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im-just-a-random-fandom-girl · 3 years

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You know what I want?

Domestic Stucky. In Westview. Hear me out.

(First of all, Endg*me can go fuck itself. Steve’s whole thing? Never happened. Forget about it. Wipe if from your mind. We’re rewriting that shit.)

(Also, this isn’t a fic even though I know it starts out looking like one lol. This is just stream of consciousness thoughts. I would put way more effort into actual writing)

The weeks after the final snap were hard.

Bucky was back, and it felt like every weight that had been dragging Steve down for the past 5 years was lifted. He was mentally and physically exhausted, but his soulmate, his best friend, was at his side again, pulling him into a warm hug, tight and breathtaking.

It was still hard; Steve was a very different man than he had been 5 years ago, but Bucky was calm and understanding. There was still much to mourn for, too. Tony and Nat were gone. Any sense of stability that had been established during those 5 years was immediately destroyed, and Steve was sure it would take many more years to try to fix the damage.

And Wanda. When Wanda was snapped back into existence, her grief was palpable. What had been 5 terrible years for him had been 5 minutes of bliss for her, relief that she wouldn’t have to try to live in a world without Vision. Steve knew the feeling. Even though he didn’t quite understand Wanda and Vision’s relationship (he was a robot?), he can’t really judge because he’s been pining after his childhood best friend for the better part of a century and still hasn’t managed to do anything about it.

To be brought back to life was the worst trick you could play on Wanda. Her sense of peace was snatched away from her and she was throttled back into a world that had nothing in it for her. Everyone she loved was dead. Her powers still deemed her a threat, even if she had played a crucial role in the fight against Thanos.

Steve wanted to be selfish and just run away with Bucky, but he couldn’t leave Wanda, who had become the little sister he never had.

He worried about her. Even as those who had been snapped away started to come to terms with the fact that 5 years had passed, Wanda wandered around, just a shell of her former self. Sometimes she fell into fits of rage and despair, using her powers to smash everything in her room at the compound or snapping at anyone who tried to distract her. Most of the time she was just blank.

Just a month after the return from the blip, Wanda strolls into the kitchen and announces that she’s going to S.W.O.R.D. headquarters. Steve’s head snaps up. Her eyes are hard and determined, and Steve belatedly realizes that every muscle in her body is tense as she readies herself to fight anyone who tries to stop her. Sam is the first to speak up.

“Okay, kid,” he breathes out nonchalantly, “you need anyone to go with you?” Sam is good like that. Always knowing what to say to make someone feel comfortable and cared about, but not coddled.

“No,” Wanda grits out. A breath, and then, softer, “thank you.”

Glancing around to see if anyone else had any objections, Wanda walks out of the compound.

Steve lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was still holding, but the room is still tense. He whips around to Bucky, eyes wide with concern.

Before he can even say anything, Bucky reaches out and puts a hand on his shoulder, “Don’t worry. Come on, we’ll watch out for her.”

So, with a tight smile, Steve stands up and lets Bucky lead the two of them out.

It’s not until they are halfway down the street in an inconspicuous car, trailing a little ways behind Wanda’s red sedan that it occurs to Steve to ask what they’re doing.

“We’re just going to follow her to make sure she’s alright, pal. S.W.O.R.D. has Vision’s body, and it’s not a good idea for her to be alone, even if she thinks it’s best.”

“She’ll be mad if she realizes what we’re doing.”

“Good thing one of us is a reformed Russian spy,” he smirks.

Steve’s heart skips a beat at that familiar face, one that he hadn’t thought he’d ever see again, and blushes, ducking his head. If Bucky notices, he doesn’t say. They carry on in a comfortable silence.

As they pull into the S.W.O.R.D. parking lot, Steve watches Wanda march into the headquarters. He turns to Bucky, "Are we going to follow her in?"

"You can't, that's for sure." Steve scowls. "It's not entirely your fault, pal, but you're don't exactly blend in easily. But I'll go in to keep an eye on her if you want me to."

Steve considers the offer for the moment. As much as he wanted to watch out for Wanda, he knew that if she found out, it would hurt her more. She would think that he didn't trust her, and that he was following her to make sure that she didn't lose control of her powers and hurt people. He didn't want to make her feel more ostracized than she already was.

"No, we'll just wait," he says, shaking his head. His eyes never leave the entrance to S.W.O.R.D. headquarters.

The wait for Wanda feels excruciatingly long. Steve doesn't trust that S.W.O.R.D. is any better than S.H.I.E.L.D., and he honestly has no idea what they've been doing with Vision's body for the last 5 years. A renewed sense of guilt washes over him. If he had tried to fight S.W.O.R.D. harder for Vision's body, Wanda wouldn't be here, fighting through her grief to see him one last time. After the snap, Steve didn't feel like he could waste his dwindling energy scrutinizing S.W.O.R.D's every move, but he now wishes he had. He could have spared her this pain.

Sensing the anxiety bubbling up within him, Bucky reaches out, pulling Steve's hand into his own. "It's not your fault, Steve," he reminds him gently. Steve squeezes his hand in response.

Wanda walks out of S.W.O.R.D. headquarters 20 minutes later. She seems drained and tired, but her expression reveals nothing. They wait again before following her out of the lot.

When she turns right, away from the direction of the compound where he assumed she would return, Steve frowns. "Where is she going? The compound's the other way."

Bucky shrugs. "I guess we'll see."

Steve has no idea where they are until he sees a sign declaring "Welcome to New Jersey!" not far down the highway.

"What the hell is she going to Jersey for?" Bucky gasps, pulling a loud laugh from Steve's chest. It's absurd and ridiculous, but it reminds Steve of when they were kids in Brooklyn, shitting on the Yankees and the state's annoying accent, among the plethora of other abhorrent traits about New Jersey. Bucky starts laughing with him, shaking his head.

They finally arrive in a small, run-down town called Westview. Steve can't imagine why Wanda would come here.

Her red sedan comes to a stop in front of an empty plot of land, and she steps out, clutching a folded piece of paper to her chest.

"Oh, Christ... Shit," Bucky mutters. Steve is about to ask what he's thinking when he finally sees Wanda's walls crumble.

Her shoulders shake with the force of her sobs, and she falls to her knees with a cry of desperation. A red orb of her twists around her body and Steve shoves the door to the car open, desperate to get to Wanda.

"Steve!" he hears Bucky cry out behind him, and it's the last thing he hears before Wanda's powers implode around her, and his vision is blotted with red.

Remember! Wanda made all of her characters in the hex as similar to their actual lives as possible to ease her control of them! SO, it's only natural that her powers would pick up on the fact that Steve and Bucky are very obviously pining for each other and put them in a loving relationship while they are in the hex. Since they are both under Wanda's control, their storyline would happen mostly independently from what we see in WandaVision. I wouldn't have there be any smut (since I'm not talented enough or comfortable writing it myself) so there wouldn't be any non-con or any serious dub-con while they are in the hex. The idea is that both of them want everything that they are made to do (be partners, hold hands, kiss, do other couple-y stuff), but they are concerned because they think the other would feel disgusted and not want it.

There unfortunately were not any gay characters on TV in the 50s and 60s, so I would write these two "episodes" with loose ties to other sitcoms from those decades and do some research into how gay couples lived during these time periods. Basically, reimagine my own 50s and 60s sitcoms with realistic portrayals of a gay couple.

For the other decades, I would then base their relationship off of those actually depicted in sitcoms from that time.

It should be noted that, while I have actually watch a lot of old sitcoms, I haven't watched many of the ones I mention. If I every decide to write this, I would do a lot more research on these shows (and watch some episodes!)

70's - I would likely draw from Barney Miller, Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman, and Soap.

80's - Roseanne is pretty iconic, but I would be a little hesitant to write it after all of the controversy a couple years ago. Love, Sidney may also work, but I don't know enough about the show.

90's - Will & Grace, of course! I don't know anything about Northern Exposure, but the little bit of research I've done suggests that also may be a source of inspiration.

2000 through early 2010s - It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia and Modern Family. (I loved The War At Home, but it doesn't really fit)

When Wanda releases everyone from the hex, Bucky and Steve had some serious miscommunication issues and angst. Both feeling exceedingly guilty about their actions, despite the fact that they had no control over them. They got a taste for what domestic life would be like together, and they are frustrated that they enjoyed it since they believe the other one did not. When Wanda explains that her powers gave everyone jobs, relationships and roles in society that were equally comparable to those they had in real life, Bucky and Steve both realize that the hex would not have put them in a relationship if it wasn't what the other also wanted. Yay! They make-up (and make-out, lol).

I seriously want to write this, but I really don't have the confidence that I will be able to execute it as I imagine it. If someone wants to work on it with me (be it we both write it or you just want to offer some brainstorming help/story guidance), I would be thrilled! Just so long as there isn't any pressure to get it done in a time crunch. I just want this writing experience to be fun! Also, if you are interested, I swear I’m a better writer than what was just exhibited, but I really only spent an hour or so on it, so it’s obviously not my best work.

Anyway, if you have any thoughts, suggestions, advice etc or just want to scream about WandaVision and/or Stucky, please feel free to PM me or stop by my inbox. It would make my day :)

#sara says stuff #my writing #wandavision #stucky

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anevolutionarynecessity · 4 years

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Overanalysis Hours - Bound By Blood: The Meaning of Blood and Blood Ties in Killing Eve (Season 3)

This post is dedicated to @abrookec1987, @thelma2017dirjoachimtrier, and @killingevekindoflove for being interested in reading this particular analysis (and encouraging me to rewrite it after the first one accidentally got deleted)

As a concept, blood fascinates us.

It courses through all our veins. It spills out of us when we’re damaged. It ties us together. It can be studied under a microscope. Philosophized and trivialized, conceptualized in both welcoming and divisive ways. Blood occupies a place in our collective consciousness that is legendary.

In 2013, I met Canadian author Lawrence Hill. He was promoting his newest book at the time, Blood: The Stuff of Life. He discusses blood “as an historical and contemporary marker of identity, belonging, gender, race, class, citizenship, athletic superiority, and nationhood.” I attended his public lecture series and was enthralled by the way he talked about this universal concept that we all share, are intimately familiar with, yet at times struggle to understand.

Hill’s book begins with an anecdote about how, as a young boy, he cut his hand on a broken beer bottle:

“Looking back, I wonder about the mad impulse to hold out my arm and splash every sidewalk panel. I wanted to mark the earth with my own sacred fluid. Look here! This is me! This is proof of my very life, here in this long line of bloody splotches on the sidewalk. The blood had appeared so hot, fresh, and significant when it was spilling from me.”

Among many other things then, blood is important because it creates a sense of belonging.

Blood is certainly a significant concept in Killing Eve.

Consider the now (in)famous Red Dress promo and how the dresses Eve and Villanelle wear are styled in a way that evokes splashing blood. Villanelle’s pose in her shot is confident and strong; her dress unfurls around her like a tumultuous sea, and she’s standing right in the middle of it; unapologetically awash in blood, with an arrogant tilt to her head and a mischievous, tantalizing expression.

Eve’s stance is not dissimilar, although she’s far more stoic, still, and resolute. Her dress is a darker shade of red, matching the passionate colour of Villanelle’s dress, and it arcs over Eve like a wave of blood that she simply cannot avoid. Nor is she exactly trying to avoid being drenched in it.

Season 3 will tackle themes such as fate and family, particularly emphasizing that family does not only mean people we have blood ties with. And it will also explore the sacrifices Eve and Villanelle are willing to make in order to be with each other. Thanks to the plot points revealed in this generous BBC review, I will be discussing Season 3 with spoilers. I reference key events, but they’re still general enough to keep us intrigued. If you’d rather not have anything revealed ahead of Season 3, be warned that there are spoilers under the cut!

I’m sure you’ve heard the expressions “blood is thicker than water” and “blood on the hands”. Eve and Villanelle certainly have blood soaked hands. But what does this mean for them, individually and as a couple? What is it about blood that is so central to our understanding of these characters, their relationship, and how they relate to everyone else in the thrilling world of spies and contract killers?

While Lady Macbeth tries to scrub her hands clean in Shakespeare’s harrowing play, Eve and Villanelle have no such inclination. Season 3 promises us that they will leave a trail of death and destruction in the wake of coming back together. In Killing Eve terms, that’s what we call commitment.

Have You Cleaned Your Hands?

Villanelle is a woman with a lot of blood on her hands.

In fact, Season 3 asks Villanelle a poignant question on this matter:

“Have you cleaned your hands?” one of Villanelle’s beautiful new lovers asks when she finds her tuning a valuable piano.

It isn’t surprising for an internationally renowned assassin to have killed many people. Villanelle kills without conscience, without reserve, and in the most “attention seeking, flamboyant” ways possible. She doesn’t know why she kills and is not particularly concerned to find out. As an audience, we don’t really mind either because we’re swept along with the brutality and style of her increasingly bloody kills. And like Eve, we cannot help but be fascinated with Villanelle.

Season 3 still retains the core of who Villanelle is:

“As for Villanelle? Once a psychopath, always a psychopath. Jodie Comer defines the acidic character as sharply as ever, capturing her glee in her job and her lightning-fast mood changes. Give her a side-eye and you’re dead. [...] Heathcote and the other writers seem to have an endless supply of clever ways for Villanelle to eliminate her targets, whether in a tiny grocery store in Andalucia or a spacious garden in France. One of the series’ shrewd devices is to make sure we’re not attached to the victims in those scenes, so the deaths are as cold-blooded and unreal to us as they are to her.”

More importantly, one of the boldest things that Season 3 explores is the idea of Villanelle not only being an assassin. An unexpected visit from Dasha, an old mentor that Villanelle shares a troubled past with, offers her a vital opportunity:

“Improbably, the independent Villanelle wants to become a keeper of other agents, moving up the ranks, and Dasha tries to whip her into shape.”

This is an incredibly refreshing and compelling angle to explore because it further opens up two avenues to Villanelle’s character.

The first is Villanelle’s search for her family. We know that she does eventually find her blood relatives and that she confronts her mother in particular about her cruel upbringing. Of course this begs the question of how much Villanelle’s environment contributed to her psychopathy, how much she was simply born with it, and how she’s determined the rest of her life in relation to this fact:

“Villanelle’s story also explores the mother-daughter theme. Having been abandoned by her parents to be raised in an orphanage, she finally decides to track down her family.”

We also know that Villanelle already found her family long before returning to the Russian wilderness to track down the ones who abandoned her. Konstantin was not only her Handler, but a father-figure who had to balance his professional obligations, his complicated relationship with Villanelle, and his guilt over not actually being there for his blood-relative daughter Irina (because he was taking charge of Villanelle, who is for all in intents and purposes, his adopted daughter)

Dasha was also Villanelle’s maternal figure, the first person to actually train Villanelle; she was Villanelle’s Keeper, in every sense of the word-until she betrayed and hurt Villanelle (if Villanelle’s blood-relative mother was viciously cruel, than Dasha’s methods would have sadly seemed familiar to Villanelle).

And here we get an insight into the hierarchy of The Twelve. Generally, we know there are three castes: Assassins, Handlers, and Keepers. Assassins obviously eliminate the targets, Handlers oversee the logistics of the mission, and Keepers apparently choose the assassins they’d like to train and influence. The power of choice is emphasized within this role, as is trust, responsibility, and personal development.

The second angle to Villanelle’s character is precisely her newfound role as a Keeper.

Villanelle tries training her young protege Felix:

“The season is full of funny set pieces, including one in which Villanelle supervises a killer-in-training, both of them dressed in full clown makeup. She looks stylish even then, with a blue tulle ruff around her neck and a tiny plaid hat askew on her bright red wig. When things go wrong she offers a droll, ‘Management sucks.’”

Clearly, Villanelle wants to pass on what she knows and develop another killer. After all, it is something she’s been tremendously successful at before...with Eve.

As a fandom, I know we’ve wanted Eve to be Villanelle’s Handler and there’s a lot of wonderful fanfiction out there that makes this happen brilliantly. But now, I actually think it’s far more interesting for Villanelle to be Eve’s Keeper and in turn, to hone her into a deadlier killer.

Season 3 will find Villanelle needing to balance her need for independence with her craving for Eve and the profound connection they share. I believe that Villanelle’s role as a Keeper is a way for her to find harmony and freedom in her life.

Based on what’s revealed so far, I think we can discern Villanelle’s desires and motivations when it comes to advancing her ideal killer, her partner in crime:

Someone who already has knowledge of murder, preferrably in practice (but knowledge in theory would also do nicely)

Someone who mirrors her, in the most narcissistic sense

Someone who is receptive to her guidance, and as a bonus, happens to be very interested in her

The only person who fulfills this criteria is, of course, Eve.

Killer Instinct

Eve also has a lot of blood on her hands.

There are two instances where we are reminded of this fact in a visually stunning way. The first was in Season 1: immediately following the first time she ever saw Eve, Villanelle slaughters an entire hospital wing, including the key witness Eve was supposed to protect. Later, when Frank is firing Eve from MI5, Eve is sitting at the table with blood on her shaking hands. The second instance was when Eve had the ghost of Villanelle’s blood on her hands after Paris; she’s soaking in the bathtub, staring at them in disbelief and shock, because the blood crusting around her fingernails and settling into her skin cannot quite be scrubbed off.

As Lady Macbeth demanded in anguish: “Come out, damned spot! Out, I command you!”

For all of Villanelle’s depraved and ostensible enjoyment of murder, Eve does have a formed conscience and struggles with the weight of all the blood she’s spilled:

Sandra Oh has always vividly captured the tension within Eve, who has a conscience but is drawn to darkness and murder. Oh adds even more layers here as we see how much Eve is punishing herself. Among other reasons: her husband, Niko (Owen McDonnell), is in hospital suffering from PTSD because Villanelle attacked him last season. And as she grapples with her love-hate for Villanelle, she carries around the knowledge that she has taken a life too. The series may, in fact, have metaphorically killed Eve, at least the old non-murdering version. Or did she always have that potential lurking inside? It seems that Eve herself would like to know.

Yet Eve has always had a killer instinct. And even before she actually stabbed Villanelle in her Paris apartment, Eve’s hands were soaked in the blood of all the people she’s indirectly killed:

The Polish witness in the hospital, who Eve was supposed to protect

Bill, who was Eve’s best friend, and while she didn’t exactly appreciate him being killed by Villanelle, she certainly didn’t mind suddenly being elevated to an important person (she would be the one to find Villanelle, she would be the one to understand her and get her revenge)

Frank, who Villanelle assassinated and draped in the black and white dress she gifted Eve

Nadia, who Villanelle killed because of the information she was trying to pass onto Eve

Amber Peele’s caretaker, who Villanelle thrust in front of a garbage truck because she knew Eve was watching across the street

Hugo, who was not only a stand-in for Eve having sex with Villanelle, but who Eve left to die in order to save Villanelle

Aaron Peele, who Villanelle killed to prove to Eve that she would not only refuse to kill Eve, but would gladly kill for her

It’s pretty obvious that in addition to being fascinated with women who kill (and having a thorough grasp of their methods) Eve doesn’t mind in the slightest that she’s connected with various killings,all carried out by Villanelle.

Eve’s would-be murder in Paris was the point where Eve realized that she absolutely could kill, but that she wouldn’t kill Villanelle in particular. But what happened in Rome was truly the catalyst of Eve’s becoming.

At the heart of it, Eve killed Raymond to protect Villanelle. Let’s remember that Raymond was a Keeper, which designated him as a very important person within The Twelve. He warned Eve and Villanelle that if he was killed, The Twelve would take them apart, inch by horrible inch, and everyone they knew. Season 3 has made good on this threat, as The Twelve are fully showcasing their deadly reach.

Moreover, the importance of Eve axing Raymond in the face goes beyond her just murdering a Keeper. It is Eve’s first direct murder, and it’s the first one Villanelle guided her through.

This is the event that Season 3 seems to rely on as its foundation. Indeed, I have a new appreciation for this scene because it’s made me realize just how much it set in motion. Eve crossed the thin red line from murder in theory to murder in practice, and Villanelle was able to coax her to do that, to instruct her, to get her to trust and follow through in a moment of chaos.

Now there’s a price to be paid. Raymond may have been Eve’s first kill, but he definitely won’t be her last. The Twelve have taken notice, have been “watching since Rome”, are not taking too kindly to Villanelle wanting to move up the ranks, or Eve’s attempts to uncover and expose them.

Was Eve always fated to be a killer? Was her destiny always inextricably linked to Villanelle? Was it, so to speak, in Eve’s blood to be exactly who she is?

These are fascinating questions to explore, questions that Season 3 will inevitably shed light on. One thing we can look forward to for sure is the deepening of the relationship between Eve and Villanelle, especially if they fall into a Keeper/Killer dynamic.

The best way to understand their relationship is to contextualize it with the blood they’ve spilled.

The Ties That Bind

The way [Eve] considers Villanelle, and even trusts her, is beyond anything we have seen before," Oh explains. "There is so much betrayal, that it's almost like, 'We were both in a war together, we were on opposite sides, but we went through that war, and there's no one else that can really understand it.'

"I feel like they really understand each other very profoundly, and their relationship has changed." (x)

Eve and Villanelle are bound by blood.

