#just an obscene amount of hate; not even at this film existing much but more so at a black woman playing Ariel

[fayevalcntine]

Putting this on a separate note but the amount of discourse The Little Mermaid (2023) has gotten so far is ridiculous to me. I don't consider it an improvement or a replacement to the original (mainly because the original is WHY this movie exists, and I don't think the intent is to replace it either), but it's a solid enough film in the vein of Roger and Hammerstein's Cinderella where I could definitely see kids and teenagers (even young adults) like it enough to revisit it. It's not a cinematic masterpiece, but why anyone expects that from Disney of all things, I'll never know.

But the obsessive amount of hate it's gotten from bizarro "anti-woke" youtubers is ridiculous, mostly because of the casting and now they're trying to use "Across The Spiderverse" as their way of 'fighting back' against Disney's "woke agenda" as if they aren't foaming in the mouth over Miles Morales being called Spider-man. Just an all-round insane sort of response to a film that for all it's supposedly big changes, is harmless overall.

[k347]

Apparently Seb has no tattoos, at least not to the naked eye. What tattoo do you think Seb would choose to represent Chris? I don't see him putting his bf's name on his body do you?

I love you 💞@loricameback for asking this question. It's so thoughtful and interesting. I have actually thought so much about this, I could go on for hours. But still here are a few of my ideas- (this turned into a long headcanon and I am not even sorry about it 😅)

Sebastian is a fairly modest man. He admires beauty in the simplicity. A minimalist. I agree he wouldn't be the one to staright up get Chris' name tattooed. It would be something more subtle, deep, meaningful. Something that nobody else could decipher easily except for Chris and himself.

He would probably get a small shooting star tattoo on his wrist/ankle/behind his ear. It would symbolify their shared love and enthusiasm for astronomy. Also he'd tease and mention playfully how Chris is an angel fallen on the earth, a star from the skies that was sent to light his way in life. Chris facepalms and thinks Seb is pulling his leg for being a hopeless romantic. But the truth is Sebastian means it. He really does.

The other one would definitely be some eastern philosophical symbol that means peace. It is from one of Chris' favourite books by Eckhart Tolle. It explains the power of presence. Being in the moment, immersing yourself fully into the present.

Whenever his anxieties get too high, Sebastian looks at the tattoo and remembers the feel of his boyfriend's warm breath, ticklish feel of a full beard on the nape of Seb's neck and a hushed calm, soothing voice in his ear.

"This little symbol asks us to take a deep breath in. Let the reality of the moment sink in. Be grateful for existence.", Chris had told him. So he got it tattooed on the side of his forefinger. He looks at it too often when he is on press tours alone. It grounds him. Makes him feel at peace. A safety band aid that he wrapped in his palm forever.

It's like Chris is holding his finger and guiding him through as someone would to a lost child. Sebastian loves having this constant support and guidance. It also reminds him of Chris' being his lighthouse. The guiding light to follow whenever he feels he is lost and life is planning conspiracies against him.

There might also be another small, delicate but detailed tattoo on the back of his shoulder or at the bottom of his spine. Something honouring Chris' star sign. Maybe the Gemini constellation. Or maybe a beautiful tattoo of a single Lavender branch, since lavenders are known as a Gemini's birth flowers.

Sebastian had thought a lot about getting this one. Back in Romania, they used to have lavender festivals in the month of June when the flower fields are flourished and bloomed to the brim.

In his childhood Sebastian had learnt the meaning behind the gorgeous flowers from his grandmother. He might not have thought about the significance of it then but now as an adult he could piece all of it together.

Lavenders have multiple florets on one stem. They grow in different directions and spread their vibrant beauty all around. Similarly, Chris' true gemini heart and soul is blessed with the ability to always find his muse, astonishing creativity and productivity. But it can also get “all over the place” just like the flower.

The memories and comparisons of beautiful, expansive lavender fields Sebastian ran through as a kid fit perfectly with the expanse of Chris' big, strong emotions which he feels so deeply in his beautiful, generous heart.

That lavender tattoo had been his early birthday gift to Chris. A surprise in the middle of one of their lazy-afternoon impromptu makeout sessions. Chris had gotten all choked up with emotion when he realised what it was.

Tears in eyes, unable to swallow the lump in his throat, Chris had just pulled Seb in for another deep, toecurling kiss while his long, deft fingers gently roamed over the still sore skin on the small of Sebastian's back.

There had been obscene amount of kisses placed on that tattoo, with Chris filthily licking and singing praises to the dimples at the bottom of his spine. A lot of whimpering, almost pathetic moans escaping Sebastian's own mouth while his body floated with immense pleasure and rippling shockwaves.

After that they had somehow grown into using a lot of aromatic lavender essence oils, bath bombs and candles. This one little tattoo had opened so many doors of new experiences for both of them.

There's a saying, 'the beauty of Lavender is that it spreads itself far and wide for onlookers to enjoy.' They've used that line as an innuendo in the bedroom way more times than any one of them would care to admit.

So next time, if and when someone tries to tell him floral tattoos are not 'tough or manly enough', Sebastian might actually go and punch the toxic masculinity out of that person's face.

Chris laughs wholeheartedly whenever he hears this. He knows full well that despite of the obvious calm and sweet nature, his Seb has got zero patience for dumb comments and stupid shit like that.

Seb would never get in dumb frat bro physical fights despite of what he cutely rambles, but he would surely throw some sass and smart-subtle insults with deadass intimidating glares along that person's way. Rightfully deserved. Chris is only proud. And maybe even a bit turned on by the idea of that.

These small, permanent tattoos are a very well-hidden secret. Not for the world to know. Or the purpose of putting on a show.

They are promises exchanged between just the two of them. Silent declarations of love.

The fake/temporary ones Sebastian got for filming though, they're a constant topic of long running jokes.

Like that medal ribbon tattoo he had to get for the bronze. It had to stay with them for two long weeks and Christopher being the smug bastard that he is, had made probably a thousand inappropriate jokes about it.

Not just about the medal. Literally anything and everything he'd see hanging in anywhere. It had been an interesting week to say the least.

When Chris had himself admitted he couldn't shut up about it no matter how hard he tried, Sebastian had managed to do just that (by offering him the prize). So it had all actually worked out real swell in the end. For both of them.

The destroyer tattoo, when he got his mom's photo on his bicep, Chris had gone on and on about how much he admires Seb's love and devotion to his mother.

To the point, where seb had to remind him that the purpose of the tattoo was to make him appear as an intimidating, dark-ish guy not a nice, sweet mama's boy.

Chris chose to plainly ignore that comment and continued to gush over him. His own mom had texted him back only regarding how good she looked in the picture instead of freaking out over the flashy tattoo as expected. (Till this date, he suspects Chris had something to do with it). And Sebastian still couldn't be more thankful for having these amazing weirdos in his life.

It's really fortunate to be able to love and be loved back. The tattoos, they're here to stay. Just like their relationship. Forever.

After some heavy action and a few good rounds of going at it non-stop, his exhausted boyfriend loves to give him a light spank and say it'd be great if they ever got 'Property of Chris Evans' tramp stamped on his cute butt. Sebastian plays along and replies mischievously that someday he'd do just that and the look on Chris' face would be priceless and a sight he'd love to watch.

"Too bad you wouldn't get to see it then. I'd have your head buried in the pillows while you make all those pretty little noises for me, sweetheart", Chris muses darkly and Sebastian can't help the deep shade of red that spreads all over his skin.

Tattoos. Something Sebastian was originally never passionate about. Not that he hated them. He had just never thought about it before meeting and falling for Chris.

Now they mean so much to him. Hold a great importance. Make him feel special. Loved. Treasured. They're a source of inspiration too.

"Wear your heart on your skin in this life", Seb types out before closing the doc file that contains his yet unpublished story.

***

***

Note- I don't know jack-sh*t about astrology and star signs. Just googled a few terms for writing this. If you are an expert and any of these are wrong, kindly ignore and forgive the mistakes.

[royallyprincesslilly]

Title: Love, Maybe? {17}

Chris Evans X Reader OFC Vixen Giovanni

Warning: Plot, Cursing, Heavy Angst

Word Count: 4.8K

Summary: After a night of drunkenness you wake up next to warm, hot as hell body, a migraine and no memory of the night before. When you come to realize that the hot body belongs to none other than Hollywood’s golden boy Chris Evans you freak out. As events unfold you become even more panicked to find out you got married in your drunken haze. What else is there to do but get it annulled, right? Before walking away, you share one more night of molten kisses and passion. 3 years later you are still living with the repercussions of your brash decisions, but the surprises don’t stop there. The past has a way of coming back and have you questioning is this fate that you’ve been running from, hell could it have been love, maybe?

Note: Italic texts is an inner Vixen thought. Bold Italic texts is an inner Chris thought.

**Slightly Edited/Proofread**

**Partially Interactive**

Thank you guys for reading!!!! If you enjoyed this please LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG. 😊 ❤️  ❤️ ❤️

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 17: Surrender the Dream

-Vixen-

  “Vix, you okay? You haven’t eaten breakfast or lunch. I made dinner. It’s not as good as your food, but it’s edible,” Nexus said outside your door. After a few moments, she knocked again. “Sweetie, come on it’s been almost two days. I have Ella don’t worry about her, but I wanna make sure you’re okay.”

