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whentheynameyoujoy · 3 years

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Women in SPN—Is it Really That Bad?

TL;DR: Somewhat, yeah, it kinda is.

This is going to be a series of long ones, people.

Before I jump head first into this giant vat of weird toxic shit, let me say something:

The thing about most of the female characters is that on their own? They’re perfectly fine, ranging from serviceable to the occasional flash of thematic brilliance. Barely any of them qualify as “this is hateful on its face and incompetent regardless of context and the writers should feel bad for ever conceiving of it”, i.e. the normie benchmark for justified criticism. It’s only when you put these characters next to each other that a worrying pattern emerges;

Although discussions about sexism in the media were very much a thing in the mid-2000s, as well as shows with characters whose primary role wasn’t to serve a man’s needs, I can’t honestly claim that the flaws of SPN are out of the norm for its time; and

The first few seasons could really do with a PSA at the start of each episode, something along the lines of “A part of the reason why female characters are killed off or written out with such regularity is rabid superfans who couldn’t abide anything with tits brushing against J2, srsly, the writing team and the 2000s’ fan base were a match made in hell, except it wasn’t the writers who couldn’t do with bitching on their LiveJournals about the gall of women to exist in the show, choosing instead to harass the creators and actresses and wives and call them every sexist insult under the sun AND I MEAN WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE HAS THERE EVER BEEN A CESSPIT AS DISGUSTING AND NUKEWORTHY AS THE SPN FANDO—“

Anyway.

SPN has a legacy (as a posterchild for not knowing when to bow out gracefully, but legacy nonetheless) and isn’t watched in 2005 but in the year of our Lord Today. Meaning that as time goes by, the issues surrounding the show’s production retreat into the background and only what’s on the screen remains, to be judged on its own merits.

So let’s run down a list of the more noteworthy and relevant female characters of the first arc, focusing on their characterization, role in the narrative, and end. In the conclusion to this series of posts, the sum of characters will be analyzed as a whole to see if there are any unique tendencies in the show’s handling of women as opposed to that of men. I’ll do this for the original five seasons as the recent finale went out of its way to say that nothing after season 5 was strictly speaking necessary so why bother.

(Also because I died of frustration in season 8 and vowed not to subject myself to any more of the post-apocalypse fanfic era)

Angels, while strictly speaking genderless clouds of energy, will be classified as men or women depending on the apparent gender of the vessel they spend most of the time riding. The same goes for demons where I also take into account their stated gender while they were alive. That’s because although beings like Meg, Ruby, Anna, or Lilith can’t technically be considered women in the show’s present day, their consistent preference for conventionally attractive and/or female vessels throughout the original arc makes claims of genderlessness essentially meaningless. For all intents and purposes, we’re watching girls and women on screen.

Baby—the only true NB of the first run

All right, time to jump.

Say hi to our ladies!

Mary Winchester

Killed in the very first scene to give the story a reason to exist, she remains an active presence throughout the first arc where she has a wide-reaching influence on the plot and characters, driving the conflict on several levels. Fleshed-out more and more with each appearance to be more than just “the dead mom”, she’s portrayed as protective, pro-active, capable, and assertive, mirroring the duo’s desire for normal life and their inability to have it. Her story comes full-circle in season 5 when the personal tragedy of her fate is embedded in the wider tragedy of the Winchester family curse and the overall theme of destiny.

Status: Dead as of s5

Importance: Major

On her own: Textbook example of fridging… and that tropes aren’t bad in and of themselves.

Jessica Moore

Comparatively, if anyone doubts fridging can evolve into something meaningful, Jess drives the point home by having no personality and no point but to prop up her boyfriend before she ends up pinned to the ceiling, the reveal of which is the most interesting thing about her entire existence. At best she’s a symbol of Sam’s civilian life, at worst an obstacle to be removed for the story to happen.

Status: Dead as of s5

Importance: Major in terms of manpain, non-existent otherwise

On her own: A cardboard cut-out, barely qualifies as a character

Missouri Moseley

A psychic and the primary reason why John Winchester even knows to wipe his ass. Appears once over the course of the first arc yet everyone wants her to come back years later—that’s how awesome she is. Has this fantastic trait of being compassionate and empathetic while not taking a single speck of shit from anyone, especially when it comes from the two main dumbos who might just as well have been raised in a barn. Is very particular about the pristine state of her coffee table.

Status: Alive as of s5, killed in s13 (wait, what?)

Importance: Major…ly wasted potential

On her own: As strong a character as Bobby Singer, and as worthy of being elevated to the main cast.

Lori Sorensen

The writers can’t figure out why anyone in the universe would care about Jess either so they insert an intentionally awkward romance subplot to convince people the time’s not yet ripe for Sam to stop grieving and start slaying. The result’s… erm… well, awkward. Lori’s naïve, sheltered, devout though accepting of her non-repressed friend, and sort of on a religious crossroads because of her hypocritical preacher father. I guess the virginal power of her virginal virginity does… something in the plot? Primarily a vehicle for Sam to mark the stages of his moving on.

Status: Alive as of s5

Importance: Minor

On her own: A bit done. Like a bit lot. Like a “could be a trope namer” bit lot.

Meg

Boom, baby!

Arguably the chief antagonist of season 1 and one of the best things about it. The first one to point out the pervasive toxicity of the Winchester family business, so props for perceptiveness. Possesses the standard qualities of a lower-level henchman—manipulative, no-nonsense, and quietly sinister which, while not exactly groundbreaking, sets her apart from the other bad guys in the season as they tend to have no distinguishing characteristics at all. Plus Nicki Aycox makes the role seem more unique and “lived-in” by projecting a sense of understated amusement at the two main chucklefucks. Is one of S1’s turning points in blurring the lines between monsters and humanity. Has a face transplant twice—once to have revenge (good on her) and the other time to pursue someone else’s goals again before getting stomped into the ground like a mook.

Status: Alive as of s5 (?), killed in s8

Importance: Major

On her own: The actresses do most of the heavy lifting. Which doesn’t mean I don’t love watching the character burst onto the scene and announcing the end of the Winchester brand of bullshit.

Layla Rourke

A terminal cancer patient in a religious cult, she’s a more mature take on a Lori-type character and the themes of faith and doubt. Serves as a conduit for Dean’s budding survivor guilt, self-loathing, and sense of worthlessness. Is kind and cheerful, with strong hints that she’s relying on forced optimism to get through the days; also understanding of the circumstances of others while realistically freaked about the possibility of death. Weirdly, she enters the episode already in a state of acceptance and leaves it just as accepting when it’s confirmed that yeah, she’ll die soon. All expressions of anger at the injustice and senselessness are left to her mother which somewhat undermines the “struggling” portion of Layla’s character and renders the final scene where she makes peace with her fate a bit hollow.

Status: Implied dead

Importance: Minor in the overall narrative, major in the episode and Dean’s development

On her own: I want to like her, I really do, just… if only she were allowed to get pissed, once.

Cassie Robinson

Dean’s ex and that’s pretty much all there is to her. I struggle to pinpoint a single personality trait of hers—the 2000s idea of a “strong woman” and “not like other girls”, perhaps? Undermined as a love interest because TPTB don’t show the happy or any parts of her relationship with Dean so really, why should anyone care if two sniping assholes with little to no chemistry get back together? Memorable for being in a horribly scored softcore scene which YouTube tries to convince me lasts for shy over a minute, not the week I remember it to. Involved in the show’s first and last attempt at incorporating the issue of anti-black racism.

Status: Alive as of s5

Importance: Minor

On her own: She’s in the racist truck episode. ‘Nuff said.

Sarah Blake

A sophisticated people-person conversationalist with a love of high art and a deep sense of introspection. Ascends to the state of godhood by being able to pull off pigtails while adult. Bonds with Sam over responding to loss by crawling into a shell but deciding to move on. Doesn’t care for your fancy schmancy fine dining, Romeo. Isn’t ashamed to openly talk feelings which includes her explicitly asking Sam if they have a thing going on (honestly, this is such a breath of fresh air for a normcore romance). Despite being scared out of her wits, she refuses to be shoved into the helpless civilian box after learning about the existence of the supernatural; Dean creates a Pinterest wedding board in response.

Status: Alive as of s5, pointlessly dragged back to be murdered in s8

Importance: Minor in the overall narrative, major in the episode and Sam’s development

On her own: A great love interest that has enough writing behind her to fool you into thinking she’s something more.

Up next, whenever I feel like it, seasons 2 and 3!

#spn #spn critical #supernatural #supernatural critical #sexist writing #mary winchester #missouri moseley #meg masters #sarah blake #layla rourke

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hermannsthumb · 4 years

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star crossed lovers and curses? TYSM for writing these btw I love your writing

64. Star Crossed Lovers & 98. Curses

from fanfiction trope mashup here

ANOTHER 2 YR OLD PROMPT….this concept seems sufficiently fairy tale enough for a little Mermay, perhaps 👁👁

so like. this got a lot longer than I intended because I was having so much fun with it. OH WELL

———————-

It was a real slap in the face–Newt has to admit–for the institute to deny him funding for this one. Ten years of thorough, groundbreaking, devoted research–ten years of PhD after PhD–ten years of no vacations, or weekends off, or even dating–Newt just assumed all he’d have to do was waltz into his supervisor’s office and they’d shell out however much he requested, no questions asked. That’s how it’s always been.

And yet here he is now, solo-manning a rented skipper with rented diving gear and a backpack full of disposable waterproof cameras, sunburned and dehydrated and miserable, all just because–

(“It’s stupid?” he said. “You think my idea is stupid?”

“With all due respect, Dr. Geiszler,” his supervisor said, not even pretending to be apologetic about it, “yes. We’re not going to pay for you to chase after the Loch Ness Monster.”

“That’s in Scotland!” Newt shouted, and then Newt started shouting some more, and he maybe had to be escorted back to his lab, but he wasn’t fired, at least, and the next day he cashed in ten years’ worth of hard-earned vacation and declared he’d be fucking off to the coast to pursue a completely legitimate doctorate in crypto-marine-zoology. Or whatever it’s called. He’ll worry about the name once he gets it.)

Two weeks into his spite-fueled expedition in the middle of the fucking ocean, Newt begins to wonder if this isn’t a mistake. He’s running low on food, for one thing, and what little fishing he learned as a Boy Scout can only take him so far. For another, it’s really hard to do this sort of work by himself. Though Newt usually goes solo for shorter expeditions, he’s used to having an intern or two tag along to help him take pictures on longer ones like this–or at the very least, provide enough conversation to keep him from going nuts.

But the biggest indicator so far that this is one giant waste of time is the fact that in the course of those two weeks at sea, Newt hasn’t found one single, solitary shred of evidence. No giant squid tentacles. No sea monster humps rising from the waves. No mermaid tails. He hasn’t even seen a shark fin, for God’s sake. Just endless, deep, blue.

Starting to thing this might be career suicide, Newt writes in his field journal on the fifteenth day.

And then his boat is capsized.

Well, not really. His boat is almost capsized. Low in the list of Newt’s priorities for trip preparation–so low, in fact, it came in after pack razors and do laundry–was check weather report. It just didn’t seem important at the time, you know? He had other shit on his mind. It’s why the storm takes him by complete surprise.

Newt woke at dawn today to the sound of rain tapping lightly on the roof above his cramped quarters. The drizzle quickly became a thunderstorm. The thunderstorm quickly became–well, whatever this is. Waves smacking against the sides of the boat. Water sloshing onto the deck. A perfectly good cup of French press coffee upended all over Newt’s only map.

His boat isn’t capsized, but it gives a great, shuddering jerk that sends Newt sprawling to the wood planks and grasping for anything to steady himself–his bedposts, the ruined map, a chair leg–and a great flood of water rushing in. Newt manages to scramble up in time for his jeans to spare being soaked. (He probably should’ve packed more than one pair.)

It’s at this moment Newt finally allows himself to panic a little.

“Fuck,” he hisses. “Shit. Okay, fuck. This is–” Another shuddering, wood-creaking jerk of his boat. Newt takes a few sloshing to the door and forces it open against the wind.

Iron-grey sea to his left; to his right; behind him; in front of him. The waves are angrier than anything Newt remembers from Boy Scouts. He flips up the hood of his rain jacket and stumbles out into the gale to lower the sails, or weigh down the ship, or something, anything to just–

There’s something pale bobbing out in the ocean some thirty feet away from his boat. A head, Newt realizes, a human head, a human head attached to shoulders, and his shock mingles with horror because oh, God, it’s a person! Their boat must’ve been wrecked by the storm–or they must’ve been thrown overboard–or both, Newt has to do something.

He cups his hands around his mouth and bellows in the direction of the mysterious bobbing head. “Do you need help?!”

Nothing.

“Hello!” Newt shouts.

Whoever it is suddenly disappears under the water; without thinking, with nothing on his mind but saving the drowning stranger, Newt shucks off his leather jacket and dives under.

At least this time, he knows it’s a mistake.

Newt is warm when he wakes up. Warm, and dry. The sun is shining overhead; the boat is still; the waves are calm. There’s someone touching his neck–a hand, damp, and oddly chilly.

“Stop,” he mumbles, and swats them away. He’s trying to sleep.

The hand returns. “Stop,” Newt says, and swats again, more. viciously this time.

He hears a small, offended huff. The hand retracts, though not before depositing his glasses on the bridge of his nose and swatting back in return. “Well, I’m terribly sorry for attempting to return these,” someone says.

Newt’s eyes shoot open.

There’s a man above him–sharp-cheeked, brown-eyed, shirtless and pale, his short, dark hair plastered to his head like he’s just gone swimming. He’s scowling at Newt. There’s something familiar about him that Newt can’t quite put his finger on–until he does. “You were in the water!” he says, sitting straight up. “You were drowning!” He wracks his brains for the memory of that morning: a head bobbing in the water, Newt going overboard, the cold, dark rush of the ocean, his frantic, wheeling arms– “I saved you!”

“Not exactly,” the man says.

No, that’s not right. There was the dark rush of the ocean, his wheeling arms, and then two cold, sturdy hands pulling him up, onto his boat, pressing down on his chest, a cold, wide mouth breathing air into his lungs. “Holy shit,” Newt says. “You saved me! What were you even doing out here, dude? It’s–”

Then Newt looks down.

The head leads to shoulders, which leads to a torso, but below that– “Holy shit,” Newt squeaks again, and then, at a loss for anything else to say, “Can I take a picture of you for my field journal?”

