#like why the hopeful music over such a heartbreaking scene of devotion

[ladyofthelake]

[lafemmemacabre]

My personal top albums of all time

If anyone who respects my music opinions is interested, IN NO ORDER because I can't choose between my babies. Also, warning, it's mostly gonna be albums from the 90s. Only the albums that are described as Gothic Rock, Darkwave (Neoclassical or not), Deathrock and Ethereal Wave are goth, the rest are some other flavor of dark alternative.

Aégis, by Theatre of Tragedy (1998)

Exquisite Gothic Rock, despite the band usually playing Metal, with themes of mostly Greco-Roman mythology with some other European folklore thrown in. The most angelic and soft soprano vocals delivered by Liv Kristine with baritone whispers delivered by Raymond. Ethereal yet complex atmospheres with soft guitars, strong bass, poetic lyrics in Shakespearean English.

Highlights: Cassandra, Venus, Poppæa, Bacchante.

Inferno, by Lacrimosa (1995)

Gothic Rock that flirts slightly with Metal in some tracks. This is when they made the jump from Neue Deutsche Todeskunst (basically late 80s/early 90s German Darkwave except it's a little weirder than most other Darkwave at the time) to more Rock-based styles of music, as well as the first album Anne Nurmi was featured in. Tilo's best studio vocal performance in my opinion. Beautiful lyrics about love, passion, devotion, and the end of the world, could only be written by a goth guy with a gift for poetry who just fell in deep love. Only iffy track is Copycat but even that one is still a classic among fans if only because of its high energy, and killer guitars, bass and percussion.

Highlights: Schakal, Vermächtnis der Sonne, No blind eyes can see, Kabinett der Sinne.

Passion's Price, by Diva Destruction (1999)

Diva Destruction's debut, from back when Darkwave was actually dark and dreary in sound. Songs about heartbreak, betrayal, abuse and love, in the band's most musically complex and hauntingly atmospheric album. A definite classic with nothing but great track after great track.

Highlights: The Broken Ones, Snake, Prey, Glare.

Selected Scenes from the End of the World, by London After Midnight (1992)

Some of the best Gothic Rock to have ever come out, in my opinion. Deep, rich, dark, mysterious, sensual, macabre, romantic (arguably too romantic even by 90s goth standards as the album apparently got criticized for being almost entirely love songs? Wtf). The song that introduced me to goth in February of 2007 is in this album and it's the reason why I never looked back.

Highlights: The Black Cat, Claire's Horrors, Sacrifice, Spider and the Fly.

Annwyn, beneath the Waves, by Faith and the Muse (1996)

Ethereal Wave royalty in maybe not their most iconic album, but definitely the one closest to my heart by them. Despite goth music being associated with darkness in the minds of most, this album is full of glittering light in the most poetic and heartfelt way possible. The vocals are soft and tender when they need to be, delivered by Monica Richards, or firm and epic when needed, as delivered by William Faith. The lyrical themes are full of Celtic folklore, love, hope, magic and a feeling of reclamation of nature and an ancestral past (but not in like, a white supremacist way, I promise).

Highlights: Annwyn, beneath the Waves, The Hand of Man, The Silver Circle, Rise and Forget.

Treasure, by Cocteau Twins (1984)

Walking a thin line between Ethereal Wave and Dreampop (as they're pioneers in both genres). Some tracks are darker than others, but they're all equally delightful, full of beauty and a dreamy gaze hovers over every single song, all of which contain some of the most heavenly vocals in the scene. One of Robert Smith's favorite albums (he also really liked Diva Destruction's debut!). If you're into more relaxing and atmospheric music, this might be your intro to goth.

Highlights: Beatrix, Persephone, Pandora (for Cindy), Lorelei.

Anthology, by Nosferatu (2006)

Legendary Gothic Rock band among those of us who enjoy a campier vampiric goth sound that takes itself too seriously, and deliciously so. Yes, I know I'm cheating by going with a compilation album, sue me. It's simply a collection of their best tracks and I honestly couldn't choose between all their actual albums, so there!

Highlights: Inside the Devil, Lucy is Red, Rise, Witching Hour.

Es reiten die Toten so schnell (or: The Vampyre Sucking at his Own Vein), by Sopor Aeternus & The Ensemble of Shadows (2003)

Probably the gothiest and most elite Neoclassical Darkwave out there. Deeply macabre, equally horrific and beautifully crafted, with expressive and dramatic vocals, themes of vampirism and death masking more human subjects such as social rejection (Anna Varney-Cantondea is a trans woman/transfeminine person who's battled suicidality and depression from a very young age), depression, gay/trans desire, and suicidality. It truly is a masterpiece of macabre and neoclassical goth.

Highlights: The Feast of Blood, Holy Water Moonlight, Baptisma, Dead Souls.

Blood Death Ivory, by Angelspit (2008)

Probably one of the few modern Industrial bands who have thoroughly kept the spirit of early Industrial alive, fashioned after greats such as Skinny Puppy and Die Form, especially in the 00s when the Industrial scene heavily turned to more superficial lyrics based on the aesthetics of cyberpunk art rather than its subversive content. The music is aggressive, simultaneously animalistic yet robotic with a touch of demonic, rarely ever without smartly phrased critiques of capitalism and consummerism. At this point in time the band was a duo between Amelia Arsenic/Destroyx and Zoog Von Rock. It's definitely some edgelord shit (affectionate), but by no means in a vapid, only-for-shock-value way.

Highlights: Skinny Little Bitch, Lust Worthy, Devilicious, Jugular.

Alles für dich, by Grausame Töchter (2012)

Some of the most dynamic, deliciously quirky, sexual, hyper and twisted Dark Electro bands currently making music. The lead vocalist and lyricist of the band, Aranea Peel, is a lesbian dominatrix, fetish model, trained ballet dancer, and lover of Weimar republic era artistry who absolutely imprints lots of dark flapper energy into the band's music and imagery. The lyrics are unabashedly perverted, kinky, sapphic and fucked up. Her singing is nothing short of chef's kiss worthy, always expressive and strange, but with pristine execution and technique.

Highlights: Tanz für dich, TABU, Therapie für dich, ICH DARF DAS!

The Astonishing Eyes of Evening, by Cinema Strange (2002)

KINGS of 00s Deathrock with touches of Dark Cabaret influences, as inescapable in the goth scene in the 00s as She Past Away and its many copycats are now, and for very good reason. Delightfully macabre, not the first to use ghostly androgynous vocals but certainly one of the bands who better utilize that style of vocals. Imo, this and their homonymous album are must-listens for people interested in the goth music scene in general, but especially those interested in Deathrock. Truly Halloween turned into an album.

Highlights: Tomb Lilies, Catacomb Kittens, 'Ere the Flowers Unfold, Legs and Tarpaulin.

Opheliac, by Emilie Autumn (2006)

Literally music for mentally unstable sapphic girls with a poet's soul and flare for both irony and intense earnest feeling. It's a very original combination of Synthpop, Punk Cabaret, and Neoclassical music, with influences of Industrial and Darkwave. It's all masterfully crafted by classically trained violinist, poet, writer, actress, and somewhat of a burlesque performer with a rich alto voice; Emilie Autumn. She wrote this album after suffering medical abuse at a mental hospital after a suicide attempt brought on by an abortion and emotionally abusive relationship. I'm not exaggerating when I say this album saved my life and also changed me as a person.

Highlights: Opheliac, Liar, The Art of Suicide, 306.

Of the Want Infinite, by Requiem in White (1995)

You don't often hear of bands combining Deathrock and Ethereal Wave as they're often perceived as the polar opposite ends of the spectrum of goth music; Deathrock being the goth subgenre closest in sound and idiosyncrasy to punk, and Ethereal Wave being one of the goth subgenres furthest from goth's punk roots. Add in an operatic soprano and you get... Some of THE best, most underrated goth bands of the 90s. Dramatic, ethereal, creepy, elegant, ghostly and complex, with incredible vocals. Truly a pity they only released one album and a couple of EPs.

Highlights: Everlasting Peace, Beneath the Leaves, My Shame, Acanthus.

Agony of the Undead Vampire Part II, by Two Witches (1992)

Truly another giant of vampiric Gothic Rock, absolute 90s legends and Finland's most iconic goth band. Themes of vampirism, occasionally anti-Christianity, sex, sensuality and kink abound. The vocals might put some people off, but it's definitely worth it.

Highlights: The Hungry Eyes, The Omen, Mircalla, We All Fall Down.

Mors Syphilitica, by Mors Syphilitica (1996)

Requiem in White may have disbanded after their first proper album, but two out of its three core band members, then spouses Lisa and Doc Hammer, went on to form pure Ethereal Wave act Mors Syphilitica right after and while it's generally less dark and spooky than its predecesor band, they're still a delight to the ears.

Highlights: The Woman Who Believed, Fell a Dance, The Vain Stroke, Below the Baleful Star.

Beyond the Veil, by Tristania (1999)

I've raved about this album so many times. Just... THE definitive Gothic Metal album to me. The lyrics, the choir of sopranos (aka all Vibeke Stene and her rich, sensual, dark, gorgeous voice), the perfect growling, the somber baritone vocals, the perfectly crafted guitar riffs (no guitar salad, all expressive and precisely timed), the exciting epic percussion, the piano, the violin solos, THE SYMPHONICS. Oh, my God. There's not one second wasted in the entire album, and I'm not being hyperbolic, I mean that. Truly the perfect Gothic Metal album.

Highlights: Beyond the Veil, Angina, Heretique, Opus Relinque.

Serpentine Gallery, by Switchblade Symphony (1995)

Tbh all of Switchblade Symphony's discography is fantastic, but their debut truly is a masterpiece. Creepy ragdoll vibes all over, great vocals, rich composition, poetic yet accessible lyrics. If you're into a more kindergoth vibe (Wednesday Addams, creepy dolls, child-like or even lolita-esque looks), this might be the band for you.

Highlights: Clown, Mine Eyes, Dollhouse, Bad Trash.

Vampyre Erotica, by Inkubus Sukkubus (1997)

The other band that introduced me to goth in 2007 and got me to never look back. Though the first song by them I ever listened to, Samhain, isn't from this album, this album is the one that truly got me hooked for life. Vampiric, sensual, decadent and dark. It has everything including really sweet vocals.

Highlights: Vampyre Erotica, Danse Vampyr, Hell-Fire, Heart of Lilith.

Link to a YouTube Playlist containing all the songs from all the albums above.

[silversatoru]

the thin line between hope and despair

yelena x gn! reader

synopsis: you’re in love with yelena, and she feels nothing for for you. constant hook-ups and faded morals = very messy feelings

tags/warnings: nsfw, some smut?, angst, unrequited love, one-sided feelings, fuck buddies

word count: 2.5k

a/n: for my my sweet bby girl @brandmeyelena <3

Yelena knows what she’s doing with you isn’t right — on so many fucking levels. Taking advantage of your utter desperation for her over and over again when she knows damn well that she couldn’t care less about you. It wasn’t fair, especially for you, but she just couldn’t really find it in herself to feel sorry for someone so pitiful. You were so willing to devote yourself to her in exchange for mere crumbs of her affection, and it was pathetic. You left a sour taste in her mouth, a taste of sorrow and complete wretchedness, but you were also the perfect distraction. The perfect relief from all of her stress and all of her responsibilities with the volunteers. She was tired, and you were just so damn desperate to make her feel better — so how could she refuse? The answer was simple, she couldn’t.

