, Nov '06 - Damian shows up and tries to kill him

Flash The Fastest Man Alive #13, Aug '07 - Bart dies

Final Crisis #6, Jan '09 - Batman dies

Red Robin #1, Aug '09 - Dick makes Damian Robin

Over the course of 6 years irl, and almost certainly way less time within the comics, Tim just absolutely gets his shit rocked and I'm positive theres stuff that I've left out or forgotten

[mariacallous]

(JTA) — Vivian Silver, a Canadian-Israeli peace activist who had been presumed kidnapped by Hamas, was declared dead after her remains were found at her home.

Her death was confirmed to JTA by multiple activists who said they were in touch with Silver’s family. Shifra Bronznick, a prominent Jewish social justice activist and lifelong friend of Silver’s, learned from Silver’s son that her remains were identified via her DNA. 

“Vivian was always persistent in the pursuit of peace and justice,” Bronznick told JTA on Monday evening. “She was a lifelong feminist, a committed activist, a fearless leader, an exceptional friend and a loving mother, wife and grandmother.”

Until Monday, Silver, 74, was assumed to be among the more than 200 people held captive by Hamas. She is now among the approximately 1,200 people murdered by the terror group in its Oct. 7 attack. Hamas terrorists killed more than 100 people at Silver’s home community, Kibbutz Be’eri, in one of the day’s worst massacres. 

She is one of several peace activists to have been killed or captured by Hamas on Oct. 7. Hayim Katsman, 32, who worked with Palestinians in the southern West Bank, was killed in his home in another community on the Gaza border. Yocheved Lifschitz, who helped ferry Palestinians from Gaza to medical care in Israel, was taken captive by Hamas and released in late October; her husband Oded, also involved in peace work, remains missing.

“A woman of infinite, deep, ongoing compassion, humanity and dedication to Arab-Jewish partnership and peace. Yes. Peace,” Anat Saragusti, an Israeli writer and feminist activist, wrote on social media in a post announcing Silver’s death. John Lyndon, the executive director of the Alliance for Middle East Peace, wrote that “she wanted to be free & at peace. Rest in power, Vivian.”

Silver’s sons, like the family members of many of those presumed hostage, lobbied extensively for her release, traveling the country and speaking to journalists around the world to call attention to her story. One son, Yonatan Zeigen, stood out for his calls for a ceasefire, an unusual position in Israel. He said he had learned from his mother to seek peace above all else.

“I would tell her, ‘Israel is dead. It’s hopeless,’ and she would say, ‘Peace could come tomorrow,’” Yonatan, a social worker in Tel Aviv told the Washington Post in a story published last week.

Chen Zeigen, her other son, is a doctoral student in archaeology at the University of Connecticut. She is also survived by four grandchildren.

On the day of the massacre, according to the Washington Post story, Silver took a call with a radio station where she pushed back against the idea that the Palestinians were “insane.” In messages with Yonatan, she expressed fear, frustration and love. “I’m with you,” he wrote to her. Her last message back to him was, “I feel you.”

Born in Winnipeg, Canada, she was the longtime director of  the Arab Jewish Center For Empowerment, Equality, and Cooperation, which organized projects joining communities in Israel, the Gaza Strip and the West Bank. In 2014, after the last major war between Israel and Hamas, she helped found Women Wage Peace, which promotes peace-building actions among women from all communities and across the political spectrum.

Speaking to Forbes in 2021 for a series on women who assist the vulnerable, Silver said she remembered feeling relief after the government built bomb shelters in Kibbutz Be’eri, which had been subject to rocket fire from Gaza for more than a decade.

“In 2009, the [Israeli] government only built shelters for communities that were four kilometers from the border. The community I live in is four and a half kilometers from the border, so we didn’t have shelters then,” Silver told Forbes. “Now we do, so psychologically we feel better, and we feel safer, and in fact, we are safer, we’re a lot safer than the people in Gaza.”

At a 2018 Women Wage Peace event on the Gaza border in 2018, she said that the Israeli government needed to change its approach in order to bring peace to the area. “Show the required courage that will bring changes of policy that will bring us quiet and security,” she said then, addressing the government. “Returning to the routine is not an option.”

Appealing to women across the border, she said, “Terror does not make anything better for anyone, you too deserve quiet and peace.”

Bronznick first met Silver in the early 1970s when both were involved in organizing a national conference of Jewish women. They remained friends and, for a period of six years, took an annual trip together — the last one was to Santa Fe, New Mexico. When Silver would stay at Bronznick’s home, she would prepare an Israeli breakfast, Bronznick recalled. 

“She would be passionately advocating for peace right now,” Bronznick said, referring to Israel’s war against Hamas, launched following the Oct. 7 attack. “She never gave up on bridge-building. She never gave up on making change. She never gave up on people… She always focused on people, children, what motivated them, what meant something to them.”

Before Oct. 7, Silver was due for another stay at Bronznick’s home in New York City in early December. On top of each of the days in Bronznick’s calendar, she had written “Viv.”

[rotzaprachim]

essential reading.

Opinion - There is a Jewish Hope for Palestinian Liberation. It Must Survive. - by Peter Beinart

 And perhaps one day, when it finally becomes hideously clear that Hamas cannot free Palestinians by murdering children and Israel cannot subdue Gaza, even by razing it to the ground, those communities may become the germ of a mass movement for freedom that astonishes the world, as Black and white South Africans did decades ago. I’m confident I won’t live to see it. No gambler would stake a bet on it happening at all. But what’s the alternative, for those of us whose lives and histories are bound up with that small, ghastly, sacred place?

"In 1988, bombs exploded at restaurants, sporting events and arcades in South Africa. In response, the African National Congress, then in its 77th year of a struggle to overthrow white domination, did something remarkable: It accepted responsibility and pledged to prevent its fighters from conducting such operations in the future. Its logic was straightforward: Targeting civilians is wrong. “Our morality as revolutionaries,” the A.N.C. declared, “dictates that we respect the values underpinning the humane conduct of war.”

Historically, geographically and morally, the A.N.C. of 1988 is a universe away from the Hamas of 2023, so remote that its behavior may seem irrelevant to the horror that Hamas unleashed last weekend in southern Israel. But South Africa offers a counter-history, a glimpse into how ethical resistance works and how it can succeed. It offers not an instruction manual, but a place — in this season of agony and rage — to look for hope.

There was nothing inevitable about the A.N.C.’s policy, which, as Jeff Goodwin, a New York University sociologist, has documented, helped ensure that there was “so little terrorism in the anti-apartheid struggle.” So why didn’t the A.N.C. carry out the kind of gruesome massacres for which Hamas has become notorious? There’s no simple answer. But two factors are clear. First, the A.N.C.’s strategy for fighting apartheid was intimately linked to its vision of what should follow apartheid. It refused to terrify and traumatize white South Africans because it wasn’t trying to force them out. It was trying to win them over to a vision of a multiracial democracy.

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Second, the A.N.C. found it easier to maintain moral discipline — which required it to focus on popular, nonviolent resistance and use force only against military installations and industrial sites — because its strategy was showing signs of success. By 1988, when the A.N.C. expressed regret for killing civilians, more than 150 American universities had at least partially divested from companies doing business in South Africa, and the United States Congress had imposed sanctions on the apartheid regime. The result was a virtuous cycle: Ethical resistance elicited international support, and international support made ethical resistance easier to sustain.

In Israel today, the dynamic is almost exactly the opposite. Hamas, whose authoritarian, theocratic ideology could not be farther from the A.N.C.’s, has committed an unspeakable horror that may damage the Palestinian cause for decades to come. Yet when Palestinians resist their oppression in ethical ways — by calling for boycotts, sanctions and the application of international law — the United States and its allies work to ensure that those efforts fail, which convinces many Palestinians that ethical resistance doesn’t work, which empowers Hamas.

The savagery Hamas committed on Oct. 7 has made reversing this monstrous cycle much harder. It could take a generation. It will require a shared commitment to ending Palestinian oppression in ways that respect the infinite value of every human life. It will require Palestinians to forcefully oppose attacks on Jewish civilians, and Jews to support Palestinians when they resist oppression in humane ways — even though Palestinians and Jews who take such steps will risk making themselves pariahs among their own people. It will require new forms of political community, in Israel-Palestine and around the world, built around a democratic vision powerful enough to transcend tribal divides. The effort may fail. It has failed before. The alternative is to descend, flags waving, into hell.

As Jewish Israelis bury their dead and recite psalms for their captured, few want to hear at this moment that millions of Palestinians lack basic human rights. Neither do many Jews abroad. I understand; this attack has awakened the deepest traumas of our badly scarred people. But the truth remains: The denial of Palestinian freedom sits at the heart of this conflict, which began long before Hamas’s creation in the late 1980s.