They’ve spilled more than their fair share of each other’s blood. They have literally been at war with each other, and with the rest of the world that seems hell bent on keeping them apart. As a result, the only people they can really trust and feel seen by are each other.

This would only be reinforced if Villanelle sees herself in the role of Eve’s Keeper, and Eve continues to be influenced by Villanelle, intoxicated by her, and eagerly learns to apply her methods. Both these women will undergo the process of truly becoming themselves, of taking independence into their own hands, and ultimately reaffirming what they mean to each other.

Eve and Villanelle have killed separately, and together. They have killed for each other. They have even directed that violence towards one another, although they have thankfully survived it. If anyone could be said to have blood ties, it is Eve and Villanelle. After all, blood is timeless:

“From the cave paintings of prehistory to the prime-time fascination with vampires, in popular culture, it's a bodily fluid with staying power. Even whispering the word seems to leave something on the lips.

Blood is a wily thing too. To different people, it connotes dramatically different things: health, life, death, heritage, conjuring crimson images that spill and pool into memory and emotion. As a substance, there really is no substitute. As a symbol, it saturates everything; it's the great euphemism for all that divides and unites us.

Blood, after all, signifies mortality and immortality, healing and violence, guilt and innocence, the source of recovery and disease. As Hill writes, blood can save us, and keep our secrets. But it can also betray us, revealing our cholesterol levels, how much we had to drink, or whether we take drugs. Blood can elevate us too, but also denigrate us (think "blue bloods," and the one-drop rule that once condemned anyone with any African ancestry to social suppression in the United States).

As Hill writes, race has nothing to do with blood, or with skin colour, but perception – self-perception. It may stain the mind with ancient notions, but blood has only the power we give it to affect who we are”. (x)

Eve and Villanelle are obviously not family. But the bloody ties that bind them are illustrative of who they have chosen to become; their blood ties came out of the choices they made to take the lives that ultimately brought them together.

Soldiers who recount the horrors of war explain the unique and very specific bonds that form between them and another person; these bonds, created during combat, are almost as otherworldly as they are unbreakable, embedded in deeply traumatizing experiences where immediate trust, reliance, skill and all-encompassing knowledge of the other person was a necessity for survival.

People on the front lines of civil society, such as emergency first responders and police officers, speak of similar bonds that form from stressful experiences. And trauma bonds are formed in toxic and abusive relationships (which Villaneve may be classified as).

Eve and Villanelle share an indisputable connection, soaked in all the blood they’ve spilled. The meaning of blood in Killing Eve is that it symbolizes the will to fight for life and love. As an assassin, Villanelle has taken many lives, but has ensured that she continues to live; as the woman tasked with finding Villanelle, Eve has also been responsible for many deaths, along with finally taking a bite out of the apple and killing someone herself, to ensure that she and Villanelle continue to live-and discover love in the process.

Just like the Red Dress promo, Eve and Villanelle are drenched in blood. Season 3 will only continue to heighten their dynamic and reinforce the ties that bind. And if blood is important because it creates a sense of belonging, then there is no clearer proof needed that Eve and Villanelle belong together.

#let's try this again tumblr #v 2.0 #Killing Eve #Season 3 #Villaneve #Villanelle #Eve Polastri #Sandra Oh #Carolyn #Dasha #Overanalysis Hours

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brindaneer · 3 years

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Inspiration and positivity are what the entire human race is in dire need of during these uncertain times. The present blog acquires additional importance for us because the film it deals with is possibly one of the most motivational motion pictures produced by the Hindi movie industry in the past few years. Penned by the inimitable Javed Akhtar, and directed by Farhan Akhtar, Lakshya showcased the progression of Karan Shergil from an aimless, albeit good-hearted soul drifting through life into a dutiful officer of the Indian Army. Karan's path of self-discovery was not merely an entertaining watch; it was also about the vital role that initiative and determination could play in our lives. Thrown in the midst of a world pandemic after a hundred years, most of us have lost these amazing qualities up to some degree at least, which is probably why pondering over this film in particular seems to be a productive job at the moment. Ironically, a film that several people have drawn inspiration from over the years (people had actually joined the Army after watching Lakshya) had been declared a 'box-office flop' during the time of its release. In that aspect, Lakshya resembles classics like Kaagaz ke Phool, Mera Naam Joker, Pakeezah, Jane Bhi Do Yaaron, and Andaaz Apna Apna, all of which failed to take the box-office by storm, but went on to obtain cult status among viewers later. Astounding? Definitely. Great films sometimes fail financially without rime or reason and unfortunately, the same fate befell Lakshya.

At its core, Lakshya was Karan's story and not a war film. The war and Indian Army provided a perfect setting for Karan to find his true calling. Nevertheless, intricacies of the Kargil war along with the destruction, desolation and pain that accompanied it, and which are also inevitably associated with all international armed conflicts in general, were far from being neglected in the story. A great writer is able to strike a balance between various dimensions of a plot without compromising on his actual intention, and who better than the legendary Javed Akhtar to achieve that? He was complimented by his talented son, the captain of this ship, who ably steered the film into a direction his father had envisaged while writing the script. Karan's metamorphosis from a lazy, casual college-going boy, perpetually confused about what he really wanted to do with life into a mature and responsible man was laced with humour and drama in equal measure, a strategy Farhan had previously employed while depicting Akash's journey in the epic 'Dil Chahta Hai'. Yet, the real genius lay in how different these two journeys actually were. Nobody could accuse Farhan of repeating what he had already done in his debut directorial venture.

Moments such as Karan listing his engagements of the day to Romi's (Preity Zinta) father upon being asked about his future plans in life and then literally hijacking that man's opinion on the importance of giving the best, no matter what the job was, to pacify his own father were examples of the witty humour we were talking about earlier. Of course, the actors took these scenes to a different level altogether. Hrithik’s delivery of ‘Main ye sochta hoon Dad’ after Karan had just rattled the ‘achcha ghaas kaatnewala’ lecture, and Boman Irani’s (Karan’s strict father) poker faced ‘Thik sochte ho’ in return have never failed to elicit roars of laughter from viewers till date. This wit pervaded most of the film’s first half as Karan continued his antics- the expression of his eternal confusion through the iconic ‘Main Aisa Kyun Hoon’ (apart from displaying Hrithik’s insane dancing skills through the choreography of the one and only Prabhu Deva, this sequence also aptly conveyed Karan’s inherent dilemmas), his decision of joining the Army only because another friend had promised he would come too, his disappointment upon being dumped by that friend, his ‘unconventional’ marriage proposal to Romi and his characteristic callousness as well as indolence even during his stint at the IMA were hilarious to say the least. Hrithik’s comic timing was pitch perfect in every scene, and perfectly suited for the nuanced, elegant genre of comedy that the script had aimed at.

Just when we thought Lakshya was a hoot, Farhan introduced the dramatic element in it; and he did so with such subtlety and ease that the ensuing sequence of events seemed to be the only natural course for the film to take. The scene where Karan fell into the pool by sheer unmindfulness during one of his drills and got punished by his commanding officer was somehow able to generate a strange mixture of sympathy as well as laughter amongst the audience and proved to be one of the watershed moments in Karan’s story. Hrithik’s masterful portrayal of humiliation as Karan knelt in front of his fellow cadets engendered such palpable discomfort within us the first time that re-watching it remains difficult even now.

The Karan that emerged on the other side of this event was somewhat different. Staying true to his fickle-minded nature, he jumped the wall of IMA and fled home. Nevertheless, regret could clearly be observed on his countenance as he sat with his parents, head bowed in shame, forced to accept defeat in front of his father- a man, who had always underestimated him. The grievance in his eyes upon over-hearing Mr. Shergill's unfavourable opinion of him hinted not only towards Karan's underlying strong ego, but also revealed his latent desire to prove himself. The hurt ego, along with his heart, was eventually completely shattered when the one person who had genuinely believed in him refused to be a part of his life anymore. Romi, played by Preity Zinta with her usual vivacity and boldness, broke up with Karan at the same place where she had once agreed to marry him because he had failed to live up to even her expectations. For Karan, someone who had probably harboured feelings of inferiority ever since childhood because of incessant comparisons with his brother, this became the ultimate betrayal. As viewers, it was our interpretation that he never really understood Romi’s point of view; he only attributed one primary meaning to her actions- her belief in his worthlessness. Looking at this entire sequence from a neutral perspective, one might say that both Karan and Romi deserved some empathy from each other. Karan’s lack of conviction in everything he did naturally upset Romi to a point where she could not imagine spending the rest of her life with him. Can we really blame her? As far as Karan was concerned, he had to bear rejection from someone, who, he had hoped, would never judge him like his dad. Before this, he had been able to bear the brunt of his father's expectations because of the security that his relationship with Romi provided him. However, when she pushed him away, he truly hit bare ground, with no one to break the fall. The scene that followed the break-up will possibly remain one of the best pieces of emotional acting in Hrithik’s career forever. As easy as it might seem, crying your heart out on screen can actually be very difficult in practice. Hrithik obviously nailed the sobs, but more importantly, he conveyed his character’s rancour towards Romi most effectively through the unspoken hurt in his eyes, thereby suitably justifying the transition Karan would undergo next.

With no comfort zone left for him to turn to, Karan did what his parents, especially his father, and Romi had always wanted him to do. He grew up. He could have sulked like a petulant child and continued to live a directionless life like he had done previously. Instead, he chose to prove himself to Romi and made that his life’s goal. Ironically, Romi had disapproved when he insisted on joining the army earlier because she felt he was doing it to rebel against his father. But this was a different Karan. He was not rebelling anymore. He was trying to show Romi that he could be much more than what everyone thought about him. Sub-consciously, it was not just she who was the reason for this transformation; rather, it was both his dad and her.

Karan’s second stint at the IMA provided viewers with some of the finest moments in the film. His dedication towards learning and training, initial isolation and finally, amalgamation into the student community were fascinatingly depicted through the brilliant title song ‘Haan yahi rasta hai tera, tune ab jana hai, Haan yahi sapna hai tera, tune pehchana hai, tujhe ab ye dikhana hai......Roke tujhko aandhiyaan, ya zameen aur aasmaan, payega jo lakshya hai tera....Lakshya ko har haal mein paana hai’. Now, let us take a brief moment to acknowledge the terrific music by Shankar-Ehsaan-Loy which truly set the mood for the film. This song in particular struck a chord with us because of the simplicity and eloquence with which it expressed the inherent message of the story. The picturization was top-notch with several nuances throughout. Few moments stand out even now such as Karan passionately screaming ‘Dhawa’ during his drill, something he had been completely casual about earlier, Hrithik’s unflinching eye-contact with the CO who had previously punished him indicating that Karan was a changed man now, and Karan’s increasing camaraderie with his batch mates.

The song was followed by two important sequences, superb for the understated nature in which they expressed first Karan’s unspoken resentment towards his father, and then, his blatant grievance against Romi. In the first, Karan’s mother informed him that his dad had wanted to attend his graduation ceremony but could not ultimately, and in the second, Karan himself called Romi to inform her that he was finally a lieutenant of the Indian Army. At this point of time, talking about Hrithik’s acting probably seems redundant. So, we apologize for the redundancy (What? Did you think we would stop talking about it? 😱😱). Karan’s casual brushing away of his mother’s statement about Mr. Shergill conveyed volumes about how he had ceased to expect anything from his father; it also revealed the disappointment he felt, courtesy of Hrithik’s amazingly layered performance. Similarly, his delivery of ‘Saare faisle tum nahin kar sakti Romi’ was spot-on. It was optimally hurtful, just like it was supposed to be.

As his job brought Karan to Kargil, Ladakh, and he met his commanding officer, Colonel Damle, played to usual perfection by the enigmatic Mr. Bachchan who managed to captivate the audience completely during the few brief moments he had in the film, as well as other colleagues, the lines between proving himself to the two important people of his life and finding his true ‘Lakshya’ began to blur. By his own confession, he had never thought about the significance of being an ‘Indian’ until his senior colleague Jalal Akbar (a brilliantly natural Sushant Singh) took him to the border (pretty prophetic that Hrithik himself went on to play a different Jalal Akbar later in his career, right?). In all honesty, a considerable section of the audience probably felt the same too. The stunning Trans-Himalayan locales shot so artistically definitely added to this feeling, although any border area is usually capable of engendering such thoughts. The landscape of Ladakh has a strange haunting quality about it, and that played a substantial role not only in making the film a visual treat but also metaphorically with respect to Karan’s journey.

As he truly began to love his job, Karan realized that he was finally ready to let go of his ego as far as Romi was concerned. Unfortunately, Romi, after a lot of thought, and pining for Karan, had decided to move on with life, much to Karan’s shock and dismay. The scene where he stood outside the venue of her engagement and watched her laughing with her fiance was one of a kind for the lack of melodrama that usually accompanies such sequences. Its speciality lay in the director’s nuanced handling of emotions and the actor’s terrific portrayal of subtle poignancy.

Run down and broken by the trials of his life, Karan returned home to his parents, only to receive news that his leave had been cancelled, and that he was urgently required to return to base. The moment where he bid goodbye to his parents was the first time when his father openly expressed love and concern for him, although not exactly in those words. The visible tension on Mr. Shergil’s face as he lost his cool and asked Karan to tell the complete truth was a testimony to his worry for his son who was about to go to a border area amidst serious disturbances. The part where Karan hugged his mother and left with just an uncomfortable glance towards his dad was another of those amazing subtle moments which characterized Farhan’s direction for this film. Hrithik’s discomfort and Boman Irani’s disappointment were both heart-rending to watch and as a viewer, one really wanted to reach out and give both of them hugs. A special thanks to Farhan and whoever was in charge of casting for signing Boman Irani in this role. Hrithik and his scenes were like mini acting classes that aspiring actors could take tips from.

Sometimes, it is difficult to get on with life, more so after losing one’s love forever like Karan had, but military training had instilled a sense of duty and discipline in him that was impossible to ignore. Of course, he had already begun to find a deeper meaning in his life through his job, especially after spending time with his superiors and colleagues. And, so he marched on. Had Romi seen his sense of responsibility even during a time when his personal life was in turmoil, she would have been proud. However, the realization that this was his true calling was probably yet to come to Karan. It did, in phases as he learnt about the war situation from Colonel Damle, and then embarked upon it.

If two people are destined to meet, even the universe conspires to bring them together. The same thing happened with Karan and Romi as they crossed paths unexpectedly in Kargil, of all places. The scene where they saw each other amidst a convoy of army vehicles is absolute poetry. Kudos to Preity for being so natural with her expressions always; she was brilliant in every scene, and especially here as Romi’s eyes changed from pure surprise on finding Karan there to a subtle melancholy and probably hope ( ?) at the thought of their future interactions. Hrithik, as usual, was spot-on with Karan’s ‘seeing a ghost’ expression as he moved past her, without getting an opportunity to satisfy his curiosity regarding her presence there.

Their next exchanges were laced with intense angst, but not of the typical Bollywood kind, rather much more controlled and nuanced. The part where Karan, after knowing about the demise of his good friend Abir (from the IMA) found his other pal Saket (Abir’s closest friend) venting out at Romi requires special mention because of the seamless manner in which it shifted from a discourse on the necessity and morality of war to a fantastic interaction between the lead couple, their first face-to-face conversation since the break up. It was formal, yet intimate; mundane, yet special; filled with hope for more on Romi’s part, and discomfort as well as suppressed anger on Karan’s. This scene was followed by his a little mean ‘pata nahin’ when Romi asked him if he had decided whether they should meet or not, and his angsty ‘congratulations’ for her engagement. Of course, the poor guy had no idea that she had broken it off after finding out that her fiance who was apparently a highly motivated successful individual was also a narrow-minded chauvinist. The irony of life! Once again, kudos to the genius of Farhan Akhtar. Without even mentioning it, he managed to point out the difference between Karan and Rajeev, and it was clearer than ever why Romi loved Karan. Remember ‘Maine aj tak tum mein koi choti baat nahin dekhi’ ? However, Romi obviously did not explain the truth to Karan. It was truly frustrating at times to see these two souls so much in love with each other, and yet unable to let go of their stubornness. Nonetheless, the frustration could be borne because of the brilliant intensity of their scenes and the wonderful chemistry these two shared. Truly, we do not talk enough about Hrithik and Preity’s amazing on screen bonding. We really should!

Karan eventually found out about Romi’s broken engagement from a letter his best friemd Ashu had sent him a while back. Hrithik’s expression of shock portrayed the extent to which the news had unsettled Karan. Incidentally, just when love had given him a second chance, Karan encountered death more closely than ever. After an initial victory during the first battle (the one in which he had saved the life of a senior officer, and killed opponents for the first time; also possibly the one where he began to realize that serving his country had started becoming his passion), Karan and his battalion were massively defeated in the second and several lives were lost, including his close colleague, Captain Akbar’s. The scene where Akbar succumbed to his injuries in front of his best friend, Dr. Sudhir (played by the late Abir Goswami, may he rest in peace too) who tried desperately to resuscitate him while motivating the gasping man with remarks such as ‘aam khane jana hai na’ can make people cry anytime without manipulating their emotions or forcefully tugging at their heartstrings. In fact, this was true for every battle sequence in Lakshya, which made it one of the best war movies Bollywood had ever made. Notably, the script treated every character with sufficient respect including even the ones who had screen times of just a few minutes. Everyone had a well-crafted story arc, however small it might be but integral to the movie. Most importantly, not for one second did we feel that Karan had taken up the screen space of others.

The best example for this was provided by the great late Om Puri ji, who played the role of Subedar Pritam Singh. Of course, if you have the privilege of casting an actor of his calibre, your can rest assured of the outcome. Acting is at its best when it does not feel like enactment, and not many actors are more natural than Om Puri ji! Appearing on screen for not more than four to five scenes, he delivered some of the most profound dialogues in the film. He explained to Karan how a soldier knew better than anyone about the destructiveness of war; yet he had no other option but to be a part of it. When Karan asked why wars took place, he pointed out that human greed had drawn boundaries upon the earth’s surface and if it were in their hands, men would partition the moon too. How true it rings, especially now. People are actually talking about ‘making life interplanetary’. If it ever happens, countries are going to fight about demarcating territories there.

Moving on! Excuse the length of this blog please! A film like Lakshya has so many subtle intricacies that it becomes impossible to leave out scenes. But don’t be impatient please. We have almost reached the end of our ‘Lakshya’. A few sequences still deserve mention. First, the iconic ‘Tum kehti thi na Romi meri zindagi mein koi lakshya nahin hai?’ The defeat accompanied by the loss of close friends and colleagues had augmented Karan’s determination to win but our hero had also finally discovered his passion, his true calling. In moments when such epiphanies occur, is there anything else left to do other than crying? Probably not. That was exactly what Karan did. As usual, Hrithik’s performance elevated the quality of this scene, like so many others. The part where Karan pledged to Colonel Damle that either he would execute the mission successfully, or he would not come back alive was again equally impactful because of both Hrithik and Mr. Bachchan. The way Colonel Damle looked at his officer after this momentous declaration conveyed the immense pride, gratitude and grief he felt at that moment. Truly, Mr. Bachchan needs no dialogues to express emotions. His eyes do it all. And the same is true for Hrithik too.

Now, its time for our favourite scene in the movie. You guys must be thinking that we agree on everything. Well, we do agree a lot, but disagreements occur too. However, there was no disagreement on this one. We think its a lot of other people’s favourite too. You are right! We are talking about the scene in which Karan called his dad. This was on the night before the final mission- a mission that was near suicidal. Upon seeing his colleague Vishal take off his engagement ring and put it in an envelope, Karan finally acknowledged what he was running away from; something that he had buried deep down in his sub-conscious- his conflicted emotions towards his father. The knowledge that he might no longer be alive for a resolution made Karan pick up the phone and dial his number. Here is an anecdote in this context. When Boman Irani started shooting for his part in this sequence, Hrithik’s lines were being read by an AD, and Mr. Irani could not get his shot right because he was not able to get the proper feel. Acting is a lot about reacting, and the non-impactful delivery by the AD hampered Mr. Irani’s shot. Finally, the person in charge of the sound came to his rescue and Hrithik’s dialogues were played in audio (Hrithik’s part had already been shot by then) to which Boman Irani reacted. And what an outcome. This is the true mark of a great actor; he not only excels himself but helps others soar too. And what an honour to have helped an ace actor like Boman Irani! The performances by both in this scene were superlative and manage to leave us with lumps in our throats even today.

In his first ever heart-to-heart with his dad, Karan confessed that he had always disappointed his father and told him that he was aware of it. In return, his dad who initially had thought Karan had called his mom, finally told him how proud he was of him. A salute and heartfelt gratitude to all the parents out there who send their children to serve in the security forces so that civilians can live in peace. The smile on his son’s face was proof that he could die happy. The tears in both their eyes expressed the craving they had towards each other; the dejection that Karan had always felt upon being ‘ignored’ by his father was replaced by the understanding that his father had always loved him; the pain on Mr. Shergill’s face portrayed his disappointment for waiting so long to convey his love to Karan- so long that there was a chance he might never see him again.

