#and somehow by the sheer force of homosexuality they make it work

[astrobei]

the party has a sleepover and everything is fine and normal until the morning when max mayfield wakes up to grab a glass of water and sees mike and will somehow squeezed together in a sleeping bag that’s only supposed to be big enough for one person and mike is drooling all over will’s arm and will is in a weird contorted big spoon position and they’ve got their hands all laced together and fingers intertwined right there in broad daylight in the middle of the living room.

max sighs, downs the glass of water, says aloud to the empty kitchen, “i wish i never got my eyesight back,” and goes back to sleep.

[potteresque-ire]

This is a response to @rainbowsky​ ‘s questions about BJYX, as the original post got too long for reblogging (I hope this is okay!). 1) Should we be worried about GG and DD being outed? I often think about what it’s like to be in the closet and I know how it feels to need to be SEEN. But I also understand the reasons why that might not be an option for them. Still, I worry about them being involuntarily outed. There are so many antis after them.

 2) What would you speculate is the likelihood of this ever happening, and what might be the consequences if it happened?Is leaving an option for them, even as a distant goal years from now?

3)Does their fame and popularity hold any protective power in the situation (i.e. if they were to come out or be outed, would public opinion about what might happen to them have any impact on the outcome given the nature of the regime)? To what degree would that depend on how much money they are still able to make for interested parties?

My response is under the cut, as it got long, as usual ~

@rainbowsky, you’re among the first BXGs I followed! I’d like to thank you for your insightful posts as well!

Your questions ~ I don’t think I’m qualified to speculate because I’m still a very new turtle and also because of the volatility as well as inconsistencies of China’s sociopolitical policies. I do have a better sense of China’s politics than most international fans, but I also don’t live there and the only way to truly understand how things work at the ground level in a non-transparent country like China is to be there.

(For example, China has officially banned Christmas celebrations  for the last several years, but as we saw last week, commercials remain very “Christmas-sy” and Chinese fans happily said Merry Christmas to each other. It takes someone who lives inside to know where to draw the line — what is permitted by the state and what isn’t — when the line shifts and adjusts accordingly.)

Here’re my thoughts, as of today (2020/12/31): if the perpetrator is only some segment of the fandom and the purpose is merely to knock them off the popularity pedestal, outing isn’t a particularly effective way to do so. Homosexuality, being a highly regulated subject in Chinese news and social media, is likely to mean limit transmission of the accusations. The accuser also has to run to risk of being banned themselves first. Also, with BJYX + ZSWW + LSFY being the sizes they are, the people who will most consider turning against gg and dd, ie, the solo fans, have probably already heard something. Some will leave, but the news won’t be a bombshell to them.

The next possibility is if a legal case becomes possible, ie. if China suddenly outlaws homosexuality. This scenario may seem the most dire on the surface but is also one that I least worry about, because with China’s judiciary system being very biased to those in power, if someone wants to frame gg and dd, they do not need to use sexuality as the accusation and subject themselves to the same restrictions as mentioned above. Tax evasion, as @peekbackstage has mentioned with the actress Fan Bing Bing, is far easier, because it tends the turn the audience against the defendant: these stars are making so much money and yet they’re not contributing their share! And as long as the accusers have sufficient power — remembering that commercial and political power are married in the country — the accuser can make up any evidence to suit their needs for any crime.

The third possibility is what I see as the worst case scenario: that the government decides they don’t want their major stars / entertainment industry to be *perceived* as queer — whether the stars are officially out doesn’t matter — and signals the media and commercial companies to stop using any “suspect” star altogether. (Chinese term: 封殺). This is the case of career murder without blood —  laws aren’t changed; all the fans will hear are rumours confirmed by nobody. I see this as a possibility because of the Xi regime’s view of The Ideal Men , and my admittedly limited experience with dealing with older generations of Chinese, who I’ve found tend to confuse perceived femininity in men with queerness. I think, and this is only my opinion, that the sheer amount of adapted BL dramas in production (the so-called “dangai 耽改 101” phenomenon) and the heated discussions of them on Weibo will at some point trigger the government (which is made mostly of older generations Chinese). Even if gg and dd don’t do anything, should the government decide these adapted BL dramas, even after the elimination of their queer element, are “non mainstream socialist core values”, all the major people involved with the Untamed—arguably the classic and the drama whose success all these follow-ups are trying to imitate—can be cast as the culprit. If the same officials become aware of BJYX and if they’re somehow convinced that BJYXSZD, it can be easy be used as evidence of the bad influence these dramas can do—“they can turn people gay”—and it doesn’t help that according to reports, gg, at least, used to have a girlfriend.

Something more to consider: Gg and dd are also in a very special position now, in that not only are they immensely popular in China, no other native mainland Chinese stars have achieved this level of international fame with a native mainland Chinese production (ie, not a production from Hollywood, Hong Kong or Taiwan, or with a Kpop band). As such, they are likely subjected to high levels of scrutiny from the state. Depending on who’s in charge in the appropriate department, they may decide gg and dd have to be China’s image; they may have a set idea of what image it is and most likely, it won’t be queer. 2021 and the first quarter of 2022 are special times for China, image wise, both at home and abroad. 2021 is the 100th anniversary of the Chinese Communist Party, and gg and dd are both starring in its propaganda productions (dd as a police in BAH and gg as an army officer in AT). CCTV, the state-controlled TV station, is already promoting these shows. So, for 2021, gg and dd are slated to not only be the faces of Chinese entertainment, but also the image of Chinese uniformed forces. If gg and dd come out or are outed, their allowing themselves to be being perceived as queer while donning uniforms will most likely to be viewed by the current regime as an embarrassment; a career murder, then, is an apt response to such transgression. 2022 is the year of Beijing’s Winter Olympics, so again, it’s the time where image matters.

You may have noticed a pattern, as I have as I write this up: them being outed is something to worry about, but also ... nothing more than anything else. If someone wants to tear gg and dd down — and there will be, given their massive commercial power right now and the increasing evidence that they’re working more like collaborators than competitors (ie, they aren’t about to tear each other down any time soon) — they do not need their sexuality as a reason.

(And if these accusers really want to use homosexuality as a reason, the unofficial BTS is, IMO, more than enough, as long as the accusers have sufficient power.)

Your other question ~ can gg and dd’s fame, popularity, and ability to draw consumers protect them? My (slightly) educated guess of the answer, then, is that it’s very much a double-edged sword. Indeed, the one major thing that may be going for these adapted BL dramas, and for those who come to superstardom to it — with gg and dd being the prime examples — is the economic health of China, which, by some reports that can no way be verified, are far worse than what has been reported. This is the thing about countries lack transparency; without reliable news, there’s no way to get the facts. Reports on China outside the country tend to be either propaganda or demonising / filled with conspiracy theories, and the truth is probably somewhere in between. If the reports of poor economy are true, the commercial sector — which, again, is tied to those with political power; ie the money made in the former goes into the pockets of the latter — desperately needs stars like gg and dd to move products (based on those recent consumer reports!) and with that, it will want to keep gg and dd and these dramas that can potentially make more gg and dd around. This *seems* to be what’s happening so far, with the the state-run media happy to show gg and dd’s dramas (when it should know, at least, that they got to the height of their fame playing lovers-not-lovers) and gg and dd’s sponsors not-so-subtly wooing the BJYX segment of fandom, so I’m tentatively optimistic. However, the current regime has also shown a willingness to sacrifice the economy for the sake of political ideology, so it’s not something to be taken for granted. (What’s going on in Hong Kong is a good example of that.)

(I always think, eat each candy like it can be the last one. With this regime, it can be. We can wake up tomorrow and gg and dd have to break up BJYX to protect the fans.)

(I always think, treasure, treasure, treasure. Ask for more dy and lz and Weibo posts, but never anymore from gg and dd when it comes to insights of their relationship, even without considering it’s actually their private lives and they’re under no obligation to share.)

(They’ve shared with us far more than enough.)

There’s really no precedence for us to predict the future of an outed gg and dd from, as far as I know. Confirmed queer stars in Chinese entertainment (those with sufficient followers to make news) have all been from Hong Kong, Taiwan and other countries. The successful BL dramas before The Untamed — Addicted (2016) and The Guardian (2018) — didn’t have a real-person cp that truly took off. Addicted, a true BL drama (ie, it retained the queer elements), was banned before it finished its broadcast. The two actors were also banned from appearing together afterwards, and this “signal” from the government almost cost the two actors their career. Bai Yu from The Guardian, meanwhile, already had a girlfriend as he filmed, so there was never a Weibo supertopic dedicated to him and Zhu Yilong. gg and dd, along with their millions of turtles, are treading untrodden ground.

Something I should clarify ~ all the things I said above may sound very scary to international fans, but to those who live in the country, they understand it as the way things are, and they strategise and move accordingly. This is their way of life. What I wanted to say, in my first reblog, is that we who’re outside may not understand why they do things the way they do, why they don’t, for example, come out with all the candies they are spending so much effort to give out, but I do believe that gg and dd have a plan, not in the sense that they’re scheming or trying to trick anyone, but that they are moving things along at the pace necessary to meet the pre-requisites for the outcome they want. What this outcome is is anyone’s guess, mine being that they have the freedom to work together, not necessary in lover’s capacity — most of us are not required to perform our day jobs carrying our identity as so-and-so’s significant other and gg and dd shouldn’t be exceptions — but as colleagues, professionals and friends (lovers are friends). 

