#i've been wearing this song OUT and i'm still nowhere near sick of it

[translucent-at-best]

Brand New - Kenyon Dixon

[uhhhitsme]

for the song thingy! how about 63 if it hasn't been done yet? :]

OKAY this is good because the first one u sent in was 4. and the 4th song on my curtwen playlist is you belong to me. which im sure you already know the context for because of smys incredible wonderful stunning fanfiction.

this is very fitting to me because somehow, even though crane wives is like 90% of my curtwen playlist, youre the first person to rq a crane wives song!! and also i think this is the first owen focused analysis ive done for the song thing so im doubly excited!!!

anyways, this song is so painfully owen carvour coded it makes me sick. its about (as im sure you already know) someone who can never be direct or clear about who they are, who is a liar and hardly trusts anyone they're around. who is constantly wearing a mask.

what saf does really cleverly (imo) is creating two characters so unlike each other that you can't directly associate them with each other at all---even if there are hints to the truth. the owen carvour we see in a1p1 is collected, practical, and a bit cocky---he is presented as the "brains" to curts brawn (key word presented im not doing that thing where ppl say that curt was a stupid little dumb dumb who was always being taken care of by owen), the thing that pulls curt back from doing anything too out there. he's calm and rational throughout most of a1p1 until his plans are blown to bits. but the dma is the opposite. he's quick to anger and explosively violent, big and burly and nowhere near as put together as owen seems. he kills for no reason, acts on the spot without much plan, and is so drastically different from the man curt knew intimately for years that he cant recognise him.

and i do think that this completely different persona wasn't just a role, for owen. that in a way, it was an outlet. an escape from being the person who had been hurt as brutally as he was, something to help him to cope with the trauma. but i also think that this isn't his first time disappearing into a role so completely. like owen says himself, he could've been actor, but (supposedly) chose to use his talents in combination with his interest in foreign policy. i believe that as a spy, this was his greatest asset---his ability to play pretend.

so obviously, i can't help but associate these lines with him, especially considering his "roles" as a spy probably hurt a lot of people.

i keep my closet free of skeletons 'cause i'm much better at digging graves

i've gotten good at making up metaphors i've gotten good at stretching the truth out of shape and all these words are sweet and meaningless you can't trust a single thing i say

but to me, that's not all. for owen, i don't think it's just that he plays a role really well, and the moment his job is over he goes back to being himself. i think that he inhabits a mask even when he's supposed to be himself.

even after his reveal---even when owen is supposedly acting as himself, instead of playing up that role, its... very performative, as well. at first, he presents himself as uncaring, smug, completely detached from what he and curt had. he casually ribs curt about his very real grief and guilt over the past four years, pokes curts insecurities by describing him as a foolish, bumbling idiot who was never as good of a spy as owen was, "im going to have dinner with my NEW FRIENDS now" *dramatic hair flip.* this version of owen we see holds nothing but deep contempt for who curt is, and everything he represents. there is nothing complicated about it---his recklessness nearly killed him, and now that he has the chance he wants simple revenge.

but when we get to the staircase scene, both of them are worn out over (i think?) days of travel. and curt, desperate and still unravelling because of this new revelation, and he pleas with owen in a way that hits home. and we see him break from that controlled anger that he shows to the group when he first reveals himself. we hear the violent pain in his voice when he says they can't just go back to how things were, hear the trembling way he tells curt that whatever they had has died. that there's no saving them. we hear that it mattered, to him. we hear the grief.

and then curt kills him.

owen was an actor---not just in his work, but in his life. because he feels so much, cares so much, and he knew that vulnerability of his could be exploited. he knew that to trust anyone---to show the truth of himself, to give himself away the way he did with curt---was to set himself up for hurt. and after surviving all that he did, both as a spy and as a child growing up in WWII-era london, he couldn't let that happen again.

but i always dig up bones in your sympathy i can't trust a single thing you say

don't look too hard, 'cause you won't like the scars he left in me

i know that a lot of my analysis for the two of them is that "they both hid their vulnerabilities because they were gay men in the 1950s" but like. it's true. it does make up a significant part of their lives, and probably defined a lot of how they express themselves and acted at the time. and there's something to be said about the association of emotion with femininity---how owen presents himself as this logical, controlled character, traits typically associated with masculinity---whereas the sentimentality and love and emotion that he experienced because of curt is something that deviates from that reason. how owen probably tried his best to squash out his feeling, because he knows that being seen as something other than a traditional man is basically being seen as queer, because he was raised to be ashamed of it.

he put up so many walls and wore so many masks---to protect himself from that prosecution, and to protect himself from letting his emotions run the risk killing him. not that it worked lmao

tldr; this man cannot say anything directly and has more layers than a fucking onion, and i am incredibly normal about him.