Having poured his heart out to his dad, Karan finally set out to achieve his Lakshya of recapturing Point 5179 and hoisting the Indian flag on it, but not before a much needed conversation with Romi. What an amazing bond these two shared. Karan did not need to tell her explicitly that he knew about her broken engagement; she did not have to tell him that she still loved him. They just knew. Her ‘to phir main zindagi bhar intezaar karungi’ was far more intense than a conventional ‘I love you’. The beauty of this scene lay in the complete lack of melodrama which one usually associates with Bollywood scenes of this kind. No over the top background score, no hysterics, not even a hug! And the fact that they wanted to hug, but could not (because Karan’s seniors were waiting) made this moment even more poignant. Hrithik and Preity were the epitomes of subtlety here. The frustration of not even being able to touch each other before Karan left for a life threatening assignment was so tangible that even the audience imbibed it. Seriously, why did not Hrithik and Preity work more? They were so attuned to even each other’s silences!

The final mission proved the truth of Romi’s words. ‘Jis din usne decide kar liya ki use kya karna hai, aap dekhna wo kahan se kahan pohochta hai’. Indeed, Karan reached the peak of success, literally and metaphorically. The mountain-climbing scene deserves a special mention here. It was so perfectly done that the only comparison that comes to mind is the famous rock-climbing sequence in ‘The Guns of Navarone’ by the iconic Gregory Peck. And in all fairness, Captain Mallory only climbed a cliff; Captain Shergill had to climb a peak of the Trans Himalayas! Jokes aside, both scenes shall forever remain goosebump- inducing. Karan, obviously hoisted the Indian flag, and just in time. Boy, did he make Colonel Damle proud or what?!

Thanks to our friend Mita for this wonderful VM .

There is a saying that everything works out in the end, and if it does not, it is not the end. It indeed did happen that way for Karan. He found his goal, and achieved it too. As he walked out of that elevator, and hugged his dad finally, we surely did feel contented. And who said Mr. Shergill did not know his son? Well, he might have taken time, but now he understood him better than most. When Karan’s mother asked if they could go home, he objected. Go home? What NO! Karan had to go and fulfill his other 'Lakhshya’, right?

How wonderfully thoughtful of Romi to stand at a distance from Karan’s parents, wanting to give them the private space that they needed! Actually, kudos to the director for his sensitivity; such subtlety is not something that we frequently see in Bollywood. So thank God for ‘Lakshya’. Just like Karan’s story ended on a positive note as the camera focussed on him and Romi, holding hands, finally embracing each other, ready to step in to a new chapter of their lives, we also end this blog with a bit of optimism.. Let us all hope and pray that ‘Hum Jeetenge Ye Baazi’ (modifying Javed Akhtar’s line a bit) on behalf of every Indian, and every person in the world dealing with this pandemic.

P.S. This blog is dedicated to all the front-line workers (doctors, nurses, other medical personnel, medical suppliers, delivery executives, grocery storekeepers, and all other emergency personnel) who put their lives in danger everyday so that we may survive. Please know that you are always in our prayers. Also, let us all hope that no one remains shy of masks and vaccines anymore. Those are the most effective ways of countering this virus. Stay safe everyone!

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khaleesirin · 5 years

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Daenerys Targaryen is The Great Other

Before anything else, this post perhaps should be read as a response to @nobodysuspectsthebutterfly‘s instructive and beautifully nuanced understanding of Daenerys’ characterization as well as her probable endgame in light of/ in response to what happened to the show, and in accordance to her role as a hero rather than a villain.

And how it’s still, for me, an uncomfortable possibility. I’m not talking about the sacrificial role that she may ultimately choose to save humanity, but the problem I have with the whole sequencing of events, particularly in Dany’s situation. Her character arc, which was supposed to parallel Jon’s, is centered around her fight against this actualized presence of slavery-- a form of slavery that transcends borders and is so deeply institutionalized that it becomes the moral norm. I find it problematic that in her situation, the entities that she must realize as her ultimate enemies (as part of her own redemption arc or a reorientation to heroism) are essentially the metaphor (The Other) of the exact reality she was fighting in Essos, with an implication (not of nobodysuspectsthebutterfly’s, but what Martin’s text may effectively does ) that the great slavers and her situation in Slaver’s Bay only serve as a ground for lesson and an analogy to what will be her ultimate battle: The War for The Dawn.

One of the many criticism against white fantasy in literature is the need to make a fantasized representation of real social problems we deal with everyday as an attempt to (ironically) “democratize” and “localize” (or well, white-wash) these social struggles for the intended viewers to better understand and/or be made aware of the social dimension of the hero’s personal battle. It’s alongside those snide remarks that white people seem to only understand the problems of racism better if it’s transported in the fictional world and not presented as a pervasive presence in our real, mundane life. This is made effective in part because it allows the viewers to imagine themselves as a vehicle for change without making them aware that this is also the guilt they have to carry. If Martin intends The Others to be the ultimate representation of slavery itself (which I actually agree), he made the wrong move by making Dany’s storyline a soberingly honest reflection of real life situation and a re-imagining of our own enduring, worldly sociopolitical struggle. It defeats the purpose of the presence of this unreal but objective evil that the heroes must fight as their common enemy to preserve life.

Dany’s storyline stands in contrast with the whole narrative surrounding the existence of The Others because when it comes to her, the realization we should be having is not that we need to gather / forge light (the heroes) to ready for a the fight against the real, ultimate darkness that’s about to come; Dany, as a hero and a revolutionary, came into view because in Arendtian terms, we have been, and are already in dark times. It means, the bringer of lights come into play not because they were designed to fight evil, but because they become aware that something is actually oppressive, realizing that we live within a social structure that maintains the process of othering and dehumanization (even when the world tells them it’s not) and decisively chose to end it. It’s born out of social reflection and not out of prophecized destiny. There’s a reason why Dany’s character is so closely read as a revolutionary figure whose consciousness to fight for change, to end slavery, happens not because of her predetermined role, but because of the experiences she accumulated. It’s a fundamentally broken logic for me to make Dany’s entire anti-slavery campaign in Essos a secondary struggle, when shouldn’t it be the ultimate battle? Since, in the words of Melisandre and in the backdrop of the conversation between Dany and Mirri Maz Duur about what life truly means, it’s the fight for life itself.

There’s a conversation here about what makes evil, evil, or how evil is brought about. Martin is certainly not Manichaeian, but the presence of The Others allowed for a more comfortable avenue to locate who the objective enemies are in the series, which entity our heroes must fight for the sake of humanity. The popular narrative that the fandom tends to follow is that unlike the squabbling for lands and power, it’s different this time because the ultimate price of defeat is life. Yet, if we think about it, isn’t that what Dany has been fighting all along in Essos? She may fight for the Iron Throne, she may conquer lands and proclaim herself the queen, but ultimately these are all her way to save and preserve life. More importantly, her story pushes us away from the comforts of The Other, and towards what we should have come to know all along: who are responsible for the enslavement of people? Isn’t also us, humans? Aren’t we the creator of the monstrosity in this world? Unlike The Others whose narrative purpose is to present evil as a sort of future that will come upon us, as a sort of rare event as when “magic” comes back (to imply that it’s outside the realm of human existence) whose entire otherness makes our common humanity more cogent, Dany’s story makes for an argument that evil is a part of our history, it’s in the past, it already happened, that we made this happen. Because of our own superfluousness, our own thoughtlessness, through our own creation of the other (be it class, gender, or race), it’s often forgotten that collective responsibility is a response to our own collective guilt. There’s a reason why it never occurred to Dany to hold individual trials for the deaths of 163 children, why she doesn’t allow Barristan to make a case to differentiate between the Lannisters, the Baratheons, and the Starks, because be it by action or inaction, they did play a part in Dany’s own isolation, in the same way that her action and inaction put many of her people in despair and in total isolation (again, to say that Mirri Maz Duur has a point: Dany didn’t really save her). Here, she presents a more astute understanding of human condition. So while Jon is fighting this in the north, she is already fighting the same thing in the east. When you have two heroes whose stories run in parallel with each other, if you make someone march to the other side to join the other half, you are already making a value judgement: Jon’s fight against The Others will always be seen as the most crucial fight in comparison to Dany’s battle in Essos, when, again, like I argued, it shouldn’t be the case and to do so would carry highly problematic implications.

Dany understood this humanity’s own tendency to bring evil upon themselves, their own collective guilt, precisely because she is The Great Other in her own storyline. She is marginalized as a woman, marginalized as a child, isolated both geographically and in terms of how she’s the only protagonist among the key five who has no family to speak about or to protect anymore in a story that is about family. She has no nation to call home, marching from one place to another she can’t really belong. She is in perpetual exile, A Conscious Pariah; her own statelessness, her complete otherness and her constant preoccupation with the question who is she? allowed her to understand the plurality of identities, the constructive appearance of our world, and how inaction in the face of darkness is as evil as death; that our own lack of reflection with what we’re participating in spreads evilness around even though we don’t intend that to happen. As a third-culture kid, as a woman, as someone who has been othered throughout my life to control my behavior, to make me less “abhorrent” to “tame” me, to “discipline” me, I identify more with Dany as this stateless woman who’s trying to end slavery using her monsters more than anyone else, or any plot line, in the series. Her anger over the fact that slavers forget the names of the slaves that they claim are their most priced possession, the whole act of forgetting, of reducing someone to “slut” to “whore” to “monster,” is also my story. This is why many people of color are also seeing themselves in her position.

Dany is The Great Other, because her monstrosity casts shadow from above, that this time the ones you use for your entertainment are speaking for themselves now, reclaiming their identity, changing our worldly exterior so that the monsters won’t be seen as the others, that the people who are doing the othering are also the monsters, that slavery itself breeds this dehumanizing human connection. So Dany tries to help her people be less bad, as she over and over reflects on her own guilt. She is not letting anyone, including herself, off this hook. This degradation of human existence, this dehumanization, is our human problem; there should be nothing foreign or strange about it.

This is how rich her storyline is in Essos so much that when it turns out she will have to head West and join Jon to fight The Others, much more to choose to sacrifice herself to fight this abstraction of evil, I’m afraid it will ultimately cheapens the critical points in her storyline that speak for the humanity, the humaneness, the individuality, of the other that she happens to represent.

So, even if she becomes the hero, she is also ultimately defanged.

#daenerys targaryen #Martin also has to realize that Dany's story is Essos #it's her War for the Dawn #to have her march to Westeros and to Jon reeks of many many faults in white literature #that Toni Morrison also voiced out in The Origin of the Other #thus like i said #i would rather see her die fighting her war in essos #than in westeros

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comicteaparty · 4 years

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July 22nd-July 28th, 2020 Reader Favorites Archive

The archive for the Reader Favorites chat that occurred from July 22nd, 2020 to July 28th, 2020. The chat focused on the following question:

How have your reading tastes for webcomics changed over the years?

carcarchu

i think i used to read exclusively romance webcomics but now i'm really into the historical stuff. also i'm not so into the strictly straightforward stuff anymore, i need a really strong hook or something that makes it different enough to be enjoyable because i'm really tired of reading something that is indistinguishable from other similar webcomics. also i think i've gotten pickier when it comes to the quality of art and writing. there's just so much stuff to pick from now that i want to dedicate my time only to stuff that i really enjoy. i just don't have enough time to read every single webcomic i come across anymore

Tuyetnhi (Only In Your Dreams!)

in the past I used to read a bunch of comedic absurdist humor comics (I still do) but it's been buffed out by romance . Same vein like Cara said, I'm just picking and choosing which comics I spend my time on but I do want to try to read as much as I can tho!

snuffysam (Super Galaxy Knights)

I feel like I used to read LEGO comics a lot lol... I'm not sure how many of them still hold up. In terms of genre, the only comics I struggle to read are ones that are more realistic, or darker. Historical comics often fall into this, as do most horror comics.(edited)

RebelVampire

For me, my tastes haven't necessarily changed in terms of the what I like. What has changed is what I dislike. As the years have gone by, I've really been more open to at least giving comics a try before deciding they aren't for me, especially in the genres I consistently don't like like comedy. So I've gradually disliked less comics. Not to say I like them either or they're for me, but it's a step up from dislike since now I can appreciate what the comics are trying to do more. I think the bigger change for me was art styles though. While I still do have a specific sort of art preference, I've also been more open to giving certain art styles I don't normally like more of a try as well and I've found the styles I dislike (personally, not objectively in terms of talent) to be a much smaller pool than it was before.

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

Oh man, I'm the opposite. I feel like I've gotten pickier

varethane

I can't tell if I've gotten pickier or if the bar has just gotten high enough now that if I only have the bandwidth to read X number of webcomics (let's say 20 as a random example), and I'll be picking from among those which stand out to me, those 20 comics will be on a totally different level than the 20 I might have found 10 years ago

Cronaj ~{Whispers of the Past}~

I think I've also gotten pickier

The biggest change, I think, is that I've gotten way pickier about storytelling

While I used to be able to read a comic with subpar storytelling. I drop comics in an instant these days if the story doesn't speak to me pretty quickly(edited)

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

I think it's because when I started reading comics, everything was new and novel. Now there're more tropes I recognize? And more problematic things that bother me, when before I would not have noticed

Deo101 [Millennium]

I dont think I've gotten pickier, per se, I think I just have very specific tastes and many things dont fit them which feels picky? but i can enjoy all kinds of genres, I kind of go into something 1: not wanting to think 2: not wanting to be offended and 3: wanting to laugh a bit? which isnt exactly a high bar to pass, but not many things will do that for me, which isnt because I'm a picky person, its jsut cause a lot of things arent made for peope like me?

varethane

I'm not consciously looking for 'only the best quality' by any means-- if there's anything I'm really looking for, it's a sense of passion and uniqueness, that feeling that the author is having a blast with the thing they're doing. But I feel like it's gotten harder to draw my attention (and readers' attention in general) without having a certain level of skill involved

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

Oh, same. As my art gets better so does my eye for it

varethane

....and, yeah, I guess I've also gotten tired of certain tropes. Once I read 2 or 3 webcomics that do kinda the same thing, I'm less likely to pick up a fourth with the same general premise, even if it looks like it's well-made.

(sorry isekai....)

Cronaj ~{Whispers of the Past}~

I just absorb a lot of storytelling in many forms, so if the story doesn't grab me right away, I feel like I'm wasting time reading something, where I could be fulfilling my desire for more worthwhile storytelling elsewhere

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

Oh true, there are so so many comics out there now

Cronaj ~{Whispers of the Past}~

Art quality plays into it a bit for me, but it's honestly primarily the storytelling

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

Everything I read I could be reading 100 others of similar quality Really, why does anyone read my comic at all?

varethane

"good art will get readers to take a first look, good writing is what makes them stay"

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

Art quality is very important to me but I've still read and loved a few stories will amateurish art

varethane

for me personally, the art's just gotta be good enough for me to not be distracted by it while I read

Deo101 [Millennium]

idk I think a lot of people stay through bad writing even if something looks good

also yeah i feel the same, about not wanting to be distracted

"does the art serve the story?" is all I really care about

varethane

art serving the story is the most important part. Art can LOOK amazing, but if the body language or expressions don't fit the story being told, it can make the writing seem worse lol

a friend of mine once referred to it as, like watching a well-written screenplay but with terrible miscast actors

Deo101 [Millennium]

mhm, cause the only words we get are dialogue, the art has to be all the descriptive language. so if theyre not describing well, a lot is missing.

varethane

yeah

Deo101 [Millennium]

or I guess some comics have narration, too

keii’ii (Heart of Keol)

Narration can't do ALL of the work

varethane

yeah haha

Deo101 [Millennium]

yeah, one of my professors said that a rule of thumb of his about comics is "if you can read me the words and I know whats going on, it's not good comics."

Cronaj ~{Whispers of the Past}~

The art definitely serves the story (or is supposed to), but if the story is bad from the beginning, I don't care how good the art is.

varethane

I have complicated feelings on that one, because I feel like it's actually pretty rare for me to consider a 'story' bad (at least insofar as we're talking about the core ideas of the plot). Most premises (if they're not actively offensive/poorly thought through), if written out as just a skeletal outline, could work just fine. IMO bad writing is a problem of execution, most of the time, rather than concept. (hedging my language here because there's always exceptions lol)

Deo101 [Millennium]

I would say I agree with you. I think writing and story are different concepts. There is also sort of a macro/micro element to writing, as well, and either one can be messed up

Cronaj ~{Whispers of the Past}~

Yeah, I misspoke, what I mean by "bad story" is more "bad storytelling/writing"

but yes

carcarchu

a friend of mine once referred to it as, like watching a well-written screenplay but with terrible miscast actors

@varethane oh i have read stuff like this. like the art was INCREDIBLE really detailed renders, very consistent and technically fantastic art but so often it just devolved into shot / reverse shot talking heads and the characters didn't really emote beyond changing the position of their eyebrows so it kinda felt like watching dolls interact with each other

RebelVampire

I mulled over the fact I took the opposite route as everyone else. XD For me I think it's three factors. First, I was actually ungodly picky in my youth across the board with everything, not just comics. As such, I've missed out on a lot of things other people love. Second, with each passing year, I've come to appreciate more the work people put into their indie projects. And for me its like a show of respect in a way to acknowledge that hey, you worked on this thing I may not like, but I'll try it because you clearly love what you created (or I hope you love it). Third, and probably the bigger factor, I stuck myself in a positive feedback loop. The more I opened myself up to things and learned to not initially dislike things or be as harsh, the more I ended up finding a gem I really loved. In fact, while this is across diff industries, I'd say this has been the biggest influence for me with webcomics because so many webcomics I was like "Well I'll try it gotta be open and not just dislike it," and then I came away going "Wow this is a diamond in the rough!"

#ctparchive #comics #webcomics #indie comics #comic chat #comic discussion #comic tea party #ctp #reader favorites

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marissabonifay · 4 years

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The Greeting

Hello, everyone, my name is Jon Dottingly. Welcome to one of the most memorable podcasts that you will ever hear. During this episode, and the many others that will follow, it will be my honor to tell you a story the likes of which you have never experienced.

This story has all that we have come to expect in a great tale: There are heroes and heroines whose courageous deeds will leave you breathless. There are villains most foul. There is love, and there is lust. There is hate. There is jealousy. And all of it takes place in exotic locations that will leave the reader filled with awe and wonder.

But, what makes this story truly unique is the magical way in which it has come to its teller. I, Jon Dottingly, am the writer of this tale, and I can honestly say that it has changed me, and all for the better. And, it’s my sincere wish that its magic will change your life as well.

First of all, let me say that as an experienced author of novels, I have created many characters for many types of stories. Some of these stories have been memorable, some not so much. While composing these tales, I have concocted plot twists to perplex the mind, and I’ve dreamt up interesting places for all of the drama to occur. In so doing, I can say that I’ve met with a modest amount of success through the years.

And, I’ve always tried to make my next story better than the last. All my life, I have been striving to unearth that one prized work - some magnum opus that would put the name of Jon Dottingly in lights and bring him just financial rewards for having lived a life dedicated to artistic as well as literary excellence.

Naturally, such a profound story would need to showcase a most memorable character, one who will keep readers turning the pages of a work, one after another, after another, after another. I have longed to create such a character since the day I first put pen to paper.

In my most recent book, I thought I had managed to do that very thing in Marissa Bonifay, a young witch who hails from a fictional realm known as the Kingdom of Malakanth. This land is located on a planet far from Earth, somewhere on the other side of the cosmos.

In Malakanth, magic reigns. In addition to witches, there are wizards, and prophets, and priestesses, and demons within its domain. There is religious intrigue as well as class and social struggles that have endured for millennia. And, right at the center of it all, stands my fictional character – Marissa Bonifay.

But, as it turns out, Marissa Bonifay isn’t fictional at all. Nor are the wizards and prophets who inhabit her homeland. Nor are the events of her story.

As I had worked to pen what I had thought to be a piece of fiction gloriously concocted on my part, what I was, in fact, doing was documenting the early years of a real life woman who had come of age on a planet in some distant corner of the universe. In short, Marissa the witch had bestowed this story upon my consciousness by means of her magic and sorcery.

Now, I know what you’re thinking. “Jon, you are stark raving mad if you think some witch from across the cosmos is using you as a medium for some mysterious literary purpose.”

And, given the audacity of my claim, I would gladly accept this argument if I had been led to believe that Marissa was still in Malakanth - this land of witches, and wizards, and demons. But she’s not in Malakanth. She’s here, on Earth, among us, even now as I speak these words and as you are listening to them. I know this to be true because I have met her. Allow me to explain.

I had just finished what I had assumed to be the first installment of this saga, and I needed a title for it as well as one for the series itself. So, I did what I always do whenever I need to get away and spend some time deep in thought: I went to Starbucks. Maybe that sounds a bit cliché, but coffee shops are where I do my absolute best thinking.

So, there I was, sitting at one of their little tables with a pencil in hand and a notepad in front of me. And, thankfully, over the course of only a single chocolate chai, I had my title. I would call the first installment of my masterpiece “Slices of Midnight”. As for the overall series, I would go with “The Black Craft Saga”. Catchy, eh?

Pleased with myself, I reached down to retrieve my backpack from the floor in preparation of leaving, when, to my utter amazement, I looked up to behold the heroine of my story sitting across the table from me. It was Marissa Bonifay, in the flesh.