To some international fans, this may sound implausible, ridiculous: why do they need a multi year campaign for something as simple as this? As working together again? And I suppose, all these words I’ve typed so far is my attempt to answer this question, to ease the … unease, the frustration of those who may not understand. True to its marxist root, perhaps, many things that are considered mindless, effortless tasks elsewhere somehow become battles, grand struggles of sorts in China. That sea of sea lights on the night of Tencent awards, for example? It was the result of gg’s fans fighting, strategising in real time to smuggle those LED banners in when they realised the venue had forbidden their entry. They wrapped the banners around their bodies under their underwear because they were patted down by security at the underwear level; they hid batteries in their shoes. They ran batteries from one zone in the stadium to another during the whole show for whose who only managed to smuggle in banners or batteries. They fought the security guards inside the stadium, who continued to snatch away their banners even after seeing they were merely support material for the idols. They fought and fought, despite their identities were recorded by their COVID pass and facial recognition. Many confessed they had no idea what gg was singing during the show; they were too busy. They were there, some paying scalpers > 10x the ticket price, just because they promised the sea of red would be there for gg when he returned. When some realised dd’s banners were confiscated in high numbers because his fans happened to have seats right by the strictest security, they improvised, found an image of a green block to show on their cell phones to make makeshift green support lights for dd. They used Weibo to spread this trick to fellow fans. All these trouble, all these effort, all these planning and scheming and sweat and tears — all for one night, one concert and they laughed about it, called it a wonderful day.

(There are many ways for lives to be hard.)

The very first thing gg and dd need to accomplish, therefore, isn’t to announce what they do in the bedroom—the very first thing they need, for their plan to come to fruition, is to stay on top of the industry. How can they be on the same stage for the yearly Tencent Awards if either of them fails to make VIP? What’s their negotiation chip for a future collaboration, when the current norm is against cps like them working together again, if they cannot draw enough viewers and consumers, or if they offend Tencent and other media companies by refusing to see to the needs of the other side (for example, the need to promote new dramas)? So far, the two of them have accomplished this in flying colours. The other thing they need right now, the way I see it, is for their fans to get along. I think part of the reason they’ve made BJYXSZD so easy to believe in and love, in addition to their very human need to be seen when their careers may be safer otherwise (yes, I think they know what they’re doing, the candies they’re throwing), is because they want their fans to unite, as they have united. To make sure something like 227 cannot happen again, or at least, if it does happen again, their fans cannot be used as an excuse, as scapegoats. And this union is happening — slowly, but it’s happening. The size of BJYX (>2.8 million as of now, on Weibo supertopic) is a powerful indicator; I also had a wonderful time reading the comments of gg’s solo fans who went to purchase dd’s new song. This is the part gg and dd need their fan’s help. This is the one of the fews things we, as overseas fans who have limited access to their products, can help.

Your final question — sorry, this is getting so long again — about leaving. Of course, it’s always up to the government and It’s impossible to say what can happen so far ahead. But my perception, right now at least, is that gg and dd have no intention to leave, no intention to sacrifice their career for their personal lives and vice versa. After all, this is a pair who has answered those A vs B choice questions with a straight-faced “I want both” and “so annoying” without a follow-up reply. They’re right to want both. I like them for wanting both. And maybe, with their intelligence, charisma and hardwork and ambition and personalities that seem to clash but somehow complements each other’s, they will figure out a way. Maybe they are, as the Chinese turtles call them, the Chosen Pair, and they will be the ones who’ll change the perception fo queer artists in China, and we’ll one day get a biography about them and laugh at the candies we get right, laugh harder at those candies we get totally wrong.

(Dd ~ I want your honest opinion, in your own words, on the ones we get wrong.)

(Gg ~ videos of your expressions while reading the crazy theories the first time will be very much appreciated. By me.)

It’s a good day to look forward to.

[whitehotharlots]

West Side Story (2021): A Review

The new West Side Story is great if you think the politics of the original film were too subtle. Also if you hated the pristine cinematography of the original and would have preferred it instead to resemble a 12-year-old figuring out how instagram filters work, boy do I got a film for you...

Really, it was okay. No need to ever watch it again, but I've had worse times. The leads could sing. Dancing is somehow even gayer now because it's less homosexual, but whatever, I can't control that.

Hollywood has apparently forgotten the sheer cinematic joy of casting 35-year-olds to play teenagers, as this movie starred actual kids. There’s nothing impressive about that. Actual teens are nimble. When I pay for prancing, I want to see emaciated theater freaks my own age who have sustained a magical simulacra of youth by spending their twenties and thirties consuming nothing but cigarettes and cocaine. Seriously, what does this tell kids to aspire to? If you’re 19 and haven’t already been cast, that’s it, you’re out, you might as well eat food instead of vodka. Bullshit. An absolute betrayal of everything that used to make Broadway enjoyable.

The film evinced some of the worst anti-Irish prejudice I have ever seen,. The primary antagonist, Griff, looks like if Alfred E. Newman was going through chemotherapy, and it’s said he gets his desire from violence from his ol’ paddy of a dad. This is compounded by the film's blatant pro-Polish bias, pretending that a young man of the Polish persuasion would magically be able to open jars and dance and court a young Puerto Rican woman while only resorting to brute force a handful of times. Maybe you can ask an insider to explain this kind of sicko Hollywood bullshit because from where I was sitting it just didn't make no sense.

As to the woke stuff conservatives are complaining about: they stress that Maria is 18, which is pretty fucking atrocious but just what you have to do if you want to make movies now. Only a matter of time before the ruin all the classics: making it so Jane Eyre teams up with Bertha, adding some passages to Moby Dick to make it seem like Ahab wasn’t trying to fuck the whale and/or that if he was that would be very good and valid, etc. Again, we can’t change that. It was neat seeing the Puerto Ricans repeatedly refer to themselves as “brown,” though, as if that designation existed before 2010, and as if they very much did not want to consider themselves white. 

Also, before the movie played there were like 9 trailers for the worst-looking pieces of crap I've ever seen, including one in which a guy wearing an Owen Wilson Halloween mask (who turns out to actually be Owen Wilson?!?) marries a CGI Jennifer Lopez when she proposes to him at some kind of reality show taping. They also played a commercial for cryptocurrency and another one for that facebook mind-control device that also looks like absolute shit. The future of American culture is very bleak indeed.

[that-curly-haired-lesbian]

Can you do an analysis on Haunted and You’re not sorry?

Hello and welcome tothis week on Theo The Taymily Trash!Yes friends, that time has come again, apologies for it now being almost Tuesdaywhen Sunday was promised; thesis times sure are crazy, huh? #plzkillme

Anyway today’s songthat anon asked for and will of course receive is Haunted (promptlyfollowed by You’re Not Sorry whichwill go up later today.)

As you may haveguessed from my little alliteration game above I’m under the impression that Haunted is yet another song for Taylor’steenage love Emily Poe (here’s a refresher on that relationship for those whoneed it although I’ve talked about Taymily so much on here and linked this veryhelpful post to such a degree that I doubt there’s anyone in my audience stillconfused)

I also however believeit can be seen as a metaphor for Taylor’s wishful compulsory heterosexualityclashing with her homosexual reality. This is something that the wonderful @all-my-possessionspoints out here and if you’reinterested in that perspective please go read that post as I won’t touch toomuch on that here.

What’s written inthis analysis is built on my own theories and speculations and thus what isstated here is in no way meant to be taken as factual. I’m just trying to putan interesting queer spin on a TS song, after all that’s what I do over here.

Credit for the lyricsdisplayed here goes to AZLyrics as always.

–

You and I walk a fragile line

I have known it all this time

But I never thought I’d live to see it break

–

In the opening lines Taylor introduces us to “You” whois traditionally the conveniently gender-neutral love interest in her songs. Forthe sake of this analysis we’re going to assume that “You” in this case isEmily while “I” of course is Taylor herself.

What she’s establishing here in these first few linesis that on some level she always knew her relationship with Emily was fragile andthat it wouldn’t last forever. Working together and being in love in such aheteronormative environment (country music industry) both ladies likely knewthat outside forces (aka Team Taylor and the homophobic industry in general) werelikely to tear them apart sooner or later. As we all know by now though Taylor isn’texactly a realist when it comes to love, she’s a dreamer and a romantic and assuch she likely didn’t exactly enjoy thinking about the day her blissful relationshipwould eventually come to an end. She pretended that day was somewhere far offin a distant future and that her and her girlfriend would be able to push itforward even further with the sheer power of their love. Taylor wanted them tobe together forever so she made herself believe that they could be. (“The line”that symbolized their relationship wouldn’t break within Taylor’s lifetime becausethey’d be together forever and keep their balance on that fragile line throughany storm.)

–

It’s getting dark and it’s all too quiet

And I can’t trust anything now

And it’s coming over you like it’s all a big mistake

–

This may very well just be Taylor trying to give ussome eerie imagery for a song called Haunted,I mean it does fit with the aesthetic wouldn’t you say. Girl alone in acold and dark, quiet graveyard can’t trust what she’s seeing or hearing, she’shaunted. What this truly makes me think of though is “the rest of the world was black and white but we were in screamingcolor” in my opinion Out Of The Woodsdoes have a lot of parallels to Haunted.In OOTW the screaming-color-line as Isee it is clearly a metaphor for Pride and rainbow colors typically associatedwith the gay community. She’s saying “the rest of the world was straight andboring, but we deviated from the norm and our pride colors shone bright incontrast.” In Haunted when she says “it’sgetting dark” I almost picture all of the colors draining from a rainbow prideflag (or you know, from the world in general) leaving it grey and boring, blackand white if you will. Of course this is a bit of a reach and the line likelyjust symbolizes how the color and happiness seem to drain from the world whenyour heart is broken as you’re too sad to see any joy such as pretty colors. Whenyou’re in love the whole world shines bright and when it’s over it’s grey andmeaningless and boring. Just thought the pride/”screaming colors” thing was aninteresting reading given the community’s strong association with colorfulrainbows. 🌈🌈🌈

She then says it’s “all too quiet” maybe this refersto the “zero contact rule” Taymily was put under after Emily was fired? It’sassumed they weren’t to interact anymore on orders from Team Taylor due toEmily’s “damaging influence on Taylor’s image” 

So basically Emily had disappearedfrom Taylor’s life (at least “officially”) they were no longer working togetherand Team Taylor had made sure of it, I wouldn’t blame Taylor if she felt likeshe couldn’t trust anything being told to her. After all the people who’d “gottenrid of” (god, that sounds sinister, sorry) Emily were the once who was supposedto look out for Taylor and now they’d done this, also keep in mind that Taylorwas underage at the time so she likely didn’t have much of a say either.Horrible situation, really! 😞

Then she says “it’s coming over you like it’s all abig mistake” in previous analyses I’ve done around the Taymily narrative I’vesort of tended to assume Emily was the one that insisted they could still betogether post-firing while Taylor opted to walk away in favor of her careerlike the people in charge were “advising her” but this song almost seems toimply it was the other way around.