   Okay? You would have laughed, but you couldn’t stop crying. Everything was a mess, and the worst part was you didn’t mean for it to be. You didn’t mean for everything to just flip upside down. You couldn’t help but go over, and over every decision, you’d made over the last three years. Beginning with your choices in Vegas that led to your night with Chris and your marriage, then the colossal choice to go back to his house the night you were sure Ella was conceived. Then to every choice you’d made since, keeping the pregnancy to yourself, hiding who her father was, erasing every existence of him from your memory to waiting so long to tell him. In hindsight, you wondered if things would have been better now if you’d made different choices. You knew it was pointless to wonder because the past couldn’t be changed. All you had was the present and the future.

   By the time the morning came, you got out your bed and looked at yourself in the mirror. You looked as horrible as you felt. The bags under your eyes showed you hadn’t slept, and your red puffy eyes said you’d been crying. Closing your eyes you took a few deep breaths and pushed away any more emotions that tried to bombard you.

   “The past is just that, the present is a gift and the future is yet to come. Mold it.” You repeated your mantra and made a conscious decision to move forward. You started your morning routine then took a long hot shower taking the time to wash and deep condition your hair. The entire time you managed to keep your mind blank, it took incredible focus and meditation but you accomplished it. When you finally walked back into your bedroom two hours had passed you dressed and put your hair into a simple style then you walked out toward Ella’s room. Peeking in you saw it was empty, you then moved to Nex’s, again it was empty. You walked to the family room and saw them sprawled on the carpet in front of the TV. You smiled and dropped next to them. When Ella saw you she lit up and bum-rushed you toppling you over. You laughed and held her as you kissed her over and over.

 “Hi baby, hi. I’m so sorry.”

   “Are you okay?”

   “I will be, I always am.”

   Nexus nodded and rubbed your back reassuringly.

   “Wanna talk about it?”

   “Maybe later, now I just want to enjoy this bushel of sunshine.”

   You continued to kiss all over Ella then settled into a comfortable silence as you watched The Little Mermaid for the umpteenth time, but you didn’t care. Seeing her gasp, clap, and squeal at it was like the first time every time. You smiled and enjoyed the rest of the day vegging out and pushing the rest of the world and your worries to the side.

   When you tucked Ella into bed, you enjoyed a bottle of wine with Nex and told her everything and left nothing out including how jumbled your feelings were about everything. When you hinted at what he’d said those years ago she understood perfectly. A few hours later and four and a half bottles of wine you were sitting around the pool enjoying the quiet of the night, no need for words.

   “So, what now?”

   You shrugged and huffed a breath out, “I’m flying by the seat of my panties now. My dream is gone. Shot. Dead.”

    “Eh, when one dream dies another is born. Maybe it’s time for you to piece together a different one, one slightly altered,” Nex suggested.

   The problem was you had no idea what that dream looked like, no idea how to even begin to piece it together. You were utterly confused. You hadn’t felt this lost since you returned from LA to find out you were pregnant. You sighed and finished your glass and put it on the small table between the two of you.

   “He was so destroyed Nex. The rage on his face was so clear, and it was aimed at me.”

   “He’s shocked. It all probably crashed on him in seconds. Men process emotion a lot differently than women.”

    “He hates me.”

   You rubbed your forehead, feeling the tension headache reawakening. “Do you care?”

   “Of course I care. He’s my kid’s father, and he knows it now.”

   “Don’t read too much into anything right now; let the information sit with him for a few days.”

   “I’ve known his information for three years. I could have told him the minute I found out I was pregnant, or the day after I had her, or even any day of the week. I could have mailed pictures, her birth certificate, I knew how to reach him, but I didn’t. I was going to tell him, I swear it. He wasn’t supposed to find out the way he did Nex. That was traumatic. Then the paps--I had to hightail it outta there. God, it was horrible.”

   “Yeah. Bright side it's out now. He knows everything is in the open.”

   You scoffed because Nex’s way of looking on the bright side annoyed the shit out of you. You could hear her phone ringing from inside. She hurried to it trying to get to it before it woke Ella. You closed your eyes and tried to block out reality that was trying to creep its way back in. You didn’t want to think about the mess you were in because you had no idea how to clean it up.  After about a minute you felt Nexus tap your shoulder. You looked up to her with a quizzical look on your face. She looked serious and held her phone out to you.

   “What? Is it mom or dad? If so I can’t talk to them right now, I don’t think I can handle it.”

   She shook her head and mouthed something that you didn’t catch. “Is something wrong at the restaurant?” You took the phone.

  “Hello?”

   “We need to talk. Now!”

