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nabrizoya · 4 years ago

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RoW Theories and Things I Want to See

with RoW literally a few weeks away, here’s some theories your way.

this is Really long. like, really very long; mind you.

Nikolai might become a disabled character.

It’s just the vibes. If we can take reference from the Too Clever Fox story, there’s a line that says “...and his [Koja’s] fur never quite sat right the same...”, which might hint at it (mostly bc i don’t want him to die). Also if this is indeed possible, it can be used to address ableism if it exists in this universe, especially since Nikolai is someone in the highest position of power.

Zoya will experiment the shit out of powers.

Idk why the synopsis says that using her powers might be a great deal, which tbf will be because she is truly the most most powerful atm; but Zoya wouldn’t mind taking the step outside of the old norms and bend the orders until they serve their purpose. That’s the entire goal rly.

But all along, she will consciously keep herself mindful to not hunger or discharge her power in a way that may cause harm. She knows the tyranny of the Darkling and the ways he employed. She knows better.

More character depth to Zoya.

Given the excerpts, the book does seem to explore Zoya’s infinite grief. And of course her Suli heritage, which a great part of the fandom consistently wants to shadow what with the talk “white features/ part Ravkan” bs.

But there’s more. I hope RoW will show Zoya’s dilemma (that was alr hinted in KoS) she has with the power she holds, the responsibility she has with having that power + using it in the way that will not be detrimental to her and the country. It will be a great way to portray her self-awareness and doubt and insecurity. She is a good leader, that much is told in text but not shown. There’s character development from the end of R&R until KoS that makes her evolve from a what she was then to the capable and mature 22 year old she is in KoS.

Of course all of their capabilities will come to light in RoW but I think Zoya and the agency to her as a character will play an integral part. More so because Zoya is to be the conduit to reversing the current Grisha orders, which runs in parallel with the fact that she needs to go back, go back to the roots of her Grisha knowledge and roots of her i.e. her unending grief and trauma.

She will need to forgive herself while also dealing with the guilt and anger she may have caused due to her position and power. All of this while dealing with her own complex and contrasting emotions due to her own trauma.

Nikolai is held for treason.

The word of allying with The Darkling may be out and that is enough reason for the entire country to turn against him. The secret about the monster causes issues more than enough already, and this will plunge the country into deep political turmoil and threats to security. So RoW will be more politically driven. That said...

There’s no overt war.

By this I mean that there will not be war on the battlefield, both armies or more charging at each others’ enemies and such. Ravka cannot afford one either. The excerpts have already proved that. There will be skirmishes akin to a war scenario, but a complete battle like the last battle in R&R? Like a final battle? That’s not going to be there, I think… What I’m assuming might happen is that the Fjerda and Ravka will take a possible Cold War route, if it isn’t already the case they’re already dealing with atm.

Ravka’s monarchy will collapse.

It may become a democracy or any other form of public or majority vote. But the monarchy (as well a possible dictatorship, esp with the Darkling returned) will be eliminated. ...Or so I hope, since it has been alluded to in KoS.

But that poses many problems. With no one line for the throne, let alone with a crime so dark like a blot on Nikolai’s skill (of taking the Darkling’s help), it is possible that Ravka will shun it, right alongside being torn about it because Nikolai has been, for the best of his ability, a good King. All of this in line with the Resistance rising in West Ravka.

This ties in with the court matters, especially if I want to hold the further points I make true. The resolution to acquit Nikolai of his charges requires a testification forth a jury which will then make a decision about his motives and future.

Zoya as the Interim Head.

After all of this, Zoya’s point about Ravka not accepting a Grisha Queen will be true after all, because there will be no monarchy to welcome such an arrangement.

But Ravka will need a good and trustworthy leader despite Grisha powers and Zoya is the best person to take care of that. The comment “...becoming a steady leader...” and the “Welcome home, Commander,” were there in KoS for a reason (and this is what I think it will link to).

That being said, there’s more nuance to this than my summary. Zoya is a character of colour. That—in addition to the already existing threats, objections and possible question of capability in the position—ill play into how she will be able to discharge her responsibility. It’s not going to be convenient.

EDIT: taken from a reblog/addition to the og post:

A smoother/more structured transition

Once after the monarchy collapses and a leader must be chosen, it will not be Nikolai. Nor will it be Zoya, though she might serve as an interim head. What I assume might be possible is that someone older is chosen, someone older and loyal and with the proof of knowledge and service to the country. Possibly by majority vote or elected by a council.

Instead of the sudden change, this can be a smoother (if that can even be said about such a major political scenario change) or more structured. I also say this because a. if Nikolai is indeed charged (and later acquitted), firstly his political career will already hold a blot if the word about using the Darkling as a resource is out and secondly, he’s way too young to serve as the leader (by modern standards, sure, but like, the required age will be set while drafting the constitution? currently its 35+).

Instead, the current cast can become representatives (which Zoya would already be, (mostly the head of the) international committee that safeguards the Grisha all over the world) and the Triumvirate will be dissolved. (it should be, tbh)

And hey, b. after all of this, they can and kind of need to take a step back. Nikolai and Zoya will be able to truly explore their relationship, given how Nikolai mentions how he wouldn’t marry unless he’d have had the chance to court someone and marry someone he barely knows nor knows him. For Zoya’s part, she does know Nikolai but surely probably not the extent of openness that a healthy relationship has, and on Nikolai’s part, he admits he barely knows her beyond as a General except for just little things about her.

They could be able to realize and work on their feelings while alongside being involved with the workings of the country and the constitution.

“One day you will overstep and I will not be so forgiving.”

Need I say more? Something that Zoya does will cost her Nikolai’s goodwill and we know Zoya knows her practicality and the extent to which she will unapologetically move if there is threat to the country and its King. She will do what was right and required.

A major part of that line ties in with Magnus Opjer and I think with the confidence in the versatility of her powers, Zoya might as well move w/o any word to the Triumvirate to eliminate the most direct threat to the throne. This will bring splits in Nikolai and Zoya’s relationship.

How this tension between them will be resolved without compromising either of their values, without playing into fandom stereotypes and others must be carefully handled. All of this while showing the best of their dynamicity, practicality and priority as they carefully pull out just those weak sticks of the jenga without putting the whole country into trouble. And with a war in plain sight, they’d know better than pointlessly argue and would rather see how the two of them are wrong. This ordeal will bring out just how condensed power is in the current scenario, imo.

Importance on the way women have shaped history.

Something that KoS has already set precedence for. Zoya being a PoC, Nina taking into account of the sufferings of women she comes across and the consistent ‘Who will remember them?’ will be elaborated on further. As for how it is done and how well it is done, that remains to be seen.

Baghra is alive but maybe not thriving bc she’s stuck in the Ice Court.

They entered a chamber where an old woman sat with her hands chained, flanked by guards. Her eyes were vacant. As each prisoner approached, the woman gripped his or her wrist.

A human amplifier. [...] But the Fjerdans used them for a different purpose – to make sure no Grisha breached their walls without being identified.

Kaz watched Nina approach. He could see her trembling as she held out her arm. The woman clamped her fingers around Nina’s wrist. Her eyelids stuttered briefly. Then she dropped Nina’s hand and waved her along.

Had she known and not cared? Or had the paraffin they’d used to encase Nina’s forearms worked?

- Chapter 22. Kaz; Part 4: Trick to Falling, Six of Crows.

Nina will be the one to free her and together they might wage a war from Djerholm together.

This gets even more interesting because we know the anguish and scorn that Baghra feels for her son at the same time; she understands the wrongness that he used to seek and will continue to. Zoya does take Baghra’s name at the Fold when she mourns and rages over how people forget the destruction and most importantly, forget the women. Baghra could be the symbol of the stag as the art piece depicts, or will be shown with relation to the Darkling’s powers.

As for how she will play into the story, perhaps she will be the one to help reverse and find the roots of the orders, in the sense that changes the perception of the Grisha powers for the Grisha as well as the common folk of Ravka. She is the only other person other than Juris and the Darkling to have the age of eras together, knowing Ilya Morozova, and she will be instrumental in giving Ravka an advantage over Fjerda. Either that or she will help in scrubbing the prejudices of Fjerda slowly away with whatever powers she has left. Or both.

Alina will reappear, but will not contribute to the plot significantly.

Zoya understands that the truth she knows about the Darkling is very minimal not enough to end him for once and for all. It makes sense that she will probably consult Alina for it. So, Malina appearance, possibly at the orphanage. Alina will not directly contribute to this war, but she will play a critical role in defeating the Darkling.

Besides, Alina —and Baghra— are the only ones who know that there has only ever been two Darklings. Zoya did sense, multiple times during KoS, that the Darkling is damn old. Yuri mentions it. And while it is not outright specified, the fact that Zoya thinks that she realizes just how ancient Lizabetha is in context of meeting the Darkling is enough proof for her to seek more information about the age and the older skill of the Darkling.

And I think it goes without saying that I want to hope that the Darkling and Alina will not meet. Pls, she’s had enough.

Lada is the lost, other friend that Zoya refuses to bury.

“She saw her mentor die and her worst enemy resurrected, and she refuses to bury another friend.”

Liliyana is dead, we know. But there’s no other mention of Lada except for the “wondering what happened to the pug faced girl.” Lada is possibly a part of the group of women and a Grisha returning to Ravka from Fjerda, exploited by the parem. She might die being unable to withhold the sheer torment of the parem induction, which will devastate Zoya because Lada was also the closest she’s had to a family with Liliyana.

Either that or Lada is already dead or dies some other way, and Zoya cannot bring herself bear the grief of losing her.

Cameos: Inej and Jesper.

The most likely of the crows to appear in RoW are Inej and Jesper and they’ll play equally important roles in the plotline. Here’s a breakdown of why:

Inej

Inej has taken the responsibility of becoming a slave hunter, and it makes sense for Inej to make an appearance in the book, given that there’s going to be a ship taking the Grisha from Fjerda to Ravka.

The women aboard are vulnerable and require immediate attention, which Inej will immediately zero in on. She will have enough reason to suspect both Leoni and Adrik on the ship, especially when the jurda parem is still a secret. Leoni and Adrik cannot give that information away because they don’t trust Inej (and have no reason to either). Inej won’t trust them either, not until she understands that the reason why the women are being taken to Ravka and for what reasons.

Which gives her excellent reason to step in, try to analyze the situation and help the women accordingly.

Here’s an exciting thought though. Once after the entire misunderstanding is overcome and Inej understands (esp. if Nina is brought into the conversation and security and secrecy of the conversation is ensured), there may be discussion about how the Grisha might find a safer space in Ravka.

Inej’s appearance might also extend to playing a pivotal role in giving Zoya the confidence to seek her heritage and where she hails from, to embrace the part of her past and forgive herself and others for her mistakes.

ALSO,

Grisha finding a safer space in Ravka will mean that Inej can pitch Jesper’s case for him to Zoya. Being the highest authority who takes cares of the responsibilities of the Grisha, Zoya will be the best person to talk about this with.

And so, here comes Jesper.

Jesper

For one, I wish Jesper and Leoni interact, talk and just bond like the iconic siblings they would be. <3 But more than that, Jesper plays very integral to the plot for more reasons.

Jesper’s arc will parallel Zoya’s. Both of them are new to their powers in their own individual sense; Zoya is trying to use her new powers in a way that hasn’t been done before, thereby breaking the Grisha orders of powers and Jesper (assuming he has decided that he might want to learn and embrace his Grisha powers) is learning them afresh.

This journey of them trying to embrace, learn and relearn and reject older norms and experiment really work in tandem.

That will lead us to a further (plot) theories.

Ties with Novyi Zem

As of the KoS end, Ravka has no support from anyone atm. Sure the Kerch will provide funds but Ravka has no real allies. Here’s where Novyi Zem and Jesper come in.

We know Novyi Zem is a new country and also that it is the second safest country for the Grisha in the universe. As of KoS, their agreements are not renewed and they would be since between Kerch and Novyi Zem, Ravka was forced to pick Kerch. Yet Ravka needs their help in acquiring jurda for the antidote.

So here’s the deal: Ravka will get their jurda but at many conditions that the Novyi Zem will impose on Ravka to not let exploitation get in the way.

The conditions imposed could be (these are just some at the top of my head but I hope there are more to ensure the safety and security of the Zemeni, in Novyi Zem and in Ravka too) :

Naval support from Ravka

We know of the Zemeni ships and ofc Nikolai has been hard at work trying to develop plans to use the sea to its fullest advantage. While the news of the izmars’ya isn’t public, Zemeni can place a condition for technical aid from Ravka since Ravka does have the technical knowledge it can dispatch as a condition.

A Grisha School in Novyi Zem

Think about it. Ravka, despite being the safest place for the Grisha, still isn’t entirely safe. Not all Grisha become soldiers in Ravka, they have a choice to abstain but those who are training are still recruited a honed for purpose alike preparing for war, especially the teens and preteens from the time of the Civil War. The training does take a lot of time. Ravka intends to make a home first and then service, but at the moment, while the Grisha are provided safety, it’s not assured in the best sense. Both the facts about a home and service are in precarious positions atm.

TL;DR: Ravka isn’t entirely safe for Grisha therefore the Grisha themselves too are not + Ravka is war torn.

So what happens?

One of the conditions as the next best country that serves as home to the Grisha, Novyi Zem may put forth the prospect of building a Little Palace like institution for the Grisha in Novyi Zem. It sounds morally wrong in the sense that the Grisha there will also be trained for war, but the war will end and soon, the Grisha will not be subject to serve for something but engage in economic activities as anybody else with the progression of time.

All of this won’t happen immediately either; learning their powers, honing it in the way that is unocnventional from what it had been pre-RoW and that transition + the building of the establishment in Novyi Zem and laying foundation for the transnational panel or committee for Grisha that Zoya talks about will all take so much time.

A few Grisha representatives from Novyi Zem can learn at the Little Palace and by the time the construction of the institution is done in Novyi Zem, these Grisha, along with other willing Grisha who either want to return to the country they were born in (like Leoni) or are offered to teach in a different country can do so too.

There will be stricter terms so as to not ensure exploitation and possible colonization in these nations.

Zoya mentions in one of her chapters that eventually there will be a need for the a transnational panel or committee for Grisha. Jesper can Zoya can make it possible, adding in other countries to the panel slowly as the war recedes.

Kaz and Wylan?

Least likely to make an appearance, in my opinion. I think they’ll be mentioned plenty of times or brought up once and given great importance for how they can help in the side plot.

Shu Support:

This is more a hope than an actually theory dfbkdhjadfh but Makhi might have to step down from the throne because Ehri will take the place; either as a Queen (no...) or she might oversee the process of strengthening Shu Han and finding a leader (if she doesn’t want to become one herself).

Ehri is capable, more than capable despite the little we know of her from the last chapter in KoS. All I hope is for an understanding and friendship between Nikolai and Ehri (and the subsequent cancelling of the marriage duH) for this to happen. She has little interest in statecraft but with the time she might spend with Nikolai, she might change her views. Even if not then she still gets the happy ending she deserves with Mayu (which is canon at this point rly).

Emotional Development or Breakdowns

Okay but I really, really, really hope we get to see all the three protagonists lose their shit and deal with their trauma, seek help or trying to stop isolating themselves or anything else they do to cope? Nina, Zoya and Nikolai, all of them cry, all of them get to completely lose it, let themselves be human and healthily cope and learn to rely on the people they trust the most. Like the sheer power and potential to show the myriad of ways to deal with grief, sadness, stress and more and make use of the trio’s backgrounds to show healthy and diverse ways of helping themselves, by letting themselves and others help them is just *combusts* Incredible!

That being said, can I also ask for moments of fear and desolation from the side characters too? Impending war isn’t small business, it will take its toll on people, and all these reactions just cement their fears and what they value the most so. pls. Humanizing them rly.

The Saving Each Other

As much as I mostly kinda hate this trope, there are traces in the KoS that Zoya might be the one to end Nikolai’s affliction. On the other hand, there is talk of Nikolai helping Zoya control her powers which seems counterintuitive when you consider that Zoya knows that there is a line that she must never cross and that she is very, very careful about it and will continue to be.

They can instead be the ones who motivate each other in times of distress as they always do (as shown with how Nikolai tries to gain control over his monster during the burning thorn ritual in KoS, allowing himself the vulnerability but also knowing that giving up will be unforgivable to both himself and Zoya as well) but I seriously do not wish for each other to be the ones directly ending one another's misery. Or perhaps this is just a fear imo that Leigh wouldn’t even take the route of (in which case, thank fuck).

Stab Stab Stab

Zoya gets the chance to kill the Darkling with the rest of her friends. After all, Darkling does call them all his old friends. Just Julius Caeser him all the way and put a bow tie on the book. *chef’s kiss* Everybody deserves a second chance... at ending a tyrant when it fails the first time.

So far, this is it. Rule of Wolves is in less than a few weeks and im- asdfghjkl. not Ready. i’m more Worried than Ready.

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malewifegrantaire · 4 years ago

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The Birthday Thing

READ PART ONE HERE

PART TWO: Guess who’s coming to dinner hang out for no apparent reason (as far as Grantaire can tell)?

Combeferre had inadvertently ruined the rest of Grantaire’s week. It wasn’t his fault, of course. He couldn’t be blamed for Grantaire’s Incredibly Bad Brain. But still, “I just know Enjolras and I know he likes you” is a very reckless phrase to pepper into a conversation with someone of Grantaire’s constitution. He could hardly fall asleep that night because the words I know he likes you were clanging too loudly against the bars of the jail cell he called a mind. He didn’t mind too much though. The clanging was because Enjolras liked him, which made all of the noise sound a bit like music.

Grantaire picked out an outfit for the party and laid it out like he was a little kid excited for a school trip. Embarrassed with himself, he threw the entire outfit into his clothing hamper so he wouldn’t have to look at it lying out on his dresser anymore. Which was obviously a mistake, because now the clothes were are wrinkled and they were touching his actually dirty clothes. Which meant now he had to do a half load of laundry on a weekday, which he really didn’t like doing.

As he folded his laundry, Grantaire felt his phone buzz in his pocket. Huh. It was from Combeferre. Odd.

hey, are u free? sorry lol i am bored and wanted to know if u wanna hang out ??

Very odd. Maybe the wrong number? Just to be safe, Grantaire texted back:

grantaire is folding laundry right now, like a responsible adult.

Two texts back:

very interesting use of third person..

i can help if u want! i love 2 fold things

So this was Grantaire’s life. He used to be young and wild, and now he’s the sort of person that makes plans with people who text him sentences like “i love 2 fold things.” He typed his response.

uh, sure? might get boring, but i’ll never say no to an extra set of hands.

About fifteen minutes later, Combeferre was inside of Grantaire’s apartment. “You got here fast.” Grantaire said.

“I was in the neighborhood.”

“Aren’t you always?”