I think the line can either refer to “it” coming for(or “over”) Emily in the sense that she got in trouble due to her relationshipwith Tay and got fired for her “mistake” (defined that way by Team Taylor.)

OR that Emily herself actually personally thought the wholething had been a mistake after being fired. Maybe losing her job made her realizebeing in a relationship with Taylor was unwise for several reasons (age gap, professionalism,the fact that no longer working together would prevent them from seeing eachother as often and thus from working out in the long-run, maybe?) and she endedit and hurt Taylor  in the process causingher to question if Emily was hit with doubt of some sort (or a good old “I’mnot gay, this was a fluke”-panic) and viewed their entire relationship as “justsome big mistake.”

–

Oh, I’m holding my breath

Won’t lose you again

Something’s made your eyes go cold

–

What’s causing me to relate this song to Emily is the continuousreferences to breathing and breathe (y’all may be familiar with Taylor’s song Breathe largely assumed to be aboutEmily?) In Breathe Taylor says shecan’t breathe without Emily but she has to, here she seems to go back on thatstatement. She’s only holding her breath temporarily, suggesting she hasn’t yetfully lost Emily and doesn’t have to breathe without her just yet. In my BackTo December analysis (x) I speculate that Breathewas written pretty much directly after Emily was fired, I further theorize thatmaybe they hadn’t even broken up yet at the time that song was written, or atleast Taylor was holding onto hope that the breakup was temporary.

“Won’t lose you again” indicates that she’s alreadylost the girl once and I don’t think that’s referring to a breakup actually, I thinkthat’s referring to the firing. When Emily was fired her and Taylor lost animportant aspect of their relationship (after all they did spend most of theirtime together on the road) so them not working together anymore must’ve feltlike they were losing each other in a sense. Even though they weren’t professionallyseen together in any sense they could’ve still been dating post-firing thoughand Taylor didn’t want to lose Emily “again” in the sense that she didn’t wantthe romantic relationship to end. She’d already lost Emily professionally and didn’twanna do it again by going through a loss of their personal relationship aswell. However the next line seems to indicate that despite their best effortthe love (at least on Emily’s side) seems to have faltered pretty soon, perhapsdue to having more limited time together or just not being able to get over thefiring or feeling like Taylor picked her career over her girl? (I won’t pretendI know why they broke up) somehow though Emily’s eyes “went cold” she wasn’t inlove anymore and Taylor noticed in the way she was suddenly looked at by thoseeyes who used to adore her, but no longer did. This is so upsetting and I wannahug baby Tay!! 😭

–

 Come on, come on, don’t leave me like this

I thought I had you figured out

Something’s gone terribly wrong

You’re all I wanted

Come on, come on, don’t leave me like this

I thought I had you figured out

Can’t breathe whenever you’re gone

Can’t turn back now, I’m haunted

–

We’re into the chorus and Taylor’s begging for hergirl to stay, to give them another shot, to no avail though it seems. She’ssaying she thought she knew Emily and that she could trust any promises offorever she might’ve been given, but now something’s gone wrong in the relationshipand Taylor’s desperately clinging to hope that it won’t end like this, it can’t.There’s another Breathe referencehere, even more obvious than the first. The last line of the chorus seems topoint to the interpretation that Taylor is the one to walk away in the enddespite all her begging she does pick the career in the end and that decision, thatlittle voice whispering “what if you’d pickeddifferently or done more to fight for her?” will always haunt the singer. Maybeespecially at the point when she wrote this song, she was a little older andhad presumably had time to reflect on how things turned out, she’d had time tounderstand the industry more and been given more of a say in PR decisionsperhaps. What if she was faced with the choice today, knowing and understandingall that she knows now, would she’d picked differently? The possibility thatshe might have will always haunt her.

–

 Stood there and watched you walk away

From everything we had

But I still mean every word I said to you

–

Now it seems Emily is the one to have made that finalchoice to walk away after all and that Taylor tried to persuade her not to. Sheclaims she still meant every word she said in her attempt to get Emily to stay,but what exactly did she say?

–

He will try to take away my pain

And he just might make me smile

But the whole time I’m wishing he was you instead

–

I think this may show us what it was that Taylor said(that she meant every word of) you see I don’t think “he” is a person (or evenTaylor’s compulsory heterosexuality) at least not if we’re to stick with ourTaymily-centric narrative. I think “he” is the music, maybe the art itself ormaybe the industry. Taylor’s saying that getting to practice her art will takeaway some of the pain of picking her career over the girl she (at least at thetime) thinks the love of her life. The music will make her smile and make thepain of staying closeted worth it, but deep down she will still always wonderwhat it’d be like if she was able to be openly gay, what would it be like ifshe’d been married to the girl and not to her work? As much as Taylor lovesmusic and preforming I can’t imagine that thought not crossing her mind fromtime to time, especially in her pre-glass closeting days.

–

Oh, I’m holding my breath

Won’t see you again

Something keeps me holding on to nothing

–

Taylor’s starting to realize she won’t get to seeEmily as often if they’re not working together, but she’s still hoping they canstay together so she doesn’t have to try and breathe without Emily. Despite therelationship seemingly heading towards the end Taylor holds onto their love andhopes that is enough to keep them together even through trying times.

–

 (Chorus)

–

I know, I know, I just know

You’re not gone. You can’t be gone. No.

–

This is pure agonizing denial and the way she singsthis part always makes me want to cry and breaks my heart, she doesn’t want tobelieve that Emily has broken up with her and simply won’t be in her lifeanymore. How can that be when the thought of what Taylor could’ve donedifferent will always haunt her? Emily will always haunt her so how could shebe gone? 💔💔💔💔

–

(Chorus)

–

Hope you all enjoyedreading that, You’re Not Sorry willbe up  later today (it’s 1AM here now)for now I need to get some sleep 🌙 Thanks for reading and don’t hesitate to sendme requests for future analyses 😊

[regrettablewritings]

How to Be a Good Catholic, Pt. II (Sonny Carisi x Reader)

A/N: Part 2 of my self-drag piece aka The Reason I’m Going to Hell! I’m sure I had more to say here but it is literally about to be 6AM~

@ohbelieveyoume and @xemopeachx (to the latter: Lower your expectations. Like, lower them so deep Satan’s demanding to know why you’re in his house and threatening to call the police on you.)

PART 1 HERE

5.     Remember not to eat meat on Fridays during Lent

It was amazing how cravings worked: You could be perfectly fine, not want to eat anything in particular and just eat whatever simply because you needed nourishment to keep getting through the day. But the moment you’re told you can’t eat a certain something, no matter how often you may or may not eat it, it suddenly becomes all you can think about. That was what made Lent maddening for you as a child. It was as though the season held special powers beyond serving as a countdown for your lord and savior basically becoming a zombie: It could make you crave cafeteria nuggets like a junkie craved a fix. But considering that said zombie-savior got beaten, nailed to a cross, and was forced to wear a crown of thorns for you, abstaining from meat a couple of Fridays for 40 days was the least you could do besides doing nothing at all.  

. . . But Zombie Jesus, it was so hard. In your youth, it was a bit easier because your packed lunches would always be checked over by your mom or dad to assure that it was up to Lenten approval. Sure, there was the occasional slip where you’d stop by the convenience store after school for a quick snack and all too eagerly buy a Slim Jim (was that even meat?). But for the most part, you did your due diligence as a good Catholic girl. Unfortunately, you were now a Catholic woman whose mommy and daddy’s involvement, at most, would maybe occasionally happen to call on Friday just to chat and then happen to mention what that day’s meatless meal had been. This, without fail, would always cause you to grit your teeth on the strip of bacon you’d been eating or lead you to utter an expletive muffled by the pepperoni Hot Pocket you’d microwaved to avoid cooking.

You always knew you could do better. Knew that you should do better. And yet, you never quite got anywhere, consoling yourself with the same thought every time the only options for dinner were between a can of Campbell’s chunky beef stew or air pudding: “It’s okay. You’re fine. God has bigger worries than if you’re eating mud-flavored soup alone in front of a TV playing reruns of Bridezillas a quarter to midnight. Just say two Hail Mary’s before bed.”

You were a little embittered about the fact that it took Sonny’s presence in your life to serve as a catalyst of sorts for improving upon yourself. Such a task should’ve relied on sheer will, not sheer guilt no matter how much of a part in the stereotypical Catholic’s life such a feeling played. But you figured guilt catalyst was better than none. After all, life was already hectic enough as is.

You grumbled this sad fact as you dug into your meal. It was hitting 8 o’clock, and this was the first meal you’d managed to catch all day. Work had been busting your butt with no time for a break. And snacking on vending machine munchables could only do so much. It was probably for this reason that your McNuggets tasted like Heaven instead of a travesty to your health. Like amateur food porn where it’s not what you wanted exactly, but the craving was so bad that you took the first legal, not entirely creepy-looking thing that you could get your hands and mouth on.

You were so deep into your pathetic relishing that you didn’t even notice that Sonny had come through the door, plastic bag in hand. It wasn’t until he’d actually spoken that you were broken out of your McNugget musing.

“Hey, Babe,” he greeted, taking off his shoes by the door. He heard you hum in response; your mouth was too full of fast food to reply with a vocal greeting. You heard him usher his way towards the kitchen, bag rustling by his side. “I got us veggie wraps from that place a few blocks do – ” The sudden stop made you turn to look at your boyfriend, who was now staring at you with brows quirked.

You smacked your lips as you swallowed. “What?” Sonny opened his mouth by a fraction, as if not entirely sure what words to use.

“You, uh . . . You do know that it’s Friday, right?” he finally replied.

“What?” This time, your own brows creased. “No it isn’t; it’s Thursday. I know it is because Mrs. Vatillo’s been blaring Dancing with the Stars all evening.”