   You’d recognize his voice any time, anywhere. You swallowed the ball of tension in your throat and tried to quiet your fears and hopes.

  ~~~~~~~~~

  -Chris-

He was a father. A father. Him. It was almost laughable. He wanted it for months, told interviewers it was his ultimate goal. It was a dream he thought he’d screwed himself out of when he acted like a world-class asshole three years ago. Come to find out it was a dream he accomplished three years ago. He had a daughter. He couldn’t believe it. He didn’t know how he felt about it either. He always thought the day he found out he was going to be a father would be the happiest day of his life, one he’d thank god for, but now it wasn’t the happiest day. It was painful. Painful to think he’d missed everything, first words, steps, smile, tooth, everything. He’d missed it because of you. It hurt worse than anything he’d felt before and that pain made him furious.

   Here he was chastising himself for years how he handled the night at his house thinking he’d misjudged you when in reality he may not have. With what you’d done it showed your true colors. You weren’t who he hoped you were, dreamt you were. The last few days had been challenging he had to continue filming on set while pushing real-life to the side, then at nights he didn’t sleep he couldn’t he kept having nightmares and askew thoughts. So he spent the duration of the night walking around his house, drinking beer, whiskey, and eating an obscene amount of takeout. After you’d sped off every instinct in him said chase you down and force you to tell him the truth. The paps in his face derailed that plan. He had to turn on the charm, bury his true feelings and disposition, that was what he hated most about the spotlight. At any given moment you had to be on no matter what or risk some random story being run about you.

   Anthony did his best to calm him down. He spoke to his common sense and not to his irate emotions. He spoke to his reasoning side, and he tried to make him put himself in your shoes, tried to make him think about how hard this was for you and so on and so on. Truth be told he didn’t give a shit to think about any of that. He’d just had a bombshell dropped on him. He was a father, a father to a child he didn’t know, a child that didn’t know him. It hurt too much.  Anthony had the right idea to take his phone from him so he wouldn’t make any brash decisions.

   Looking back, he was glad for it, the way his emotions were the last few days he could have easily said something that there was no way back from. Tonight he was better—slightly. He sat in the dark booth of the diner he chose and sipped his coffee as he waited. He glanced at his watch; one-fifteen. You were late. He began to wonder if you’d even come. He didn’t know what he’d do either way, so he sat there and sipped his coffee. He finished one cup and moved on to another, then another. When the bell rang, signaling the opening door he’d drank four cups and was even more wired then he was before. He watched you slowly approach the back table where he sat and against his better judgment, he felt anxiousness, and hope and a strange mix of happiness and anger. Your eyes met his, and you quickly looked away and closed the space between you. she slid in the booth and looked around the near-empty diner, counting the two of them there were five people in there including the waitress at the counter.

You placed your purse next to you, but you still didn’t look at him. He wondered if you were afraid to, just didn’t want to or if you were ashamed to after what you’d done. The waitress approached the table and smiled warmly.

   “Welcome. Can I get you anything?”

   “Uh--,” you stretched the sound while you tried to decide, you snorted and shook your head. “You know what all I really want is a glass of whiskey.”

  He was surprised, but he couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his face. This was who he remembered; the woman who was unconventional and didn’t do false pretenses. This was the woman he liked. He shook off the smile and returned the scowl to its rightful place.

  “Sorry we don’t have whiskey, the only thing we have alcohol wise is beer.”

    “Then I’ll take a beer please, Corona. Thank you.” She nodded and walked away to retrieve your order. Silence fell over the table again a silence he didn’t rush to remedy. He didn’t trust his words he felt like he was seconds away from bursting and didn’t want to say the wrong thing. Although she deserved whatever he said. The waiter returned and put down the bottle then opened it and walked away. You wasted no time lifting it to your head and gulping it down without so much as a pause or a breath. When you lowered the bottle it was empty. You breathed out and raised a finger to the waitress signaling one more. Another peek at the woman he’d met three years ago.

   You looked at him for the first time, and the one thing he could decipher on your face was fear. You were afraid, the thought stunned him, and he wondered if you were afraid of him. The waiter put two more bottles on the table before she left and again silence stretched on.

   “When was she born?”

   You took a sip from the beer bottle and sighed before answering. “May thirteenth.”

   He scoffed, precisely one month before his birthday. Clenching his jaw he did his best to keep a tight lid on his anger.

   “I thought you were on the pill.”

   You shugged and breathed out again before taking another sip of your beer. “Guess your sperm is stronger than that. True super soldier stuff.”

   Sarcasm. He didn’t know whether to laugh or get angrier.

   “When did you find out?”

   “The day the final divorce papers came in the mail, three and a half months after we signed them.”

   “Jesus, why didn’t you tell me? Was it that you didn’t know how to reach me?”

    “No, I knew how to reach you. I knew your address; I knew your lawyer’s contact, hell I even had your cell number, I knew how to reach you,” you confessed. The hurt he felt surprised him. You’d deliberately kept the most important thing from him.

   “I want to be one hundred percent honest from here on--,”

  “Well, it’s about damn time. Three years too late I’d say.” It came out before he thought about it. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

    “The last time we saw each other--,” you paused. He held his breath and waited for you to call him out for the asshole he was.

    “I realized your life wasn’t for a baby. I’d read the tabloids and heard the rumors and just came off a marriage and divorce in under seventy-two hours. I made a call.”

   He studied you. You weren’t lying; it was true. His life then wasn’t any place for a baby he wasn’t ready then for a baby. Still, with that knowledge, he couldn’t help but feel like he’d had a right to know.

   “I can’t believe you. Three years Vixen, three fucking years!”

   You looked down to the table and scrunched your face. He tried to reel in his anger but found he was struggling. You looked at him and watched every move he made.

   “I’m sorry you found out that way. Believe me; I didn’t want you to find out like that.”

   “Were you ever going to tell me? If I hadn’t seen you that day in the cliffs, and then again in the restaurant, would you have ever told me?”

   You took a long sip of your beer and looked to be thinking deeply. When you licked your lips, his attention went right to them. He remembered those lips, the things they’d done to him, and how they tasted; it was one thing of the many things he couldn’t forget.

   “I don’t know. It became easier just to pretend like you weren’t her father. It was easy because we had separate lives in two different places, lives that would never have to intersect. When I came to LA that dream faded and I was faced with a new reality. I knew it was a matter of time, but still, I couldn’t tell you.”

   “Why?!” His voice was louder than a whisper but just a hair below a full-on shout.

   He saw you pinch your lips and make up your face before he saw the twinkle of tears in your eyes. This was the second time he would see you cry, and he didn’t like it. His instinct was to make it better, make your pain stop, and he hated that. Right now he was pissed, worse than pissed. You lied to him for damn near three years, kept his child from him. He was having a hard time looking at you because deep down he feared you would never have told him if you’d never bumped into each other. He didn’t know how to reconcile that with everything else he felt.

   “I was scared,” you whispered on a strangled breath.

   “Of what?”

   “Are you kidding me, Chris. I knew that the more time that passed, the more difficult it would be to explain to make you understand and I was afraid of this. The anger the hate, all of this tension and bullshit,” you blurted out.

  A long silence fell over the two of you. His mind was running at warp speed taking in everything you said, processing the emotions he saw on your face, trying to decipher if everything you said was yet another lie. He was struggling to get past the fact that you’d lied and hid his child from him. If you were capable of that, what else were you capable of?

   Sighing you grasped your head between your hands resting your elbows on the table. “I didn’t try to trap you.”

   He scoffed at your whispered statement and dug his hand in his hair, not caring if he left it messy. Somewhere deep inside he already knew you hadn’t tried to trap him. Somehow he knew that wasn’t your MO. In the time he’d spent with you in Vegas and in LA he never got the impression you were one of those women who slept with celebrities purposely with intent to get pregnant. No that was not the vibe he got from you. This was an accident.

   “I didn’t try to use this—use her as some sort of chess piece for the future,” you added.

   “I know.”

   “You do?”

   Your expression was a confused one, one that was laced with shock. He sighed and sunk back into the booth. The second bottle of beer on the table looked real refreshing right about now. As if sensing what he wanted, you slid the full bottle to him. He took it and guzzled half of it down. He saw you smile, and he wanted to smile too, but he clenched his jaw instead.

   “I know you didn’t do this on purpose. You had a career plan, things you wanted to accomplish. I remember that much, no one with such a detailed plan chooses to--.” There was no need to finish the sentence; you got it. He gulped down some more of the beer and stared out the window into the darkness of the night.  Neither of you spoke. He didn’t mind the silence; the loudness in his head was more than enough noise.

   He couldn’t believe this. He’d been deathly careful all these years. He’d made sure he brought his own condom and even pulled out with it on. He had women sign NDAs after every encounter. Made sure his lawyer Sherman was on top of everything that could come back and bite him in the ass, her included. The one time of so many times he’d been drunk off his ass he slipped up and married someone, then he further slipped up by having sex with her again unprotected.

   When he remembered he went bare in Vegas, he kicked himself. It was something he’d never done. For nearly three years he couldn’t figure out why he’d done it. He still didn’t know exactly why he did it. He had plenty of suspicions, but he didn’t dare go anywhere near them. Now look, the repercussions from his negligence were sitting right in front of him. Repercussions that made him a father. He scoffed loudly, closed his eyes and pinched them. He then closed them to pinch his nose bridge.

  “Jesus Christ! I’m a father,” he finished on a whisper.  He kept the pressure on his nose and groaned.

   “Look, I don’t want anything from you. I don’t need your money; I didn’t need or want it then and I don’t need or want it now.”

    Rage swelled in him again, hotter than before.

   “That’s fucking evident! You lied, schemed and hid all of this for years!” Yeah, it came out with a bit more venom than he meant it to but oh well. Your cavalier disposition was really starting to piss him off.

   “She has some fucking nerve!”