I recognized her immediately from my mind’s eye, even though she was dressed as any typical American would be on a typical American morning, wearing jeans, a t-shirt, as well as a pair of sunglasses that were perched atop her head. She even had a piping hot Starbucks latte in hand.

I’ll never forget that moment.

I was speechless, and I must have appeared as dumbfounded as I felt, because Marissa’s lips curled up in the same wry grin that I had envisioned so many times in my mind, and she said, “So, Jon, I hear you have a story to tell.”

I nearly fell out of my chair. Then, I went from being a speechless idiot to being a babbling fool, trying to say a thousand words at once. My mind was filled with marvel. So many questions were running through my mind. Finally, I settled on just one.

“Is your name Marissa Bonifay?” I asked.

“It is,” she replied. “And your name is Jon Dottingly. It’s good to finally meet you, Jon.”

Then, she proceeded to allay my fears. First and foremost, she assured me that I was not going insane. Second, she assured me that she was not going to do me any harm. After all, I knew she was a burgeoning witch from what I had written about her. But, Marissa told me that she was there for my benefit. In fact, she said that she had come to Earth for the benefit of all mankind.

Upon hearing these intentions, I noticed the first discrepancy in the woman before me and the young Marissa Bonifay with whom I became acquainted from the story. And it had to do with her personality rather than her adult appearance. This Marissa possessed benevolence that her teenage counterpart had not. She was wise and kind, whereas the Marissa from the story was bold and brash, while at the same time being utterly brilliant, flaunting her intelligence at every turn.

Amazingly, the Marissa before me there inside Starbucks could sense my contemplations regarding these disparities, even as I was thinking on them. She was quick to own every one of her youthful misdeeds, and she was quick to downplay every act that one might consider to be brave or honorable, just as any truly humble person would.

Over the course of an hour, she recounted the entire story that I had written about her. In this retelling, there were no discrepancies whatsoever. Everything was exactly as I had envisioned it. For this, Marissa did take full credit. She said she had bestowed this story upon me and that I was to share it with the world, and as soon as possible. Honestly, it didn’t seem like I was going to have any say in the matter.

She expressed to me the importance of this story, and how all my efforts would not be some ploy for her to gain glory or fame.

Prophecy, as it turns out, is at work here on Earth, and this prophecy has its roots based in the saga that I have been working on. Marissa has devoted her life to protecting this prophecy, so that it can unfurl for the benefit of all of creation. I will have a part to play in how this occurs, as will you, the listeners of this podcast, as I hope you will come to realize.

As you might expect, I walked away from Starbucks that day filled with wonder. I was in a daze from it all. In the span of an hour or so my world changed forever, for Marissa Bonifay had stepped into my life.

During our meeting, she told me precisely what I was to do with the first portion of this story that I had written. I wouldn’t be talking to my literary agent about it, as I had planned. Nor would I be contacting any publishers. I would be distributing the story as a series of e-books through channels that anyone with an internet connection can access.

In addition, I was told to create a website to promote the saga, as well as a podcast. The episode you are listening to at this moment has its origins in that Starbucks on that fateful morning.

So, after all that I have told you, my prized story is no longer my story. To be honest, this thought didn’t dawn on me until the next day. But I have certainly thought about it many times since. The Kingdom of Malakanth and its magic no longer symbolize the pinnacle of my creativity. And Marissa Bonifay is no longer my prized character. I have become a conduit of sorts, a means by which this woman will convey her story to the people of Earth by one of our planet’s own.

Am I disappointed by this? Not at all. This story is far bigger than me. And, from what I’m learning, it’s far bigger than even Marissa Bonifay. If all the work I have done in my life to become the best writer I can possibly be has prepared me to document these events and nothing else, then so be it. I can think of no greater honor than to wield the pen for this …story, …this cause, …this prophecy.

Now, I hope you are wondering how you can obtain a copy of this story that I’ve been telling you about. As I mentioned earlier, the first installment of this saga is entitled “Slices of Midnight”, and you can find it at any of your favorite ebook outlets. The cost is 1.99 in U.S. dollars. I had decided to offer it for free, but Marissa would not allow it. Preparing this saga will take a great deal of time, she told me, and I should receive compensation for my efforts. I was in no position to argue, so $1.99 it is.

Alright, with that having been said, we have come to the end of this inaugural episode of Wisdom Rising, the official podcast of Marissa Bonifay and the Black Craft Saga. Thank you for listening, and I hope you join me next time, when I plan to go into much greater detail about Marissa Bonifay, her life, and her mission on our planet. Just how long has this witch been living on Earth? The answer will astound you, so please visit again soon to find out.

Speaking for Marissa Bonifay, this is Jon Dottingly. Until next time …be wise.

#fantasy #fantasy podcast #fantasy books #black craft saga #marissa bonifay #slices of midnight

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anorakofavalon · 5 years

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Missed Opportunities for Magic: Merlin & Morgana

(AKA: An Open Letter of [Constructive] Criticism to the Writers of Merlin)

I wrote this essay when I contemplated how much more rich Merlin could have been as a show had the writers decided to romantically involve Merlin and Morgana. I decided to write it as if I was addressing them directly because it was just easier for me to sort through my thoughts and main points that way. Sorry it’s a little long, but I’d love to have a discussion about it!

---

As I did with the last Open Letter I wrote, I’d like to start off by congratulating the writers of Merlin: Julian Murphy and Johnny Capps & Co. I think that they created something truly wonderful in this show, magical even. To me, it’s one of the most charming of all the BBC shows I’ve seen so far, and most definitely one of the most underrated. Not only that, but it has created a truly worthy community. Many years have passed since the show has ended, and still the community is numerous and inviting and incredibly active. Immortal as Merlin himself. I can only hope to create something a fraction as impactful as this someday. And so any criticism I make, any observation I mention, do understand that it comes from a place of complete love.

That said, I think it’s time to get on with this little essay. I really hope I don’t come off as pretentious, but here we go. I’m here to comment and critique one major lapse in the writing of the show, a major weakness that I find is representative of all the other writing missteps that occur in the story as a whole, though I will of course be going over some notes on how it could have been improved or adapted given the circumstances in-story. But I’m being a bit vague, and perhaps indulgent. Let’s begin with the biggest issue: You, the writers.

Before I scare you off, the issue do not have much to do with your writing per se. Perhaps a better way to state it would be the lack thereof, which is to say, I believe your fatal flaw has been inaction. This is in regard to a missed opportunity, the single biggest missed opportunity I have ever seen. That missed opportunity? Merlin and Morgana. I could not tell you what possibly motivated the exclusion of a romantic subplot between these two characters while you were working on the show. I wasn’t there, I am not you, and thus it is not my place to say. But I can say, from what I have seen, that all the cards were stacked and ready for you, as storytellers, to go in that direction. The actors were quite game, and in fact, Colin and Katie have absolutely wonderful chemistry on-screen and off-screen. Not only that, but they are two of the greatest dramatists ever to have graced the halls of BBC Studios. As is evident by more or less every single scene they’re in, both individually and together, they are beyond talented and able to convey great amounts of emotion with just their eyes. I’m very glad you and the directors chose to have close up shots of their eyes. It worked to great effect.

So why didn’t you take that route with Merlin and Morgana? I can think of a number of solid reasons, but among them I find three to be more prominent. The first possibility is that, as Merlin was a family show, you did not wish to indulge yourselves with a romance that is a little bit darker, perhaps more Shakespearean in nature. That is somewhat fair, but considering that you had Merlin kill very many people and ultimately make some very morally dubious decision throughout the show, including poisoning Morgana, I highly doubt that could be the sole reason.

I think the second reason, though a little bit more cruel of me to remark upon, is perhaps connected to the first. As a family show, maybe you were afraid to include something so risky and unexpected. It would have been a risky play. But you yourselves had eliminated the safe play, Freya, by having her killed off early in the show. I understand why, of course, from a thematic perspective it was important to do so in that episode, but I am obligated to comment on it. If you had wanted a safe story of love for Merlin, you had eliminated that possibility. You could have gone the risky route, but decided to go nowhere instead, in terms of romance.

The third potential reason is that you wanted to keep the general sweeping focus of the show solely on Merlin’s friendship with Arthur. Now this is a much more reasonable justification from a storytelling perspective. You might have considered a romance with Morgana at any point in the show to be, as mentioned earlier, both indulgent and ultimately useless. After all, she would turn evil, but Merlin would be by Arthur’s side at the end, so why not focus entirely on what is firm and stable? A romance with Morgana of any sort would have been, in the long view, futile. And as such you cut it out of the writer’s room. But I have a major contention: a romance between Merlin and Morgana would not have been useless or futile even if it led to the exact same ending.

As it stands, the Arthurian legend is, and always has been (at least since the days of Sir Thomas Malory), a tragedy. There is very little in the legends that is not tragic towards the end. Merlin and Nimueh. Guinevere, Lancelot, and Arthur. Mordred. Morgana herself. The fate of Camelot. In the show you recognized that completely and came through in that regard. But, at least where Gwen and Lancelot are involved, decided to deviate from that direction. You put the value of the tragedy on the fact that Merlin wasn’t able to achieve his destiny, that in spite of everything he had done he still failed and Arthur died. That magic never did return to Albion. That Albion never came to exist at all.

Assuming that this was always the planned ending for the show, that there be tragedy (which is reasonable, given the source material), then what harm could there possibly have been in making it more tragic? A romance wouldn’t have been futile at all. It would have been tragic. And that is exactly what it should have been. Both from a meta storytelling perspective, as well as a character perspective. In not including a romance early in the show, perhaps around season 2, you robbed yourselves of making the ending of the series an even more poignant and emotional one. You robbed yourselves of a subplot that could have multiplied the impact of any episode or decision or scene involving Merlin from season 3, 4, and 5. And all that would have occurred if you simply kept the current plot intact, with only a small subplot for Merlin and Morgana having been added. You tiptoed in that direction during the first episodes involving Mordred, or where Merlin and Morgana teamed up to save innocent people like Tom. And so I conclude this paragraph with some advise: don’t be afraid to do something risky, if you believe it will enhance the story. Have faith in yourselves!

Now, that said, we ought to discuss the story itself, overall. It’s a great story, and the show is so incredibly compelling, but I have one very big issue with it. It’s nothing in the plot itself, except for an absence of a Merlin / Morgana romance, but something else instead. You did not fulfill your promise.

In every single story, the very first page holds a promise. In every script, the first five minutes. Because, consciously or not, writers have to make a promise to an audience. It’s the only way of grabbing attention in a meaningful way. Let us contemplate Harry Potter for a moment. The first few pages concern themselves with a matter that is absurdly plain and normal and totally boring: The Dursleys. Except… except there’s just one little thing that is off. The cat. The implication is, of course, that by the end of the story, or even earlier, we will have been exposed to something very much not absurdly plain, normal or boring. We will have been introduced to something absurd, and interesting, and compelling.

So what was the promise for Merlin? Given that it’s a character-driven TV drama that started with a scene of a man getting his head lopped off for having magic right in front of a protagonist who has a lot of magic in a city where having magic is a big no-no, I’d say the promise is the following: Merlin has to hide his magic from Arthur and the Court of Camelot. At some point he will reveal his magic to Arthur and the Court of Camelot. That’s the promise.

Whether you meant to or not, this was the wider implication of such a scene. It is what all the viewers waited for with baited breath. Every episode was tense. When will he reveal it? When will the confrontation between him and Arthur occur? Will Arthur turn him in or will friendship prevail?

We waited for a very long time. As a matter of fact, the promise was never delivered upon until the very last episode, but by then it was too late. It didn’t matter. Arthur could have passed away without ever having known that Merlin had magic and it would have made no difference plot-wise. Sure, it hurt to watch that. There was an emotional impact there. And perhaps it is part of the tragedy, that Arthur never understood who Merlin was and what he’d done for him until it was too late for it to make a difference. And while all of that is well and good, it left most fans heavily dissatisfied. We were promised a reveal, and we got nothing instead.

A Merlin and Morgana romance could have delivered upon the promise and simultaneously multiplied the reveal tension. Not to push the point too hard, but had Merlin revealed his magic to Morgana, the promise would have been somewhat fulfilled. There would be someone in Camelot that knew. It would only be natural, since Morgana herself is magical and would understand. Moreover, she was at the execution as well. It would give Merlin someone to talk to, a way to show his character growth.

But when Morgana would inevitably become impatient and fed up with being on the sidelines of Uther’s actions, when she decides to stop the slaughtering of magic-kind by any means necessary, especially under Morgause’s influence, it would add tension. Would Morgana betray Merlin’s secret to Camelot? Would she tell Arthur? Would she turn away Merlin’s friendship, love, and tutelage for Morgause, her sister?

It’s a similar tension as in season 3, when Morgana holds it over Merlin’s head that he poisoned her. But this time, both of them would have more at stake. They would both be acting against love for one another in the pursuit of peace. Both wanting to succeed but not wanting to hurt. It’d have tied their hands behind their backs, which is the best thing to do for a character. Because it forces them to become better (or worse).

It would have made the characters richer, more interesting to behold. If Merlin and Morgana loved each other but disagreed on such a fundamental level on how best to pursue magical peace, it would simultaneously make their convictions more important and give them both plenty of internal conflict. It would give Merlin pause, cause to doubt Kilgharrah and Gaius. It would make Morgana perhaps doubt Morgause more. It would make it that much more painful when they both decided that their destinies were more important than their own desires. And that much more painful when, at the end, it didn’t even matter. Imagine the very powerful performance McGrath and Morgan could have delivered in a scene like this? Where they both have to choose something greater than themselves over each other.

It’s very easy to forget sometimes that romance isn’t just a plot device reserved for, well, romances. Romance is a very powerful storytelling tool because it has power over character. Romance is a plot device as well as a character device. As in real life, romance makes two characters learn and grow and challenge themselves and each other. It’s not a gimmick to be thrown onto a story, fun as it might be. It’s something that should be impactful. By putting Merlin and Morgana in a relationship, even if only briefly, you would have had the opportunity to raise the stakes further and higher than ever before. It would have pushed their character arcs.

The lesson here is to not be afraid to make characters doubt. Merlin only seemed to have contemplated leaving Camelot behind a handful of times. Often for love. Freya is an example of this -- and that’s considering he only knew her for a small amount of time. I can’t see why the same protective instincts that moved him to protect her didn’t also move him to guide Morgana and her magic. Regardless, imagine the sheer internal conflict you could have created by having him and Morgana fall in love, and then be faced with the ultimate choice. Because, ultimately, Merlin’s entire arc is about how much he is willing and able to sacrifice for Arthur’s sake.

That said, I have more or less exhausted my list of grievances with the writing of the show. There was very little wrong with the writing itself, but there was, at least to me, a very major gap that could’ve been filled with a romantic subplot. That is to say, there is nothing wrong with what is there, but rather what isn’t. In spite of all this, however, I must say that Merlin was a creative and charming and positively wonderful show that has changed my life for the better. And as such, I hope I didn’t come across as too harsh or pretentious. Because what you have managed to craft was nothing at all short of spectacular and I respect it very much. Which is why I wished to convey that having a Merlin / Morgana subplot would have enhanced the existing plot in more or less every single way. They’re mirror characters, and as you two said yourselves, “She is the darkness to your light, the hatred to your love.” Which is why perhaps, I hoped that there would be a little more love and a little less hatred in the show. Just to balance things out.

And with that, I conclude this essay. May destiny lead you to another property worthy of your writing. And in the words of Kilgharrah… your gifts were given to you for a reason.

#mergana #mermor #merlin x morgana #bbcmerlin #katie mcgrath #colin morgan #meta #bbcmorgana

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buzzdixonwriter · 5 years

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Yellowface, You’ve Got The Cutest Li’l Yellowface…

Yellowface -- and its illegitimate cousins black-, brown-, and redface -- carts a long and dishonorable history.

Too often racial impersonation is at the service of racism: Minority actors simply rejected sight unseen by audiences and casting directors.

Occasionally it is a little less offensive; there’s at least an attempt to portray the minority character benignly.

Charlie Chan is the most notable example, with the four actors playing him in the sound era all being whites using tinted skin and eyefold appliances.

Chan was intended as a positive role model, and watched in that context the movies are not consciously insulting.

But in a wider context, casting against ethnic or racial type is fraught with danger.

On stage, where a multi-ethnic cast may play the Scots of MacBeth or the Thais of The King And I or the Ozark hillbillies of Li’l Abner, the sheer artifice of theatricality allows audiences to overlook casting against ethnicity.

Patrick Stewart famously played Othello against an all African-American supporting cast, and stage productions where multi-ethnic casts play biological family members are readily accepted.

But film and TV impersonations (with the exception of comedy skits that play towards theatrical tropes) are supposed to be real and convincing. Trying to pass off any performer as a different ethnicity, particularly a significantly different one physically, risks alienating a huge portion of one’s audience.

But…it can be done…if one earns it…and The 7 Faces Of Dr. Lao earns it.

It is not a universally loved film: It’s corny and derivative and producer / director George Pal steers the production with an unsteady hand, but it also possesses heart and soul and more than a little philosophy that turns out to be surprisingly profound.

If you love it, you’re going to really love it. If you’re going to stub your toe on the clunky parts, there’s a lot of clunky parts for a lot of toes.

So, is Tony Randall’s turn as Dr. Lao + 6 other characters an acceptable case of cultural appropriation / ethnic impersonation or not?

Well, consider…

In the context of the story Dr. Lao is a quintessential Trickster come to a remote American West town to teach the good -- and not-so-good -- citizens a thing or two. As a Trickster, he employs a variety of methods to divert attention and deflect questions, including a grab bag of voices, accents, and dialects. He speaks most often in refined, flawless, unaccented English, but switches to sing-song “Chinee” pidgin when people start getting too inquisitive. Exactly who he is could be anyone’s guess since most of his cultural references are European and Greek while his few Asian references are dismissed as lies and fabrications. So for an Asian character to be portrayed by an Anglo-looking Jewish-American actor works in the story itself since Dr. Lao as a character is shown to be a fictional construct overlaying the real yet still hidden persona.

In the context of the film, Randall the actor plays a wide variety of human and non-human characters: Dr. Lao (presumably Asian, not necessarily human), Merlin (Anglo, human), Apollonius (Greek, human with disability), Pan (Greek, non-human), Medusa (Greek, non-human female), The Abominable Snowman (Asian, non-human), and the voice of The Great Serpent (Biblical, presumably Middle-Eastern, non-human). (Randall also appears in a one-shot cameo sans make-up as a spectator at Dr. Lao’s circus.) So the film sets itself up as the kind of movie where part of the deliberate artifice is that one actor will play multiple characters and actively invites the audience to search for him among the rest of the cast (the irony being that The Abominable Snowman in the film was played by a bodybuilder made up to look like Tony Randall wearing Snowman make-up; Randall only donned the make-up for publicity photos). From that perspective, Randall could have been replaced by any comparable actor of any ethnicity or gender and the end result would have been the same.

In the context of theme, transformation and illusion are crucial foundations upon which the story is built, with several characters loaning their appearance to others (including a sea monster that sprouts 6 extra heads, all of them characters Randall played). And this does not touch on transformations of heart and soul and mind and body that also take place, nor does it take into consideration that Dr. Lao never appears in the same shot with any of the other characters, suggesting all of them are really him (in fact, except for the Abominable Snowman pulling The Great Serpent’s cage in the parade and the aforementioned sea monster scene, none of the characters played by Randall appear together). The possibility that anything and everything is either malleable or an illusion permeates the film and calls into question whether Randall’s various performances themselves are self-referential to this theme.

The 7 Faces Of Dr. Lao is based on Charles G. Finney’s novel The Circus Of Dr. Lao and bears the same relationship to its source as the film L.A. Confidential shares with James Elroy’s novel (i.e., same theme, and several characters and plot points port over, but otherwise totally different).

The screenplay is credited to Charles Beaumont but how much he actually contributed is in doubt. Beaumont, a prolific short story and TV writer in the 1950s, suffered a severe physiological and cognitive decline in the early 1960s. Many of his post 1963 credits were actually written in part or in total by writer friends who wanted to ensure his wife and children received health care and residuals after his death.

Most of the script is probably the work of Ben Hecht, the incredibly prolific Chicago crime reporter turned novelist / playwright / movie producer. Hecht, well known for 1930s gangster films and screwball comedies, also possessed a taste for the fantastic and macabre (read his novel Fantazius Mallare for a sample of his imaginative writing). He died in 1964, shortly after The 7 Faces Of Dr. Lao’s release, but screenplays he’d written or worked on continued being produced for decades after that.

When work on the screenplay started is unclear. Hecht’s style seems more in tune with Finney’s than Beaumont’s, but Beaumont in his prime would have been an excellent choice as an adaptor.

The 7 Faces Of Dr. Lao addresses the issue of racial prejudice quite directly, and while all three writers involved are known for their firm stands in favor of racial equality, to me the final flourishes belong to Hecht. Early in the film one grizzled old Western character wonders if Dr. Lao is “a Jap” and is immediately corrected by one of his friends who correctly identifies Dr. Lao (or at least the clothes he is wearing) as Chinese. When asked how he knows this, the friend replies: “Because I ain’t stupid.”