Combeferre took in Grantaire’s apartment, which gave Grantaire such a wave of self-consciousness that he thought he might be sick. It was a fine apartment, kept clean mostly because Grantaire hardly spent any time in it. The ceilings were far too low for Combeferre.

“This is a really nice place.” Combeferre said. “Have you lived here long?”

“Five years, I think.” Grantaire said. “I think the landlord thought I’d have left by now, but, well. I’m still here.”

“Yeah, I mean, it’s nice. Good windows. Not easy to come by.”

Grantaire laughed at that. “Hey, was there something you wanted to talk about? Or are you just here to admire my big beautiful windows?”

Combeferre looked slightly embarrassed. “Uh, the latter, I guess.” he said. “I mean, just what I texted, I was bored, and I guess . . . I don’t know. I guess I thought we could just hang out?”

Now it was Grantaire’s turn to be embarrassed. Of course. Combeferre is the sort of person who’s actually, you know, decent. He was just trying to be nice and Grantaire was accusing him of having an ulterior motive. Way to go. Grantaire cleared his throat. “Well, thanks for coming. Feel free to park wherever. I only did a half load of laundry so I’m finished folding, sorry. I know how much you love to fold.”

“I went through a very intense Marie Kondo phase.” Combeferre grinned. “Let me know if you ever need your closet to be reorganized.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Grantaire said. It was dawning on him that, being more of the roaming type than the nesting type, Grantaire almost never had people over his apartment, and therefore had very little hosting experience. So he did what he always did in situations like this - said what people say in movies and books and all that.

“Can I offer you a beverage of some kind? I’ve got . . . tap water. And orange juice. And maybe beer?”

“I’m alright, thanks.” Combeferre said kindly. Combeferre’s fridge was probably fully stocked with sparkling water in every flavor for guests to sip on, the bastard. He sat down in a little chair by the kitchenette. “What, what is it?” he asked, looking at Grantaire’s expression. “Why are you - what’s funny?”

“Everything is too small for you in here. It’s like shoving a Barbie doll into a Polly Pocket house.” Grantaire said with a laugh. Combeferre tucked his long legs a bit closer to himself.

“Well, Barbie is a good role model, so I’ll take that.”

“I think an averaged sized woman or two might disagree. Anyways, you’ve got impeccable timing.”

“What do you mean?” Combeferre inquired.

“I mean that someone must have wanted us to hang out today. God, the Fates, some non-denominational arbiter of Destiny.” Grantaire was doing that thing he always did where he ended sentences in a way that begged the listener to ask him to explain himself. Why he chose to speak in these irritating circles? We will likely never know. Grantaire sure as hell didn’t.

Combeferre rolled his eyes, but he seemed more amused than annoyed. “You’re impossible.”

“It’s been said before.” was Grantaire’s reply. “What I mean to say is I’m literally never home. Not literally-literally, but, you know. This apartment is basically a glorified storage unit that I visit when there is absolutely nothing else to do. So the fact that you happened to be passing by on a laundry day...”

“... a work of divine intervention?” Combeferre finished.

“I’d go so far as to call it a miracle if I believed in that sort of thing.” Grantaire said.

Combeferre’s next question caught Grantaire off-guard somewhat. “So you’re an atheist, then?”

Grantaire had never actually seen a shrink, but he had the passing sensation of being sprawled out on some brown leather fainting sofa. Maybe that’s what this was, a psych eval. He’d get a message from the official Les Amis de l’ABC e-mail account later in the week saying “sorry, R, you’ve been deemed mentally unfit to be a part of this organization. We know the Musain is public property, but if you could avoid the premises during our scheduled meeting times we all think that’d be for the best.”

“Well, yeah, aren’t all of the lefties heathens nowadays? At least that’s what Twitter tells me.” he said. His paranoia would not rob him of his (debatable) sense of humor.

Combeferre just shrugged. “I guess if I had to call myself something I’d say I’m agnostic.”

“Huh!” Grantaire said, genuinely surprised. “A member of the ‘namby-pamby, mushy pap, weak-tea, weedy, pallid fence-sitter’ brigade, are we?”

Two things occurred to Combeferre at once: One, that Grantaire was quoting Richard Dawkins, and two, that Grantaire could not have been certain that Combeferre would recognize the quote when he said it. Grantaire was both the sort of person that committed Dawkins to memory and the sort that didn’t really care if someone mistook his references for a string of improvised insults. The more Grantaire spoke, the more Combeferre became aware of how little speaking they’d ever done.

“I guess I just think one can never be sure.” Combeferre said.

Grantaire thought now would be a good time for a subject change. “So, how is party planning going?” he asked.

Combeferre sighed. “It’s . . . it’s going.” he said. “Well, okay, I’m being dramatic. Courfeyrac is actually the one doing most of the planning. I just get weird about stuff like this. I want Enjolras to like everything, you know?”

“I don’t think Enjolras is capable of disliking anything you do.” Grantaire said in a way that to the untrained ear might sound like a veiled insult, but that Combeferre suspected was an attempt at genuine sincerity.

“Well, thanks.” Combeferre smiled gratefully. “I just want him to have a good time.”

“He will. It’s the rest of us you’ll have to work to entertain.”

“Well, Courfeyrac has a slew of party games he’s preparing. Oh, and, uh, Enjolras mentioned he’s glad you’ll be able to make it. By the way.” Combeferre said, which made Grantaire blush, which made Combeferre smile.

Grantaire hated that. Not just when Combeferre did it, when any of them did. Making faces or little comments, as if they were in on some big secret. It’s like they were proud of themselves for noticing Grantaire’s little crush, like they knew something funny or scandalous or cute. But they didn’t know anything, not really. Grantaire didn’t have a crush on Enjolras at all. It was more like a religion. Maybe he’d been too quick to brand himself an atheist earlier.

His annoyance with Combeferre soured the rest of their conversation. He became mean, curt, and downright humorless. This wasn’t at all fair, he knew. Grantaire probably annoyed Combeferre every third sentence (maybe every third word) and that had never stopped Combeferre from being his usual amiable self. There was another difference between the two: Grantaire lacked both grace and graciousness, and Combeferre, it seemed, never ran out of either.

“Well, I guess I should be leaving.” Combeferre said after a while, rising from the squat chair he was sitting in.

“I guess.”

“Uh, thank you for having me over. We should do this again some time. I had fun.” Combeferre lied.

Grantaire smiled, but the smile did not reach his eyes. “Yeah, why don’t we all do brunch some time? You can bring your friends, it’ll be a real party. Everyone can sit around admiring my huge windows. What a blast!”

Combeferre knew he was joking, but he couldn’t decipher the punchline. What would be so bad about having all of their friends over for brunch? Why did he say the word “friends” like that, all sardonic and italicized? Combeferre almost asked him, but instead he just shook his head and smiled.

“Okay. Well. Bye!”

Grantaire waved lazily. “See you around.”

Under normal circumstances, the phrase “Enjolras mentioned he’s glad you’ll be able to make it” would have found itself fluttering in the pit of Grantaire’s stomach. Instead, there was something else sitting in there. Something that felt a bit like failure, a bit like guilt, and - most surprising of all - a bit like affection.

This is precisely why he didn’t like having people over.

#LOL this was fun.#next up: the actual birthday thing!#ok tags time #grantaire #combeferre #les amis #les miserables #my fic #uhhhhh what else....#cw alcohol mention #it’s sort of blink and you miss it but you know #again it’s peripheral but might as well:#e/r #i’ll come back if i think of anything else

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quagmireisadora · 5 years ago

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[Jonghyun / Taemin] After the Fire

Prompt: A is a struggling writer going through a creative block, until B literally crashes into their life, claiming that they are a modern-day muse. Rating: R-ish(?) Warnings: some explicit descriptions Length: ~10,000

Summary: Drawn to danger, I burned my own house down.

(Written as part of the Winter of SHINee fic fest. Please go support all the entries there)

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“... we thank you for your manuscript and applaud your efforts in completing another book. Unfortunately, it is not quite in the vein of what we are looking for. Please stay in touch for…”

In Jonghyun’s eyes, there is only one way to construe the letter—your stuff isn't sexy enough.

He knows the standards the publication house upholds. When he’d first applied to write for them, presenting a short story full of elucidated gasps and pants and whatnot: he’d done his research. The other writers and their works are miles apart from what he could ever produce. Those books are too salacious, too irreverent for him to match.

So, he knows there is a yardstick, and that he is required to be faithful to it, if he must help retain their astronomically high readership.

Honestly, though… the only reason Jonghyun writes erotic literature is because it is easy money.

Coming straight out of college, he first tried his hand at working for obscure webzines. That was a very weird, isolating experience. His colleagues were constantly embroiled in intellectual and cultural debates, the likes of which a man of his upbringing could never participate in—the elegance of noir films, the chaos of punk history, the artful French New Wave. Not only did these subjects evolve outside the barriers he grew up between, the webzines’ subscribers were largely foreigners, rendering a monolinguistic man like him… well. Useless.

Following this, he’d done a stint at small, virtually unknown publications. He’d written largely ignored thought pieces for national papers. He’d even submitted the less embarrassing specimens of his attempted poetry to the Metropolitan office of which, none were imprinted on subway doors. Yet.

To the interested employer, his CV reads like a grocery list of jobs: I did everything I possibly could with my mediocre talent, just so I could earn a living. And he doesn't mind that—encourages that thought, in fact. It is Jonghyun's earnest belief that only by downplaying his past professional experiences will he ever get a step ahead, climb a rung higher. It is also Jonghyun's earnest belief that dream jobs do not exist and, in this economy at least, settling is a good idea when you have qualifications as meaningless as his.

So no, he doesn't turn any work down. Nothing is beneath him. And that attitude has led him here—to writing cheap erotica for easy money.

Except, Jonghyun hasn't a single erotic bone in his body.

He is a man, most certainly. Red-blooded as they come. But something about writing down the act, about describing it in the most colourful and drawn-out details... femininity must surely be a prerequisite, he thinks. To notice the way that things look or sound or feel or taste in those short moments. To recreate that passion, that ecstasy, that urgency with paragraph upon paragraph of meticulous and explicit narration: one must need a very observative mind. Or a hyperactive imagination. Because something that lasts just a few minutes from his perspective, can only be recreated with such intensity if it were a woman on the other side of the pen.

So no, Jonghyun doesn't do sexy. Despite having penned three short novels, all with the reluctant perusal of internet porn, he doesn’t do sexy. He doesn’t do softcore, he doesn’t do taboo or wild or… anything, really. He just isn't capable of indelicacy like that. He reasons he can probably try romantic, but that’s not what this specific job entails, does it? No, and the letter is good evidence of that, he realises, stowing his last manuscript away for recycling.

Where sexual depravity is concerned, Jonghyun is running on empty. And if things don't change soon, his bank account will too.

------

His mother doesn't know, of course. She thinks her poor son, her youngest baby, is so deeply mired in the nine-to-five that he doesn't even have time to visit these days. Writing is time-consuming. Writing entire novels, even more so. He doesn’t tell her what his job is, though. He keeps it vague. I’m working at an office. I’m working for a big company. I’m working in a building on Saemunan-ro.

As common a name as Kim Jonghyun is, a pseudonym is useful in many ways, he realises. He doesn’t get strange calls from distant relatives, demanding what the hell does he think he’s doing, while ignoring the fact that they went looking for erotica in the first place. He doesn’t have his young cousins approach him with was that really you, hyung? or can we get an early copy of your next one? His friends and ex-associates don’t have a clue. He would like to keep it that way: Minho already gives him a hard time about growing into an old shut-in, if he had the faintest idea of what was going on behind those closed doors and drawn curtains… Minho would no longer be a friend, Jonghyun wagers with shame.

Even so, the question of inspired writing—if he can call it that—still remains. Rather, the question of how he will pay next month’s rent, how he will settle the stack of overdue power and internet and water bills, still remains. Seoul is an expensive city to live in by oneself, and he cannot move back under the same roof as his mother and sister, not with a scandalous job like this.

At this point he has no way of stimulating his mind without resorting to stealing from other writers.

And so, the idea of a fan-meeting event is a sort of lifeline. He figures it could help if people show appreciation for his work: even if those people are wild-eyed and pimple-faced oily young men who should be ashamed of themselves, his morality yells wordlessly. But he is no one to judge. And if they prove to be a motivation, if they can help him get out of his block, then all the morality in the world can go to hell.

The event isn’t as clandestine as he imagines it to be, either. Outside the venue is a board yelling out a “SHIN YUN BOK PUBLICATION AUTHORS’ CONVENTION”. The doors are wide open. The sound of chatter, the smell of food, the murmur of excitement, all floats out to the lobby just outside.

When he enters, his face obscured by a surgical mask and a large pair of sunglasses, the place is packed. A man is on stage, calling out polite directions for crowd control. Jonghyun recognises him as his employer. Or at least, he is the guy who interviewed him over a grainy skype call late one night. He self-consciously checks his disguise and walks deeper into the fray.

A semi-circle of tables is arranged around the hall, each nominated to a writer. Upon studying the occupied seats, Jonghyun’s premise is solidified when he realises eight out of ten appear to be women. Somehow, this information impresses him.

When he ducks under the ropes and is stopped by a security guard, he points at the only empty table in wordless explanation. Some awkwardness ensues: a request for ID, a weary denial on the basis that pseudonyms aren’t on any ID, a quick consultation by text message, an unenthusiastic “OK, sir. This way, please.” Soon after, Jonghyun has taken his place and assumes the target of many pairs of staring eyes in the room. Some point and snicker, some watch him awestruck, some even take photos. Selcas! Like he is some sort of celebrity! He feels uneasy and oddly vulnerable, fidgeting with his sunglasses as they threaten to slip on the sweat beading his face.

But when the doors are finally shut and the event declared open, Jonghyun’s jealousy soars.

There are lengthy, winding lines of people waiting to speak to nearly all the other writers--but not him. No one approaches him. Not for the first ten minutes, not for the next half hour. In spite of all the staring from before, no one wants to speak with him. No one is interested in getting his signature.

It is only now, at such a place and such a time, that a series of paranoid questions fills his head. Does anyone read his books? Does anybody like them? Is he not popular? Is his work insignificant, even in circles like these?

If the number of people dying to speak with the others is anything to go by… then no. Jonghyun is not in the least bit popular.

He overhears his neighbour chuckle to say things like, of course there is a sequel coming out or yes, I based that character on myself. There are squeals, there are gasps, there is enough veneration to drown Jonghyun in self-pity. Suddenly, he wishes for that love and admiration. He wishes someone would ask him interesting questions and expect fascinating answers; dote on him just the way they dote on the rest of the panel.

His jealousy is poisonous enough that it spreads through his blood. His eyes burn with it, his pulse throbs against it, he feels it bristle in and out of his nostrils with every breath. His sweat begins to sting. His solitude starts to prick. His confidence dwindles to nearly nothing. The weight of envy makes him slide lower and lower into his seat. He plays with his marker and acts nonchalant. Acts like he is unaffected. But in truth he feels like crying. He feels like going home. He feels like quitting--

When his latest book is suddenly slammed onto the table, he yells and jumps a foot off his seat. Eyes turn to him again, this time with thinly veiled distaste rather than disinterest. He looks up at his assailant to find a lanky young man donning fashionable sunglasses and equally fashionable clothes.

“Sign, please,” the guy says in a tone that borders on demanding.

------

What surprises Jonghyun isn’t the fact that he has a “fan” in someone like Lee Taemin, as he introduces himself later. It is more astonishing to him that other people immediately follow his example and accost Jonghyun with copies of his work—some that look well used and dog-eared to the point that he is afraid to touch them. More and more readers who claim to love his writing flock over, while this Taemin character stands by. Silent, watchful, critical.

As he doles out autograph after rushed autograph, Jonghyun can’t for the life of him understand how the situation reversed itself in the blink of an eye.

“Uh… thank you?” he expresses uncertain gratitude. “I was. Surprised.”

“Mm hmm, so what do you want to do next?” the guy counters, folding up the sleeves of his baggy tee-shirt. The crowds have long dissipated. Security has rounded up all the stragglers, even the rowdy ones trying to get too close to that overly popular writer who went by the penname of Eonsook. But no one seems bothered by Taemin. No one cares that he is still here, still engaging in lazy conversation, going at his own pace. Everything about this is so peculiar. Everything is the opposite of his expectations.

“Well, I was about to go home and eat dinner, so—”

“I meant,” an exasperated look berates him. “What do you want to do for your next project?”

There is no answer for that. Jonghyun doesn’t plan these things out. He sits in front of the screen and starts to pour things onto it until he realises none of it is usable. Then he gives up. Rinse, repeat.

But he is expected to answer now. He is expected to say something rooted in a fully formed thought. He is expected to answer this man, this person who appeared out of nowhere and somehow managed to single-handedly create the interest Jonghyun was looking forward to. So, is there also an expected answer? Is there a right and a wrong response? Should he take the question as a cue to say something else, something scripted for such interactions? He doesn’t know.

He settles for a vague, “Uhm, is there anything in particular that Taemin ssi likes to read?” If he has learnt something from his time writing about politics, it is this: the best answer to a difficult question is another question.

An indifferent shrug replies. “Don’t really care. As long as there’s sex in it.”

He’d make a great politician, Jonghyun thinks as he starts to gather his things. “Well. I’m sure you’ll find plenty to satisfy you, then,” he gestures around them at the nearly vacated hall.

The man on the stage waves to him, he waves back. They will probably speak on the phone later on, and Jonghyun will bombard him with questions.

“But I like what you write,” Taemin continues, drawing is attention back. Physically holding his chin and turning his face so they are looking at each other again. “I want you to write more. Much more. A series!” there is a hint of excitement on those puffy lips.

Jonghyun knows not to aggravate people like him. People who are probably more dangerous than they appear to be. He takes a cautious step back. “I… I wish I could, sir. But you see—”

“I’ll pay you to do it.” A sure motion pulls an expensive-looking wallet out. A wad of cash is counted before nearly all of it is set onto the table. “An advance. I’ll give you three times that when you’ve finished the first draft. How about it?”

He stares at the fan of ten thousand won notes. Rent, he reminds himself. You must pay rent by the end of next week. But what the hell is he going to write?! “Sir, I’m… I’m really very sorry. I don’t have any plans to write the next book and. And I’m not even sure what to write so—”

“I’ll help with that,” Taemin insists. “You need ideas, I’ll give you all the ideas you need. I’ll… I’ll be your muse,” he decides.

Jonghyun stares for a long uneasy moment. Where is security and why aren’t they doing anything? he wonders. He takes another step to back away from the weird man. But the money is right there, perfect bright green rectangles that seem to have come fresh out of the mint. The overlapping portraits of Sejong the Great are all pleading with him to be pocketed. Just say yes! the king is shouting out, even in that placid gaze. You don’t have to follow through, just take the money and run! He can’t find you, anyway!

No. That would be disingenuous. That wouldn’t be right. No matter how desperate his situation, Jonghyun would never resort to thievery. He shakes his head and stays his hand, making no move to accept the money.