  Leaning closer to the table, he rested his elbows on the surface. He saw you slink back to lean against the backrest of the cushioned booth seat. He saw a flash of fear dash across your face. He’d worked hard over the years to keep a tight reign on his anger. In his career, it didn’t pay to show it. Now, sitting across from you knowing all he knew now with all he’d thought and wished for over the years he was having difficulty holding tightly to those reigns.

   “What do you want Vixen? Well, besides me never having known about all of this. What the fuck do you actually want?!” His voice was tight thanks to him clenching his jaw painfully tight. He’d never been this angry that he could remember. No one had ever made him this angry. That said something. You avoided his eyes and looked down to the empty bottle before you. You shuffled it back and forth between your hands, and he waited for a response.

    “Well?!”

    When you jumped, he closed his eyes and felt like an asshole. He didn’t want you afraid of him; he didn’t want to be this man either—not to you. After taking several calming breaths he leaned back into the backrest and busied his hands under the table so she wouldn’t see his clenched fists.

   “I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I didn’t want you to find out like this.”

   “You said that already. They sound like empty words Vixen.”

   “They’re not. I mean them. I don’t say anything I don’t mean.” He studied her face carefully. She looked remorseful and full of guilt, yes, but he had no way of gauging if it was fake, this was LA after all.  

   “I didn’t mean to upset you. I just want you to know I don’t want or need your money. I have my own. I’m not looking to pinch you for what you’re worth or anything that comes with being who you are. I’m not that woman. So if this is too much for you and something you don’t need right now say the word, and you have nothing to worry about. We’ll be gone in a few months, and you’ll never hear from or see us again. Easy.”

   Your words were making him angrier. He couldn’t believe you were saying them.

   “In what world do you think I’d let you just disappear with my kid again!”

   At that point, your face turned lethal. You leaned over the table and glowered at him.

    “Let me? Excuse me? Let’s get one fucking thing straight you don’t let me do anything! I do whatever the fuck I please when I please. Get that straight.”

  “Not with my kid you don’t, not anymore!” His tone was just as dangerous as yours, and you both sat there glaring at the other, neither of you backing down. After almost a minute, you grabbed your bag and stood. “This was pointless!” After spitting the words at him, you took a few steps to the door. He sat there and watched you move. Everything in his head said let her go, that he didn’t need this, but everything in his heart said the opposite. Once you touched the door he hissed out then stood.

   “Wait--,”

   “No!” You pushed the door wider, and when you were half out he managed to swallow some of his rage. “She’s my daughter Vix.” You stopped once the words were out, but you didn’t turn around.

    “She’s my—my—my daughter,” he said again. This time the weight of that washed over him and brought the emotions he’d been holding back. You looked back to him, and again, there were tears in your eyes. Stepping back from the door you allowed it to close as you walked back to the table. The two of you sat down again, this time you held tightly to your bag in front of your chest. A plethora of emotions was swimming through him; he didn’t know what to say, how to feel, what to think. There was so much he wanted to say though, so much he wanted to know. Chancing a glance at you, he saw you staring at the table. He looked down and saw his hands shaking on top of the table, and he knew that’s what you were looking at.

   “T—Tell me about her—please.” It was more a plea than a request. “What do you want to know?” He laced his fingers together and rested them under his bearded chin. “Anything, I know--nothing.” That knowledge tore him up all over again. The knot in his belly tightened. He felt worthless. What kind of father knew nothing about his child his own baby girl? He clenched his jaw again, but this time it wasn’t an angry tick, it was in an effort to not cry.

   “Um—she loves to eat and is always up to try something new. She is quick to tell you if she doesn’t like something. She loves bath time, any body of water really, I’m convinced she was a mermaid in a previous life. She loves unicorns. She is afraid of the dark. When she sleeps, she purrs so softly. She loves cookies n’ cream ice cream. She loves the beach but is scared of waves. Balloons are an obsession, and when they pop she releases this laugh that is so amazing, it’s the best thing in the entire world, so carefree and full of joy.” As he watched you speak about her—his daughter he couldn’t help but notice the look of joy, wonderment and sheer love that resided on your face. You were beautiful. Every smile tempted him to smile in return. Listening to you speak made him feel an emptiness he’d felt for years, a void he deduced to longing, a deep yearning for something he missed. He now knew what it was he was yearning for, what it was he missed, and why he felt empty. His sadness took over, and he had to look away just as a lone tear rolled down his cheek. He leaned back and quickly wiped away the tear, but not before you saw it. Another silence fell between you.

   “Has she ever asked about—her father?”

    “No.” He nodded and took a deep breath and felt exhaustion wash over him. It had been a long couple of days. “You don’t want me involved.” It was said as a statement, but he meant it as a question, he had to know. “I never said that.” He studied you again. “So, you want me involved.” You looked down to your hands that rested on the table and began fidgeting with a bracelet on your wrist. “I never said that.” He scoffed and shook his head. “Then what are you saying Vixen?” You didn’t answer but looked to be deep in thought. You twirled the bracelet faster.

    “I don’t know. I’ve never thought about this; I never had to.” He tried not to be hurt all over again by that. “You have to now. So, tell me.” you sighed and sucked your bottom lip into your mouth. His attention automatically went there. It was hard not to think about the last time he’d tasted your lips or the last time your mouth was on him. Now definitely wasn’t the time but he had little to no control over himself at this point.

   “She’s your—daughter. Our daughter. I understand that. You are her father. But my job is to make sure she is good. It’s my job to protect her and keep her safe.”

   “From me?”

   “If need be. Let’s be real Chris. I don’t know anything about you. I don’t know if you’re life is anywhere for a child to be, with the madness of the paparazzi, and everything that comes with this thing you called fame or your lifestyle. I don’t know who you are.” No matter the things he’d revealed to her or how they’d talked he understood. That was nearly three years ago, and they were both intoxicated. He understood and you were right about the paparazzi thing. He closed his eyes and took another deep breath.  

   “I’m not saying this to be a bitch; I’m trying to be honest.” With that, the silence stretched and stretched for long minutes, and he knew it was time to go their separate ways for the night. He walked you to your car like the gentleman he was raised to be. He stood in the dark and empty parking lot watching you rearview lights get further and further. The irony wasn’t lost on him. As you got further and further he could see what he’d always wanted now within arm’s reach. Now that he was faced with it in less than perfect circumstances and a hell of a lot more complications did he want it, and could he actually have everything?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

***If you want to be tagged please SEND AN ASK SO IT WILL BE EASIER FOR ME TO KEEP TRACK OF. Thank you for reading!!! 

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[chiseler]

THE CHISELER INTERVIEWS ANDY McCARTHY

Chiseler: Please tell our readers when you began digging into obscurantist concerns -- these strange and neglected corners of New York history. Give us a sense of how it all started, and some idea of the scope here. Andy McCarthy: I worked as a New York City tour guide on the red doubledecker buses between 2004 and 2011, and Times Square was one of the highlights of the tour. The tour began and ended in Times Square — New York begins and ends in Times Square.  The history of the world's entertainment district is a big subject — lots to talk about and always more to learn. Plus everyone hates Times Square.  Elmo probably even hates it. So it was even more inspired to find the appreciation for the experience of it as it is now in the present.  Like going to a Starbucks in the East Village and finding yourself talking to the ghost of Joey Ramone, who loves the Tall Blonde.  West 42nd Street in particular was always a synapse-inducing subject — it isn't that it's obscurantist (except maybe for understanding the real estate chronology), but that there are a million ways of approaching it — it's the brightest neighborhood in America after all — the old theaters, the showbiz history, labor action, smut lore, the "cleanup" and failed redevelopments before the final wrecking ball in the 1990s, etc. Anyhow in 2012, film programming friends were putting together a series that revolved around the history of W. 42nd Street — they called it THE DEUCE, after the nickname for the block between Seventh and Eighth Avenues. The idea was to program a movie that once played in one of the theaters on the Deuce, and I would perform an intro monologue/ slideshow about the history of the theater. We did our first screenings in the backroom of Videology on Bedford Ave in Williamsburg, and then evolved to the proper movie chambers of Nitehawk Cinema in 2013, where as of March 2020 we have done about 80 screenings. Don't call me an expert but the pop legacy and damaged psyche yielded by the Glittering Gulch has consumed my research panascope like a large bucket of stale popcorn you can't stop shoving it in with gulps of fountain Coke during a matinee of Wolfen. For the last six years I've worked as a reference librarian at NYPL at Fifth Ave and W. 42nd (not the Deuce).  My division is US History, Local History, and Genealogy - we get all the NYC history questions.  At NYPL the resources available in researching each month's DEUCE spiel far surpass the amount of tips bagged at the height of tourist season by the Naked Cowboy.

Chiseler: When I was 15 or 16 years old, a suburban Jersey kid, I would occasionally take the bus to Port Authority with $20 in my pocket. It was a magical place in the 70s and 80s. Can you tell us something about the porn scene in those days, maybe its larger history, and how it relates to the evolution of your Nighthawk Cinema?