Most of Gaza’s residents aren’t from Gaza. They’re the descendants of refugees who were expelled, or fled in fear, during Israel’s war of independence in 1948. They live in what Human Rights Watch has called an “open-air prison,” penned in by an Israeli state that — with help from Egypt — rations everything that goes in and out, from tomatoes to the travel documents children need to get lifesaving medical care. From this overcrowded cage, which the United Nations in 2017 declared “unlivable” for many residents in part because it lacks electricity and clean water, many Palestinians in Gaza can see the land that their parents and grandparents called home, though most may never step foot in it.

Palestinians in the West Bank are only slightly better off. For more than half a century, they have lived without due process, free movement, citizenship or the ability to vote for the government that controls their lives. Defenseless against an Israeli government that includes ministers openly committed to ethnic cleansing, many are being driven from their homes in what Palestinians compare to the mass expulsions of 1948. Americans and Israeli Jews have the luxury of ignoring these harsh realities. Palestinians do not. Indeed, the commander of Hamas’s military wing cited attacks on Palestinians in the West Bank in justifying its barbarism last weekend.

Just as Black South Africans resisted apartheid, Palestinians resist a system that has earned the same designation from the world’s leading human rights organizations and Israel’s own. After last weekend, some critics may claim Palestinians are incapable of resisting in ethical ways. But that’s not true. In 1936, during the British mandate, Palestinians began what some consider the longest anticolonial general strike in history. In 1976, on what became known as Land Day, thousands of Palestinian citizens demonstrated against the Israeli government’s seizure of Palestinian property in Israel’s north. The first intifada against Israel’s occupation of the West Bank and the Gaza Strip, which lasted from roughly 1987 to 1993, consisted primarily of nonviolent boycotts of Israeli goods and a refusal to pay Israeli taxes. While some Palestinians threw stones and Molotov cocktails, armed attacks were rare, even in the face of an Israeli crackdown that took more than 1,000 Palestinian lives. In 2005, 173 Palestinian civil society organizations asked “people of conscience all over the world to impose broad boycotts and implement divestment initiatives against Israel similar to those applied to South Africa in the apartheid era.”

But in the United States, Palestinians received little credit for trying to follow Black South Africans’ largely nonviolent path. Instead, the Boycott, Divestment and Sanctions movement’s call for full equality, including the right of Palestinian refugees to return home, was widely deemed antisemitic because it conflicts with the idea of a state that favors Jews.

It is true that these nonviolent efforts sit uncomfortably alongside an ugly history of civilian massacres: the murder of 67 Jews in Hebron in 1929 by local Palestinians after Haj Amin al-Husseini, the grand mufti of Jerusalem, claimed Jews were about to seize Al Aqsa Mosque; the airplane hijackings of the late 1960s and 1970s carried out primarily by the leftist Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine and Yasir Arafat’s nationalist Fatah faction; the 1972 assassination of Israeli athletes in Munich carried out by the Palestinian organization Black September; and the suicide bombings of the 1990s and 2000s conducted by Hamas, Palestinian Islamic Jihad and Fatah’s Aqsa Martyrs Brigades, whose victims included a friend of mine in rabbinical school who I dreamed might one day officiate my wedding.

And yet it is essential to remember that some Palestinians courageously condemned this inhuman violence. In 1979, Edward Said, the famed literary critic, declared himself “horrified at the hijacking of planes, the suicidal missions, the assassinations, the bombing of schools and hotels.” Rashid Khalidi, a Palestinian American historian, called the suicide bombings of the second intifada “a war crime.” After Hamas’s attack last weekend, a member of the Israeli parliament, Ayman Odeh, among the most prominent leaders of Israel’s Palestinian citizens, declared, “It is absolutely forbidden to accept any attacks on the innocent.”Tragically, this vision of ethical resistance is being repudiated by some pro-Palestinian activists in the United States. In a statement last week, National Students for Justice in Palestine, which represents more than 250 Palestinian solidarity groups in North America, called Hamas’s attack “a historic win for the Palestinian resistance” that proves that “total return and liberation to Palestine is near” and added, “from Rhodesia to South Africa to Algeria, no settler colony can hold out forever.” One of its posters featured a paraglider that some Hamas fighters used to enter Israel.

The reference to Algeria reveals the delusion underlying this celebration of abduction and murder. After eight years of hideous war, Algeria’s settlers returned to France. But there will be no Algerian solution in Israel-Palestine. Israel is too militarily powerful to be conquered. More fundamentally, Israeli Jews have no home country to which to return. They are already home.

Mr. Said understood this. “The Israeli Jew is there in the Middle East,” he advised Palestinians in 1974, “and we cannot, I might even say that we must not, pretend that he will not be there tomorrow, after the struggle is over.” The Jewish “attachment to the land,” he added, “is something we must face.” Because Mr. Said saw Israeli Jews as something other than mere colonizers, he understood the futility — as well as the immorality — of trying to terrorize them into flight.

The failure of Hamas and its American defenders to recognize that will make it much harder for Jews and Palestinians to resist together in ethical ways. Before last Saturday, it was possible, with some imagination, to envision a joint Palestinian-Jewish struggle for the mutual liberation of both peoples. There were glimmers in the protest movement against Benjamin Netanyahu’s judicial overhaul, through which more and more Israeli Jews grasped a connection between the denial of rights to Palestinians and the assault on their own. And there were signs in the United States, where almost 40 percent of American Jews under the age of 40 told the Jewish Electoral Institute in 2021 that they considered Israel an apartheid state. More Jews in the United States, and even Israel, were beginning to see Palestinian liberation as a form of Jewish liberation as well.

That potential alliance has now been gravely damaged. There are many Jews willing to join Palestinians in a movement to end apartheid, even if doing so alienates us from our communities, and in some cases, our families. But we will not lock arms with people who cheer the kidnapping or murder of a Jewish child.

The struggle to persuade Palestinian activists to repudiate Hamas’s crimes, affirm a vision of mutual coexistence and continue the spirit of Mr. Said and the A.N.C. will be waged inside the Palestinian camp. The role of non-Palestinians is different: to help create the conditions that allow ethical resistance to succeed.

Palestinians are not fundamentally different from other people facing oppression: When moral resistance doesn’t work, they try something else. In 1972, the Northern Ireland Civil Rights Association, which was modeled on the civil rights movement in the United States, organized a march to oppose imprisonment without trial. Although some organizations, most notably the Provisional Irish Republican Army, had already embraced armed resistance, they grew stronger after British soldiers shot 26 unarmed civilians in what became known as Bloody Sunday. By the early 1980s, the Irish Republican Army had even detonated a bomb outside Harrods, the department store in London. As Kirssa Cline Ryckman, a political scientist, observed in a 2019 paper on why certain movements turn violent, a lack of progress in peaceful protest “can encourage the use of violence by convincing demonstrators that nonviolence will fail to achieve meaningful concessions.”

Israel, with America’s help, has done exactly that. It has repeatedly undermined Palestinians who sought to end Israel’s occupation through negotiations or nonviolent pressure. As part of the 1993 Oslo Accords, the Palestine Liberation Organization renounced violence and began working with Israel — albeit imperfectly — to prevent attacks on Israelis, something that revolutionary groups like the A.N.C. and the Irish Republican Army never did while their people remained under oppression. At first, as Khalil Shikaki, a Palestinian political scientist, has detailed, Palestinians supported cooperation with Israel because they thought it would deliver them a state. In early 1996, Palestinian support for the Oslo process reached 80 percent while support for violence against Israelis dropped to 20 percent.

The 1996 election of Benjamin Netanyahu, and the failure of Israel and its American patron to stop settlement growth, however, curdled Palestinian sentiment. Many Jewish Israelis believe that Ehud Barak, who succeeded Mr. Netanyahu, offered Palestinians a generous deal in 2000. Most Palestinians, however, saw Mr. Barak’s offer as falling far short of a fully sovereign state along the 1967 lines. And their disillusionment with a peace process that allowed Israel to entrench its hold over the territory on which they hoped to build their new country ushered in the violence of the second intifada. In Mr. Shikaki’s words, “The loss of confidence in the ability of the peace process to deliver a permanent agreement on acceptable terms had a dramatic impact on the level of Palestinian support for violence against Israelis.” As Palestinians abandoned hope, Hamas gained power.

After the brutal years of the second intifada, in which Hamas and other Palestinian armed groups repeatedly targeted Israeli civilians, President Mahmoud Abbas of the Palestinian Authority and Salam Fayyad, his prime minister from 2007 to 2013, worked to restore security cooperation and prevent anti-Israeli violence once again. Yet again, the strategy failed. The same Israeli leaders who applauded Mr. Fayyad undermined him in back rooms by funding the settlement growth that convinced Palestinians that security cooperation was bringing them only deepening occupation. Mr. Fayyad, in an interview with The Times’s Roger Cohen before he left office in 2013, admitted that because the “occupation regime is more entrenched,” Palestinians “question whether the P.A. can deliver. Meanwhile, Hamas gains recognition and is strengthened.”