“Ever heard of reruns, sweetheart?”

“. . . Ah, dammit!” you cried. You didn’t notice the half-eaten nugget pressed against your head as your hands flew to your face. It took the dipping sauce creating a notably cooler spot on your skin to notice the physical mess you made instead of just the mental one.

Sonny, on the other hand, watched will unadulterated amusement, only cutting in once you began berating your mistake.

“Hey, hey, don’t worry about it!” he insisted, holding his hand up to gesture a cease. “You made a mistake; happens all the time! Even I mess up my Fridays every once in a while. It’s fine, Babe.”

A muffled groan rippled in your throat. You weren’t sure if it was worth pointing out that he had points to spare while you didn’t.

“Besides,” Sonny continued, placing a kiss to your cheek. “I don’t think McNuggets is even real meat.” He chuckled as he heard your subsequent whimper waver with the sound of you finishing off the nugget.

6.     Save yourself for marriage. The rules might’ve changed a bit, but it’s still preferable that you practice a healthy sense of abstinence

Okay, you at least had this one pretty down pat. And for that, you were quite proud. Maybe it was the romantic in you, but the idea of saving yourself for your spouse had always been extremely appealing to you. And considering the shifting feelings about premarital sex, you felt that made your efforts even more worthy of his or her admiration. Specifically, the “his” that you deep down desperately hoped was Sonny.

To no surprise of yours, he was quite accepting of you preferring to practice abstinence and even admirable of it. He always made sure to keep your boundaries in mind, particularly when you got handsy under the influence. He was quite fine if the extent of your shared physical affections meant making out. Hell, you were pretty certain that if the most you wanted was booping each other on the nose, Sonny would do it. He’s be perplexed, of course, but it wasn’t in him to be so judgmental of it: As an SVU detective and an overall decent man, consent and consideration ranked high on his list of importance in everything he did, relationship or not. That being said . . .

7.     In fact, refrain from pre-marital actions of the flesh, be it heterosexual, homosexual, or solo

Abstinence didn’t mean the switch was turned off. It just meant that you were conserving energy until you found a reason for the room to be lit, so to speak in awful metaphors. And man, were there times when you thought, “That room could be put to good use – as a room to bang my handsome boyfriend in!” Of course, you restrained yourself out of sheer principle and will power. But at this rate, your will power was started to get buff.

And tonight, it was getting quite the workout: Sonny had offered to come over for simple, shared relaxation. Normally, this would’ve been fine. Normally, the two of you would order in and binge watch reality TV shows on Hulu until you passed out with some caresses and a few moments of making out in between. And normally, you weren’t feeling . . . . “special.” On the nights he did come over and you were feeling “special”, you could practice enough self-control to keep things at a maximum of maybe some grinding. (And even that wasn’t without some semblance of shame on your part to be honest, particularly after Sonny would gently suggest that the two of you stop before the grinding became closer to a skinship.) But tonight – and you didn’t know why – the Fornication Forces™ were inexplicably strong with you.

Maybe I should cancel, you processed, laying on the couch. You figured if you just set yourself down, maybe your body would recognize the position and realize how tired it was, rendering you too tired to try anything frisky. Really, though, the only thing you body was convincing itself at the moment was that this would’ve been a good position to do things in. Naughty things.

While one half of your mind was frantically trying to beat the hormonal thoughts back into the abyss, the other half was disagreeing with your previous suggestion. It had been a long week, and you and Sonny had barely seen each other, much less in an intimate manner that even included anything more than a peck on the forehead for parting ways. Besides, it wasn’t fair to Sonny if you dropped out just because you felt particularly needy. You just had to be a grown-ass woman and control yourself as you usually did.

In the midst of your inner pep talk, you figured that maybe a distraction would cool down the embers of eroticism within. Grabbing your laptop, you scoured YouTube for funny videos or informational ones in the hopes that they would serve as efficient enough distractions. It was through the inevitable connecting rabbit holes that is YouTube that you found yourself on the theater side of the site, where you came upon a title that you were certain would kill off the feeling for good.

“Leap of Faith,” you read aloud. Sounded Christian, sounded light-hearted and pure. Perfect! Nothing wiped away arousal like Christian theater, right? You selected a video offering clips of the performance . . . And almost immediately regretted it.

At least, that was what you were trying to tell yourself you ought to be feeling. But it’s hard to think straight while being captivated by the image of a handsome man with a great ass shake his hips in such a controlled yet somehow fluid fashion. It made you wonder what else those hips of his could do. Not helping was the bad boyish facial hair, the dangerous look in his (beautiful) eyes, those gorgeous locks, that fine physique, those arms, that literal Godsend of a voice, and good lord, nobody should be able to make a suit covered in disco glass look so deliciously good!

You tried to scold yourself, constantly pointing out that even if his character’s position as a man of God was false, it was bad enough to imagine the possible reverend kink you could imagine him having. But, to your immense dismay, the idea of sullying such a title made it disturbingly more tempting! The entire time you battled inwardly with your logic and your lust, your hand was taking advantage of your distracted state: little by little, it was moving closer and closer toward your pajama pants. In synchronization, little by little a ticklish warmth pulsed and glowed within your lower tummy and downward. By the time the reverend-devil of a man (devilrend?) was shown in that red jacket and leather pants, the elastic of your bottoms was being ushered to the side.

“The women I’ve seen are like a pinball machine,” he stated. “Push the right button and you score.” To clarify exactly what his simile had meant, his slender fingers curled in the air with a “come hither” motion. Oh, God what sins and blessings those fingers could commit . . . That seemingly simple gesture sent a blazing spark into your lower half, burning away at all sensibility and leaving only desire and a clear path to chase it down to completion –

Click.

Oh, shit.

You whipped your hand out of your pants so fast you nearly knocked yourself in the chest. As your door creaked open, you prayed that Sonny wouldn’t notice anything or pick up on the atmosphere you’d created for yourself, only to wind up wondering if it was appropriate to ask for God’s help when you were milliseconds away from making joyful noise.

Per the usual, as he took of his shoes, your walking sunshine greeting you with a warm, “Hey, Babe.” And per the usual, you responded right back. Only, not per the usual, your greeting was a bit trembly like a child nearly caught in the act of stealing a cookie from the cookie jar. Thankfully, Sonny was seemingly too tired to take note of this, making his way towards you.

In your state of being frazzled, you didn’t think quick enough to shut your laptop, allowing Sonny to be able to take a glance at the screen. In doing so, he was able to look upon your shame.

Brows furrowed, he said, “Huh. That’s weird . . . That guy looks an awful lot like Barba.” . . . What? You didn’t say it, but the look on your face certainly did. Able to recognize this, Sonny went on, “Yeah, look: Same facial structure, similar hair, about the same height . . . This guy dresses a little gaudier than him but yeah – dude looks a lot like Barba. I’nt that interesting?” He cracked a smile and went to head to the bathroom to wash up, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

What was now seen could not be unseen, no matter how hard you rubbed the heels of your palms against your eyes. Why couldn’t you notice that before so that your girly boner would’ve died on the spot before this all began!? After making sure to close your laptop screen and set it gently on the coffee table away from where it would be most likely to become damaged, you slammed your face into one of the couch cushions and screamed as quietly as possible. Screaming, knowing that you almost got off to the prosecutor’s dramaturgical doppelganger and that you would never be able to look at Barba the same way again because of it. If only you had noticed this before, then maybe the overwhelming senses of embarrassment, horror, and confusion would not have burned even brighter than the feelings you’d had only moments before.

Needless to say, you could barely get through cuddling that night, completely turned off in every which way.

8.     Above all else, aside from accepting Jesus as your Lord and Savior, just be a good person. The world is already so crappy, making it nicer out of the goodness of your heart is something that should be valued

Sonny watched wordlessly as you sat on the ground, arms reached out for his niece to toddle right into. He found himself smiling alongside the laughter the two of you shared as the chubby-legged child flopped herself against your chest. He never understood why you always insisted that you weren’t good with kids; as far as he was concerned, most kids had an almost immediate liking to you or, at the very least, were willing to approach you without must suggestion. He supposed it had something to do with how kind you looked and sounded. After all, that seemed to be one of the reasons his family invited you back over for yet another family dinner.

In the midst of you giving his squealing niece a raspberry on her tummy, Sonny heard Theresa call for you to come “hang around the big girls” for a change. Agreeing to the invitation, you scooped the toddler up into your arms and, mimicking the sound of an aircraft, gently zigzagged her through the air as you walked toward her watching uncle.

“This is your captain speaking, we welcome you to Sonnyville and hope you enjoy your stay,” you told the little girl amongst her coos of delight. Gingerly handing her over to Sonny’s waiting arms, you gently added in, “Might I recommend the cheek kisses, Little Miss? They’re my favorite!” One last teasing poke on her tummy and you went on your way to hang out with Sonny’s sisters, leaving the man himself on the couch with his niece. When Sonny noticed the toddler pouting and reaching out for your departing figure, he found himself chuckling, “Yeah, I like having her around, too,” before treating her to your highly recommended kiss on the cheek.

“I didn’t know you could knit.” The comment caused you to look up at your boyfriend. Despite having turned on the TV as soon as he’d taken his place beside you on the couch, he’d spent the last couple of minutes observing you. As you looked up from your project, your fingers kept moving without error. This suggested to Sonny that not only could you knit, but you were at least practiced in it enough to nearly do so in your sleep.

You blinked. “Well, you never asked. Plus, I haven’t done it in a long while.” You shrugged and looked back down to start a new row.

“Well, what made ya stop?” Sonny inquired. He liked learning things about you. Particularly, he liked learning things about you even if they were simple things. Things that could’ve been revealed earlier in the relationship.

You looked upwards in thought, knitting still. “Dunno. I think I just sorta fell out of it when life started getting too busy? I used to knit during my lectures in college – kept me awake and somehow alert – but then this one professor asked me to stop because it was causing a distraction. Which I think is total bullshit because absolutely no-one cared that I was knitting in a literature lecture.” You paused, recognizing that you were beginning to ramble. “But yeah; I just kinda stopped doing it for a while.”