McCarthy: I’m generalizing, but the porn business in Times Square seems a combination of obscenity laws and the real estate market (versus the city and state imposing change).  Obscenity laws had increasingly loosened since the 1960s and by the 1980s so many cases ruled in favor of pornography that the pursuit of smut peddlers evaporated like dots of old money shots on a mattress at the Elk Hotel. Sure Edwin Meese led a commission against porn in Reagan's Morning in America as a coalition of the religious right against the entire ethos of the 1970s, but it doesn't seem to have achieved anything other than beleaguering feminist activists who opposed the rampant exploitation of women in pornography only to find a black hole of political alignment with right wing morality police. Live sex shows and bestiality periodicals were then the product of free speech.  Meanwhile, big business had no interest in occupying or redeveloping the commercial spaces in Times Square.  But landlords held on to the old buildings and theaters — occupied by movie theaters, sex shops, etc. - waiting for a future time when the demand for Times Square real estate upped the value and they might cash in.  The neighborhood became a sex district mostly because these were the only businesses that would pay rent in the area — which most New Yorkers supposedly avoided. And it was the 1970s — the white middle-class had fled, it was a party town, the city was broke, its own redevelopment efforts continually failing on the Deuce, where the racial patron and hangout demographic was majority Black, and drugs and prostitution were viable business. But the theaters on the Deuce mostly didn't play porn.  The Victory (today the "New Victory") played triple-X and the Harem was a 24 hour porn box — but you had more opportunity to see First Blood or What's Up Doc? in the 8 or 9 other theaters on W. 42nd between 7th and 8th Avenue. XXX theaters were elsewhere in Times Square than the Deuce. Whether it was magical depends on one's experience of it at the time.  Times Square has always been a fantasy factory and the DEUCE movie series we do exalts going to the movies, and even when the experience back then was rough, most reminiscences of people seeing movies on 42nd Street is a memory of great impact.  We do not celebrate that it was so bad it was good (the same way we do not program movies that are "so bad they are good" — that crap is for bored minds who are less able to form an independent thought than the digital diode Coca-Cola sign at 47th and Broadway) — but it is a combination of place and experience in a matrix of moviegoing: there are many stories to tell about each theater, and the movies we program may take on new life in the forgetting chambers of Nitehawk Cinema. If porn ended up characterizing the business of Times Square when obscenity laws and real estate allowed it to, then no surprise — such is history…

Chiseler: I’m with you on “so bad it’s good” — a goddamn disease. I spend years of my life hunting down non-canonical titles, not with the tacky idea of establishing an alternative canon, but with the goal of subverting the very notion of canons. In other words, I’m seeking great films that establish their own criterion for greatness, compelling viewers to recognize them on their own ground. To expand your last answer a bit, would you mind dwelling on a few titles you’ve screened and tell our readers why you selected them?

McCarthy: OK — the DEUCE is a group effort. First off we are thankful for Nitehawk Cinema to have hosted the series for so long. I only do the intro monologue / slideshow on the history of a theater, while my co-jockeys — seasoned film programmers Joe Berger, Max Cavanaugh, and Jeff Cashvan — program the screenings, which are always a 35mm print, sprocketed by boothmaster Pro-Jo Joe Muto.  The 35mm signature touch seems to be one of the ongoing draws for the audience, who routinely sell out the 90 seat theater, ahem...  Cashvan puts together a list and Max tracks down a print (if one exists).  The selections hinge on whether the movie once played in a theater on the Deuce, and the availability of a 35mm print — the experience of history in the screening zeroes down to the technology too.  The movies are chosen because they have creative merit and yield enough for the viewer to determine if they are good or bad — or anything in between, which is much more interesting. Also we gotta honor the faith of the ticket-buyers and uphold any rep of the series, and not hash up some dumb time-wasting crap.  Some of the flicks might be obscure, like Night of the Juggler (a gritty 1980 NYC exegesis on the type of race and class tensions too familiar under the U.S. presidency of the hurrahed bastard) or Teen Lust (bizarre sex romp directed by that-guy character actor James Hong) or Combat Shock (Vietnam vet psychodrama shot in Staten Island, including the Nam scenes), and other flicks are not obscure, like A View to a Kill or Tommy or Luna or Runaway Train...  The crowds continually seem to enjoy a genuine going-to-the-movies experience; there is never any of that ironic insecure brainless hipster douchebag laughter that you get at some of these retro screenings that sizzles my nerves like hamburgers and franks on the grill at Grand Luncheonette at 229 W. 42nd Street next to the old Selwyn Theater — both places long gone.  I saw Lost Weekend at BAM one time and was surrounded by people laughing at Ray Milland suffering from delirium tremens. What kind of loser pays $15 to act like that at a movie?  Anyhow - those types don't come to these screenings.  Some people come no matter what is playing, others for nostalgia or a particular love for a movie, others for whatever.  No one is coming to experience the reenactment of a W. 42nd Street theater in 1982, which is not the intention — if it was we would just play grade-Z spaghetti westerns or Porky's sequels and allow smoking in the theater.

Chiseler: I realize that COVID puts a fairly long-term kaibosh on movie theaters. Where, if anywhere, do your hopes lie for continuing your work? Night of the Juggler ranks among my favorite films, by the way.

McCarthy: I am working on a book that corrals all the research I've done for the last 8 years.  As far as reopening movie theaters, I have no clue. That is up to Nitehawk etc. The series is a theatrical communal thing. We haven't all been in touch about carrying things through the quarantine because there is no virtual alternative. As for Juggler it's too bad the movie is super unfindable. But how and where we obtained a one-time-only print will remain as undisclosed as a Gambino wiseguy taking the fifth.

[spoonssporksandknives]

ableism in media: Star Wars

I’m picking on my favest of fave fandoms today y’all: Star Wars. Yes, you actually can enjoy a Thing while acknowledging that said Thing has problematic elements. I LOVE Star Wars, but it’s incredibly guilty of having people who look disabled as their visual shorthand for evil. I’m going to use examples under the cut, but before I do, I’ll say this. It’s okay for ableds to reblog this (please do in fact) but only if you’re actually going to engage in respectful discourse. Racism, sexism, ableism, homophobia, fatphobia and other related hot takes can jog on. 

Also also: Star Wars abbreviations and their main characters for the more casual fan: OT = Original Trilogy (Luke, Leia, Han); PT= Prequel Trilogy (Anakin, Padme, Obi-Wan); (Sequel Trilogy = Rey, Finn, Poe)

Now, back to our regularly scheduled light reading: ableism in Star Wars.

For our visually impaired readers, the top image shows Anakin Skywalker’s first prosthetic hand from AotC, with the caption, “A mechno hand replaces Anakin’s after he is maimed by Count Dooku. As a result of his impetuous passions, Anakin has begun to lose his humanity.”

The second image is of Anakin’s hand in RotS, with the caption, “Some Jedi Council members believe that when Anakin lost his right arm to Count Dooku, he lost some of his humanity.”

Because losing a limb makes you lose humanity, amirite guys? And they even did it twice: the top image is from the AOTC Visual Dictionary and the latter is from the ROTS Visual Dictionary. 

It’s in the sequels too, because nothing is more evil than being old AND disabled: (image of Snoke on his throne)

And I know that in a visual medium you need some sort of visual indicators of evil, but using disability as code for evil is all kinds of Not Okay. And let’s not forget that Vader was a huge walking symbol of that in the OT.

However, Star Wars has not limited itself to obviously disabled characters. There are no explicitly coded invisible illness characters (unless we’re counting Vader’s breathing but considering he walks around in a giant space iron lung i think we can say that even that is a visual disability) - there are characters who definitely display characteristics of invisible disabilities. And I’m going to start with the ST’s most overtly coded as mentally ill character. That’s right, it’s ya boi Kylo Ren!

(image: Kylo Ren walking shirtless, in high waisted pants)

(I was originally going to put in a gif of him having a meltdown and destroying a console but I couldn’t find one easily but him shirtless was easy peasy. Go figure.)

Kylo Ren has been a very divisive figure in the fandom - much like Anakin in the PT, and for similar reasons. Public opinion has softened much on the PT but at the time of its release people hated heavily on the things that were coded as mentally ill in Anakin as well - outbursts, whining (is it really whining if you’re worried about your mum dying??), tears, anything not reeking of machismo, basically. Now, there are parts of fandom that have gone out of their way to point out the ways in which Kylo displays tendencies that could be read as autistic/neurodivergent, borderline personality disorder (BPD), or even dissociative identity disorder (DID). Much of the hate that Kylo receives is quite ableist in nature. However, he’s not the only ST character to display mental illness and receive hate for it. 

Let’s talk about our reformed Stormtrooper and hero of the ST: Finn. One of the first major scenes involving Finn shows him having a panic attack on the field (and then later after his conversation with Phasma). Finn clearly has PTSD, or maybe C-PTSD - I’m a lay reader and not a psychologist here, on one hand, and on the other, I legit have PTSD and find Finn very relatable.

(image of Finn in his Stormtrooper armor, mask streaked with blood)

And one of the things that disturbs me most about fandom and its tendencies toward purity culture is the fact that many of us who have invisible - and in particular mental illnesses - do in fact enjoy seeing characters who are coded like us surviving, thriving, and yes, still being disabled. Finn has overcome a great deal to get to where he is in the story. Let Finn be happy. Hell, let’s let Kylo live and be happy too. (I know he’s the villain but can we not kill off the obviously abused character?) Dark Side characters often have some sort of trauma and again, it’s the conflation of evil and disability that disturbs me deeply.

And while I’m on the subject - can we talk about the inherent colorism involved in the Dark Side? Color coding evil as darkness continues to perpetuate colorism. I know it’s used because people are afraid of the dark, but in this day and age it’s naive to think that this bit has no psychological effect on the public at all. The choice of Finn as hero is wonderful and it disappoints me greatly that the hints of his Force sensitivity have not been followed up on as of yet. *has a small amount of hope that maybe JJ will do right by our Finn*

Now, there’s a lot that’s problematic about Star Wars’s Force philosophy, and I’m aware that I very much see this as a religious minority, but the Force takes a great deal from eastern religions and philosophies but then turns around and overlays it with some very US Christian light/dark and good/bad duality in a way that is nonsensical to anyone with a background and understanding of the original philosophies. I have an entire tag on my main blog about this, entitled Paganism and the Force. (For the curious, I made this blog because the main is mostly star wars gifs and baby animal videos. I didn’t want people to wade through it for serious stuff, but if that’s your thing have at it) I may cross post or add on to the series here as well. For now, I’m going to leave you with a quote from another writer, who has reached a similar conclusion:

“… it may be countered that the Sith are worse than the Jedi because they commit a number of obscene acts throughout the films, most prominently the use of the Death Star to destroy planets during the Galactic Civil War in Episode IV. Two points in response to this. First, it effectively amounts to a “what-abouttery” argument; an informal fallacy. The Jedi are moral degenerates regardless of what the Sith do or do not do.

Finally, it may be countered that the Jedi only use the light side of the force, and therefore are good, whereas the Sith only use the dark side of the force, and therefore are bad. This is an argument not of reality but of word connotations. Simply put, there is no logical reason to hold that “light” equates to goodness and “dark” equates to badness (emphasis mine). Crucially, both light and dark are equal sides of the Force; they have to exist, as is often said in the films, in a “balance.” Pretending that one side of the Force doesn’t exist isn’t going to make it go away (as much as the Jedi seem to wish this).”