Where there should be hips and thighs and calves below the waist is nothing but a long fish tail, curving and shimmering and brightly-hued enough to make Newt’s eyes sting. It tapers into two large, translucent, fanning fins, the left of which is misshapen, almost as if it were wounded somehow. The overall effect is gorgeous, frankly. Newt’s never seen anything so gorgeous in his entire life.

“No,” the man–merman–says. “Goodbye.”

He begins to wriggle to the edge of the boat. Newt reaches for him frantically. “Wait, wait!” he says. “Don’t go! I want to talk to you, please!”

A foot from the edge of the boat, one hand on the railing, the merman turns back to Newt. His eyes are narrowed. “What do you want to talk about?”

“Well,” Newt says. “You, obviously. You’re–” He sweeps his hand in a broad gesture across the merman. “You’re not human.”

“Yes,” the merman says.

“And you saved my life,” Newt says.

Another scowl. “Yes. You’re bloody lucky I was passing by,” the merman snaps. “What on Earth were you doing out here in the middle of a storm like that? You could’ve gotten yourself killed.”

Newt shoves his glasses up higher and scoots closer to the merman. “I’m a scientist. A marine biologist, technically.” And, if you were to get even more technical, only a fifth marine biologist. Newt tended to look at his doctorates in a glass-half-full way. “I was, uh, gathering research.” Suddenly it occurs to Newt that he and the merman might have cultural differences he never even dreamed of, and he flushes with embarrassment. “Wait, do you know what a scientist is?”

“Yes,” the merman snaps again.

“Right,” Newt says. He coughs. The merman’s scowl hardens. Frankly, legends of sirens luring sailors to their deaths aside, Newt didn’t expect merpeople to be quite so…bitchy. Maybe he just got stuck with the most foul-tempered one in existence–it’d be just his luck. “Well. Uh. My name is Newt. It’s nice to meet you?” He holds out his hand, and then remembers himself. “Uh, this is how humans greet people. You shake it.”

“I know,” the merman says, and then (in a way Newt can’t help but feel as somewhat condescending) shakes Newt’s hand with a firm “Hermann.”

Newt snorts before he can help himself. Hermann pulls away. “Hermann,” he echoes. “You know–”

“I know,” Hermann says again.

“It kinda sounds–”

“I know,” Hermann says.

“It’s just kinda funny,” Newt says, and begins to snicker.

“So is ‘Newt’,” Hermann huffs, and then, before Newt can stop him, he dives back into the ocean with a splash and a flick of his shimmering tail.

Newt rushes to the railing and peers into the murky depths below, but it’s no use. Hermann’s long gone. His first real, solid evidence of crypto-marine biology, and he couldn’t stop being himself long enough to ask a few simple questions.

“Shit,” he sighs. He makes note of the meeting in his journal anyway.

He sees Hermann again four days later. It’s a bright, sunny day, not a cloud in the sky, and–in a better mood than he’s been since he started out–Newt decides to take the opportunity to do some maintenance around the boat. Turns out Doc Martens don’t offer the most amazing traction on slippery decks, especially when you’ve somehow managed to wrap ropes from the sails around yourself and lose the ability to move your arms. Newt learns this the hard way.

Luckily, Hermann is there to catch him.

“You are a bloody menace,” he scolds, as a half-soaked–but safe–Newt blinks dumbly at him in the safety of his surprisingly sturdy arms. “What were you even attempting to do?”

“Uh,” Newt says. “Fix the sails?”

Hermann rips the ropes off of him effortlessly, then lifts him higher. Newt stays still, blinking, before he realizes he’s supposed to be climbing onto the deck, and then scrambles up over the railing. “There we are,” Hermann says, sounding equal parts smug and satisfied.

“Thanks, dude,” Newt says. “If you hadn’t been here–” He frowns. “Wait, what were you doing here?”

“Nothing,” Hermann says, too fast, and Newt grins.

“You were totally spying on me!”

“I was not,” Hermann snaps. “I was merely passing by. You’re awfully hard to miss. So–noisy.”

“Uh-huh,” Newt says. “Well, lucky coincidence. Can I interview you for my journal now?”

For a moment Newt expects Hermann to dip back beneath the waves, but–glowering up at Newt–he folds his arms and rests them against the side of the boat. “What would you like to know?”

Newt digs his tape recorder from his pocket and switches it on. “Everything.”

Hermann is a begrudging interviewee, but he’s an interviewee none the less, and answers each of Newt’s questions with only a small dose of sarcasm. He eats fish, like some larger fish might. He speaks English, like most fish don’t. He lives in a city populated with other merpeople, who have jobs and families and houses, though significantly different from the jobs and families and houses humans have. “Technically,” Hermann says, with a strange, furtive glance around, “I shouldn’t even be telling you these sort of things. Interacting with humans is considered highly taboo in my society.”

“Oh, shit,” Newt says, and inches forward. “Seriously?”

Immediately, Newt’s brain works overtime to concoct an exciting, Little Mermaid-esque scenario: Hermann’s dad as the strict king of the ocean, wary of humans because of some ancient feud, Hermann longing for freedom, Newt–well, Newt would be down with kissing Hermann to help him get rid of that fin. He’d be down with kissing Hermann regardless. Newt’s scientific interest in him aside, Hermann is pretty good-looking. And–well. The forbidden, star-crossed aspect of it all is kinda exciting.

“Yes,” Hermann says. “Humans have hunted merpeople for centuries. Or so I’ve been told. But…” His face twists strangely–the corners of his eyes crinkling, his teeth flashing into view–and Newt realizes he’s smiling. Awkward, and shy, and unpracticed, but smiling. “You seemed different. I took a gamble.”

Newt blushes, just a little. “Hunted,” he echoes. “Is that what happened to your fin?”

“My fin?”

“It’s injured on the left side,” Newt says. “Like something attacked you. Did a human do that? Or another predator, like a shark or something?” Do merpeople have to worry about sharks? Maybe they keep them as pets. That’d be cool. If Newt was a merman, he would have three pet sharks.

“Oh,” Hermann says. “Oh, no, nothing so dramatic. That happened when I was human.”

Newt drops his tape recorder. It narrowly avoids bouncing overboard. “When you were what?”

“When I was human,” Hermann repeats. “Did I not mention I used to be human?”

“Uh, no,” Newt says.

“Ah, well,” Hermann says, “yes, it was some time ago. Perhaps a hundred years.”

“You look good for a hundred,” Newt says, because Hermann can’t have more than a couple years on Newt’s thirty-five. To his surprise, Hermann snorts.

“Yes, see, I was involved with a man,” he says, “and–well, he wasn’t pleased when I wanted to put an end to things, move on, you know, pursue other relationships. Only there were a number of things I didn’t know about him. He practiced–mastered, really–a strange kind of magic. He cursed me. I’ve been stuck this way–half-human, never aging another day–ever since.”

Merpeople, magic, curses–this is too fucking good. No one is ever going to believe Newt if he publishes this paper. “What kind of curse?” Newt says. “Like, one that can be broken?”

“Presumably,” Hermann says.

“Do you have to learn a lesson?” Newt says. He pushes up his glasses and leans closer. “Does someone have to kiss you? Like a true love’s kiss?” Newt was never one for reading fairy tales as a kid–having preferred the much more interesting alternatives of poking slugs with sticks and rolling around in the dirt–but he knows that’s a pretty big deal in those kind of stories. Frog princes and shit.

“I don’t know,” Hermann says. “All I know is that this has been very irritating. I had a laboratory, you know, with all sorts of fascinating equipment. I was a scientist. And now–”

“Can I try kissing you?” Newt interrupts.

Hermann flushes and shuts his mouth. “Ah,” he stammers, “I–I’ve got to–”

He disappears, in another splash and glint of fin. It was worth a shot.

Hermann comes back a few days later, and he comes back after that, and after that. Sometimes Newt asks him questions about being a merman. Sometimes Newt asks him questions about his previous life as a human. Hermann seems to like talking about being a human more, for reasons that aren’t very hard for Newt to guess. He was born in Germany, like Newt, though was schooled somewhat prestigiously in England (which explains the stuffy accent). He walked with a cane and a slight limp. He owned a very nice and very expensive telescope, which he misses, and worries about the well-being of, constantly. Sometimes Newt tells him things about himself, too: about his myriad of tattoos, his studies, how the human world has changed since Hermann’s time.

One day, as Hermann watches Newt eat potato chips and transcribe one of his numerous interviews from audio to pen, he suddenly reaches out and touches the corner of Newt’s notebook. “May I read this?” he says.

“Sure,” Newt says, hoping that Hermann doesn’t flip back to last week and read Newt’s entry where he described, in great detail, his attraction to Hermann, and the incredibly steamy dream he had about him as a result of that attraction.

Hermann skims Newt’s notes quickly, politely ignoring the grease stains Newt left behind, then pushes the book back towards him. He didn’t read about the dream. Thank God. “You called me a specimen,” Hermann says. His eyes crinkle in amusement. “How impersonal.”

“Yeah, well,” Newt says, heart pounding a little, because if he didn’t know any better he’d say Hermann is being flirty, “can’t let my institution know I’m on a first name basis with my subject. Conflict of interests.”

“Now, tell me,” Hermann says, “what do you plan to do with the information you’ve gathered when you return home? A book? An article? An exhibition? If you’re going to ask to put me on display, my answer is a definite no.”

“Nah, nothing like that,” Newt says. The truth is that Newt has no idea what he’s going to do with his significant compilation of research about Hermann. It’d be one thing if he found evidence of Hermann’s whole colony, or even a merperson besides Hermann, but to go zooming back off to his superiors with nothing three weeks’ worth of tapes and maybe a photograph or two–and after that tantrum he threw last month–he has a feeling no one is going to buy a single bit of it. Maybe he’d have a chance if he took Hermann back with him and did display him, but throwing his friend on the mercy of a society that would gladly dissect him without a second thought is completely out of the question. Maybe he’ll just write a weirdly detailed children’s book. “I might just keep it for myself, actually.”

The answer seems to please Hermann. He toys with Newt’s chip bag for a few seconds before–cheeks going a shade pinker–he says “I feel I ought to confess something.”

“Be my guest, dude.”

“I was following you the other day,” Hermann says. “I was following you that first day, too. And–” His eyes dart down, away from Newt’s. “Before then, even. You intrigued me, and I wanted to know what you were doing all the way out here.”

Newt grins. “I intrigued you. Ha! Cool. Well, now we’re even.”

Hermann smiles at him.

The last Friday before Newt is due to turn back and set course for home, he finally gets his first sign of other human life out here in the middle of the ocean: a fishing rig, at least twice the size of Newt’s tiny little rental, motors up not too far away from him and begins to cast its nets. Newt, an extrovert at heart and only mostly sustained by conversations with Hermann (who has a tendency to disappear for days at a time), is so starved for social interaction that he bolts out from his cabin when he spots it and begins waving frantically at the crew.

“Hi!” he shouts. “Beautiful out here, isn’t it?!”

He gets a friendly wave back. Newt expects he looks half-crazed, from his wild hair, to his unshaven scruff, to the explosion of freckles across his cheeks and neck, so he can’t really blame any of the crew for their hesitance.

“How are the fish?” he continues to shout.

A thumbs up.

“Cool!”

A net is drawn up; it’s a decent catch, but nothing too impressive. Earlier in the week, Hermann explained to Newt that, this close to mer-territory, anyone would be hard-pressed to find anything but smaller fish. Merpeople are much better hunters than some humans with a boat could ever dream of being. “I’ve been out here for over a month,” Newt continues his one-sided conversation. “I was looking for sea monsters. Have you ever caught anything like that before?”

No, they haven’t. The net is thrown back into the ocean.

“Okay!” Newt says. “Just wondering!”

The faint sound of groaning wood makes him stop in his tracks as he turns to head back into his cabin. Groaning wood, and splashing. Loud splashing. Excited shouts. It looks like the fishing rig netted something big.

Newt–determined, still, to be sociable–cups his hands around his mouth to call his encouragement over, but the words die on his tongue almost instantly. There, tangled up and flopping around in the rig’s netting, is a very familiar glimmering tail with a very familiar tattered left fin. “Hey,” Newt shouts, “stop! You’re–that’s my friend, you have my–!”

For the second time, Newt dives into the sea for Hermann.

He closes the distance between the two boats in no time at all, and–powered by pure adrenaline, ignoring the yells of surprise and anger above him–begins hacking blindly at the net with his pocketknife. A few more pieces–a few more strands–

It spills open. Newt feels a Hermann-sized shape graze past him, and a moment later, Hermann breaches the surface of the water. He doesn’t look very happy. “They caught me in their net,” he spits. “As if I were–!”

Newt hugs him. It’s not very graceful, considering the circumstances, but it’s something he’s wanted to do for a while, and he’s too happy that Hermann won’t be dissected or stuffed or something to care. “You caught my friend in your net while he was swimming,” he tells the fishermen over Hermann’s shoulder, now moderately more calmly. “I thought he was–uh–going to drown.”

The fishermen are profusely apologetic, to the point where Newt actually feels kind of bad for them, and it takes him waving them off with assurances they won’t sue or anything for them to hastily speed away. Hermann doesn’t look away from Newt once the whole time, his expression soft and just a touch unreadable. “You came to my rescue,” he says.

“Well,” Newt says, puffing out his chest, “a little bit, yeah.”

Hermann kisses him. Newt responds enthusiastically.

He’s so worked up over it all–grabbing Hermann’s hair, biting his weird frog mouth–that he doesn’t notice that the gentle fanning of Hermann’s tail against him has become the slide of skin against denim until Hermann suddenly grips at his arms. “Newt,” he says, eyes widening, “Newt.”

Well, even then it takes a bit. Newt kind of has a one-track mind when it comes to this sort of stuff. “Mm, yeah, Hermann,” he groans happily. He goes back in for another kiss, but Hermann dodges it.

“No,” he says, “I’m–” He gives a little kick.

Oh. “Oh, holy shit!” Newt exclaims, and laughs in delight. “Legs! You have legs!” Naked legs, in fact. Long naked legs–of course he’s taller than Newt. Hopefully he has some clothing that’ll fit the guy.

“Legs which don’t swim very well, I’m afraid,” Hermann says. He’s giving Newt another broad, awkward smile. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all,” Newt says.

There goes Newt’s paper, he guesses, but–strangely–he can’t really bring himself to care.