[bloodandrosesarenofun]

Landrymat - The Reincarnation Series

(After a long time out of commission I am back to writing! I thought I'd share the excerpt of the first chapter of my novel, inspired by the last two pictures I posted. Let me know your thoughts. <3

Tag list:

@luna-evans-writes )

I feel the night air push at my hair and flannel as both stir up at it's touch. The clock on my cellphone says it's only four-thirty but the sun is already on it's way down for the night, early as every winter. It's taken a while for me to actually feel the winter. Strangely enough it's actually just starting to get warm in Jacksonville again but at the same time all of the typical winter shit is just starting to happen. People ringing bells for charity and lighting up random palm trees in an attempt to be festive, and complaining about seeing people's breathe as though breathing doesn't really happen till it's cold out.

The bus thankfully drops me off only maybe a two or three minute walk from my destination so I don't have to deal with it that much. The being outside. I hate this neighborhood, sort of. It's not like it's particularly bad, and I know I grew up better than my mum did, but it is still pretty ghetto and run down. The laundromat is not so cleverly named 'Landrymat' but the word looks cooler to me on the marquee so I chuckle at it, glowing like an old school neon sign in some Tumblr kid's bedroom. I feel my face warm up as I go up to the door, pausing as anxiety creeps it's way up the back of my neck. I doubt anyone'll know what they are, or even care what I'm washing, but I still feel that despite the logical side of my brain arguing against it.

'CLEANERS AND DRY CLEAN

WASHING MACHINES ONLY 50 CENTS PER LOAD

COME IN AND ASK ABOUT OUR SPECIALS'

I question what kind of specials a laundromat could possibly have but I suppose they mean deals on multiple loads? I glance at my backpack's strap and realize I'm not sure if I need to wash anything separate. The idea of asking up at the desk makes my heart go number than all the years of abuse so I decide to just go in and figure it out myself. "I'm only carrying somewhere over a hundred dollars worth of material in my bag, what's ruining a couple of them," I mutter. 

Walking into the laundromat the first thing I see are all the washers and dryers so it takes me a secound to find the desk. 

I hold my tongue about how stupid I think it is that it's in the back of the room (which it is about the size of a large master bedroom) as I walk up to the counter, I'd never been to a laundromat before and my anxious ass wants to eliminate as much risk of my looking stupid as I possibly can. "Hey," I try and lower my voice, standing straighter than I usually do. It's an effort given I've spent years training my voice to be high when I wanted something from people since mine was too low to be as quickly helped as the prissy tea kettle sounding girls, of course the years of manipulation would bite me eventually. I always hated that voice. "I need to wash, um, two loads of laundry."

"Do you need a dry clean?" Asks the burly desk lady, her hair braided back in a frizzy mess that said she probably didn't care much about work appearances and her tone suggesting she didn't really care about work. I shake my head 'no'. "Then pick a machine and just let me know if you need change." 

"Oh. Okay. Thanks." I walk over to the wall that obviously has machines with wet clothes and soap tumbling in them and want to scream at the lack of signs. I survey the room, finding that there aren't really many people in here, thankfully. One woman sits on her phone in a waiting chair, charging it in the wall and speaking about as loudly about her divorce as it takes to let the whole entire room know her life story. A man strikes out with a red head a couple machines down from me, and an Asian lady who might be the manager talks with one of the employees apparently about the detergents. I pick a machine near the end and set my backpack down on a miscellaneous chair at the last machine. All of my binders are bundled up and shoved unceremoniously in the bag. I grab my wallet out and go to figuring out starting up the machine before I take them out, zipping back the backpack. 

Living in a house where either your grandma or your father do all of your laundry (mostly because they insist) is feeling much less convenient as the feeling of intimidation from trying to figure out a new basic skill sets in. I stare blankly at the space beside the laundry machine, feeling fog set in, when the beep of the woman on the phone's laundry being done sets me off I jump, my heart thudding erratically in my chest. I don't know why I feel this way, and I can't find a rational way to deal with it. I try to do the breathing and focus thing but with nothing to focus on I panic, I dig my nails into the skin just under my wrist, grabbing my hoodie to try and hide it underneath as I claw at myself. It helps me. I feel dizzy but after a moment I'm back on the ground, almost like getting off something unstable for the first time in a while. My mind felt like it was still thinly veiled but I find myself able to lean against the washers. Shaking my head, I nod at my reflection, fixing my t shirt and going to figuring out the laundry. When I get it together, tossing everything from my backpack and quickly shutting it seems more discreet and I contemplate only doing one load just for the convenience of it, but I decide against it thinking about my lack of a job and money to replace for that. The machine turns on with a loud sound and I shut my eyes against it. Feeling physically sick I hastily take out my headphones again from where I've shoved them into my backpack's pocket and begin playing a song from Quietdrive, thinking the guitar and easily placed sexual lyrics will help me take my mind off my mental breakdown. The seats in the 'Landrymat' are cheap but they aren't as uncomfortable as I thought. I sit with my legs up weirdly crooked in the seat, looking around to see if anybody will care about it. The red haired girl from earlier is looking my way but her expression doesn't look irritated so I ignore it. The air is clean smelling, and the chemicals burn my nose, but it's all something to focus on as I zone out, inconsequentially digging my nails into my skin again, my hoodie wrapped inconsequentially around my hands like I was trying to bide off the cold. I feel alittle less stranded with the music blasting. It drowns out the other sounds. It takes a little while for my darks to be done, and I find myself way too intrigued by the fact you could never tell what the mass of black fabric is. It looks so inconsequential when it feels like if anybody saw it, knowing what it was, it would ruin my life.