That exact thought process is what landed her here today, with her fingers around your throat and your eyes rolled back into your head. She knows you love it too, being used like this — the way your cheeks grow flushed and your eyes get foggy when she cuts off the circulation to your brain. But she doesn’t do it for you — Yelena enjoys these things just as much as you do, her power hungry ego being fervently stroked by dominating you like this. Pinning you underneath of her and giving you orders made her feel in control — and that was perfect, because god knows she isn’t in control of anything else in her life right now.

Get down, she’d hiss at you, pointing to the floor with her long, slender index finger. Your pathetic frame would sink to your knees instantly, wordlessly doting to her every command. She’d lean back on her shoulders, her hips propped on the edge of the bed, and give you an expectant look. You know what to do. Do it, her voice would snarl, her empty eyes swirling with hunger. You’d feverishly obey, launching yourself forward and graciously opening your mouth for her pussy. You were dedicated to your craft, taking your time and ensuring that your tongue consumed every inch of her. Yelena’s head would fall back and, raspy, wet noises gurgled from her throat. She was entirely consumed by this twisted bliss — and she was a horrible monster for letting you do these things to her, but she felt far too good to care.

So now here you were, your tongue buried deep inside her while you worked desperately to make her feel better. She was quieter than usual today — the only things to leave her lips were small groans and half-assed insults. Things like the occasional “faster” while she pulled your hair, or “stupid slut” when you weren’t doing things quite right. The slander only made you work harder however, and honestly anything that came out of the blonde woman’s mouth was music to your ears. You stared up at her with rose-colored glasses, living in a delusional world where you truly believed Yelena cared about you.

It was a dreadfully fucked up dynamic — this relationship the two of you had, if it could even be called that. One of you lived in a terrible fantasy of what could be and the other was practically incapable of feeling human emotions. It was truly only a matter of time before the world started burning around the two of you.

A very short matter of time.

Yelena was spasming underneath of you now, warm juices and shaky convulsions racking through her body and into your mouth. You drove your tongue deep against her contracting walls, your eyes squeezed shut. A disgustingly sticky mixture of her fluids and your own saliva dripped down your chin as you finally pulled away, a bitter taste hanging on your tongue.

And Yelena was always quick to leave, she never stuck around any longer than she had to. She came, she came, and then she’d pull shitty excuses out of her ass as to why she needed to leave so soon. Those reasons more often than not consisted of one person — Zeke Yeager. Whether or not there was something romantic between the two, or if she was just highly devoted to him, you could never tell. You weren’t even sure if you wanted to know, honestly, because the answer might just break your heart.

Why don’t you stay tonight, Lena? You looked over at her as she pulled her trousers up her long, gangly legs. You craved something deeper with her, something more than just occasional casual sex — but it was really too bad that she didnt reciprocate those feelings at all. Sorry, there's a meeting tonight. I have to go. She’d respond, her voice dull as she carelessly brushed you off and slipped on her boots.

Will Zeke be there? Your voice always got low when you talked about him, but you made intentional efforts to hide the jealousy in your tone. Of course he’ll be there, he is the leader, she’d state dully as if this was obvious, and maybe it was, but it still made your chest ache.

You spend a lot of time with him lately, even outside of meetings, you’d state your observations out loud for the first time. Confrontation wasn’t something you enjoyed, and you certainly weren’t any good at explaining your feelings either. But your heart was starting to nag you lately, and you needed to voice your opinions before it was too late.

We’re preparing for a war, her eyes grew incredibly narrow, try not to make such selfish accusations right now. The words were like daggers of guilt stabbing between your ribs. Yelena had a way with words — a shiny silver tongue that always made you believe what she said without a doubt. You started to believe that you were being selfish — after all the war was very real and Yelena was very involved, that's probably all it was.

You’re right, I’m sorry. I just wish you were around more. Your voice was much quieter now, shame and remorse churning in your stomach -- maybe you would have been better off not saying anything at all.

We’re busy. You have to understand where I’m coming from here. It’s hard for me to make time right now, she’d continue to spew nonsense into your impressionable ears. She didn’t like that you were starting to question her, not at all. She’d say whatever you needed to hear to keep you around at this point — she didn’t plan on losing her little fuck-toy anytime soon. If you needed a little affection to keep you complacent, then she’d just need to put on a little show for you.

Come here, I’m sorry, her tone grew softer, but not at all sincere. You helplessly sunk into her spindly arms, and she pulled you tight to her chest. Just hold on until after the war, okay? Once we make the world a better place, we can do whatever you want.

More false hope, false promises, and false reassurance. The war would be brutal, you’d probably die at some point in a terrible event of collateral damage. You’d die and then Yelena would never need to fulfil her empty promises -- it was that easy, and you’d never know the difference.

That sounds nice, you’d smile, your heart warming at the idea of living in a free world with Yelena by your side. You fell ignorantly for her words, missing every single warning sign and every single red flag. Maybe if you’d noticed the subtle darkness in her eyes, the strain in her tone, or the way she hugged you a little too roughly, you could have saved yourself from the ensuing heartbreak. Or maybe if you had realized that with you being a scout and her being a follower of Zeke, it was unlikely that the two of you would ever work out. But you stupidly refused to consider any of these things, and it was going to cost you your heart.

That fateful memory was a few months ago, and now the both of you were in Marley, anxiously waiting for Eren’s plan to unfold. You were partnered with your friend Connie, his lips twisting into a thin line as the two of you hid in the shadows on top of an industrial building. You were incredibly capable with your 3dm gear, and even more capable with the new gun technology, but you were practically useless with your head in its current state. You watched the streets with fervent eyes, dashing them up and down nearby alleyways and hoping for any sign of Yelena. The attack hadn’t even started yet, but not knowing her whereabouts made you incredibly uneasy. She was probably wherever Zeke was, of course, but you liked to think that wherever she was, she was worried about you too.

Yelena was hiding in plain sight, dressed in a traditional Marleyan Army uniform with fake facial hair wrapped around her chin. She did as she was ordered, trapping two of the titan shifters in a large hole and then retreating back to her position. She was focused solely on her task, and on Zeke and how she could ensure his safety, and honestly, the thought of you hadn’t crossed her mind once tonight.

When Eren’s attack came, it came suddenly and violently -- and it was like nothing you’ve ever seen before, or at least not since the colossal and armored titans attacked so many years ago. Before you could even take in the horrifying scene in front of you, Connie was grabbing your hand and ushering you to run, the two of you taking off with your 3dm gear. You couldn’t stop your eyes from wandering as your body swung through the air, frantically searching the streets for the tall, blonde woman who owned your heart. But maybe you should have paid less attention to finding her, and more attention to where you were going.

Connie’s shrill scream shook you to your core, and at first you didn’t even notice the array of guns pointed right at the two of you. A group of Marleyan soldiers were lined up atop a building, every single nozzle of their firearms preparing to shoot at you and Connie. Your friend shot his gear downwards, swooping underneath the scope of the guns and shouting at you to follow him. And you tried, you really did, but you were horribly distracted and accidentally shot your gear into the very edge of a building. The hook crumbled the corner of the building and was unable to secure itself, sending you hurling to the ground beneath you. Your breath was wiped clean from your chest as you smacked against the ground, dust and dirt filling your lungs. Connie was forced to swing up onto a higher building, narrowly avoiding the bullets and unable to come down after you. Your bones ached as you peeled yourself off the ground, looking up just to see pieces of rubble hurling towards you. What the FUCK, Eren? You silently cursed out that irresponsible titan boy, scrambling to avoid the giant chunks of building that were quickly getting closer.

You thought you’d made it, your heart beat gushing in your ears as you launched yourself towards another building, only to be knocked back down by a slab of broken concrete. Pained yelps squeezed out from your throat as your body fell helplessly back to the ground. This fall did a number on you, your ears ringing and your head pounding with a dull pain. The large piece of rubble had crashed into one of your legs, rendering your leg immobile and absolutely crushing your gear. Connie couldn’t help you, not when saving you guaranteed his own demise — you needed to do this on your own, unless-

“Yelena!” You called out to the towering woman who was stumbling towards you. Her arm was wrapped around an injured Zeke, and she was working hard to carry him to safety. Levi must have rocked his shit again, you’d have to thank him for that if you made it out of this alive.

Yelena stopped momentarily when she saw your mangled leg, but not even an ounce of concern crossed her determined face. She looked you up and down, and then glanced down at Zeke as if she was weighing her options.

“I’m sorry,” She shot you a horribly unsypathetic look, dragging her gaze away from you and hurrying off with the injured blonde boy.

It was so simple, so short, and there wasn't the smallest hint of remorse in her voice. Your brain couldn’t process how easy it was for her to leave you there, your mouth hanging open in a small “o”. You would give your life for Yelena, and she didn’t even blink when you were faced with certain death — and that’s when it all started to set in. The delusional facade that you’d imagined between the two of you was shattering, small pieces of glass memories crashing and crumbling around you. The cruel owner of your pitiful heart felt nothing for you, and it had taken this long for you to finally realize.

All of the days and nights the two of you spent entangled in each other's arms had meant nothing. All of the time you spent with your lips locked against hers and her large hands caressing your body had been devoid of anything more than lust for her. Terrible embarrassment washed up inside of you as you recalled all of the sinful things you did for this cold-hearted, unfeeling woman.

Your motivation to fight was gone, your eyes locked onto Yelena’s tall figure as she ran further away and out of view. She’d picked Zeke over you again, she always did, and she always would. She practically worshiped him, like he was some kind of fucked up, twisted god. You weren’t sure why you ever thought you could compete with that.

In the midst of your complete breakdown, a firm arm wrapped around your waist and pulled you into the air. Connie had come back for you, cold air stinging your face as the two of you shot up to the safety of a tall, nearby building.

“Fuck, y/n, stop being so careless! And I hope you’ll finally give up on that lanky bitch after she walked right past you like that,” he let out an exasperated breath, slumping behind a large brick wall.

“Sorry… thank you,” you mumbled, “You really shouldn’t have risked your life like that”.

“No, but that’s what people are supposed to do when they care about each other. Is it finally sinking in, that she's been using you for the past year? I tried to tell you so many time-,” He continued to ramble on in frustration.

Every one of his words poured salt into your already burning wounds, tears beginning to leak from your eyes. Yelena didn’t care about you, she never did — she’d never even sacrificed time for you, never mind compromising her or Zeke’s safety for you. And you were stupidly ignorant to ever think that she saw you as more than a toy she used to pass the time.

[ginkgomoon]

Gavin's 'Falling Slowly' and Film 'Once'- Analysis

Since the beginning, I’ve wanted to do an analysis on the song Falling Slowly by Glen Hansard and Markéta Irglová, but since it was only mentioned twice (in Mark Date and Gavin’s Music and the Past Call), I thought it was going to be left at that. But because of the mention again in @cheri-translates' post, perhaps... there could be more to it. Because this song was made for the film Once, I had actually watched it earlier this year. I wasn’t going to post this analysis originally, but the trailer literally made me cry. After watching it with the knowledge from my first viewing, the trailer had a bigger impact on me that I didn’t expect. This allowed me to push on. Rewatching the film for this helped me realise some parallels between the film and Gavin’s history with MC, along with its song Falling Slowly. For me, the film was so heartfelt, vulnerable, honest and real. Just like the side that Gavin shows MC. It also had super hilarious moments that made me laugh so much while crying over the sad bits. Highly recommend this movie (if you don’t mind some occasional cursing!) Now I can say I’ve watched Once twice.

Below contains spoilers for Gavin's CN content (referring to Cheri's translations) and on the film.

“Your performance… was a miracle to me.” -Gavin

Once is a 2007 Irish romantic drama about two struggling artists in Dublin, Ireland. The film was turned into a musical and won various awards, with Falling Slowly winning at the Critics’ Choice Awards and the 2008 Academy Award for Best Original Song. This was on top of receiving a Grammy nomination. Once only had a budget of only $150,000 USD.