Through out the film there are examples of racism and racial prejudices being confronted and confounded, and by the end even the chief antagonist has come to change his ways.

Producer / director George Pal holds a venerated place in the history of fantastic cinema, but his own career was dotted with racially problematic works. Pal, a Hungarian animator who brought his Puppetoon films to Hollywood, did not harbor the racial animosity of many white Americans, but his visual style was influenced by American stereotypes.

Pal made several short films featuring a character named Jasper, based on African-American culture as seen through white eyes. One can look at those films and tell Pal did not make them with malicious intent, but unintended stereotypes sting just as badly as deliberate ones.

To his credit, Pal responded to criticisms of the Jasper shorts by making John Henry and the Inky Poo, using more physiologically accurate puppets to depict the legendary African-American folk hero.

When Pal segued into live action feature films, he tended to avoid racial issues by avoiding racial minorities. Conquest Of Space featured a Japanese astronaut but When Worlds Collide shows only white people surviving the end of the world. The Naked Jungle’s white plantation owner browbeats native workers into fighting off a massive swarm of army ants, and Pal’s last film Doc Savage tried to recapture the feel of 1930s pulp adventures but unfortunately dredged up native stereotypes of that era as well.

Pal’s feature career is rather uneven: When he made a good film it was really good, when he misfired it was a resounding dud. The 7 Faces Of Dr. Lao marks the beginning of the end of his active career. It faltered at the box office and while it shows he clearly wanted to move into more mature, more thoughtful films, his family friendly reputation trapped him. It took him four years to produce his next film, The Power, an edgy for the era sci-fi thriller, then seven years after that for his last movie, the remarkably unappealing Doc Savage, a kiddee matinee pastiche.

Back to the issue of racial impersonation.

As stated above, it’s very, very difficult to justify racial or ethnic impersonations today. The 7 Faces Of Dr. Lao is one of the extremely rare cases where it can be excused, if not justified, based on the particular (if not downright peculiar) elements of the story and the intent behind them.

#7 Faces Of Dr Lao #Tony Randall #Charles Beaumont #Ben Hecht #George Pal #Charles G. Finney #fantasy #media #ethics #morality #prejudice #racism #ethnic impersonations #yellowface #philosophy #things of the spirit

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kaiserdingus · 3 years

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Brutal Legend (2009) PS3/Xbox 360/PC Retrospective

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Have you ever looked at a heavy metal album cover and wished that you could experience that world? Have you ever wished you could listen to it while fighting demons? Tim Schafer heard your wishes and he delivered them, and he threw Jack Black into the mix as well. The result was Brütal Legend, a heavy-metal-inspired action-adventure game with Real-Time-Strategy elements released for PS3 and Xbox 360 in October 2009.

This project couldn’t have come at a more opportune time, as both the film School of Rock and the massively popular Guitar Hero video game franchise helped bring heavy metal into the forefront of public consciousness. For a brief moment in the late 2000s, it was popular to be into bands your dad listened to. Like Guitar Hero, Brütal Legend’s soundtrack featured a varied mix of guitar-centric subgenres. Popular mainstream bands like Black Sabbath, Motley Crue, and Motorhead would be featured alongside more niche bands like Brocas Helm or Cradle of Filth. It would be hard to make a game about heavy metal music without licensing a few songs, but the wizards at Double Fine made sure all their bases were covered when they licensed over one hundred songs.

Eddie Riggs, played by Jack Black, is the world's greatest roadie for the world's worst band. An Incredibly skilled and well-organized manager, Eddie hides in the shadows putting together massive rock shows for screaming crowds. A chance encounter with a legendary fire god sends Eddie traveling to another world, one that resembles all of the best album covers. Hot rods, demons, and giant flying shrimp-leeches populate this rich, atmospheric world.

Discovering that humanity has been enslaved by demons, Eddie helps organize an army to start a revolution. Lars Halford is the leader of the resistance, with his sister Lita and their friend Ophelia as the only other members. With Eddie managing the resistance, they’re able to recruit fighters with different skills and abilities to join their army. Emperor Doviculus, voiced by Tim Curry, rules over the world with a sick, leathery fist, while General Lionwhyte serves under him as manager of the human race.

There’s an interesting story of liberation that’s obvious and subtle at the same time. While the plot isn’t hiding the fact that it’s about an underdog rebellion fighting for freedom against tyrannical oppressors, it's presented in a way that ties it more to real-life struggles for liberation than the usual revolutions in pop culture which are vague about their beliefs. The first group Eddie helps liberate are the Headbangers, meaty-necked boys who bang their heads all day to mine for resources as slaves under General Lionwhyte.

The hierarchy is similar to that of any modern job, with the workers carrying out all of the labor, managers ensuring that the workers do their job or face consequences, and General Lionwhyte as the faceless owner who stands to benefit from the unpaid labor of the Headbangers while contributing nothing himself. Doviculus purposely set up a hierarchical system that would keep the humans bickering among themselves, fighting over the meager scraps they’re allowed, while the demons are safe to rule over them. During the Headbanger revolution, one of the characters mentions the workers forming a union to a Bouncer, who becomes angry at the idea. The game isn’t making any profound political statements, but little touches like this bring the fantasy world closer to our own.

Many of the characters Eddie meets along his journey are based on and voiced by real musicians. The flamboyant General Lionwhyte, a parody of 80’s hair metal bands, is voiced by Rob Halford of Judas Priest. Halford also voices The Baron, an ally who appears later in the game and more closely resembles Halford’s real persona than Lionwhyte. Lemmy Kilmister from Motorhead voices the Kill Master, a motorcycle-riding bass player who’s able to revive fallen allies. Ozzy Osbourne takes on the role of the game’s shopkeeper as the Guardian of Metal. Possibly the most over-the-top character, the Guardian sells Eddie upgrades while making sassy comments and elaborating on the world of Brütal Legend. Other cameos include Richard Horvitz, who starred in Schafer’s previous game Psychonauts, and Kyle Gass, Jack Black’s partner in the band Tenacious D.

During the marketing campaign leading up to Brütal Legend's release, Electronic Arts made a point to downplay the game's Real-Time-Strategy elements. Instead, the game was presented as more of a straightforward hack-and-slash/action-adventure game. While a lot of the game’s campaign features Eddie going on missions and completing objectives, these missions serve to prepare the player for the game’s battle maps. Each mission introduces a new move Eddie can use or a new ally Eddie can team up with. The objective of these missions involves using the newly introduced move or ally to solve a problem and advance the story.

Eddie carries two weapons at all times: his Battle Axe which acts as a melee weapon for close-range attacks and his guitar Clementine which can summon lightning from a distance. Also at Eddie’s disposal is The Deuce, a hot-rod he assembles himself at the beginning of the game that can be upgraded in the Motor Forge. In between story missions, Eddie can explore and help people with their problems while also uncovering secrets of the world, learning how he fits into it, and finding the reason why he was brought there. Various relics offer guitar tabs, which teach Eddie new moves he can use with his guitar. These moves open up a short Guitar Hero-inspired mini-game where the player taps the controller buttons in rhythm to perform a guitar solo.

The battle maps feature two stages, one for each opposing faction, and several resource geysers that can be claimed by either side. These geysers provide resources that help supply your army with the soldiers and weaponry necessary to win, so most battles boil down to claiming as many geysers as you can while sending troops to the enemy stage. Later battles add obstacles that require strategic thinking, or enemies will come from multiple areas, forcing you to divide your troops.

Director Tim Schafer has said that the game was always supposed to be a Real-Time-Strategy game, inspired by the 1990 Sega Genesis game Herzog Zwei. As development proceeded, Schafer found that the action elements were a lot of fun and decided to shift the game’s focus towards that, while still retaining the RTS battles. It’s likely the developers hoped a strong online community would form around the game’s multiplayer mode, which could justify the story mode feeling like an advanced tutorial. Double Fine released two packs of downloadable content which were meant to expand the game’s multiplayer mode with new maps. Had the game been more successful, there might have been more DLC in the works.

It wouldn’t be right to talk about Brütal Legend without mentioning the game’s music. The game features 107 licensed songs from metal bands across the globe, including genres such as black metal, power metal, classic heavy metal, symphonic death metal, hard rock, and industrial. Bands like Black Sabbath, Quiet Riot, Judas Priest, Mastodon, Cradle of Filth, Slayer, and more fill the soundtrack with an authentic sound that would make any metal fan happy. Licensed songs pop in at perfect needle drop moments, such as Brocas Helm’s Cry of the Banshee playing during the boss battle with the Metal Queen.

The game also boasts a robust score composed by Peter McConnell featuring a full orchestra and a heavy metal band to seamlessly blend with the licensed music. McConnell previously collaborated with Tim Schafer on the soundtracks for Grim Fandango and Psychonauts. Judas Priest guitarists Glenn Tipton and K.K. Downing provided the guitar solos played by the characters in the game. To promote the game, a DLC music pack was released for the game Rock Band, which was also published by EA, featuring Motorhead, Tenacious D, and Testament.

Despite a massive marketing campaign involving the game’s star Jack Black centered on a “Rocktober 13th” release date, Brütal Legend was not a massive success for Electronic Arts. The game had only sold a quarter of a million copies across both Xbox 360 and PS3 during its first month of release but was successful with critics and those who played it. Many players were confused and upset by the Real-Time-Strategy elements, more specifically they felt they had been deceived by EA’s marketing. Three weeks before the game’s launch a demo was released that featured the first playable mission. No elements of the strategy side of the game were present, leading players to assume it was a hack-and-slash adventure game.

Since its initial release, the game has gone on to become a cult classic. The sharp wit of the writing mixed with Jack Black’s personality, and the fun gameplay of Double Fine ensured this game would age well. In February 2013, four years after the game’s launch on PS3 and Xbox 360, Brütal Legend would finally come to PC. DoubleFine worked out a deal with EA that saw them receive complete ownership of the game, enabling them to release it on Steam with minor tweaks and bug fixes. The game is also available on Xbox One and Xbox Series X through backward compatibility and is available for free to subscribers of Xbox Game Pass.

Brütal Legend is a fantastic game with a rich, illustrious world to explore that too many people missed out on when it first came out. Some may be turned off by its seemingly overwhelming Real-Time Strategy gameplay, but the game does a good enough job explaining how everything works that even newcomers to the genre should feel comfortable. While a sequel is unlikely, Brütal Legend will stand the test of time as one of the last great games of the 2000’s, and a fitting conclusion to the Guitar Hero/Rock Band craze that was petering out as Brütal Legend was released.

Where to Buy

PS3, Xbox 360, Steam (PC)

The Art of Brutal Legend

Digital Soundtrack

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#Brutal Legend #Double Fine #Tim Schafer #Jack Black #PS3 #Xbox 360 #PC Game #Steam

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davidmann95 · 6 years

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May I please ask if the showings in JUSTICE LEAGUE 2017 have had any impact on your various Rankings? (I was rather delighted by the film - at one point I actually thought "so this is what it's like to be ten years old again" or words to that effect - especially after learning of the various, quasi-Biblical tribulations inflicted upon this particular production and nobly endured ... also, I can't keep it in any longer, Jason Momoa as Aquaman - My Brother, My Cap'n, My King - was OUTRAGEOUS!).

Not for Superman or Batman - Affleck remains a well of untapped potential, and I need to see more of Cavill. In the movie itself, it goes for me Batman (a little overcorrected and lacking a complete arc)

So with this, all the comic book movies of this year have come out, so I can finally rank those (with the exception of Wilson, which I haven’t seen):

10. Valerian and the City of a Thousand Planets: When I walked out of Justice League, one of my first thoughts was “neat, a year of all good comic movies!” But then I remembered this particular turd in the punch bowl - visually breathtaking, but a dead, limp, lifeless plot with insufferable non-characters that squanders Dane DeHaan’s considerable talents, as well as what I understand was highly regarded source material. Apparently making this was one of the great dreams of Luc Besson’s life, and if we weren’t collectively on the tail end of the second in a row of what the scientific community has formally classified “hell years”, that’d be one of the saddest things I’d have heard in this one.

9. Kingsman: The Golden Circle: Without the base of Mark Millar’s respectably entertaining original comic to work on and flying free beyond the premise of “what if James Bond had trained his cocky underprivileged nephew as his successor?”, this doesn’t attempt to pull together the stitches of a message it has, nor does undoing one of the central emotional moments of the original flick amount to much of anything, but it’s a fun, well-directed time nontheless.

8. Atomic Blonde: Our other spy-fi entry, this time on the more traditional end of brooding people muttering a little too quietly too be heard properly about too many names and conflicting entities to recall, with an endgame twist that doesn’t recontextualize the movie so much as render if that much more incomprehensible. But you know what? The point is that it’s a bunch of beautiful people in lovely or seedy places (or indeed lovely seedy places) whispering conspiratorially at each other - except MacAvoy’s unhinged deep-cover agent - interspersed with murdering and fucking each other in equally lovely ways, and on that front it entirely succeeds.

7. Thor: Ragnarok: Yeah, I’ll be the bad guy on this one. I dug the hell out of it, it’s hilarious and stylish and epic, but the actual *story* it tries to build between its comedy and action setpieces feels half-formed and ill-served.

6. Wonder Woman: I’m not quite as beaming on it as I was when it came out, but it’s still by far one of DC’s best efforts, with chemistry among its colorful leads and supporting players, a real sense of moral conviction, and the standout action sequence of the year. It would be higher if not for Paradise Island itself being presented as an agonizing black hole of tired exposition that swallows the first chunk of the movie whole, with it only truly getting going once Diana and Steve leave for man’s world.

5. Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2: One of the most remarkable cinematic turnarounds I’ve ever seen, with the smirking, soulless, self-parodying trashbag mediocrity of its predecessor blown absolutely to hell by a follow-up that’s somehow stylish, funny, and weird as hell in all the best ways even though it’s by all the same people; while some characters don’t get their full due, it’s anchored by the central story of awful fathers and the scope of how bad they fail their kid, with Rocket trailing in its wake as he learns to be a little bit less of a dickhead.

4. Justice League: I know, I know, and if it wasn’t about characters I’m so predisposed to love I almost certainly wouldn’t put it this high, but it was and I did and I’ll stand by it. It’s exciting and satisfying and lean and tied together by a set of enjoyable characters arcs, somehow a perfect expression of the middlebrow popcorn sensibility this Snyder/Whedon hybrid freakshow ended up aiming for.

3. Spider-Man: Homecoming: Finally, a Spider-Man movie that’s both good and recognizably about Spider-Man. It’s awkward and quirky and silly and heavy in ways none of its MCU contemporaries were quite willing to get, and because of that it’s near the head of that lot as their biggest hero finally comes close to living up to his premise of feeling like the hero – who could be you!

2. The Lego Batman Movie: I never thought I’d see a kids film where a substantial part of the emotional core is Batman and Joker implicitly arguing about the boundaries and commitments of their open relationship, but that’s the world we’re living in. It’s the kind of parody that could only truly work for a character as embedded in the global cultural consciousness as Batman, playing off the popular understanding of him and bit by bit forcing that particular brand of unwittingly absurd avenger forever howling in the wind to grow up and become something like how Batman works at his best. It’s wild, and I absolutely loved it.

1. Logan: Some of if not the only real competition The Dark Knight has for title of absolute best superhero movie, this was absolutely next-level work on just about every level, and I’m honestly not sure that we’ll ever see the likes of it again, so unique and unlikely was its conception as a hard-R pseudo-post-apocalyptic depressing western character study with the guy with knife-fists; it’s a miracle that it worked at all, nevermind as well as any of these things ever have. It doesn’t seem to be kicking off a new wave of grim-and-gritty superhero shit - the catastrophic wake the DC movies have left behind them made that impossible - but I have to imagine this’ll have an influence, so here’s hoping it’ll be more of its contemporaries being willing to branch out into unconventional territory and commit with all they have the way this did.

#MCU #DCEU #Logan #The Lego Batman Movie #Spider Man: Homecoming #Justice League #Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2 #Wonder Woman #Thor: Ragnarok #Atomic Blonde #Kingsman: The Golden Circle #Valerian and the City of a Thousand Planets #Opinion

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writtenonthesubwaywalls · 7 years

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Cyber

“I’ll do whatever I want! It’s the internet! A thing that came from me, if I’m not mistaken. And who are you to tell me what to do?” he practically yelled, shutting his laptop roughly.

“I practically raised you! I have every say in what you can and can’t do while you’re supposed to be acting like an adult, but you can’t get past the teenager that you look like!” England countered, making to grab the electronic on the table. Before he could get there, however, a hand clamped painfully around his wrist. He looked up to see what used to be light blue eyes, now visibly darkened. They flashed and… pixilated?, before going back to normal once more.

“I would advise against that, Arthur,” he said, voice dead and echoing.

“That is enough, America,” Russia cut in, removing the other’s hand by the wrist and taking up his free hand, holding them against the table. “Calm down.”

Alfred turned his once again warped gaze onto him, blinking slowly, no human emotion present. Unsettled by the sight, Russia stepped back and let go, holding everyone else back with an arm.

“Alfred? Are you okay?” spoke up a small voice. The countries right behind Russia all turned to look at Canada, who had just appeared

Alfred took off his glasses and set them down lightly on the table. He tapped the computer three times, then right below his right eye once, before looking to his brother. Matthew nodded in understanding. “Can you make it there?” he asked. Alfred shook his head no.

“Do it here.”

Matthew looked nervous. “But, Alfie, what about everyone else? This is still to developmental for others to be trying to buy.” He motioned to the other inhabitants of the room. America’s warped gaze fell across all of them, focusing on each nation in turn, before sliding back to the other once more.

“Let them watch. It’s about time they found out anyways, right?” He laughed. The sound was almost mechanical; harsh, sharp, without the natural ease of anyone else.

Canada left, and a tense silence fell across them all. Alfred did nothing but stare at the wall, tapping his pen against the arm of the chair slowly, evenly, making the atmosphere far more eerie than it needed to be.

Eventually, Russia stepped forward again, the only one not paralyzed by some kind of fear, subconscious or otherwise. “Fedya, w-”

“America,” he corrected sharply, turning to face him.

“…Right. America, what’s going on? Where is your brother going? And what’s going on with your eyes?” he asked, inching closer and crouching down so they were at eye level with each other.

Alfred sighed, the only thing truly human that he’s done since anyone had seen him this morning. “I will explain this all to you in due time, hopefully with a little help.” He paused. “And as for my eyes? Well, it’s just a slight… glitch in my programming.” Alfred smirked. But before Ivan could ask for clarification, Matthew came back into the room carrying what looked like a pure white, metal brief case. He came around to the other side of the chair, opposite of the Russian, and opened it.

Ivan looked at it’s contents in awe. Never before had he seen so much advanced technology all together like this all at once. On the side that stood straight up, there was a dark screen, and the bottom housed a small keyboard with foreign characters on each key, several buttons and switches, and what looked like a housing station for cables.

“What in the bloody hell is that?” England whispered.

“I’m not sure,” came the accented reply, “But I don’t trust it. Especially around my Mattheu or Alfred.”

Canada worked through their chatter, booting up the screen and typing a few things in. As much as they tried, no one else could decipher what was being typed. Once he entered the information, he straightened his back and pulled up two cords, attaching one to an invisible port at the base of Alfred’s neck, and the other to a smaller port under a panel under his left eye.

He closed his eyes, which were dark and pixilated still, and relaxed into the chair a little more. Matthew finished with what he was doing on the screen, flipped two of the switches, and pressed a purple button near the corner of the case.

“Would someone please explain what’s going on?” China called from the back of the group. Surprisingly, Germany stepped forward, reaching out as if to touch the young nation, but stopping just short.

“Is this…” he began, but trailed off almost immediately. His hand dropped limply to his side. “How many of you have actually touched America?” he asked the assembled group. They all looked to each other, glancing around and waiting for someone to come forward.

“I did when he came to my house to play video games a few nights ago,” Japan offered.

“Did you touch his skin or just his clothes?” Germany pressed.

“Just his clothes, but Ludwig, what does this have to do with anything?”

“Come here,” the German held out his hand, which the other took cautiously. “He trusts you, right?” Japan nodded. “Matthew, is this what I think it is?”

“If you’re referring to the project we asked to borrow your best scientists and engineers for, then yes, it is,” he replied, not looking away from the other’s peaceful, almost sleepy face.

Gently, Germany placed the raven-haired man’s hand on the skin just under Alfred’s collar. Kiku flushed slightly, “Ludwig I don’t think-”

“Just wait a second,” he cut in. Kiku looked to him, a mixture of despiration and unease dancing across his face.

Then, out of nowhere, he felt the familiar jolt of electricity shoot through his hand and up his forearm. He jumped back with an audible gasp, shocking the few left behind him and making them step back a few feet, too. “What was that?”

“I’d like to know as well,” Ivan added, rising from his crouched position. “This is now a matter of international security.”

At the words ‘international security’, the pseudo-peaceful quiet broke, and several cries of fear, confusion, and outrage rang out across the small room.

“Someone please explain what’s going on!”

“Is there some kind of terrorist plot?”

“What is sticking out of America’s neck?”

“Would you all shut up!” Germany yelled over the quickly evolving chaos. The room fell to a relative, tattered silence, so he continued. “I know only a little of what has transpired here, and what led to this, but I do know that there’s no harm that will come from this. To you or your citizens.”