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag #Anonymous

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soyouareandrewdobson · 4 years

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100 followers special post: KorraSami Book 1

Today’s entry (sort of a little extra for 100 followers) is rather short and admittedly just the tip of an iceberg I want to tackle later on, as it relates to a certain issue with Dobson in general when it comes to his “support” of the LGBT community. In addition it is not a comic I want to talk about, but rather a picture. To be more precise this one:

Titled “Out of our way” and released around summer of 2015, this picture is obviously fanart in relation to KorraSami, the ship of Avatar Korra and Asami Sato, which unlike other ships in certain fandoms became even canon according to “Word of God” and some post tv series material. Now personally my opinion on KorraSami is a bit “complicated”. I do not hate it nor do I really think it is as “groundbreaking” as many, including Dobson, make it out to be. Reasons for that I am willing one day to discuss in detail, but not now.

And like with KorraSami, my opinion on the picture is also a bit complicated. To paraphrase John Cleese from a famous sketch: I may not know much about art, but I know what I like. So when it comes to things such as posture and linework I can not give too many critical details.

However, even I see from a technical point a few irksome details. Like how Asami’s hips move a bit too much perspective wise to the left, making it look like she would soon slip off the wheelchair, the sparks on the ground looking more like someone inserted shitty fries via MS Paint in the picture and Korra’s face looking like it was hit with a frying pan at least once. But honestly, I think it does not look that terrible and it is at least colorful.

That said, I think it highlights a certain issue with how Dobson perceives the ship.

Independent of my thoughts on the ship, I think Korra and Asami are pretty neat characters personality wise. They are both not flawless (in fact, Korra at the start of season 2 felt like any character development from last season was missing and don’t get me even started on how she would have almost started a world war because she was a whinny ass) but they are pretty strong and independent characters who went through a lot both as friends and as individuals over the course of the show. Well, that and they boned the same guy.

The thing with Dobson is, any time I see him do something with those two, that sort of badassery is not really on display. Instead his KorraSami fanart tends to be just whimsical fluff as seen e.g. here

And don’t get me wrong, I do not think fluff is bad. I like cute pics too and hey, the following two pics in regard of KorraSami by Dobson count for me as decent fluff, even if from a technical drawing point there are likely still flaws in the pic. Mostly because they are also related as pics to the world of the show they are part of, with the first one even showing interaction with someone other than the ship.

But I also think that just because you ship two or multiple characters, doesn’t mean you can’t also draw something of such characters as a power couple so to speak. In case of those two, perhaps something like fighting a group of Equalists, showing Asami building and working on something with Korra at her side metal binding something according to Asami’s instructions etc. You know, something that is both “cute” because in a way they do stuff as a couple, but also badass because it is about two characters doing something they were born for. Or not even necessarily badass. Just something that shows them in a situation that isn’t just mindless fluff or feels like you just randomly insert the characters into whatever you can think of, thinking that in itself makes it already shipping art.

Bottomline, Dobson when tackling KorraSami only focuses mostly on the mindless fluff of the ship. Which in my opinion is in so far an issue, as that it reduces this so called “groundbreaking LGBT representation in animation” just further down into something cute and rather shallow Dobson can adore. The characters are not appreciated for their personality, but fo their looks and how cute they look together. And frankly, can something be considered “good representation” when it is just pretty shallow on closer look?

This at least is one of multiple issues I have with KorraSami in general, but also in relation with Dobson. Others I can address later on someday. I also bring it up here mostly, because this “shallowness” is indirectly on display in “Out of our way” once you know a bit about why Dobson drew this and how it may even be a bit insensitive. Not for any living creature, but the character of Korra actually.

See, here is the thing: The inspiration for the pic was two things: A clip from an anime called Gekijouban To Aru Majutsu no Railgun (which I admittedly never saw in my life and do not necessarily intend to) as seen here

And the fact that Korra spends some time in a wheelchair over the course of the show. And considering that the scene from the anime is actually meant to be funny (as it actually ends with both characters crashing in the gras in a hilarious position), what sort of cartoonish antics resulted in Korra temporarily being in a wheelchair? Did she slip on water during waterbending? Break her leg in some heroic fight but took it in strife and even made fun of her situation? You want to know?

Korra was kidnapped, tortured, poisoned with mercury and almost killed by a group of four terrorists, resulting in her being physically crippled for a long time and suffering from mental trauma, depression and PTSD.

……..ehhhhhhhh….. Funny?

Yeah, on a technical level I do not think the picture is the worst, but as “fanart” when you consider any canon context involving wheelchairs and Korra… yaiks. I mean, tone deaf is a bit of an understatement.

And I am not making this up. The plot of season 3 of Legend of Korra involved a group of four elemental benders trying to kill Korra, because their leader thinks that if he kills her he can break the Avatar cycle and that in turn will bring in a new era where people take their lives as a whole in their own hands, instead of the fate of the world depending on a few chosen ones like the Avatar. To do so they kidnap Korra and poison her with mercury, which they forcefully bend into her body. This results in her going full avatar mode and fighting the main villain Zaheer, only to get her ass handed by him thanks to the poison and him almost suffocating her by bending the air out of her lungs. Korra was in fact closer to death than any other character I have seen in the show, including Aang. And the aftermath of Zaheer’s actions were horrible. Season 3 ended with Korra still recovering from the poison (which had been bended out of her body again), by being stuck in a wheelchair and it being obvious she needs to get through rehabilitation. And while she did put on a brave face in front of everyone, the final shot of the episode is her at a ceremony celebrating the air nations rebirth, a single tear going down her cheek, indicating that in a way she is broken. The hotheaded and overall determined Korra at her lowest point.

I will openly admit, when I first saw that scene, I was taken aback a bit how bittersweet if not outright depressing the ending was. Begging the question, how by the time season 4 would roll in, Korra would have recovered. Turned out, not well. Not only was season 4 set three years after the events of the last one, but the first two episodes showed among other things how Korra went through rehabilitation in those years, how she was on more than one occasion on the brink of giving up and how she essentially went into hiding, not wanting to meet her friends again, abandoning her duties as the Avatar. She was not a sobbing mess, but she was broken. Not considering herself worthy of the title of avatar for the longest time and still suffering from physical and mental trauma because of what had happened to her. In fact, one of the better aspects of season 4 is how Korra tries to overcome her own trauma, in order to be strong enough to take on the fight against Kuvira before she can turn the Earth Kingdom completely into the Third Reich and take Republic City over.

In short, the picture of Korra in a wheelchair has a pretty significant and dramatic meaning for the character and the show as a whole. It is an important aspect of te shows storytelling and Korra’s final part of her character arc. Something with gravitas a lot of fans acknowledge. But Dobson sees it supposedly as something that gives way for a “badass and fun” pic with his favorite ship. And again, in my opinion, that is just tone deaf.I am not saying you can’t make a KorraSami pic with the wheelchair, but I think something with that motive should out of respect for the actual canon and its characters also be more somber than what we got here.

Which brings me back to how Dobson handles the couple in a shallower manner than it needs to be. Cause if he wasn’t just out for whimsical fun and fluff with his two favorite lesbians from Nickelodeon and would Korra and Asami consider more than just something to fawn upon based on looks, he could have drawn something more meaningful that genuinely showed how both are a decent representation of an LGBT-couple and interesting individuals. Cause being a couple when everything is fun and sunshine is one thing. Being there for each other when things are hard? THAT is the challenge and shows how much you really love someone.

#korrasami #andrew dobson #lgbt representation #lgbt #legend of korra #adobsonartwork #adobsonart #shipping #korra #korra comics #asami sato

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r-r-raf · 4 years

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I feel like Janus' possible cold blooded-ness could also be used in like. A metaphorical sense in fics where he falls for a light side. I'm sure it has, but like. I'm sleepy so you get this post about me talking about it and making no sense while doing so. I apologize in advance.

But anyways, whether or not someone hcs Janus as cold blooded or not doesn't entirely matte I think, because he is still grouped beneath the title of the "Dark Sides". And the word dark in this context can bring images of lonliness and shadows and cold, at least in my opinion. It can also give the impression of being tossed aside and dismissed, maybe even forgotten (which is sorta the case considering that Thomas didn't even know he. Existed). And all this is kinda obvious but like. Bear with me.

So. You have Janus, who grew up in the dark, hidden away from Thomas. He isn't alone, technically speaking. But one person, with a hypothetical second companion, isn't really. A lot. And I'm sure it must still feel very isolating to be kept away from the literal person you were created to exist because you are not "good".

So i feel like. It'd be obvious that he'd be drawn to the light. That he'd be curious about what it feels like, the warmth, and the brightness, and just. Everything. And once he catches a glimpse, a small feeling of the other's radiant light against his skin, i think it'd be easy to become addicted??? I don't think that's the right word, but like. Of course he'd want to feel it again, even if he knows he was never meant to receive it in the first place.

So it becomes a sorta like. Longing for it, and not knowing exactly what it is at first. And maybe he chases after it subconsciously at times, and others he resigns and tries to accept that no. He can't have it. It isn't his. It isn't for him.

And furthermore, this could also explain why he was, perhaps, close to Virgil. Because even if he didn't see it, he knew that there was some of that light in him. That there was a spark of something there, like a flickering flame of a candle.

and just. Idk. I started thinking about it and. This exists now. It's definitely not anything new or groundbreaking or anything but like. Let me have fun talking about ~metaphors~ or whatever skfjsbd.

#Raf's rambles #might delete this later #but #idk #lafksbdba #does this come off as pretentious??#im sorry if ir does #im just an English nerd i swear #although #i guess thats a synonym for pretentious #akfjsjdh #anyways #i apologize again #because its kinda all over the place #but ehhhhh #what can ya do

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gingerbreadbooks2020 · 3 years

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Bookblr post #40: The End of 2020

It’s finally over. And what a year it has been. Although, given all the horrible crap that everyone’s been through, I think I’ll stick to talking about books for just a moment.

366 days ago, I set out to read 12 books. Probably a pretty average new year’s resolution, maybe I stick out a little given the stacks of unread books on my booksheld - or maybe I don’t. So, how did I do?

Well, long story short, I didn’t make it. I had the same resolution in 2019 as 2020, and neither year [if that’s an English phrase] did I make it. I’m still glad I made this blog though. It’s kept me accountable - for the most part - and being able to spend a bit of time digesting what I’ve read was quite nice too. And, along the way, we gained over 450 followers which I never expected in a million years, so thank you to everyone who followed me this year!

I read 8 books this year. Given the fact that I didn’t even have to do my final college exams, personally it doesn’t feel too great. However, it was an improvement on the two years previous so it was worth something!

So, what did I read this year?

Well, I kick-started this blog reading The Reader by Bernhard Schlink, a reread of a book I was studying for my A-Level German course. I’ve said this before but I’ll say it again, I really enjoyed being able to read that book for my own enjoyment. If you’re into that area of history or just German history, I really recommend the read. Of course it’s not a work of non-fiction, but it’s one of those pieces which really helps you understand the feelings of the people at that time while also not betraying the interesting storyline.

My second book was The Shining by Stephen King. This was a continued read from the previous year. I’d never read a King novel before this, and horror has never been my favourite genre, be it book, film, or video game. However I really enjoyed The Shining and King’s narration and writing style. I don’t know if I;d recommend it for people like myself who’ve never read a King novel before as it is quite a long one, but it was a really good book. I found it took a little while to get into the action, so to speak, but once it did it was really worth it!

After that was a book I bought in 2020, called Faeries, Elves & Gnlins by Rosalind Kerven. This was a really fun book for me because it was just a bunch of short stories about, well, faeries, elves and goblins from Britain and the British Isles. I know many cultures have their own myths and legends, so it was nice to learn about such legends coming from tiny, unhead of towns and villages from the country I live in!

My fourth book this year was technically Macbeth... I did take a break and finish two other books in said break, but it’s next in line. I mostly wanted to read Macbeth simply because I had had to study it for my GCSE English class [which was around 3 or 4 years ago!] and simply never finished reading it. I don’t really know if I’m a Shakespeare person, maybe it’s just because it was a play which I’m not really a big fan of reading? Macbeth is a classic so I don’t think I can fault it. I guess English classes kind of ruined it for me so I can’t say it was a gripping read, but I’m not discouraging you from reading it. And honestly I’m rambling at this point so I’ll move on.

One of the books I read while on a break from Macbeth was Dad Bods by Robyn Sparkes, which is actually a story on Wattpad. I’ll be honest, I can’t really remember the whole story, although I know that I enjoyed reading it. If you’re looking for stories about a middle-aged man realising he’s gay, this is the story for you!

After that was Korean manhwa called Killing Stalking and... how do I describe Killing Stalking? I remember finding it several years ago - I was far too young to be reading it in reality - and the story wasn’t finished yet, so I just read what was there and left it, forgot it for years. Then, early summer this year, I started remembering it, went back and realised it was finished. The story is, put most simply, NSFW. Lots of warnings, I won’t lie. If you know what I mean when I say this, it basically ticks all of the AO3 archive warnings [apart from the underage one [I think!]] so obviously don’t read if those themes may upset you or disturb you. It’s definitely advertised as a psychological thriller by the creator, it’s not a romance novel or anything of the sort, please believe me when I say this. Do I still recommend it? I’m going to step back and let you assess it for yourself given everything I’ve just said.

Obviously after those two I went back and finished Macbeth, but then I think I took a break [unannounced, unplanned]. It was then that I read Volume 1 of the One Piece manga by Eiichiro Oda to get back into reading. It was fun, easy to dip in and out of, and a really simple read. Which is a good thing, I promise. Sometimes books can be big and confusing and they don’t need to be. Books don’t have to be groundbreaking in order to be good, they just need to be enjoyable.

The eighth and final book that I read and finished in 2020 was To Kill A Mockingbird by Harper Lee. I’d never read it before, never studied it for English class, and only had the briefest knowledge of what even happens in the story. All I have to say is, if you haven’t read it already, please do. You can read textbooks and understand events, but books offer a more personal insight into these things. Much alike with The Reader, you can just see things in a way you couldn’t with a textbook or history lesson. Perhaps it’s easier to empathise this way? Either way, please read it.

I did start reading The Picture of Dorian Gray, unfortunately I didn’t finish it so I won’t really talk about it here, hopefully next year though?

All in all, I’ve enjoyed having this blog. I’ve enjoyed having somewhere to talk about the book I’m reading without my friend telling me to shut up.

And, despite not reaching my goal this year, I’m optimistic for 2021. I want to keep going with this blog, hopefully I’ll reach my goal this year. Coming home for Christmas from Uni means that now, when I sit in bed, my bookshelf is opposite me and I can see all my unread books and I’m getting excited to read them. Luckily lockdown meant I haven’t been out buying more and more books recently.

Thank you for following, for liking, for reblogging. Having this little blog has been pretty helpful in 2020. I hope we all have a successful 2021!