In an Interview with Glen Hansard (male lead), he stated that during the scene of Falling Slowly in the music store, director John Carney wanted this shot to be the centrepiece- just two musicians connecting through music. This scene where the actors first got together to perform and sing in harmony allowed the crew to maintain the perseverance needed to finish the film despite various major setbacks. (People kept buying the same piano in the music store featured because of this film LOL)

“The closest a non-musician will ever get to feeling what it feels like to write the song… or to discover… it was the most moving scenes of the film.” -The Interviewer

The first impression some viewers may have upon watching would be criticising the shakiness of the handheld cameras. However, the actual intention (from the ex-film student perspective that I had) was to give it a sense of realism. This film aims to depict more of real-life from the perspective of the main characters. Even the characters' names weren't disclosed as they were literally 'unknown artists' in everyday life. It was ultimately based on Carney’s own personal experience, while Hansard, wrote the music for the film.

“The movie is sad, funny, real, everything that life is and it gives you hope. It's about a moment that happens in life that may not come by again or may not last forever, but it just might have the greatest impact on you. I know I'll be watching "Once" again.” -A fellow Once viewer.

We are introduced to the male lead (Guy), playing the guitar and wanting to make it big with his music, who also fixes vacuums with his father for a living. He meets the female lead (Girl) and she bugs him into fixing her vacuum. In the beginning, he’s cold and doesn’t want to associate with her (especially after when she gives him 10 cents for his busking).

Look how grateful he looks-

Even when Gavin and MC met again after their separation, Gavin puts up a fragile guard in front of MC while protecting her from a distance, like in high school. And just like how Joe Zieja stated in his MLQC interview-

“Gavin is a really interesting character, especially when we first started out before he and the producer really had a relationship… Gavin’s very cold. He’s very business-like, he just wants to get stuff done. But it’s really neat to see Gavin’s shell melt over time as he develops a relationship with the producer.”

In the film, Guy finds out that Girl can play the piano, who learned it from her father before he passed. Turns out, Guy is heartbroken from his ex (who’s currently in London) who cheated on him. Girl tries to convince him to get her back with his songs.

Similarly, Gavin discovers MC’s music during his fall shown Campus Date, in the moments where he received his Evol. Gavin devotes his life to protect her.

(I also did a timeline of MC and Gavin’s high school history together here that also references these parts.)

*Casually dragging vacuum*

Together, they go to a music store and she plays Mendelssohn for him. Then finally, at 15:42 of the film, they start to play Falling Slowly.

(So good! So good!! When they start harmonising!!! No fancy editing or cuts- it’s just two artists and pure music.)

Through music, they connect with each other’s souls. Just like how MC saves Gavin with her music that fateful day. And soon enough, Gavin comes across MC playing another song in the music room.

That song was Falling Slowly. He doesn’t know the name of the song though, only remembering the melody. Later, he learns how to play the guitar because he liked it and thought that perhaps he could perform it to his special someone one day. Such moments had inspired Gavin to write and make his own songs then record them onto his CDs so that maybe one day she could listen to them.

A thought I had was that did Gavin hear the piano and decide to make a guitar version, only to figure out that he was the missing piece?

Even the music store owner was very impressed-

Just like how Gavin slowly begins to soften up to MC, in the film, the instrumental of Falling Slowly plays when Guy and Girl start to bond. Guy tries to talk to her more but she states that she “has responsibilities”. It’s revealed that she has a daughter at home and a husband still in the Czech Republic. Even so, together, they write and record songs for his journey to London- back to his ex and to pursue his dreams as a musician.

Later, they go out for a spin on his father’s motorbike- he even prepared another helmet for her (SPARKY 2.0??). He asks her to teach him how to say “how much do you love him?” in Czech when they talk about her husband upon finding out that she’s married. She replies with, “it is you I love” in Czech. But he has no idea what she said. (*Grips heart*)

He wants her to go to London with him, start a band, and sell out shows. But she can’t. The song they recorded together “When your mind’s made up” (I have this song on repeat) plays in the car as they drive to the beach before he leaves for London the next morning.

So, if you want something And you call, call Then I'll come running To fight and I'll be at your door When there's nothing worth running for

The music producer is clearly so impressed-

Together, they schedule a time to meet up just before he leaves for the airport. Guy waited all night till morning for her.

But she still doesn’t come. And that was the last time he ever saw her. Just like how MC wasn't able to see Gavin who waited the whole day before he left. This was shown in Old Days Date that I did a heart-gripping analysis on here.

Guy’s father had said, “make your Ma proud.” (*Cries upon remembering Gavin’s loving mother*)

In the end, still unable to reach her, Guy gifts Girl a piano. In the beginning, they had a conversation where they spoke about pianos being too expensive, hence why she kept going to the music store in order to be able to play. Even though they are both short on money, he still manages to buy her a piano- the same one they played Falling Slowly together.

And while the film comes to an end, Falling Slowly plays in the background while Guy is off to the airport.

*Dramatic power-walking*

This was a heartbreaking ending for the viewers because not only that they didn’t end up together, they weren’t able to see each other before he left. And it wasn’t disclosed why she couldn’t make it.

Nothing too fancy happens because again, this was to show a slice of real life, and this proves it to be more tragic and beautiful. It can’t really be described unless it’s experienced. And I had the chance of viewing it not once, but twice.

This film (and song) is important for Gavin and MC because, despite their complicated history of misunderstandings, he always wants to put their relationship first and make the most out of what they have now together. Girl had helped Guy achieve his record deal and pursue his dreams. She had done her part on his journey to becoming an artist and both had to part ways. Without her, he wouldn’t have been able to record his songs and leave. Likewise, without MC, Gavin wouldn’t be the man he is today (hence, Winter World). Gavin is very vocal about this as well.

Gavin lowers his head, and the light follows his movement, descending onto the scrapbook, illuminating every word he writes- “I’m very happy to have met you in the past.” -CN Mark Date

“It doesn’t matter what happened in the past. What matters is every moment I spend with you now.” -Sugar Figurine Phone Call

“Seeing you again is the best present I could hope for.” -The Best Gift Phone Call

"Even though I'm curious about the future as well... I care more about the present. For me, it's good enough to seize the day. As long as you're here. The next second will be everything I need. Protecting what I have now, is the best plan for the future." -School Legend ASMR

With Falling Slowly, it’s quite a straightforward, romantic song. Originally in the film, Guy wrote it about his ex-girlfriend so it does has some sad lyrics. MC didn't know how Gavin knew about it.

Teacher Zheng: Just now, MC mentioned that you play the guitar and bass incredibly. Could you let me hear it? It’d be best if the two of you could play together. I haven’t heard my Orchestra Leader play the piano in a very long time.

To be honest, this is not a “request” at all. If Teacher Zheng wants to hear it, I’ll definitely be willing to play for her. But Gavin…

I cast Gavin a probing glance, wondering if there’s a need to persuade him. To my surprise, he nods.

Gavin: I could, but I’m really not as skilled as she says.

Teacher Zheng: Haha that’s all right. I just want you to use your heart when performing. What’s important isn’t how good it sounds, but the heart.

Gavin: Could I borrow the guitar over there?

Teacher Zheng: Of course.

Basically shown in Mark Date, Gavin’s been preparing for this moment all this time. He already knows what song to play. And what’s so amazing is that the first instrument we hear is the guitar which leads the piano. Therefore, once Gavin plays his piece, MC would know what song it is and then join in with her piano. AND THEY WOULD SING TOGETHER.

Maybe it’s just my misperception, or the sunlight just happened to fall onto his eyes, but I keep feeling as though his eyes are even brighter than usual. It’s as though they are flashing with light.

This is a slightly melancholic song, but the moving light and wind seem to make it refreshing and clear.

🎶 Lyrics 🎶

It's a slower song to help listeners slowly take in the emotions, lyrics and main dueting instruments of piano and guitar with the occasional violin in the back. It's so simple, and yet so powerful.

The guitar has its solos and the piano appears more prominent in the chorus. In the beginning, it's just the guitar, with the piano joining in after.

[GUY & GIRL] I don't know you but I want you All the more for that Words fall through me and always fool me And I can't react And games that never amount To more than they're meant Will play themselves out

Gavin never got the chance to be close to MC in high school, so he showed his affection through other methods. He walked 10 metres behind her after school and was her silent guardian against those who had negative intentions towards her. In the library, he had tried to introduce himself to her, but she had already dashed off.

Before waiting for him to say the introduction he had rehearsed countless times in his heart, the girl had already uttered a “thank you” and hurriedly fled. -CN Tilted Time Rumours and Secrets

Gavin couldn't help but develop this softer side for her and didn’t know how to control it or express it other than doing things such as leaving strawberry milk on the piano and learning guitar in hopes of playing it for her one day.

Those "games" he's referring to were those things they did, such as MC smiling at him when crossing each others' paths in the hallways, and Gavin buying her hot drinks and only looking at her among the snowball fight chaos at school in the Winter. Gavin has no power over how everything will turn out, nor does he try to have complete control over it either.

"... I believe that some things are destined. Like..." -Gacha and Destiny Phone Call

[GUY & GIRL] Take this sinking boat and point it home We've still got time

This "sinking boat" of the relationship is what they're both trying to save. For Gavin, this could be suggested to be about himself.

In a split second, the noise ceases abruptly. After a moment of silence, whispers surface in the crowd. Vaguely, I can catch a few phrases.

“Bad.” “Fighting.” “Misfit.” -CN Mark Date

Gavin had a tough time in high school being the outcast, but MC kept him going, fighting in the name of justice. And had quite literally saved his life. She was his lighthouse when he was battling the rough waters back home. And MC- she was also his home.

“As he clenched his fists, a power deep down within awakened. It was a rapture of rebirth. A declaration of the end of darkness and the advent of the light.” -Campus Date

[GUY & GIRL] Raise your hopeful voice, you have a choice You've made it now

Gavin wants her to realise his feelings, be around and talk to him more- and say "yes". But even so, he still gives her a choice not to, and would have to live with that. Gavin thought she already had when he departed and spent years thinking that her absence showed all of what had to be said.

[GUY & GIRL] Falling slowly, eyes that know me And I can't go back

Gavin's falling slowly for MC (compared to when he fell really fast before MC saved him LOL). Once he starts, he can and would never go back. He hopes that MC would see him the way he truly is.

MC: “I have one more thing to tell you. MC is a bit slow. She is not as good as you think, and will also be blinded by rumours…”

Gavin: “She’s a very nice person. What she thinks of me has nothing to do with anyone else." -Old Days Date

[GUY & GIRL] Moods that take me and erase me And I'm painted black

Gavin can't handle his feelings. (*Cries*)

After being in a daze in the piano room, he’d be in a daze in the library, continuously staring at the empty seat where MC used to sit, and I have no idea what he’s thinking about.

But I really didn't expect a person who sleeps in class to be in a daze in the library for an entire afternoon... Did Bro Gavin and MC have a fight recently? -CN Minor's Memos

[GUY] You have suffered enough And warred with yourself It's time that you won

He states that he understands that the girl had it rough, but if she was to be with him, she wouldn't get hurt. Gavin wants to be the one for her.

"MC, I want to make you happy forever. If... I hope that person is me." -First Year In-Game Birthday Visit

[GUY & GIRL] Take this sinking boat and point it home We've still got time Raise your hopeful voice, you have a choice You've made it now

[GUY & GIRL] Falling slowly, sing your melody I'll sing it loud

Gavin recognises MC's "melody", and urges her to sing (her presence) and Gavin will listen and follow, singing his one, too. Together they will harmonise.