Sonny nodded with understanding. “And you’re doin’ it now because you missed it?”

“Well, sorta. Liv told me about this one project the art museum is doing to raise awareness of abuse survivors: People are knitting and crocheting squares to be made into a big blanket. The idea is about not being alone and being covered with warmth of strangers who care. Each square and the elite involved in this thing will donate money to the Joyful heart Foundation. I thought it’d be a great idea and a great thing to do, so I found my old needles, stopped by the craft store, and got to work. Plus, knitting’s therapeutic.”

You smiled. “My goal is to have between 5 and 8 squares by the deadline in six weeks!” The amount of determination, in addition to the subtle glow you developed during your explanation of the project you were now a part of, caused Sonny to return the grin. Though his carried tones of being impressed. And of pride.

You never noticed, however, as you turned your attention to the TV. You continued to knit. And Sonny continued to watch you.

It was Friday night and Sonny was bushed. The week, while not necessarily as bad as others, had still beaten his ass with a case that had about as many twists and turns as the map of Candyland. If only the outlook for the pending trial were so sweet. Needless to say, Barba was going to have yet another chunk of his work cut out for him, meaning that tensions were going to be high for the coming week.

During exhausting days like this, there was nothing more that Sonny would have loved than a nice, hearty meal; maybe something from the deli. He found himself groaning alongside his stomach at the thought of such a treat, only to remember that it was a Friday and it was still the Lenten season.

Well, he thought to himself as he trudged his way up the stairs to his apartment. I guess I can just order the usual pizza and call it a night. As he got to his floor, Sonny found his previously drab and tired senses being stroked by a new, invigorating stimuli. Baked goods? Probably one of his neighbors. Must be nice; cakes sounded all too delightful right now. As he neared his own door, however, he began to realize and error in his previous assumption. The smell wasn’t coming from somebody else’s place: it was coming from his. That, and the sound of an oven door creaking open, bowls clattering, and the sound of the sink running.

Sonny wasn’t sure what to expect as he opened the door. Being ready to fight a baking burglar wasn’t how he thought his week would end but if that’s what was going on –

Between the two of you, Sonny was the better cook. You weren’t awful in the kitchen, Sonny was simply just divine by comparison. As such, the image of you dawning an apron splattered with patched of flour, powdered sugar, and your sleeves rolled up was a bit strange for Sonny to see. Adorable, no doubt about that, but different from how he usually saw you. You began to blush when you saw the man walk through the door, only adding to the cuteness.

“Crud,” you murmured. “I was sorta hoping you wouldn’t be back until a bit later . . . B-but don’t worry, I’m going to clean all of this, I promise!” The “all of this” being the mixing bowl, egg shell particles, and small piles of baked good ingredients marking his counter. Normally, Sonny was particular about his kitchen. But instead, he found himself concerned with something else.

“What’re you up to?” Sonny asked.

“Well, it’s, um . . . I know this week has been hard on you so I – ”

As if on cue, the egg-shaped timer you had set earlier dinged. Immediately, the stammering gave way to a person with the mission.

“Oh, good, it’s done! Wait here, I – no wait! Go wash up and change while I put the finishing touches on it!” you insisted. When Sonny didn’t move, confused as to the sudden shift, you groaned. “Come onnn!” you whined, scurrying behind him before nudging him toward his room. You tried to pay no mind to the laughing this coaxed from him, insisting that you needed it to be a surprise since he practically ruined it by coming home early.

“M’kay,” sighed Sonny as he emerged from the back. He felt somewhat better now, having had a shower and changed into his Fordham Law sweats. He couldn’t help but smirk as he came upon you, standing in front of the table in a manner that suggested you were shielding something. A huge smile dazzled your features, your hands curled and pressed together as if clasping the surprise within them.

“Okay, okay, so!” you exclaimed. “I know this week’s been tough on you. And I don’t want my Sonshine to dampen so I thought it’d be nice to cheer you up in any way possible. Sooooo  . . .” You stepped to the side and gestured your hands Vanna White style. Only instead of letters, your presentation was something of far more use to Sonny: a large order of pizza from his favorite establishment. “Your favorite: Goat cheese and sundried tomatoes.” You threw in a cheeky eyebrow-arching to hype up the mood. However, judging by the way your boyfriend’s face lit up, it wasn’t necessary: The man was thrilled.

“Aw, you didn’t have to!”

“Ah, but I did. You know I’d do whatever I could to make you smile.”

Damn straight, Sonny thought. But as strong as his love for the pie was, the sugary smell present in the air overpowered him with curiosity.

“But, uh . . . As much as I love pizza, I’m almost positive that this wasn’t what you were up to when I walked in earlier, right?” he teased. This prompted a smirk from you.

“Right you are, my little-tall detective,” you joked right back. “So close your eyes.” He did as instructed. He heard the sound of your feet padding over to the oven, the screech of the machinery’s door opening and then closing, and then your voice saying that it was alright for him to look.

“Tadaaahhh!” you cheered, holding up your creation. To the average person, it might’ve looked like a regular vanilla sheet cake. Maybe a vanilla sheet cake with a hint of citrus. But Sonny knew that smell well enough to know better. Plus, the fleur de lis embossment in the powdered sugar was a giveaway.

Sonny licked his lips. “You made – ”

“Schiacciata alla Fiorentina!” you stated. You puffed out your chest with pride. “I phoned your mom the other day asking for any recipes you particularly enjoyed and she said this was a good way to cheer you right up. Plus, it’s good for the Easter season, right?”

Sonny wasn’t sure what made him inhale in delight more: the scent of the cake, or the very essence of you. As you stood glowingly, he gently took the pan from your hands and set it on the table. This left you confused before he ushered you into a hug. Embraces were nothing strange at all when in a relationship with Sonny Carisi. However, the type he was currently providing was one that didn’t come up as often: His cheek laying on the crown of your head, arms wrapped so tightly around you it was as if he was worried that you might fly away. You wanted to joke that he wasn’t leaving any room for Jesus between the two of you but decided against it. Instead, you chose to focus on everything else: The smell of his soap; the sound of his heart beating against your ear; how you could just make out the smile he was wearing against your head. But most of all, the intense feeling of complete, unadulterated adoration resonating from his being.

“I don’t deserve you. Y’know that?” he finally spoke. You scoffed against his chest.

“I should be saying that about you, you know,” you threw back.

“No,” Sonny insisted. “I mean it: I do all kinds of crap both in and out of my job. But then I get you and it’s like . . .” He trailed off. You took the opportunity to step in once again.

“Sonny, what you do in comparison to me (or rather, what I fail to do) makes me the lucky one. You’re great, you deserve the best.”

“And I got the best.”

“No, you got me.”

In that moment, the grip of his arms around you slacked before positioning themselves to push you away. Only enough for Sonny to take a good look at you, but still enough to make you recognize how warm you felt against him. The look on his face was stern; something you rarely saw Sonny be when it came to you.

“(Y/N),” he said with a gentle strictness. “I don’t know how long it’s gonna take before you realize that you’re not this godawful person or whatever it is you think you are. I work in SVU for God’s sake – you’re literally up for sainthood by comparison to the pieces of crap I encounter on a regular basis.”

“Well, yeah, but,” you meekly replied, “it’s easy for you to say that when you’re higher up on the scale – ”

“For cryin’ out loud, there is no scale! I don’t know what has ya convinced that there’s some Catholic hierarchy goin’ on but I can promise ya: there is none. And if there is, you’d be right up there on the higher levels.”

Your brows creased at the blond’s claim. “Dude, I suck as a Catholic: I don’t always go to services, I get prayers mixed up, I screw up with Lent, I – ”

“Are still a good person,” Sonny finished.

“. . . What?”

“You’re still a good person,” he repeated. “Look, religion, no matter what people say, isn’t a competition: You know there are plenty of crappy pastors and whatnot out there, so the idea that position determines anything is about as wobbly as a broken chair. But you know what God loves? Triers. Jesus wasn’t goin’ around banning people left and right for messin’ up – Mary Magdalen was a prostitute for cryin’ out loud.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. You weren’t sure how you felt about being compared to a prostitute, fellow follower of Jesus or not. Sonny bit his lip, noting that you hadn’t taken to that last sentence as well as he’d hoped. But he tried yet again:

“I know ya may think I’m this ‘incredible Catholic’ or whatever it is ya think I am, but it’s easy to think that because you’re comparing yourself. Ya really don’t give yourself enough credit, though. (Y/N), ya knit blankets for abuse survivors; ya do things without being asked; and hey, children have weird senses about people, so my niece liking ya can’t be wrong!” (This provoked a smile from you; a good sign.)

“And if you’re really that convinced that you’re ranked behind some creep just because he has a collar on, that to me, that’s a bigger mistake than messing up grace. Because if God can love this goofball who messes up all the time, then I sure as hell can, too. And I sure as hell do.”

At that last sentence, the cold you’d been reintroduced to upon separation from Sonny’s torso resumed. And boy, did it resume with a vengeance. You should’ve known how much blushing could feel like burning and yet, the flooding within your face was overwhelming. Not helping, of course, was that notoriously blissful smile Sonny wore, even as you pressed your face against his chest as if to soothe the sensation.

As if recognizing how flustered he’d made you, you heard his chest rumble: “Especially if they buy me pizza and come to my place just to make me a cake!” The vibrations of him talking were followed with those of him laughing upon hearing a muffled pouting demand that he shut up.

You were too precious. And how could anyone be disappointed in that?

[alltheworldsrpg-blog]

WELCOME TO ROSWELL, ADONIS PETYR

Admin Ais: Adonis is absolutely perfect as The Holo, and such an interesting contribution to the political game being played out in the rp. You managed to create a wonderfully complex and manipulative character, and I loved reading about his personal feelings on his position and his motivations.

You’ve been accepted as THE HOLO with the faceclaim of KIM WOO-BIN. Please follow all rules and regulations as laid out by the Roswell Town Council, especially concerning any non pre-approved biologic. All UFO’s outside of city limits must be stickered or will be towed. Enjoy your stay in the first city of extraterrestrials. 