“But what about Alfred?” Arthur asked a little forcefully, the first person to show any kind of concern for him rather than themselves. “What’s going on with him? Why does he have-have cables sticking out of him for god’s sake?!”

“Let me try to explain to you before he wakes up completely,” the North American began. “We’ve been working with Tony’s race, and some of the best scientists in the entire world, to, um, 'enhance the physical and psychological abilities of the most elite among our society’.”

“And we chose us to start with,” Alfred cut in, having regained consciousness at some point while Matthew was explaining, “Because we are both immortal, so long as our countries and our people stand. This way, if the tech killed us, we’d just come back and make changes. Make it better.” He unplugged the two wires from him, laid them back down in the case, and stood behind his brother.

“You all know that I’m a superpower,” he continued, “And that I’m far too young to have this much power without it having adverse effects on me. Canada is very similar, but on a slightly smaller scale.” The country in question nodded in agreement. “So, having things to help out with this are… nice.”

“What he means is that we have ways to be able to separately store certain memories, thoughts, and skills on physical storage devices and softwares specifically designed to hold these things.” He paused. “However…”

“Sometimes the program glitches,” Germany finished for them, light blue eyes wide in amazement. “How did you two accomplish so much so quickly?”

“And without anyone here knowing?” Ivan dropped one hand to his side, and the other made its way behind his back, gripping at the pipe that hadn’t been there before. “That sounds more than a little untrustworthy to me.”

Canada smiled darkly. “You never asked.”

#aph #hetalia #aph america #aph canada #aph russia #aph germany #aph england #alfred f jones #matthew williams #ivan braginsky #ludwig beilschmidt #arthur kirkland #cyber #cyborg #cyberpunk #computer #dark hetalia #dystopia

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kuriquinn · 7 years

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Metamorphosis

Summary: It’s been four years since Sarada quietly, haltingly confessed to Sasuke and Sakura over dinner that she – he – was not a girl. [Day 13 – Prompt: “It’s A Boy” ]

Disclaimer: This story utilises characters, situations and premises that are copyright Masashi Kishimoto, Shueisha, Shonen Jump and Viz media. No infringement on their respective copyrights pertaining to episodes, novelisations, comics or short stories is intended by KuriQuinn in any way, shape or form. This fan-oriented story is written solely for the author's own amusement and the entertainment of the readers. It is not for profit. Any resemblance to real organizations, institutions, products or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All plot and Original Characters except for those introduced in the canon books, manga, video games, novelizations and anime, are the sole creation of KuriQuinn. (© KuriQuinn 2016- )

Rating: T

General Warnings: I can’t believe I need to have a warning for this, but we live in a time where people can be horrid little monsters. There are LGBTQ themes in this story. There is a transgender character, and the story deals with some of concerns and difficulties that families, especially parents, of a transgender child deal with. If you are uncomfortable with this subject matter in anyway, you are welcome to click the “back” button and wait around for my next prompt. Nasty comments about my choice in subject matter will be ignored, and possibly mocked.

Trigger Warning: For those of you who actually are LGBTQ, this story may bring up some strong emotions. The person who proofread this for me had some difficulty reading this chapter as it hit on some of his own experiences and challenges coming out as transgender. He made sure I knew how important it was to tag this appropriately. Though he said this story was well-written, as someone who had dealt with the scenario personally, he didn’t like it. So if you have experienced something in your life where you are caused distress by reading about parents trying to come to terms with their transgender child do not read this story. I don’t want to cause mental anguish or reopen wounds that some of you might not have had a chance to heal yet.

Author’s Note: The minute I saw this prompt I knew this was the story I was going to write. There aren’t enough fics out there dealing with transgender kids coming out, and even fewer about what the parents (even the most supportive ones) go through behind closed doors. I’ve done my best to be delicate with the subject without sacrificing any of my usual style choices. Obviously, not every experience is the same from individual to individual, but I made every effort. And just to head off any comments about my own personal stand on the matter: I support transgender individuals and their rights. I believe that it is your mind and your soul that determines who you are, not your genitals. And while I am not perfect, and I still occasionally slip up with pronouns and accidentally say things which show my privilege as a cisgender woman, I stand by the transgender community. Especially in this time, when hatred and outrage are directed at across the entire world. The views expressed in this story are not all necessarily mine – in fact, there are several ideas that were difficult for me to put to paper, because I very much don’t agree with them. But based on my research, for good or ill, they are sentiments that have been expressed by parents when a child comes out. I only hope I have managed to treat the subject matter with respect and possibly given you, my readers, something to think on. I’m hoping to showcase that even the people we care deeply for (whether real or imaginary) can do some things we don’t necessarily like or agree with. Doing the right thing is not always as easy, and some people find it harder than others, but in the end it is worth it. No one should weight their personal discomforts or prejudices against another person’s happiness and right to thrive.

Beta Reader: Sakura’s Unicorn

Sasuke stares up at the large, draping banner in his living room which proclaims, ‘Happy Birthday!’. Bunches of blue helium balloons meander along the ceiling, nearly obscuring the clock that ticks closer and closer to the inevitable. He has to consciously rein in the desire to set it all on fire.

He hates parties. Always has, always will. Even knowing that this is for his kid isn’t much of an incentive to relax; he finds that hard to do even under normal circumstances. Naruto would say that that’s because he’s got a pole shoved up his ass, but then, Naruto’s judgement is questionable. It’s been questionable since childhood, the JSDF, their tour of duty in Iraq, and then their stint on the Okayama Bomb Squad seven years ago which resulted in both of them losing an arm.

Then again, his questionable judgement is also the reason Sasuke is even alive to have a kid— whom he’s throwing a ridiculous, superhero-themed birthday party for—in the first place, so he gets a pass.

This time.

The entire foyer is decorated with streamers and decals of the latest comic craze to hit television. Little cape-clad figures proudly proclaiming, “It’s a Boy!” are interspersed along the wall. Honestly, it’s utterly kitschy and targeted for a much younger demographic than an eleven-year-old, but then, today isn’t an ordinary birthday.

It’s been four years since Sarada quietly, haltingly confessed to Sasuke and Sakura over dinner that she—he—was not a girl. It was an announcement that, Sasuke maintains, caused him considerable confusion and, if he’s not lying, a little resentment.

He comes from a traditional background. His ancestors were samurai of note and, in their small community of Konoha, the Uchiha name means a lot—an old, founding family with traditions and taboos and expectations. These “LGBTQ issues” that his wife and child keep talking about falls very naturally under the umbrella of what Sasuke was brought up to categorise as “don’t ask, don’t tell.”

It’s an unspoken rule that men and women among the Uchiha may take lovers of the same sex if they wish as long as they fulfil their duties to the clan: namely, get married and produce children. Hell, his own brother’s been in a twenty-year relationship with a male masseuse, but Itachi still had the prudence to get married and produce two kids first.

The point is, it’s not talked about.

It is how everything has always been done. And in just the same way, among his family, members of the Uchiha play the role they are assigned by birth. A man has his place, as does a woman. The idea of operating outside of those very separate spheres, let alone the idea of a man being born into the body of a woman, is nonsensical to him.

To say Sasuke had instant reservations would be putting it lightly.

If he were a man of a different temperament—a man like his father—his first instinct would be to point out the impossibility of the situation, and if that failed, attempt to find some counsel to get his child over it. A very, very small part of him continues to be tempted to do just that.

The other part—the one who has travelled the world and been exposed to many different lifestyles, the one who has struggled with his own demons (both addiction and the trauma of active combat), the one who married one of the most open-minded women in existence—that part tells him to keep his fucking mouth shut and go along with it for the sake of his family.

If it weren’t for Sakura, he doesn’t think he could manage it.

His wife reacted to the announcement with the same sympathy and openness he’s seen her display at every major milestone—like the time Sarada shamefacedly admitted to needing glasses, or when their Uchiha cousins throw around insults about “commoner blood.” In every case, Sakura is always the calm and comforting one, the one ending her assurances with, “We love you, no matter what.”

In her usual whirlwind manner, after hearing Sarada’s announcement, she made it her personal mission to ensure their child’s needs were met completely. Because of the nature of her job, she was already very knowledgeable about it all, to the point of being matter-of-fact.

“The important thing here is to show that we support him from the beginning, no matter what,” she insisted.

Suddenly, the house was filled with every book written on the subject, and every other day, she was on the phone with some expert or other. For four years, she organised psychological and psychiatric consultations, fought for an official diagnosis of gender identity disorder, had them attend individual and family counselling sessions as well as meetings with a sexologist, and schooled Sasuke in the usage of proper pronouns.

And woe betide anyone—friends or even family members—who questioned her decision to support Sarada. There’s a reason that Sasuke’s family, with the exception of Itachi, will be conspicuously absent from today’s festivities.

It’s another one of Sakura’s ideas, a formal show of support, as Sarada has decided the time is right to live as a boy from now on.

They’ve told a select few people, with Sarada’s permission, over the years—the respective grandparents, Naruto and Kakashi and their families, Sarada’s teachers and best friend ChōChō—but today is the official “coming out.” Sakura was seconds from taking out an ad in the damned newspaper before Sasuke and Sarada stopped her.

He wonders if there’s such a thing as being too supportive.

“How are you doing with all this?”

Sasuke glances to one side, notices Kakashi eyeing him knowingly. His former bomb squad captain and mentor is always observant. Today is one of those days Sasuke wishes he wasn’t.

“Fine,” he replies neutrally, taking a sip of tea. He isn’t actually thirsty, but he just needs something to occupy his hand and mouth.

“And Sarada?”

“Fine.”

Kakashi sighs in annoyance. “Is there any point in asking how Sakura’s doing?”

They both glance through the door to the kitchen, where Sasuke’s wife is fighting with Ino about pretzel-to-chip ratios (“Don’t you dare fuck up my child’s birthday party, Pig!” “You’re the one who can’t manage proper place settings for shit, Forehead!”).

“She’s in her element,” he replies simply.

“Man, I’ve got so much respect for you guys,” Naruto says with a low whistle, and then takes a chug of his beer. “I don’t even know what I’d do if it were my kid.”

Sasuke rolls his eyes. “You’d be doing the same thing I’m doing, moron. Only with more panicking and oversharing.”

“Very funny,” Naruto replies with a scowl, but then his face relaxes into earnestness. “I’m not so sure. I mean, yeah, in theory, I’d like to say I would, but in reality… It’s just weird. I mean, one day, you have Sarada and the next day…well, the next day, you have him.”

“It’s a little more complicated than that,” Sasuke replies shortly.

Any further rumination on the topic is cut off when the doorbell rings.

“I’ve got it!” Sakura sings, flying from the kitchen to greet their first guests.

“Shouldn’t Sarada get the door?” he inquires. “It’s his party, after all.”

“He’s busy. ChōChō said something about a surprise,” his wife answers, hauling open the door and exclaiming her delight at the first guests.

Sasuke sighs, squares his shoulders, and prepares for the longest afternoon of his life.

うちは

The atmosphere at the beginning of the party is pleasant, but there is a definite undercurrent of curiosity and uncertainty beneath the requisite excitement.

When Hinata arrives with Boruto and Himawari, the latter chirps a sunny hello to Sasuke and bounds upstairs to find Sarada. As in all things, Naruto’s youngest is utterly unaffected by the whole matter. To her, life is simple: yesterday, it was sunny; today, it’s overcast.

Sarada was a girl, now he’s a boy.

In contrast, Boruto skulks in, glowers at everyone, and sits in the farthest corner with his handheld gaming device. Naruto scowls at him, and when Sasuke raises an eyebrow, he shrugs, and confides in a low voice, “He’s having some trouble adjusting. Sarada’s his best friend. Even knowing this was coming…I don’t think he actually thought it would.”

Neither of them mention the fact that Naruto’s son has always had a crush on Sarada, and that this complication might be a major part of his resentment.

Besides, Sasuke has more to concern himself with, not the least of which is the minor heart-attack he has when his daugh—his son—makes a grand entrance about half an hour later, ChōChō and Himawari beaming smugly on either side.

Sarada has shorn off his long hair and bangs, leaving nothing but spiky black bristles. The horn-rimmed glasses he’s sported since childhood have been replaced with a thick, squared rim. And even though Sasuke hasn’t seen Sarada in anything resembling a dress since the age of three, the sight of loose-fitting khaki shorts and a dark blue polo are a bit jarring.

It’s like looking at himself when he was eleven.

“Oh, darling!” Sakura swoops in, tackle-hugging Sarada from behind and pressing a kiss against his temple.

“Mom, you’re choking me!” their beleaguered offspring complains, but Sasuke can tell it’s just an act. Sarada is pleased by the contact.

“Doesn’t he look great?” Sakura exclaims as they watch Sarada head over to a group of friends and cheer about the pile of waiting presents.

“Sh—He cut his hair,” Sasuke points out through gritted teeth. “Why does he need to cut his hair?”

“It’s his way of asserting his masculinity.”

“There’s nothing masculine or feminine about hair,” he protests. “None of the men in my family have cut their hair, unless they were in the service. Itachi’s is practically down to his ass, and he’s got flee-on-sight warrants in three different jurisdictions.”

Sakura’s face is set in that particular way—the “if you don’t shut up I will grab you by the short-and-curlies and twist” look he only sees when he’s doing something socially unacceptable.

In a quieter voice, Sasuke adds, “Isn’t this the sort of thing that requires parental consent?”

“It is, and we’ll discuss it with him later, after his friends have gone home,” his wife says crisply, returning to the kitchen before Ino sets it on fire.

Naruto gives him a knowing look and Sasuke snaps, “What?”

“Nothing. I just find it interesting that you’re getting upset about ancient Uchiha hair traditions. Are you sure there isn’t anything you want to talk about?”

“You’re the one who feels the need to emote everywhere. Go do that somewhere else.”

His best friend sighs and meanders away, knowing better than to push. Kakashi exhales a weary laugh and says, “For what it’s worth, I think he improved on your look. Your hair always reminded me of the back-end of a duck.”

Which Sasuke doesn’t even dignify with an answer. Instead, he wanders over to the dining room table, which has been lovingly decorated with every type of junk-food offering and warehouse-sized plate of fruit imaginable, and resentfully begins picking through it.

Across the room, Sarada is having a blast.

He takes great glee in opening presents, laughing uproariously over stereotypically boy gifts. Occasionally, he shoots a glance up at his father, showing off a video game or football gear, and rolling his eyes which makes Sasuke’s heart lift a little. Just because he’s a boy doesn’t mean Sarada fits a particular mould—it’s a relief to know he’ll still probably want Sasuke to show him proper kendo form, instead of attending some brutish sports rally.

Throughout the party, Sarada’s friends are curious but open, most of them already knowing the specifics, while some still ask questions. When anything gets too close to inappropriate – such as whether Sarada intends to get surgery—Sakura is there to swoop in with small, yet pointed reminders.

“That’s a rather personal question, Yodo. If he wanted you to know that, he would tell you.”

In his corner, Boruto pretends not to listen in, but the scowl on his face isn’t as pronounced. The parents are more quiet in their curiosity; these are all old family friends, and more than one of them owes Sakura in some way. No one will say anything unkind here, and once Itachi shows up with Shisui in tow, no one will dare think it, either.

But it still makes Sasuke nervous, having to stand there and answer questions or hear comments about matters that he doesn’t truly understand himself. If his wife wasn’t so busy playing the hostess, she could be making infantile conversation, instead of him.

Somehow, the time does pass, and they eventually get to the point in festivities when Sakura and her mother carry in a huge chocolate cake, and the din becomes overwhelming. It’s amusing how a bunch of kids who insist they be treated like adults turn feral when sweets are introduced into the equation.

Sarada waits until everyone has finished a horrifying rendition of the birthday song to stand up and call for silence.

“I just wanted to say thank you to all of you for coming by today,” he says. “And for all the cool gifts. And I really want to thank my Mom and Dad for doing this because it’s been awesome.” He beams at them, and Sasuke feels Sakura appear beside him, leaning into his side. “I also wanted to share something with you guys because it is my birthday. It’s a pretty huge deal for me, and you all mean a lot to me, so I wanted you to be the first to know.”

He shifts nervously.

“So…when I was little, I asked my Mom why they called me Sarada. It’s kind of a weird name.”

“Yeah, they basically called you salad,” Boruto grumbles.

“Fuck you, Bolt.”

“Language!” Sakura snaps, her voice like a whip-crack. Every kid in the vicinity, and some parents, wince.

“Sorry, Mom,” Sarada says, ducking his head penitently before continuing on. “Anyway, Mom told me how she and Dad came up with the name. It’s made up of parts of their names, and my Uncle Itachi’s—who, if you guys don’t know, is brilliant and could probably make James Bond cry like a girl.”

Over in the corner, stuffing his face with dango, Itachi waves a stick in acknowledgement of the compliment.

“And the thing is… even though it’s a cool name, and I’m honoured to be named after these three people, it never really felt like my name. I knew I was going to have to leave it behind someday,” he continues solemnly. “It’s been a hard decision. I never really brought it up with my parents because, well, they’ve been so focussed on helping me through all of the other stuff. It never seemed like the right time. Besides, it’s been hard finding something that fit. And I didn’t want to completely forget what went in to naming me the first time, so I decided on something that still keeps alive the spirit of what my parents thought of.” He takes a deep breath. “From now on, I would prefer if you all called me Sachiro.”

It’s the first time either Sasuke or Sakura have heard the new name, even if it has been discussed.

The cheers and clapping from the guests wash over Sasuke, who flashes back to that day eleven years ago, when he and Sakura were debating names. They hadn’t been able to agree on anything in the months leading up to the birth, and now it mattered, and neither of them could think of something fitting.

He recalls how she looked, flushed and exhausted from giving birth, but so obviously happy. Her tentative suggestion of naming the baby after them both, and Itachi, who was the only reason the Uchiha family had accepted Sakura as Sasuke’s wife. How, at that moment, he couldn’t think of anything that was more appropriate.

The music and chatter seems to start up again tenfold, and Sasuke finds himself staring down into eyes that are the exact colour as his own.

“That’s okay, right, Dad?” his child asks quietly, and a little uncertain. “It’s a good name?”

Sasuke’s chest constricts a little, and he nods slowly. “Aa.”

Sara –Sachiro beams up at him. It’s the same brilliant, joyful smile of Sakura’s that Sasuke fell in love with, the same smile he’s seen when he read stories, visited the park, taught her—taught him—to swim and climb trees. Toothless, or beneath a scratched nose, or covered in mud.

A smile, he realises, that’s grown rarer over the years.

Sarada was always a little sullen, a little quiet and reserved. Sasuke always thought that sh—he—was just similar to the way Sasuke was as a kid. But right now, the way this boy beams and laughs and just exudes joy, Sasuke sees more of Sakura for the first time in almost a decade. There’s a joie de vivre there, a confidence and sense of self Sasuke has barely felt.

And the idea that he could be responsible for that smile or certainty disappearing, that’s the thing that convinces him, finally, that all of this is right. Whatever he personally feels, it’s no longer about just going along with it and humouring the situation as if it’s something that’s been done to him. It’s about his child’s happiness and frame of mind.

The realisation isn’t a happy one, per se, but it’s solid enough that Sasuke thinks he will make peace with it, eventually.

“Mom?” Sar—Sachiro is asking, bringing Sasuke back to the moment. “What do you think? It’s still got yours and Dad’s and Uncle Itachi’s name in it. I mean, the ending is a little different, but I thought—”

“It’s beautiful, sweetheart,” Sakura says, reaching out and brushing a hand over newly-shorn hair. There’s a warble of emotion in her voice as she says it, but when Sasuke glances down at her to check, she’s already pulled away. “I’m going to get plates for the cake, all right?”

Sachiro nods, grins one last time at them, and hurries back to his friends.

Sakura crosses the room, and Sasuke is concerned to notice a stiffness in her back that wasn’t there before. She makes a beeline for the kitchen, pausing only when intercepted by Tsunade, who she greets with a wide—and false—smile and accepts a nondescript plastic bag. As she continues to the kitchen, Sasuke sees her fist clenched around the handle, knuckles white and shaking.

He isn’t the only one to notice, either. Naruto watches Sakura disappear into the kitchen and shoots a questioning glance at Sasuke. They’ve all known each other since they were toddlers which means he knows as well as Sasuke when something is wrong. Without words, he communicates to his friend to keep an eye on things, and follows his wife.

うちは

He finds her standing over the sink, fingers clenching the metal, her shoulders shaking.

“Sakura?”

There’s a sharp inhale and she straightens up, throwing a glance over her shoulder. “Oh. Darling, you’re here. Did you need something?”

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Nothing! Nothing. I’m just…cutting more onions for the dip.”

It’s an utterly different story from before, made all the more unbelievable by the fact that there are no onions anywhere in the house.

“Sakura…”

“Tsunade stopped by from the hospital,” she goes on, making a vague gesture toward the kitchen table. The plastic bag Sasuke saw earlier has been casually tossed there. “She knew we were so busy with everything, so she filled the prescription for the… for the blockers.”