As Palestinians lost faith that cooperation with Israel could end the occupation, many appealed to the world to hold Israel accountable for its violation of their rights. In response, both Democratic and Republican presidents have worked diligently to ensure that these nonviolent efforts fail. Since 1997, the United States has vetoed more than a dozen United Nations Security Council resolutions criticizing Israel for its actions in the West Bank and Gaza. This February, even as Israel’s far-right government was beginning a huge settlement expansion, the Biden administration reportedly wielded a veto threat to drastically dilute a Security Council resolution that would have condemned settlement growth.

Washington’s response to the International Criminal Court’s efforts to investigate potential Israeli war crimes is equally hostile. Despite lifting sanctions that the Trump administration imposed on I.C.C. officials investigating the United States’s conduct in Afghanistan, the Biden team remains adamantly opposed to any I.C.C. investigation into Israel’s actions.

The Boycott, Divestment and Sanctions movement, or B.D.S., which was founded in 2005 as a nonviolent alternative to the murderous second intifada and which speaks in the language of human rights and international law, has been similarly stymied, including by many of the same American politicians who celebrated the movement to boycott, divest from and sanction South Africa. Joe Biden, who is proud of his role in passing sanctions against South Africa, has condemned the B.D.S. movement, saying it “too often veers into antisemitism.” About 35 states — some of which once divested state funds from companies doing business in apartheid South Africa — have passed laws or issued executive orders punishing companies that boycott Israel. In many cases, those punishments apply even to businesses that boycott only Israeli settlements in the West Bank.

Palestinians have noticed. In the words of Dana El Kurd, a Palestinian American political scientist, “Palestinians have lost faith in the efficacy of nonviolent protest as well as the possible role of the international community.” Mohammed Deif, the commander of Hamas’s military wing, cited this disillusionment during last Saturday’s attack. “In light of the orgy of occupation and its denial of international laws and resolutions, and in light of American and Western support and international silence,” he declared, “we’ve decided to put an end to all this.”

Hamas — and no one else — bears the blame for its sadistic violence. But it can carry out such violence more easily, and with less backlash from ordinary Palestinians, because even many Palestinians who loathe the organization have lost hope that moral strategies can succeed. By treating Israel radically differently from how the United States treated South Africa in the 1980s, American politicians have made it harder for Palestinians to follow the A.N.C.’s ethical path. The Americans who claim to hate Hamas the most have empowered it again and again.

Israelis have just witnessed the greatest one-day loss of Jewish life since the Holocaust. For Palestinians, especially in Gaza, where Israel has now ordered more than one million people in the north to leave their homes, the days to come are likely to bring dislocation and death on a scale that should haunt the conscience of the world. Never in my lifetime have the prospects for justice and peace looked more remote. Yet the work of moral rebuilding must begin. In Israel-Palestine and around the world, pockets of Palestinians and Jews, aided by people of conscience of all backgrounds, must slowly construct networks of trust based on the simple principle that the lives of both Palestinians and Jews are precious and inextricably intertwined.

Israel desperately needs a genuinely Jewish and Palestinian political party, not because it can win power but because it can model a politics based on common liberal democratic values, not tribe. American Jews who rightly hate Hamas but know, in their bones, that Israel’s treatment of Palestinians is profoundly wrong must ask themselves a painful question: What nonviolent forms of Palestinian resistance to oppression will I support? More Palestinians and their supporters must express revulsion at the murder of innocent Israeli Jews and affirm that Palestinian liberation means living equally alongside them in safety and freedom.

From those reckonings, small, beloved communities can be born, and grow. And perhaps one day, when it finally becomes hideously clear that Hamas cannot free Palestinians by murdering children and Israel cannot subdue Gaza, even by razing it to the ground, those communities may become the germ of a mass movement for freedom that astonishes the world, as Black and white South Africans did decades ago. I’m confident I won’t live to see it. No gambler would stake a bet on it happening at all. But what’s the alternative, for those of us whose lives and histories are bound up with that small, ghastly, sacred place?

Like many others who care about the lives of both Palestinians and Jews, I have felt in recent days the greatest despair I have ever known. On Wednesday, a Palestinian friend sent me a note of consolation. She ended it with the words “only together.” Maybe that can be our motto.

[starlightomatic]

Why say "assigns blame to jews not Netanyahu's government"? why not highlight that who is to blame is not merely Netanyahu and his immediate lackeys but rather the existence of the israeli state itself as an extension of american and european imperialist interests in the region. Israel is brutality and cruelty and has been from day one and when we position it as merely the responsibility of one political clique we obscure the situation and do a dissersive to those who suffer under it.

The short answer is just don't believe in inevitability like this.

You can argue that once the Nakba happened, an ideology of domination and displacement was baked into Israel. And, maybe.

But, I don't think that all paths led here. Had Rabin not been assassinated, we might have had a two state solution, which while I understand is not what Palestinians actually want would have meant no brutal occupation of the West Bank. I'm not sure what it would have meant for Gaza, but I can't imagine that Hamas would have the hold it does.

And without Netanyahu's government having funded and supported Hamas they would not be what they are. Without Hamas Oct 7 would not have happened, and thus this response would not have happened. In a universe where Yahya Sinwar did not exist, or did not get caught and put in Israeli prison, or got into Israeli prison but was still there because Gilad Shalit was not captured and exchanged, Oct 7 would not have happened (I am not against the Shalit swap, it's just likely true that this wouldn't have happened if not for Sinwar).

Basically there are infinitely many paths, and a lot of decisions made by a lot of people, and reasons we're here now. But it wasn't inevitable.

But I realize I'm not responding to what you're actually saying because I fundamentally don't agree. I don't know that there's an "intrinsic" nature to Israel, or to anything, such that you're describing.

[batty-pham]

Daily BatPham Fic Rec

Oct 27

TWINcognito mode

By nerdpoe

Tags: twin shinanigans, Danny is a clone but he and Tim have decided to proceed as twins, Tim saw the situation presented to him and thought, how can I use this to fuck everyone up, and Danny replied, well Tim have you ever seen the parent trap?, Adopted Sibling Relationship, Twin AU, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Tim Drake is a Menace, Damian Wayne is a Little Shit, Jason Todd Has a Heart, Dick Grayson Tries to Be a Good Older Sibling, Cassandra Cain Being a Little Shit, Duke Thomas is So Done, Barbara Gordon Appreciation, Danny Fenton is a Professional Little Brother, I nerfed Danny

Wordcount:23,369

Summary: Danny, High King of the Infinite Realms, has been tricked into inhabiting the brainwashed and soulless clone of Tim Drake-Wayne. Tim Drake-Wayne, CEO of Wayne Industries and Red Robin, found a clone of himself that fought against Ra's brainwashing enough to request help. So Tim and Danny, upon both being cognizant enough to be on the same wavelength, looked at each other and decided hey; it's a free twin. Now how do we make that everyone elses problem?

Complete: yes

Amazing situational humor, amazing fic if you love how the batfam are great detectives but miss what is right underneath their noses.

[rippleberries]

I'm 99% sure this is the role that got Jeffrey Combs cast as Herbert West.

He frequently tells the story that a casting director approached him for the role after seeing him perform a similar character in a play. Based on the date of this article and the description and appearance of Jeffrey's character, this must be it.

LA Weekly [Los Angeles, CA], 13, September 1984, p. 114

[BEGIN IMAGE TRANSCRIPTION]

PICK OF THE WEEK

PVT. WARS

James McClure's play about three men in a veterans' hospital receives a near- flawless production under John C. Fletcher's impeccable direction. Though the play's three characters are survivors of Vietnam, this story has nothing to say about that war, or even about the nature of man and his military, other than the vague sanctioning of an individual's right to fight "private wars" of conscience. Rather, the emphasis is upon one of theater's most enduring situations, the heterosexual male triangle. Woodruff Gately is a hick grunt who now spends his time putting together a radio while two other patients vie for his attention and loyalty: Silvio, an Italian-American emasculated by shrapnel, and Natwick, a prissy rich kid hated by everyone but the affable Gately. Silvio's main form of recreation is flashing his nonexistent genitals to the nurses; Natwick's grasping for poetry leads him to a pathetic evening of failed suicide attempts. Both men make Gately's task infinitely more difficult by secretly stealing pieces from his radio, partly to assert their "superiority" over him, partly to insure his stay at the hospital.

Originally written as a one-act, McClure has expanded - and somewhat overextended - his play to two acts, using a lot of blackouts that fail to tighten the dramatic thread as they progress. It's a simple script with a pat metaphor (the radio as Gately's attempt to construct order in a fragmented world), but with enough. sincerity and concern for its characters to overcome its deficiencies. Gregory Grove is touching without being sappy as Gately, Tony Campisi wonderfully vulnerable as the blustering Silvio, and Jeffery Combs is perfectly brittle as the unpopular prig Natwick. Together the three reveal moments that are both refreshingly sad and funny in their depiction of men whose overriding need is to be heard by other men. Zephyr Theater, 7456 Melrose Ave., W. Hlywd.; Thurs.-Sun., 8 p.m.; thru Oct. 7. Call 851-3771. -Steven Mikulan

[END IMAGE TRANSCRIPTION]

[absolutebl]

This Week in BL - It's weird where I am right now, Okay?