OUT OF CHARACTER.

NAME/ALIAS + PRONOUNS:

Kael, he/him.

AGE:

Nineteen years old.

TIMEZONE + ACTIVITY:

Y’all know I go through college and I’m a human disaster–I’m at GMT+8:00 and I’d put my activity at a solid 6 for the moment because of fast paced summer classes, but afterwards? 8 or a higher probably before school.

TRIGGERS:

Removed for privacy. 

ANYTHING ELSE?: X.

IN CHARACTER.

SKELETON TITLE: The Holo

FULL NAME: Adonis Petyr

GENDER + PRONOUNS: Cis male, he/him

SEXUAL + ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: Homosexual homoromantic.

DATE OF BIRTH + AGE: November 5th + 26 years old

OCCUPATION: Protege to the current Chosen.

FACECLAIM: Kim Woo-bin

BIOGRAPHY:

Your life is not your own. It is the first lesson you learn.

You were something made to propel everyone else into the great unknowns of the future, bringing about altruistic change to the world that you’d grown up on. You were to be of great importance, your parents said, a child whose destiny was to be part of something that could give rise to a new age that would tip the fates of many. You were the promise of a Starweaver to your parents, and you were going to deliver on that, whether you liked it or not.

You learned the cost of a new world early on–an assemblage of teachers, of tutors and groomers that would make you into a Chosen that the people deserved, that Proxima deserved. They built you up and stripped you down in to be who they wanted you to be. The golden child, the savior, the foothold in politics, and when they were done, they marveled at who you were, a child scrubbed clean of his identity. After that, the dream soured into a nightmare, making it feel like servitude–forced indenture, rather than a choice you would have gladly made for yourself. But you smile, and grin, and bear it because there is no other choice to make.

At least, for now.

Like Atlas, you bore the weight of everything on your shoulders, of a destiny from a Starweaver, of the pressure from your parents to run and be the Chosen, even the people who never met you, but expected you to save them from themselves even though you wanted nothing more than to be one of the men who waited for deliverance. It was tiring, walking up to people and putting on facade after facade, only having moments to discard it and resent ever having to put a mask on before walking around and shaking hands and answering questions once more.

You felt the cracks on your face, on the carefully manufactured visage that they had constructed for yourself, weathered and worn, until the bubbling from the inside had to be released somehow, for fear you would burst from the sheer pressure. Haunting bars, haunting people in the dark of night was one of the only ways you could maintain everything thrown at you, shore up the supports for the cracks in your foundation. It was intoxicating, to say the least, always coming back for more under another name and another guise just to relax and live a life that seemed better than yours.

As the years leading up to the election went by, resentment grew and blackened within your heart because you were–you are more than what they made you to be, an obedient puppet, serving the whims of the people that you should so dearly think of. But in your bones, you knew that you were never meant to bend the knee or serve the masses, but to rule over them with sweet words and a sweeter tongue.

( You remember winning by a mere thousand votes–crocodile tears on the stand, hugging your opponent as a show of good faith, and you deliver your speech with the hammering of your heart inside your chest. It is good, you think, to show them emotion while you still have your plan in the works. Win their hearts over and they will bow down and smile when they do it.

And for a second, you feel yourself again, show through the cracks–even just for a while. )

Playing Luther’s protege did take some getting used to, the new impositions and rules chafing into your skin as if they were chaining you to the floor, but you managed to pull through, enjoying the little diplomatic acts that they had done for themselves on a regular basis. You were going to be in it for the long haul, you thought, as every board meeting, every public appearance, ever last one of Luther’s missions to some backwater place had to make you think of what to do when he was going to step down.

But this time, you control the moves you were going to set into place, the pace you were going to go, and you feel yourself return to something greater, something meant to wear a crown and preside over the masses. You smile and nod to the public as your mentor watches you at your periphery, a subtle glance, as if he hears the whispers of those in power and believes them. ( For a petty old fool, he knows how to listen, you’ll give him that. )

Though you watch as he self-destructs before you, his impartial leanings towards the masses making them walk into his arms every second he gets up on that pulpit, or consults with a foreign leader, and you barely have to lift a finger. You watch and laugh in private, for Luther was an age long past, and you are the harbinger of a brighter future.

( Once, you asked a Starweaver under cover of night, in cloak and hood, if what you wanted was going to come true. They smiled at you, a tense smile, full of nervousness and worry, and told you that if he was going to let himself be what they wanted to be, it would. If he was going to.

But if recent events have shown you, that’s not really a question for you anymore. Not really.

And with Luther, it wasn’t ever a question of if you would take the helm anymore—it was a question of when. )

MUSING + HEAD-CANONS.

HEAD-CANONS:

i. miss me, lover?

Your first tryst is with a boy you don’t remember–maybe he never was worth remembering.

You remember looking at the bright neon, the glare of the lights and the bodies, the strobing of the nearby clubs as you skulked down what was a dark alleyway into a den of vice and debauchery. It was against all they taught you, against everything that you’ve learned from sacred texts and philosophy–no leader should be attracted to the allures of the forbidden, but when did happiness and duty ever meet?

But what you remembered the most wasn’t the bright lights or the the allure of it all, it was the intoxicating power that came with it, every moan, every hitch of his breath that you made happen in a matter of minutes. He was putty in your hands, and you can’t forget about the look in his eyes, the unmistakable devotion that he gave you as you held his tenderness in your hand and made him see brightness in the skies.

( Pleasure is the most intoxicating drug you know. )

ii. moving forward.

You see glamour and technology as you walk within the streets, and you curse yourself for not coming to Earth sooner.

Technological marvels are wondrous and many-faced, and you want so badly for the future to be as bright and as gleaming as the cities that dot the Earth’s landscape, of a Proxima that rivaled that of the Luytan’s home with might that rivaled that of Earth. For an observer in a foreign land, there is much to be learned from watching and waiting at the wings, not that your mentor has any reason to want for a modern world.

But you are determined to bring this to your backwater world, a forceful renaissance in the history of Proxima, for you have grown tired of horses and candlelit houses, and seek the beauties of metal and technology. There is so much to learn, so much to do, if Proxima could just leave the past behind and walk towards the future.

( And if they resist? Well, everyone needed a little push. )

TIDBITS:

i. Adonis likes black tea and often prefers an overpriced coffee milkshake to an economical black coffee, just because he’s worth it. He also has a really long order that he sticks to most of the time, but no one could ever get right.

ii. While he has a handle on sex, he has more of an awkward time trying to actually date someone, since almost all his exposure was through seedy bathrooms and secret motels. He does try to be romantic sometimes, but it just doesn’t have the same effect.

iii. After finding out that his “protector” was not on his side, Adonis is currently trying to learn martial arts and weapons handling for fear of being assassinated in a dark alley with no one to defend him. It’s a fear he’s kept on the back of his mind ever since, and it’s not one he’s going to stop having for a long time.

iv. He doesn’t talk to his parents, not after they basically moulded him into being their perfect little pawn for political and financial gain. They’re his dirty little secret that he wouldn’t share for the world, even if it gave him the throne.

v. Though he is supposed to dress modestly, he wears his clothes with a little bit of flair for people to remember him by. He doesn’t remember visually, so he mixes and matches and it mostly looks like the same thing, though with little alterations.

vi. Adonis has one tattoo. He’ll show you where if you ask nicely.

vii. Luther is cold and unfeeling and is full of secrets, much like him–Adonis thinks that he wanted to impress him once, but not anymore. These days, he’s much too busy plotting for himself rather than caring about what Luther thinks of him.

PLOTS + CONNECTIONS:

story arcs:

i. the pieces are all set.

The passing of the torch is meant to happen sometime, and Adonis prefers having all his duck in a row when he’s made the new Chosen among his people–I’d like to see him try and curry favor amongst political leaders and the Centaurian council members to at least get them on his side. It’s going to take some charisma and political will, but he thinks he can manage that, even with the several dangers that are on all sides.

There’s also the fact that he needs to get public perception on his side if he ever wants a chance of ever taking power for himself, and so I’d like him to try to be the golden boy that the Centaurians see, though we all know it’s a facade.

ii. the fallout.

This arc could go one of two ways–success or failure.

Either way, it involves him doing damage control with the affected groups that would have him taken out of his rightful place ( or so he thinks. ) Suppression and eradication in the shadows would be done, attracting support from the populace or sympathy, if the event calls for it.

For success, keeping the throne and making plans to get to Proxima Centauri to consolidate forces are of paramount importance, as well as silencing any opposition to his rule, from council member to guards. Adonis doesn’t tolerate unloyalty when he succeeds, and he does not suffer traitors for the life of him.

For failure to take the throne, he will try to muster support to his cause to take the throne from Luther or any insurgents that may threaten his ascent. I’d like to see him combat the insurgents with any political power that he may still have and piece together his reputation back up again.

I’d like to see him use his guile to survive the new reality he finds himself in when he makes a beeline for the Centaurian leadership.

connections:

i. darling, my mouth is poison.

You’re a regular Casanova, and you know it, using your good image and blinding white smile to consistently string along a number of guys, and it is so enjoyable to have them be at your beck and call when you ask. But political intrigue and information is your main goal now, and this is why you’ve seduced–or at least tried to seduce, them. They don’t know your agenda yet, and you’re not keen on letting them know, but you’re patient and persistent, and you’ll get something out of them yet.

ii. the ties that bind.

Allies are hard to come by, and in this current political climate and the hplots against you, it’s harder to find anyone who would knowingly align themselves with you, knowing what you have in store. And yet, they are by your side, an alliance–either momentary or permanent, where both of you could come out on top, seeking higher power and farther reaches beyond your meager stations. You don’t know if they’re by your side for the long run, or if they’re going to ditch you when they get what they want, but you’re grateful to have at least one person reaching for the same goals as you.

iii. my most beloved harbinger.