“I’m sorry. I can’t help you, Taemin ssi,” he bows and rushes off.

------

Their story begins and ends at Namdaemun.

She looks at its sombre face, artillery fire still marking some of its masonry and disrupting the course of the story. Their story. It is the gate that reaches out for a hug, she thinks when a cold wind picks up and threatens to swoop her shivering self away. It is the gate that offers an embrace, arms angling out from its stiff middle, like a father consoling his sad and broken child. How odd it looked in its place. How quaint, to be the only survivor of its own story. No more kings roam under its elegant archway. No more guards train their arrows from the pagoda. No more tigers rustle nearby under the cover of trees, desperate to find a meal.

This gate… this thing. It shouldn't be here. But someone has shown it their kindness and tended to it; fed it with mortar and concrete and newly painted timber. Someone has seen fit to breathe new life into it.

Their story begins and ends here.

She met him once, then many times, upon the tufts of grass framing Namdaemun. She met him and with every meeting the distance between them diminished from feet to inches to barely anything. She met him, met all of him, met every place on him with every place on herself. His hands would smell of spice. Of coal and heat and rain… perhaps he tended to a garden in their time apart. He had the gentlest hands. When he touched her, they felt like lamps against her skin. His warmth would intoxicate her.

Maybe he was made of fire, she would wonder in the hours they lay next to each other, breath stuttering and pulse racing. Maybe he was a jinn.

“You’re not small enough to fit in a lamp,” she would tease him when they'd stumble over each other.

In her loneliness, she’d dream of him, floating on clouds made of cotton. She'd imagine him traveling from land to unknown land and sea to unending sea. She would imagine him soaring, his skin burnished and his eyes like bronze.

But he is long gone, now. He has left her side and his hands warm someone else's days. She is the survivor of her own story. She is a stiff gate looking for someone to embrace, someone to comfort. She endures, just as Namdaemun endures. They stay and they wait, the gate and her, in the hope that someday there will be a finale to their respective stories.

And then they will breathe a unified sigh of relief.

------

Jonghyun supposes it would’ve been wise to expect a second meeting.

He is still shocked when the time comes: a buzz from downstairs, a murmured excuse about routine maintenance, a knock on the door that sounds far too eager to be just pest control.

When he opens the door to find the familiar lanky frame, he panics. There are no more disguises obscuring the distance between them now. Each man is plainly visible to the other. Jonghyun feels caught. Trapped, like a wild animal hunted until metal teeth closed around his leg. He frantically searches for something to hide behind, forgetting that he could simply shut the door again.

The creepy man named Lee Taemin invites himself in. He saunters casually, ambling the length of the hallway, looking around the room and humming, appraising it, measuring it. Measuring Jonghyun, who is still shocked and unable to react in a way that protects him.

“Wh-what’re you—?!” he begins when some of the shock has worn off.

“You don’t make a lot of money, do you?” Taemin cuts him off. “Why don’t you accept my offer? I’ll pay you plenty. More than you’ve probably ever seen. Then you can move out of this dump.” Even as he says this, he runs an appreciative hand over a row of books. “I can help you realise all your dreams, you know?”

“How did you even find me?!” Jonghyun counters.

“Does it matter?” the other drawls, shaking his head in exasperation. He swings his arms around himself as he walks, and when his palms meet, he lets them clap together. Like he’s out on a relaxing stroll in the park. Everything about the setting is preposterous. “I tracked you down, now I’m here, and I’m giving you a second chance. Isn’t that what’s important?”

He stares, trying to figure out this puzzle of a human being. What is this guy? How is he so at ease right now? What is this game he’s playing and why? Why with Jonghyun, of all people? Does everything out of his mouth sound like that? Like a simple fairy tale? I’ll do this, then you do this, then we’ll live happily ever after. Ridiculous!

He’s only ever seen people like that on dramas. Badly written and poorly acted dramas.

“Please leave,” Jonghyun requests, maintaining a formal tone despite all the peculiarity of the setup. “Or I'll call the police.”

Taemin clicks his tongue. “Not until you answer me.”

“Sir, I can’t be bought for no reason.”

“But I’m giving you a reason,” Taemin points out as if the concept is too difficult for Jonghyun to understand. Which it is. “I pay you, you write for me. I like what you write, I pay you to do more. It’s like…” he gestures, standing in the middle of the room, his stance oddly graceful and formidable at the same time. “Like when a king enjoyed an artist of his court and promised his patronage,” he illustrates. “That’s what we’ll be like.”

The smile on his face is a perfect representation of a magician’s. Maybe he is something of a trickster, Jonghyun thinks. Maybe he likes to put on a show and confuse people.

“The publication house already pays me,” he informs.

“After you finish the book,” he is challenged. It isn’t a lie, but how does this guy even know?1 “And only proportional to the sales. I’ll pay you regardless. In fact,” Taemin points. “I want you to write these books especially for me. My eyes only.”

So that’s it? Jonghyun wonders. Just a rich kid feeding his own kinks? He scoffs and rakes through his hair, sitting down at his desk to think.

He decides to consider it, because yes, he needs the money. Yes, he wants to stop living in fear of sleeping hungry. Yes, he doesn’t want to be destitute at the age of thirty-one, before he’s even had a real relationship, let alone marry and have kids.

But can he really uphold his end of a deal like that? Can he really write what this guy is expecting him to write?

“I’m not good at… at sexy things,” he finally declares, motioning with his hands as if to show they were empty. “I have to work very hard at it. I can’t do it the way the rest of the authors do, and—” he sighs, remembering the way crazed readers had flocked to everyone else’s tables. Remembering his sales numbers, and the words of the manager of the obscure bookstore as he complained about having to lug all the unsold copies back into storage.

Trash, he’d called them.

“Really, I’m not even sure why you came to me, when someone like… I don’t know. Eonsook? She’s the better choice, clearly.”

Taemin walks closer, his lips pursed like he is thinking of a convincing argument. Maybe he is, from the way his eyes are so focused and bright. There is an unbreakable determination in his every movement. He crouches in front of Jonghyun, sighing as he looks up.

“Your first book,” he begins. “A story about a man with a delusion. That he is in love with a woman. They fight, then they grow close together. And then, the man is cured through therapy. But,” he clicks his fingers. “His delusion has been passed to the woman. Brilliant idea,” he compliments. “Excellent writing. And yeah, sure, the sex stuff left a lot to be desired but…” he shrugs. “I liked the story. I liked that there was more to look forward to than just two people going at it. And you wrote to tell us that story, not to satisfy my needs, I could see that,” he assures. “So why not do more of that?”

Jonghyun gives a soft laugh despite himself. “Because that book sold less than a hundred copies. And the feedback was dismal—”

“Fuck the feedback,” Taemin shakes his head, a frown creasing his features. He looks young; too young to be involved in disreputable matters like this. Or… maybe at the perfect age to waste his time on such prurient endeavours. “Fuck what any of them think. They don’t know what they’re talking about.”

“And you do?” Jonghyun doesn’t mean to be so standoffish but he cannot help it. Here is a stranger, coming out of nowhere, to validate him and say nice things about his pathetic attempts at writing. Here is someone trying to convince him that sales don’t matter, popularity doesn’t matter, even the adoration of the readers doesn’t matter. Then what does? Jonghyun confronts with a scowl. What does this guy know?

Taemin chuckles. “All I know is this. I like everything you write.”

------

“This world is built on supply and demand,” Taemin explains.

He’s still here, hours later. By Jonghyun’s benevolence, of course. They are sitting on the floor, a laptop with a blank word document between them. The cursor is blinking… blinking incessantly. It taunts with each flicker.

Tell your story, Taemin said to him. Tell your story. Write it all down. Whatever you’re thinking of. It doesn’t matter what it is, as long as your put it down in words.

Easy to say. Because try as he might, he doesn’t know where to start. He doesn’t even have the shadow of a beginning, forget the middle and the end. There is no story in his mind, no words waiting at his fingertips.

This is a waste of time.

Taemin continues regardless. “The readers of this kind of stuff... their lives are filled with disappointment. With reality. They want the impossible: sultry encounters, beautiful getaways, improbable scenarios. You see?” he signals like his words are shedding light on abstruse philosophical concepts. “They want what they can’t have. And writers like Eonsook understand that. They supply that demand. That's why she’s always making bestsellers.”

Jonghyun considers this for a moment, seeing some truth in those claims. He takes a look around his own apartment, eyes roving over the small desk and small sofa and small kitchen. It is a liveable space, he reckons. It is better than a half-basement, or a slum with toxic asbestos roofing and poor access. But he is aware that in the bigger picture, he is still poor. He is confined. He is restricted. He is at the bottom of a heavy and insurmountable hill.

Disaffection comes easily to people like him. And short of being on the wrong side of the law, there is only one way to be at ease with his circumstances.

To pretend.

“But you? You fuck everything up,” Taemin carries on, amusement in his features. “You take that supply-demand model and turn it on its head. You say, I decide what I'll write. I decide what I produce. This is my art, not my bread. This is more than a paycheck for me. This is more than a popularity contest for me. That's what I see you think, and…” he shakes his head, chuckling as he reclines on his palms. “I gotta say, I find that really ballsy.”

A small balloon of pride inflates Jonghyun’s chest at the words, to his own surprise. He shifts and clears his throat. “Th-that’s all well and fine, but… but it doesn’t help that no one will read my stories.”

“Tell me something,” the other contests. “Why did you start writing in the first place? And—” he holds up a finger between them. “Don’t tell me it’s for the money. You could do anything and earn money. Why this specifically?”

“W-well, because… because what else am I going to do with a major in—?”

“No,” another shake of the head stops him. “No. Don’t answer from up here,” Taemin taps his temple. “This isn’t about rationality. This is about how you feel. About why you feel that way. Give me the answer in here,” he reaches forward and pokes a finger into the centre of Jonghyun’s chest.

He stares at the perfectly shaped fingernail, at the faint pink that dissipates into flesh below the joint. Why does he write? What compels him to scribble on stray pieces of paper? What makes him put his thoughts down on phone notes? What is it that surges in his chest when he’s in the shower, when he’s about to go to sleep, when he’s listening to a beautifully sad song for the first time? What makes him write?

“I… I have a lot to say,” he concludes. It feels like an admission of guilt—freeing. Splitting the restraints he’d been struggling against for… perhaps, years. It is like a large weight has come off his shoulders and now he can stand up straight. Now he can float off the ground. Now he can fly. He sighs and closes his eyes. “I have a lot to say. About… everything. And I—” he shakes his head, looks up from the finger, glances at the blank screen, turns his attention to the face of someone who is listening. Someone who is here and who does not appear to be in any hurry to leave.

“I really want someone to listen.”

With a pleased smirk, Taemin tilts his head and nods. “So start talking.”

------

He wonders what sounds he would hear, if he were up on the moon.

Would he hear the distant roll of waves? The rushing and ebbing of tides, their froth effervescent in the shell of his ears, their folding and retreating as sharp as the feeling of sand between his toes. Would he hear the occasional beep of a passing space shuttle? Would he see the face of another human in the window of the craft as it zooms past, their hands mirroring a wave and their faces reflecting each other's smiles?

What would he hear in that vacuum?

Would he hear the patter of his heartbeat, like water dribbling off a tin roof to roll along the eaves and fall against leaves, touch the ground, seep into the earth and become lost? Would he hear it speeding and softening like the tides, waxing and waning like the moon, repeating itself over and over, spinning like the earth does, like the stars do, like this universe does? Or would he feel an urgency in his lungs, the frenzy to drink in as much breath as he could, to gather as much oxygen in each inhale and retain it until his sight shook and his hearing went dissonant and he realised that he could hear nothing on the moon?

Nothing?

Maybe it would be hope. Maybe he would hear the sound of unfiltered sunlight hitting his skin. Maybe he would hear the whisper of a solar wind playing with his hair. Maybe he would hear his smile, his happiness, his joy even in solitude like that. Maybe he would hear something like that. Maybe it would be melodious to his ears, maybe he would dance to it, on the ashen rigoleth, the dead and cracked surface of the moon. Maybe he would float from crater to crater and find himself repeating circles, large ellipses that never ended. No beginning and no end. Maybe he would hear the most perfect sounds that ever existed. Maybe he would hear the sonorous representation of heaven.

Maybe the moon is full of music.

------

Jonghyun stretches his arms and arches his back, rolling his neck tiredly. The light outside his windows has dimmed by a large degree. The sun has gone down hours ago, without his noticing. He blinks and feels around himself to reach for a light switch. An afterimage of the laptop screen remains in his vision for a while as he stands on complaining legs and ankles. A grumble in his stomach alerts him of the time. Dinner time.

“Taemin ssi…?” he calls out, rubbing his eyes. “Taemin—”

It takes him a moment to realise he is alone. “Eh?” he scratches his cheek, trying to recall the sound of the door opening and shutting. He can’t tell how long it has been since the other left. There are no traces of his visit, no discarded teacups, no dirty plates with crumbs, nothing. He checks the bedroom, the bathroom, just to be sure. But it’s true: he has been a bad host.

Jonghyun really has been doing nothing but writing.

Searching for his phone to type out an apology, he realises belatedly that he doesn’t have a contact saved under “Lee Taemin.” With a repentant pout, he hums to himself. Next time, he promises himself. I’ll make it up to him next time.

When he’s settled down in front of his laptop again, this time with a steaming bowl of kal-guksu, he makes a choked sound at how much he has typed. Scrolling through page upon page of a very coherent-looking storyline, a reverberating surprise runs its course through him. Did he really do all this? Was that guy really serious about all that stuff? Has his inspiration finally returned to him, after all this time, all these years?

A muse… he feels the hint of a smile playing under his cheeks. He has a muse.

“That… isn’t that something imaginary?” Minho asks him when he excitedly gushes about the encounter. “Like, something that old men used to think up so they could make paintings and all that?”

“You’re just looking for an excuse to call me old,” Jonghyun dismisses. They’re lying on Minho’s carpet, listening to music. The sun is streaming through tall slider doors, and the usual sound of traffic is absent on a Sunday morning like this. Even the shadows look blue, their hue fluid and sparkling like light bouncing off of water. He feels calm, he feels like he is cradled in a hammock. As they relax side-by-side and read off their phones, there is a plot swirling in the back of Jonghyun’s mind. It buzzes and stirs, waiting to break out and lay itself down in orderly lines and sentences. He nurses it, pets its back, scratches it between its ears. He gives it a name.

But it can wait.

“Look at this,” he scrolls through a namuwiki article on the Muses, holding it out for the other to see. “It says this famous novelist from America calls his bowling trophy a muse. Wah…! He’s written so many famous books!”

“He’s old, too,” Minho snorts before he’s swatted at by an annoyed Jonghyun. “OK, OK!” he defends. “OK. I get it. You have a muse. So, is she hot?” he grins and rolls onto his elbows, a happy glimmer in his large eyes. “Does she pose for you? Do you get to take her on dates? How does it work?”

“It’s a guy,” Jonghyun frowns.

“Really?” Minho hums, the slightest disenchantment pulling at his lips. “But it says here that muses are supposed to be beautiful women. Look,” he wrests the phone away from his friend and goes to the image section of the article.

His point is proven by several old and colourful depictions of elegantly posed women, loose garments draped over their voluptuous fronts. There is no hint of an awkward lanky male form in dark and brooding clothes that blend him into his bleak surroundings. The women’s expressions are calm and filled with wisdom, unlike Taemin’s youthful fervour. The only feature that is barely reminiscent of the young man are the dark, mystical eyes.

Something inside Jonghyun grows uneasy.

“I mean…” he shrugs, hoping to give an explanation. He doesn’t have one, not at that moment. He doesn’t know how to defend his experience. All he knows is a name, some very sound advice, and the promise of money… money he hasn’t yet received, mind. He realises he is dealing with a stranger, after all. That if he isn’t careful, his prefatory suspicions of Taemin being a dangerous guy might still come true.

“Look, why don’t I introduce the two of you when he visits again?” he offers as justification, trying to push the issue aside. “You’ll like him, he’s got an... entertaining sort of personality, you’ll see—”

“I have a better idea,” Minho rejects the response. “Why don’t you just let me read one of your books, eh? I searched for your name and nothing comes up, you know? Are you really getting published at all? Or are they just taking you for a ride and stealing your work—?”

“Let’s just,” Jonghyun holds his hands up between them. He feels alarmed at the turn their conversation has taken. “Look. Let’s talk about this later, OK?”

“Hyung…” Minho makes an exasperated face, but he’s a good friend. His words are rooted in concern. He slowly settles back onto the floor, giving up on his argument, intertwining their legs. The soothing sounds from his music system take over once again.

What remains is Jonghyun’s fear of losing a dear friend.

------

“Who are you, really?” he shoots his misgivings the first chance he gets.

It has been many weeks since their last meeting. He has been progressively furthering the new book, or whatever it turns out to be in the end. What first sat as an idea in his scribbled notes has grown tall and strong. He now has chapters, and multiple plotlines that diverge from and converge on each other. He has dialogues, he has beats, he has imagery, he has descriptions. He has woven all the ends to make one whole, one complete mass, one continuous flow. Things are coming together, and Jonghyun is amazed at his own progress.

But his gratitude doesn’t dilute his distrust.

As soon as he barges into the apartment, Taemin demands to read through whatever there is so far. For a long time, he sits reposed on the sofa: silent for once, interest wavering only when he is addressed.

“Huh?”

“Are you just some rich chaebol kid looking to spend his dad’s money? Is this… just fun for you?” Jonghyun expounds on the interrogation. There is some insecurity in his tone, some residual lack of confidence from previous encounters that have left him wounded. Even he can tell. But he continues, unabashed in his self-preservation. “All this… this muse stuff. What’s in it for you?”

“I told you,” Taemin offers an apathetic shrug. “I like your writing.”

“I thought you like books with lots of sex,” Jonghyun frowns and counters, pointing at the tablet in the other’s hold. “I don’t have any of that in there.”

“Are you planning on keeping it that way?”

“Well, I wasn’t really going to, but—wait, no, listen to me,” he is nearly distracted, and the momentary look of triumph on Taemin’s face leaves him flustered. “I need to know who you are. I need to know why you’re doing this, and I need to know now,” he places his ultimatum. “Or I’m not writing another word.”

Taemin sits up and releases a slow exhale. His gaze is amused. It roves over his host, appraising him like a teacher would a child on his first day of school.

“What if I don’t tell you?” he posits. It’s not a challenge. His tone is chatty, conversational. As if he’s asking, what if cars could fly. He leans forward and smiles that magician smile again. “What will it change, if you know? Is it going to fix your life? Is it going to rid you of all your problems? Is the world going to make sense?” he motions with his hands. “Of course not. So why do you want to know?”

“Because—!” Jonghyun wants to say it will sate his curiosity, but he can’t admit that. Something about that feels like a confession. He can’t speak his mind like that.