Sasuke tenses, staring at the package with renewed understanding. They’ve had discussions in the past weeks, as Sarada grew closer and closer to making the official, full-time transition. There were mentions of intervening before the onset of puberty, recommendations from the psychiatrist to get started now while they wait for official permission to start him on testosterone injections, but—

Looking at the nondescript plastic bag, Sasuke can’t help a resurgence of his apprehension.

He knows it’s only a temporary measure; in theory, it’s like a pause button, a chance for Sachiro to be absolutely sure before any actual commitments are made. There are still many more milestones in the future; this one isn’t even the most important. But it still unnerves him. Judging from Sakura’s shakiness, she’s affected too, even though she tries to chat like normal.

“We can give them to h-him tonight, or…or maybe giftwrap them and add it to the present pile? It would be a nice surprise, I think…don’t you think?”

She sounds like she really wants his opinion on this, and he opens his mouth to agree, to disagree, to do something, but it feels like his tongue is glued to the roof of his mouth. He’s only just had his personal revelation on the subject. Before this, he’s kept himself out of any major decisions, and she’s aware of this. Why the hell does she want him involved in this one? She’s the one who’s been so keen on pursuing all of this, why—

There’s a sudden choking sob.

Before he can really parse what he’s seeing, Sakura’s face seems to crumple, her bright eyes and trembling smile imploding into a look of horror.

“What are we doing?” she whispers, and shaking fingertips go to her lips. “Oh, Sasuke, what are we doing? What if this is wrong? What if…” She emits a staggered sob. “People understand here, but what if she…what if he wants to go somewhere else. For college. For work. People can hurt him—you’ve read the stories in the paper. What if that happens to our…”

She trails off in a moan, and tears are now leaking from the corners of her eyes, her voice getting higher and more panicked in pitch.

“We’re rushing this—I feel like we’re rushing this—”

“Sakura…” he begins, reaching for her, but she evades his touch, pacing now.

“Sh-she said she needed this, and everything she asked for, everything she asked us to do, I did, but maybe we should have talked more first—four years isn’t that long, maybe…maybe it’s a mistake, maybe we’re not doing the right thing—”

“Sakura—”

“Why couldn’t she just be gay?” she whispers suddenly, rounding on him with wild eyes. In her panic, she is no longer able to use the correct pronouns. “This would…this would just be so much easier if she just liked girls, because then she…then we wouldn’t…”

“Didn’t you tell me it isn’t the same thing?” he asks, tentative and uncertain.

“I know it’s not!” she snaps, and then presses her fist against her mouth, stifling the uncontrollable sobs that now rack her body. “Did I do something wrong?”

“You did not do anything wrong,” he informs her, taking her by the shoulder now and squeezing in reassurance.

But his wife doesn’t seem to notice. Instead, she looks off into the distance.

“And the name,” she continues in a whisper. “I knew there would be a point when we…but…but Sarada was our miracle. She was our little g-girl and I’ll never get to say her n-name anymore. And she...didn’t even ask and I…I mean, is it…is it wrong that I should want a say in m-my own child’s name?”

Sasuke exhales, drawing Sakura into his arms and holding her close. “No.”

“I h-had a daughter, Sasuke,” she sobs into his shoulder. “I g-gave birth to a girl, and she was beautiful and w-wonderful and…and do you remember that first year? With the ladybug dress, and the s-strappy shoes?”

“I do.”

“And the way she would pretend her mattress was a magic carpet and ride it down the stairs, and I…I know we said we did this for her—him. We’re doing this for him, so he can be healthier and happier. And I’m trying my hardest to let h-him be who he is, but why…why does it feel like I’m killing her?”

The question is so raw, so wracked with pain, that for a split second, Sasuke wants to call everything off. His wife is hurting, and the event going on in the other room is causing it, and since he was seventeen years old, his life has revolved around ensuring the Sakura does not hurt.

But since he was twenty-two, his life has also revolved around ensuring his child does not hurt either.

He knows that if he walks in there now, telling everyone to return home—or even just calls Sa – Sachiro in and points out that his mother, the one who has been a pillar of support since the beginning, is having second thoughts, it will break him.

And his…his son is the kind of person who will accept a lifetime of misery if he thinks it will save someone he cares about a little pain. If it’s someone Sachiro loves with the same fierce devotion as he does Sakura, he’ll quietly go back into the closet and never say another word about it until his dying day.

And from the articles that Sasuke has read over his wife’s shoulder, that’s something that could come much sooner than later.

The idea is chilling.

Which is why it only takes another split second for Sasuke to pull out his phone and send a text to Kakashi and Naruto, both of whom are as protective of his child as he is and order them to keep everything running smoothly. Then he leads a still-shaking Sakura up the stairs to their room.

Shutting the door, he steers her to their bed and sits her down, then silently takes the place beside her. For a long while, he simply allows her to cry, holding her until she gets past the wordless, grief-filled sobs.

When he senses her coming back to herself, he takes up the conversation as if there was no break.

“You are not killing anyone,” he tells her quietly but firmly.

“But she’s still going to be gone,” Sakura says dully. “It’s almost worse.”

“You don’t mean that.”

She swallows. “No. I don’t. But I… Sometimes, I still feel like our daughter is…dead. And we’re supposed to replace her with this…this stranger.”

It is the first time Sasuke has heard his wife utter any of this, the first time he’s heard her insinuate that she is just as uncertain of this whole situation as he is, that she has doubts. And it’s the first time that he finds himself in the position where he has to be the one with the answers.

He has no idea what to do, but it’s clear silence is not the answer in this case.

Stick to the facts, he decides. He’s better at logic than emotion.

“That child downstairs is still our child,” he tells her firmly. “The child you carried inside you. Everything you love about that child is still there, whether we have a boy or a girl. And our son is happy which means we’re doing the right thing.”

Sakura sniffs. “You’re just saying that,” she mutters. “I know you haven’t been completely on board about this.”

“I haven’t,” he agrees. “I’m still not sure that I completely understand. But I do know that Sar—Sachiro is happy. And he’s safe. And protected. And accepted by his friends, our neighbours, and most of the town. And that’s because of you. He wouldn’t have even this much anywhere else. And if he were growing up the way I did, he wouldn’t have any of it. He would be miserable.”

“I know,” she whispers. “I know that, Sasuke. In my heart I know it, but every so often, right when I’m least expecting it, there’s just this moment. And I just feel it all—all over again. I can’t say anything, especially not to S-Sachiro. It would crush him. And if anyone else thought I wasn’t supporting him, maybe they’d stop supporting him, and—”

“Then you tell me,” Sasuke interrupts her.

She glances at him in surprise. “What?”

“You’re supposed to tell me these things,” he continues, dogged. “I can only guess you haven’t because you thought, if you wavered, I’d put a stop to this whole thing.”

“I-I didn’t mean to…”

“You might’ve been right,” he concedes. “But that was before. I’m also the only person in this whole situation who’s going through the same thing as you. From now on, you tell me when you’re feeling like this. It’s not healthy for you to keep it inside. Isn’t that what you say to me?”

“Sasuke…”

“Did you…want me to set up a meeting?” he suggests, tentatively because this next bit is definitely not his strong suit. “With the therapist?”

She sniffs, rubbing at her eyes. “Yeah. Yes. But I’ll make the appointment.”

“Do you want me to go with you?”

“You hate talking to therapists,” she points out.

“If you want me there, I’ll be there.”

“…I want you there.”

“Then that’s settled.”

They are silent for a while, just sitting quietly together, her ear pressed against his heart and his fingers stroking her hair in comfort. For just a few precious minutes, they can be two parents struggling with a change that has been a long time coming, but which neither has been truly prepared for.

Eventually, Sakura breaks the silence. “We should go back downstairs before we’re missed.”

“Hm.”

“If Sar—Sachiro comes looking for us, we’ll have some explaining to do.”

“You could take your top off. That would forestall any questions.”

“Sasuke!”

She smacks him a little more than lightly on the shoulder, but there’s a hint of her smile from earlier back on her face. He considers it a win.

“Do you think this will all turn out all right?” she asks, tentative. “He’ll be okay?”

“I don’t know. But I believe his chances are better if he’s secure in the knowledge that he has our support.”

“Yeah…” Sakura inhales a deep, shaky breath and squares her shoulders. “All right. Let’s go back down,” she says with only a little less of her usual certainty. She catches sight of herself in the bedroom mirror and frowns. “Everyone will know I was crying. I look horrible.”

“Don’t fish for compliments,” he tells her because they both know that he always finds her beautiful. He takes her by the hand and leads her from the room. “Besides, we can always say you were cutting onions.”

終わり

Apologies if I got anything horribly wrong, this was a difficult piece to write and I did my best to do so with the proper respect.

Comments and constructive criticism are always welcome, but if you feel like keeping me caffeinated out of the goodness of your heart, it certainly would be appreciated! I’m also starting to post original works to my patreon.

I’m only able to keep writing as I do thanks to the support of readers like you, so every bit helps!

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sasusakufestival · 7 years

Text

Metamorphosis

Summary: It’s been four years since Sarada quietly, haltingly confessed to Sasuke and Sakura over dinner that she – he – was not a girl. [Day 13 – Prompt: “It’s A Boy” ]

Disclaimer: This story utilizes characters, situations and premises that are copyright Masashi Kishimoto, Shueisha, Shonen Jump and Viz Media. No infringement on their respective copyrights pertaining to episodes, novelizations, comics or short stories is intended by the author in any way, shape or form. This fan oriented story is written solely for the author’s own amusement and the entertainment of the readers. It is not for profit. Any resemblance to real organizations, institutions, products or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All fiction, plot and Original Characters with the exception of those introduced in the books, manga, video games, novelizations and anime, are the sole creation of KuriQuinn and using them without permission is considered rude, in bad-taste and will reflect seriously on your credibility as a writer. Seriously, just don’t do it.

Trigger Warning: For those of you who actually are LGBTQ, this story may bring up some strong emotions. My best friend/surrogate brother/braintwin had some difficulty reading this chapter for me and as it hit on some of his own experiences and challenges coming out as transgender. He made sure I knew how important it was to tag this appropriately. Though he said this story was well-written, as someone who had dealt with the scenario personally, he didn’t like it. So if you have experienced something in your life where you are caused distress by reading about parents trying to come to terms with their transgender child do not read this story. I don’t want to cause mental anguish or reopen wounds that some of you might not have had a chance to heal yet.

Author’s Note: The minute I saw this prompt I knew this was the story I was going to write. There aren’t enough fics out there dealing with transgender kids coming out, and even fewer about what the parents (even the most supportive ones) go through behind closed doors. I’ve done my best to be delicate with the subject without sacrificing any of my usual style choices. Obviously, not every experience is the same from individual to individual, but I made every effort. And just to head off any comments about my own personal stand on the matter: I support transgender individuals and their rights. I believe that it is your mind and your soul that determines who you are, not your genitals. And while I am not perfect, and I still occasionally slip up with pronouns and accidentally say things which show my privilege as a cisgender woman, I stand by the transgender community. Especially in this time, when hatred and outrage are directed at across the entire world. The views expressed in this story are not all necessarily mine – in fact, there are several ideas that were difficult for me to put to paper, because I very much don’t agree with them. But based on my research, for good or ill, they are sentiments that have been expressed by parents when a child comes out. I only hope I have managed to treat the subject matter with respect and possibly given you, my readers, something to think on. You may not like Sasuke in this story. You may not like Sakura. That’s okay. I’m hoping to showcase that even the people we care deeply for (whether real or imaginary) can do some things we don’t necessarily like or agree with. Doing the right thing is not always as easy, and some people find it harder than others, but in the end it is worth it. No one should weight their personal discomforts or prejudices against another person’s happiness and right to thrive.

______________________________________________

Sasuke stares up at the large, draping banner in his living room while bunches of blue helium balloons meander along the ceiling, nearly obscuring the clock that ticks closer and closer to the inevitable. He has to consciously rein in the desire to set it all on fire.

He hates parties. Always has, always will. Even knowing that this is for his kid isn’t much of an incentive to relax, because he finds that hard to do under normal circumstances.

Naruto would say that that’s because he’s got a pole shoved up his ass, but then, Naruto’s judgement is questionable. It’s been that way since childhood, JSDF, Iraq and then the stint in the Okayama bomb squad seven years ago which resulted in them both losing an arm.

Then again, his questionable judgement is also the reason Sasuke was even alive to having a kid and throw ridiculous, superhero themed birthday parties in the first place, so he gets a pass.

This time.

The entire foyer has been decorated with streamers and decals of the latest comic craze to hit television. Interspersed along the wall are little cape-clad figures proudly proclaiming, “It’s a Boy!”.

Honestly, it’s utterly kitschy and targeted for a much younger demographic than an eleven-year-old, but then, today isn’t an ordinary birthday.

It’s been four years since Sarada quietly, haltingly confessed to Sasuke and Sakura over dinner that she – he – was not a girl. It was an announcement which, Sasuke maintains, caused him considerable confusion and, if he’s not lying, a little resentment.

He comes from a traditional background. His ancestors were samurai of note, and the Uchiha name means a lot in their small community of Konoha. An old, founding family with traditions and taboos and expectations. The idea of these “LGBTQ issues” that his wife and child keep talking about falls very naturally under the umbrella of what Sasuke was brought up to categorise as “don’t ask, don’t tell”.

Men and women among the Uchiha may take lovers of the same sex if they wish, as long as they fulfil their duties to the clan: namely get married and produce children. Hell, his own brother has been in a twenty-year relationship with a male masseuse, but Itachi still had the wherewithal to get married and produce two kids first.

The point is, it’s not talked about.

To say Sasuke had instant reservations would be putting it lightly.

If he were a man of a different temperament – a man like his father – his first instinct would be to point out to his child the impossibility of the situation, and if that failed, attempt to find some counsel to get over it. A very, very small part of him continues to be tempted to do just that. The other part – the one that has travelled the world and been exposed to many different lifestyles, the one who has struggled with his own demons, both addiction and the trauma of active combat, the one who married one of the most open-minded women in existence –

That part tells him to keep his fucking mouth shut and go along with it for the sake of his family.

If it weren’t for Sakura, he doesn’t think he could manage it.

His wife reacted to the announcement with the same sympathy and open-mindedness he’s seen her display at every major milestone, like the time Sarada shamefacedly admitted to perhaps needing glasses or when some of their Uchiha cousins throw around insults about “commoner blood”. In every case, Sakura is always the calm and comforting one, the one ending her assurances with, “We love you no matter what.”

“No matter what, the important thing here is to show that we support him from the beginning,” she insisted.

Suddenly the house was filled with every book possibly written on the subject, and every other day she was on the phone with some expert or other. For four years, she organised psychological and psychiatric consultations, fought for an official diagnosis of gender identity disorder, had them attend individual and family counselling sessions, schooled Sasuke in using the proper pronouns, had them all meet with a sexologist –

And woe betide anyone – friends or even family members – who questioned her decision to support Sarada. There’s a reason that Sasuke’s family, with the exception of Itachi, will be conspicuously absent from today’s festivities.

It’s another one of Sakura’s ideas, a formal show of support, as Sarada has decided the time is right to live as a boy from now on.

They have told a select few people, with Sarada’s permission, over the years – the respective grandparents, Naruto and Kakashi and their families, Sarada’s teachers and her best friend ChoCho – but today is the official “coming out”. Sakura was seconds from taking out an ad in the damned newspaper before Sasuke and Sarada stopped her.

He wonders if there’s such a thing as being too supportive.

“How are you doing with all this?”

Sasuke glances to one side, notices Kakashi eyeing him knowingly. His former bomb squad captain and mentor is always observant. Today is one of those days Sasuke wishes he wasn’t.

“Fine,” he replies neutrally, taking a sip of tea. He isn’t actually thirsty, but he just needs something to occupy his hand and mouth.

“And Sarada?”

“Fine.”

Kakashi sighs in annoyance. “Is there any point to asking how Sakura’s doing?”

“She’s in her element,” he replies simply.

“Man, I’ve got so much respect for you guys,” Naruto says with a low whistle, and then takes a chug of his own beer. “I don’t even know what I’d do if it were my kid.”

Sasuke rolls his eyes. “You’d be doing the same thing I’m doing, moron. Only more panicking and oversharing.”

“Very funny,” Naruto replies with a scowl, but then his face relaxes into earnestness. “I’m not so sure. I mean, yeah, in theory I’d like to say I would, but in reality… It’s just weird. I mean, one day, you have Sarada, and the next day…well, the next day you have him.”

“It’s a little more complicated than that,” Sasuke replies shortly.

Any further rumination on the topic is cut off when the doorbell rings.

“I’ve got it!” Sakura sings, flying from the kitchen to greet their first guests.

“Shouldn’t Sarada get the door?” he inquires. “It’s his party, after all.”

“He’s busy. ChoCho said something about a surprise,” his wife answers, hauling open the door and exclaiming her delight at the first guests.

Sasuke sighs, squares his shoulders, and prepares for the longest afternoon of his life.

うちは

The atmosphere in the beginning of the party is pleasant, but there is a definite undercurrent of curiosity and uncertainty beneath the requisite excitement.

When Hinata arrives with Boruto and Himawari, the latter chirps a sunny hello to Sasuke and bounds upstairs to find Sarada. As in all things, she is utterly unaffected by the whole mater. To her, life is simple: yesterday it was sunny, today it’s overcast.

Sarada was a girl, now he is a boy.

In contrast, Boruto skulks in, glowers at everyone, and goes to sit in the farthest corner with his handheld gaming device. Naruto scowls at him, and when Sasuke raised an eyebrow, he shrugs, and confides in a low voice, “He’s having some trouble adjusting. Sarada’s his best friend. Even knowing this was coming…I don’t think he actually thought it would.”

Neither of them mention the fact that Naruto’s son has always had a crush on Sarada, and that this complication might be a major part of his resentment.

Besides, Sasuke has more to concern himself with, not least of all the minor heart-attack he has when his d – his son – makes a grand entrance about half an hour later, with ChoCho and Himawari beaming smugly on either side.

Sarada has shorn off his long hair and bangs, leaving nothing but spiky black bristles. The horn-rimmed glasses he has sported since childhood have been replaced with a thick, squared rim. And even though Sasuke hasn’t seen Sarada in anything resembling a dress since the age of three, the sight of loose-fitting khaki shorts and dark blue polo are a bit jarring.

It’s like looking at himself when he was eleven.

“Oh, darling!” Sakura swoops over, tackle-hugging Sarada from behind and pressing a kiss against his temple.

“Mom, you’re choking me!” their beleaguered offspring complains, but Sasuke can tell it’s just an act. He’s pleased by the contact.

“Doesn’t he look great?” Sakura exclaims as they watch Sarada head over to a group of friends and cheer about the pile of waiting presents.

“Sh – He cut his hair,” Sasuke points out through gritted teeth. “Why does he need to cut his hair?”

“It’s his way of asserting his masculinity.”

“There’s nothing masculine or feminine about hair,” he protests. “None of the men in my family have cut their hair unless they were in service. Itachi’s is practically down to his ass, and he’s got flee on-sight-warrants in three different jurisdictions.”

Sakura’s face is set in that particular way – the “if you don’t shut up I will grab you by the short-and-curlies-and-twist” look he only sees when he’s doing something socially unacceptable.

In a quieter voice, Sasuke adds, “Isn’t this the sort of thing that requires parental consent?”

“It is, and we’ll discuss it with him later after his friends have gone home,” his wife says crisply, returning to the kitchen before Ino sets it on fire.

Naruto gives him a knowing look, and Sasuke snaps, “What?”

“Nothing. I just find it interesting that you’re getting upset about ancient Uchiha hair traditions. Are you sure there isn’t anything you want to talk about?”

“You’re the one who feels the need to emote everywhere. So go do that somewhere else.”

His best friend sighs at that, and meanders away, knowing better than to push. Kakashi exhales a weary laugh and says, “For what it’s worth, I think he improved on your look. Your hair always reminded me of the back-end of a duck.”

Across the room, Sarada is having a blast.

He takes great glee in opening presents, laughing uproariously over stereotypically boy gifts. Occasionally he shoots a glance up at his father, showing off a video game or football gear, and rolling his eyes, which makes Sasuke’s heart life a little. Just because he’s a boy doesn’t mean Sarada fits a particular mould – it’s a relief to know he’ll still probably want Sasuke to show him proper kendo form instead of attending some brutish sports rally.

Throughout the party, Sarada’s friends are curious but open, most of them already knowing the specifics, while some still ask questions. When anything gets too close to inappropriate – such as whether Sarada intends to get surgery – Sakura is there to swoop in with small, yet pointed reminders.

“That’s a rather personal question, Shinki. If he wanted you to know that, he would tell you.”

In his corner, Boruto pretends not to listen in, but the scowl on his face isn’t as pronounced. The parents are more quiet in their curiosity – these are all old family friends, and more than one of them owes Sakura in some way. No one will say anything unkind here, and once Itachi shows up with Shisui in tow, no one will dare think it either.

Somehow, the time does pass, and they eventually get to the point in festivities when Sakura and her mother carry in a huge chocolate cake, and the din becomes overwhelming. It’s amusing how a bunch of kids that insist they be treated like adults turn feral when sweets are introduced to the equation.

Sarada waits until everyone has finished a horrifying rendition of the birthday song, and then stands up and calls for silence.