- Gingerbread ♤

#reading #bookblog #bookblogger #booksbooksbooks #newyear #New Year Resolutions #new years resolution #books #classics #book review #bookworm #booklover #happy new year #yearreview #2020sucked

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sparxwrites · 4 years

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(written to “american love” by smallpools, which is a bit of a nadi anthem tbqh. neidyasset ainseelie is my character from a dnd campaign by @ladyofrosefire. for my fellow players: beware, there are Minor Spoilers here for the much-hyped eventual Meeting Of Nadi’s Family, in that this fic is primarily about nadi’s family. if you don’t care about that, then feel free to read on!!)

cw for shitty/manipulative parenting, a dubiously healthy relationship with alcohol, and an excess of teenage angst

[ao3]

The butler let Nadi in, as always. A new one, since the last time she’d visited – a young man, either an unusually pale Drow or half-Elven, smartly dressed in the Ainseelie livery of ivory and gold and already looking tired of his job.

She kept her eyes down, mumbling a thank you as he let her through the heavy wood-and-wrought-iron front door. No sense getting too friendly, all things considered. Her mother’d never been too good at keeping butlers – or any kind of serving staff for that matter. It rankled, she knew, just one of the many pricks at her mother’s noble pride.

He took her bags, too, foisting them off onto a more junior staff member moments later. She kept her satchel, one hand clutched around the strap across her chest, but the rest were spirited away before she had time to take more than two steps into the entrance hall. Quite how the butler thought he could get them to her room before she got there, she wasn’t sure, but–

“Neidyasset!” Lady Luarine Ainseelie’s voice rang out through the large entrance hall.

Nadi froze, eyes still on the pale, veined marble of the floor. That was how, apparently. Relying on a little family reunion. Unfortunate.

She’d assumed her parents would be out, given her deliberately-awkward mid-afternoon arrival, but apparently not. There was her mother on the stairs – in an elegant, understated dress of pale silk to compliment the deep purple of her skin, gold-set diamonds hung around her throat in thin, dripping strings, and a perfect smile pasted on her perfectly made-up face.

Her father stood a full two meters to the side, one step down, in starched cotton dress pants and a shirt rolled up to his elbows, both in a shade of ivory to tone with his wife’s gown and accented with gold buttons. His expression was as flat and unreadable as ever, lips pulled into a thin line and his eyes hard and cold.

“Lady Luarine Ainseelie,” said Nadi, forcing a smile onto her face that was somehow even more fake than her mother’s own painted-on one. “Lord Istas Ainseelie. It’s good to see you.” She offered a clumsy attempt at a curtsey, then gave up on it half way through as a bad deal and segued into a stiff bow.

Istas snorted, softly and humourlessly, at the graceless display.

The look his wife gave him out the corner of her eye was positively glacial, though her smile never wavered. “Neidyasset, darling, how many times do I have to tell you to call me Mother?” she said, expansive generosity in every word. A lie. They’d been through this little script enough times for Nadi to know the reaction if she opened with Mother. “Honestly. So formal!”

“Mother. Of course. ” Nadi straightened up, carefully correcting her posture and ensuring her shoulders weren’t up around her pointed ears, clasping one hand around the other wrist at the small of her back. “I… had assumed you would be out making social calls, given the hour and the season. I would have sent ahead to inform you of my arrival, otherwise.”

Luarine smile widened, though it still didn’t reach her eyes. “Oh, water under the bridge,” she demurred. “The servants will sort everything, regardless. It’s just good to have you home, Neidyasset. How have your studies been?”

“They’re going well.” Nadi’s fingers tightened around her wrist, trying to remember this particular bit of the script, what lie she’d used last time. “It’s– you know. Business as usual. Research, reading, experiments… my supervisor’s hopeful that I’m very close to a breakthrough, but it’s always a little slow going when you’re on the cutting edge of arcane research.” She shrugged, dipped her gaze in what she hoped was a modest gesture, not a suspicious one. “I won’t bore you with the technical details, but it’s groundbreaking work. We’re taking mathemagics and philoarcanosophy to previously-unconceived-of heights. Very exciting.”

It was a lie, but mostly a white lie. Nad reassured herself with that, even as the nape of her neck prickled at the deception, even as she fought to keep from breaking out into a guilty cold sweat.

There was absolutely no need for her family to know about her missing supervisor, after all. About the faculty’s ambivalence towards finding her a new one. About her stagnating research, in light of her recent academic suspension. And definitely no need for them to know about the impromptu Feywild trip. The mere thought of her mother learning that little tidbit was almost enough to make her shudder.

Though if Professor Egreth was gone for much longer… well. She’d burn that bridge when she got to it.

“Oh, how exciting!” Luarine turned to Istas, with a smile that showed too many teeth. “Our own little Neidyasset, on the cutting edge of arcane research. Aren’t you just so proud?”

“I am indeed,” said, Istas, drilly, looking as though he couldn’t care less. As though he would prefer to be literally anywhere else, having literally any other conversation. His gaze was fixed in the middle distance, on a point on the far wall somewhere well over the top of Nadi’s head.

For perhaps the first time in her life, Nadi felt a fleeting sense of kinship with her father.

“We’re both very proud,” said Luarine, fussily smoothing her hands over an imagined crease in her skirt, not so much as batting an eyelid at her husband’s lack of enthusiasm. “I can’t wait for your graduation, Neidyasset. I’m sure you’ll be the talk of the town.”

Nadi, not sure what to say to that particular little performance-cum-threat, offered a respectful half-bow in response.

She was rewarded with a high, insincere laugh from Luarine. Istas gave no response whatsoever, save for crossing his arms, as though he were also waiting for the rigmarole to be over – though far more blatantly than Nadi was.

“So formal! Always so formal, our little Neidyasset.” Luarine eyed her up and down, taking in the mismatched boots, the scuffed trousers and oversized jumper, the goggles still perched atop Nadi’s head. “Though not so formally dressed, unfortunately. You’ll want to clean up before dinner.”

“Why? Do we have company?” Nadi fidgeted absently with the strap of her satchel, trying to not grind her teeth at the extended eye contact, the extended pantomime of politeness. She wanted nothing more than to disappear to her room, but her desire was subsumed beneath familial duty, beneath her mother’s pointed stare.

Like a butterfly on a board, she was pinned in place until Luarine decided otherwise.

“Though Talice will, unfortunately, not be joining us this Heartsease – she’s been asked to play a vital part in the ceremonies at the temple, can you imagine! Our Talice! – but the Lord Ainseelie has kindly lent us Veyris back for the holiday.” She failed to hide the note of distaste in her voice, despite the smile still firmly in place. “So she will be joining us. And I’ve invited the Lady Sabine’s family to dinner tonight. She, unfortunately, is otherwise engaged, but her sister and brother-in-law will be joining us! And their daughter, too – who I’m quite sure I told you about in my last letter.”

The letter had, if Nadi remembered correctly, made much of exactly how eligible Lady Sabine’s niece was. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from groaning. Yet another futile matchmaking dinner – and on her first evening home, too. What fun.

“So we must all be dressed appropriately, and on our best behaviour,” concluded Luarine, with a singularly pointed look at her daughter. “It’s very important to make a good impression. And, of course, we’ll be having family over for the next few nights after that – the Lord Ainseelie and some of his entourage,” again, the ill-hidden distaste, “tomorrow, I believe, and the Arganans the day after, And then, of course, it’s the family ball. I’ve taken the liberty of acquiring a suitable outfit for you, since I assume that you have failed to do so.”

Nadi ground her teeth a little harder, her mother’s tone sliding between her ribs more effectively than any dagger. “Thank you, Mother,” she managed after a moment, her voice perfectly flat. “That’s very thoughtful of you.”

“Yes, I thought so too. Anyway. Busy busy busy! An exciting few days ahead of us. And it’s lovely that you could join us. Finally. After your absence, the last few holidays.” There was no missing the icy note in Luarine’s voice. No missing her pointed disapproval, even buried as it was beneath layers of courtly courtesy.

“Mmh. Well. Academia’s time consuming, unfortunately,” lied Nadi, through her teeth. She’d spent Silver Night drinking copious amounts of sweet, spiced rum and doing shots of brightwine with the other Starspire postgrads in her student flat’s kitchen, until she’d passed out at the table in the wee hours of the morning. She’d spent King’s Day before that in the bed of some mathematics undergraduate, half-drunk and drowning her worries in easy, meaningless sex. “I’m glad I could return home for Heartsease, though.”

Another lie. Nadi felt sure her mother must know, because she’d never been much good at lying – but the polite, insincere smile pasted onto Luarine’s immaculately painted face never faltered.

Perhaps her mother hadn’t noticed. Perhaps Luarine just didn’t care, so long as the pretense at happy families was maintained.

“Luarine, dear,” interrupted Istas, before Luarine could launch into more barbed platitudes. “As thrilling as your entrance hall interrogation of our daughter is, perhaps you could save it for dinner? I’m sure she’d prefer to run along and get… cleaned up.” He, too, eyed her well-worn lab outfit, and the corner of one lip curled up in distaste. “She looks sorely in need of a bath, after all. And a change of clothes.”

Nadi tightened the hand around her wrist until she felt sure she must be cutting the circulation off, and dug the blunt nails of her other hand into her palm until it ached.

For a split second, Luarine’s expression cracked, and a look of frustrated loathing flashed across her face – though Nadi missed it, busy sinking nails into her own skin and staring into the middle distance. Then it was gone, tucked neatly behind her near-flawless mask once more. “Oh! Of course. Quite right, husband dearest. She must be quite desperate to refresh herself.” She regarded Nadi for a long moment, and then flapped a dismissive hand at her. “You are excused. I look forward to continuing our conversation at dinner.”

“Mother. Father.” Nadi bowed once more, a little more gracefully this time, and then fled.

She didn’t run, but she did walk faster than was probably seemly, her boots echoing against the marble in the cavernous entrance hall and the hallway leading out of it. Down a corridor to the right, a turn to the left, up a staircase spiralling hidden behind an innocuous door, out into another hallway on the second floor, a sharp right turn–

The door to her bedroom clicked shut behind her, and Nadi inhaled properly for the first time since setting foot in the house as she turned the lock.

It took a long moment of just remembering to breathe, her slumped against the solid wood of her door, before she found the energy to pull herself up. She wandered into the centre of the room and, looking around. It was exactly as she’d left it, last time she was home – the furniture lavish and elegant, dark wood and lacquer and metal, but sparse.

The four-poster bed dominated the room, draped with deep purple silks and beautifully embroidered linens. A writing desk sat under one silk-curtained window, along with a high-backed chair and her bags. In the corner was a tall, thin armoire, and a capacious chest of drawers.

Otherwise, the room was empty – no rugs on the flagstone floors, no personal effects, no artwork. What little clutter she’d had was currently occupying every available surface in her student room, leaving her bedroom at home looking distinctly un-lived-in. Which was appropriate, really, given how rarely she returned to it

Nadi sighed, and set her satchel down on the desk, with a dull thump that echoed in the empty, high-ceilinged room. With a flick of her wrist, she summoned her familiar to her shoulder.

An irritated-looking raven popped into being with an angry squawk, nearly sliding off her shoulder before righted himself – hitting her in the face with one large wing, and grabbing at one of her many earrings with his beak for balance. Even once he was settled, he kept tugging on it, nibbling at the point of one long, obsidian ear until Nadi swatted him off her shoulder.

“Vyrrd,” Nadi chided, without any sort of heat in her voice. She tugged her goggles off her head, setting them down on the desk beside her bag, and dragged a hand over the close-cropped fuzz of her glittering, silvery hair. “Fucking hells, though, right? Fucking hells. Encounter one survived. Fifteen minutes down, four days to go.”

Vyrrd ruffled his wings at her, indignantly, from his new perch on the footboard of her four-poster bed.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Mother bitches terribly when you’re a rat, though, so, you know. Suck it up for a few days. We’re both making sacrifices here. I’ll give you pizza after.” A suspicious croak. “Loads of pizza. I promise.” A less suspicious croak. “As much pizza as you want. Which is gonna be like half a slice, because rats have super tiny stomachs. Dumbass.”

She toed her mismatched boots off and left them by the end of the bed, padding over in her socks to the old, elaborately-carved wardrobe in the corner. When she opened it, it was already full of the clothes she’d brought home for her visit – the staff must have at least partially unpacked for her. The thought sent her stomach into an uncomfortable curl. She wasn’t a fan of other people touching her stuff.

Hanging on the far right of the rail, though, was the outfit her mother had mentioned. Nadi took it out, and held it up to the refracted light of the crystalline chandelier, appraising it with a critical eye.

The shirt was thin, bordering on sheer, a deep, cool charcoal that highlighted the blue undertones of her obsidian skin. It was unadorned, so as not to detract from the suit it was designed to accompany – a darkly iridescent, exquisitely tailored waistcoat and trousers. The fabric of the slim trousers caught the light in unusual ways as Nadi twisted the hanger back and forth, the dark fabric picking up oil-slick hints of green, blue, purple, and pink in every crease and fold. The waistcoat went a step further, the front covered entirely in exquisite, carefully-arranged raven feathers, sleek and gorgeous, its fastenings disguised beneath the plumage.

Hung next to it was a jacket, no doubt also carefully tailored to her measurements, made of the same iridescent fabric as the pants and the back of the waistcoat. It was lined with a silk so deeply purple-blue it was almost black, and buttoned up to the throat with silver buttons stamped with the Ainseelie crest.

“The bitch’s got good taste in clothes, if nothing else,” murmured Nadi, running a finger down the front of the waistcoat and sighing at the texture of feathers against skin. “And you’ll match beautifully, Vyrrd, huh? Lucky you.”

Vyrrd, now underneath the bed and undoubtedly hunting for months-old crumbs, communicated his disinterest in Drow fashion with a half-hearted croak.

A cursory check of the wardrobe floor found a new pair boots, sturdy and ankle-high, polished to a mirror shine. There was new jewellery in the jewellery box on her desk, too, as Nadi had known there would be. No new earrings or rings – her mother had given up on that particular battle a while ago, irritably resigned to Nadi’s assortment of diamond studs and platinum hoops and mismatched finger jewellery – but there was a new string of diamonds, so small they’d do little more than catch the light in a fine sparkle, long enough to wrap several times around one wrist.

“Pretty,” she murmured, absently, testing the drape of it over her fingers and tilting her hand back and forth to make it catch the light. It glittered, beautifully, like a line of tiny stars across the inky darkness of her skin. It would turn into a constellation when worn, she had no doubt, throwing delicate points of light across the oily darkness of her clothing.

She dropped it back in the jewellery box, pleased but disinterested, and wandered over to join Vyrrd in poking around under the bed.