“Look, I like that you’re curious,” Taemin reads his mind anyway, still smiling. “I like that you want to learn about things you don’t understand. I think that’s important for a writer. But I think what’s more important is figuring out what the real question is.”

He blinks with confusion. “The real question…?” he shakes his head. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that you’re writing this thing,” the other waves the tablet. “And you’ve advanced really far into the storyline. Things are getting exciting, characters are finally starting to become full people I can be invested in. I can’t put this book down even if the house was burning,” he compliments. “But there’s something missing. And I can’t tell what it is, except that it exists. In there,” another poke into Jonghyun’s ribcage. “Maybe the question you should be asking then, is what is missing? What else do you need? What else is there for you to find?”

A clearing of the throat, a shift of the seat. Jonghyun won’t acknowledge it, but the words resonate with him.

Missing. Something is missing. Something needs to be found. Something is waiting to be discovered. Something that he requires to complete this story… or maybe complete himself. Something that once sat in an empty slot in his chest must be recovered. He doesn’t mean for the thought to be so profound. But it is that very same profoundness that makes him believe it’s probably true. Something is missing inside him. Something is missing from his life. Something is missing from his world. And he needs to find it.

“Will you help me look?” he entreats his muse.

A magnanimous stretch of the arms replies. “It’s what I’m here for,” Taemin grins and falls back onto the cushions, continuing to read.

------

They stand outside the apartment block and Jonghyun is still not sure about this.

“Look, I really don’t think—” he starts to beseech, but Taemin silences him with a wave of his hand. He clicks on one of the call buttons and a ring starts to go, only raising the panic in Jonghyun’s gut.

“Just meet with her,” the other persuades, rational as always.

When someone answers on the other side of the line, it’s as if his entire body freezes until he is nudged. “U-uhh… yes. M-my name is uh… I mean. That is—”

“Is this a prank call?” the woman asks with anger in her voice.

Another nudge shakes his senses up. “N-no…!” Jonghyun insists. “Uhm, we—you and I. We work for the same company. M-miss Eonsook.”

A long pause. Some rustling of cloth. Some whispered conversation in the background. Then the woman’s voice returns. “OK, come on up,” she finally acquiesces before a loud buzz swings the front door open.

“Go!” Taemin hisses at him, grinning wide under the dark sunglasses that have become his signature.

The building isn’t much different from Jonghyun’s own apartment block, but there is something lighter about everything. It feels… nicer. There are planters with pretty flowers along the corridor. The lifts are clean and fully functional. The walls are devoid of posters and advertisements. TV sets can be heard outside some of the doors, as can the whistle of pressure cookers and the nagging of mothers. The atmosphere is homely, welcoming. He doesn’t feel like he’s intruding on anything, so he continues to walk in confidently.

He reads the numbers on each unit as he passes by, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings and wishing Taemin were accompanying him.

When he’s at the door he was looking for, he rings the bell and waits.

The woman who answers him is somewhat recognizable. He remembers seeing the straight jet-black hair, the round jaw, the parrot-hooked nose, the no-nonsense stare. Even if he has never before glimpsed her puffy lips or heard her soft voice, he remembers her from the fan-meeting—and possibly from other occasions, when they bumped into each other at the publication office.

Nobody can tell she is one of the most popular writers in the country.

“Ah, hello,” he bows low and his sunglasses slip off his face to clatter to the ground. He scrambles to put them back on, but simply pockets the disguise when he notices the turn in her mouth. “M-my name is—”

“You must be the person who writes as Grapefruit,” she guesses correctly. Her diction holds a soft lisp. Barely there, unlike Minho’s often baby-like pronunciations. He blushes and nods at the floor in response to the question.

“Come in,” she invites him, the grille door swinging outwards.

Other than the ordinary-looking furnishings, her home is full of photos. As he pulls the surgical mask to his chin and wanders through the apartment, Jonghyun cannot help but study them all, turn by careful turn. All over the walls she has displayed pictures of herself, her family, her friends, and another woman. A sister, he guesses at first, before correcting himself when his eyes go to a shockingly intimate polaroid.

He doesn’t realize he is staring until he hears his host pointedly clear her throat.

“Some juice?” Eonsook offers the glass on a tray. He accepts and stands awkwardly for a few minutes, shifting from foot to foot.

“Y-you have a very nice place—” he begins.

“So,” Eonsook cuts him off, showing him a seat. “How can I help?”

“H-help?” he blinks, his thoughts clouded.

She raises her eyebrows, wets her lips, digs her teeth into the lower one. “It’s a polite way of asking why you’re here,” she clarifies. He can tell there is laughter waiting to bounce out of her throat. In everything she does, there is an underlying strain of confidence. She exudes it in waves that come off her and lap at his own chest, nearly pushing him back with their force.

“R-right! Yes, of course,” he jumbles with the glass in his hold, looking around for a moment before accepting the proffered seat. “I—I came to ask you for… for advice.”

She follows his example and sinks into an armchair, crossing her legs and watching him for a moment. A long and entertained moment. “Oh?”

“Y-yes…” he insists. “You see. I’m—I’m currently working on this book, and. And I’m at this part that I need to research before I write it. So…”

“What kind of part?” her interest is immediate.

He tries to think of a way to describe it, nervously scratching the back of his neck and fumbling with the collar of his tee shirt. He feels unreasonably nervous, cognizant of the sweat beginning to stream down his back. “W-well…” he tries.

“Is it a sexy part?” she asks.

“N-not really.”

“Hmm, I guessed as much,” she leans back into her chair. “I’ve read your work. You’re not much of an erotic writer, are you, Grapefruit ssi?” she sums him up with narrowed eyes. And yet, there isn’t any sign of malice in her observation. He glance is approving, in fact. Admiring. “Your stories are very different. Emotional. They’re for a very… cerebral audience. Is that always your intent?” she asks with some fascination in her gaze.

He blinks up at the ceiling, thinking of a genuine answer, not wanting to disappoint her for some nameless reason.

“No,” he concedes after a while. “I think it’s just… because of the kind of person I am. I think it requires me falling in love first before… before my characters fall in love.” He runs a finger over the rim of his condensate-covered glass, nodding contemplatively for a moment. “W-what about you?” he asks. “What is your intent? When you write, I mean.”

She hums, crossing her arms across her front. “Intent…” she hisses a breath in. “There doesn’t always have to be one, you know?” she says conversationally. “Like you said, we can feel very strongly about something, and then write about it. Tell a story around it. I think that’s possible,” she accepts. And when she smiles, he feels an odd sense of solidarity with her.

“What… what does Eonsook ssi feel strongly about?”

The woman smirks. “You were staring at her just now,” comes the simply reply. Accompanying it is the smooth motion of a hand coming up to support her chin, a ring glinting on its third finger.

Jonghyun bumbles an apology.

“There is nothing else I feel as strongly about,” she reveals. “There is no one I love as much, no one I care about as much, no one who matters to me as much. And so,” she holds out a hand between them. “I write about her. About us. I suppose…” she finishes with a grin, a clever gleam nestled in her eyes. “I suppose you can say she’s my muse.”

“A muse…!” Jonghyun’s heart runs on a treadmill at the words. “Do you think…” he begins, shifting forward in his seat. She mirrors the movement. “Do you think you could teach me? How you find the courage to tell your stories?” he requests.

“Courage?” Eonsook chuckles. “It doesn’t take courage to make people happy, Grapefruit ssi,” she shakes her head. “Because that is what we do. We ultimately make people happy with our work. They read it, they smile, they feel good. Maybe they forget about it after some time. Maybe some of it stays with them for years. Who knows?” she shrugs. “As long as we get them to smile.”

He feels awe at that. “As long as they smile…” he nods again, this time in understanding.

------

With every jump of his hips, he is filled with a murder of crows that flutter to the far edges of his body—to the villages settled in his fingertips and the townships developed in his toenails. With every jump of his hips the leaves inside him quiver from the force, as birds take to the skies between his stomach and lungs.

When they travel, when they journey through him, his sighs tell the tale of that journey. They sing like bards, reciting how the crows travel carrying messages tied to their feet. The sighs paint pictures of beaks pecking at his outer edges, his boundaries, his geographical territories. With every jump of his hips he is breaking those boundaries, violating the treaties that hold those borders sacred. With every jump, he is less self-contained, less of an uncontested dominion.

He secedes. He surrenders his independence. He lets himself be taken captive by the thrum of the man below him. Inside him.

With every jump of his hips, he abdicates the throne of his identity. He makes the other king. Gives his crown to another head. And the crows carry news of this shift in power to all the lands that were once under his reign. They carry the news, propelled by the sighs, released at every breath, every hitch, every gasp. Every jump.

In his own kingdom, he is now a pauper.

To have meaning, to be defined by a name and description—all this no longer applies to him. The other man has changed his definition. The other man has made him… not him. But if he is not himself, who is he? If he is not who he was born as, if he is no longer the man he introduced himself as, who is he? What is his name, now? What can he call himself? How will he present himself to strangers, if he is a stranger to his own self? If he looked himself up online, what would the results be? Would they just become strange unreadable symbols?

If he is not himself, then he does not exist: or, at least… this is what he has always thought to be true.

But now his hips jump, and his voice breaks, and he calls out a name that doesn’t belong to him. With every jump, he becomes a blurry existence.

------

They grow close, Eonsook and Jonghyun. They become friends.

She talks to him often, sometimes on the phone, other times over dinner. On a second visit to her apartment, he learns the other woman from the photos is Gwiboon, who talks a mile a minute and laughs like an erupting volcano. The two of them accept Jonghyun like he has always belonged in their life, always had a place in their home and their hearts. They are kind to him. They are kinder than most others have been.

Perhaps because there is nothing to hide from them. He doesn't have to lie about what he does for a living, doesn't have to make up stories about how he spends his free time. He doesn't have to shut his doors and draw his curtains with them. There is nothing to be ashamed of, in their company.

It's freeing.

Jonghyun continues to write, faster and longer than ever before. He writes like he breathes. He enjoys how uninhibited it makes him feel. He finds himself feeling more and more confident about this story, even going back to the rejected manuscript and making edits with a red marker. He meets Taemin at a café and spends most of the time scribbling in a notepad as they hide from other patrons in a corner booth.

With every page he writes, a mass of pride grows in his ribcage.

“So, what now?” Taemin asks him one afternoon, having finished the latest draft and giving it his seal of approval. “Where does the story go from here?”

“Hmm...” Jonghyun nurses a cup of coffee. It is early in the morning. He has been organising his books and wardrobe and even his thoughts while the other read. He has been carefully making his way through all that needs to be settled—in his writing and outside it.

“I could write some more about the way the characters feel. You know, build more plot buffer. Or,” he gives half a shrug. “I could. Resolve it in a certain way.”

“A certain way,” Taemin raises an eyebrow. “What way?”

“Well. They could. I don't know. Fall in love, and—” the other is vehemently shaking his head before Jonghyun even finishes his sentence. “What? Why not?!”

“Too forced,” Taemin disapproves. “It would just be pandering to your readers, when the story doesn’t naturally flow that way. Consider everything that’s happened. There is no justification for them falling in love. All they've done is meet a few times and exchange... banter.”

“Sometimes that's enough!” Jonghyun defends, then softens. “Is... is it not?”

“You tell me.”

“No, you tell me!” Jonghyun insists. “Is it not enough for them to know each other? To enjoy the company? To... to feel comfortable with each other? That should be enough sometimes, right? Wouldn't that be enough for you?”

“Is that the real question—?”

“Yes! Yes, it is!” Jonghyun shouts, and as he does, he is painfully aware of the fact that this is not how he had planned for this conversation to ensue. He is conscious of the fact that he has made it a confrontation rather than keeping it within the bounds of an emotional exchange. There is a feeling of being put under an unannounced spotlight, its glare harsh against his face. He breathes hard, gripping the edge of the kitchen counter before him, doubling over in preparation for the rest of his episode.

“Yes, it is,” he repeats in a quieter, gentler tone. When he straightens up, he stares at the other with pleading eyes.

“What am I to you?” he repeats with some desperation.

Taemin looks satisfied at the question, like he has been waiting a long time for it to emerge. He remains relaxed despite the friction, despite the anxiety in his host. He continues to smile like an illusionist, continues to watch like a judge. “Before I answer that,” he begins in a calm, collected voice. “And I will answer it. But before I do, I need to you to tell me first: what am I to you?”

The reaction enrages him. “No,” Jonghyun warns. “No. Enough games. Enough running around in circles. You’re never honest with me. You only talk about this… this shit!” he angrily motions at the tablet the other had been reading from. “You can’t avoid this anymore. You have to answer me now.” He holds a hand up between them and counts. “Who are you? Why are you helping me? What do I mean to you?”

“Hmm,” Taemin rocks back and forth. “You really want me to tell you?”

Jonghyun makes wide, aggravated motions. “Who else will—?!”

“You want me,” Taemin clarifies. “To tell you. Who I am,” he raises his eyebrows. “You really don’t know? Have you really not known? All this time?”

“That’s why I’m asking—!”

“No, you’re not,” the protest is cut off. “You’re asking because other people are asking: what does he do in there all day, who is he with, who is this muse he’s talking about all of a sudden. You’re asking because you need to give them an answer. An answer that isn’t really the answer,” the corner of Taemin’s lip turns up. “Isn’t it?”

“Wh-what…?” Jonghyun shakes his head, the hair on his arms standing on end.

Taemin skips off his stool, meanders around the counter, advances on him.

Jonghyun’s breath sounds like an elasticized gong. His inhales are like rubber bands, stretching on for hours and hours. He is buzzing, like he sits inside something alive. Inside a heart and the lights decorating Namdaemun at night are made of lamps that glow soft and warm as if someone is holding him in an embrace and showering him with solace while their eyes are speaking to him in a different tongue in a speech of a foreign land where jinn live and grant wishes and there is nothing to see for miles except murders of crows carrying messages on their feet telling the world that the empire has fallen the world is coming to an end and the—

------

Mapo bridge.

It talks to him. It asks how he is, if he’s eaten yet. It tells him to turn his head up and look at the blue sky once. It tells him it loves him. It tells him that the brightest moments in his life are yet to come.

Jonghyun cries hard enough that his body shakes from the force. Minho stands very close, looking worried and reaching out for a hug. But he is told to wait. Not yet. He is told to wait, Jonghyun will need him soon.

Words are everything he is. Words are his life and soul. His bone and sinew. His drifting days and sleepless nights. Words have created him, penned him down—not the other way around. They have built him up, bound his loose pages and given him a spine. They have made him Kim Jonghyun. They have made him a writer, a poet, an artist. They have made him what he is. And he would never have realised this, were it not for Taemin.

Were it not for himself.

“I write for myself,” he claims to the sad and bloated waters of the Han, knowing the other is listening. Somewhere. From within the crevasses of his mind, Taemin is listening. “I write for myself.” It is a heavy claim to make. It is heavy as lead. It is tied to Jonghyun's feet as he trains to run his ink across a coastline. The claim is heavy enough to need lugging around on his hipbone. It is heavy, it is full. Like an earthen pot spilling its contents.

His face is drenched when he speaks those hefty words, when he acknowledges them. He sobs and his fingers tighten on the rails of the bridge, the place he would often visit when he felt sad and alone. But he isn’t alone. Minho is here for him. Eonsook and Gwiboon wait in a car nearby. And Taemin.

Taemin exists in the beats of his pulse.

Behind him, traffic swishes past. In front of him, the river hushes his crying. “I write for myself,” he lets go of the full pot and watches it splash, watches its shards rock a little on the ground, after they've separated from the whole.

많이 힘들었구나

He touches the words of the bridge and nearly answers out loud. He nearly says yes. Yes. It was tiring. It was terrifyingly easy to give up on my dreams. He rocks a little in place and finally Minho gathers him into a tight hold, stroking circles on his back.

It was awful, Jonghyun wants to say. But I found him. I found myself. I found contentment. I found it. And now I can walk away from you saying yes. Yes, it was tiring. It was hard. But now my breath comes easily. My heart beats easily. My life runs easily. I am alive. I am free. I am happy.

I love myself.

#jongtae #long fic #shinee

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homenum-revelio-hq · 5 years ago

Photo

Welcome to the Order of the Phoenix, Taylor!

You have been accepted for the role of non-biography character LYDIA AVERY with the faceclaim of Margot Robbie! We were excited to see your discussion of nice doesn’t always equal right and how Lydia’s motivations throughout her life stem from this constant need to be liked. We love a good underestimated character and we think Lydia will be able to help the Order immensely with her knowledge! So happy to have you apart of this roleplay!

Please take a look at the new member checklist and send in your account within 24 hours! Thank you for joining the fight against Voldemort!

OUT OF CHARACTER:

NAME: Taylor

AGE: 28

TIMEZONE: EST, Toronto time

ACTIVITY LEVEL: I try to check the dash and discord every day, but I’m probably low to mid activity. I usually post one or two times during the week and then catch up on the weekends.

ANYTHING ELSE: I’m pretty good about all triggers, though I would appreciate a heads up with any suicide mentions. As long as it’s tagged or I’m prepared I’m good though!

CHARACTER DETAILS:

NAME: Lydia Augustine Avery

AGE: 25

GENDER, PRONOUNS, and SEXUALITY: Cis Female, She/Her & Lesbian

That doesn’t mean she won’t flirt with a man to boost their ego. Men treat you so much nicer when they think you might sleep with them! Sometimes she wonders why that is, but then she remembers it’s probably one of the reasons she loves women so damn much.

Her sexuality was never exactly a secret, though it’s not something she flaunts in this day and age. Though as a teenager she had been a bit confused about her lack of interest in the men who thought she was so lovely. The hands she’d let grope her as a teenager, the cocks she’d found mediocre. She figured that her preference was as fluid as her personality; she wanted to be liked by everyone, and therefore she must like everyone, right? It took her a minute (she’s a bit slow in most things), but eventually she realized that she really only liked women. They’re truly lovely, aren’t they?

BLOOD STATUS: Pureblood Half-blood.

Lydia’s mixed wix and muggle heritage means that she is not biologically related to the mother that raised her, Colette Avery, and is a half sister to Margaret. But while Lydia knew she was a bastard child, she didn’t realize she was a half-blood! Even Colette was unaware until recently that her husband was unfaithful with a dirty muggle of all things! Alphonse’s affair lasted more than a few weeks while travelling with a woman in France named Delphine Marchand. She worked in a bakery and loved to figure skate. Her pureblood father knows nothing of her muggle mother’s heritage, or much of her history in general - and when she finds out he gives Lydia next to nothing in terms of knowledge of her mother, in fear that Lydia would have the urge to venture into the muggle world he saved her from to find her.

HOUSE ALUMNI: Slytherin

“What? A nice girl like you, you’re not from Slytherin!”

“Slytherins can be nice! I take offense to that, sir.” Lydia grins back, her face not showing an ounce of what she claimed - though she had a skill for always appearing unflustered and approachable. A thick skin was needed when you were kind to everyone, a strength that people often forgot. The man takes her charm as flirting, a common occurrence and leans against her desk.