Organized, in each category, by ones I'm enjoying most at the top. However, I've put quite a few on hold for travel reasons.

Oct 2023 Wk 4

Only a few screen shots for you this week, my hotel wifi is actually THAT bad.

Ongoing Series - Thai

My Dear Gangster Oppa (Thurs iQIYI) 1 of 8 - Classic unlucky in love failed crush on straight bestie = both v queer and v emo yaoi. I gotta say I like these actors way better in this than their previous series, and maybe that’s because Tew is more like Tul and I just like Meen better when he’s… erm… mean. All of which is to say, this is off to a wonderful start and I am about to lose my very sleep deprived little mind... ready for a ABL ecstasy rant?

I LOVE THIS SO MUCH I CAN'T EVEN.

"I play support because that way everyone is happy to see me show up," might be the single best moment of characterization BL has EVER seen.

Look here, in the grand cornucopia of BL universes this is my metaverse. It's pulp... but relatively high production. It has an established pair that I know I like... but who were given crap before. It's a tidy little script, it's not gonna run too long, and it's ALL the archetypes and tropes I love but rarely see. It's Japan's style otaku plus Korea's style gangster, Thailand's style friendship group, and it arrived out of NOWHERE. It's Korea's IP & money, Thailand's talent, and China's streaming service.

Do we know what the hell is going on?

No we do not.

Do we care when it's this much fun?

No we do not.

(In this I speak for everyone... no, EVERYONE.)

This show I why I got into BL.

Don't bother me with trifles. Me and My Dear Gangster Oppa are sailing off into the infinite pixilated sunset together, thank you very much.

Dangerous Romance (Fri YT) ep 11 of 12 - I managed to watch most of it on low rez before YT "discovered" I was in Asia and therefore could not be allowed to watch Asian shows. (AKA my VPN failed me.) But it seemed like a good ep.

My Universe (Sun iQIYI) Lucky Love ep 10 of 24 - I enjoyed this 2 part installment, it’s a bit of a sad sack recovery SAGA, but the acting is genuine, the couple believable, and the story felt particularly queer to me. 7/10 but close to an 8. It was really quite charming.

However: Next week looks not good on many levels - it's horror and I spotted guitar. Which is even more horrific. 

Absolute Zero (Thai Weds iQIYI) ep 5 of 12 - do temporal paradoxes exist in Thailand? That is the question. I gotta say Tor (Ongsa) is carrying this show and is doing a really great job, it's just the story itself doesn't resonate with me. Ugh it's so sad.

Is it, indeed, better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all?

We only on ep 5 and had a full story arc already, there is A LOT more to go.

Venus in the Sky (Tues iQIYI) 9 of 10 eps - the fact that in losing Sky Venus also lost his surrogate family explains his resulting bitterness a little bit more. I wish we had gotten this back story much earlier. Still stupid pulp made me cry, which of course means it's back in my good books. This story is slow as fuck, but I'm going on a rollercoaster with it.

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

Kiseki: Dear to Me (Taiwan Tues Viki & iQIYI) ep 11 of 13(?) - I love them, okay? All of them. This is a great sappy classic Taiwanese BL and it is my baby and you can’t take it away from me. MINE. 

You Are Mine (Taiwan Fri Viki) eps 8 of 10 - oh noes it got sad, I thought they would at least would have had drunken sex before the drama. Sigh. Still the kissing was good, as it should be from Taiwan.

If It’s With You AKA Even If I Fall In Love With You AKA Kimi to nara Koi wo Shite Mite mo’ (Japan Gaga) ep 4 of 5 - Amane is so brave. About being gay. Being out. Confessing. Its admirable if scary. Otherwise this ep was pretty slow. 

Bump Up Business (Korea Gaga) 3-4 of 8 - how do I feel about this show? Conflicted. Are OnlyOneOf doing a great job? Yes, actually. Am I enjoying it? No, not really. Is this anyone's fault? I don't think so.

The little linguistic negotiation was cute tho. And we seem to have gotten idols kissing in a BL both in the same group, so that glass ceiling dildo has finally been broken.

NineMill are unexpectedly good, also KB plays a great evil ex. Of the 3, I think only Nine is good enough to go into acting permanently (but he's not tall enough). Still, all hail OnlyOneOf... kings of the "gay concept." You boys make me v nervous but as couple-branding goes, you just out branded Thailand. Mad props baibies. Legit never thought I'd see the day.

Trust Korea to be in it to win it.

Mr Cinderella 2 (Vietnam Sat YT) ep 6 of ? - i pretty much just forgot to watch this.

It's Airing But...

I Feel You Linger in the Air (Fri grey) ep 8 of 12 - I will try to watch and do a series review in November but... not sure I will be able to. Fingers crossed.

Love in Translation (Sat iQIYI) ep 8fin - completed but I couldn't catch the last ep, my final thoughts in Nov.

Only Friends (Sat YT) ep 12 fin - completed, but see afore mentioned YT issues. I'll review it in Nov. I anticipate better internet soon.

What Did You Eat Yesterday Season 2 AKA Kinou Nani Tabeta? Season 2 (Japan Fri Gaga) ep 1 of 10 - I find this series more fun to binge, so I'm waiting until it completes its run.

I Cannot Reach You AKA I Can't Reach You AKA Kimi ni wa Todokanai (Japan Tues Netflix-Japan & ????) - in classic JBL fashion, I Cannot Reach You could not be reached. 

Can I Buy Your Love From A Vending Machine? AKA Sono Koi, Jihanki de Kaemasu ka? (Japan cinema release in-country only) - This one is a movie from Japan so in customary fashion who tf knows when (or if) it will get international distribution. Salaryman Ayumu Koiwai just can't tear his eyes away from the strong, muscular man as he checks on the stocks of the vending machine in his office.

One Room Angel (Japan Gaga) - adaptation of Harada’s manga of the same name (which I did not like) about a convenience store clerk who's stabbed, nearly dies, and returns home to find an angel waiting for him. With only 5 eps and a good chance this won’t end happy, I'm gonna wait and let you tell me how it goes.

Next Week Looks Like This

Upcoming October BL

10/31 SHADOW (Thai Gaga) 1 of 14 - this is a horror BL featuring ghosts and other paranormal elements in a high school setting. I'm not wild about Thai horror (or horror at all). It features Singto (who did paranormal BL He's Coming to Me) opposite Fluke N (who's done a couple horror's before). Also Fiat. Dan suffers from sleep paralysis, and in his dreams he sees a shadow that suffocates him. It gets worse when he transfers schools.

Upcoming November BL

11/3 Twins the series (Thailand ????) 1 of 10

11/17 Pit Babe (Thai) - Pavel my love!

11/19 Bake Me Please (OhmFluke but not, Thailand)

11/22 7 Days Before Valentine (Thailand) - horroresk

11/25 The Sign (Thailand) - horroresk

11/30 For Him the series (Thailand) - high heat

VIP Only (Taiwan) - may be delayed/canceled

Cooking Crush (OffGun, Thailand) - may be delayed, there some kinda gossip/rumor/shade happening at GMMTV

Wuju Bakery AKA Space Bakery (Korea) - this one may be DOA

2023 forthcoming BL master post (see comments, some are inaccurate, NOT KEPT UPDATED).

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENTS

My Universe - I just enjoyed the angle of this kiss shot.

Uh huh. Sure, honey. (Bump Up Buisness)

COULD THIS EXPLAIN THE SNUFFLE KISS?!!!!

(Last week)

[thefreakandthehair]

@eddiemonth prompt, oct 19th: Scifi/tech | Electric Eye - Judas Priest | Bewildered a/n: eddie pov, eddie & dustin friendship, dustin & steve friendship, and an excuse for me to weasel one of my favorite steve headcanons into something. un-betaed because I'm challenging myself to write these in under an hour. read on ao3 + masterpost | tumblr masterlist

After his release from the hospital and the unfortunate news that his trailer had been destroyed, Eddie goes from functionally homeless to having multiple spaces that feel like home. 

He’s been all but adopted by Claudia at this point, an offer extended immediately after hearing the version of the story everyone’s agreed upon— that the ground split open and Eddie nearly ate it pushing Dustin out of the way. It’s not quite the truth, but the theme is the same and anyone who’s willing to sacrifice themself for her son is welcome any time. 

Especially when he’s been called upon to help with Dustin’s science fair project. It’s out of Eddie’s league a bit, the actual science part, but he and his mechanical brain prove helpful. Kinda nice, actually, to use those hotwiring skills for good. 