--  Matthew Berto, 'Star Wars': The Sith are the Good Guys and the Jedi are the Bad Guys

War is messy, y’all. Atrocities are committed on both sides and while we might all like a clean cut narrative where the Rebels/Resistance do no wrong, it’s disingenuous and unrealistic to think that this is true. That’s not how war works. The prequels are proof enough that the Republic wasn’t perfect or glorious and considering the current political climate, I wish some people would break out the films again and watch them carefully. Palpatine took it over from within because it was already corrupt. If I lived in the GFFA I’d side eye anyone who wanted to make the Republic great again.

Now, though I have said it before, I’m going to say it again: you can enjoy a thing and still critique it without demonizing it. Love Star Wars all you want (I sure do, got my TRoS tickets for opening night the day they were made available), but maybe, just maybe if the public and the filmmakers could refrain from immediately conflating darkness and disability with evil, that would be great.

[bellamygateoldblog]

the 100 ofc!

— this gets a little rant-y and may or may not be coherent- currently pulling an all-nighter and it’s literally 5am- that’s it. That’s my excuse.

all time favourite character

IDK man IDK…I wanna say Jasper, maybe Raven

a character I didn’t used to like but do now

I’ll stick Octavia in this one. I actually did like her at first, then i didn’t then i did then i didn’t then i

a character i used to like but now don’t

[ insert every single character here ] Clarke and Bellamy. Clarke lost me very early season 3 and Bellamy is dead to me as of season 6. I’m throwing Miller in here- when he was that delinquent that wears the beanie I could go for that, but now i’m just straight up annoyed by his presence and want him to go away forever. My reluctant liking of Abby turned sour pretty fast, too. Arming a group of children and sending them out into a warzone to find your daughter, then abandoning them once she’s back is really SOMETHING. And hitting Raven while she’s acting Chancellor…i should beat your ass, Abby

a character i’m indifferent about

Wells: poor treatment of MoC and very valid anger aside, truely I don’t see the facination and borderline obsession fandom has with the character himself- he barely existed. Are you all in love with the idea of him, rather? Or the guy from the book? He was literally in this thing for three episodes, we never actually knew him, nor was he even given the chance to develop or have any sort of story. I see so so much hate about Echo and her lack of development and yet in the same breath y’all are talking about missing Wells and oh what a wonderful character he was. Spare me. He was a character full to the brim with potential and unfortunately that’s all he’ll ever be.

Anya and Lexa, too. I don’t really have opinions formed on either of them, nor do I really care to

a character who deserved better

I mean with that minor Wells rant aside and half a step into my hypocrisy boots…Wells did. Lol. I think he absolutely deserved better than to be killed off in order to push a white woman’s story forwards. I think he deserved better than to have been all about Clarke, his entire character about serving her character, even in death. This show has a history of criminally underusing/sideling/killing their most compelling characters, i think Wells would’ve been such a fun addition to the main band, i wonder how his personality would’ve expanded, what could his arcs have looked like? i think about how his dynamics would form and fair, what might he think of Clarke now?

Jasper deserved better than to have become a nihilist’s wet dream. I have mixed feelings about the whole thing, i really do. The creators, some of the fans even, chat about how it’s a gritty reality, sometimes it’s just Like That, and in some ways that’s absolutely right, but in a show of such loss to have this bleak ending for a character like this is just…a bit of an overkill? What’s wrong with hopeful endings? I mean we literally already had a similar scenario occur with Luna a mere episode(s) before. A woman who strives for nothing more than peace loses her faith in humanity and so fights for death. Why they felt the need to kick a dead horse by doing the same thing with Jasper is beyond me.

Listen many character have demonstrated suicidal tendancies at some point or another: Clarke, Murphy, Bellamy, Octavia, Harper and so on, but Jasper is the only one that gets the actual suicide? The character who’s canon mental illness has been more on the explicit and expressed side, the first victim of the ground, the very character who we’ve watched struggle his way through four seasons with an inconsistent or otherwise absent support system, his story ended with suicide. It’s devastating and, frankly, disrespectful. As if he was too far gone to find his way back into the light.

We saw clearly Monty’s reactions to Jasper’s death, but we didn’t see him grieve- he was busy rushing to survive the end of the world. This show loves sidestepping the consiquences of big events they write- there’s always a new threat to face which means everyone gets to move on abnormally quickly. Nobody asked about Jasper in Becca’s lab, we never actually saw anyone except for Clarke find out about this, nobody in the bunker either, not Octavia, and no mentions of Jasper in season five besides Monty begging him to be wrong about humanity. This show isn’t great with handling their deceased either. They want to focus on a fresh plot and not be stuck dragging around that dead weight. Finn isn’t mentioned in relation to Raven despite his importance to her story and of the fact this specific death shook the whole show. Wells’ has been removed from memory despite Clarke being the protagonist who we should know most intimately. I feel most detached from her, honestly. We’ve had a fair amount of Lincoln, though, and a consistantly aggressive reaffirmal of Lexa’s existence. But Jasper just isn’t here. He isn’t talked about. Jasper suffered, and Monty was right there in front of him trying to hand him that peaceful life he always dreamed of, ready to lift him (literally) out of that pain, and he died. Harper got to change her mind last minute, so did Raven, but not Jasper, no, his body went up in flames with the rest of it. The way they filmed the scene was gut-wrenching because of the hopelessness and coldness of it all. And i think he deserved to be spacekru, to heal somewhat up there, and oh what fun would he have been in season five. What would he be like now? What would he think of what became of everyone else? Of Clarke and of Octavia? Again, such wasted potential.

Jasper was one of The 100 on a show named after them, his death brought that to 4, and i can’t emphasise to you enough how big a mistake it was to craft a show around a certain group of people and then abandon that idea entirely. Your show is named something that it isn’t even about!!

Lexa deserved a more respectful death.

Bellamy deserved better than to be murdered brutally by the writers during season 6.

a ship i’ve never been able to get into

Bellarke. Braven. Murven. Clexa. Wicken/Ravick(?). Octabriel. Kabby

a ship i’ve never been able to get over

Becho. Memori. Jasper and Octavia were very sweet

a cute, low-key ship

Linctavia. It was always more of a background ‘ship’ for me. And Marper!

an unpopular ship but i still enjoyed it

Becho and Murphamy

a ship that was totally wrong and never should’ve happened

Flarke

my favourite storyline/moment

favourite storyline(s): delinquents finding a way to live on the ground and mount weather!

Favourite moment: i don’t think i have one TBH

my first thoughts on the show

It was exactly what i was looking for; a post-apoc teen drama, a little corny, a little gritty. I enjoyed season 1, and then 2, but with the constantly rising stakes to absolutely obscene levels eventually, my interest dwindled. By season 4 there was an almost desolate feeling and all the potential this had was dead and buried. They could’ve gone so many ways, done so much more, but for reasons unknown they chose possibly the weirdest and least interesting route available. I really thought they’d exhausted all their story by the end of 4 and i was, of course, absolutely correct since s5 was…more of the same…a literal recycled storyline that had been done not once but twice before it. In season 1 and then again in season 2. Since joining tumblr and fandom and seeing things from a various new angles, reading of social implications and meta on how sections of the writing are flawed, i’ve crafted a more informed and complex opinion than i had as a casual viewer and now see most aspects of the show in a completely different light.

my thoughts now

I’m over it. I think it could be safe to say i hate what it became. Most of my opinions of it now are negative, or at the very least have a critical component to them. I haven’t genuienly enjoyed it since season four and it hasn’t been actually decent since season two. It has a lot of deeper issues engrained into it’s writing, and there was a before when you could criticise those choices and obvious flaws and still be able to enjoy the show as it’s own entity because it existed as one at that time. But now it feels like an empty shell void of all life. With how broken and goofy the writing has become i just can’t take it seriously anymore. Characterisation and consistency have been thrown out in favour of serving the plot many many times before, but season 6 brought this to a whole new low. Dialogue was clumsy and there was a LOT of information dumping, it focused much too heavily on new characters nobody cared about, things were swinging from one extreme to another in terms of character arcs (see: Octavia’s full redemption and transformation basically overnight, and Bellamy switching from set to commit genocide in Clarke’s honour and ‘[we let these people die because] it’s not my fault their delusional’ to ‘let’s do better for Monty i am suddenly King of morality’) and in relationships (see: Bellamy instantly forgiving Clarke and then abandoning everyone and everything to save her, meanwhile he’s demonising Octavia like he’s getting paid for it). The characters just aren’t people anymore, they’re wheels that move the plot forward (in any way that’s required regardless of whether or not it’s actually in line with canon), and let’s not even talk about the science that pushes the envelope too far and Clarke’s insane plot armour. I’ve beaten this rant to death at this point so I won’t get any more into it. But just know: what was once a genuine fondness of this show has turned poisonous since.

[blookmallow]

anyway, uh, sorry for. that obscene amount of posts :’) this is the absolute last one i promise

buT OK basic overview: the bye bye man

not actually As Bad as i expected but Still Bad 

NOT ACTUALLY THAT BAD OF A PREMISE but it is compLETELY ruined by the fuckign name being “the bye bye man” especially in a movie where “don’t say his name don’t think it don’t say it” is such a huge thing you could’ve at least given him a marginally less hilarious name 

REALLY BAD CGI but you don’t actually see it that much at least 

cheap shitty jumpscares and basically No actual effective scares at all

love triangle jealousy bullshit that could have been so much better if they were just poly,  but it at least fits into the “he’s scrambling their minds and turning them against each other” concept

leaves itself open for a potential sequel. i dont like that 

however: 

THE PROTAGONISTS ACTUALLY WEREN’T BAD i have rarely seen a slasher film like this that had even remotely watchable protagonists let alone “these characters are decent” (they’re not fleshed out or Good Characters necessarily but like, I didn’t hate them, which is saying a lot in this genre) 

subverts the “token black guy is the first one to die” trope which i was VERY surprised by, but considering the rest of everything is built up on tropes and there’s exactly 2 black people in the cast, everyone else is white, and the main focus is on the white characters, makes it still kinda feel like he was only there specifically to overthrow that one specific trope, but. points for trying i guess