“Really, I can’t name a single Slytherin I’ve known for being so sweet.”

“Well then you haven’t been hanging around the right people. Besides, now you know me!”

ANY CHANGES: Nope

CHARACTER BACKGROUND:

PERSONALITY:

Without knowing Lydia you may assume she’s unapproachable. The perfect poise, plush pout, sacred name, and during school her emerald green banner colours, tend to give the stereotypical impression of a mean girl. But Lydia Avery is far from it.

One of Lydia’s key goals in life is to be liked, and in her experience growing up, the best way to be liked is to be kind. She genuinely enjoys making people happy, and through this has gained a warmth and a charm that disarms many. Not a stranger to compliments or generous acts, she’s the first to make a pot of tea for a group or start doing dishes as a guest.

Many have taken advantage of Lydia through the ages, as along with her kindness she has a dislike for confrontation and will rarely call someone out as being rude or manipulative. In her teenage years she was the seat warmer or the errand runner, and as a secretary for a powerful Ministry man she hasn’t really grown out of this just yet. There’s a meekness to her willingness to do someone else’s dirty work, and she’s easily talked into situations that she might not be if she had a stronger backbone.

Despite her lack of confrontational skills, she’s grown a thick skin. A bit of I’m rubber and you’re glue inner philosophy, she tends to take words as just words. With snarky comments given to her over the years from her “mother” Colette she has an inner belief that insulting people don’t actually dislike you and almost anyone can be won over. It’s naive, but it’s helped her stay relatively optimistic! While insults like Lydiot are demeaning and she definitely doesn’t like them, she’s a fantastic actress and it rarely shows on her face when she’s upset or thinking negative thoughts. Her self-consciousness is internal and there’s power in appearing unphased by cruelty (though some may think she’s just too dim to understand it was insulting in the first place - and to be frank, sometimes that is the case).

This ability to hold a facade is one of her greatest strengths. Lydia has been acting her entire life! A family secret since she was born, allowing Colette to bounce snarky underhanded comments at her with the appearance that she was unphased has set her up as unexpectedly valuable. She’s able to charm the right people, and quietly observe unnoticed. She’s able to keep a straight face with a creep’s hand on her knee, and recite lines without stumbling. Her charm, mixed with her attractiveness, work as a glamour and despite being someone in the room that almost everyone notices - most of the time she’s hidden in plain sight.

BRIEF OVERVIEW OF FAMILY:

Alphonse Avery, Father - Shopkeep, A Very Spellbinding Book Shop

Alphonse Avery is a proud man. Not because of his riches, but because he’s built what he has from the ground up, no thanks to his drunken, gambling father. Raised in a wealthy home, he remembers what it was like to be waited on by house elves and invited to banquets, but also recalls losing it all during his days in Hogwarts. Sometimes he is even still bitter about it all, he often butts heads with his father whom he rarely speaks with anymore, and sometimes with his brother Albrecht who still puts Lydia’s grandfather in high regards. Though he isn’t a muggle sympathizer, Alphonse thinks there’s more than just pure blood that makes someone worth looking up too.

Colette Avery, Step-mother - Shopkeep , A Very Spellbinding Book Shop

Colette is not an unreasonable woman. Honorable even, raising the outcome of her husband’s affair. She loves her husband, but it wasn’t to say they always saw eye to eye. Their marriage was an arranged one, and therefore they don’t particularly show the chemistry expected of a loving partnership, but when it comes to supporting her family she’ll do what’s best for them. Even when Lydia is looking up at her with blue eyes that don’t match their own, a sharp reminder that at one point in her life she hadn’t been good enough. She’s curt with Lydia, and never shies away from constructive criticism or feels the need to sugarcoat. The fawning she does over Minnie is something Lydia has always longed for growing up and when she can please Colette it’s a good day.

Margaret “Minnie” Avery, Half Sister

Minnie has alway been the pet of the family. Colette’s true born daughter, the favourite, the rightful Avery. While this might make any other person resent their sister, Lydia adores her little sister. While others may call her mousey in her looks, she’s wickedly smart and can always make Lydia laugh with her slightly dark humour. She has the same eye for politics, but while Lydia had always been one for schmoozing, Minnie never bothered and instead has always had a sense of self worth that Lydia has been proud of her sister for.

Albrecht Avery, Uncle - Death Eater

Alphonse’s younger brother. A true believer in his father’s beliefs that everything bad that has ever happened to them is because of muggles or muggle borns, and doesn’t understand Alphonse’s lack of sympathy towards his father. It wasn’t a crime to gamble, after all! The mudblood that won their family fortune was a no good, rotten thief. He had to have cheated, after all. How else could he have won that game? No way he’d been more talented or intelligent then an Avery! While Albrecht and Alphonse don’t always see eye to eye, Lydia has known her Uncle Al her entire life. Loud, outgoing, demeaning, and cunningly cruel with underhanded compliments. Lydia and her sister have rarely felt comfortable around their uncle - who found the fact that his brother had daughters just another point to why he’d done better than him.

Arcturus Avery, Cousin - Presumed Death Eater

Arcturus and Lydia were always the closest in age. She’s always seen him as the closest thing to a brother she’s ever had, and when she finally reached the age to attend Hogwarts she’d been delighted that she’d made it into his house too! Her older cousin always had the confidence of his father, and as he aged, his bossiness grew more and more. He knew all of the tricks to get Lydia to do his bidding - though it didn’t take much really - and his treatment of her resembles gaslighting. Cute nicknames one moment, insults the next. Building her up just to knock her down. Leaving her out of the fun just to make her want to be included. As she’s aged she’s grown less comfortable with his values, but she doesn’t realize that Arcturus or his father are Death Eaters.

Delphine Marchant, Biological mother - Muggle

There’s not much to be said about Lydia’s birth mother. She doesn’t know anything really at all. The woman is a faceless entity, but Alphonse has been smitten in his short time trying to woo the french woman in the bakery, who always smelled of cinnamon. She doesn’t remember Alphonse, or even Lydia - for he’d done her a kindness and wiped her memory clean before stealing her child.

OCCUPATION:

Formerly a washed out actress, she now works in the Ministry as part of the Wizengamot Administrative Services as secretary for the honourable Wizengamot Judge Perryweather, a member of the High Court of Magic

ROLE WITHIN THE ORDER/THOUGHTS ABOUT THE ORDER:

It’s all so new and fresh, she’s barely a member - still in the affiliate stage. This is the closest Lydia has ever been to having a mind of her own and standing up for her beliefs. Honestly, this is the closest Lydia has had to realizing she truly has beliefs! It hasn’t fully clicked what exactly she’s doing and what sort of risk she’s taking. That being said, I think she’s going to be intoxicated by the sudden realization that she can make choices and have thoughts that don’t simply parrot what she thinks other people want to hear, and when that starts to unravel who knows what’s going to happen??

That being said, it’s going to take something big for people to take Lydiot Avery seriously in The Order!

SURVIVAL:

Lydia is lucky enough to have a good family name and a Ministry job. Her heritage is a secret, and as Judge Pennyweather’s beloved secretary she’s practically invisible. She resides in a small studio flat in London, not far from the Ministry where she lives alone and sometimes

RELATIONSHIPS: I’m not exactly sure what people have in mind but here are a few possible ideas!

Maurice Creevey

A person who is practically the opposite of people-pleasing Lydia, it was Maurice’s pirated broadcasts that brought the fact that there was truly a rebellion fighting against everything that is happening without waiting for the slow-moving and corrupt bureaucracy. Lydia rarely says anything that might upset anyone, but when she meets the muggleborn who fights it all with words broadcasted out to the world she can’t help but like a moth to a flame. She could learn a lot, but it also might get her burned.

Branwen Yaxley

Branwen scares the shit out of Lydia. In your face, opinionated and bigotted, she’s not exactly Lydia’s cup of tea. Her worst fear is that Branwen (or anyone really) truly finds out about her muggle mother, but it doesn’t stop her from treating the woman with the same kindness and showers her with the same amount of compliments that everyone receives. Though Lydia’s sure that one of these days a comment on how lovely her hair looks today might end her up with a black eye.

OOC EXPLORATION:

SHIPS/ANTI-SHIPS:

I don’t have any particular ships in mind, but I’m personally open to anything. Lydia is a sucker for attention, and takes any form of it as good. She wants to be liked by as many people as possible, which means she’s a bit of a pushover and can be easily taken advantage of. I’d love to see this either taken advantage of, or for once someone to stick up for her and show her that she’s worth more. Or both? Both is good! I’m down for it all. Unrequited love, heartbreak, fluff (though not too much fluff that’s boring!)

WHAT PRIVILEGES AND BIASES DOES YOUR CHARACTER HAVE?

Despite the new found information that Lydia is not actually a pureblood, she has lived her entire life with the privilege of being one. A strong family name means something in wizarding Britain and up until recently she could stay safely on the sidelines without worrying about who won the war. She’d still be safe and sound no matter what. But now her sense of self is dwindling even further, fragile as it already was with the title of bastard in her mother’s eyes, Lydia is now seeing the world as what it truly is - and realizing why her father had kept it such a secret for so long. Not even his family would really understand, would they?

And while Lydia is kind to everyone she meets, it doesn’t necessarily mean she’s always understood her privilege and can be rather dim in the area of realizing how truly well-off she’s been all of these years. Her Slytherin school mates, mixed with her pureblood family, and her lack of heroic or confrontational nature means that up until now she’s never stood up for her beliefs - and she’s been in a place where she’s never had to really have them. It’s selfish, that she’s suddenly turning to the “good guys” as a mix of self-preservation and a realization that there are no innocent bystanders. This war affects everyone, and she had to be a sudden target to realize it.

Also, unrelated to blood, but Lydia has always had the privilege of being pretty. It’s vain, she knows, but as far as she is concerned listening to a pretty girl try and be humble about their looks makes you want to punch them in the nose - so she isn’t going to point at hidden pores or say she needs to lose weight when she knows she doesn’t. Lydia learned very early into puberty that there is a sort of power in being attractive. People like you more, it’s just a simple fact, and Lydia wants to be liked! And so she’s always used this key attribute to her advantage. Batting her eyelashes, sending a splendid smile, and maybe wearing a low cut top if she really wanted to distract you. It’s unfortunate, and she doesn’t believe she’s really more valuable than anyone else for it, but hey! If it works, it works.

And history told her, it usually did. Sometimes too well. Lydia’s keen ability to read a room and be able to charm people sometimes works a little too well, and men often can’t keep their eyes off of her assets. While she sometimes uses this to her advantage, it’s also fairly revolting that many men treat a woman more kindly if they’re attractive. They’re pigs. And while she doesn’t think all men are that way, she’s met enough to be wary of them until they prove their respectability!

WHAT ARE YOU MOST LOOKING FORWARD TO?

The most job interview of job interview questions! I’m just looking forward to being in a group that I’ve been told is so creative, fun and accepting. I’ve heard nothing but good things for months but wanted to make sure I had an idea for a character that would give me the muse to do this place justice!

PLOT DROP IDEAS:

Lydia isn’t the type of person to see her value in a fight or organization like the Order’s, so I don’t see her as being a fully fledged member right away. Her just trying to reach out to someone being like “Hey, I know a thing! Maybe it will help!” is a big step for her, so I think it might be a gradual initiation that makes her a full member after a few intel drop offs.

That being said, I think once she’s done a few intel drop offs, Lydia gets hooked on being valuable and important and having morals and beliefs, and I would love for her to prove her worth or someone to challenge her place. Lydia is not someone you automatically see as valuable or a team member worth having so making her step out of her comfort zone and show her worth in a situation like that would be super fun! Risky initiation anyone??

ANYTHING ELSE? Nope!

EXTRA FOR NON-BIO CHARACTERS:

PAST:

Lydia Avery has almost always had a secret. From the day she was born, her secret had been kept; or as her father would put it, their family secret. You see, while her father Alphonse loved his wife Colette dearly, it did not mean that he had always been faithful. So when he brought home a beautiful baby girl one stormy evening from his ventures in France - freshly plucked from her mother’s arms (a well casted obliviate to spare her from the heartache) - Colette was less than enthused.

“She’s an Avery!” Her father had argued. His duty to take care of his own. Colette allowed it, she was a reasonable woman after all, and wouldn’t flaunt the embarrassment of infidelity. Therefore Lydia was raised as Colette’s child, and the rest of the world knew nothing different - but as much as she wasn’t a cruel woman, Colette also didn’t want Lydia to believe that she was hers. And so Lydia, and eventually her half-sister, had always been aware of where she’d come from and that no one else should know.

Lydia’s childhood wasn’t an unhappy one - she adored her sister, and until school longed for nothing because she didn’t know anything was missing from their home on the side streets of Diagon Alley. At least nothing material. It was her “mother” who Lydia longed to impress, overly eager to please Colette in an attempt to gain maternal love. It came easy to Margaret, the polite, quiet & smart girl who never had to lie about whose womb she came from. Colette’s affection for her real daughter was like any mother’s, and Lydia would do anything to gain the same. Set the table, clean the dishes, lay her slippers at her feet. It wasn’t expected, but when she could gain a smile from Colette it was worth it! She loved making people happy, and when she made people happy, they liked her back.

People pleasing became a trait that eventually embodied Lydia, and by the time she was at school, she was eager as ever to make friends. Her passion for people to like her was her greatest ambition, and it landed her into Slytherin. Despite her lack of new robes or fancy jewellery, even for the most inconsiderate people it was hard not to like Lydia’s happy-go-lucky energy - but it also allowed her to be taken advantage of quite a bit. The pushover of the group, she was often the friend who went to save seats in class or for dinner, or fetch forgotten items that weren’t even hers in the common room.

While some of her housemates were cunning enough to use Lydia to their full advantage, her friendliness didn’t center around just them, and many of her other classmates didn’t mind her company or a friendly hello! She had a knack for making them feel special, noticing things like their artistic abilities or the lovely colour of their hair or jumper. She was also smart enough to distance herself from her friend’s bad behaviour. While Lydia didn’t excel at school (something her mother would later blame on her heritage), she’d inherited a keen eye for personal politics - and could do simple math. Most of the school (and world) liked Gryffindors, and so despite Slytherins disliking Gryffindors, she didn’t need them to dislike her back. Especially if it would mean other people would dislike her too!

And so as the years passed, she became good at slipping away or keeping her distance when her cousin Arcturus would snark insults to young muggleborns, or the other kids would pick on the Hufflepuffs. Not noticeably of course, and she wasn’t any hero who’d come to their aid - she didn’t need that target after all. No she was simply neutral, because if she was neutral then no one could dislike her, could they?

PRESENT:

One of Lydia’s great loves in magical London was the infamous Moonlight Theatre. With moving pin-ups of glamourous actors and actresses, theatre elves ushering fabulously dressed couples to their seats, and wonderfully acted performances of “Walburga & Hortense, A Tragedy In Three Parts” and “Death of a Broomsmaker”, Lydia was intoxicated.

And some of the casting agents were intoxicated by her as well. A Marylin Monroe-esque soft and breathy voice, doe-eyes and an hourglass figure, some thought Lydia was made for an audience. Even her charm translated to the stage! What better career for a woman wanting to be adored then that of one in the spotlight?

But while Lydia had been willing to kiss a few frogs, and let men do what they want with her in her younger years - the pushover side of Lydia Avery grew a bit more and more of a spine as she aged. Lydia didn’t want to let every man’s hands wander, or go on dates with the director so that he could show her off on his arm and push her into bed later that night. She wanted to steal kisses from her co-star Tabitha Bradford and slip her own hands under her skirt with permission. She wanted lipstick stains on her skin, and the smell of fresh perfume instead of cologne.

And when she finally stood up for herself, she was left re-casted and jobless - her reciprocated crush suddenly silent in fear for her own unemployment.

“It’s for the best.” Her father says, never liking the sight of his eldest daughter’s moving pictures on theatre posters or the odd tabloid. It’s the first time Lydia truly gets angry with him in a long time, another parent who isn’t proud of her, but the spat causes a slip-up that stops the girl in her tracks. “It’s better that you keep yourself out of their heads! No reason to pry, no need for them to find out what you are.”

A half-blood. Dirty. The affair he’d claimed was with at least a witch wasn’t that at all! Even Colette was unaware that while he was dilly-dallying about in his younger years, it hadn’t just been with another woman. It had been with a muggle woman. A pretty girl who worked in a bakery and knew nothing of his life back home with magic.

“A harmless romp.”, Alphonse claimed, but the look in his eyes was one with shame and a bit of confusion. Even he doesn’t fully believe it but when Lydia begs to know more he pushes her away. Force he’s never used on her before. “Get it out of your head! It’s nothing. You’re a witch and if anyone asks your blood is pure. You’re my daughter and that should be good enough.”

It’s the last they speak of it. It’s for her protection, after all. Before she thought this half-secret she’d lived all her life was for pride. At least part of it is. For Colette to not have to explain to her circle what she’d lacked. But truly he’d done it to protect her, hadn’t he? Stolen her away from the family her grandfather would loathe. He’dhidden her with a shiny pureblood status to stop those like her uncle from erasing her completely.

Eventually she finds a position she’s good at. Simple work, taking notes and fetching lunch and running errands for Judge Perryweather. A very important man, so she was told! A person who knows all the ins and outs at the ministry, and therefore Lydia has learnt quite a few things sitting at the desk in front of his office. A smile always on her face and a kind word to the right person, and they tended to tell her things she really wasn’t supposed to know. Who was having an affair, policies they were trying to push, charged witches and wizards they had on trial. From the delivery wix to the other judges, they all know her now and she knows them! And while she’s not exactly cunning, she isn’t as dim as everyone makes her out to be! She knows when to smile and charm, when to be quiet and listen, when to pretend to be invisible. It’s an interesting job, in an interesting place - and maybe if someone saw her potential she could be useful with everything that’s happening lately.

But then again, she’s not going to overstep if she’s unwanted in that area. It’s not as if someone would ask Lydia about anything. Why would they expect her to be an expert on Perryweather’s close friendship with Lucius Malfoy, or the fact that, despite him being a proud, public supporter of the Ministry of Magic, every 2 weeks an envelope filled with gallons and a list of Muggle Sympathizers names landed on her desk for her boss.

And if she offered the unwanted information, well who would take someone like her seriously?

FC CHOICES: Margot Robbie please! If she doesn’t work Blake Lively or Meghann Fahy

#homenumaccepted #harry potter roleplay #hp rp #harry potter rp #marauder rp

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shadowamongfireworks · 5 years ago

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Patton and the “Woofman” costume Theory/Speculation

My theory is that Patton purposefully misunderstood the directions he was given to dress as a Wolfman (Werewolf) in favor of dressing as a “Woofman” because of what the werewolf represents to him. This can be understood by looking at what werewolves are, the perceived differences between wolves and dogs in American culture, the resulting perception of each species by Patton, and parallels regarding Patton’s past actions and behaviors.