[GUY] Take it all Oh, I played the cards too late Now it's gone

The song finally ends with both the guitar and piano, whereas at the beginning it was just the guitar.

This part is the most powerful and heartbreaking. Gavin regretted not giving the farewell letter to MC directly- from "playing the cards too late", then suffers the loss of her, her presence, and her melody.

But fortunately, in the end, Gavin successfully returned home- to MC.

"Want to play for a while tonight? I haven’t heard you playing the piano in a long time too.

If possible, I’d like to make a song request.

How about “Falling Slowly”?

We could sit by the window and play it together again." -CN Gavin’s Weekly Text - Piano Concert

Somewhere, Gavin is happily playing Falling Slowly with MC.

[sinceileftyoublog]

Black Country, New Road Album Review: Ants From Up There

(Ninja Tune)

BY JORDAN MAINZER

Divorced from context, you could hear Black Country, New Road’s remarkable Ants From Up There as a conscious effort to stray from being called “the world’s second-best Slint tribute act.” Following up a debut album of songs that had existed long before they were released, the septet embraced a new style of playing to create Ants, a distillation of indie rock aesthetics of the past thirty years. There’s the wiry post-rock of Louisville’s finest, yes, but also the orchestral bombast of Arcade Fire and the jagged experimentalism of the UK scene in which BC, NR currently find themselves. But its devastating lyrics foreshadowed the revelation of the mental health struggles of lead singer and guitarist Isaac Wood, troubles that would cause him to leave the band mere days before its release earlier this month. Ants From Up There is a breakup album, the dissolution of its central relationship at first mirrored and obscured by metaphor, eventually a raw, last-breath expression of utmost desperation.

It’s hard not to evaluate Ants From Up There in its album order; the record is built like a symphony, its instrumental intro and first song with lyrics foreshadowing musical motifs and ideas and characters that repeat throughout the album. ��Chaos Space Marine”, named after forces in popular wargame Warhammer 40K, is misleadingly uplifting; the squeaks of Lewis Evans’ alto saxophone interspersed between violinist Georgia Ellery’s main introductory riff do, in fact, embrace a sort of celebratory chaos. “So I’m leaving this body / And I’m never coming home again, yeah!” shout Wood, Ellery, pianist May Kershaw, and bassist Tyler Hyde, both interstellar and disassociated. On “Concorde”, Wood starts to unveil his devotion: “I was made to love you,” he sings on a song that builds up with strings and horns and ends with crunchy guitar like the way For the first time’s “Sunglasses” begins. The song’s namesake is a no-longer used British-French turbojet airliner, but in the narrative of the album, the plane, rising high above and leaving Wood behind, is his ex. “Concorde, I miss you / Don’t text me ‘til winter,” Wood begs, “I can hardly afford a second summer of splinters / This staircase, it leads only to some old pictures of you.” The memories he paints are sad, small moments where you can sense bits of false hope, like when his significant other rejects his intimacy and says, “Don’t eat your toast in my bed,” an ask that’s followed by horns, click-clack drums, and light Afropop guitar riffing, a glimpse of light that’s all the more soul-crushing because of the inevitability of disaster.

Throughout Ants From Up There, Wood’s mind bounces all over the place, and he often gets ahead of himself, important details to share so as not to paint a glossy picture of himself when it comes to his own heartbreak. “It’s just been a weekend / But in my mind / We summer in France / With our genius daughters now / And you teach me to play the piano,” he sings on “Good Will Hunting”, all-too-relatable for any romantic who easily falls in love. He’s also conscious of the effect being in an acclaimed band, singing about a relationship, has on his significant other. “I never wanted you to see that much / Of the bodies down there beneath me,” Wood sings over solemn, then frenetic strings, piano, and woodwinds. You start to understand why he left the figurative and literal stage.

At almost an hour long, Ants From Up There is an emotionally exhausting listen, and more so because its final three songs make up almost half of the run time. They also demonstrate the purest outpouring of feeling from the band. Song of the year candidate “The Place Where He Inserted The Blade” is the biggest tearjerker, a song whose title seems menacing until you realize Wood’s referencing an instructional cooking video. Inspired by Bob Dylan’s Rough and Rowdy Ways standout “I’ve Made Up My Mind to Give Myself to You”, and unwound atop lilting piano and flute, Wood describes his crippling dependency. Even if “every time I try to make lunch for anyone else, in my head I end up dreaming of you,” is a sweet sentiment, it’s followed by the vulnerable chorus: “I’ll praise the Lord, burn my house / I get lost, I freak out / You come home and hold me tight / As if it never happened at all.” The last verse of the song includes playing music for fans as another example of dependence: “Show me the fifth or the cadence you want me to play.” “Snow Globes” juxtaposes free drums from Charlie Wayne, essentially ignoring the rest of the band’s melodic responses to him, a perhaps unintentional but fitting metaphor for unrequited love.

Then there’s “Basketball Shoes”, a white wale for BC, NR fans, the 12-minute live favorite that ends up closing the album. “A home for us, stick insects,” Wood sings as he observes the destruction left in his wake. The ants from up there are left to clean up the mess. “If you see me looking strange with a fresh style / I’m still not feeling that great,” he clarifies. The song quiets, and its instrumentation swells exponentially, like the introduction to Los Campesinos! “You! Me! Dancing!” but with the brutal confessionalism of Titus Andronicus’ “The Ballad of Hampton Roads”. As various band members come and leave and provide a gorgeous backing chorus like a Greek tragedy, Wood’s at the center, screaming. Ants From Up There may forever be inseparable from Wood’s departure from the band, and ironically, just like Slint, BC, NR saw their lead singer depart before their instant classic album was released. But the context only adds to the album’s lore. Ants From Up There is right up there with The Monitor, or Neutral Milk Hotel’s In The Aeroplane Over The Sea, a moment in time you’ll remember first experiencing and want to pour yourself into for years to come.

[loved-lefthaunted]

What are your thoughts on all the evermore songs?

oh my god. this is such a hard question for me so brace yourself. it’s taken me nearly 2 months to write this out and i still don’t think i’ve managed to encapsulate all my thoughts.

So, I have very strong feelings about evermore. I immediately loved it three times as much as folklore, for a variety of reasons. I can do a song-by-song breakdown alongside my general thoughts of the album below:

Firstly, I want to preface this by saying that I do not disregard the impact that folklore had on me prior to evermore’s release. I am not oblivious to the fact that folklore likely primed me for the sound that evermore had and that my mind was set up for a similar sounding album so was willing to receive it with more open ears.

That being said, I think that evermore is the superior album. The overall emotional range and sonic variety of the album is wider and more thought out. The different songs provide a more well-rounded listen in my opinion and give me much more emotional investment than folklore. Each individual song feels strong and there are far more songs with single potential than folklore.

So let’s get down to it:

1. Willow - iconic. The big sister that cardigan deserves. The song that I wish the Lover album had been. A song so fully devoted in such a soft and sweeet way without feeling sickly. A mature way to dedicate a song to the person that you can’t live without but in a way that doesn’t throw pink confetti at your face and tell single people to fuck off. TAKE MY HAND? OKAY TAYLOR. WRECK MY PLANS? FOR SURE BABES. THAT’S MY MAN? 100% FEEL U GAL.

2. Champagne Problems - LOOK. I AM CLAIMING THE NAME SAMPAGNE PROBLEMS FOR ALL FUTURE CONTENT. I want to be proposed to just so that I can reject them and then get wildly drunk on overpriced alcohol. It’s heartwrenching in a way that Taylor hasn’t been since the likes of Treacherous. It doesn’t throw sadness at you, overwhelm you with tears. It hides heartbreak within a soft piano riff and gorgeous imagery.

3. Gold Rush - a sapphic daydream. i cannot believe this is real. The return of a heart-thumping drumbeat and the most lovely, pure song that just describes the infatuation with someone beautiful and how you can wonder about them and be so happy about them and jealous of them all at once.

4. ‘Tis The Damn Season - this christmas song makes me wish i had a boy next door in my hometown that i could randomly sleep with. why don’t i have a fluffy hallmark holiday film based upon this premise? why isn’t there a christmas music video to show me how their interactions work during the holidays and how it differs so vastly with their normal lives? Why can i feel both the distance and the closeness that these two people feel? the cutest dedication to a very un-cute casual relationship. a bittersweet shout out to the people who make us happy for a few fleeting moments spread out over the long haul.

5. Tolerate It - i have very VERY strong feelings about this one. it feels like it both encapsulates romantic and non-romantic love so perfectly. It pairs perfectly with the likes of Closure (more on that later). We all deserve to be celebrated. In a world of people settling for less than they deserve, we should reach for those who deserve us. We are worth it. Find someone who will show us how worthy we are. It’s aching and slow and painful and just....everything. Just because someone has always been there doesn’t mean they deserve to continue to be there. Tolerating you is not the same as deserving your loyalty.

6. No Body, No Crime (feat. HIAM) - IT TOOK 14 YEARS BUT TAYLOR FINALLY MURDERED A MAN IN COLD BLOOD AND I AM HERE FOR IT. MEN ARE TRASH, LADIES. REMEMBER THIS. ENGRAVE IT INTO YOUR TOMBSTONES. TATTOO IT ON YOUR FOREHEADS. MEN AS AN ENTITY DO NOT DESERVE US. MURDER THEM. A YEEHAW DREAM. (I have no strong feelings about HIAM but the existence of Este’s name is a blessing in itself, their backing vocals are a lovely addition and a true testament to their friendship as we know how protective Taylor is about mixing business and friendship through collaborations)

7. Happiness - this song is HURTFUL. a song about growth, a song about finding yourself amidst the loss of a partner, a friend, a family member. a loss so deep that it will hurt you for years to come and take a piece of you away forever. but a loss that you have to be resigned to and grow from and let go of. the slow build of the backing is something i haven’t heard since Holy Ground. Both songs talk about loss and moving on in such starkly different ways but still encompass the feeling of reminiscing on something good and pure and perfect whilst battling the knowledge that it’s over and trying to be happy for the person now that they’re gone.

8. Dorothea - the sweetest girl in the neighbourhood. a childhood friend that we all miss having. a person we watched grow into something massive and successful and we’re so genuinely happy for them. the song encompasses the feeling of a distanced joy. a joy that has nothing to do with you, everything to do with this person that you’d be happy to accept again with open arms but will be equally as happy to watch succeed from a distance. a bouncy backing track and lovely vocalisations that really build a sense of a warm hug and the feeling of soft morning sun on your skin.

9. Coney Island (feat. The National) - alright. so i’m sat on a bench in the cold, wrapped up in a winter coat and a hat and gloves and a massive scarf that covers half of my face. i can see the air when i breathe out. there’s an empty ferris wheel at a deserted fairground and i can remember when it was alive and bustling and when i was surrounded by all of the people closest to me on a late summer’s day. and i miss them. i yearn for that to be back. the way we yearn for a time before covid, before masks and elbow touches and sanitising everything. a time when you could sit around a table with your friends and welcome someone with a hug and visit your family for the holidays. a time of joy that was so overlooked until it was gone. The presence of The National is also a breathtaking addition and truly deserved after Aaron’s input on both folklore and evermore. I’m glad they saved it for this song.

10. Ivy - this song just radiates GREEN. Am I in a forest? Am I just in a greenhouse, watering the plants? The guitar/banjo sounds make me so horrifically nostalgic for Speak Now era. The male backing vocals remind me that Taylor has evolved so far from the girl we used to exclusively listen in conjunction with Caitlin Bird and Liz Huett. 