Of course, it also helps that the government set him and Wayne up in a modest two bedroom house down the road, and that Eddie can practically smell Claudia's cooking when the windows are open. Like Garfield, he’s drawn to the Henderson house with the scent of a fresh lasagna. 

Bellies full and completed project sitting confidently on the kitchen table for tomorrow, they’re watching Star Wars movies in Dustin’s living room, one after another, and he feels just a touch like a traitor. Star Trek will always have his heart and Wayne can never know. 

“How’d you get into Star Wars anyways?” Eddie asks, sprawled across Dustin’s couch. 

“Can you believe Steve actually got me into them?” Dustin replies, curled up on the recliner. 

There’s an infinite number of ways a child might be introduced to the Star Wars franchise— a parent, a trailer before another movie, a carrier pigeon dropping a flier at their fucking feet— and they’re all more believable than Steve Harrington introducing Dustin Henderson to the sci-fi epic. 

“I’m sorry,” Eddie turns with wide eyes and a crooked grin to face Dustin. “What?”

“I know, right? It was uh, okay this is a little embarrassing.” Dustin cuts himself off, justifying some secret Eddie somehow hasn’t been told yet. 

He knows about the Mind Flayer and the Russians, and all the other Dungeons and Dragons lore that’d lived beneath his feet for years. What could possibly be left to make Dustin cringe like that? 

“Oh, do tell.” Eddie raises an eyebrow and gestures with an arm towards the expanse of space between them. “Floor is yours, young Bard. Spin the tale.”

Dustin rolls his eyes and throws popcorn at him. He tries to catch it in his mouth but he’s never been that coordinated. 

“It’s not really a tale. A few years ago, there was this school dance, the Snow Ball. I got all amped up, Steve helped with my hair, and then the night was a total fucking dud. Nancy danced with me which was like, super awesome of her, but I felt like shit after anyways.”

Eddie listens with rapt attention, pissed off that Dustin had such a relatable middle school experience and intrigued at this new sliver of Steve lore. Not that he cares. Obviously. Why would he? The idea of Steve helping Dustin get ready for the Snow Ball doesn’t conjure up words like adorable at all. 

He nods him on. 

“And uh, I called Steve the next day. He came over and we had pizza and he brought some of his favorite movies he thought I’d like. Star Wars had spaceships so obviously, easy choice. And here we are now with Return of the Jedi.” 

Okay, yep, that’s gonna be hard to tamp down the next time he sees Steve. Stomping his ill-advised crush into the ground beneath his Rebooks has been hard enough but now? Motherfucker. 

It’s also not lost on him that Dustin chose these movies today. Eddie feels like he’s stepping into some tradition that doesn’t belong to him, but he can’t squash the kid’s enthusiasm with his own insecurity. 

Instead, Eddie goes for the low hanging fruit.  

“Wow. Gotta tell you man, that’s maybe weirder than finding out about the monsters and shit. Steve’s favorite movie is Return of the Jedi?” 

Dustin snorts and laughs, toothless and free. Happiness isn’t new for Dustin, not anymore, but it’s still nice to see after all they’ve been through. 

“Well, that’s one of them. He always calls it ‘the ones with the teddy bears’, so people assume he means Return of the Jedi. But I know the truth. That dork loves Caravan of Courage.”

Eddie flips through his mental catalog of sci-fi movies and lands on a VHS cover: a couple of humans, a few Ewoks, and something that looks like a machine gun. If he remembers correctly, it has something of a cult following but wasn’t touted as a high point in the series. 

… And it’s Steve’s favorite. The one with the teddy bears. 

“Wait… what?!”

[k-i-l-l-e-r-b-e-e-6-9]

Human Atrocity  –Horrible Disfiguration

[charlidos]

I've always wondered if Viggo and Orlando ever did any interview together. Turns out they at least did one! Found in the Russian edition of Bravo from January 2004, an interview I think was conducted sometime around Oct-Nov 2003. Viggo, Orlando and Elijah were interviewed together.

New York, Regency Hotel on the prestigious Park Avenue. Elijah Wood appears first. We have to wait for the cute Orlando Bloom and the cool Viggo Mortensen. [The reporter chats with Elijah while waiting.] At this moment the door opens quietly and Viggo and Orlando enter. Viggo: Sorry! Orlando: Yes, please forgive us! We were chatting over lunch… BRAVO. No worries! We were just talking about the Internet! Orlando: Oh God! I can’t say anything here, I’ve never had a computer. BRAVO: How do you get fan mail then? O: What I love most is regular, handwritten letters. V: Me too. Most of all I like handwritten letters. Already from the handwriting one can learn something about the character of the sender. BRAVO: Elijah, you are very close to Sam in the film… Elijah: What??? Okay, now I can pull the skeleton out of the closet: we are gay (laughs). The relationship between Frodo and Sam is very important to the film because without Sam's help, Frodo would never have made it to Mount Doom. V: And without Aragorn, Frodo would have died in the first part! (Laughs.) O: And without Legolas it wouldn't be entertaining at all. Isn't it great how I killed a huge elephant in the third part, or what? BRAVO: Orlando, were you really allowed to keep Legolas' bow? O: Peter Jackson, the director, gave each of us a gift from the set. I received my quiver and a bow, but Legolas's real bow broke on the penultimate day of shooting so I have a completely different one! V: As befits a true King of Gondor, I have kept Aragorn's crown for myself. E: But what could be cooler than the “ring of all power” that I received?

[Translated with the help of google, so not very exact...]

Love, LOVE that V&O apparently were out eating lunch together, eating, chatting, losing track of time. Enjoying spending time together too much, having infinite things to talk about, staring deep into each other's eyes...

Also love that they have all these things in common. For one, this whole "hating the internet" and "refusing to have a phone" they both professed for many years. Instead they want to write very long letters (to each other). Probably written in the most beautiful style, and, for Viggo, including lots of art. While Orlando's are long, written quickly but full of sincere emotions and little hearts doodled everywhere.

These two have a lot more in common than you might think at first glance.

[annaraebananawriter]

(Request) I Bet You Were the Best Brother

It's been a while since I posted a oneshot, so I hope this 5k one manages to make up for that.

As I've mentioned before, been going through a bit of a writer's block that is finally going away. Some it still lingers, but it is infinitely better. Feels like I can breathe again. So, everyone reading this that struggles with writer's block at the moment--know that it will go away. You will be able to write again. It's not a matter of if, only when. You will be able to write again.

Anyway, I don't have any other major life updates for you, so I guess I'll let you start reading now. Happy reading! Let me know what you thought!!

Fandom: Undertale/UTMV

Characters: Dream and Nightmare (Who belong to Joku)

Warnings: A character losing their memory and swearing and I think that’s it. Let me know!

Summary: Ilike_cringe (Fri 14 Oct 2022): "here is a request :>. Could you make it that nightmare might have hit dream tooo hard in a fight that (bear with me ) Dream lost his memory ( if you could could you add more spice \^o^/)"

Word Count: 5395

~oOo~

Nightmare wanted there to be a note that the fight started off normal.

His gang showed up, causing some ruckus. He hung out in the background observing, soaking in the new misery like a sponge, keeping an eye out for the tell-tale sign that the Star Sanses had shown up. In today’s case, that ended up being an arrow flying at one of his boys, which barely got dodged, the blue glow disappearing as it left eyesight. Grinning, he had taken it as his cue to join in, grabbing Dream by the ankles as he notched another one, and throwing him across the space.

Not too hard, of course. He didn’t want his brother out of commission quite yet. That was always the fun part about the fight, seeing him defeated. It needs to be drawn out a bit, though, for it to be really satisfying.

Dream recovered from the toss quickly, though he was soaked head to toe—he had unintentionally tossed him into the river. Whoops. The annoyed look on his brother’s face made his grin widen even more. They quickly fell into their routine after that, trading blows and insults, slowly moving away from the others. Another toss had them entering the woods, which resulted in a lot of fallen trees, a clear indicator of where they’d gone.

A cliff came into view, with Dream’s back to it. Nightmare didn’t take much note of it at the time, too preoccupied—his brother had just gotten a pretty bad hit to the back of his skull, making him stumble. Pausing for a minute, he gave him some time to get his bearings back before attacking again, pushing him closer to the cliff edge.

So…technically, this whole thing could be considered his fault, but how was he supposed to know what would happen?

The cliff seemed perfectly safe in the normal dangerous way!

This means the fight was going great until the cliff crumbled under Dream’s feet, making him shriek, eyes widening, his bow dispersing as he pinwheeled backward. Nightmare froze, staring at the now absent spot with eyes equally as wide, tentacles raised to strike.

Then it went silent.

 “…shit,” he hissed, automatically turning around in case his brother teleported at the last second to safety. It wouldn’t be the first time, so it shouldn’t be the last time.

No one was there.

He waited.

Still no one.