A werewolf, in American culture and media, is a person, who at a certain point in time -generally a full moon- will transform into either a near regular looking wolf or an anthropomorphic wolf. As the werewolf primarily appears in horror movies, it is often specifically the latter form, and this is the kind Patton would have been dressing as.

https://eportfolios.macaulay.cuny.edu/monsters/2016/11/08/the-werewolfvampire-dichotomy/

Heather McCallum writes, “...the werewolf also represents the loss of control, becoming too naturalistic and losing identity to the passions... Giving in to that monstrous impulse eliminates all forms of self-control, removes that person entirely from society into a very isolating existence. Oftentimes, those who transform wind up hurting the ones they love most in the course of their unnatural existence. The werewolf/transformation narrative is a suitable allegory for addictions and self-serving pleasures: while pursuing their desires, they become slaves to their urges, and those urges destroy them.”

Wolves and dogs, despite being similar species, are perceived very differently in American culture. Wolves are often seen as predators, as a threat to humans.

https://etd.ohiolink.edu/!etd.send_file?accession=kent1222706628&disposition=inline

“Throughout the history of English folklore and interest in the natural world, the wolf has been associated with a variety of socially unacceptable traits...Summers states that the “distinctive features of the wolf are unbridled cruelty, bestial ferocity, and ravening hunger. [. . .] He is the symbol of Night and Winter, of Stress and Storm, the dark and mysterious harbinger of Death.” Pg 36

Dogs are widely seen in a much more positive light; as pets, as companions for humans, and as protectors. They are heavily associated with friendship, affection, and loyalty. Patton is associated with dogs, though this association much less discussed than his association with cats. In Embarrassing Phases, he describes what makes his costume a “Woofman” costume, focusing on the floppy ears and the dog tag. Both of these traits are indeed associated with dogs specifically.

In a way, dogs are essentially diluted wolves, wolves who over thousands of years adapted to fit their changing surroundings after teaming up with humans, and then later further changed/were changed to suit the needs and desires of humans.

This may be comparable to what happened with Patton. Patton would have originally just represented Thomas’ feelings, but overtime, as they started to grow up, his role as Morality would also be introduced. He would be influenced by Thomas’ parents teachings as well as those of other adults and people in general that Thomas interacted with. However, at some point, Patton subconsciously took many of those teachings to an unhealthy, but not uncommon, extreme, and he began to filter out and repress the things that he had been taught were negative; certain ideas, and potentially feelings as well. It has been at least heavily implied that Patton consciously caused the separation of Roman and Remus, there are some theories that Virgil may have also been a result of Patton’s filtering, and I believe Patton may have even split himself into two, seeing as how he’d repress the emotions he’d come to believe were bad.

We have never, ever seen Patton outright angry, but we may have caught smaller glimpses of it here and there in the series in the form of passive aggression. “Boy what an ass-et to your personality”, from Making Some Changes (0:37) is one major instance of this. (Patton flipping Deceit off in S vs S would be evidence, but according to Thomas himself it was actually a blooper that accidentally got through the editing process). Most often, it seems to be converted into another feeling or action, such as Patton’s determination to try to get Virgil to stop being self-deprecating.

Knowing about Patton’s repression is important. Going back to the concept of the werewolf, like quote 1 said, turning into a werewolf is essentially the destructive wolf side taking over an individual and going rampant. Taking into account his circumstances and actions in regards to his filtering and repression, and the overall cultural association with wolves and negative ideas and feelings, Patton may feel that the Wolfman and the general werewolf narrative is a symbolic representation of his worst fears for Thomas and himself : that he will fail or has already failed to do his job, and that because of his failure(s) the negative feelings and negative Sides will come back, and that those Sides will win. So when he was given the instructions to dress as a werewolf he found a loophole and actively decided to change the Wolf part of his costume into a Dog, a similar but separate species related to wolves that he viewed much more positively, and then he covered up his motivation for the change by making it look like a misunderstanding by utilizing the dog pun.

Body Language Analysis and Other Connections

Body Language Analysis

In the Embarrassing Phases episode, this interaction occurs:

Patton appears to consistently mishear “Wolf” as “Woof”, despite the clear pronunciation by the others. He insists that that he’s hearing “Woofman”, and doesn’t appear to start to back down until Roman’s “Wolfman” line. Look at Pat’s body language after Logan’s third “Wolf man” correction (panel 7) . He is mirroring Logan’s body language to an extent. He’s making Direct eye contact, his head is slightly tilted forward (which if it was tilted forward more would become a clearer sign of aggression in this context), upper body leaning forward, hands on hips, feet planted. This is an aggression/dominance body language cluster in everything but his facial expression. Then it drops immediately as soon as Roman starts saying the word; in the next shot Patton is standing further away from the camera, and is also off-center making him further away from Roman, with much more neutral (just verging on passive looking at his facial expression) body language. This may mean that he realized he was becoming too aggressive trying to defend his point, so he immediately stopped and took on neutral/passive body language, all the while continuing to act oblivious so the group wouldn’t realize something was wrong.

Hear no Evil

There are multiple theories going around regarding the “See no Evil, Hear no Evil, Speak no Evil” picture spotted in the Can Lying Be Good? video. One such theory is that the image is actually related to the Core Sides rather than the Other Sides, and that Patton is specifically related to Hear no Evil. Looking at the “Woofman” interaction, I feel like that interaction may be further evidence -along with this thumbnail from DWIT and other interactions in the series- pointing towards Patton being Hear no Evil, as he seems to be actively choosing to not hear the correction he is being given by the others. He always says “Woofman”, never “Wolfman”.

Orange Dark Side’s Animal Association

I believe that the next Dark Side will be associated with the Wolf. Both snakes and octopi/deep sea creatures are both animals people fear (going off the idea that the series as a whole has to do with being able to accept and work with all parts of yourself), so it would be safe to say that a wolf would not be out of place, as wolves have been feared by humans for centuries and still face stigma today. Patton may have split himself into two individuals in the process of trying to filter out the more “negative” parts of himself, so if that resulting dark side was associated with wolves, it would make sense for Patton to actively avoid using wolf imagery or saying anything directly related to wolves, even to the point of avoiding just saying the word “wolf” like he may have been during the interaction I analyzed.

#sanders sides #patton sanders #ts patton sanders #ts morality #morality sanders #tw remus mention #tw angry patton mention #werewolf #ts theories #dukedontlook

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vitos-ordination-song · 5 years ago

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one last thing, this time on Peter and Annie’s relationship.

these two characters are so tragic and so important to me. Peter really was doomed before his birth and Annie knew it. he was doomed because she didn’t want him; because she only got pregnant due to pressure; because of the fate handed down to both of them. she tried to have a miscarriage, but her inability to get an abortion indicates her deep guilt and shame. this is something she never shared with her husband, something he evidently never even noticed.

when her children were young, Annie almost killed all three of them together. she blames the fact that she was asleep and seems unaware of her own motives, but i believe what she says in her dream. this was an action not motivated by hate, but love. i don’t believe she was asleep but instead in an altered state of consciousness where she was actually more aware.

the thing about Annie is she seems to be subconsciously aware of what’s going on. on some level, she knows her mother’s plans. however, she’s been gaslit her whole life. her mother seems to have been the type to use sweetness to hide things, or that’s the impression i got from the note she left Annie. all Annie allows to enter her consciousness is that her mother had “secrets.”

one of the things i like about Annie’s character, as someone who’s had similar experiences, is that she’s punished for the times when she’s aware. she has to keep everything to herself because she feels no one will listen to her or believe her. obviously her trying to burn her children alive is terrible, but it only got to that point because she’s had to repress what she really knows. when she does try to express what’s happening, she is predictably written of as sick, insane, treated as a helpless child.

the paint thinner incident is clearly one more thing haunting their family. they never dealt with it. Annie couldn’t explain it and resents Peter for holding it against her. Charlie seems not to care, probably one of the reasons Annie is closer to her, but Peter has not trusted her since. in Annie’s mind, it’s not fair because she didn’t mean to do it.

all of this comes together to create the mess of Annie and Peter’s relationship. Peter, very justifiably, views his mother as dangerous. he tries to shut things out and avoid her. for years, there’s been a strain between them, and now Annie seems to be permanently harsh, manipulative, and uncaring.

for Annie, too many things pile up. in the first place, she feels stigmatized and blamed because of her past. it’s clear she has a lot of guilt over her relationship with her mother--when her mom got sick, she “felt guilty again.” it’s something that’s been with her for likely her entire life. so Annie is prone to feeling guilty and blamed in the first place. that’s what she expresses in the support group. “then i realize that i am to blame.” a pause where she reconsiders, not liking the way she put that. “or not that i’m TO blame, but i am blamed.”

this is something deeper in her than any one incident. it’s how she feels about everything. in my view, she does recognize her own fault, the things she’s done wrong, but her immediate response is to push it down. she feels that accepting blame is dangerous and will make everything her fault. and the way i see it, she has reason to feel that. she was never able to hold her mother accountable, so guilt and blame were foisted on to her. to accept blame means the risk of everything being made out to be her fault. soon enough though, this tendency in her becomes harmful. she feels so much self-blame, so much blame from others, that she quickly redirects it outside of herself.

the movie plays out like a Greek tragedy, like everything is set in stone. all of this began even before Annie’s birth, much less Peter’s. the cult, the symbol of control and abuse, has plans for them. so many of the things that happen in the film are directly designed to drive the family apart from each other, the most obvious being Charlie’s death. it doesn’t just work to remove Paimon from its host body, it also traumatizes the family, leaving them weak spiritually, and it pits Peter and Annie against each other.

Annie is already prone to self and other blame. the whole thing was an accident. even if Annie forced Peter to take Charlie, even if he wasn’t watching Charlie, even if he was driving, even if he left the body in the car, neither of them meant for this outcome. self-blame is natural on Peter’s part, and Annie’s breakdown only makes it worse. Steve has to take care of his wife, not his son.

once Annie has recovered, it begins. she starts to avoid Peter. her resentment of him becomes intense. though there’s a part of her that knows it’s wrong, all she can feel is that he did this to her on purpose somehow.

the years and years of tension between them blow up during the dinner scene. Steve ineffectually watches as Annie unloads on their son. her hypocrisy is apparent as she derides Peter for things she herself does. her words are designed to hurt, to make him feel guilt. but the entire thing is a projection. she’s trying to escape from what she feels.

her final exclaimation, “because NOBODY ever admits ANYTHING THEY’VE DONE,” isn’t just about Peter. it’s about her mother who she was never able to hold accountable. and it’s about herself and the guilt she feels over Charlie’s death.

Peter keys in on this in a second, defending himself by pointing out that it was Annie’s own actions which where the reason Charlie was at the party. it’s only because of Steve that Annie doesn’t go on another tirade.

there’s even more of a rift between the two after this. in the deleted scene where Peter cries, blaming himself for Charlie’s death and wishing he’d died instead, Annie can only listen and apologize from a distance.

from this point on, i think Annie primarily feels bad for what’s she’s done. the next time we see her she’s depressively staring at a model of her kids’ daycare, perhaps regretting her entire life and decision to have kids. but she focuses in on the figure of a clown, showing that she knows she’s made a fool of herself and is in the wrong.

she’s also increasingly under the cult’s control, freaking out and acting more and more erratic. Peter is also in a primal state and goes along with it until he’s too disturbed. strangely, however, i think as the two have more stripped away from them, they seem to be closer. Annie is obviously being manipulative when she declares how much she loves him and that she wants his forgiveness, but she’s so regressed that i don’t see it as malevolent.

after she realizes learns her mother’s past and the cult’s plan, her only goal is to protect Peter. this is probably why i’m more sympathetic to her than not. at her core, in her dreams, when she’s been traumatized to the point of acting like a child, she does want to keep her son safe.

but there’s two sides to her. her original attempt to burn Peter alive was according to her because she loved him and wanted to keep him safe. and i believe her. but she also has a drive to destroy him. she didn’t want him and she resented him long before Charlie’s death. so even her attempts to protect Peter work towards his destruction.

when possessed, she does the cult’s bidding and scares Peter out of his mind. it’s so interesting to me how the cult plays on the family’s issues. for instance, according to the script Annie didn’t place the headless figure of Peter in bed; that was done to make Steve doubt her (it works on the audience too). Peter wakes up to find his father’s burned body downstairs, something his mother almost did to him. even though she didn’t kill Steve, that’s the only conclusion he can come to.

the part where he begs and apologizes is heartbreaking. and as i already wrote about, Annie could never truly give up her blame for him.

the thing that the two characters have in common is that they both felt guilty for Charlie’s death and both attempt to bring her back to life through their own bodies. Annie begins to sleep in the treehouse like Charlie used to. Peter has a panic attack where he feels like he’s choking like Charlie did before her death. and the ending brings this all to fruition.

everything the family did worked for the cult. in the end Annie gets her wish. she sacrifices herself to resurrect her daughter at the cost of her son. Peter lets Charlie inhabit him. by nature of their birth, both were a part of the cult.

#this is so bad lmao but. when i have the inspiration i may as well write

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ty-talks-comics · 5 years ago

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Best of DC: Week of February 5th, 2020

Best of this Week: The Dreaming #18 - Simon Spurrier, Marguerite Sauvage and Simon Bowland

Okay, hear me out - The Dreaming has been really good since the beginning and while not on the same level as Sandman itself, Si Spurrier has done a fantastic job of contributing to this world of the fantastic and absurd with his own brand of whimsy and abject horror. I haven’t found the time to cover any of the issue because, well, there’s always been something just a bit better on the same weeks that this series released and though the normal artist, Bilquis Evely, wasn’t on the art this month, Marguerite Sauvage stepped up and provided her always stunning style.

A short-ish recap for the uninitiated, The Dreaming is a realm where all of humanity’s minds go when they sleep. It was ruled by Dream of the Endless, a being of immense power over and creator of the realm before he was succeeded by a young man named Daniel Hall. Daniel becomes Dream for a time and even appeared in Scott Snyder and Greg Cappullo’s Dark Nights: Metal, but at some point, he left the Dreaming entirely. This caused things to spin out of control until the realm lands in the hands of Wan, a moth like boy with a dark side.

The book begins with a dream apparition of Rose Walker, a central character of the Sandman series, looking upon Wan’s Eldritch side as it releases nightmares into The Dreaming. She muses that she’s been watching him for some time now, acknowledging that when he returns to his cute moth form they both forget what had just occurred. Wan appears satisfied, thinking his rule over the Dreaming is making the world better as he’s been dispatching “blanks” into people’s dreams to make their whimsical dreams more logical instead. This has a profound effect on the world as it seems as though joy and color are lost.

Sauvage stuns with her depiction of this joyless world as people just walk around with utter lethargy and casually kill themselves. It’s absolutely disturbing to watch as a woman prepares to drop herself from an overpass, seeing another calmly hold a gun to the side of her head and a man self immolating in the background. What makes all of this especially great, however, is Sauvage’s use of soft colors to almost make the despair and horror feel unimportant. Rose walker is the only one that stands out because of her bright yellow dress and normal looking skin.

Her internal monologue allows her to see that something’s amiss and that she should be a wreck after losing her mother and daughter over the course of her personal story, but she lacks sufficient motivation to pursue any action aside from sleeping, but then she recalls how vivid her dreams always were and Sauvage portrays this excellently as an unseen figure lights a cigarette for her and she drifts into a white space filled with beautiful wisps of smoke and color. In the dream, she hears something about a Vortex that will likely play a big role later in the series.

We then cut to Dora as she watches the transferred consciousness of Cain kill the man who initially caused Dora to fear her own existence, Keter. Dora is a Night Hag that had haunted Keter in his younger years, causing him to want to figure out the secrets of the Dreaming and ultimately how to destroy it. It’s implied (or plainly stated, I forget) that he created Wan and set him upon the Dreaming in Daniel’s absence. Unfortunately for Dora, with Keter’s death there is no one able to remember her story and she starts to fade away.

In contrast to the previous pages, Sauvage colors this scene with a deep, but not oppressive red as the facility responds to its creators impending death, giving things a sense of panic as Dora then looks puzzlingly at her translucent hands. Soon after, Keter’s body starts to convulse and a murky plume of light purple and pink pours from his mouth - the background and Keter’s body are white, with his outline and the monitor version of Cain being the only line art for this panel. Abel and Matthew (and others) then burst forth from Keter’s mouth as he finally dies.

Matthew is one of the Ravens of the Dreaming and he acts as the eyes for the ruler of the Kingdom as they survey the dreams of men. Abel acts as something of an accountant of some kind, but he has been keenly aware of Wan’s other side and chose to escape the Dreaming with Matthew, but The Dark Moth sent blanks to follow them and one of those blanks just so happened to be Ziggy, Dora’s former blank companion. When Ziggy disregards his former identity, his other blanks begin to savagely beat Dora in a flood of oppressive pink colors.

Spurrier tells two tales that Sauvage portrays in nine striking and dynamic triangular panels. On the downward facing panels, Cain lambasts Abel for having the audacity to kill him, but Abel counters with the fact that Cain has killed him hundreds of thousands of times over the millenia they’ve been together. Cain looks on with rage and it only gets worse as he realizes that Abel is mostly right to call him a coward. At the same time, we continue to watch as the blanks continue to assault Dora. These panels are most uncomforting as she pleads for Ziggy to help.

Sauvage does an amazing job of showing Dora’s distress is pained and betrayed facial expressions as she bleeds and cries while a flurry of fists and feet meet her. She continues to fade and is soon dragged away by the other blanks before cut back to Rose Walker and her continued feeling of disillusionment before Spurrier reveals that the unseen figure that lit her cigarette might be the hand of her Grandmother, another being with a strong connection to the Dreaming. She manages to convince Rose to take the bus and find the color of the world again.

One subtle thing that I liked about this issue and the way Spurrier has been writing this series thus far, is the implication that things started to go horrendously wrong when Abel killed Cain and stopped stuttering as a result. Cain was always one of the smartest residents of the Dreaming and would have figured out Wan’s scheme even if Wan himself wasn’t aware of his other half, but Abel was far too nice to think about it like his brother. When Abel is finally reunited with his brother, he begins to stutter a lot more again, symbolizing a return to how things were.

In trying to convince his brother to return to the Dreaming, Abel does he one thing he needed to do make things right with Cain, he recreates his brothers murder by stabbing himself in the neck with a fork while Cain says that he will, but because he WANTS to, not because Abel asked (Cain is a tsundere confirmed). While absolutely brutal and horrific, it’s touching at the same time because Abel does this out of love and sacrifice knowing that the world is doomed without his brother at his side. At the same time, this inspires Ziggy who goes against his order and tells the other blanks to stop the process of killing Dora because she made Ziggy who he was…

Unfortunately, his newfound sentience comes late as Dora is probably seconds from death and True Death by fading. Then suddenly a bus CRASHES through the walls and Rose emerges, feeling the dream energy drifting away from Dora. Sauvage draws their interaction together beautifully as Rose inches closer and closer to Dora, trying to feel something before whispering in her ear and bringing the Night Hag back to life.