There, directly under where her pillow would lie on the mattress above, was her faithful old loose flagstone. Or rather, loosened flagstone. She’d rather deliberately cracked one corner of the enormous slab in her youth, and pried it up to carve out a small hollow beneath in which to stash anything she didn’t want her mother’s prying eyes to find.

She was pleased to discover it as undisturbed as ever – though she had no doubts that if her Luarine had found it, it would have been the first thing out her mouth the minute Nadi walked through the door.

Nudging aside a couple of books, a sheaf of papers, and a small pouch, she pulled free a heavy bottle of amber liquid. Dwarvish whiskey, old and extortionately expensive, pilfered unnoticed from her father’s collection several years earlier. It was still half-full, and Nadi hummed happily, standing up and letting it swing idly by the neck from her fingertips as she padded over to the ensuite bathroom door.

The bath had been filled, no doubt by the same attentive servants who had feverishly unpacked her belongings whilst she’d been waylaid by her parents. The water in the claw-footed tub steamed faintly. It was probably hot enough to nearly scald, just the way she liked it. It was both gratifying and uncomfortable to realise that someone in this godforsaken house knew her tastes well enough to hew so closely to them, down to even her bathing preferences.

After several years of an – admittedly high-class – student lifestyle, such luxuries seemed both foreign and awkward, an unexpected and delightful-yet-discomforting indulgence.

Nadi set the bottle of spirits gently down on the floor by the edge of the tub, and considered the water for a moment. Her gaze settled on the slow curls of steam from the surface, unfocusing as she tracked the random, meandering path of the vapour. Another increment of tension eased from her shoulders at the minor dissociation, and she exhaled slowly, letting her eyes fall shut.

Her internal deliberation about whether to strip off there and then and climb straight into the hot water, however, was interrupted by an insistent knocking at her bedroom door.

Eyes snapping open, Nadi stifled a groan, shoulders hunching up once more. “Coming!” she called, loudly, making sure to kick the door to the bathroom closed behind her as she left to answer. “Gimmie a moment!”

A cursory glance around her room confirmed nothing offensive in view – the flagstone section had been replaced, Vyrrd was still busy beneath the bed, and the bottle of illicit whiskey was out of sight behind the door of the en-suite. Satisfied within reason, Nadi braced herself, and unlocked the door to her room before pulling it open.

She needn’t have bothered with the pre-emptive stress. No sooner had she opened the door, than Veryris had thrown herself through it, dragging her younger sister into a tight embrace. “Nadi! You’re back! Finally. It’s so good to see you.”

Her vision was, abruptly, filled with the lower quarter of her sister’s head – a deep purple-charcoal cheek and long, silvery braids twisted into an immaculately elegant hairstyle. Her elder sister was everything she wasn’t; long-haired where she was close-cropped, tall where she was short, willowy where she was stocky, sociable where she was awkward.

Sometimes it seemed hard to believe they were genetically related, with the differences as stark as they were.

Nadi tolerated the embrace for a polite, painful count of five, before disentangling herself. “Vey,” she said, voice soft and uncharacteristically warm, despite the lingering discomfort of unanticipated physical contact still prickling across her skin. “It’s good to see you too. How’ve you been? Surviving under the watchful eye of the dread Lord Ainseelie?”

Veyris laughed, a light, high-pitched sound that was significantly more sincere than her mother’s. “I’ve got my townhouse, thank you very much, so I’m hardly under his eye. Or anyone’s, for that matter. And Uncle Rhyldyn is far more interesting to be around than Mother and Father, so you needn’t worry about me. The internship is a dream. I’m learning more about politics than I could ever have dreamed– and I’m almost starting to believe Mother’s theories about him handing off the Ainseelie title to me. I mean, he’s still unmarried, well into middle age, and the kind of duties he’s having me perform–”

She cut herself off, eyes bright with obvious excitement. “Ahem..” Her cheeks darkened a little, clearly embarrassed with herself at such an enthusiastic, unseemly outpouring – enough so that even Nadi could spot it. “Anyway, enough about me. How’re you? How’s school been? You must tell me everything! I’ve been surviving on Mother’s gossip and parliamentary intrigue for months and, I must say, it’s not half as interesting as the stories you come back with.”

For a moment, Nadi considered spilling her guts to her big sister. About Professor Egreth, about the academic suspension, about the Feywild and the strange people in it. About the tiefling coming to crash at her dorm. Or even about just some of it, just the funny bits, just about her brief and bizarre trip to the Feywild in all its improbability and alien beauty.

Veyris would have loved the it, she knew, if only for the drama and high elegance of it all. Her sister had always loved the fey. Or had, at least, loved the romanticised, fairy-tale version of what the fey could be, learned through childhood books and second-hand stories.

In the end, though, Nadi bit her tongue. “Still haven’t got Jazreth expelled,” she said instead, with a toothy grin and a slight pang in her ribs at the lie-by-omission. “I accidentally set a water elemental loose in the lab about a month ago, so. That’s a thing. The vice-provost just loves me, right now.”

“Oh, gods.” Veyris made a hand gesture commonly used to ask for Bahamut’s protection, only half-jokingly. “You’re going to give me grey hairs, Nadi. Grey hairs. Uncle Rhyldyn will ask me where my beautiful white hair has gone, and I shall have to blame you.” Her lips, though, curled into a co-conspiratorial smile. “You’ve got to tell me all about it. After dinner. And over some kind of alcohol, since I know you’re good at swindling that from the serving staff – so I’ve something to look forward to, after Mother’s no doubt extensive interrogation of us both..”

“I’ll bother the cook into giving us some of the good wine. Assuming Mother’s managed to keep same cook as the last time I was here. And assuming I survive dinner,” grumbled Nadi, her good mood soured by the reminder of what was to come. “Mother’s trying to set me up with some nice, eligible Drow heir, again. Because gods forbid I be allowed to finish my fucking doctoral studies without the promise of wedding bells at the end.” She rolled her eyes so hard it hurt.

“Bahamut’s balls, Nadi,” groaned Veyris. Sympathetic as she was to her sister’s exasperation at their mother’s machinations, she found the endless whining more than a little wearing. “Yes, Mother’s endless matchmaking gets a little tiring, but do stop complaining. Or– I don’t know! Do an Aunt Vierayema, or something! Take a year studying abroad, find someone to marry who’s wealthy but just disreputable enough that you stop getting invited to dinner other every week, and then settle down in that ivory tower of yours for the rest of your life, blissfully free of familial bothering. Honestly.”

Nadi’s lips twitched, somewhere between amusement and irritation. “Or find someone very disreputable, and do an Uncle Tobith, and stop getting invited to any dinners, family or otherwise, ever.”

“Absolutely not.” Veyris levelled a finger at her sister, abruptly deadly serious. “Absolutely, under no circumstances, do an Uncle Tobith. Because you’re my sister, and I love you, and I do not want to deal with the enormous mess that would be you getting disinherited and then me trying to re-inherit you when I’m Lady Ainseelie.” Her lips twisted with distaste. “And also because if you run off with a tiefling called Delirium, of all the gods-awfully tacky names to choose, I’m not sure I’ll want to re-inherit you.”

“I was joking!” Nadi raised her hands in a gesture of truce. “I was joking, Vey. I’m not planning on running off with a tiefling any time soon. Or getting disinherited.” She pursed her lips, expression turning bitter. “The family fortune is an excellent incentive to stay on Mother’s good side. Trust me.”

She was abruptly glad, though, that she hadn’t mentioned the Feywild, or any of the people she’d met in it, to Vey. An elf with more knives than manners, a tiefling with entirely the wrong sort of manners, a halfling in the employ of the Baba Jaga, and a half-elven bastard… She could imagine what Veyris might have said about them and, though she couldn’t say why, her sister’s imagined disapproval left her feeling– unbalanced. She’d met this bizarre group of strangers once, unwillingly, in deeply awkward circumstances, and had left with no debt towards them whatsoever. And yet…

And yet.

“Anyway,” Nadi said, her mood abruptly soured for no reason she could put her finger on. “Given I haven’t pulled a Vierayema yet, I should get ready for dinner. I guess. Brace myself for whatever new idiot Mother’s found for me. No point getting myself mildly to moderately disowned if I’m not going to do it in style.”

Veyris sighed. “Yes,” she agreed, with a tired flap of her fingers. “Go– I don’t know. Have a soak in the bath, or something.” She was familiar with her sister’s sharp tongue and mercurial temper, but that didn’t make it any less wearing to deal with – especially when she’d clearly stumbled across some conversational pitfall so well-hidden she hadn’t even known it existed. “And, Nadi? Cheer up, for the love of Bahamut. It’s a few days of dinners and parties, not a bloody death sentence.”

“Not for you, maybe,” said Nadi, darkly, but the corner of her lip twitched all the same. Veyris stuck her tongue out, and Nadi responded in kind, her poor mood lifting for a heartbeat at the childish display of fondness. “Anyway. Fuck off, Vey, I want a bath.”

“As her highness demands,” demurred Veyris, sweeping out of the bedroom door with a grace Nadi had never seen in her before. Clearly, hanging around Uncle Rhyldon had been rubbing off on her mannerisms. “See you at dinner, sister dearest!”

The door clicked shut behind Veyris before Nadi could respond. She was left standing by her desk, in silence, staring at the satchel and the stack of books upon it.

She was seized, suddenly, by the urge to push them off – to sweep everything off, the bag, the books, the papers, the quill and ink, the candles, in a single violent motion, send it all crashing to the ground. To turn it all into a ruined heap on the floor, to scream and not stop screaming–

She picked up the book atop the stack, instead, and padded absently back into to the bathroom. The muscles in her jaw and neck were so tight they hurt, a dull ache at the edge of her senses. Her shoulders were up around her ears once more, and no amount of willing would push them down again.

The bath was still hot, at least. She set the book down on the tiled bathroom floor, next to the bottle of whiskey, shedding her clothes in a graceless heap. The water burned her feet a little, as she stepped in, but she ignored it, gritting her teeth against the bite and sinking her entire body down into it until she was submerged deep enough to scream.

It was only when her lungs started to ache, oxygen-starved, that she resurfaced, gasping for air through the near-scalding water rolling down her face.

Tilting her head back until it was resting on the rim of the tub, she stuck an arm over the edge, groping for the neck of the bottle of Dwarvish whiskey. She needed a drink, clearly. Being so tense hat she was already resorting to screaming where no one could hear was a poor omen for the long weekend ahead.

No, what she needed was clearly a long soak in an obscenely hot bath, and a drink. Or two. Or three. And perhaps a chapter or two of dense arcane theory, as well. That ought to be enough to numb her to the dinner ahead, to leech the tension out of her shoulders and the building headache out the base of her skull.

Her questing fingers found the whiskey, and she grasped it, thumbing the cap off without looking. Sitting up just enough that she wouldn’t choke on it, she took a generous sip, exhaling slowly as the burn of it worked its way down her throat to the pit of her belly. The combination of heat and alcohol began turning her muscles to soft clay, and she let her eyes slip closed for a second – luxuriating in the sensation, trying to grasp at the singular moment of thoughtless peace and keep it.

The moment lingered for a heartbeat, and then it slipped through her grasping fingers, ephemeral.

Sighing in disappointment, Nadi took another sip of the whiskey, and traced the glyph for Mage Hand in the air. She murmured the activation word, and hummed satisfaction as the spectral fingers grasped the book, lifting it up over the bath and flipping to the page she’d last left off. Dense arcane theory it was, then – or rather, it was that or masturbation, and she really wasn’t in the mood.

Arranging herself a little more comfortably in the bath, the heat of the water seeping into her bones and the whiskey turning her head pleasantly numb, she exhaled slowly, and began to read.

#dungeons and dragons #original #ocs #dnd #misfit toys #(the joke here is that she just acquired a tiefling boy-toy (if you ask her)/boyfriend (if you ask the tiefling) kdjfhs)#(what could possibly go wrong...........)#god i love her........ my best girl. my asshole girl.

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wonderfulworldofmichaelford · 4 years

Text

Psycho Analysis: Jack Torrance

(WARNING! This analysis contains SPOILERS!)

“HEEEEERE’S JOHNNY!”

Jack Nicholson has played many crazy guys over the years, but perhaps his best and craziest character is the one where you actually get to watch as he slides into and succumbs to madness – Jack Torrance. Jack is the guy we spend the most time with in The Shining, and it’s a good thing we do, because it ends up turning him into a pretty rich and engaging character in his own right beyond just being a great villain.

Motivation/Goals: Jack just wants to bounce back by doing a good job maintaining the Overlook Hotel… is that too much to ask? It might be, because Jack was an alcoholic and a rather bitter person even before the hotel by all accounts, at one point even hurting his own son (and if you take Doctor Sleep at face value, his ghost outright states he just couldn’t stand his wife and kid). So really, it’s not too shocking when after the constant suspicion and shakiness with his wife and the numerous strange incidents around the hotel, Jack slowly but surely slides into madness.

Really though, his character isn’t particularly driven by motivations or goals like other villains, because for much of the movie he’s technically a dark protagonist. We’re following Jack as we see the hotel latch onto the darkness in his heart and victimize him, turning him into its agent. His ultimate goal after he has finally snapped is to kill his wife and child, which is a chilling goal to be sure, but with Jack it’s really about the journey and not the destination. Frankly, the Overlook is the villain of the film with a goal in mind, though what exactly that is doesn’t became totally evident until Doctor Sleep; in The Shining, it’s all about the harrowing ambiguity of the haunting that pushes Jack over the edge.

Performance: This was apparently one of the things Stephen King hated about the movie; he thought casting Nicholson was basically a spoiler in and of itself, that Nicholson and his eyebrows were just way too sinister to sell the idea of a good man driven to madness. As much as I love King and his work, I think Kubrick made the right call for the story he wanted to tell; Nicholson’s performance is easily his definitive villain portrayal. Even before the hotel’s influence really kicks in, he portrays Jack as a man who always seems on edge, who feels like he’s moments away from snapping to begin with, and that the hotel’s influence was the little push he needed to let loose. It’s a really fascinating portrayal of a likable yet somewhat unsympathetic jerk slowly going insane… and then when he does finally lose it, all bets are off, and Nicholson finally gives you exactly what you would want to see out of him. The laughing, the faces, the snarling, the ax craziness… Jack in the final act is truly a murderous, raging lunatic for the ages.

Final Fate: In the end, the Overlook Hotel wins, as Jack freezes to death in the maze, unable to kill his family, and then joins the ghosts in the hotel. This is a bit vague in The Shining and even more vague in Doctor Sleep; whether he really ends up as a ghost or his appearance as the bartender to annoy Danny was just the hotel trying to get to him in the latter is open for interpretation. What is clear is that Jack is most definitely dead.