Maybe Dream was just in shock, still picking himself up. Turning back, Nightmare stepped closer to the cliff, small rocks tumbling after the larger ones from his movements. If he leaned over, he could probably tell…ah, no. Nope, that was just a bunch of trees. His brother was probably under those trees. Probably just picking himself up.

He’ll return in no time.

Nightmare just had to wait.

So, he did.

For one minute. Then two. Then…honestly, he lost track of the minutes after that, glancing back and forth around the clearing, looking over his shoulder at the cliff like Dream would just suddenly appear, having climbed up for some stupid reason. Any minute now, the fight will be back on, continuing as usual…any minute now…

…any minute…

…any—

Okay, so.

Something was wrong.

Turning back to the cliff, he glared at the edge. It was its fault this was happening. Why did it decide to crumble now? Particularly when Dream was on it? Why?

Now his brother was somewhere below, dazed as hell, without the clear thinking necessary to teleport, or injured badly enough to be unconscious—and as soon as that thought popped into existence, he shoved it away, then took time to quell the rising panic in his soul.

No, no, that’s not possible. Dream’s far more durable than that. Sure, it’s a cliff, and cliff’s cause damage, even to immortal beings, but still. His brother could heal, so shouldn’t that work on himself, make him more…invulnerable, or something? Unless…he couldn’t actually heal himself and he’s just been assuming that he could this entire time…no, that couldn’t be possible. Nightmare’s pretty sure he’d remember that if it were the case.

So…what happened?

Maybe…maybe Dream was just staying down there for a while.

He’ll probably join again in a bit.

Yeah, that’s probably it. So, he should really go back and help his boys. Hey, maybe Dream’s already there! Maybe he went to his friends instead. Makes sense, makes sense…

He should go help his boys now, he’s been standing here too long.

And…he wasn’t moving.

Why wasn’t he moving?

Dream’s fine. He’s back at the main fight. It’s something that’s happened before. It should be something that happened here. It’s fine. He can go back. So…what kept him here, staring around like his brother would magically appear, a tight feeling in his chest that threatened to steal the air away from his non-existent lungs?

Maybe…maybe he should just go down there, check on Dream—

That was another thought pushed away. No, hell no. If he gave in to that though, if he went down there to check, now, after too much time has already passed for that to be considered just moving the fight along, that’d be…that’s cause his brother to hope. Hope that things could go back to the way things were before the apples. He can’t go through the painstaking steps needed to crush that hope, put off the last stubborn spark that remained until he was sure it wouldn’t create another flame. Not again.

Besides, he didn’t even care. Not that much. Sure, yeah, he cared somewhat, always would—that’s just naturally part of being a brother. But the majority of how much he cared was in the past, before everything was plucked off a tree in the form of a black apple and devoured. That care no longer exists, taken over by the need to win all these fights, making the scales tip in his direction.

It just…didn’t exist. He didn’t care.

(Some days, it was harder to convince himself of this fact than others.

This was one of them.)

He didn’t care, so he should so rejoin his boys, and get out of this AU.

This time, he teleported.

It was an easy win. Dream never came back.

When it came time to go home, Nightmare couldn’t stop his gaze from wandering away from his boys, who were celebrating as usual, over to the trees. In the direction of the cliff, even if he couldn’t see it from here.

The tight feeling in his chest squeezed and squeezed. His tentacles flicked nervously behind him. For some reason, he kept thinking that now was the moment his brother would appear, now was the moment he could stop all this silly, stupid worry, go back to being angry. And the longer he looked, the more that thought wavered and shook, gathering speed as it transformed into a tornado that threatened to consume all of his other priorities until he made sure Dream was okay. But the only way to do that was to go and check, and leaving now would just make the boys confused and worried, which he could not handle right now.

Besides, he was sure it was fine.

He got them all home before he could convince himself otherwise, before the urge to make sure was too overpowering. To make sure he was really distracted, he holed himself up in his office, pulling out some paperwork—which wasn’t even real paperwork, just a bunch of sudoku and word searches and other puzzles printed out to make it look like he was working on important stuff.

For the most part, it worked. Kept his mind too busy to think about what happened.

Then he got to one particular word search that—and he is not joking or exaggerating this part—had three words at the bottom for him to find, all in a row, that read: ‘Dream’, ‘injury’, and ‘concussion’. Isn’t that just the strangest collection of words you’ve ever seen? The surreal coincidence of the words made Nightmare stare down at the page for a minute, completely gobsmacked. Who the hell was writing these word searches, and why the fuck did they include these three specific words on the same one?

It was like a sign or something…

Sneering, Nightmare tore the word search up into tiny pieces, sitting back in his chair, spinning around and around. Trying very hard not to think about the three words. And how his brother never came back. And how the yelp he let out when he fell just fell silent and how he never bothered to check and—

And now he was thinking about it.

“Fuck.”

Growling to himself, he stopped spinning in his chair. Then, he promptly stood and teleported back to the AU.

Leaning over the cliff again, he teleported down. His brother wasn’t anywhere in the immediate proximity—though, why would he be? This was all just a waste of time—so he started walking around, ducking under some tree branches. When he fell, Dream would’ve had to have landed somewhere around here…though he still wasn’t sure why he was searching.

His brother was probably gone by now. His friends probably came to collect him.

Why did he think he’d find him here, lying on the ground as if nothing happened? As if he just decided to take an impromptu nap, in the snow and in wet clothes and…

Oh. Oh, shit.

That was actually Dream lying there in front of him.

Fuck.

Almost tripping over himself, Nightmare hurried over, falling to his knees beside his brother. His hands hovered in the air around him, unsure what to do. “Dream?” he called, hoping to wake him up. Nothing happened.

Dream didn’t move.

For a soul-stopping moment, Nightmare actually thought he might be dead. Panic swirled in his chest, choking him, until he remembered that if they were dead, their body would turn to dust. Presumably, anyway, since they had no real way of knowing that until they…y’know…actually died, but still. The thought allowed him to gather himself enough to Check his brother, make sure of it. It said he was fine, if missing a chunk of health.

Nightmare breathed out, hating how shaky it was. “Idiot, making me worry for nothing…” he muttered to himself, looking down at his brother, frowning. Shaking his shoulder, he raised his voice a bit, eager to wake him up, make sure he left to wherever, hopefully back to his friends, and get home himself before his boys wondered where he went off to. “Dream. Wake up.”

No response. Dream was still. Breathing—he double-checked, just to be sure—but still.

Frowning, he shook him again, rougher. Still nothing.

Even unconscious, his brother insisted on being annoying. Scowling, he sat back on his heels. “If you don’t wake up, I’m going to kick you.”

Nothing.

Welp. His hand was forced.

Standing, Nightmare kicked Dream in the side—not too hard, of course, he’s not a complete monster. Just enough that he woke up.

Which he did.

Finally.

Nightmare rolled his eye to himself, crossing his arms as he watched his brother groan, coming to. A hand half-raised to his head before stopping, eyes blinking open and squinting against the light. His eyelights were paler than normal, just a hair bigger, too. He could see the exact moment they focused in, his brother clocking that there’s someone standing above him, but Dream didn’t panic, didn’t seem to be anything more than confused.

Dream blinked again. “Hi.”

Nightmare raised a brow bone. Seriously? That’s it? He fought the urge to roll his eye again. “What are you still doing here?”

His brother seemed to get more confused. “What?”

Wondering if the fall knocked loose some brain cells, Nightmare scowled. “What do you mean, ‘what’? You know what. What are you still doing here? This is, like, the most uncomfortable spot to have a nap.” Without waiting for him to answer, he continued, waving a hand around. He couldn’t let the opportunity to mock him go by. “And why didn’t you rejoin the fight? I thought you had a duty to protect the positivity in the multiverse.”

“Um…” Dream blinked for a third time, squeezing his eyes shut tightly. He laughed, nervously, like a reflex, and when he opened his eyes again, they were fuzzy again. “Sorry, you went a bit fast for me there. Could you repeat that?”

Ugh. Now he was just being difficult.

“You’re so annoying.” Nightmare said, stepping away. “Just get up and get out of here.”

Looking up at him, the words seemed to take a few minutes to sink in. Then, nodding, Dream tried to stand, movements jerky, as if he was figuring out how to move them for the first time again. When he stood, he wobbled, tilting over a bit before righting himself.

Nightmare realized he had stepped forward, ready to catch him should he fall, and retreated, tucking his hands back into his arms.

Damnit. He was slipping. He had to get out here, fast.

“I’m alright.” Dream said, clearly noticing his misstep. He was smiling. Nightmare had to look away before the sight made him feel warm inside. “Just a bit dizzy.”

“Whatever,” Nightmare said in return, leaving it at that.

Still smiling, his brother shifted on his feet, looking down at his hands and clenching them into fists a couple of times. His gaze wandered back up to him, and then away, looking around them with a curious, still confused, look. It was almost like he was trying to figure out where he was, as if he wasn’t just in a fight here earlier.