11. Cowboy Like Me - one of the only songs I don’t really care about? it’s not bad, it’s just not great. it’s yeehaw without the accompanying passion. It’s the end of a sad, sad wild west movie. It’s a backing track in a scene of a TV show when someone is going on a journey alone to find themselves. But it’s nothing special.

12. Long Story Short - DO NOT FUCKING TOUCH ME. THE BEST SONG ON THIS ALBUM IN MY OPINION. THE STRONGEST BEAT, THE NOSTALGIA OF 1989, THE LYRICS OF RED, THE FUCKS GIVEN OF REPUTATION. THE PERFECT IMMERSIVE TAYLOR EXPERIENCE. TRULY A 10/10 ENTITY. I WILL HAVE THIS PLAYING AT MY GRADUATION. I SURVIVED.

13. Marjorie - the loss of a grandparent is always a lot. i’ve lost 2 due to Covid and it’s cut me deeper than I ever imagined. Marjorie is the 50′s sepia toned daydream that sends you flying back to being a child and being taught life’s most important lessons when you were far too young to understand them from someone so much wiser than you. It feels like I’m being taught to live again. Another build up backing track, but in such an uplifting way? A way that makes you think of the sun slowly coming out of the clouds. Of the end of a rainstorm and the start of a new day. Optimism and innocence. Peace and hope.

14. Closure - right, the return of sadness. The use of the clatter and discord in the background. The death of a Big Machine (subtle and perfectly done). She’s doing better. We all are. It reminds me of the friends I’ve lost and crave to have back but know I’m better off without. We have to let go of this. Close the chapter. You don’t even need the epilogue, it’s over. The production makes me so uncomfortable and it’s SO NECESSARY because lack of closure is UNSETTLING. It’s horrifying. It’s devastating. But the lyrics and the power of the song show how strong you can be and how important it is to push through the discomfort and continue to live.

15. Evermore (feat. Bon Iver) - the titular song. The return of Bon Iver’s vocals and the lone piano background are truly something to be commemorated for years to come. Although it lacks the painstaking hurt of Exile, this is one of her most simple pieces of artistry on this album and it’s BEAUTIFUL. Something that feels bare and raw. A song that cuts deep and shows us the true core of what she’s currently feeling right now: that although pain might feel forever, it’s not. all pain, much like joy, is fleeting and we have to feel it but we need to remember that it’s only a piece of our experience and place it into context. The song veers on self-pity and wallowing in hopelessness until the latter third, where suddenly hope rises out of the ashes alongside a slightly padded out production from Bon Iver’s vocals. A strong end to the album. This song sets us up for future albums on a note of optimism. It’s a new dawn. 

[wallofweird]

I’m so excited for season 5! What are you most excited for? 😍😍😍

And did you see they’ll bring the covid theme to this season?

I’m so sorry I haven’t answered this sooner, I think I probably read this ask while I was sleepy and decided to reply it later and then forgot there was something in my inbox. I’m really messy, so I apologize, but thank you for sending me this, I really appreciate when people come to talk to me. :)

Yes, I did see that they will bring COVID-19 to the plot! I’m glad that’s happening because even though This Is Us is all about The Pearsons, they are conscious about what’s happening in the US, the world and at each specific timeline. They’ve addressed to some extent The Cold War, The Vietnam War, racial segregation etc, even small things like fashion and musical trends (like Kate being obsessed with Alanis Morissette, this is such a 90/2000′s thing and I believe she was listening to Hanson when she was upset after her first break up?). So not addressing COVID-19 would feel wrong, I’m sure they will address the Black Lives Matter movement and maybe even police brutality and the presidential election too to some extent. Of course, the focus will still be The Pearsons and all these life-changing events happening in the big three’s and Rebecca’s lives, but they will acknowledge how the world will be affecting their lives too.

By the way, this turned out to be waaaaaaaaaaay longer than I expected it to be and I apologize for it, haha. By the way, this is in NO PARTICULAR ORDER.

So, about what I’m most excited for, well, that’s really a hard question because there are so many things left to explore and so many different places they can go. I guess one way to put it is that I’m more curious about the unseen and barely seen stuff. For example, I believe we’ve seen enough about Jack and Rebecca as parents of children and teenagers, so I wouldn’t mind if they reduced those scenes a little bit. I’d love to see them as parents of babies (which would be a great parallel with Kevison and Katoby), or when they first started dating, when they got engaged, when they were newlyweds. And I believe it’s not a coincidence that we’ve hardly seen any of those experiences regarding Rebecca and Jack, it feels like they saved it for when Kevin finally found the one (cough Madison cough).

I’d also like to see more of them before getting to know each other, their childhood and teenage/young years (we already know there will be one flashback on the first episodes at least!), maybe a little bit of their other relatives as well. Like, what happened to their parents and Rebecca’s sister? Specially Jack’s mother, he mentions she made three clothes for the babies, so she was still around when the big three were born and that was eight years after their first encounter. 

I’d love to see more of past timelines that haven’t been visited enough as well. The 20′s is my favorite episode from season 2, I loved the storylines in there and mostly loved to see Kevin, Randall and Kate in their late 20s. Show me more of what was happening in their lives back then! Also, show me more of Randall and Beth as newlyweds and first-time parents too and more parallels with Kevison, please?

Kate. I know that eating disorders and insecurity just don’t go away, that they can be a daily struggle and anytime they can haunt you back and make you relapse. I’m glad the show explores that. However, they also work on Randall’s anxiety and Kevin’s addiction really well and have given them more different stories. I want the same for her. I’m glad that she is also married and has an expanding family of hers, but it seems like she post-poned her career again and I’d like to see her working again at some point. Also, what happens to her in the future? We saw a flash-forward that was like, two years from now and she was all dressed-up and seemed to be writing a song. I hope things are going well for her. And no, I doubt she is dead. 

More about ‘the others’. Show me more of Madison, Beth, Toby and Miguel! Why isn’t Madison close with her family? How did she develop bulimia? Isn’t there really anyone who she count on in her family? Will they reconcile or has she left them for good to make her own family like Jack did (another potential for parallels, btw). I remember Beth mentioning to William that she had a lot sisters and lived with an enormous amount of people and we kind of saw it on the few episodes that centered on her, but what are her sisters like? How were their dynamic while growing up and what is it like now? Same for Toby, he has mentioned having a brother and a sister and it looks like they’re not that close, but Toby really loves and admires Kate’s bond with her brothers, so I feel like he craves that kind of relationship to himself and I’d like to know why he doesn’t seem to have it with with his own siblings. Plus, Miguel. He has biological children and grandchildren and yet he seems to be closer to Rebecca’s side of the family. And we’ve seen him with his biological family and know it is complicated, but couldn’t they fix or at least change that a little bit?

Randall’s biological family. Memphis is one of my favorite episodes from season 1 and one thing that was very satisfying and rewarding to see was Randall bonding with his biological family. The show has done a great job showing how Randall felt a vacancy in his entire life for being black in a racist world, for being black in a white family, for dealing with racism in his own family, for not having enough black references for a long period of his life, for being adopted, for being abandoned, for not knowing anything about his biological family, for not sharing genetic traits with his family, for still feeling like an outsider among some black folks he tried to connect with. He said it once that he either tries too hard or not hard enough, but he never manages to GET IT RIGHT. So when he met his biological family in Memphis, it was sort of an awakening, fulfilling moment after 36 years of dealing with all those complex feelings. And that was all, which is one of my few disappointments with the show. However, Sterling has talked about it and it seems that they will explore that again. And if they do, I hope he can introduce Beth and the girls to his uncles and cousins! Sure, he is closer to The Pearsons, but it wouldn’t hurt to have him spending time with his biological/extended family at least for one episode on seasons 5 and 6, right?

Final closure for Kevin and Sophie. I thought episode 3x16 was the perfect closure for them: Sophie talked to him about Grant and how he was her soulmate, they recognized the fact Kevin didn’t commit to their relationship as he did with his relationship with Zoe, they said goodbye without any hard feelings, he went back to Zoe and said he wanted to have a life with her and bought Sophie and Grant tickets to a concert. It was perfect. Then, I guess they wanted to play with the ‘who’s the baby mama’ question for one last time and brought her back as a plot device. It didn’t feel natural at all. They threw in two stories about a game they had imagining different endings to Good Will Hunting and her family ring out of nowhere, no previous hints, built-up or whatsoever. It felt like something made last minute to fuel them enough so she could be considered a baby mama/wife contender again after how badly their relationship played out with the cheating, hiding, lying, heartbreak and overall dynsfunctionality and the fact he dated Zoe for a year and saw himself marrying her. Even the way their relationship has been portrayed over the course of the show, it is an idealization. When Kevin is fine and happy, when his career is going smoothly, when he is life is well, he doesn’t think about her. When he gets frustrated and deluded, he runs back to her. It’s not a constant sentiment of missing her and longing for her, it’s a desperate move and Justin has talked about it and even compared it to his addiction and a unhealthy coping mechanism. So I just want them to definitely shut the door on it now. I believe they have done 50% already with them watching the ending of the movie and saying “it was better than they could've possibly imagined” and Sophie laughing at his billboard, not giving any hints of seeing him in a romantic light anymore. Now, they just need to write some closure to the ring. Give it a proper ending and move forward.

Deja, Tess and Annie. The girls are growing up! So keep giving them more things to do, specially Tess, she is one of the few LGBTQIA+ characters in the universe of the series, so I hope they explore her even more. Specially since she’s come out to her school not so long ago and it is in a phase of her life when the first crushes and relationships tend to happen, there are a lot of things they can do with that and I’m sure we from the LGBTQIA+ community would love to see it. Also, show me them in the flash-forwards! I’d also appreciate if we saw Tess having a love interest and a wlw kiss in the future. 

Deja and her biological family. She’s adopted by Randall and Beth, but she has a whole story before them, she has a mother that is apparently doing well too and is a part of her identity. Showing adoptive and biological families having a well-balanced relationship for the sake of their child would be refreshing and really important and they could show the contrast between Deja’s and Randall’s experiences. There is a lot of potential there.

Hailey. I have no idea how the adoption process works in California/the US, but I hope the little one comes as soon as possible! And adult Hailey is adorable, too, she seems to be such a devoted sister, so I hope to see more of that as well.

Unexplored or underdeveloped dynamics. I know that Jack, Rebecca, Kate, Randall and Kevin are the leading characters. I know Jack/Rebecca, Randall/Beth, Kate/Toby and now Kevin/Madison are the main couples and they will have a lot of screen time. I know Kate and Kevin have a special bond because they are twins. I know Kevin and Nicky have a special bond because he stayed with his uncle and helped him with his sobriety. I know Kevin has a special bond with his nieces and baby Jack because he is the last one to become a parent. I know all of that and I don’t want that to change. Still, it doesn’t hurt to mix it up and shake things up a little bit. Give me a little bit of Randall and baby Jack, show me a little bit of Kate and Nicky, bring back a little bit of that funny dynamic Kevin and Toby had on the early seasons (I remember one scene where the actors did a little bit of an ad-lib and it was awesome), give me a little bit of Madison and Randall’s girls, the women/men hanging out together and Rebecca and Miguel! We’ve already got confirmation about Rebecca and Miguel’s story being explored this season, so I’m excited about that.