I remove the clothes and set them in the dryer, taking a secound to pick the right cycles and having to google it to be sure, then put my lighter binders in for the same cycle. Feeling eyes on me, I turn and glance around the laundromat. The manager is nowhere to be seen and the employee is sweeping, the woman on her phone is talking to the man from earlier, and the red headed girl is staring at me. I turn to glance at the counter, and turn back to find her still watching. 

I check my chest, making sure my shirt is on right and you can't see my binder through it or peeking over the top. I haven't said much since I got here and since I know my voice is the least passing thing about me I find it difficult to pinpoint what could be wrong with me. Is she really clocking me? Or trying to figure it out maybe? The girl doesn't seem deterred by the fact I've noticed her staring at me and I can't tell if I find that more unsettling. I get a strange vibe off her, almost like I've met her before, maybe a few times. My head tilts to the side as I study her. She has tan skin, and I can tell she doesn't use as much lightener as most Asian girls. Her face and eyes remind me of a wolf (and I'm not sure if that's crazy to say but) despite her not coming off as intimidating at all to me. Something about her's intriguing, and I find myself wanting to talk to her. She's dressed in all guys clothing, stuff you could probably find after a few minutes of digging through the small grungy punk section of Walmart or the closet of you dad's old teenage bedroom, but she wears it like a model on one of the magazines on the table. Her makeup is carefully done and her eyes are piercing as the stare into mine. "D-Do you need something?" I question, being conscious about my voice as I hear it waiver with nerves. I figure either she'll let me know where I know her from or maybe my saying something first will keep her from outing me, even if there aren't that many people in here. I don't think my heart can currently take being called out as trans* or gay.

Her eyes cut from mine to something behind my head and I turn around with an eyebrow raised in question. In the top right corner to the room is a little TV monitor playing the news on mute. Headlines role over the screen as they talk about the state of the world. I knew things have been bad, but the newscast for the day just seems to be 'The world is fucked pretty well' and I'm shocked at how little I've heard people talk about change despite even the holiday season's passing by. I turn back to find the girl grimacing at the screen. She looks down at me then shakes her head, "No. Nothing at all."

I make a face, closing the washing machine I hit start. She doesn't stare directly but I still catch her looking. "The world's pretty shit for just past the holidays isn't it?" Mentally, I kick myself for talking. If she chose to leave alone why wouldn't I let her? 

She looks at me and nods slowly. "Yeah," she says, "Yeah it is. I don't think anyone gives a fuck." Her worlds hold a specific malice and she grits her teeth, looking back at the screen like she's thinking of someone specific. "Did you really think they would? Are you really into rights or something?" I realize that's a stupid question. "I mean, um, like activist work? Specifically."

She shrugs. "Yeah, no, but I guess you could say I work closely with someone-" she stops herself, "who has a pretty good hand in this business."

"You work for weather station?" I ask.

She smiles, shakes her head. "No. Don't worry about it, I'm probably just over reacting as always. Thinking people have more power than they have. Nobody was gonna pay attention to this," she gestures to the screen and crosses her arms, "anyway."

"Well maybe it'll blow over with at least as little damage to people as it can manage."

"Yeah, I doubt it." She goes up to a machine and pulls out her dry clothes, beginning to fold them for a wicker basket.

I look down at my phone, my mum's texted me and I groan inwardly as I text to let her know I'm okay. "What about you?" I hear the girl ask. 

My eyebrows furrow. "What about me?"

"What do you care about?" She asks. 

It's a strange question. What do I care about? "I guess the environment."

"You guess?" she pauses.

"I mean, yeah."

"That's not a lot of caring." She continues to fold her things into her basket without looking at me, reminding me of an old movie scene. "There's no passion in you guessing."

"I guess-" I stop, then shrug. "I don't care much about a lot of things right now." I admit. Something about the girl's demeanor changes, and I try but I can't read her expression. She seems weirdly different then and I try and find a time when I may've seen her like this. "That's a sad way to live. But I guess I get it."

I shrug awkwardly, shifting my weight on one foot. "I just can't find that passion I suppose."

"You know supposing is just guessing with a different style?"

"I'm surprised someone else does."

"Well. My advice. Find something worth fighting for. Fast." The jokingness fades from her eyes and she suddenly looks very serious, her tone almost a warning.

"Okay." I say. "I'll work on it."

"Good." She smiles, grabbing her basket and heading for the door. "I suppose I'm just not gonna get a name after that." I turn back to my wash and see there's still five minutes to wait for the dryer.

"It's Rosé." I hear a girl say. Turning around, I see the red head walking away without getting an answer from me. "Scorpious," I doubt she heard me. 

When I'm done with my laundry I'm happy to fold my binders back into my backpack without incident. The laundromat is only a short walk and an even shorter bus ride from my house, but considering the fact that the next bus is an hour away I take my phone out and do the next best thing.

"Hey, George. You wanna get pizza with me? I'll pay if you drive."