The soft colors spring to life as Dora mounts Rose and begins to drain her fear, her ear wings turn a bright white and varied pink watercolors dance across her body as she reaffirms her belief in herself and Rose is in ecstasy of feeling again. We then learn something crucial about Dora and how all of this might have been by the original Dream’s design. At the end, not only is Dora restored, but the keeper of the Dream Library is as well.

The Dreaming is a weird story, but it always has been. One thing that I have loved about this story so far is that it doesn’t completely require you to have read all of Sandman to understand it, but it enriches the experience if you have. These characters are fully three dimensional with their own motivations, fears and thoughts that Si Spurrier has captured so well. I’m glad that he took on this story because it’s equal parts beautiful and dark like the Sandman Universe should be.

This is also in no small part thanks to how Marguerite Sauvage chose to draw, color and ink these beautiful scenes, characters and environments. Everywhere from the human world to the land of the dreaming was distinct and interesting because of backgrounds, color choice and intensity - even the use of white space was striking and amazing to look at.

I think the series is supposed to end at Issue 20, but it already feels too soon, like we need more. Of course there are the other Sandman books out like House of Secrets, Books of Magic, Lucifer and Hellblazer, but everything related to the Dreaming will always have a special place in my heart and I can absolutely say that I have enjoyed this ride thoroughly thus far. High recommend!

Also, I just started a Patreon, so feel free to support your boy.

https://www.patreon.com/join/TyTalksComics

#dora the night hag #rose walker #the dreaming #cain and abel #sandman #dream of the endless #sandman universe #si spurrier #marguerite sauvage #dc comics #comics #dc black label #vertigo comics

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theromanticscrooge · 6 years ago

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Thoughts on Rednid

(Note: I'm gonna be so sleep-deprived tomorrow because I wanted to crank out rambly diatribe about my current OTP instead of sleep.)

Enid’s Perspective

Initial scenes or short story beats featuring Red started out as Enid admiring the coolest kid in town from afar and desperately wanting to impress her. The first major Red-centric episode involved both characters realizing they could let down their guard around the other. They both already passed that initial “You’re cool” hurdle. But even though they’ve become more comfortable around each other, the next Red episode focuses on Enid’s reluctance to talk things out or express certain emotions. She honestly thinks there’s certain feelings she has to suppress around Red or it’d make her seem “clingy” or “mushy.”

Enid’s big falling out with Elodie contributes pretty heavily to her reactions and behavior here. When Enid first met Elodie, Elodie came across as this cool, glamorous kid that was also incredibly friendly, kind, and compassionate. She was the picture of what young Enid wanted to be like: a by-the books, confident, and competent aspiring hero. It was easy for Enid to not only draw inspiration from her, but feel a connection to her and develop a fairly close, intimate bond. Elodie is probably the only one that saw Enid as a shy, sweet, and self-conscious kid. She started to help Enid ease up on her self-consciousness by being an approachable, encouraging figure. When Elodie dropped Enid like a hot potato in favor of improving/cultivating her image, Enid was crushed. It became harder to trust other people and led to her developing her tough, detached demeanor.

Enid’s falling out with Elodie helps paint why she’d be so nervous and flustered around Red. Here’s another cool, seemingly confident kid that fits the picture of what Enid aspires to be like. Interestingly, Red fits the bill of what Enid considers more appealing now: an adventurous, risk-taking deviant. Red is the antithesis of what Enid used to be like as an eager-to-please, meek kid. And she naturally fits the mold of the devil-may-care, follow-my-own-rules type Enid tries to be. While Elodie’s callous dismissal of her isn’t a one-size-fits-all possibility, Enid still entertains fears that a certain comment, reaction, or behavior could earn Red’s ire. In her mind, Enid places Red on this high, untouchable pedestal. She fills in that hole of ‘person that inspires me’ that Elodie left behind, but only as long as she remains this highly idealized, romanticized portrait Enid has of her. Around her, there’s higher pressure on Enid to figure out the right combination of attitude, behavior, and image to impress Red.

“The Cool Kid” is only one dimension of how Enid views Red. The other part rests in Red being coded as Enid’s love interest, too. In “Second First Date,” young Enid is partly drawn to Rad as a kindred spirit: He comes across as awkward, nerdy, and sensitive like her. She was willing to take a chance in the hopes of making a new meaningful connection with someone her age and hopefully, start a cute relationship too (I can’t comment too much on what Enid would expect from a romantic relationship since viewers have only seen her comment “She’s a babe” or bright, shoujo-inspired color bursts).

When Rad reveals himself as a full-blown insensitive, callous meathead, it turns Enid away immediately. Enid is even further rebuffed by him later because he doubled down on this super macho persona as he got older. He never figured out how and why he screwed up, he refuses to admit he screwed up, and it’s not easy to sit down and have any kind of meaningful conversation with him about that awkward date. To be fair, Enid wasn’t really willing to broach this particular topic unless she absolutely has to. Even after Enid and Rad started understanding each other a bit better, they still clash in regards to their personal coping mechanisms for their personal insecurities. Enid is more likely to make a sarcastic quip or tease than start a meaningful dialogue; Rad is more likely to deny any wrongdoing and get really defensive about his actions/motivations. At the current point in the series, they’ve overcome their communication problems pretty well. Enid doesn’t shoot down every comment Rad makes and Rad is better about standing up for himself and expressing his thoughts more openly.

Digression aside, Enid’s initial disappointment in Rad plants a little seed of doubt in Enid’s mind about Red. What if she isn’t entirely what I’d expect her to be like? It’s one thing to be friends with Red. Enid already has enough hang-ups with figuring out how to understand and interact with her on a deeper, interpersonal level beyond “Let’s blow something up or do something fun.” It’d be another, more intimidating unknown to consider her romantic feelings or indulge the idea of testing the waters on a romantic relationship. If Rad is the most major framework Enid has to reference, then it’s understandable that she’d want to keep things platonic or show some reluctance towards the idea of taking a bigger, more vulnerable leap in their relationship. A Rednid relationship seems more likely when Enid feels like she can have an earnest, honest discussion with Red.

Enid’s rounded a few of her most significant character arcs: She reconciled with Elodie and both came to a mutual understanding of how each other operates and wants from their respective hero career. Elodie lives up to that original “genuine inspiration” Enid painted her as before, so that probably clears up a few of Enid’s bigger doubts and uncertainties. If Elodie can turn over a new leaf, then it’s a bit easier for Enid to see potential and genuine intentions in other friends/allies. When Rad and Enid interact on screen anymore, Enid is a lot more open to hugs and more openly expressing mutual affection towards him. There’s some awkwardness, but they’ve carved out some kind of friendly dynamic that works for the two of them.

Red’s Perspective

When she’s first introduced, Red is shown as an obnoxious, rebellious figure that likes pulling pranks, causing trouble, and then trying to broadcast as much attention to her antics as possible. She’s well-liked because she’s adventurous, confident, and abrasive. Red’s friend Drupe is portrayed as an admired, respected fashion plate; Gregg seems to be a bit shy and self-conscious, but hanging out with Drupe and Red helps him fake being more confident and assertive. In Brandon and RMS’ debut episode, Drupe confesses that she lacks ambition and takes the barista position in an attempt to give her life more direction. Perhaps, Drupe is drawn to Red since Red presents a pretty convincing image of someone put-together and self-assured. Red doesn’t really question what tomorrow will bring. She knows what she wants in the moment, when and how she wants it, and just goes for it regardless of the consequences.

Though, while Red is a fun fair-weather friend, she’s not too keen on accepting responsibility or acting maturely unless she absolutely has to. After K.O. helps her and her friends out, she snaps at him rather than wound her pride by apologizing. The first time she hangs out with Enid, she doesn’t confess to her Hue Trooper past and running away from her mistake until they’re physically confronted by the Hue Troop themselves. One of the big points in “Back in Red Action” was how dire circumstances forced Red to grow up, mature, and take more responsibility/accountability for her actions. Older Red clashed horribly with Enid on this very topic. Supposedly, the stress she was under and the “bigger picture” for her current circumstances didn’t mesh with Enid’s more impulsive, brash approach. For lack of a better description, Enid roughly fit the picture of Red’s younger, more ‘immature’ self. The entire episode condenses what could be considered a full, self-actualizing character arc for Red.

Of course, the point of the episode was how important open, honest conversations are between friends and significant others. If there’s a certain way you feel or something major that needs addressed, it’s better to say it rather than dance around or bury the topic. It’s so easy to shelve certain problems and feelings but given enough time, people drift from each other and change so radically they aren’t compatible anymore. In regards to what significance that kind of message holds for Red and Enid, their friendship and overall dynamic would be that much stronger if Enid openly expresses her thoughts, feelings, and fears more openly and often. The same can apply to Red. When older Red tells her younger counterpart to stay behind, it’s not just to indulge in unchained fun a little longer, it’s in the hopes that some variation of her can become more responsible and mature in an organic, timely manner. Becoming more responsible would happen because of others’ influence (like Enid) and a genuine desire for self-growth and improvement; not because of demanding circumstances and external forces beyond her control.

Red sits in a similar camp to Enid in regards to figuring out their respective roles as heroes. Enid is muddling through whether to follow her family’s tradition by becoming a witch or carving her own unique path as a ninja, if not something in-between the two choices. In Red’s case, she was originally drafted as and committed to her role as a Hue Trooper. She has second thoughts and doubts about this particular role. Either she’ll find an approach that suits her personality, values, and goals or she’ll take a completely different route. She’s already continuing to deviate from her team as a 21st century time-traveling hero. Since viewers already have an alternate timeline that showcases Red as a fully-actualized Trooper, she might stay in the 21st century because being a hero in that century better fits what she’s looking for. I see that particular decision as a character-defining moment rather than a make-it or break-it factor for a possible Rednid relationship. There may be a later episode where the two seriously discuss their respective futures and confide their personal hopes and dreams. That particular conversation is the most likely route for finding out more about Red since her dynamic with Enid contributes the most significantly to her character.

Other Thoughts

Red has already introduced Enid to her closest friends and family in the Hue Troopers. And Enid already knows their names and general information about what each one likes or expects. I’m guessing here, but does that mean Red has some level of trust and respect for Enid? It’d add a lot of insight to Red and Enid’s dynamic to see how Enid reacts to introducing Red to her family or what kind of rapport Red has with them already. Since Enid is embarrassed by her parents and family, introducing her friends or potential significant other is a pretty significant rite of passage for her. Neither Rad or K.O. were voluntarily introduced to them. If Red was voluntarily introduced, it’d mean that Enid was far more self-assured and that she and Red had achieved a certain level of trust and intimacy with each other.

Also, if Red and Enid do end up together, it’d be pretty interesting to see how they express affection, PDAs, and romance in general. Red seems pretty open about physical interaction; she was ready to casually sling an arm around Enid’s shoulders as her new buddy. So, she might have an arm around Enid or hold her hand often. As for Enid, she seems reluctant towards big, overly showy interactions. She’d probably be okay with low-key gestures. Canonically, I imagine these two keeping things cool and casual with a few flirty lines and looks every so often. It just seems out of character for Enid to get as lovesick and overly-expressive like Rad did with Shannon. (Note: I break my own headcanons for Rednid in my own fan works. I like drawing Enid with heart eyes and super-expressive, OOC expressions.)

I might take another crack at discussing these two again at a later point in time. This is a pair I honestly think could become canon, so I’ll wait and see if there’s more substantial stuff to work with and unpack down the road.

#rednid #red action x enid #ok ko red action #ok ko enid #red action and enid #shipping discussion #character analysis #character discussion #ok ko #ok ko let's be heroes #ok ko rad #ok ko elodie #second first date #back in red action

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theonceoverthinker · 6 years ago

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OUAT 2X13 - Tiny

Hey, reader! Your TINY-ing couldn’t be better to check out my latest review! XD

Yeah, not my best pun, but it’s not too GIANT of a misstep! XD

COMEBACK!

Now go under the cut and read my review!

Press Release

Kidnapped and brought to Storybrooke by Cora, the Giant unleashes his vengeance on the town when a case of mistaken identity leads him to try and settle an old score with David; Mr. Gold, accompanied by Emma and Henry, attempts to depart Storybrooke - hoping to keep his memory intact when he crosses the town line – and heads to the airport in search of his son Bae; and Greg (Ethan Embry) questions Belle as to what she saw on the night of his car accident. Meanwhile, in the fairytale land that was and against his brothers’ wishes, Anton, the Giant, climbs down the beanstalk and attempts to befriend some humans - whose intentions may not be so noble. General Thoughts - Characters/Stories/Themes and Their Effectiveness Past I really like the conflict in this episode and how it relates to the present later on. We clearly know the outcome of Anton’s voyage to the human world, but Anton never feels like he’s being foolish in this flashback. Anton’s research, kind heart, and inquisitive nature are not being satisfied (And as often implied, even mocked and bullied) by his siblings. But, in that same token, they are not completely cast as bad either. Anton clearly cares for them, and his oldest sibling is shown to be wise in many ways and it’s his lesson of seeking another land that proves to be the key to Anton’s eventual happiness and livelihood in the present.

James’ and Jack’s plan is a great one. That plotting is devious. The staging of it all was well done enough that it doesn’t feel contrived, but understanding of the kind of person Anton is and malleable enough account for missteps. Just go back and watch the bar scene. James has his outburst at the guard just loud enough so that Anton hears him, and of course, Anton, the curious guy that he is, would ask about why. Jack just happens to bring up the subject of beans and while Anton can’t help her in that regard, what else are giants known for? Their treasure, something Anton can be far more generous with. And give him enough motivation and he’ll go right over there with the bare minimum security. It’s honestly one of the best and most underrated evil plans on the show. It’s simple, but intelligently suited to its victim. Present I love the Storybrooke section of this episode! Anton, while the antagonist in this segment to David’s protagonist story, is never made to be a bad guy because the entire time we’re with him attacking, we’re aware of his plight. Because of that, we want him to pull through and get along with everyone and the episode gives that emotional payoff while still ensuring that Anton does learn his lesson about humans. David is in his best form throughout the episode, kind and compassionate but not without his limits and Snow acts as a great source of support and friendship while Leroy rounds out the trio with his comedy and everyman presence in town (And later on, surprising amount of heart).

It’s so great to see the people of Storybrooke acting as a unit again during the rescue and aftermath of Anton. It reminds me of the efforts made in episodes like “A Still Small Voice” and it fits into the story well as a bulk of humans are able to prove themselves to Anton at once.

Also, let’s talk about the airport scenes, but it helps make this episode so memorable. The security scene is both so hysterical at first and so tense and terrifying once the shawl comes off, even after the safe resolution. That having been said, I will say, I wish things were a little bit clearer as to why Rumple was freaking out even after he retained his memories. I can’t help but feel like they were almost going to go for a different angle like actually having Rumple at one point revert to his cursed self (Note how Rumple places so much emphasis on how important it was for him to keep his true identity), but it was abandoned. Otherwise, what was the purpose of the freakouts because we only got a few seconds of waviness as he was crossing through security before getting the shawl back? I like the idea of Rumple freaking out over not having his magic for the first time since the curse broke and realizing that his mortality is back, but what brought it on and how it was handled was weird. All Encompassing This segment is also notable in the fact that not only is it Anton’s first and only centric, but it is the first time that we really see the distinctions between David and James. Before, we saw a bit of James before his death, but while bits of him can be understood with the aid of hindsight, but this is where the character was truly defined for the first time. Whereas David so often acts for the betterment of his people and even those who oppose him (to the point where he attempts to sacrifice himself for Storybrooke’s safety and then later endangers himself for Anton’s sake), James is only interested in himself and won’t lift so much as a finger to help someone if it puts him in danger. Insights - Stream of Consciousness -”I think layers are always a good idea!” Nice subtle showing of Mama Swan! -I don’t know why, but it cracks me up how Rumple’s covering the expenses of their trip! XD Charming summed it up best: “You’re a real gentleman, aren’t you?” -”This isn’t a threat, it’s a request. Take care of them.” Aww! I love that extra bit of Sheep Bros! And Rumple actually responds to it! -I like also how Rumple’s being much more overt to Emma and co about who it is he’s looking for. I’m going to call that a slight development in his emotional honesty. -David, I am with Snow. That holster looks great on you! -Regina needs to join the Storybrooke acting troupe alongside Killian, Cora, and Rumple. Actually, someone make a fic out of this! Please? -”And we’re sorry.” I love how Snow completely follows through on her resolve from the previous episode. -First Captain Charming scene! Yayyyyy!! Honestly, it’s just as perfect as I’d hoped it would be! -Not gonna lie, I don’t even think it’s a shipping thing, but seeing Killian flirt with Snow like he does by the cops doesn’t flow with me at all. It’s just creepy, and I feel bad saying that, but it just is for me. -I never realized before that The Jolly Roger is made from Enchanted Wood. That’s pretty cool! -Anton is an adorable little bean! -I just realized: Now that the realms are merged, is Anton essentially out of a job, or are the beans the equivalent of teleportation now? Like, if I want to visit Elsa from Granny’s, can I just throw a bean and be right there? And if so, then Anton is now a multi-millionaire and I just couldn’t be happier for the guy! -Watching this flashback makes me hate the flashback in “Flower Child” so forking much. Everything that is done wrong there is done right here. -Holy shirt! Anton can punch! Like, get him on the main team! -The set up of the mystery of why Anton hates David is a very well done one for as brief as it is. It gives the audience a moment to establish how Emma’s actions have shown Anton that some humans aren’t evil as well as the fact that Anton isn’t a bad guy, but showing a clear snapping point for him. -Red Beauty! Yayyyyyy! -Hospital staff: It’s probably not a great idea to have “Good Morning Storybrooke” playing when you have two patients who aren’t supposed to know about magic. -Awww! Ruby loves books too, and reads from Belle’s favorite author! She’s just too sweet! -”Why does everyone keep calling me that?” ...Because it’s your name and you haven’t said anything along the lines of “my name is Lacey.” Introduce yourself! -James just has no shame! He’s about to have sex, his dad comes in, and he’s practically about to continue on! -I feel so bad for Anton! He so has a crush on Jack, and Jack’s just...well, not the worst, but definitely in the top 50 worst. -”How terribly uncivilized.” Rumple, you used to live in a world without indoor plumbing. You’re one to talk! -”Have you ever been on a plane before?” Have you ever been impaled upon a cane before?” That is forking hysterical and will never not be! XD -”You father?” Rumple, you are close to a century older than Emma! Yeah, you could be her dad! XD -Has anyone ever commented on how there’s literally no reason for the shawl to go into the bin. It’s not metal. Am I missing something here? -I want that roasted pig so badly! -”You’re human. I hate humans.” Part of me is thrown a little off base with this line. On one hand, Anton does what humans, but when David, Snow, and Leroy found him, he was more relaxed. However, I’m willing to waive it off to him getting his bearings upon waking up in a strange land. -Oh, shirt! Rumple can’t heal himself! BLOODY HELL! XD -That light is so unflattering for Robert right in the bathroom scene. -The entire conversation between Anton, David, and Snow concerning Emma and James is hysterical. As far as miscommunication scenarios go on this show, this is one of the best. And the follow up conversation between David, Snow, and Leroy over David’s name is equally so! XD -Don’t worry, Anton! Just HOLE-d on! XD -Awww! Look at Anton learning how to use a pickaxe! Anton, never change! Arcs - How are These Storylines Progressing? Regina’s Redemption - It is so hard to watch as Regina double crosses everyone in this episode. I don’t think it’s poorly done, and MM and David’s lines about not needing Regina’s say about Henry make the betrayal a well set up ad effective one. It builds well off of the last couple of episodes and while a touch accelerated around this part, I do think that the overall pacing works here. The People of Storybrooke Going Home - So this arc was really introduced during “The Cricket Game,” I believe. So far, I’m not sure how well it’s being set up, but I will say that this is the clearest the the arc itself has been defined since its inception. Favorite Dynamic David and Anton - David’s interactions with Anton are a true testament to his kindness and leadership abilities. Anton punches him in the face and refuses to cooperate with any attempts David makes to reason with him and yet David simply doesn’t give up on helping him the right way because of who he is. Additionally, how he rallies the entire town together for that same cause is inspiring. He knows the damage his “father” did and he wants those affected by him in any way (even through his progeny) to be helped, no matter what it takes. And on Anton’s side, just like with Emma, he’s receptive to that kindness and the belief in David doesn’t come from just simple information or evidence, but from David’s straight-up actions of offering himself up as a sacrifice and later saving him, and that’s so amazing! Writer Christine Boylan and Kalinda Vazquez are “Tiny’s” writers, and this is a great team up. The pacing of this episode feels very good, moving so that things aren’t rushed, but the stories remain flowing. Additionally, the framing of the writing is quite intricate, careful to not make anyone a bad guy but to also direct the sympathy where it is deserved. Additionally, the manner of Anton’s forgiveness (Both to him and from him) is expertly handled through the actions of the entire town saving Anton from the hole and him helping everyone grow beans. Rating 10/10. I love this episode’s story. Anton is a likable and layered character to follow and his journey with Ruth’s twins across the two timelines is equally layered. The story itself is very lowkey in comparison to some of our previous episodes, and it’s a welcome change of pace! It’s a super simple, yet quite detailed character story that allows for a lot to be done with James, Snow, Charming, and Leroy’s characters. Seeing all of these characters build off one another is what Once Upon a Time does best and the hearty story makes it all the better. While I didn’t find the storytelling at the airport to be as airtight (pun always intended) as the other segments (Ergo, why this isn’t a Golden Apple), the scenes on their own can be super entertaining (Especially EVERYTHING with Rumple in the first half of the security scene). Flip My Ship - Home of All Things “Shippy Goodness” Snowing - It’s just really nice seeing Snow and David working together! They’re so supportive and protective of each other, ranging from hugs to verbally helping each other during discussions with Anton, Hook, and each other over the differences between David and James. Snow and Charming are always expressing their love in some way, and it’s so subtly heartwarming. And hearing Snow talk about how she had fun today and missed their little adventures as she dances around him and the sidewalk is just great! Grumpy Giant - Freakin’ hollythecurious got me into the swing of this ship, and I love it and her for introducing it to me! XD Look at Grumpy’s adoring looks as he helps Anton get settled in to life in Storybrooke and how forward he is with his assistance. This is Grumpy we’re talking about and he’s rarely as likely to take the initiative in regards to introducing people to the town. And dammit, it’s so cute! Hell, he even moves the dwarves’ entire workforce to help Anton grow beans and calls them “our crop!” ()()()()()()()()() Thanks for reading and to the fine and fantastic folks at @watchingfairytales for their continued support and the project!