Kevison, Kevison, KEVISON!! This is absolutely no surprise since I’ve been interested in them since season 2, Madison is my favorite character and a lot of my blog is dedicated to them. Just give me EVERYTHING. Again, one of my few complaints is how the main relationships happened way too fast on this show. Don’t get me wrong, I love the couples as much as the next person and I can enjoy every trope if they are done right. Still, my favorite are still the slowburn ones. As I viewer, I like to see the seed being planted, watered and the slowly growing like a real plant. I like rooting for something, knowing that it will happen, but not when and how it is going to play out. I like to see every single step of the journey: being acquainted, becoming colleagues, friends, confidants, best friends, falling in love, dating, getting engaged, married and BEING married. I love seeing little things and changes in their dynamic, like becoming more touchy, lingering looks, making each other blush, a little bit of jealousy... Sure, we got a little bit of those moments with Jack/Rebecca, Randall/Beth and Kate/Toby, but it wasn’t the same feeling because they were all love at first sight (which is one of the tropes I usually don’t like) and got together pretty quickly. And even when we saw their first meeting, or Jack being a little jealous/hurt when he saw Rebecca with her ex-boyfriend, it was more of a momentary thing than an example of changed dynamics and feelings becoming deeper and romantic. It wasn’t the result of months and a number of episodes in the making, it was a flashback we visited when we already knew the destination of their story, that it wouldn’t last and they would be happily married and the love of each other’s lives. So I specially appreciate that kevison will be the only main couple to have a different construction and development. I’d also love to see flashbacks of the time they slept together (it was afternoon when they met at Kate’s house and they went to Madison’s place and he only left the next morning! WHAT DID THEY DO DURING ALL OF THAT TIME?), which I’m quite confident we will get, but also before that. On episodes 4x10, 4x12, 4x14 and 4x18 I got the feeling that they were quite familiar with one another. They weren’t exactly friends, but they weren’t awkward with each other anymore, they were comfortable hanging out and shopping with Kate, he sweetly smiled at Madison’s quirks, Madison seemed unimpressed and annoyed when she opened the door to him and she didn’t have problems at all stepping inside Kate’s house as if she owned the place and ignoring Kevin when he told her it wasn’t a good time. Their dynamic really changed since episode 3x15 and Justin mentioned Kevin saw her as part of the family before their night together, so I wonder why. Also, some parallel flashbacks would be particulary nice. For example, they could have a flashback of Madison making a pregnancy test on a day that Kevin is babysitting Jack and daydreaming of having his own children. They could show parallels of Kevin and Madison struggling with addiction/bulimia in the past. Maybe she also lost a close relative and grief has impacted her as much as Kevin. So. Many. Possibilities. That. Can. Be. Explored!!!!! Those two are the characters that have THE MOST IN COMMON WITH ONE ANOTHER and there are a lot of things the writers can explore with that. Another particularly sweet thing that wouldn’t hurt or take more than a single minute would be a flashback of them meeting each other way before Kate. Like, if they had bumped into each other on the street years before and don’t remember it until they talk about it one day and realized they saw each other before? I’m watching this dizi (aka a Turkish TV show) where the characters are in a considerably similar situation, pregnant as a result of a drunk one-night stand after their first date and there was this moment where they were talking and she remembered she had bumped into him years ago when she was heartbroken over her ex getting engaged. It was such a small and fulfilling moment. It really gives the idea of COMING FULL-CIRCLE and I’d love to see something like that.

Kevison and the other couples enjoying their pregnancies. I feel like we see the characters with their children as much as we should, and I definitely appreciate that, but we don’t get to see them enjoying the pregnancy period. Last year, most of Kate’s pregnancy revolved around worry, for example. And I get that since it was a complicated pregnancy and she had suffered a miscarriage before, but still. Kate only has one biological child. Rebecca only got pregnant once. Madison is likely to be pregnant only one time too. We basically only saw Beth and Lucy giving birth and that was only one time for each character. It would be nice to see their pregnancies being fun. Documenting it, buying baby clothes, discussing baby names, building cribs, decorating the baby(ies) room etc. It would be nice to have flashbacks of that and specially to see KEVISON doing all of that, since this is the pregnancy that is happening at this current moment.

The characters having friends outside their families and marriage. Like I said before, I KNOW that the focus of the show are the big three and Jack and Rebecca. I know which dynamics will be more explored on the show and I don’t want that to change. However, Kate is the only one that has the luxury of two friends (Madison and Gregory). Randall got Jae-Won on season 3 (I actually think they only became real friends last season, tbh) and Kevin had Cassidy for a while and now doesn’t even seem to talk to her anymore (not that I miss it because I didn’t like their dynamic, specially after they slept together and I just wanted season 4A to focus on him and Nicky without anyone’s interference). Let them have some friends of their own too and hang out with them at least for an episode? Same goes to Beth, Toby, Rebecca and Miguel (I know he had Jack, I’m talking about present time).

Kevin’s career. For now I want him to focus on his children and Madison, but when it comes to his career, I’d like to see him doing different things. He played a soldier and a cop. Let him play different characters and show more versatility. Maybe doing voice-work on a Disney movie for his children to watch it and enjoy it? Dealing a little bit with fame, tabloids and paparazzi could be interesting as well. He’s not a big celebrity like Oscar-winner actors, but he is famous enough to be photographed on the street and have mean rumors about him spread on the media (they mentioned one about him being drunk and running over his daughter with his car), so there are many possibilities to explore when he comes to his career too.

Kate being there for Madison during the pregnancy and more moments of Kate helping and comforting her during difficult times, both in the present and the past years. This is not criticism. Kate helped her when she relapsed that one time and took care of her. It also didn’t make sense to focus on Madison that much because her character didn’t have such a big role back then. Now, things have changed and Madison will be needing her, so let Kate repay the favor.

The couples enjoying some adult time without children involved. One of the very few flaws of This Is Us. We only got that with Jack and Rebecca. The only times Kate/Toby and Beth/Randall tried to have a night just for themselves they had problems. Susan mentioned that she would like to see them going on a date and so do I? Hopefully we will see Kevin/Madison, Randall/Beth and Kate/Toby having some quality time without the kids as well.

If we get to see more of the big three as older children and teenagers (which I guess we are because unless that’s changed, the actors are still part of the main cast), I hope they show more moments of them bonding, having fun and helping each other. Having their own experiences and having each other’s back instead of problems that Jack and Rebecca try to solve for them or help them with. Let them be bigger characters and let them be close as siblings too. That episode where they watched Arsenio Hall together was particularly sweet and refreshing to see, same goes to Kevin helping Randall at school when he got a notification and was having a panic attack. However, for their teen years, I’d definitely love to see them being easy with their parents and those five having a good time together, enjoying each other and their parents for a change, specially since Jack passed away when they were only 17.

Jack, Hailey and the twins. Sure, they will be little, but I hope we get to see the cousins together for a decent amount of time. It is really nice that they are all close (Madison/Kevin/Kate), and NOW, FAMILY. It is nice that Hailey, Jack and the twins will be closer in age and not have a lonely childhood. I hope they explore that a little bit.

Jack Damon. I love him. He is creative, charismatic, funny and adorable. He is also one of the few representation of disabled people that was done right. He is a visually-impaired person played by visually-impaired actors. His disability is a part of who he is and his story, but not all of it. He is a successful musician. He has a big family with his daughter, wife, sister, cousins and uncles. I want to know more of him. Plus, the writing exploring accessibility. Episode 4x13 when Kate, Jack and Rebecca went to the retreat and we saw all those children playing and having fun and living a full life was amazing. We need more of that on TV.

Plus, what about Nicky? Who did he marry? I have an entire theory about this and I hope he can get a little family for himself. Don’t get me wrong, The Pearsons are his family too, his bond with Kevin is one of my favorite relationships in the entire show, but I’d want him to have a family outside of his extended family, too, you know?

Dr. K and Wlliam. We can never get enough from them! I don’t know how often we will see them due to the pandemics and the fact the actors are eldery, but they are the guest stars I will never grow tired of. A fantasy sequence with the entire family while having Jack, Nicky and William would be particuarly nice. They could’ve done it on episode 4x17 and I was a little frustrated that they missed the opportunity.

The future of the family and the future of the show. Rebecca is a grandmother now. Randall, Kate and Kevin are parents. Deja, Tess and Annie are growing up. Jack is 1. Madison is very close to giving birth to the twins. They’ll be 40 when the season premieres. Kevin is a year sober. They’ve all grown in so many different ways. And since Rebecca’s health and memory are deteriorating, I’d like them to be in the upfront of the narrative now. As I mentioned before, I know the leading characters are Jack, Rebecca, Kevin, Kate and Randall. I know the big three are some of biggest characters on the show. Still, when it comes to family, the narrative has always focused on Jack and Rebecca as parents and Kate, Randall and Kevin as children. They have always explored more the problems those three experience, whether is in the past or present time and Rebecca and Jack trying to help them navigate through them and solve things. Let’s reverse everything. Let Rebecca be vulnerable and having her children taking care of her. I’d also love to see more of the future timelines with Randall’s girls as young adults, Jack, Hailey and the twins as children and teenagers, them and their parents dealing with all of that. What will Randall and Beth do when they all go to college and move out? What will Kate and Toby do when their children have nightmares? What will Madison and Kevin do with the twins when they have problems at school? Let us see (more) of Randall’s, Kate’s and Kevin’s parenting style and what they got from their parents and are passing on for their kids and what is their own approach to parenthood. Let us see them passing on Jack and Rebecca’s legacy for the future generations of The Pearsons, but also making their own little traditions and having their own experiences. Let’s us see them making NEW MEMORIES FOR THEMSELVES AND THEIR FAMILIES. It is a good idea to explore both on seasons 5 and 6, imo. Showing how far they have come, how this family that started with only a couple and has evolved into this gigantic fabric of people and how Jack and Rebecca will live forever though Kevin, Kate, Randall, their children, Hope and the ones from generations that are still to come.

IT’S NOT that I exactly WANT it, but iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiif we really have to go there:

Kate and Toby’s divorce. I don’t want it. I love them as people. I root for them as a couple. Sure, they have faced some major problems and this season explored that, but I hope they get passed it, specially since they are about to welcome a second child. Still, I can’t come up with a good enough of an explanation why Toby isn’t wearing his wedding ring. Every possible reason that crossed my mind was either heartbreaking or underwhelming at best: there was a small incident and he will buy a new ring, they got divorced, Kate died. I don’t want any of it to happen and I bet money that Kate doesn’t die. Still, if after making such a big deal of it, it turns out that they just are buying new wedding rings or whatever, that will be so ANTICLIMACTIC. And if they do get a divorce, it will be REPETITIVE since they teased it for the entire season and they stayed married. So far, if it were for them to split up, it should have happened on season 4. If they’re reaaaaaaally gonna go there, I hope it will be done well considering there are only two seasons left, two children involved and it was something they literally played with LAST SEASON. They must find a way to make it REFRESHING AND NOT REPETITIVE. They must find a way to explore the outcome of it. Dealing with a divorce, being single again, the custody of their children and how it will change their dynamic as parents. I also want them to find a new love. Sure, it would be realistic if they ended up alone, yes, and there’s no shame in that. A lot of people don’t want to get married or never see that dream coming true and those are stories worth telling too. STILL, I’d be really frustrated with they were the only characters who ended up alone when Randall/Beth and Kevin/Madison are happily married. Even Jack and Lucy seem to be going strong! So show them finding someone else and give well-developed love stories with different people for them while exploring everything else that’s already going on too. I wanted there to be a big and plausible enough explanation why on earth Toby isn’t wearing his ring and yet is still very much married to Kate, but I recognize it is more wishful thinking.

If they still want to bring Sophie through flashbacks, then answer relevant questions than just having her there sitting next to Kevin. The divorce is a great example of storyline and it can serve as a parallel for Kevison, like, what they got right and Kevin/Sophie didn’t. Justin said Kevin cheated on her twice, so how did all of that happen? We don’t know.