Best Scene: Hmmm, I wonder… could it be the scene that is plastered on several DVD covers for the film and also has been referenced and parodied relentlessly ever since the film was released? The scene where Jack axes the door to get at his wife and utters the immortal reference plastered at the top of this review is so utterly famous that even if you’ve never seen the film, there’s a high chance you’d recognize this scene.

Best Quote: Yeah, yeah, everyone always points to the whole “Here’s Johnny!” thing but quite frankly I don’t think a pop culture reference should be considered his best quote, Especially thanks to the following quote he delivers to his wife right after she finally discovers her husband has well and truly lost it:

“Wendy? Darling? Light, of my life. I'm not gonna hurt ya. You didn't let me finish my sentence. I said, I'm not gonna hurt ya. I'm just going to bash your brains in! Gonna bash 'em right the fuck in!”

What really makes it good is how Jack is moving up the stairs towards Wendy, the looks on his face, the evil laugh before he drops that last sentence with its beautiful precision F-strike… in fact, the whole framing of this moment is so good that Rose the Hat pulled it off herself in Doctor Sleep. I would have honestly put this as the best moment, but sadly it never really gets the acknowledgment it deserves compared to the most iconic scene mentioned above.

Final Thoughts & Score: Jack Torrance is truly a villain for the ages, and yet as a villain he hardly accomplishes anything. Yes, he killed Halloran, but that is basically the only thing he accomplished before he himself died. But despite all of that, he has managed to worm his way into the cultural consciousness in a way few villains can ever claim to have, and it’s all because of the simple fact that we are with him as he becomes the villain.

The “protagonist journey to villain” plot is not new or groundbreaking, but it is usually interesting. The entire Star Wars prequels were a three-part saga showing this sort of journey for a reason; showing how a good person could become so corrupted they commit great evil is fascinating. But Jack represents something a bit rarer: he is a protagonist who is NOT good. He is flawed, he is bitter, he is abrasive, and yet when he is finally driven to madness it’s still sad and pitiable. Of course, this mostly comes from his attempts to drag his wife and child down with him, but I think a tear can be shed for Jack. If there was a bit of good in him and the ghost in Doctor Sleep was merely lying, it can be hard to see a broken man who was trying to be better fall back into his old ways and not only return to being bad, but actually end up worse. Being an alcoholic is one thing, attempting to chop up your family is pretty much a whole different story.

Jack easily scores himself a 10/10 because not only is he a fantastic character and pretty much the definitive Jack Nicholson performance, it’s hard to argue that Jack has had a pretty profound cultural impact. You’d be hard-pressed to find a work where a door is axed down in a visual medium since 1980 that doesn’t reference his attempted murder of his wife in some way. Of course, it was never done quite as well as the original; you just can’t beat good ol’ Jack, can ya?

#Psycho Analysis #Jack Torrance #The Shining #Jack Nicholson

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thankyougotham · 5 years

Photo

Here’s an article that Film Daily wrote about Nygmobblepot. If you’d like to see them write articles about other relationships, you can contact them on Twitter and make a request. They’ve been very supportive of Gotham in general, so follow them if you’re on Twitter.

“Gotham is an innovative show based on DC Comics characters and produced by Warner Bros. The Batman origin narrative helped us rapt viewers understand how our favorite heroes (Batman) and villains (The Joker, Penguin) came to be. It also cast a light on just how Gotham City became the wretched crime-filled cesspool we all know & love.

As the fandom knows, we’re so behind the mission to Save Gothamthat it hurts, but today we’ve decided to take a break from all the activism and talk about love. Here’s why we and the Gotham fandom ship hard for Nygmobblepot, and why these fantastic felons are anyone’s perfect gateway into Gotham for people on the fence about the show.”

Sample Quotes from fans:

Mr. Millicent Cordelia

Both Ed & Oswald were transformed by love. They made sacrifices for each other & always ended up back together. They deserve, and the fans deserve to see this relationship respected as a romance on a server that understands it’s the 21st century.

Merc

Honestly because they’re both idiots and they really deserve each other.

Zoe Tomorrow

They’re two individuals who’ve spent their lives mistreated and misunderstood. They are the only ones who accept one another wholeheartedly. Together they’ve learned about trust, sacrifice, forgiveness, and love. And no matter what they always find a way back to each other.

#PenguinSpinOff

Excellent chemistry between them, and a fun, fresh take on these old, iconic characters. They’re like peanut butter and jelly: fine on their own, but especially delightful together.

Rachel

For one, they “really are meant for each other”! They’ve been through so much and have hurt each other so many times but they’ve managed to overcome it. They have a strong bond, would do anything for each other, and somehow they always come back together!

𝕫𝕖𝕝𝕝𝕒

These two men grew up misunderstood and overlooked, and learned to use that to grow. they have risen together, and make an excellent team. they have both admitted to being stronger together, and their fates always become intertwined. they’re destined to be together.

Angela

While I’m not the biggest shipper of Nygmobblepot, I do care for their happiness and for the fans who do ship them. My ship is Batcat. They are best friends as kids & love each other deeply. They always want to protect each other. They are family.

LongLiveGotham #Gotham | #SaveGotham

Nygmobblepot has a long, complex history that reveals both the best and worst of these 2 characters. They have grown and learned much from the relationship. They deserve to be on a server that allows them the freedom to be a romantic couple.

Jenny i love my girlfriend

they are two men who have been abused and undermined their entire lives, but see each other as equals. they have certainly had their ups and down, but they always come back, better and stronger than ever. they understand each other more than anyone else ever has.

(not to mention how groundbreaking it would be to have two characters who have been historically heterosexual be in a romantic relationship)

Hale | 45 Days Till Neo

I’m down for anything with dear Oswald- his chaotic energy is a joy to watch, especially when it’s messing with other character such as Edward and Jim.

Scheming Minor

I am going to say something different in lieu of semantics. Technically in a sense when you get to the details they really are one of the few villain pairings portrayed in a “healthy” relationship in the Batman fandom. They progress, accept and move on; never stagnating. I included the healthy relationship chart to prove a point. Each one of those slices can be seen over the course of Riddler and Penguin’s relationship in Gotham– more so when we reach season 5. Their entire journey is about respect. Adding one more thing – Riddler has traditionally been coded as queer and flits with tentative bisexuality, meanwhile Penguin is known as a womanizer but has rare moments of ’what if’ regarding men. Gothamis one of the few Batman shows that follows through with M/M content.

kebu loves Oswald

They are both extreme individuals, but they fit together perfectly. Both are complex characters that went through life unaccepted by everyone which shaped their desire for more and their paths to becoming supervillains, so when they met it was the first time they found their equal and were accepted by someone. Their paths have been intertwined ever since, and whether they’re together or at odds, they’re always the most significant person in each other’s lives. But even though they ended up appearing together, we didn’t actually see them get “officially” together. Their story has yet to come to a close.

Riz || Professional Mr.Penn promoter

A very complex relationship that cannot be concluded in a spawn of a cut off season like it was. They have had a long journey and a perhaps even longer one before them. Their lowest and best have been shared together and they’re the one person who understand the other fully.

M/M relationships in media and tvshows especially is a rare breed. Even more is the concept of the big chance to make two comic characters and made an entirely new spin on them by being brave enough to make them queer, Oswald perhaps within the asexual spectrum at that. Ed as a tormented, abused soul who struggles with his own identiy and perhaps sexuality.

There is really so much to say, which is exactly why there need to be more to tell the rest of the story.

Vero

While Ed fights with the dichotomy within himself, he’s always felt the most whole when he’s been all-encompassed by Oswald’s world and care. Oswald found compassion and acceptance for all the parts that Ed thought were not loved. They are twin souls that deserve a longer story.There’s always been a complexity to both of them, and they understand the extremes that have made them into the people they are. There is no desire to change the other, only bring out the best in one another and a comfort shared that’s so important.

madi

I feel as though they have stories that extend beyond what Gothamwas able to show through their 5 seasons. Especially with the 5th season being half of its normal length. They mean so much to me, and so many others, and I would love to see even more of them (1/2)

(2/2) and to be able to see Gotham’s depiction of Ed’s backstory, an explanation for the whole Isabella fiasco (like how is she even possible) and a plot line where Ed saves Oswald. We haven’t had any of those since s2/early s3 and I need that in my life. I miss them so much.

Evan

Not only off the charts chemistry, but near similar backgrounds also. Both Ed & Oswald were abandoned by their parents, and had to fight the world their whole lives. Then brought them together and they’ve been unstoppable ever since.

Suzy Dakroub

Because they have the best character development and bond I’ve ever seen on a show! They both truly have no one but eachother. For villains where it’s rare to see compassion and love, these two have it for each other and it’s so wholesome and sweet.

Frothy

it’s the first LGBT representation in such a major franchise on TV! it was taken from us once, twice, but there won’t be a third. i will produce season 6 in my basement with tze and my best friend if i must

Warrior_Of_Loyalty

REPRESENTATION!!! Seriously, there’s nothing quite like it. Oswald and Edward deserve a wedding and a musical episode to go with it. Because, if Arthur’s teacher can get married on TV why not The Penguin and The Riddler!? Please!! Make it happen!

𝕻𝖊𝖓𝖌𝖚𝖎𝖓 𝖎𝖓 𝕷𝖔𝖛𝖊 ||

Because they are two characters who have been physically and emotionally abused most of their lives, and even after all of their hardships and turmoil, found love and trust and safety in one another

Azura Lynn Paulin

Because they never got to become a real couple on screen and they deserve to have that chance at happiness

MamaDev

Their chemistry, specifically between Robin Lord Taylor & Cory Michael Smith, is incredibly entertaining and heart warming to watch. It makes my whole day, of not, week better when I see them interacting on screen. FOX did not do them justice by keeping them in the closet.

Queen C

Because their story is FAR from over. Cory and Robin’s skills and chemistry shouldn’t be squandered. We had 5 years of their story buildup and got crapped on in the final episode, and I deserve my #BisexualRiddler!!!

Bandi [Gotham/Good Omens Spoilers] #SaveGotham

Nygmobblepot truly is such an interesting ship. As singular characters they are great, but together, they shine. They’re complex, damaged characters and take comfort in each other. Their journey is a long, painful one, but they deserve and compliment each other. It makes sense.

Anders

They are truly self confident with each other, anything becomes possible. They don’t need any cane.

They have each other.

Mae

they just have such strong chemistry and are so much better together than apart. their relationship constantly evolved throughout Gotham, becoming the main driving force for their individual developments too and… they were just made for each other okay

Tam Loves Kris @ Resting in Home

I see a lot of myself and my partner@MisterPenguinin the#Nygmobblepotship and I feel that their relationship is very well developed with lots of ups and downs and it’s fate that they are both meant for each other.

Kat Shade

With all of the characters that had amazing chemistry on Gotham, the main three had to be nygmobblepot, wayleska, and babitha. Nygmobblepot have been through so much together, and besides how revolutionary and amazing it would be for a show based on two previously heterosexual characters in a homosexual relationship, they simply work amazingly together.

#Gotham #nygmobblepot #Film Daily

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kinetic-elaboration · 4 years

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January 27: Thoughts on The 100 2x09, Remember Me

...For some reason I was really angry at the beginning of this? Also there’s a lot of Lxa bashing. Sorry. And some Clarke criticism but in the latter case, I mean it well.

Also this is really long whoops.

So...I miss when killing off main characters was a big deal and people actually reacted to it.

I truly cannot take Lxa seriously I’m sorry. I don’t find her... intimidating at all.

I’ve already complained repeatedly about her complete bad faith deal making at every turn so I won’t go into it again but nevertheless, here she is, again, moving the goal posts of the negotiation. ‘I’ll withdraw my army if you cure the Reapers. No, if you give up your friend. No, if you give me his body.’ Clarke should have double crossed her immediately.

Also I know that I ultimately did think it was reasonable for Finn to face Grounder justice (except insofar as that justice was itself morally untenable--that is, the Torture Porn) but now that he’s dead, I think there’s no real moral argument to be made that the Grounders deserve his body. I understand their traditions, which in fact I found quite moving when I first watched this ep, but surely his people have, or could make up, some traditions for his burial also. He is still their friend. This seems like little more than an excuse to be cruel. And Clarke’s so fucking broken she just goes with it. It’s truly awful. I mean she’s doing the only thing she can do I guess but it’s laughable that she sounds as if she has any sort of upper hand, you’re getting played bitch.

(Yeah I know, Lxa is being ‘groundbreaking’ and ‘revolutionary’ by even semi-accepting capital punishment without torture and taking his body is a way of appeasing her harder line advisers but like cry me a river--she’s either the all powerful commander or she’s fucking not.)

“We want the same things.” Lol if you wanted the same things you would have stuck to the original deal. No I’m not over this at all I guess.

I also still can’t get over how Clarke has literally never earned true leadership in the eyes of her own people and yet she continues to be randomly viewed as a leader by the Grounders and thus retains pretty much full de facto control over her own people’s power structure.

Also Kane shut the fuck up. I completely forgot about this but they really did put him through an off-screen 180 where all of a sudden Lxa is a God to him and can literally do nothing wrong and to this day we have never been given an explanation how that came to be. Guess it’s easier to tell not show huh?!?

ALSO I get we’re suppose to see a sort of racism-corollary to lines like “I don’t think they know what peace is” like obviously this rubs one the wrong way automatically. But Abby’s not really wrong. And despite what Kane thinks, Lxa has given, again, NO indication at all that she is interested in peace. She has given a lot of indications that she wants to do whatever she can to wring as much from the Sky People as she can without giving anything in return and hey we’re only halfway through the season and she’s already psychologically broken Clarke (also the only person she acknowledges as the leader even though she is not, cannot emphasize this enough, the leader of anything... and thus the only person L really has to break) and sunk-cost-fallacy-ed her into submission. Now that Finn is dead Clarke would cut off her own tit to make Lxa happy because anything else is “letting him die in vain.”

...Why am I so angry lol?

I understand the positions of both Clarke and Raven in this scene, which is fucking brutal, but I sympathize more with Raven. Clarke’s basically just a messenger, but what the Grounders are demanding is (I know I already said it) cruel, and cruel to Raven above all. And Clarke is almost all business. I think that’s what she needs to be for herself but it’s not helpful to the situation.

Anyway here are my faves in Mount Weather. It’s almost hard to watch these scenes because I want to, like, memorize them. Partially for the C/M story and partially just because. Today’s adventure is getting to a radio to send a message to the Ark-wide channel, which is a term for a thing that exists. Also I forgot how snarky everyone / Miller was to Maya. Which, I get. But--are they not thinking about how her own people have experimented on her? Like she is expendable to them, this is just a known fact at this time. So yes, there is a real risk to her, Nathan.