pro: the girls are cute. con: not enough girls and they all die anyway

also theres One brief sex scene that exists to serve a legitimate narrative purpose and not to be Sexy and theres like. no sexualization of any women/no 10 minute makeout scenes for no reason which is legitimately impressive for a shitty slasher film. good job bye bye man you did one thing right 

verdict: its bad but its fuckign hilarious, was actually more enjoyable to watch than a lot of other movies ive sat through, would recommend if ur in a Bad Horror Film mood 

[onlyonewoman]

A little essay about lgbt representation & expectations

Lots of people, myself included, wants more M/M moments than just Flint's memories in BS, for a lot of reasons. One of them is we want Flint to find love again, another is that it's not unreasonable to expect M/M relationship in the story, considering the pirate society's very liberal view on homosexuality. (If you're a BS fan who somehow missed the term "matelotage", look it up).

What some people get a bit irritated at, is that we've seen a lot F/F scenes - and of course M/F scenes - while M/M relationships are not shown, despite the fact that they were not only accepted but also celebrated amongst pirates.

Up until now, I've been thinking that perhaps the authors - who clearly know pirate history better than most people, because this show is one of the most historical accurate ones I've seen in years - didn't add F/F moments but left out M/M moments because F/F moments are far more accepted to "the common" viewer and a very easy way to add some hotness into a show.

I admit, even though I'm bisexual, that I got a little bit tired of the F/F and the F/F/M scenes, because lets be honest: we're so used to those kind of scenes most people who're not true homophobes and haven't lived under a rock the last ten years, hardly think it's a big deal with two women having a hot time together. It sometimes seems as if lesbian sex on screen is alright, simply because a lot of straight men are used to see "lesbian" - BIG fucking marks here - sex in pornos and by that used to see two women together as an act that's fine as long as they're allowed to watch and enjoy.

And as a bisexual person who doesn't really identify with any gender, I think that's just fine. I enjoy M/M and F/F but I very rarely appriciate F/M scenes (we're talking sexual or romantic scenes) in a show because it just bores the hell out of me. I often identify more with men - not always, but quite often - and even though I'm bisexual, I've always felt more comfortable with men for some damn reason. M/M moments in a show is therefor the romantic/sexual moments I ironically enough feel most "represented" in. That's where I can picture myself, even if I'm a biological, bisexual woman who's not TS. My gender identity is very fluid.  

Alright, lets return to the show. Used as I am to the F/F stuff used in so many shows these days, it didn't take long before I actually sighed at the F/F relationships, Max/Eleanor and Max/Anne, thinking "here we go again, showing off tits and pussy in F/F moments to make the straight male audience happy and not that I don't like how it's done, but this is fucking boring". Later, when I read about the matelotages I got even more irritated, since being gay clearly wasn't a problem in that society so where the fuck were the M/M couples? And then the major character turned out to be a GAY MAN, I mean hellooo?! Here we have a society allowing and celebrating M/M relationships while there's no records showing any female matelotages so this seemed... weird. And damn frustrating for a person with my gender identity.

But when thinking about it, Clara Paget said in an interview that Anne's relationship with Max can't be public. And I also remembered what happened to Max when Vane used her to get back at Eleanor. We actually don't see any romantic relationships among the pirates (we leave Silver and Madi out for now and since Miranda is "hidden" and remains a mystery for Flint's crew, she's not seen as Flint's official lover or wife). Vane and Eleanor are in a constant battle for power, emotional and in lack for better words political, while Anne and Jack have an unbalanced relationship where Anne, with Max entering their lives, suddenly finds herself in a very strange situation where she has a deep need for Max, she's "crazy about her", but Max is not a romantic person - honestly I think it's the men who're the romantics in this show - and the relationship M/F/F triangle they share, is not something that ANY of them, especially not Jack, takes easily. And we never gets to see the M/F/F threesome, which is just awesome, because it's not the sex that's interesting, but what's happening inside all three of them and especially Anne.

So yes, we do have a M/F/F relationship in the show, but the way it's performed, is very far from the usual "hot eye candy scene" we've seen in, for example Game Of Thrones and especially Spartacus, a show that, by the way, has one of the best M/M relationship and M/M sex scenes since the original Queer as Folk came out in 1999. (A show I ordered on import VHS from a gay magazine and wasn't allowed to put in the VHS collection by the telly, because my mom thought it was too obscene.) Yeah, think about that, folks! Growing up having to order a damn import VHS where you couldn't understand half of what the actors were saying because you were sixteen going on seventeen and British accents in fast speed with no subtitles were a bitch for a teen who mostly just needed to use English in English classes and while trying to understand music lyrics.

DVD:s were still new, Youtube, Facebook and Netflix didn't exist and the number one search engine was AltaVista. Computers were something not even all middle class families used, Internet costed money by the minute and finding a website for LBGT people to connect was something my generation was the first to experience in our teens. To even think that a F/F or M/M couple would have sex AND a relationship on screen in a show or film that wasn't specifically about lbgt issues and made for an lbgt audience was just something you didn't count on. At all.

Since I realised my gender identity and sexuality both were "different" in my early teens - the word I used back then because I didn't feel I could fit in any category - I read all the lbgt stuff on the library I could find. And when I'd finished it, I read it all again, and again and again. I waited in excitement for the soap operas I followed with minor lbgt characters, living on a kiss for days and watching re-runs on Sundays or recorded it. Believe me, if anyone knows how it feels to not get what you want from shows and movies, it's me - and all the other lbgt people in my age, not to mention older.

When it comes to Black Sails and the lack of M/M moments, I feel divided. On one hand, as a person growing up in a time where a show like Black Sails was unthinkable, I'm so grateful for the fact that this show has a gay head character who - and believe me, I've watched so many M/M movies and M/M moments from shows over the years, so I know what I'm talking about - is not a stereotype. I loved the fact that we got to see so much more of Flint before his secret love was reveiled. That the show makers refused to make a stereotype of him or Thomas. Seeing the comments from straight men being anything from shocked and confused to pissed off when their badass ginger captain turned out not to be straight was amazing - and also a proof of just how important it was to not be too in your face with Flint's sexuality, to make people love/hate/care for the character in a way that made it impossible for all people - except for morons and homophobes - to dismiss him or label him. And that's some damn good character writing.

Since the pirate community was very sexually liberal, and definately when it came to M/M relationships, I'm a bit disappointed that the show has not showed us that. We see no molly boys (male whores) in the brothels and the word matelotage has not been mentioned at all. That's a shame, I think, because this is literally one of the few places in history where M/M couples were actually getting married. And that's fucking huge! I didn't know about this before I looked it up and I've been a part of the lbgt community - and is a history nerd - for eighteen years.

To me, the lack of M/M couples as well as the large amount of F/F scenes in Black Sails, is a disappointment since we both have a gay male character and the time and place the show takes place in, makes M/M moments common. To not see that part of the pirate society's sexual freedom, but see F/F scenes when those must've been far more rare than M/M relationships, considering the hypermasculine environment the pirate community was, is the one thing I could maybe see as the show makers either being blind to or maybe dismissing due to the fact that they know M/M relationships are still something that unfortunately makes a lot of people, and I guess especially straight men, annoyed rather than excited. Tits are an easy way to make people interested and I can't blame the authors for realising that and using it to their advantage. I'm disappointed, but I still understand them.

But the eighteen years that's gone since I ordered Queer As Folk and struggled to understand the fucking accent without subtitles, have made me think of the difference in what I and the lbgt people I knew in late nineties and early 20th, expected when it came to representation. I'm white and lbgt, but saw a lot more black people than lbgt people - and the first ever TS person I saw that wasn't presented as a joke or a dragqueen, was "The Crying Game" from 1992. A movie I didn't get my hands on until 2003.

What I want to say with this post, is not that we should be content with less M/M couples than F/F or F/M couples, not at all. But we need to see Black Sails for what it is: a violent drama in a time where M/M relationships were punishable by death in most "civilized" places. James Flint is not a person who's free from those chains. That, I hope, is clear for anyone who's not slept through this show.

Despite what we think he deserves and what we know about the sexually liberal pirate community, Flint is not a person driven by the feeling that HE deserves love. And the last time he let go of the shame, the man he loved died (as far as he and we know) and if not all, so at least a huge part of James McGraw, died with that love. Even if Flint did love Silver or Billy or any other man, is it really reasonable to expect him to put a person he loves at risk once more, considering what happened with Thomas?

As sad as it is, Flint not letting any man near him in mind AND body again, should not be a surprise for us. And since Madi and Silver has a relationship and Flint probably is aware of how he, whether he intends to or not, seems to drag people down into his darkness. Since Silver is also aware of that and has even spoken openly about that concern directly to Flint, is it really reasonable to expect any of them to risk such vulnerability in that time, place and situation they are in?

Black Sails is a drama and perhaps one of the best historical shows I've ever seen, both when it comes to the story, the characters and the historical accurency. Not giving us a Silverflint, Blint, Gunnbones or Thomasflint relationship would feel sad, I'm the first to admit that. I almost always identify with men and I fall in love with and feel connected with men easier than women, so to me as a person, I would need an M/M relationship if I'm to feel "represented" at all in a romantic and/or sexual way.

But does that mean that the show needs it in order to feel complete? Honestly, I don't know since it's still four episodes left and the show has surprised me in every episode this season to a point where I find it almost impossible to foresee what's going to happen.