[asimawv]

I write and conceptualize story to music, so I’ve compiled a playlist of 30 Darkest Dungeon-specific songs that I listen to when writing (and subsequently re-writing) in no particular order, which I hope will help you set the vibe too. :+)

Names in bold are links for easy listening - tons of Hozier and Of Monsters and Men up ahead, five minute warning.

1. ‘Fire and the Flood’ - Vance Joy

If you listen to nothing else on this list, listen to this one - it’s the kind of song that’s made for movies about yearning. Folk influences, choruses of trumpets and vocal harmony, and instruments that are layered for a rich, resonant sound. This is the song I imagine Dismas and Reynauld horse-racing through a crowded outdoors market in the hamlet to, and the song I listened to nonstop freshman year when I first started writing The Myth of Sisyphus.

You're the fire and the flood And I'll always feel you in my blood Everything is fine When your hand is resting next to mine Next to mine You're the fire and the flood

The chorus is built around biblical allusions to the fire (the burning bush signifying first contact) and the flood (destruction of the first world), the beginning and end. Every line is similarly evocative of Darkest Dungeon in their simplicity (“I’ve been getting used to waking up with you,” etc.)

2. ‘Soldier, Poet, King’ - The Oh Hellos

By the title alone you can guess who this is for. Even the Guild quote for the Leper approaches these three things as the defining parts of his character (specifically it’s “a ruined man, a warrior, and a poet.”) This song coincidentally has an old world influence to it, with a Medieval Renaissance style from a guitar playing a lute-adjacent melody.

There will come a ruler Whose brow is laid in thorn Smeared with oil like David's boy, oh lei oh lai oh Lord Oh lei, oh lai, oh lei, oh Lord Smeared with oil like David's boy, oh lei oh lai oh Lord

To be smeared with oil is to be anointed by a prophet and thus chosen by god himself to be king, just as David was and his boy after him (presumably Solomon). There’s something strangely wistful about the imagery, which is just how I like my songs about bygone kings.

3. ‘Exit Hymn’ - Bear Attack!

This song is about the end of the world in a version where everyone simply stands together in silence watching, rather than having the masses swarming in panic.

Lovely shapes to the world descending, Brothers and sisters. Lovely shapes to the world descending, Brothers and sisters Mute.

It defies Lovecraftian horror, which is based on the premise that “common human laws and interests and emotions have no validity or significance in the vast cosmos-at-large” - it flies in the face of existential nihilism and the despair that it should bring us. That’s why I like this song for deaths in the end-boss fight; it also has a special place for other death-related ideas, like full-party wipes - entire teams of people vanishing into the dungeons, gone insane, holding hands while the darkness surrounds them.

It’s a bare song which has a sanctity to it, mostly just piano and rain and human voices. Just what you would hear at the end of the world.

More under the cut:

4. ‘Pursuit of Glory’ - Jhameel

This song is laid-back. It doesn’t have the Homeric intensity that some of the other songs here do - it’s a guy with a guitar and vocal harmony. By god is it a great piece of writing though (all of Jhameel’s older songs have that quality to them), and all of it is evocative of Darkest Dungeon.

So many eyes set on the path to glory Too many ties, friendship is for the lonely Can't still my heart, my tongue has tasted folly Thirsty for art, hungry for power and money

This is a song for everyone in the barracks, especially the ‘laundry list’ of people and their approaches to the pursuit of glory.

5. ‘Good Old Days’ - Macklemore (feat. Kesha)

This fucker put a Macklemore song in here. I did, yeah. It’s not even the only song with Kesha in it here (I’m sorry.) 

It’s a sentimental pop song, and I am sentimental to a fault. This is Darkest Dungeon AMV material, and I always mishear one of the lines as “we were underground, loaded mercs in that 12-passenger van” so it’s here.

We've come so far, I guess I'm proud And I ain't worried about the wrinkles around my smile I've got some scars, I've been around I've felt some pain, I've seen some things, but I'm here now Those good old days

6. ‘Past Lives‘ - Kesha

Here it is, the other Kesha song - this was introduced to me by a good friend, also in a Darkest Dungeon context. There’s just something about the lovers spanning time trope and finding each other in one life to the next that is irresistible (for the obvious reason in the context of Darkest Dungeon.) It’s a soft song, totally out of place in Kesha’s typical discography, and has a line about losing someone to the crusades, so... you know.

There's just somethin' about you I know Started centuries ago though You see your kiss is like a lost ghost Only I would know But I, I keep on falling for you Time after time Time after time

7. ‘Viva la Vida’ - Coldplay

You cannot fight this. You know that this is the song for King Baldwin IV of Jerusalem, you know it is. Did you know the official name of this genre of music is “Baroque pop”? Yes, that means more songs like this exist. You will live with this information now.

Don’t fight it. Just let it wash over you.

I hear Jerusalem bells are ringing Roman Cavalry choirs are singing Be my mirror, my sword and shield My missionaries in a foreign field For some reason I can't explain Once you go there was never, never an honest word And that was when I ruled the world

Mirror, sword, and shield, the three other members of his party, his missionaries in a foreign field. Thinking emoji. I typed that out so I wouldn’t have a repeat of the crab emoji incident.

8. ‘The Boxer’ - Jerry Douglas (feat. Mumford & Sons, Paul Simon)

Partly inspired by the Bible, Simon & Garfunkle’s ‘The Boxer’ is a folk rock song about poverty, loneliness, and homesickness. It’s written and sung in a style that’s strongly reminiscent of older times, and the final verse about its eponymous boxer is particularly powerful:

In the clearing stands a boxer And a fighter by his trade And he carries the reminders Of ev'ry glove that laid him down Or cut him till he cried out In his anger and his shame "I am leaving, I am leaving" But the fighter still remains

This is what I use for Dismas’ life leading into organized crime and his foolish abandonment of stable job prospects in a half-baked bid for fame, as well as being punched down over and over again but with nowhere else to go. That last part is widely applicable across the cast.

9. ‘I Will Wait’ - Mumford & Sons

I am but a simple man. I see 'folk rock' and add it to my Darkest Dungeon playlist. This song I use for Reynauld - it has that sort of “salt of the earth,” somewhat biblical humility in its choice of words and style. 

Raise my hands Paint my spirit gold And bow my head Keep my heart slow

10. ‘Little Lion Man’ - Mumford & Sons

Have we not beaten this song to death yet? Can you blame us? This is the people’s song. We reserve it for all of our favorite fuck-up characters, as primal as Saturn devouring his son. We love this song. Jesus.

Tremble for yourself, my man, You know that you have seen this all before Tremble little lion man, You'll never settle any of your scores Your grace is wasted in your face, Your boldness stands alone among the wreck Now learn from your mother or else spend your days biting your own neck

The line about learning from your mother in particular is why I think of this song for Dismas’ introspection, but I also associate it with the Hellion.

11. ’From Eden’ - Hozier

There’s too much Hozier in my playlists. There is so much of it, and it’s all important to me, says the hoarder. There’s something about profoundly intimate folk music that I love, and god put folk, R&B, blues, and alt rock into a Vitamix for 45 seconds to make Hozier.

Honey you're familiar like my mirror years ago Idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on its sword Innocence died screaming, honey ask me I should know I slithered here from Eden just to sit outside your door

‘From Eden’ is, according to Hozier, about idolizing someone from a distance, written from the perspective of the devil “looking longingly at something he desires - for everything that he does not have.” I associate this song with the Grave Robber for its playfully nihilistic tone - Audrey does say something to the effect of being left for dead by high society and the affectionate bordering condescending address is on-brand.

12. ‘Cherry Wine’ - Hozier

‘Cherry Wine’ is unabashedly about domestic violence, and its sincerity is heartbreaking, the sanctification of the blood spilled in the name of keeping her.

The way she tells me I'm hers and she is mine Open hand or closed fist would be fine The blood is rare and sweet as cherry wine.

This song is strongly tied to the Vestal for me.

13. ‘Work Song’ - Hozier

A song about unconditional love - heaven and hell were just words, indeed.

When my time comes around Lay me gently in the cold dark earth No grave can hold my body down I'll crawl home to her

I think of this song for both Dismas and the Abomination - it’s a song about love transcending spiritual and even physical need, complete devotion, but something about it is also not quite right. It’s morbid and excessive, self-pitying, and almost ugly in its sincerity.

14. ‘Sunlight’ - Hozier

The strong gospel influence with the choruses, church organ, religious fervor - I think it makes a great song for traveling scenes and church/altar scenes.

I had been lost to you, sunlight Flew like a moth to you, sunlight oh sunlight Oh, your love is sunlight Oh, your love is sunlight (sunlight, sunlight) But it is sunlight

15. ‘Arsonist’s Lullabye’ - Hozier

The gospel this time is paired with electric rock instrumentation. Something about the lamentation is unapologetic and matter-of-fact in its disturbing inclinations - this is Paracelsus’ song. Arguably representative of Bounty Hunter and Flagellant as well.

Now that I think about it, it’s great for Abomination as well. Damn.

All you have is your fire And the place you need to reach Don't you ever tame your demons But always keep 'em on a leash

16. ‘We Sink’ - Of Monsters and Men

Of Monsters and Men are closer to the indie rock/pop spectrum with influences of folk, with much less biblical influence and more folklore-inspired lyrics. They make for great trailer and action songs.

We are the sleepers, we bite our tongues We set the fire and we let it burn Through the dreamers, we hear the hum They say come on, come on, let's go So come on, come on, let's go

In Lovecraft’s Cthulu mythos, dreams are how the Old Ones commune with humans on the earth’s surface while they slumber in the ocean depths (Cthulhu fhtagn meaning “Cthulhu is dreaming”); I like to think of the ‘sleepers’ as the heroes being tasked to “set the fire” and the ‘dreamers’ being the Heir and Ancestor driven by some unseen force to unearth the antediluvian underground.

17. ‘I Of The Storm’ - Of Monsters and Men

Very somber song, overwhelmingly piano and snare drum and vocals. Also a great death scene song, or for introspection around the campfire, or played to reveal a major event.

If I could face them If I could make amends With all my shadows I'd bow my head And welcome them

18. ‘King and Lionheart’ - Of Monsters and Men

My favorite OMAM song - it’s clearly written about two children, kind of reminiscent of ‘Where the Wild Things Are’ in its fantastical nature, and very upbeat about the end of the world.

His crown lit up the way as we moved slowly Pass the wondering eyes of the ones that were left behind Though far away, though far away, though far away We're still the same, we're still the same, we're still the same

This part is reminiscent of the Leper’s journey, but the mentions of taking over a town, howling ghosts, the end of the world, a black sea and creatures lurking below, etc. are all evocative of Darkest Dungeon.

19. ‘Little Talks’ - Of Monsters and Men

Also very upbeat for its subject matter - according to OMAM, it’s a narrative of a woman speaking with the ghost of her dead husband, or going insane and believing that she’s speaking with her dead husband.

Some days I don't know if I am wrong or right Your mind is playing tricks on you, my dear 'Cause though the truth may vary This ship will carry our bodies safe to shore

The call-and-respond style of the song is haunting. I like this song for expeditions and afflicted heroes.

20. ‘Wolves Without Teeth’ - Of Monsters and Men

Suitable for both Occultist and Abomination, being consumed by an unseen and otherworldly force that inhabits them - well, maybe just rarely seen, in the Abomination’s case. Special mention to OMAM’s ‘Human,’ same conceptual backing but more raw.

You hover like a hummingbird Haunt me in my sleep You're sailing from another world Sinking in my sea, oh You're feeding on my energy I'm letting go of it He wants it

21. ‘Desierto’ (Original Motion Picture Score) - Woodkid

This is a full album, because all of it is dark orchestral cinema music described as ‘unsettling,’ with the sole exception of ‘Land of All,’ which has vocals to it. I reserve this album for writing fight scenes and for particularly unsettling events because it’s tense and wordless. I read Junji Ito to this soundtrack too, it’s insanely high-strung and discordant.