A willing follower, your first, and one of your closest friends. Adoration may scare some leaders, and may even be unadvisable for most, but you see it as a tool to use when necessary. They believe in the vision you share, even if it is just fragments, and you are grateful for their utter passion to your cause, their unwavering belief in you. You’ve needed a right hand for so long, a second to throw down the iron gauntlets, as your guard and protector has chosen such a contrary side to the aspirations that you have.

WRITING SAMPLE:

Removed for privacy. 

ETC:

pinterest board: x

moodboard: x

[ccinthecity]

Living in the Illusion: Queer expression and relationships between fiction and physical spaces and representation

My portfolio (and effective final) for HUM4938: Media, Power, and Sexuality. In abstraction, an analysis of the role of media in portrayal and/or realization of queer characters and spaces, and its relation to the constructed fictionalization/stigmatization of queer people in real life.

Introduction

On June 24th, I landed in London. It was my first time outside of the United States, and an opportunity to study and learn a new city, a new culture outside of my own, and of course, explore my own relationship to that. But I was a student, first and foremost. I spend my week studying, going from class to class, to excursions and museums and parts of town I couldn’t even dream of finding on my own. As the days went on, so more did I see new prismic projections down the streets and up the escalators of the underground, peering through at tube stations and in coffee shops and in the alleys of Leicester square. The west end soon became a flurry of rainbows—the city, although already diverse and buzzing, was more and more colourful as it anticipated the arrival of the celebration of freedom of expression of love.

Although I’d been somewhat involved in LGBTQ+ groups and discourse in my time in high school, and certainly had gone through moments of questioning my personal identity, I’d never been to a Pride parade, or any queer community event for that matter, before. I wasn’t sure if I was meant to go; at the time, and still currently, I identify somewhere between asexual and bisexual—a demi-bisexual. Since there’s some ambiguity among the members of the LGBTQ+ community about ace and bi individuals as to where they belong in representation, activism, and portrayal, it seemed a little difficult to throw myself in the mix. In any case, my preferences have never been evocative of any particular direction or affect, and I’d been hesitant to label myself, either in fear of being wrong, or perhaps in fear of being misunderstood, judged. Quite simply, I was never really sure if I was really queer enough, so I never came out.

And so, out of pure curiosity, and perhaps with a little sense of hopeful belonging, I went the second Saturday of my trip to London Pride—it was a special event, as it was the fiftieth anniversary of the partial decriminalization of Homosexuality: a civil rights benchmark that was so significant to the progress and acceptance of so many individuals in modern society. It was a colourful event, filled to the brim with unbelievable spectacles of love, joy, happiness, exuberance, glitter, rainbows, and what seemed to be absolute magic performed by drag queens and shown by endless seas of flowing rainbow-coloured fabric, flags flying down Oxford street, highlighted by a rugby player’s proposal to his boyfriend, furthered by the unending positivity between all those who attended. I felt an innate sense of grounding in camaraderie with the people surrounding me, in the crowd and on the parade route, that I never felt before, regarding sexuality and identity, really.

But it so too felt almost unreal—not only in the way that I was four thousand some miles away from home, but too because my understanding of LGBTQ+ history was that of struggle; up to this day. The presence of protest groups in the pride parade made a stark contrast to the parties surrounding—while the parade remained a spectacle, and celebration of what had been achieved, groups like stonewall and others were reminiscent of the original intent of pride; to make it clear that queer individuals existed, and should be treated as any other human being, through breaking that spectacle, and agitating others as to make sure they are heard, and change takes place (as Oscar Wilde noted, “That is why agitators are so absolutely necessary,”). The perfect, rainbow-coloured parade was manufactured by the many corporations that sponsored the event, and that “pink-washed” (and furthermore was a part of the depoliticisation of) what was once a political protest and communal event for demanding solidarity and equal representation. It was dismal to think, even at the back of my mind, that something so beautiful was at its foundation, (like many things) corrupt.

The day after pride, our class took an excursion to the new music biannual conference—or festival, I’m not too sure—it was the final performance of the series, a piece composed by avant-garde contemporary composer Philip Venables, featuring the London Sinfonietta and queer performance artist David Hoyle: Illusions (read more about this excursion here). It wasn’t exactly a speech pattern composition, but an orchestral interaction between parts of the text that elicited rhythm and meaning.

Although it is the title statement, one phrase did manage to stick out to me, after pride, and even continuing into further exploration of queer culture in London—Hoyle mentions of democracy in the current age (2015 was the original release of the piece, but Venables, in an interview between the performances, still noted its relevance two years later) “you know and I know it’s an illusion,”. The piece was addressed mostly to the new conservative government—but too was shown to those in attendance, ranging from any given socioeconomic class (but most likely, those who could afford a ticket were of middle or higher status) and sexuality or gender identity. So, which population experiences that illusion? Perhaps it is all those there at the moment.

This idea (moreso a conundrum) remained in my mind until now—and I thought I should explore the idea of illusion when it comes to the portrayal and understanding, as well as the identification of homosexuality and queerness in media.

Illusion (n.) - 1. a misleading image presented to the eye 2. the state or fact of being led to accept as true something unreal or imagined 3. a mistaken idea

The Illusion

So often queerness is treated as if it is illegitimate; perverse; a figment or fancy of the imagination. Homosexuality, although partially decriminalised in England and Wales in 1967 under the Sexual Offences Act, was only decategorized from major psychological association’s published texts as a mental disorder in the 1970’s—trans* folk were even more outspoken in the medical community, with gender identity disorder only leaving the volumes of the DSM-V in 2012. Being queer was to be mentally ill, and was to live in illusion, to the understanding of society.

But who truly lived in that illusion? To queer folk, their experiences were all but as real as any other. The fictionalisation, or rather, assignment to obscurity of homosexuality and queerness too fictionalised those individuals accounts and agency when it came to social action: it was (and still, to a certain extent is) harder for LGBTQ+ individuals to assert certain self-evident rights in many situations. That fictionalisation too worked against them, when they were victims of continued cultural persecution, legal prosecution, and violence from various outlets. The stigmatisation of the community and of homosexuals in media, and the cultural paradigm that had existed prior to legal decriminalisation created a heavy ideal that, still today, continues to threaten even the basic levels of hierarchical need of queer individuals, forcing them to live “in the closet”, diminishing personal mental health and relationships, fostering subversive and possibly dangerous ways of life (queer individuals more prone to homelessness, drug use, contracting STIs, prone to domestic and direct violence), taking away access, or not deeming necessary, social resources, all caused by accepting queerness as fictional, and denying the existence of quite a large portion of the population, dismissing them as unreal.

It’s no wonder, then, that queer individuals have become so accustomed to their lives being called fiction—as they have produced some of the most intricately creative pieces of artwork, literature, and music, that exist in the realm on the edge of stark, political, reality and sensual, blissful, scary, manic dream matter.

The Theatre

There is no secrecy in that the Theatre is a queer space. Not really that all people who work and live in the theatre scene are gay (as somehow, that’s become another stereotype in this weird world of ours)—but its one of the safest spaces for creatives who have different identities, historically. Among those dancers, writers, actors, and more, Vaslav Nijinsky (as discussed in the V&A Tour, post coming soon), Stephen Sondheim, on and on and on, furthermore, the material that comes out of the theatre is usually intersectional in its inclusion of different demographics, from race to identity to sexuality, and there are so many queer cult classics from the theatre world: RENT, Fun Home, Belle Reprieve, etc. etc. etc. If I had to list all of the queer creators and significant creations in the performance world, I would probably not be able to write this piece.

The Theatre is also a place where illusion itself lives. The entire concept of the theatre is a space in which one experiences a suspense of disbelief: a temporary adoption of ideas or mindsets, settings and events that aren’t necessarily true. Whether through costume, set design, make up, technical design and lighting or the sheer action and verbiage of the script, plays, musicals, reveries, cabarets, and skits involve the audience and actors in a whole mirage of make-believe. This is important.

In London especially, theatre has played an active role in queer representation and activism, if not simply by being the space for those individuals, then by creating attention. Both Stuart Feather and Jill Dolan remark in their books about the involvement of Street Theatre in the movement for decriminalisation of homosexuality, and collaboration with the Gay Liberation Front in the 1970’s.  The culture surrounding the theatre here, in the west end, as well as on Broadway, is one of avid acceptance of queer art.

A indication of that culture was alive and well in the Cafe de Paris—a nightclub and performance venue in Leicester Square, which our class visited later in the week. The performance that night was the Seven Sins Cabaret—a cabaret, of course, reminiscent of the red-light district, raunchy, and alcoholic gatherings of parisian businessmen in underground bars and performance venues, and the later production between Bob Fosse and Fred Ebb, which focused on sexuality and subversive performance culture in Nazi Berlin in the Kit Kat Klub. It certainly surpassed expectations (link to post coming soon) and was a pinnacle of scintillating, slightly erotic? but completely empowered performance. Upon posting to instagram, the emcee and director of the show, drag performer Reuben “Ruby” Kaye, commented on my post, still just as enthusiastic about the openness and the stark portrayal of sexuality, and the intimacy of performance and the way it helps shape ideas and removes hurtful stigma about open sexuality.

Later, I also had the opportunity (on the last night, no less--link to post coming soon) to go to the west end and see Kinky Boots at the Adelphi Theatre. I’d never seen the musical before, but I knew it was one of the quintessential pieces from the United Kingdom that deserved a look—as well as a significant LGBTQ+ representative production, as it focused on the friendship between the protagonist, Charlie, and his opposite story centre, Lola, a drag queen who helps Charlie navigate a difficult time in his life, dealing with the death of his father, and learning how to define himself as a man, as the Mr. Price of his family business Price and Sons.

Its an incredibly liberating and relatable piece—perhaps people don’t come to the theatre to see Kinky Boots if they aren’t open-minded already, but certainly, the older ladies in the row in front of me had a wild time at the show. The most impressive pieces to me, regarding identity and sexuality, are that of Lola’s pieces—first, “Lola’s World”, in which the lyrics read  “Step into a dream, Where glamour is extreme, Welcome to my fantasy,” followed by the number “What a Man” in which the roles of gender are explored and reversed, and used to empower the performer. Of course, “Just Be”, too is a fantastic pride anthem, preaching for unlimited self expression. In the show, Lola is completely open about who they are and what they are, and what it means to be them, completely breaking any sense of deceit or illusion that goes along with being a performer, a person with two identities at face value.