He couldn’t have forgotten that fast, could he? And what was he still doing here?

Shouldn’t he be opening a portal by now?

“What are you waiting for?”

Snapping back to look at him, Dream didn’t seem to understand the question. “Huh?”

Waving a hand again, tentacles flicking behind him, Nightmare’s scowl deepened. Why the fuck was he acting so weird? “Open a portal already and go home. Your friends are probably worried sick by now.”

(He ignored the voice in his head that said he was starting to get worried, too.)

“Right, right.” Dream nodded, trying and failing to look like he knew what he was talking about. “A portal…see, um, I would do that…but, uh…” Looking around again, shifting some more, his smile turned sheepish. “Well, I don’t remember, exactly, how to do that.”

Nightmare did not return the smile, unamused. He just stared.

What the fuck? What was he playing at? What was the point in drawing all this out? Nostalgia? What did he get out of acting so weird? What was going on here?

“Do you think this is a fucking game?” Nightmare asked, voice slipping off into a growl. His tentacles moved restlessly. He was getting agitated now. He just wanted to go home, get back to his puzzles, and maybe sleep for a week. But no, he was here, playing along with this stupidness, unable to get a grasp on what was happening.

Dream looked alarmed, holding his hands up and shaking them furiously. “No! No—”

“Then why the fuck are you wasting my time? I come out here, in the middle of the evening, to make sure you’re good, and you decide to, what, pull a joke on me?” Unable to curb his irritation, he shook his head, rubbing a hand down his face. “Stars, I hate you. I’m reminded now why I don’t bother doing this for you. You never take it seriously.” Turning he started to walk away, hearing Dream stutter excuses behind him.

He didn’t want to hear any excuses. He was done. He was going home.

“It’s not—I’m not joking,” Dream called after him, footsteps crunching on the snow as he chased after him.

“Of course, you are!” Nightmare sighed, in annoyance or anger or both of them combined. He didn’t care anymore. “You always are!” He didn’t bother stopping or turning around. Just continued on. And then he remembered he didn’t have to walk away at all, could just make a portal out. Turning his annoyance to himself, he raised a hand to do so—

“I don’t remember that.”

—and stopped.

The statement struck the right chord, making something inside him fall to the pit of his stomach, pricking him uncomfortably. Slowly, he turned to face Dream again, paying more attention. “…what?”

“I—I don’t remember that,” Dream said, tone so genuine, eyes so wide and confused and even scared that it seemed to create a physical attack on his soul. Raising a hand, his brother held it to his head. “I thought if I waited a bit, I might remember something, but I don’t. It’s all just…blank. I don’t know anything you’re talking about, like the fight or my friends. I place any faces to them or names or anything.” He let his hand fall, shaking his head as he turned his gaze down to his feet, speaking softly. “I just don’t remember.”

The words pushed Nightmare out of the present, sending him spiraling into the black hole opening in his ribs, right where his soul is. They pressed in on him, reverberating, turning into a high pitch that buzzed inside him, threatening to cut off his breath.

He didn’t want to believe the words. In fact, he was trying his absolute best not to. Excuses flew through, nitpicking through the explanation and finding words that betrayed the real truth. He told himself over and over that no matter what, no matter how injured he got, Dream would never allow this to happen. His brother would hold onto himself with an iron grip, too desperate to let go, and the Multiverse would allow him to hold on because it was just another being that favored him. They would not let their favorite Guardian lose his precious memories, not for all the stories it brought them.

No, it just wasn’t possible. He was lying—though the reason why was unclear, and nothing could really justify it, he had to be lying. It was a trick, a ploy, maybe even a trap. Yes, that’s it. Any minute now, the other Star Sanses would jump out, pull their weapons, and Dream would drop this façade and go back to pleading with him and when it didn’t work, when Nightmare lashed out in anger, he would pull out his bow and—and—

It just---it had to be a trick.

It had to.

It…

His eyes didn’t look like he was lying, though.

No matter how long he searched, how close he looked, it was a blank sheet of gold. He found confusion, yes, he found anxiety—nothing new there—but he did not find any recognition. Hope and helplessness, but no relief in having someone he knew find him. Even now, as his brother looked around the clearing, he only saw curiosity, as if he hadn’t seen this place before, as if he had just arrived, as if he had just woken up and was in an unfamiliar place with unfamiliar faces. The eyes came back to his, smiled at him, and—

And they were still blank.

A ghost.

The black hole in his ribs widened, pulling him in faster. Digging his heels in, he resisted with everything he had, swimming back out. He had to confirm this, he told himself, had to make sure this was the truth. If there was any chance he did remember, whether that be his friends or his title or Night—

Well, Nightmare just had to find it. He had to.

He heard himself speak before he was fully back in his body. “Did you hit your skull?”

“Ah, maybe?” Dream tilted his head, reaching around to the base of it before retracting quickly, wincing. “Yes. Yeah, I did.”

“Turn around.”

Obedient, Dream did, and Nightmare stepped closer, observing the crack. It wasn’t as bad as he was expecting—certainly not as big—but it was still enough to make bile climb up the back of his throat. Swallowing it down, he darted his gaze around it, taking in the gaping black hole, about the size of a cherry, thinner cracks webbing out from around it. It had blood crusted on the edges, and he was sure that if he took the time to look around the cliff, he’d find matching spots.

Absently reaching out, he traced along the wound with his fingers. Stars, how he wished he knew how to heal. This would be so much easier.

Dream pulled away after his fingers made contact, and he let his hand fall as he turned back, already apologizing. “Sorry! Sorry, that just…really hurt.” He laughed again, but it petered out as he caught sight of Nightmare’s face. “Oh…that bad of a sight, huh?”

“You said…” Nightmare swallowed again, ignoring those words. “You said you don’t remember anything?” The feeling in the pit of his stomach clenched.

“No.” Oblivious, Dream shook his head. “The latest memory I have is of you standing over me. Before that…” Tilting his head again, his brother thought about it, ultimately coming up with nothing. No spark in his eyes. “Nothing.” He looked regretful, like he wished he could be of more help. “Sorry.”

There he went again, apologizing.

Nightmare was going to have to have a talk with him about that. He can’t keep saying sorry for things that he didn’t need to say sorry for in the first place.

First, however, was dealing with—this.

“So…” He didn’t want to ask the next question. It burned in his throat, made his tongue curl in preparation, the words too ugly to even think about. Why did it need to be said? He already knew the answer to it. Why did he insist on asking it when he knew what was going to be said? He would rather them stand like this forever than ask it.

That was a risk, though. And he would really like to get some sleep tonight—even if that might be impossible the longer this sank in. They should really wrap this up soon.

That meant asking uncomfortable questions.

Swallowing himself down, Nightmare let the question go. It couldn’t hurt to ask, anyway. “You don’t remember me?” The words lingered in the air, an odd hint of emotion to them, something fragile and vulnerable.

(He knew the answer to why he wanted to ask this.

Somehow, somewhere inside him, there was still a need that maybe something would be remembered. If the longer they talked, the greater the chance the memories would just snap back into place. That the hollow feeling of having someone you grew up with look at you like one would a stranger would disappear, replaced by joy or anger or tears, anything else.

Inside, if nothing else, he needed there to be a chance he’d be remembered.)

It felt like hope.

“No.” Dream answered, the shaking of his head feeling like salt poured into open wounds. He seemed disappointed in himself, upset he couldn’t help. For him, this was failing at giving someone what they wanted.

For Nightmare, this was confirmation.

(It felt like denial.)

(There was a stinging in his chest. Where did it come from?)

“Where you someone important?”

Nightmare automatically bristled. “I—” He stopped himself, glaring down at the ground while clenching his jaw.

His instinct was to say that, of course he was. He was Dream’s brother. They grew up together. They were, still are, two halves of the same coin, two halves to the same balance. Despite everything, that had to mean something.

But that wasn’t the truth, was it?

Not anymore.

Maybe one time, before The Incident, before the villagers came to them. It was just the two of them, after all. And Mother, but she couldn’t really say much, or do anything beyond existing. Maybe then they were each other’s most important person. And maybe it would’ve stayed that way had everything not gone to shit.

But the point was, that was in the past.

Whatever they had, it was gone. In more ways than one now…

Inhaling, Nightmare looked away, shoving his hands into his pockets. “That…depends on your definition of important.”

They had other people in their lives now. He had his gang, his boys. Though he often complained about their foolishness and called them idiots, not once had he ever wished he hadn’t met them. Dream, he knew, felt much the same about Ink and Blue. Neither of them would trade their friends for the world.

Even for each other.

“I was—” Nightmare sighed, rolling back his shoulders. “I’m your brother. Nightmare.” He forced himself to look back at Dream, even if the eye contact burned his soul with something uncomfortable. “Your name is Dream, by the way. In case you forgot that, too.”