“I just wanted to say thank you to all of you for coming by today,” he says. “And for all the cool gifts. And I really want to thank my Mom and Dad for doing this, because it’s been awesome.” He beams at them, and Sasuke feels Sakura appear beside him, leaning into his side. “I also wanted to share something with you guys, because it is my birthday. It’s a pretty huge deal for me, and you all mean a lot to me, so I wanted you to be the first to know.”

He shifts nervously.

“So…when I was little, I asked my Mom why they called me ‘Sarada’. It’s kind of weird name.”

“Yeah, they basically called you “salad”,” Boruto grumbles.

“Fuck you, Bolt.”

“Language!” Sakura snaps, her voice like a whip-crack. Every kid in the vicinity, and some parents, wince.

“Sorry, Mom,” Sarada says, ducking his head penitently before continuing on. “Anyway, Mom told me how she and Dad came up with the name. That it’s made up of parts of their names, and my Uncle Itachi – who, if you guys don’t know, is brilliant and could probably make James Bond cry like a girl.”

Over in the corner, stuffing his face with dango, Itachi waves a stick in acknowledgement of the compliment.

“And the thing is… even though it’s a cool name, and I’m honoured to be named after these three people, it never really felt like my name. I knew I was going to have to leave it behind someday,” he continues solemnly. “It’s been a hard decision. I never really brought it up with my parents because, well, they’ve been so focussed on helping me through all of the other stuff. It never seemed like the right time. Besides, it’s has been hard finding something that fit. And I didn’t want to completely forget what went in to naming me the first time, so I decided on something that still keeps the spirit of what my parents thought of alive.” He takes a deep breath. “From now on, I would prefer if you all called me Sachiro.”

It’s the first time either he or Sakura have heard the new name, even if it has been discussed.

The cheers and clapping from the guests wash over Sasuke, who flashes back to that day, eleven years ago, when he and Sakura were debating names. They hadn’t been able to agree on anything in the months leading up to the birth, and now it mattered, and neither of them could think of something fitting.

How she looked, flushed and exhausted from giving birth, but so obviously happy. Her tentative suggestion of naming the baby after them both, and Itachi, who was the only reason the Uchiha family had accepted Sakura as Sasuke’s wife. How at that moment, he couldn’t think of anything that was more appropriate.

The music and chatter seems to start up again tenfold, and Sasuke finds himself staring down into eyes that are the exact colour of his own.

“That’s okay, right, Dad?” his child ask quietly, and a little uncertain. “It’s a good name?”

Sasuke’s chest constricts a little, and he nods slowly. “Hm.”

Sara – Sachiro – beams up at him. It’s the same brilliant, joyful smile of Sakura’s that Sasuke fell in love with, the same smile he has seen when he read stories, visited the park, taught her – taught him – to swim and climb trees. Toothless, or beneath a scratched nose, or covered in mud.

A smile, he realises not, that grew rarer over the years.

Sarada has always been a little sullen, a little quiet and reserved. Sasuke always thought that she – he –was just similar to the way he was when he was a kid. But right now, the way this boy beams and laughs and just exudes joy, Sasuke sees more of Sakura for the first time in almost a decade. There’s a joie de vivre there, a confidence and sense of self Sasuke has barely felt.

And the idea that he could be responsible for that smile or certainty disappearing, that’s the thing that convinces him, finally, that all of this is right. Whatever he personally feels, it’s no longer about just going along with it and humouring the situation, as if it’s something that has been done to him. It’s about his child’s happiness and frame of mind.

The realisation isn’t a happy one, per se, but it’s solid enough that Sasuke thinks he will make peace with it, eventually.

“Mom?” Sa – Sachiro is asking, bringing Sasuke back to the moment. “What do you think? It’s still got yours and Dad’s and Uncle Itachi’s name in it. I mean, the ending is a little different, but I thought –”

“It’s beautiful, sweetheart,” Sakura says, reaching out and brushing a hand over newly shorn hair. There’s a warble of emotion in her voice as she says it, but when Sasuke glances down at her to check, she’s already pulled away. “I’m going to go get plates for the cake, alright?”

Sachiro nods, grins one last time at them, and hurries back to his friends.

Sakura crosses the room, and Sasuke is concerned to notice a stiffness in her back that wasn’t there before. She makes a beeline for the kitchen, pausing only when intercepted by Tsunade, who she greets with a wide – And false, he notices smile – and accepts a nondescript plastic bag. As she continues to the kitchen, Sasuke sees her fist clenched around the handle, knuckles white and shaking.

He isn’t the only one to notice, either. Naruto watches Sakura disappear into the kitchen and shoots a questioning glance at Sasuke. They’ve all known each other since they were toddlers, which means he knows as well as Sasuke when something is wrong. Without words, Sasuke communicates to his friend to keep an eye on things, and follows his wife.

うちは

He finds her standing over the sink, fingers clenching the metal, her shoulders shaking.

“Sakura?”

There’s a sharp inhale and she straightens up, throwing a glance over her shoulder. “Oh, Sasuke, you’re here – did you need something?”

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Nothing! Nothing, I’m just…cutting more onions for the dip.”

It’s an utterly different story from before, made all the more unbelievable by the fact that there are no onions anywhere in the house.

“Sakura…”

“Tsunade stopped by from the hospital,” she goes on, and makes a vague gesture to the kitchen table. The plastic bag Sasuke saw earlier has been casually tossed there. “She knew we were so busy with everything, so she filled the prescription for the… for the blockers.”

Looking at the nondescript plastic bag, Sasuke can’t help a resurgence of his apprehension.

He knows it’s only a temporary measure – in theory, it’s like a pause button, a chance for Sachiro to be absolutely sure before any actual commitments are made. There are still many more milestones in the future, this one isn’t even the most important.

But it still unnerves him; judging from Sakura’s shakiness, she is affected too, even though she tries to chat like normal.

“We can give them to h-him tonight, or…or maybe gift-wrap them, and add it to the present pile? It would be a nice surprise, I think…don’t you think?”

She sounds like she really wants his opinion on this, and he opens his mouth to agree, to disagree, to do something, but it feels like his tongue is glued to the roof of his mouth. He has only just had his personal revelation on the subject matter. Before this he’s kept himself out of any major decisions, and she’s aware of this. Why the hell does she want him involved in this one? She’s the one who has been so keen on pursuing all of this, why –

There’s a sudden choking sob.

Before he can really parse what he’s seeing, Sakura’s face seems to crumple, her bright eyes and trembling smile imploding into a look of horror.

“What are we doing?” she whispers, and shaking fingertips go to her lips. “Oh, Sasuke, what are we doing? What if this is wrong? What if…?” She emits a staggered sob. “People understand here, but what if she…what if he wants to go somewhere else. For college. For work. People can hurt him – you’ve read the stories in the paper, what if that happens to our…”

She trails off in a moan, and tears are now leaking from the corners of her eyes, her voice getting higher and more panicked in pitch.

“We’re rushing this – I feel like we’re rushing this –”

“Sakura…” he begins, reaching for her, but she evades his touch, pacing now.

“Sh-she said she needed this, and everything she asked for, everything she asked us to do, I did, but maybe we should have talked more first – four years isn’t that long, maybe…maybe it’s a mistake, maybe we’re not doing the right thing –”

“Sakura –”

“Why couldn’t she just be gay?” she cries suddenly, rounding on him with wild eyes. In her panic, she is no longer able to use the correct pronouns. “This would…this would just be so much easier if she just liked girls, because then she…then we wouldn’t…”

“Didn’t you tell me it isn’t the same thing?” he asks, tentative and uncertain.

“I know it’s not!” she snaps, and then presses her fist against her mouth, stifling the uncontrollable sobs that now rack her body. “Did I do something wrong?”

“You did not do anything wrong,” he informs her, taking her by the shoulder now and squeezing in reassurance.

But his wife doesn’t seem to notice, instead looks off into the distance.

“And the name,” she continues in a whisper. “I knew there would be a point when we…but…but Sarada was our miracle. She was our little g-girl and I’ll never get to say her n-name anymore, and she…didn’t even ask and I…I mean, is it…is it wrong that I should want a say in m-my own child’s name?”

Sasuke exhales, drawing Sakura into his arms and holding her close. “No.”

“I do.”

“And the way she would pretend her mattress was a magic carpet and ride it down the stairs, and I…I know we said we did this for her – him. We’re doing this for him, so he can be healthier, and happier and I’m trying my hardest to let h-him be who he is, but why…why does it feel like I’m killing her?”

The question is so raw, so wrecked with pain, that for a split second Sasuke wants to call everything off. His wife is hurting, and the event going on in the other room is causing it, and since he was seventeen, his life has revolved around ensuring the Sakura does not hurt.

But since he was twenty-two, his life has also revolved around ensuring his child does not hurt.

He knows that if he walks in there now, telling everyone to return home – or even just calls Sa – Sachiro in and points out that his mother – the one who has been a pillar of support since the beginning – is having second thoughts, it will break him. And his…his son is the kind of person that will accept a lifetime of misery if he thinks it will save someone he cares about a little pain.

If it’s someone Sachiro loves with the same fierce devotion as he does Sakura, he’ll quietly go back into the closet and never say another word about it until his dying day.

And from the articles that Sasuke has read over his wife’s shoulder, that’s something that could come much sooner than later.

The idea is chilling.

Which is why it only takes another split second for Sasuke to pull out his phone and send a text to Kakashi and Naruto – both of whom are as protective of his child as he is – and orders them to keep everything running smoothly. Then, he leads a still shaking Sakura up the stairs and back to their room.

Shutting the door, he leads her to their bed and sits her down, then silently takes the place beside her. For a long while, he simply allows her to cry, holding her until she gets past the wordless, grief-filled sobs.

When he senses her coming back to herself, he takes up the conversation as if there was no break.

“You are not killing anyone,” he tells her, quietly but firmly.

“But she’s still going to be gone,” Sakura says dully. “It’s almost worse.”

“You don’t mean that.”

She swallows. “No. I don’t. But I…sometimes, I still feel like our daughter is…dead. And we’re supposed to replace her with this…this stranger.”

It is the first time Sasuke has heard his wife utter any of this. The first time he has heard her insinuate that she is just as uncertain of this whole situation as he is, that she has doubts. And it’s the first time that he finds himself in the position where he has to be the one with the answers.

He has no idea what to do, but it’s clear silence is not the answer in this case.

Stick to the facts, he decides. He’s better at logic than emotion.

Sakura sniffs.

“You’re just saying that,” she mutters. “I know you haven’t been completely on board about this.”

“I haven’t,” he agrees. “I’m still not sure that I completely understand. But I do know that Sa – Sachiro is happy. And he’s safe. And protected. And accepted by his friends, our neighbours and most of the town, and that is because of you. He would not have even this much anywhere else. And if he were growing up the way I did, he wouldn’t have any of it. He would be miserable.”

“I know,” she whispers. “I know that, Sasuke, in my heart I know it, but every so often, right when I’m least expecting it, there’s just this moment. And I just feel it all, all over again. And I can’t say anything, especially not to S-Sachiro. It would crush him. And if anyone else thought I wasn’t supporting him, then maybe they’d stop supporting him, and –”

“Then you tell me,” Sasuke interrupts her.

She glances at him in surprise. “What?”

“You’re supposed to tell me these things,” he continues, dogged. “I can only guess you haven’t for that exact reason. You thought if you wavered, I’d put a stop to this whole thing.”

“I-I didn’t mean to…”

“You might have been right,” he concedes. “But that was before. I’m also the only person in this whole situation that is going through the same thing as you. From now on, you tell me when you’re feeling like this. It’s not healthy for you to keep it inside – isn’t that what you used to say to me?”

“Sasuke…”

“Did you…want to me to set up a meeting?” he suggests, tentatively, because this next bit is definitely not his strong point. “With the therapist?”

She sniffs, rubbing at her eyes. “Yeah. Yes. But I’ll make the appointment.”

“Do you want me to go with you?”

“You hate talking to therapists,” she points out.

“If you want me there, I’ll be there.”

“…I want you there.”

“Then that’s settled.”

Eventually, Sakura breaks the silence. “We should go back downstairs before we’re missed.”

“Hm.”

“If Sa- Sachiro comes looking for us, we’ll have some explaining to do.”

“You should take your top off. That would forestall any questions.”

“Sasuke!”

She smacks him a little more than lightly in the shoulder, but there is a hint of her smile from her earlier back on her face. He considers it a win.

“Do you think this will all turn out?” she asks, tentative. “He’ll be okay, right?”

“I don’t know. But I believe his chances are better, secure in the knowledge that he has our support.”

“Yeah…”

Sakura inhales a deep, shaky breath and squares her shoulders.

“Alright. Let’s go back down,” she says, with only a little less of her usual certainty. She catches sight of herself in the bedroom mirror, and frowns. “Everyone will know I was crying. I look horrible.”

“Don’t fish for compliments,” he tells her, because they both know he always finds her beautiful. He takes her by the hand and leads her from the room. “Besides, we can always say you were cutting onions.”

_____________________________________________

終わり

Apologies if I got anything horribly wrong, this was a difficult piece to write. As usual, as part of the SasuSakuFestival, please go to the ssfest page and vote, like and/or reblog, it would be majorly appreciated!

クリ

#ssfest17 #sasusaku #ssfanfiction #ssfestday13 #submission #ssfestentry

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mst3kproject · 7 years

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212: Godzilla vs Megalon

The Godzilla franchise has been around a long time, and has produced some classic films. The original Godzilla: King of the Monsters was a metaphorical meditation on the monstrous acts of World War II, and the recent Godzilla Resurgence is a critique of government impotence in the face of disaster. The average MSTie, however, is much more interested in the ridiculous than the sublime, and Godzilla has given us plenty of that, too. There's Godzilla vs Biollante, in which the monster's main foe is a mutant, sentient rose bush (seriously). There's Godzilla vs the Smog Monster, in which Godzilla learned to fly using his atomic breath as a rocket (again, seriously). There's Godzilla: Final Wars, which features fish aliens and the Japanese X-Men. And we cannot possibly forget Godzilla vs Megalon.

It's impossible to describe the plot of one of these movies briefly, not without leaving out a lot of what makes them so bizarre and entertaining, so this will take several paragraphs. An unnamed country (you can't call out the USA when they're the main foreign market for your movies) has set off one too many nuclear bomb tests, and pissed off the Seatopians. Like Atlantis, the continent of Seatopia sank into the ocean long ago, and the cling-wrapped inhabitants have lived peacefully on the bottom ever since. Now, however, they've decided they can no longer allow the surface people to threaten them with our atomic nonsense. They're sending Megalon, a giant cockroach with drills for arms, to lay waste to the Earth!

You probably think that sounds absurd. Well, hold on to your tightie-whities, I'm not half done.

Being a roach, Megalon is very tough but also extremely stupid, and the Seatopians don't trust him to find the world's major cities on his own. He needs a seeing-eye robot to show him the way. The people of Seatopia (there seem to be about nine of them) can't be bothered to build such a robot themselves, so they steal one from a couple of Japanese guys whose names I never caught. These appear to be a gay couple raising their adopted son in a self-consciously futuristic house, and their robot Jet Jaguar looks kind of like a mechanical Christmas elf designed by a six-year-old Power Rangers fan. Jet Jaguar can fly, however, and apparently has GPS, so it'll do the job just fine.

After a few shenaningans and one of the worst car chases ever committed to screen (the Rex Dart: Eskimo Spy! montage is actually better-edited and has more suspenseful music), our funkadelic heroes manage to steal their robot back. The Japanese military has sent their best footage from previous Godzilla movies against Megalon, but it doesn't do any more good than it did in the films they borrowed it from. Since everybody knows that the only way to destroy a giant rubber monster is with another giant rubber monster, the main characters send Jet Jaguar to Monster Island to get Godzilla.

Meanwhile, the now leaderless Megalon has begun just stomping on random things – Godzilla will never arrive in time to prevent more people from dying! Fortunately, in the midst of all these goings-on, Jet Jaguar has developed sentience. With Godzilla on the way, the robot reprograms itself to grow to gigantic size, thus making it a match for the monster. The Seatopians counter with a bonus monster of their own, borrowing Gigan from another previous installment in the series, and no less than four giants are now duking it out in the Japanese countryside while the humans look on in amazement!

Godzilla vs Megalon is kind of the Gamera vs Guiron of the Godzilla movies. It's terrible, and nothing in it makes the slightest bit of sense, and yet you can't help being entertained by it. Everything that happens is colourful and fun, even when cities are being destroyed, and some of the miniatures are actually reasonably convincing. The scene in which Megalon breaks a dam and threatens a truck where two of the heroes are being held prisoner actually looks pretty good. Like Gamera vs Guiron, the whole thing feels like a game being played by enthusiastic children trying to one-up one another, very much as Crow and Tom Servo do in their 'invent a monster' competition.

In the eyes of a six-year-old boy, living with your uncle who builds robots and his best friend the racecar driver would sound way cooler than having your Mom around telling you to pick up your toys (and a child of that age in 1973 would probably have no idea what the relationship between the two men actually is). Jet Jaguar, and his inventor's 'futuristic' home, look like things children would come up with, and the whole Easter Island aside (which never really comes to anything) could have been thrown in by a kid who is vaguely aware that the place figures in a lot of ancient aliens theories but doesn't know anything about the people who actually live there.

The monster fights also seem very childish, at times even cartoony: Jet Jaguar spins in place until he drills himself into the ground, for example, and a moment later Godzilla takes a running start and flies through the air to deliver a kick to Megalon's belly. Different Godzilla movies have different takes on how much personality the creatures have – Godzilla vs Megalon makes them quite anthropomorphic. None of the monsters actually talk, but it almost wouldn't feel out of place if they did. Their body language and interactions suggest very human thoughts and motivations. Megalon and Gigan gang up on Jet Jaguar like bullies picking on a smaller child in the schoolyard, and Godzilla comes to the robot's rescue like a best friend. Gigan threatens to rip Jet Jaguar's head off if Godzilla comes any closer, so Godzilla must figure out how to beat the other monster from a distance. These are not the actions of animals, but they are actions children might attribute to their imaginary creations.

Is the feeling of a child's game an intentional part of the movie, as I believe it was in Gamera vs Guiron? Probably – there's at least one thing in Godzilla vs Megalon that was very definitely designed by a child, and that's the robot, Jet Jaguar. Toho had held a contest for kids to come up with a new kaiju character, and Jet Jaguar was the winning entry. Originally, Godzilla wasn't even supposed to be in the film, but the studio chickened out and put him and Gigan in the mix when they got worried that nobody would go see Jet Jaguar vs Megalon. Godzilla vs Megalon would have been a child's adventure story with or without Godzilla, and so it makes sense that the rest of it should fit the childish aesthetic of Jet Jaguar.

Godzilla films are never very subtle about their messages, and this one is no exception: its intentional theme is the idea that nuclear weapons are dangerous and will ultimately destroy us if not handled properly – an idea it seems almost everybody can agree on and yet not one that makes for very good movies (remember Superman IV: the Quest for Peace?). Here, the anti-nuke message is muddled by several storytelling decisions, most notably the very inclusion of Godzilla himself.

In any incarnation, Godzilla always at least starts out as an embodiement of nuclear destruction. In Godzilla: King of the Monsters he was a metaphor for the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. In the stupid 1998 Americanization he was a nuclear test that got out of its makers' control. In Godzilla Resurgence he is implied to have arisen from the fallout of Fukushima. The idea of casting him in the role of guardian rather than destroyer thus becomes very strange when you think about it for a while, especially considering that he is a product of the imagination of only country ever actually nuked. I'm sure this is never what the writers had in mind, but it always seems as if movies in which Godzilla saves the Earth are telling us that bombing the fuck out of them will be an effective defense against alien invasions.

This gets even weirder when Godzilla's own innate symbolism is juxtaposed with the Seatopians. Seatopia is a country not unlike pre-Meiji Japan, in that it has placed itself in self-imposed isolation. These undersea people have been contentedly ignoring their neighbours for the past three million years until we started making an unavoidable nuisance of ourselves. They have a legitimate grievance and one that would find a great deal of sympathy among surface-dwellers, including our main characters – and yet they are never anything but the explicit villains of the film. What's more, their own superweapon, Megalon, is defeated by Godzilla, the living atom bomb! This is entirely at odds with the stated message of the film: it seems to say that actually, nuclear weapons are awesome, and will be used against anybody who tries to protest them! I don't think the writers thought that one through.

The Seatopians' own actions don't make a whole lot of sense, either. Japan does not build or test nuclear weapons – instead, the Japanese have embraced peaceful uses of nuclear power like almost no other nation on Earth. Why, then, should the Seatopians send Megalon to Japan? Were they aiming for the Soviet Union but got lost? Do they simply believe all the surface humans must go regardless of who has actually been setting off the fireworks? By all rights, this movie should have ended with the anti-nuclear surface-dwellers coming to an agreement with the Seatopians and working towards disarmament, but instead the idea of talking to these people and finding out what they want never occurs to anybody.

Needless to say, this is not a film that stands up to much analysis. It is much better enjoyed at a purely surface level, as eighty-one minutes of colourful, ridiculous fun for children – and on that level, I enjoy it very much.

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