Wow! this season’s going great, but wow am I tired! Writing these long ash reviews is exhausting! You know what I could use? A drink. How about a Manhattan? ;)

See you next time.

Season 2 Tally (114/220) Writer Tally for Season 2: Adam Horowitz and Edward Kitsis: (29/60) Jane Espenson (25/50) Andrew Chambliss and Ian Goldberg (24/50) David Goodman (16/30) Robert Hull (16/30) Christine Boylan (17/30) Kalinda Vazquez (20/30) Daniel Thomsen (10/20)

Operation Rewatch Archives

#ouat #once upon a time #watching fairytales #ouat 2x13 #ouat rewatch #jenna watches ouat

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wilma-flintstones-mother · 6 years ago

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In Memorium of ALL that was lost 17 years ago and Also Intentionally Slotted Here This Evening Most Thoughtfully to Act as Motivational Fuel for the Fires that will Rage from Within the Very Core of the hearts and minds and conscience of the soon-to-be in Revolt citizenry of these United States of America in one Final, bloody, intense and all too necessary Shoot-em-up Stand-Off to the death against the Evil Spectres of World Domination and specifically to thwart and completely overpower them before they are able to initiate the communications, media, finances, military, government shutdown and beginning of an unspeakably brutal, inhumane, uber-violent and nightmarish new era of civil war, revolution, mass execution, starvation and instantaneously unleash mass catastrophic casualties not only to the populace but also to the environment, the animal kingdom in it’s entirety, the planned destruction of entire continents through previously un-imagined and practically instantaneous destruction of the planet’s protective ozone layer, resulting in the immediate genocide of all of Earth’s indigenous carbon-based life, it’s plentiful flora, wide variety of fauna and also contaminate what hadn’t already evaporated upon impact the small remaining amounts of precious life-sustaining water, through their perfected secret mastery of previously undiscovered directed energy weaponry that is some form of combined nuclear energy, microwave technology, anti-gravitational frequencies, pure dark anti-matter (!!!seriously!!!NO SHIT!!!), weather, climate and tectonic plate manipulated modification turned up to astronomically dangerous, unstable and very likely mass extinction level event status catastrophic disasters and result in essentially prematurely creating and ejaculating another end of the world as we know it holocaust to end all previous civilizations falls and final death knells (but this time, intentionally caused by the control-freakish political, financial, industrial and military combined governing lords over mankind itself) all inclusive planetary die-off and single, solitary jumping off and into the bottomless abyss, resulting in a.) spill over into the pan-dimensional multiverse (which WAS previously thought to have been theoretically an absolute impossibility!) into the ninth, tenth and twelfth dimensions, respectively, but simultaneously also extinguishing out every last vestige of life-force on the planet in less than a tenth of a second and managed to obliterate each and every one of us from a dimension of sight, sound and mind directly into a (imminently far, far greater than simply a mere) other dimensional plane, consisting of layer upon layer upon layer (infinitude) of vehemently dangerous couplings of essentially MATTER and ANTI-MATTER coming in and back out of direct contact with one another, frequently, shockingly silently co-mingling into and between and surrounding and even bridging and exchanging protons and atoms and black matter as well as sub-atomic particles and potentially even communications, emotions, entanglements, relationships, births, deaths, momentary sharing and exchanging one another’s very fundamental opposite identities and dimensional realities and physics, with the identifying forces of one’s positive matter actually momentarily embracing and becoming the other’s negative anti-matter in a unproven but most undeniably sexual and familiarly interpersonal most extremely noticeably peculiar and identifiable fashion of cosmic similitude and the commonly shared consciousness of which we all are, have been or one day will be a consciously living, breathing and existing extension of and only temporarily branched out from, as we and every other pattern of energy and cosmic memory perpetually re-emerge from as brand new energy patterns of a dangerously unstable and eventually formidably destructive and destroying on all levels of all layers of all dimensions and each and every one of the millions of universes, galaxies, solar systems, planets, continents, countries, cities, neighborhoods, square blocks, autonomous buildings and personal dwellings, individual living spaces with identifying names defining what activity or necessity of everyday life is executed within each specified room and it’s functional purpose, personal effects, family heirlooms, furniture, keepsakes, entertainments, elemental nourishment preparatory appliances and implements,unique individual life forms laying in bed, tossing and turning back and forth, unable to achieve sound sleep, the myriad cacophony of inner voices, fleeting thoughts, obsessions, scheduling of things to accomplish the following day, what they were going to wear, weather or not so-and-so was interested in dating them, worrying that their car might break down again and having to shell out another $500 out of their laughably inconsequential savings account, the linear dream state of human beings, as it continues to develop and move forward and shift from reality to reality and from moment to moment, never actually ceasing in it’s eternal clockworks, weather the unconscious host dreamer is currently wide awake and existing, thinking, acting and forgetting all about what they had experienced within it’s hyper-reality surrealism and meditative, curative phantasmagoria just a few hours previously when they were still fully immersed in it’s calm and collected, REM-activated trappings and grasp, and even then, the dream they had suddenly woken up from unexpectedly as their alarm clock went off at 8:30 am sharp and they ever so slowly, lackadaisically began to forget all about the wild, memourable, erotic, funny, exciting, evocative dream they had been enjoying just prior to waking up, in which they even got to hang out and experience many different kinds of abstractly disjointed variations and totally irrational and illogical combinations of being in their parent’s house/but also at Disneyland/which was also a Bob’s Big Boy Restaurant/and the hospital corridors you would endless walk through at a time when your grandmother was a patient and died there/which was also your place of employment (probably several jobs ago, the one you really liked but that you really did self-sabotage your being able to remain at) / which also had a little hidden rumpus room on the other side of the wall from your high school cafeteria, where you and another kid you had a crush on disappeared into so you could smoke a bowl together and then engage in sloppy, failed attempt at performing oral sex upon/which also had a really cool roller coaster right outside the main entrance that you could ride for free/ that would also just so happen to make a stop halfway through just outside of your very own bedroom door/ just as you hear the voice of your little brother who died when he was 10 calling your name as if he were lost somewhere and couldn’t find his way/but that’s stupid, because I KNOW and I REMEMBER that HE DIED YEARS AGO, but I’m glad he’s home and I wonder if he’ll want to go see STAR WARS with me and Jill and Kessie later on tonight at the Rialto in South Pas, that is, if I we can find each other... I hope he doesn’t get too scared/so just as you open your bedroom door and are about to walk in/suddenly you are startled by an annoying loud buzz which you can’t comprehend at first but then you/suddenly open up your sleepy eyes and it’s your alarm clock right on buzz-killing schedule as always, and your bedroom ceiling is awash in vibrant hues of yellowish-orange morning sunlight and all of that provocative zaniness was all just a dream...as always....except you never realize it fully until you have wake up and have emerged out of it’s hypnotic and compelling desire-answering and mood-fulfilling magick theatre-isms, it’s so obvious now that that was all only a dream, even though I remember dreaming that I knew it was all just a dream, even though it always more-than suffices as an even-better alternative to waking life and this reality in lieu of living in it... and those faceless character-actor-ish phantasms who you were never privy to the common knowledge of realizing or even imagining that those people and those images of people you know and knew in real waking life actually do just continue on about within the reality and time frame and space and time curvature of which their usually entertaining, carefree, monstrous hybrid of all things, real, imaginary, past, present and future, entertainment fiction real life trauma as experienced from the top hill of a b&w animated roller coaster originally drawn way back in the late 1920′s just as it begins to spill over the rather substantial incline just as the maximum momentum and locomotion has achieved it’s hand-drawn cell-animated maximum velocity, you notice the entire back half of the train of cars is literally lifting feet above the noisy pencil-drawn wooden tracks they’re allegedly connected to, a few of the people in the last two cars even fly out of their seats at the top of the hill, safely settling back into their chosen seats on the coaster by the time it reaches the bottom of the first hill.... the Fleischer Brothers ain’t got nothin’ on the power and limitless freedom of movement, imagination, unlikelihood, a human animals natural-born connected-ness with the psychic and telekinetic energies, patterns and the Earthen natural resources of magnetism and magnitude, unyielding and unrecoverable decimation, the violently opposing layers and volumes and channels and dimensions and and conflicting reams of liquid space, psychic vibratory beings consisting of nothing but pure energy, shadow and darkness ; abject, complete and unimaginable total non-existence, sequencing which would begin the intention of their callously chickenshit and much, much too prematurely arriving at that moment to end all other moments throughout the nights of time, as they safely secure themselves and their self-importance and their loved ones, pets, favourite records, movies and books, computers and internet connectivity, porn, King James versions of the Bible, all of their very favourite processed, GMO and cloned foodstuffs, wellspring library of alcohols, sodas, sundry recreational drugs, nibbles, snacks, more cases of bottled water than anyone has ever seen in reality EVER and aperitifs... But they also DIDN’T forget to bring along all of their unnecessary baggage and dirty laundry and bad, bad, bad, bad, and I’m talking... fucking detestable, shameful-ass as-a-mother-fucker bad-bad-ass karma (that is so sullied and so soiled and so unrecognizable as still actually being legally able to be referred to tastefully and realistically as `karma’) Oh, as well as their wealth of compassionate and trustworthy and still gainfully much, much better, handsomer and more worthy, deserving and overall just plain better than you, and all of the expected limited intelligence and tunnel vision perceptions, ever having been able to just kick the fuck back worry-free and enjoy life, goddammit, being born into old, white, American money and profitably living his life day to day, year to year, lost decade to shitty new world-ordered decade, far too privileged for far too long and all the while having succeeded in incontestably lying, deceiving, murdering, littering, poisoning, manipulating, cheating, raping, pillaging, warring, creating unnecessary tensions and divisions out of friends and neighbours, guilty by treason for a lifetime consisting of literally absolute and complete incompetency, crimes against humanity coupled with a competently inhumane disregard for any and all creatures and beings and families and communities, ever able to not just survive but perpetrate every last conceivable attribute of nihilism, misanthropy, xenophobia, sexism, conservative republicanism, needlessly controlling power freak and (just short of legally being able to qualify as tangibly having lived your life and carried out your position of power over all others) just two-steps short of having followed closely in the same footsteps as Hitler, Mussolini, the George W. Bush Dynasty and Justin Bieber himself... having acted upon on all of the very worst and lowest common denominational rhetoric, politics of never more than dirty fucking pool at it’s very lowest n-word notches and, now, safely watching the pandemonium and fiery, avalanche of unprecedented 9.4 earthquakes, tsunami that stay quite far inland wracking up even more unbelievable devastation for weeks at a time, volcanic overflows overtake the Hawaiian island which are now nothing but molten lava and bodies and beaches covered in sizzling, razor-sharp newly born land, otherwise, the rest of the whole of the planet’s surface remains awash in uncontrollable fiery flames that give any imaginings of Hell a sincere run for it’s money, all of the major continents, now broken up and in disarray and many no longer connected to any other large square mile footage of land any longer quickly become one endless, suffocating, inferno of unprecedented loss of resources, life, and destruction so thorough in it’s willful desire of finally claiming and bringing to a halt the previous relative peace, tranquility and beauty of all that had been and thrived there for so long, 200 mph winds signalling the arrival of onslaughts of level 5 hurricanes, tornadoes and the tallest, most ominous and terrifying sight of 300 foot tall rogue tidal waves approaching, one after the other after the other, wiping out any and all previous beach and harbour communities ; scary, violent new chunks of Earth shooting up from far beneath the surface, destroying everything in it’s wake and ripping-to-shreds the very land masses underneath our feet which had been home to our beloved communities, estuaries, park lands, national monuments, farm lands. rivers, forests, family homesteads, hills and valleys ; molten lava spewing forth robustly, shooting fiery liquid fumes into the air three miles up and then landing hundreds of miles away, volcanic rock, magma, tectonic plates, mountains, hills, valleys, grasslands, rain forests, beaches, deserts, all cities of the world finally united in one overwhelmingly epic fireball burning every last shelter, building and domicile unmercifully to the ground - As the still-believing-themselves-to-be ever-privileged, special, deserving and just higher-class one per-centers, who just minutes previously inherited the title of and factually became THE REPRESENTATIVE ENTIRETY OF HUMAN BEINGS ALIVE ON THE PLANET EARTH (or more accurately, deep within the labyrinthine caves and tunnelled out miles and miles of underground civilized word, accommodations, diversionary things like big slides, swings, swimming pools and mineral springs, bowling alleys and skating rinks, exacting replicas of their favourite four star eateries of the previous civilized world, subterranean jungles, arboretums and gardens, a n amusement park with all of the most insane and exciting thrill rides and roller coasters anybody could ever wish for, exacting duplicate versions (all stolen, of course) from Disneyland’s Matterhorn, Pirates of the Caribbean, the Haunted Mansion, Enchanted Tiki Room and Jungle Cruise rides (poetically, they DID have the taste and intuition to not consider also having their own water flume it’s a small world ride, too! I mean... that was the VERY LEAST they could have NOT done!) Anyway, with them all together having drinks and a small, five-course light luncheon being served to them by their staff (they DID allow a hundred or so select few of the rest of us to survive the pandemic `natural’ wave of cataclysmic destruction that the Earth and it’s surface and it’s 99% of the rest of the civilized populace, as we knew it, had suffered) and they were all assembled in their single most comfortable, cushy, oversized and simply plush movie theatre/dinner theatre/five star restaurant/full bar and pharmaceutical store/hamburger stand/coffee house/art gallery/television stations and they all watched over CCTV which played out, mechanically filming and panning back and forth and then shifting to another CCTV location and the not-so-surprisingly total loss and unrecognizable current appearance of many previously magnificently beautiful famous and beloved locations of historical and personal significance, all of the destruction and decimation on the planets surface miles above them playing out unashamedly just as unapologetically as it had happened in the first place, for all of them to see with their own eyes the trivial, trifling, megalomaniac spoiled conservative republican, unnecessarily one-sided results of their well-planned escape and future subterranean survivalist underground civilization and continuation of the human animal (or, more accurately, of the most minutely small, inconsequential, minor, petty, self-obsessed and inbred of any and all possible cliques of individuals who might ever have possibly been the few select `lucky ones’ to have actually been the only living representatives of all human life on the planet, 99% of which had just recently been violently killed in one freakish manner due to one or another of the extinction level event cataclysmic disasters that had simultaneously murdered off the entire planet itself! They sat in surprising silence as they interestingly took in all of the devastation they witnessed live on the very large 70mm cinerama dome-like vinyl motion picture screen and, for the very first time, I believe it may have actually been the single only time ever that a group of fascistic, right wing republican conservative born again Christians ever sat together in such an immense and comfortable entertainment center, and did not open their retarded mouths to say not one fucking snide little comment about all of those unlucky one’s above who had just perished... I believe that even if it may just have been a trick of the light or something, that I may possibly have just witnessed a conservative republican shedding a tear or two over somebody who was neither himself, a member of his family and actually who had been one of those bleeding-heart liberal democrats who ruined our country so thoroughly and ran that shit right into the ground before we did the right thing and saw to it that they finally got WTF they deserved, those stupid fucking N-word M*%%# F&@#%$......

#extinction event level

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