“Cool!” Dream paused and gasped, beaming as he made the connection. “Our names match!”

“Yeah.” Nightmare said, forcing himself to smile back. “Yeah, they do.” Of course they did, he thought to himself. That’s the reason why they chose the names.

Brow furrowing, Dream tilted his head. “Wait, if we’re brothers, wouldn’t I just live with you, then?”

“What?” Nightmare felt himself frown in return. “Why do you think we’d live together?”

Strange, considering Dream didn’t even remember him.

(There was that stinging again.)

“I-I don’t know, I just…I have this feeling that brothers should be living together. That they need to live together. I don’t know why, but it’s a very strong feeling.” Dream raised a hand to his chest, hovering over where his soul would be. “When I think about you, um, that feeling gets all…strange.”

This caught his attention. “Strange?”

“Yeah.” Nodding slowly, Dream worked through it, finding what to call it. “I think it…I think it turns jealous, somehow.”

Nightmare stared.

Jealous…?

That couldn’t be right. Dream had to be reading it wrong.

There was nothing to be jealous about. His brother always had the perfect life. What more could he want?

If anything, he should be the one jealous. He’s the only one who deserves to be jealous. Jealous of the way people were always drawn to his brother over himself, the way people thought everything of the sun and nothing of the moon, even though they both shared the same light. It was his right to be envious, his right to look upon the past and view it with bitterness. It was his right to look at the present, now, when Dream still has his friends and his standing and still has everyone revolving around him.

At least he can find relief, find arrogance, in the fact that he found his own friends, his own group of people who looked up to him. It took years, it took work, but he found them.

He didn’t need Dream anymore.

(So, what if sometimes he looked at his brother and his friends and felt a longing to join them?

So, what if he found the way they laughed, the way they treated each other, a reminder that he’s done too many things to be treated like that again?

So, what if he’s tired of fighting all the time and wants to go back to how things were, while knowing that could never happen, while looking across the battlefield into golden eyes that reflected the same kind of feelings and—and…oh.

Oh.

Oh, they would never escape being peas in a pod, would they?)

“Hey, you mentioned my friends, though.” Dream said, brightening up again, looking around like they might just pop up. Not that he would recognize them. “Maybe we could find them and they could help me get home. What do you think of that?”

Maybe, Nightmare thought, looking away as well. He couldn’t lie, it would be nice to leave this place, and dump the responsibility of an amnesiac onto someone else. Especially the Guardians of the Multiverse, the coveted Star Sanses.

But something twisting in his stomach stopped him from agreeing.

He thought, all too suddenly, about how he came back hours later to his brother still lying in relatively the same spot he fell. Meaning Ink and Blue never came back to look for him after they retreated. You’d think, for monsters that claimed to be his best friends, they’d be out here the minute the battle was over, bringing Dream back home to be checked on.

Why should he trust his brother with those two, when they didn’t even search for him? They probably don’t even know he’s missing. They certainly don’t know he’s injured. He can’t help but wonder what their reactions would’ve been to this memory loss.

Too bad he won’t find out.

“I think they’re busy, actually.” Nightmare decided, making a split decision that he hoped wasn’t wrong. “And going to be busy for the week yet.”

 “Oh…”

Dream looked disappointed. Hurt.

The look on his face only solidified Nightmare’s decision. His tentacles curled in satisfaction. “You can come home with me, though. Stay for a bit.”

“Really?” Starting to brighten yet again, Dream seemed to hesitate, searching to make sure he was telling the truth.

“Yeah.”

“Awesome.” Dream’s smile lit up the forest, and Nightmare turned himself away before he found himself getting soft because of it. Raising a hand to open the portal, he heard Dream chuckle behind him. “I gotta say, even though I don’t remember it, I bet you were the best brother ever.”

The words were said so confidently, so…normally…it made Nightmare freeze. The portal wobbled in front of him, but stayed open, and he blinked at it a couple of times before he turned back to his brother.

His mouth was dry, for a reason he couldn’t yet understand.

“What?”

“Well, I mean…it’s like you said. You came all this way, in the middle of the night, to check on me. You were worried. And then, when you found me, you stayed to wake me up, even though you technically already completed your goal. You didn’t just leave. And you checked my injury without me asking you to, and told me my name, and now you’re offering to let me stay at your place.”

Dream’s smile turned smaller, more vulnerable. “It just seems like a very nice thing to do.”

Nightmare’s gaze was frozen, locked onto that genuine, soft smile. The last sentence played on a loop, ringing inside his skull.

A very nice thing to do.

In any other situation, the suggestion would be laughable.

But like this…

(There was that stinging. Again. Why won’t it just go away?)

He thought back to the fight that happened earlier. How he reveled in the pain he caused, how much fun he had taunting his brother. How often he attacked him, without worry or caution. How eager he was to throw him around into trees, back him up into a cliff. He hadn’t even thought about what might happen, too giddy, too smug. All he wanted to do was put him in his place…he hadn’t even cared that he was bleeding…hadn’t even reached out to try and save him when the cliff crumbled…

How long had Dream laid there, in the snow, still in wet clothes?

What did he think as he watched Nightmare watch him fall?

How can that be called nice?

How can what happened during The Incident be called nice? What kind of brother turned his twin into stone, and left him in a dead AU all alone, knowing full well that he would one day return? What kind of brother picked an apple he was supposed to protect in the first place? What kind of brother was he?

Certainly not the kind this Dream was talking about…

“Right.” Nightmare said, the words tasting like ash in his mouth. He understood why this time. He wanted to throw up. “Thanks.”

Dream didn’t notice anything wrong. Still smiling away. As always. Always. “No problem!” Rocking back on his heels, he started to look around as his attention span waned with no portal to go through.

Still, Nightmare did not move to open it.

Instead, he found himself changing tracks. Jumping train from thinking about how bad of a brother he was, to how good of a brother Dream was.

Is.

Was.

Stars, this was so confusing…

“You weren’t that bad of a brother yourself.” Nightmare said, and this time the words were better tasting. At least this way, something true would be said here.

Dream looked back at him, surprised, with a spark of confusion. Then, even if he didn’t know everything Nightmare was talking about, he smiled, taking it as the compliment it was. “Aw, thanks.”

Nodding, Nightmare finally managed to open the portal, letting Dream go through first. He hesitated to follow, looking around the AU again. For some reason, he felt like he would still find his brother, memories and all, waiting for him if he looked hard enough. But he wouldn’t. He knew that.

At least, he had to accept that.

That stinging again…

Showing it down once again, Nightmare turned and went home.

(It’s only after Dream is settled into one of the guest bedrooms—stocked with fresh bedsheets and a fresh pair of clothes for the next day borrowed from Nightmare’s own closet—and he’s back in the safety of his office that he lets his composure finally break. Choking, he slides down his door, hand clasped over his mouth to keep as quiet as possible.

It’s only then that he lets himself cry.

Cry about how he never reached out to catch his brother when he first fell.

Cry about what his brother thought before splitting his skull on a rock.

Cry about the stranger left in his brother’s body.

Cry about everything.)

[disneytva]

20th Television Animation Sets First Time The Simpsons And Futurama Panels For New York Comic-Con

20th Television Animation is bringing double the fun as The Simpsons and Futurama are taking the Big Apple for the first time ever.

On Saturday, The Simpsons take Manhattan with Matt Groening and more with a exclusive sneak peek to The Simpsons first holiday two-parter special "O C'mon All Ye Faithful" coming exclusive to Disney+ this holiday season. Sunday is a double hit of Futurama with a retrospective on the series 25th anniversary and the revival with a special preview of Season 9A crashing on Hulu and Disney+ in 2025.

SATURDAY, OCT. 19:

11:30 a.m.-12:30p.m. – “The Simpsons” (20th Television Animation/Fox/Disney+) – Main Stage

The Simpsons are coming to New York City! America’s Favorite Family will be visiting New York Comic Con, bringing their unique, subversive, 35-year-old brand of humor to the Big Apple for the first time. The show’s producers, actors, special guests — as well as series creator Matt Groening himself — will share never-before-told stories, show never-before-seen exclusive clips, and give away never-before-given-away prizes. This is it, New York fans; you’ve been choo-choo-chosen to experience the live Simpsons panel thrills that up until now only have only been enjoyed by fans at San Diego Comic Con. It’s unpossible! It’s embiggened! It’s “The Simpsons” in New York!

SUNDAY, OCT. 20:

11:00a.m.-12:00p.m. – “Futurama” (20th Television Animation/Hulu) – Main Stage

Sci-fi-comedy classic “Futurama” has exploded back into existence! With new seasons now streaming on Hulu, the heroic Planet Express crew is infinitely less canceled than usual. Please join creator Matt Groening and “Futurama” cast and crew LIVE for sneak peeks and spoilers lovingly smuggled back from the year 3024. If there ever was a ever panel to see twice, this is it!