“Oh, is that all?” / “No--there’s more.” Monty’s so one-track he didn’t even hear the sarcasm. I love him.

“Their army has been getting their ass kicked by Mount Weather forever.” Bellamy speaking the truth. Do they need the alliance, or do they just need the Grounders to back the fuck off from attacking them? (Spoiler: they do not need the alliance.)

Ah Bellarke, always quick to reassure each other. Blindly, even.

“Since I don’t take orders from you, I’m going to need a better reason” is one of my favorite lines, and underrated. Finally someone reminding Clarke she’s not actually in charge of everyone and everything all the time. (I realize this sounds like I dislike Clarke. I don’t. I just find certain traits of hers frustrating. But this just makes her a good character.) Also you can see that, rather like her moment with Raven, she falls back on being business like and direct and issuing orders to avoid talking about feelings or breaking apart.

The United States War Room survives the apocalypse.

I’m sorry but it’s ridiculous to think that Lxa invented the concept of an alliance lol.

I guess Clarke needs to go all in on the alliance because of Finn, but... I also think this is part of who she is. Her sense of practicality outweighs any human desire to hold a grudge, and I think she assumes a level of practicality in others too, automatically, such that she underestimates wariness in others. Like Bellamy and Gustus and everyone is right to be uncertain about this literally hours-old alliance--not even an official alliance, since L’s latest demand hasn’t technically been met!--and Clarke’s like ‘yeah I’ll sleep next to people who would have killed me six hours ago np!’ because now that she’s in, she’s in. She’s neither angry nor afraid.

Linctavia like “Google Earth, always taking pictures.”

Is Lincoln wearing Ark clothes?

I know Raven is made to look kind of wan and sunken and sad but yet this scene where she’s being disarmed is honestly like peak hotness for me and I don’t know why. I like my women sullen and covered in knives?

Interesting how allegedly only the warriors knew English and yet Lxa’s big announcement re: get in line with me or die is made in English. Just going to point out yet again what a big mistake that throwaway S1 line is.

What a sad life to lead, where random declarations followed by “or death” have to form the entirety of your belief system “Don’t be upset that your wife and child are dead...or I’ll beat you to a pulp.” I truly don’t understand how we were ever supposed to get in line with this society as sympathetic or interesting. So much so that they get a whole prequel I guess???

I’d rather have a Mount Weather prequel except not really, don’t ruin it for me.

I love Miller’s canonical insane superhuman strength. This is a trait often overlooked in fics.

The usual comment on Mount Weather scenes: I love all of it.

The thing is that if everyone were on board with the funeral ceremony, it is touching. Murderer and murdered together, and the people who’ve been hurt, on both sides, saying goodbye as a group. It’s just that Clarke’s people were coerced into this--they weren’t convinced it would be a fitting ceremony, just told ‘well this is how it is and if you don’t like it, we could perhaps... KILL YOU?”

Is this a new revelation that Mount Weather crashed the Exodus ship (still a really satisfying belated explanation imo)? Or did we know that because, unlike Monty et al, we knew about the jamming signals already? Can’t remember.

You can see how L came to believe what she believes but nevertheless this is bad advice lol. “Don’t care about other people.” Okay, I’ll just stop doing that then.

Mmmm, a feast in a subway station. Delicious. Fucking full pig head as the centerpiece. Very DC.

Kane (handing over pure space moonshine probably): Just don’t drink too much of it. Clarke (five minutes later): Guzzles whole bottle at once. #partygriff is officially canon.

Waiting until tomorrow to start the war? Procrastinators. Clarke didn’t kill Finn for this.

I love Certified Dramatic Ho Bellamy knocking the cup out of Clarke’s hand even though she had made no move whatsoever to drink it.

“When you plunged your knife into the heart of the boy you loved, did you not wish that it was mine.” Lxa, also a certified Dramatic Ho.

Clarke kinda deserved to be punched in the face given that it wouldn’t actually make sense for Raven to try to poison Lxa--and make Finn’s death mean nothing? And put them all in danger in enemy territory? Nonsense. Nevertheless it’s hard not to feel bad for her when she follows this accusation up with a psychotic break.

Hmmm, do I think Abby turning in Jake was the same as Clarke killing Finn? Not really. She didn’t directly kill Jake, that was Jaha, and Jaha is who Clarke should really be mad at. That said, I don’t think she was really saving anyone in the direct way Clarke was. So, apples and oranges. Crazy awkward moment to bring it up, though lol. “Oh Clarke, you’ll feel better eventually--remember that time I killed your Dad? I got over that! Wait--does talking about your dead father upset you? That’s a surprise!” Nevertheless I appreciate major actions having consequences as that’s a semi-rarity on this show.

Monty Green: hero.

“Lxa needs this alliance as much as we do.” - True, if she intends to get her people out of MW. “She’s shown herself to be flexible.” - Not true. She’s given the bare minimum of concessions. Kane, please crawl back out of her colon for like 5 seconds, get some air.

Interesting that Raven and Bellamy are chilling near each other. I wonder what they were discussing. Tbh Bellamy’s feelings on everything in this episode are rather opaque. Other than understanding why Clarke mercy-killed Finn and being skeptical of the alliance.

“Kill one person and destroy the alliance” is literally only merciful because the default in this society is “kill everyone all the time for any reason.” Like, I guess??? That’s mercy by comparison?? But forgive me if I am not moved to admiration.

“This time justice will be done” says the woman who used the barest sliver of evidence to decide that a random person was guilty so she could have a public execution. A public execution to replace the other public execution, in fact, not to avenge a death because Gustus isn’t dead. (Yet.)

Kane’s really okay with letting Raven be tortured to death, huh? Gah he’s fucking annoying.

Bellarke: Crime Solving Duo. That’s some satisfying teamwork. Clarke figures out how the scheme worked. Bellamy figures out who’s behind the scheme. With all the evidence put together, the motive becomes clear. (Honesty, they should have been suspicious that the poison not only didn’t kill Gustus, it barely harmed him lol.)

Check out all the Department of Homeland Security stuff on Monty’s computer. This is perhaps Dante’s log in? There’s a set of “personal” files too. And a set of President’s Office files, which one would assume not everyone would have.

Anyway, I have a Thing for tense sequences of hackers...hacking.

When I first watched this season I was often so tense my whole body hurt and it’s mostly because of MW scenes like this one where Monty is caught. Like aaaaah it still gets me. He almost makes it... and then almost makes it again, with his silly little salute... (Never forget that he is A Dork.)

On the one hand, Raven being tortured and then seeing Gustus tortured to death allows her to see why Clarke killing Finn was an act of mercy, to forgive her, and to move on, so the narrative can continue with them as allies and nominal friends. And it works, basically. But I also think there’s something to the theory that they were never the same, that the wound never really healed.

I’m sorry but Octavia’s face when Clarke’s like “Yeah B, you’re expendable, go get yourself killed, have a map!!” is hilarious. Like, he’s just said that Gustus doing anything for Lxa made sense, and Octavia responded with “Look at the thanks he got” which seems to me like She Knows and then 5 seconds later Bellamy is basically thrown away by the person we all know he’d do anything for... I mean the face is fair. Also this is Bellamy’s idea and it’s a good idea and so he was right before and Clarke is also right now, but it’s still so... annoying.... like “okay, I’m done caring about you lol bye.”

And Raven’s just totally confused. It’s been a damn long day I guess.

Why are they all such fucking hotties? It’s hard to pay attention to “the plot.”

So the ashes Abby tries to give to Clarke are the same ashes, perhaps, that Jasper scatters in S3? This vial looks smaller. Why did she not immediately give them to Raven? That would seem to be the obvious thing to do.

And here we see Clarke, under L’s direct influence, becoming Increasingly Insufferable. I love her but this is obviously supposed to be her descent into the abyss: she treats her friends like little expendable minions, she turns her back on Finn’s memory, and then she ends the episode by dramatically walking into a dark room in slow motion to creepy chamber music. I mean this is the hero’s fall guys!! That’s what it always was!!!

If only they’d handled Bellamy’s hero’s fall in 3A, and Clarke’s rise again in 3B, as well.

That ending is a straight up horror movie thanks that’s why this is my favorite season.

#the year 2020 #2020: fandom thoughts #2020: the 100 s2

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graveyard-in-the-void · 4 years

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- A masterclass in worlds between worlds - (Hey, what do you get if you put every Henry into a designated bar? A very bad time and not only because of the theoretical possibility that Hans Dsaftale might be there with the others. Now, what do you get if you LOCK one of the Henry’s into the bar as punishment for almost getting his own universe destroyed? A very exhausted Henry who’s just trying to make sense of the things he is seeing. If he hates it, at least he wants to understand it.)

- - - “Okay.” Henry started. Everyone was listening up as soon as that simple word was leaving his lips. This would be entertaining. It always was. Sure, there was some groaning in the back, but even they knew that would be hilarious. Lengthy, but hilarious. Well, maybe they would be the only ones laughing, but they don’t count their losses. Free entertainment is free entertainment. Henry stared into the people around him, before scoffing and pulling out an incredibly large board, with multiple pins on it, as well as notes and photos. “Hear me out. I have cracked the code.” Ah, one of these. “This will be one of the more lengthy of these, so you will need to bear with me.” One final cough from the audience and he was good to go. “Fantastic. Now, I want to introduce a concept to you. And I think it is something groundbreaking, as it is connecting to the very concept of souls. Alright, let us start off with the core concept of a soul. If it is an imprint of our very self, of our deepest emotions, desires and motivation, what truly moves us… then it is not only logical conclusion, that it also what dictates what draws us in or repels us? Of course it is. Thus, we can easily conclude that our soul ITSELF has needs and desires. “We like what we like” and “you should not fight over taste” are very wise statements indeed, absolutely true. But where do these tastes even come from? From our soul? Our liking for colors, aesthetics, for food and for music? Yes, surely there is a very psychological connection to it, due to experience, but… I think it runs deeper. What does this imply? That our souls comes inherently with NEEDS, with desires coming from our deepest core that we cannot possibly satisfy ourselves. This is further proven by our DEPENDANCE on other people. “The human is a social animal”- but what does that mean? How can a creature perish merely because of lack of contact? Perhaps it is hardwired into our spirits to need the interaction of ideas, the essence of others, because we cannot provide this for ourselves.“ The place broke out in quiet mumbling, while Henry adjusted the board behind him, to connect the dots visually. “Now, that we have established that every soul has needs, I think we can directly move onto the concept that every soul has DIFFERENT needs. It would make sense to try to find similarities in the needs from soul to soul, as you would assume it has the same baseline… but due to our experiences with souls, we have to accept that in terms of needs, souls differentiate severely from each other. Much like plants are awfully different based on species, I am willing to admit that souls CAN be similar in their nature and have similar needs, but souls exist in borderline endless versions, meaning most souls widely differentiate from another.” He paused, dramatically. The room was silent. “What does it mean, you ask?” Nobody actually asked anything. “I am glad you asked. Why is this important? Simple. Self-control and optimization. During my studies of multiple different multiverses, I realized an abhorrent flaw in the mental system that is me. Mainly, and believe me dear audience, I hate to say it, my draw to what I tend to consider “weakness”. Yes, I know, I know. Implausible. Impossible! But it is true. Except, it is not WEAKNESS." He smashed both of his hands on the bar in front of him. "It certainly seems like it and technically speaking IS weakness, but it is not outright weakness. It is not cowardice, it is not indecisiveness, it is not ignorance, which I all would call true symptoms of weakness. Fragility might also be a part of it, but not necessarily. That is what makes it so intriguing. And by fragility I do not quite mean instantaneous shattering. It is more a mixture of dependence and- okay, I think there is a lot of it to do with dependence. But what is there to dependence? Whatever would make that alluring? I will tell you. It took me a while, but my working theory is this: There is some sort of... resonance, dare I say. An echo of our own fear and worry, we see in them something we fear to be in us! And thus, caring for that person, defeating the weakness within them, satisfying the dependence, it proves to us we can defeat it within ourselves as well!" One of the attendance rose his hand. "Okay, but what about simple narcissist function? Occam's razor. The easiest answer is that we are simply searching for supply for our ego." The presenting Henry wildly waved his hand around in disgust. "No! That is not what it is. Obviously. Otherwise, the codependency that at least somewhat evolves even from our side would not grow WORSE. We would grow tired of it. But that is not happening. No, the longer it goes on, the worse it gets! The only reasonable solution is to assume that our traits are calling out for those that will COVER them. Our loyalty and capability calls for NEED in the other soul, for insecurity and reliability. Trustworthiness, for our loyalty. Our detachment from any given reality calls out for something that we directly can control and influence, a real, breathing example of our effect that we can have. There is an incredibly fragile balance to be struck, of need and trustworthy purity, as well as absolute willingness to give up everything that makes them themselves in the first place, as we have some sort of all-consuming ego, with our individuality being our most important part, so important in fact that we need to be able to impose it onto others to feel secure-" He was interrupted. "So you are saying we are some sort of former eldritch abomination given human flesh for some reason still trying to live out or former desires?" Henry paused a bit irritated. "I mean... maybe? Unlikely, but-" Another voice. "Hey, does this "calling out" thing not imply that people who get attracted to people who torment them deserve it? Because if so, that is pretty fucked up of you." "No! I mean- well, we are talking about underlying NEEDS, that does not necessary equate to it being lived out in-" A pink Naga leaned back. "No, no, I agree. Prey isss prey. It cannot bear being anything different. It needsss to feel like it." "Shut up, nobody asked you." A bit annoyed Henry tried to dismiss him. Desperately he tried to get back to the point he was trying to make for what felt like an hour by now. "I propose the following: There is not actually such a thing as soulmate, but it is more akin to a spiritual form of chemical bonding. Some bond easier than others, like hydrogen. For souls that mean they have less specific requirements to keep up a truly fulfilling bond, or have an easier time filling the other's lacking traits without needing much back. What is needed from their bond is what we call out via our souls, creating a type, but said type is intended to cover the things our souls cannot satisfy or eradicate within itself. Thus, my conclusion is that a soul bond forms for a soul much more on what people lack than their strength. If the lacks fit well with the lacking of the other person, they manage to fall into place-" This time he wasn't even allowed to rant. The bartender Henry next to him gave him a flick with his demonic tail and poured himself a drink. "I love it when people who never had a relationship try to explain them. Very cute." "I- TECHNICALLY speaking you can become an expert on everything via the theory, I did a lot of studies-" "Oh god, wait, so you cucked yourself?" The succubus watched with delight as the most annoying Henry's face went from pale to red. "Cut it out you filthy whore." "You are merely jealous that unlike you, I not only get to fuck my boyfriend all day, but also get magical abilities for it." That was enough, the poor Henry, who was just trying to find answers, held his ears closed like some sort of child and had a silent breakdown. It wasn't easy hanging out with such an awful version of yourself. Especially if that version couldn't stand you and loved to tease you about shortcomings that he would of course know by heart. The other Henrys lost interest at that point. Show's over. And nobody learned anything. No, it wasn't quite the void, but Henry surely wished to get back there instead of being stuck here, serving drinks to his much more pathetic, yet somehow much more successful versions. Oh, hell had many faces. For now he had to deal.