And I HATE to sound like a smug older person dismissing younger peoples as entitled millennials as if I'm not a product of my time as much as anyone else. People said the same things about my generation as well, that's how humans are and the last thing I want is for people to be content and grateful for breadcrumbs when the loaf is within reach. But what I wish, as a person growing up in a time where a show like Black Sails had been impossible and you still went to a store to rent a VHS movie (including porn) and you hardly dared to hope for a M/M or F/F kiss in your favourite shows- and if you did, there was likely no one you could share that wish with because coming out was a big fucking thing and you didn't take any chances - please, if you've experienced Youtube, Facebook, Google, Tumblr and downloading sites in your teens and/or early twenties, remember those who, like me, couldn't take even a M/M kiss for granted.

The kind of free spaces to experience and share your love and desires the Internet revolution has given us, didn't exist for us. I was a teen when thw word "queer" was still an insult and Russell T Davies said in an article that it was time to take back the word queer and not letting it be an insult, that it was time for a show where lbgt people weren't portraited as depressed individuals in constant battle with themselves, apologizing for our existence and longing to fit in with the heterosexual norm.

Reading those words meant a lot to me and if you're in your twenties or a teen reading this, trust me, there've been so many changes since a seventeen year old me read that.

So, as a soon to be 34 years old, non-binary, bisexual person who knows more than well how frustrating it is to not feel represented or get what you want from a show when it comes to sexual and/or romantic relationships, I would like to just remind you that striving for more diversity and better representation, shouldn't make us forget that not very long ago, a show like Black Sails with a gay male head character and all the different relationships and personalities shown in the show, had been un-fucking-thinkable. We're not talking seventy, fifty or even twenty years.

With Black Sails we have three lbgt characters who have major roles: Flint, Max and Anne. Non of them are stereotypes. They are all more than their sexual orientation, more than their relationships and when the show is handling their orientation and love interests, it's always complex. It's the same thing with the straight relationships. Anne/Rackham, Vane/Eleanor, Miranda/Flint, Silver/Madi and Woodes/Eleanor are not typical straight romantic couples at all and we should remember that.

If the show ends without any M/M moments then yes, I will be sad about that. But I don't think the reason for not adding it, is because of the creators being narrowminded or wanting to please a straight crowd. They've showed us over and over again that Black Sails is something more than a show about pirates doing pirate stuff. Not giving us a relationship that suits a modern person's view on M/M couples in a show taking place in the 1700th doesn't make the creators cowards, narrowminded or queerbaiting.

And this show has never been a tale of romance, no matter what we want to read into glances, touches and tone of voices. Will I be sad if I don't get an M/M moment? Of course. But, just to once again look back in history, not nearly as sad as all the real lbgt people in that time - and also in some places on earth in our time - who faced a very real death threat for loving someone of the same gender, or breaking the norms of gender roles.

Black Sails is their history and their time, and James McGraw has suffered so badly for breaking the heterosexual norm, he lost a part of himself. To count on him even to dare and reach out to another man easily again with that loss, guilt and grief inside him, is to not see the whole character.

We wish him that happiness, as modern free people with empathy should, but can James Flint allow himself to take that chance again? Is it really realistic to expect that? And if he can't, does that really make Black Sails a less good show? My answer to that is just: hell no.

[favouriteworstnightmarexo-blog]

Happily Ever After..

Every woman you meet will have grown up dreaming of romance, of a life where they are cherished, worshiped and taken care of, shrouded in unconditional love and affection, and protected from the growing harshness of the world. Sadly I can't deny that even I fell into that trap, for a short while at least. My childhood had been difficult to tell a long story short. I'd flitted from one foster family to the next, becoming a victim and succumbing to the abuse of spoilt, vindictive siblings and the degrading wandering hands of an uncle who knew nothing of boundaries or personal space. Everyday of my childhood incurred one torment after the next, my pale, smooth skin marred even now by the tell tale scars that remained to remind me of the frightened little girl that had spent every day of her adolescence fighting to survive and preying for a better existence; A happy ending. My foster siblings would always tease and ridicule me, relentlessly informing me that a happy ending was not what I deserved. "No one wants you" they would whisper behind the backs of 'our' parents, "no one loves you. Everybody hates you" they would hiss as they pinned my helpless, fragile body beneath them and took to inflicting cuts and bruises they knew would make my eyes water. Naturally such words would cause an abundance of self doubt but, while their sticks and their stones could break my bones, their words could never hurt me. I remained defiant and stalwart, never once allowing myself to believe that I wasn't deserving of the happiness I'd read about in books or cooed over when watching films. All I had to do was bide my time and wait until I was at an age at which I was sure I could take care of myself and then I ran. I ran as far as I possibly could and, at the meagre age of 16. I started a new life, adopted new identities, and danced on a knife edge with the law. I struggled through, doing what I had to survive and ensure that my past never reared its ugly head and obstructed my future. Some multiple years later it seemed that my struggles had paid off, with life granting me the greatest gift of all; motherhood. Although her conception had been altogether unconventional and the circumstances regrettable, the little cherub that was my darling Clara had brought a sense of happiness and pride into my life that I'd never imagined possible. She gave my life purpose, and made the saddening, difficult days just that much easier to bare while reminding me how to smile when it had become a concept all too unfamiliar. In her I saw a chance at redemption; a chance to prove all the people in my past life wrong. For a while it worked, and our perfect little family of three thrived on love and happiness. Clara was my life, my world. Every waking moment was spent ensuring her safety and happiness. For a while our trio became invincible. That is until Clara's cough gradually grew worse. At first I'd thought it was just a sniffle, a bought of the notorious common cold passed on from one of her class mates. All she'd need was sleep, cuddles, and flu medicine. Right? But the weeks and, gradually, the months dragged on and Clara became no better. We tried every flu drug known to man, but her cough was persistent and relentless. Her skin becoming paler and her body becoming weaker. Spurred on by the quickness of her deterioration, I took her to the hospital and hoped they could give us some peace of mind by confirming that it was a rough spell of pneumonia or something common like that. Instead, my world was shattered. "I'm very sorry, but your daughter has Pleuropulmonary Blastoma...." the doctor had said. At that point I'd been glued to my chair, desperately biting back tears as I caught a glimpse of Clara gleefully chatting to one of the nurses about the small collection of My Little Ponies she was cradling in her arms. They were her favourite. She'd always wanted a horse of her own, and together with my Bestfriend she would joke that she could have 10 horses if I were to marry a rich man. She was young, but spritely and full of intellect. Top of her class, in fact. She was funny and bouncy, with her whole life ahead of her. Or at least that's what I thought. Instead of contemplating my daughter's first heartbreak, which college she would go to and which wedding dress she would choose, I was instead contemplating how long I had left to spend with my little cherub before her life was snuffed out before it had even begun. The doctors soon confirmed that we didn't have long. What's worse, they also confirmed that there was little that could be done to prevent the cancerous tumours spreading throughout her weakening little body. That I couldn't believe, in my denial and desperation to protect and save my little girl. How could it be possible in this day and age that there were few drugs that could cure and allow my baby to stay with me? My own research soon quashed all hopefulness I'd had that the doctors had been mistaken. There were no drugs or cures proven to eradicate this threat to my daughter's life since PBB was so uncommon at such a young age. There were however ongoing clinical trials of drugs that doctors hoped would have effect in the future, but such trials were as of yet inconclusive and cost vast amounts of money. Money I didn't have. "One hundred thousand dollars. I'll pay you one hundred thousand dollars if you stay here -for a month- and let me have you however I please" impatiently reiterated the gruff tones of the bulky, scarred and yet altogether alluring figure currently cornering me. To say that this was an odd turn of events would be an understatement, though somehow in my bones I'd always known that my best friend's suggestion of visiting the illegal fight club that was Obsidian would end in tears. 'It'll be a good night out' she said, 'it'll take your mind off of everything for a while'. Of course, she had reason to be here with the fact that her boyfriend was partial to a little fisty cuffs, but me? I should be at home comforting my sick daughter. I should be by her side, rubbing a soothing palm across her back as her body becomes strained with cough after cough. Instead, I'm bargaining over my body and freedom with the man responsible for this god forsaken, sinful club. He was persistent and relentless like a dog with a bone. The more I declined his offer, the more persuasive he tried to become with the increase in sum. Naturally at first I'd wanted to scream and shout, to throw all manner of objects at him in retaliation to him treating me like a common whore. A prostitute. Was he honestly self centred enough to believe that I would jump into bed with him -a total (somewhat psychotic) stranger- for money? Once more my lips parted to spit back yet further repetitions of my rejection, my body quaking with anger and insult as my knuckles whiten at my sides.. and then I remember that my life is not my own anymore. It's Clara's too. My life only matters because of a little girl that I promised the world to, a little girl that needs my help now more than ever. A little girl who's life needs saving, and I'm the only one that can do so. Suddenly this mans offer doesn't seem so bad in perspective as my brain rapidly calculates the amount of trial drugs his obscene offer could buy, the amount of months maybe even years of life that I could give back to Clara, and the amount of milestones that we could enjoy together. Milestones that I never thought I would witness. Hell, I would sell my soul to the devil if it meant that my little girl could live. "I'll need half upfront. £50,000 first and you'll have yourself a deal." I whisper, flicking my gaze from the widening eyes of my buyer as I square my jaw and bite back tears. Maybe there aren’t any happily ever afters, or white knights who ride in on valiant steeds to save the day. Maybe, in real life, Prince Charming isn’t always perfect – he’s just as flawed as everyone else in the tale. And that princess, alone in her tower? She’s not perfect either. Birds don’t braid her hair every morning, she can’t serenade wild forest creatures into servitude, and she doesn’t even own a ball gown. But she’s also smart enough to know not to accept poisoned apples from strangers, or prick her finger on deadly spindles. She doesn’t wait around for a prince to charge in and slay the dragon. Maybe she saves herself and in the end, rides off into her own goddamned sunset.