A Stand Out: Todrick Hall

Aside from starring as Lola in the fall/winter 2016 season on Broadway, this openly gay creator has recently risen to a relatively popular stance in the performance world—both on stage (in Oz, Kinky Boots) and in television (as a recent host and choreographer on RuPaul’s Drag Race, the creator of Todrick MTV, and contestant on American Idol) by way of his YouTube channel, which he started in 2006. A decade later, Todrick has amassed over 2.5 million subscribers.

I found inspiration for this analysis in watching some of his videos, which feature his takes on pop culture classics, like Mean Girls, Disney films such as Alice in Wonderland, Beauty and the Beast, and plays (namely Chicago, as there are several cell block tangoes) and reimagines them as hollywood, gay, and black versions of the predominantly white, straight originals.

One that stood out especially, perhaps because of its magnitude as a project (it’s a feature-length video on his YouTube), is an autobiographical musical re-adaptation of the Wizard of Oz called Straight Outta Oz—the story closely following the narrative of the original, but in this version, Todrick is Dorothy, and his story is a reflection of growing up gay, growing up black, and navigating a technicolor world. These themes are directly related to the course’s parameters: it is media, and the power involved, and how sexuality comes into play.

(If you have the opportunity, skip to ‘Water Guns’ near the end of the video)

Following what Ruby Kaye imparted in her comment on my instagram post of “Perform, Educate, Empower,” Todrick fully explores what it means to be the content creator, producer, director, and performer of queer art and media made for the masses. His art takes the illusion, whether it be from the suspense of disbelief in the theatre, the makeup of drag queens, the use of music, or simply, the line between what is fictional in literature and real life, and applies it to a wholly human and enthralling experience, not necessarily to enlighten, but to ground—to create a common space that feels safe, welcoming, and intriguing, if anything. The fictionalisation which was used against him and other queer individuals is reclaimed in fantasy.

Creators like Todrick, who are now more able to express themselves in openly queer artistic choices, are not only the future of artistic production, but are also leading the way for progress in the destigmatisation of queer identity, diminishing the illusions of obscure gender and sexuality and making them known.

Conclusion

In 2016, the shooting at the PULSE gay nightclub in Orlando, Florida, was exactly that: a display to make us realise that we were not safe. That to a certain extent, the LGBTQ+ community (especially the L, G, B) did live in an illusion of security. That we were still so far from acceptance. It only took so much hate (that had already existed, so evidently, yet that was shrouded by progress, by the spectacle of parade and celebration) to take away the lives of so many.

The line between what is real and what is illusory has always existed for the LGBTQ+ community. But for queer individuals, the distinction of either is all too clear. They are not the ones living in an illusion, but rather the ones working to shatter it.

References & Further Reading

Venables, P. (Composer), Hoyle, D. & London Sinfonietta, (Performers), Baker, R. (Conductor). (2017, July 9). Illusions. Live performance at Southbank Centre, London, United Kingdom.

Venables, P. (2015, September 19). Illusions. Retrieved July 2017, from https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g4hJQimj45U

Ackroyd, P. (2015). Queer City: Gay London from the Romans to the Present Day. London: Chatto & Windus.

Dolan, J. (2010). Theatre & sexuality. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan.

Feather, S. (2016). Blowing the Lid: Gay Liberation, Sexual Revolution, and Radical Queens. Alresford: John Hunt.

Fierstein, H., & Lauper, C. (Writers), Mitchell, J. (Director), & Oremus, S. (Conductor). (2017, July 21). Kinky Boots. Live performance in Adelphi Theatre, London.

“Illusion”. 2017. In Merriam-Webster.com. Retrieved from https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/illusion

Playful Productions. (2017). Kinky Boots [Brochure]. London.

Kaye, R. (Director). (2017, July 14). Seven Sins Cabaret. Live performance in Café de Paris, London.

Milazzo, F. (2016, September 12). Review: Seven Sins, Cafe de Paris. Retrieved from http://www.thisiscabaret.com/review-seven-sins-cafe-de-paris/

To contribute further to my research, if you are queer or identify in a way that you find different to cis- and hetero-normative tradition, consider completing this survey about your experience regarding the relationship between fiction, illusion, and queerness.  Please follow, and if you’re keen on contributing, citing, or collaborating further to this research, send me an ask or submit!

[characteresque]

“ A hero of war - Is that what they see? Just medals and scars, so damn proud of me “  - song lyrics by Rise Against

Travis still can’t believe it. He stares at the calendar hanging on the inside of his bedroom door, a day circled in bright red: January 17th. The anniversary of the day he showed up in an emergency room, alive – it’s a hometown holiday. People drop cakes and pies off on his front porch, all day there’s star-spangled flags up and down Main Street, and on that afternoon he’s expected to meet other veterans at the Civic Center to bullshit about tales of valor and drink free beer. His sister, Harley, sure makes a scene; she’s usually wasted by noon on all of the festivities and bragging about her heroic little brother that took everything he knew from her knowledgebase.

But Travis doesn’t feel like a hero. In fact, it’s quite the opposite: he survived his prisoner status by sheer luck. In his reality, America is warring with invading Russian troops coming from (what once was) the American/Canadian border; and Travis is what’s considered a symbol of patriotism. He was born to two model parents, a field medic mother and a soldier-turned-helicopter-mechanic father. He was raised like most who live in a small border city; compulsory education until 16 followed by a conscription of 6 years in the United States military.

Travis wasn’t a model student, nor was he the prime boot – it’s what happened after basic training that set him apart. While Travis awaited deployment, himself and his parents had it relatively cushy. While Harley was away on the last year of her conscription, the family had a paid home in one of the Guarded Cities (a city in which the families of active military are kept safe by homeland security), and the threat of attack was slim: but insurgent forces somehow found their way inside and all hell broke loose. Travis fought hard but just before he blacked out from a punctured lung, his mother and father at least had the opportunity to say goodbye as they took cover on the kitchen floor. Travis claims he can’t remember seeing them die, but the gunshots rang in his ears as he was thrown over a hefty shoulder and carried out into the bloodstained snow.

In fact, there’s a lot of claims that Travis makes if he’s asked. He’ll claim that he can’t remember exactly how he got to the work camp, or how his lung got patched up. He’ll claim that he was treated just as all of the other prisoners of war, even though about a year into his internment he became a “person of interest”: that’s never something you want in a facility like this one. Russian intelligence claimed that Travis knew something about a woman named Harley: but it wasn’t true, after all. They had the wrong guy.

And these were the only words his frustrated Officer could coax out of him. Hours of classified videotape sitting in a dusty box somewhere record a bruised American glaring down his interrogator with a tireless ferocity: a 12 second clip of was released to the public. Travis endured 2 long years of hard labor, malnutrition, and tortuous interrogation without cracking. When he eventually crawls himself over the border to a small medic camp emergency room, he’s missing three fingers, many of his teeth, and there’s indication that he is deaf in his left ear. He has bones in his arms and legs that have been broken and then healed incorrectly (which were a bitch to re-set by the way), scars travelling up his arms and legs like a road map, and certain patches on his head where hair will never grow again: but dammit, he’s alive. And for some people, that’s enough to bake him a stupid cake or give up one afternoon telling him how great he is.

What the people don’t see are the hours he spent in his cot, surrounded by other equally bruised and broken men, crying like a little bitch while others allowed themselves to suffer in silence. They don’t see the shameful cries he let out when he attempted resolute silence, or the smartass remarks and flying spit that landed him in such a situation in the first place. Travis replays every little scene in his mind, dwelling over every one: but the public is right about one thing – he didn’t give up the information that Officer wanted so badly. He never gave up his sister for certain death, or worse: a cot next to his.

The only reprieve Travis had to his name during his time of need came in the form of something quite unexpected: acts that began with small parcels of food poked through the fence behind what inmates called the “brick factory”. They were precious bits of grain and bread, sometimes even luxurious items like bits of cake or nuts; and they were more valuable to Travis at these times than all of the money in the world. He would have given every penny in his pension today and forever for one hot meal; so these gifts were what kept him going. The parcels got bigger and more sustaining until finally, one night, he met the mysterious source of his secret key to survival: a beautiful Russian woman with flowing hair and shy eyes. It was impossible to speak for very long, but over the last year of his imprisonment he learned many things about his savior: she loved tea, felt terrible about the work camp that was built into the countryside of her home, had no control over the war or what was happening to the prisoners inside, and eventually it came to light that “she” was actually a “he”.

Travis knew how unacceptable it was to be homosexual in this particular area, after all there were Russian people in this work camp with him. It didn’t take a genius to put two and two together even though there were a vicious rivalry between Russian and American prisoners. Andrei, Travis learned, was saved from the same fate as himself out of sheer luck of circumstance: and now, the young man wanted to do what he could for his brethren on the wrong side of the fence.

When a small hole the size of a child replaced the carefully wrapped packages of food one night, Travis didn’t ask questions: he bolted. His ribs were the largest thing about his chest those days, and squeezing through was difficult but not impossible. Too emaciated to run, Travis simply stumbled down the steep embankment and prayed for the best: luckily, a snow drift saved his life at the end of the hill. Two days and a terrible case of frostbite on his left unshoed foot later: he was back on American soil. On a wing and a prayer.

Returning to the United States wasn’t the sweet thing he had dreamed about, keeping himself sane in prison. He returned to a shell of a sister who buried her entire family when she returned from service, himself coming back as a ghost and certainly a changed man. She was also harboring a dark secret - one that Travis would go through great pains to accept. And then there were the fevered dreams of Andrei, the angel who saved him from certain death: the thought of what must have happened to him kept him up at night just the same as his own nightmares. No, Travis isn’t a hero: he’s a scared little boy waiting for something to make him feel safe again. Hopefully, he can find it.