#Henry #have fun with this glimpse at the world between world #Henry isn't really popular there #Some Henrys are better than others but the original Henry? A bitch #Don't get that confused with actual canon Henry he would never show up there #I could post another ramble (made by Henry(tm)) to explain that #Someday #I don't know #mod toast

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armorbirdpress · 4 years

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Armor Bird Reviews: Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom - A One-And-A-Half-Year Retrospective

If you have been following my writings and ramblings and original works and DeviantArt favorites for long enough, you'll know that I am unashamedly a dinosaur fan - I never outgrew the phase because despite what people have told me both online and off, palaeontology, like other sciences, is not specifically a child's thing - obviously dinosaurs are cool, but there is a lot of technical stuff that you'd need college degrees to understand in the field, too. While I certainly am a stickler for accuracy when it comes to dinosaur portrayals, however, I am also not ashamed to admit that I have a love for fictional portrayals of them as monsters, too. Jurassic Park, which was - for its time - pretty much a reconciliation between the "prehistoric monster" imagery of dinosaurs in popular culture and the latest discoveries about the actual fossil animals during its production, is my favorite movie of all time, partly for this reason and partly because there's a lot of depth and sophistication to it as well - a sophistication that modern movies seem to be utilizing less and less. Even the Jurassic Park franchise itself was not immune to this trend, and although it still remains my top favorite franchise of fictional media, the changing conceit of what audiences want in an entertaining film has dragged it along for as much of a long and bumpy ride as just about everything else Hollywood has to offer. Still, even in spite of it all, there are a lot of things to like about the sequels we got since that groundbreaking original - I'm admittedly one of those people who actually enjoyed Jurassic Park III, though in fairness I was too young upon first watching it to really pick it apart and analyze its numerous flaws, and I also heaped a lot of praise on Jurassic World upon my first review of it... in hindsight, perhaps a little generously. Although I won't pretend that everything since The Lost World (including TLW itself) is flawless and that the complainers are wrong, even the infamously controversial JP3 had some enjoyable moments in its own right, despite being seen by many as the worst installment of the franchise by quite a margin.

Which leads us to the most recent film of the franchise, 2018's Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom.

I had intended to review this movie for a good, long while - back when I was a more prolific writer I used to write film reviews shortly after seeing the movies in the theater, though schedule concerns have obviously made that too difficult. But there's a silver lining here, in that by not reviewing a film I've seen until much later (...well, much, much, much later as the case may be), I have the time to really sit down and think about what made the movie tick or not, and oftentimes have come down from my rush of excitement by the time I actually get off my tail and write the review itself. There are exceptions, of course, with certain films actually leaving me disappointed as soon as I left the building, but these cases are mercifully rare. I'm happy to say that despite being horrendously imperfect, Fallen Kingdom wasn't one of those cases. I was genuinely entertained by it more than 50% of the time - which is, for better or for worse, the highest compliment I can give the film because, as we shall see, in some ways it really is quite terrible.

As always with my movie reviews: SPOILERS UNDER THE CUT!

I watched Fallen Kingdom twice since its release - first in the theater at my home town, and then on rental DVD - and both times, my impression was the same: this movie, in retrospect, plays out much like a big-budget, cinematic fanfiction of the Jurassic Park films or even of Jurassic World (the latter of which I actually consider darkly hilarious for reasons that are highly specific to me exclusively, which you'd only understand if you know what I've written in the past - I'll get to that shortly). This is perfectly understandable, seeing as the director, screenwriter, and production crew have changed considerably from the team that helmed the original trilogy during the ten-year gap between JP3 and JW. Even if the work is canon, it's essentially someone else taking a look at the original franchise material, picking out what they liked about it, and building an original story off of it, oftentimes borrowing characters from the original work and inserting them in (most notably Rexy, and yes, I consider her as much of a character as the humans she menaced in the original movie). Across the board, in all kinds of franchises, this approach tends to fall flat if you don't know about the original work, though I do have to say that there was one very notable exception in the case of Jurassic World, that climactic fight scene with the Indominus rex, which is my favorite part of the movie even if it isn't entirely perfect. Now, I realize that I'm being a bit of a hypocrite by saying that these films are imperfect, because almost a decade ago, a friend and I co-wrote a megacrossover fanfic where Jurassic Park was the most prominent franchise by quite a margin (and didn't even start out that way to boot - my own selfish preferences caused elements of the franchise to slowly bleed in until a recycled plot of the second and third movies took over the whole thing). What makes it truly embarrassing to me is that the fic didn't even need the series' involvement in the first place, and my choice to shove it in anyway was one of the numerous factors that led to it going completely off the rails and turning into a tremendous tangled mess of clumsy writing and mishandled characterization, not just with JP itself but with almost all of the dozen other continua that got dragged in as well. Obviously, the fact that Fallen Kingdom is restricted by its very nature as a sequel to the one franchise only thankfully precludes the sheer absurdity of what my co-writer and I had inadvertently wrought back then, but upon rewatching the film I couldn't help but notice that in a few ways, it does ironically come off as being quite similar to my own old shame, albeit coincidentally, though it still earns points for choosing to be a Jurassic Park/World film and sticking with that conceit, rather than an entirely different film with JP elements shoehorned into it. I've harped on my stupidity as an immature fanfic writer back in the day for long enough, I think, but I felt this was worth mentioning regardless, because like the fic I touched upon above, this is a work I only started having issues with long after the fact, but these days I can't unsee these issues now that I've considered them.

One of the biggest things that stood out to me regarding Fallen Kingdom was that no matter how you slice it, it was trying to be two films at once, and had less time for both than most would have desired. The first half of the movie concerns Isla Sorna being destroyed by a volcano, and everyone trying to get the dinosaurs off of it before they are rendered extinct once again, with another island being noted as their new sanctuary (though of course, one of the antagonists quickly screws that plan over, but more on that later). You could easily make an entire film out of that - exploring the island one last time, dodging potential threats from both the volcano and the dinosaurs themselves, and coming to terms with the fact that not every creature can be saved, and that the end is coming for everyone eventually. The scene with the Brachiosaurus being overtaken by the eruption, with its plaintive wails and iconic rearing silhouette, is proof that such a moral could make a solid closing for this kind of movie, and heck, you could even have the subplot with the executives hoping to exploit the dinosaurs bleed into the movie until, at the very end, you get a scene where their true intentions with the animals are revealed as a sequel hook, rather than being resolved over the course of like half an hour or so in a rushed manner that gives people too little time to consider the implications. And this brings me to my next point.

Remember what I said about that dumb fanfiction I co-wrote having the elements I personally wanted more than my co-writer did slowly fester in true plot tumor fashion until they took over the entire story like literal cancer? As it turns out, what I witnessed in Fallen Kingdom wasn't quite as ridiculous, but kinda sorta similar in its own way. Obviously, Fallen Kingdom isn't so audacious (or ignorant of copyright laws and plain old common sense for that matter) as to let an entirely different franchise stage a gradual hostile takeover of itself, but the somewhat cliched plot of capitalist exploitation being the absolute worst roommate imaginable with a whole franchise's worth of temporally misplaced creatures that can and will kill you if you look at them funny - already done in both the original movie and TLW, and to some extent in JW as well, but still relatable in our current social climate even after so much repetition - still manages to... well, stage a gradual hostile takeover of the movie, and enforces itself in full force during the remaining third or so of the runtime. The antagonists, a pair of cartoonishly evil and somewhat flat executives, sabotage the plan so that the dinosaurs are diverted to the Lockwood Mansion instead of the sanctuary island, and then things escalate when the prototype Indoraptor is bought in and, inevitably, raises hell for everyone involved. As with my previous pitch, the idea of bidding wars over the dinosaurs and the moral debate over the ownership and exploitation of living creatures - something which does happen in the real world - could have made for something interesting, again, if the script wasn't so rushed. Continuing where the hypothetical sequel hook left off, we could open with a discussion between the villains about the implications of what they are doing, followed by the heroes having to deal with the ramifications of such actions along with the involvement of Dr. Wu, the Indoraptor, and of course Blue as a potential prize-winner. Of course this runs the risk of becoming the original Jurassic Park except on the mainland, and thus not really trying anything new, but it could at least give audiences the time to digest the film and appreciate the moments where it makes a genuine impact, even before the dinosaurs end up getting released into the mainland like what happened in the movie itself, complete with the insane amount of ramifications thereof. The Stygimoloch plowing its way through the bidders on its way to freedom was almost as cathartic for me to watch as the climactic fight in JW, and I wish it could've gotten more screentime, or even plucked up the guts to fend off the Indoraptor in a situation that doesn't seem forced, e.g. the hybrid and the Stiggy getting trapped in the same complex, or even Owen luring it over as backup (which is stupider but, given how he got it to bust him and Claire out in the movie itself, isn't entirely unreasonable). As for the Indoraptor itself, I feel like they could have done a bit better with its design, as even underneath the paint job and altered proportions it's still more or less "Indominus 2: Genetic Boogaloo", as I have called it at least once. Still, it has its own appeal as a monster design and, if it weren't for the presence of similar-looking creatures in previous installments of the series, it would certainly have made an impact as a monster. It's almost wolf-like in movement and mannerisms, even werewolf-like, which is intentional given the vintage horror movie homages the production team was going for. The way it menaces Maisie - who has her own set of plot-related craziness to her, but that's a can of worms I'd rather not open - makes you worry for her life, and even fear for Blue when she engages it in battle. I know I'm one of those who actually prefers antagonistic Velociraptors (the inaccurate variety from the films, not the smaller and fully feathered real-world version which I would absolutely take home with me if I could find a way to retrieve it from Cretaceous Mongolia and have it housetrained and okay I'll stop now), but Blue as always is awesome, and after seeing her actually manage to hold her own in her fight against the Indoraptor if only for a short while, there's no denying that anymore - even if that scene with her outrunning the explosion in the boiler room is a bit over-the-top even by the standards of this movie. There is of course no way a spectacle-driven, plaid-speed-paced romp like Fallen Kingdom could surpass the bar set by The Big One and the legendary kitchen scene, but on its own merits, the Indoraptor is a wonderfully serviceable and formidable threat that I just wish could've gotten more screentime and room to develop as a character, rather than just remaining as an unhinged killing machine that exists just to terrorize everyone before exiting the film (the same is true for all the dinosaurs here besides Blue, really, which is sad because, again, I much prefer when films develop monsters as characters rather than mere plot devices). With a little more design work to make him stand out more among the other critters in the franchise and more time to explore his nature, he could easily have become almost as iconic as The Big One as movie monsters go, or at least as much as the I. rex, though the latter bar is admittedly a good deal lower in the wake of how the movie industry has, ahem, evolved.

With that thought in mind, I will now spell out the biggest problem I had with this movie: the fact that it was trying to do so much in such a short space of time. Humorously and ironically, I know almost enough about the issues with my own writing to recognize the signs of that, with significant events being spaced too close to each other, too many characters at once (though admittedly, Zia and Maisie are a treat to watch, Franklin a bit less so but far from unbearable for my taste), and at least one questionable decision on the part of everyone at some point or another, up to and including the writers. There are a lot of things I liked, but not enough time for me to let them sink in, like I was being bombarded with one spectacle after another. It feels like overkill more than anything, and alas, far too many films in recent years have tried to shove that method into people's faces as though trying to say, "Here's your action, here's your fanservice, here's your whatever the whoopity-freaking-doo you consider entertainment, are you happy now?!" (Well, not quite as vitriolic and sarcastic, but you get the idea.) If the filmmakers and the owners of the franchise rights had been willing to accept four movies in the newer series rather than just three, and let Fallen Kingdom be broken up into two separate, slightly slower-paced movies, the problems with each individual portion would likely not have been as significant, and audiences would not have noticed them so readily. Sadly, though, the rapid-fire, dozen-blockbusters-a-year rush-job environment of the modern movie industry was not kind to this film, which is a crying shame. We need more movies that are more relaxed and subdued half the time, the way the original JP film was, and while audiences may have to take the time to once again get used to movies like that, I think it would be a welcome change of pace from the current influx of chaotic, nonstop slugfests and pyrotechnic displays we've become so familiar with.

In tl;dr form, it is with a heavy heart that I have to say that Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom is, in fact, the worst film of the entire Jurassic Park franchise, even more so than JP3 - though don't get me wrong, as with JP3, I still very much enjoyed it as its own movie, as clumsily handled as it was at times (though even then, the movie itself isn't entirely at fault for it). There's a difference between a movie being the low point in its franchise and a low point among movies in general, a difference which a lot of reviewers need to understand before taking an undeserved dump over movies that could've been so much better if Hollywood had worked just a bit differently. You have to actually try to make a work of entertainment media I consider genuinely terrible, and it was actually a relief to me that even the lowest points of Fallen Kingdom still ranked somewhat midway between "meh" and "shakes hand eeeeehhhhhh" from my own subjective standpoint. I truly hope that the next and presumably final JP film will turn out for the better, especially given that Alan, Ellie, and Ian are all slated to have major roles in it, but I'm not going to dismiss Fallen Kingdom off the bat just because of the issues I have with its writing. If nothing else, it's a perfectly decent popcorn flick with prehistoric monsters in it - and hey, that was pretty much what everyone was there for, wasn't it?

Grading Scheme:

96 - 100: A+

93 - 96: A

90 - 92.9: A-

87 - 89.9: B+

83 - 86.9: B

80 - 82.9: B-

77 - 79.9: C+

73 - 76.9: C

70 - 72.9: C-

67 - 69.9: D+

60 - 66.9: D

Below 60: E

Grades:

Writing: 6

Characterization: 6

Pacing: 7

Creativity: 8

Consistency: 8

Cinematography: 9

World Building: 7

Music and Sound: 8

Effects: 10

Engagement: 9

Final Grade: 78 (C+)

#Armor Bird Reviews #Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom

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