22. ‘Iron’ - Woodkid

‘Iron’ qualifies as Baroque pop - you might recognize this as the Assassin’s Creed: Revelations song. The large-scale, cinematic style of it and thematic lyrics make it great for writing about dramatic encounters or brigands.

This deadly burst of snow is burning my hands I'm frozen to the bones, I am A million miles from home, I'm walking away I can't recall your eyes, your face

23. ‘Never Let You Down’ - Woodkid (feat. LYKKE LI)

Another somber song, orchestral with some industrial noise in the mix - another great introspection song, or one for a scene with some hard decisions to be made.

Will you come along cause I'm about to leave this town In my eyes, a waterfall, all I can hear, a siren call Could you be waiting by the shore, oh I could drown without you Will you be holding out the line when I fall?

24. ‘Run Boy Run’ - Woodkid

Church bells, fast percussion, strong orchestral presence. For chase scenes, obviously, but great for fast-paced sneaking scenes as well. Also has a strong quasi-Medieval fantasy setting style to it.

Tomorrow is another day And you won't have to hide away You'll be a man, boy! But for now it's time to run, it's time to run!

25. ‘I Love You’ - Woodkid

Don’t let the scream effects and aggressive percussion at the beginning deter you (it kind of took me by surprise the first few times too) - it soon fades into more of the church bells and melodic string accompaniment.

Oh yeah, unrequited love song? It’s free (mental) real estate, baby.

Is there anything I could do Just to get some attention from you? In the waves, I've lost every trace of you Where are you?

26. ‘Vagabonds’ - Grizfolk

A rare departure from folk! Grizfolk is alt rock/indie pop. Stylistically it doesn’t match the feeling of Darkest Dungeon, but lyrically it’s almost 1:1 to arrival in the hamlet and the subsequent expeditions. Good song for writing about recruits bonding.

Oh this careless ground, guessing this is home now Oh in no man's land, at least we're still standing And we're all just fighting, some of us will not return And there's no redemption in trying to find your way out

27. ‘Everybody Wants To Rule The World’ - Lorde

Great trailer fuel, if you’ve seen the AC: Unity E3 trailer with this song - I listen to an extended version when writing fights in the Guild, especially one where two heroes are beefing. It’s got a primal kind of thing going on. I also associate this song with the Arbalest - lyrically, it fits her backstory like a glove.

Welcome to your life There's no turning back Even while we sleep We will find you

Acting on your best behavior Turn your back on mother nature

28. ‘Torches’ - X Ambassadors

More alt rock/indie pop - kind of a rallying song for dark expeditions, hopeful but still somber in nature - some gospel elements. X Ambassadors’ more popular ‘Renegades’ is also a fun tavern song.

Come on, carry your flame Carry it higher Leave it in the darkness Carry your torches

29. ‘Passing Afternoon’ - Iron & Wine

This is a song I use for reconciliation or domestic scenes - Dismas with Junia in the garden, for example. It’s soft and kind of meandering, and features vintage piano - you know, the piano you heard in the basement of your church turned community center as a child.

There are times that walk from you like some passing afternoon Summer warmed the open window of her honeymoon And she chose a yard to burn but the ground remembers her Wooden spoons, her children stir her Bougainvillea blooms

30. ‘Some Nights’ - Fun.

You know this song, your mom knows this song, everyone knows this song from like, middle school. Thought it’d be fun to end this list on an uplifting and very popular song. This is the song that a Disney adaptation of Darkest Dungeon would use in the Training Montage™ - from the point of view of Reynauld. It hits all of the points - being their commander rather than their equal, his stern and antisocial zealotry with no true ideology behind it, the ghost of his wife.

Verse 2, starting with “Well, that is it, guys, that is all / Five minutes in and I'm bored again” is where I see it transitioning to Dismas.

Well, some nights, I wish that this all would end 'Cause I could use some friends for a change And some nights, I'm scared you'll forget me again Some nights, I always win (I always win) But I still wake up, I still see your ghost Oh Lord, I'm still not sure what I stand for, oh What do I stand for? What do I stand for? Most nights, I don't know

_____

Well that’s all from me! Feel free to leave your own recommendations in the replies, and I’d love to know what you think about my personal picks. :+)

[hellyeahomeland]

[This is our last Director’s Chair post and the final post of “regular” coverage for the finale. Compiling this all now, almost a month later, has brought back a surge of conflicting emotions for me: pride, catharsis, relief, anxiety, sadness, emptiness. We love to put these posts together and we’re so grateful you all have enjoyed reading them. Thank you. --Sara]

“Prisoners of War” | Directed by Lesli Linka Glatter, Cinematography by David Klein

Sara: It was not scripted that Brody’s infamous tape would open the episode as Carrie drives back from the meeting where Yevgeny told her to kill Saul. And yet it works. All season they’ve charted Carrie on a similar path to Brody. Finally, the subtext becomes text. 

In more ways than one, we end at the beginning. Not only did Brody’s tape open the finale of the show’s first season, but this opening scene of the episode was the last shot of the series. 

Ashley: I wasn’t aware that it wasn’t scripted, but I wasn’t surprised to see it. We knew for a long time prior to season eight that Carrie was following a path echoing Brody’s; it was interesting for me that it was never explicitly referenced or referred to. Until right now.

Gail: Brody filmed this video before he put on the suicide vest but with all of the intentions of putting it on and going through with the ultimate betrayal of his country. The audience doesn’t know it at the time, but Carrie has already put a plan in place for the betrayal of her country and Saul with all of the intentions of going through with it. As we hear Brody speak, we get a sense (and foreshadowing) of Carrie’s mindset. She knows people will say she was broken, she was brainwashed, people will say that she was turned and taught to hate her country. But like Brody, she loves her country and swore an oath to defend the United States of America against enemies both foreign and domestic. For Carrie in this moment, she is looking straight ahead because there is no turning back for her now.

Sara: I love this slow push on Carrie as she arrives at Saul’s empty house. There is an air of defiance to her expression--the refusal both to do what Yevgeny’s asked of her and also to believe she’s in this position to begin with. It adds context to her admission later that she blames Yevgeny. Though he was pushing her along, every decision that Carrie made was hers and hers alone. 

Gail: I agree, and I also sense her relief. The weight of her plans is bearing down on her. Saul trusts her so implicitly that he has invited her to stay in his home and receive his full protection. Here she is, letting herself into his house with a key he surely gave her. I’m not sure betrayal is a strong enough word for what Carrie is about to do to him.

Ashley: I remember laughing over Max’s very Max statement that the black box was actually orange. I don’t think I ever considered how important that information was; he risked his life, over and over again for it, and it’s all entirely distinctive.

Gail: When I first watched this scene, I had hopes that somehow Anna could steal the flight recorder or download the information from it. Even on rewatch, I’m struck by how many different ways the outcome could’ve been different. This whole season has been shaped by a series of misconceptions. It’s a scary proposition that truth isn’t truth anymore.

Sara: Chekhov’s flight recorder returns! I have to eat my words on this one. About midway through the season I was rather dejected thinking about how the last half of the show’s final season would be about … what? This stupid flight recorder? But they did it. Who knew the quest for an inanimate object could be so compelling? I mean, I guess JRR Tolkien and plenty of other people but still.

Gail: It is no coincidence that Anna is wearing similar colors to Carrie, and my guess is that their likeness that Sara pointed out in the last Director’s Chair isn’t either. These are the two most important women in Saul’s career (life?) and both have sacrificed so much for what they believe in.

Sara: I love Tatyana Mukha as Anna. What a weighty, pivotal role in the last two episodes and she totally nailed the feigned devotion. Outside, she’s robotic and emotionless; inside, a warrior. 

Ashley: How interesting for her to be a translator — her job literally was to take information from one person and convey it to another. That’s what she did always. Her role as Saul’s asset was just an extension of it.

Sara: Gail, here’s your red/white/blue shot. I’ll note too that Charlotte, in addition to the royal blue suit, is wearing the white pearls and red lipstick and also that the colors of Russia’s flag are… red, white, and blue. 

Gail: Thanks Sara! I spoke about this on part one of our finale podcast, but the red, white and blue imagery here while Carrie’s plan is set in motion to betray Saul and her country are striking.

Ashley: God, what a smarmy little shit.

Gail: Hugh Dancy’s weirdo evil beard deserves an Emmy of its own.

Sara: This twisted little smile from Hugh Dancy emanates filth. What a despicable character John Zabel is. There must be twenty of him walking around the real-life West Wing today.

Sara: That said, his repeated trolling of Saul was wonderful to watch. This petulant shrug here is a mood. 

Ashley: This shot is great. Zabel and Saul are literally arms-length apart from one another in this cavernous office. 

Gail: It says so much about what kind of President that Hayes has become that his chair sits empty during this very important meeting (in the Oval Office FFS!) with his National Security Advisor and an escalating nuclear war looming.

Sara: I loved that Carrie and Saul’s sisters both showed up in this episode. While neither really understand their sibling, they both ultimately respect their wishes. Their appearance feels especially significant in an episode where Carrie and Saul--each other’s found family--are “cleaved apart” (Gansa’s words).

Gail: I think Maggie respects Saul, but I also think it must have taken a lot for Maggie to go to Saul’s house in search of Carrie. Maggie has made no secret of her feelings toward the situations that she feels Saul has put Carrie in. Maggie doesn’t call Saul, she goes to his house to see for herself. Carrie isn’t the only Mathison sister with agency. Maggie has quite a bit of it herself. As the two people who know Carrie best, it’s fitting that Maggie’s appearance at Saul’s house confirms what Saul must already suspect about Carrie’s involvement in the price for the flight recorder. It’s also a reminder of what Carrie stands to lose. Carrie isn’t just betraying Saul and her country, she is betraying Maggie and Franny, turning her back on all of them.

Ashley: It felt important to me that Maggie met Saul. These people are Carrie’s ONLY family, and she is never going to talk to them again.

Sara: Love the stock footage of Maggie’s home from earlier seasons! And the American flag flying in the breeze. 

Gail: The Brody family home had a flag flying too... the irony of a typical American home with a tyranny of secrets inside is quite the metaphor.

Ashley: I love that Carrie has a go bag stashed with thousands of dollars (at minimum) and she’s still probably got that wicked credit card debt. 

Gail: Pills, passports, and a plethora of unmarked bills in a variety of currencies put Saul’s go bag of diamonds to shame.

Sara: Oh my GOD I looked at this picture the wrong way for a second and thought the fuzzy pink pillow was Carrie’s WRINKLY HAND and I had a momentary freakout. Anyway, my point about this is that I love all the go bags we’ve seen from Carrie over the years.

Ashley: At what point do you think they’ll take that photo of Carrie off Franny’s dresser? She is never going to see her mother. Why remind her of that?

Gail: It’s heartbreaking that the only picture of Carrie in a frame in Franny’s room is of Carrie alone. Franny probably doesn’t have many memories of Carrie being with her on a daily basis, which is even more heartwrenching to think about. Is Homeland trying to tell us they are better off apart by showing us a happy Franny and a happy Carrie separately? The “Franny of it all” absolutely breaks my heart.

Sara: The way they incorporated Franny into this episode is very clever. We never see her but her presence--or, really, lack thereof--in Carrie’s life punctures every moment. 

Sara: Carrie slowly making her way up Saul’s house, lit from inside, is such an outstanding shot. It’s like she’s walking into the lion’s den. This show doesn’t use non-scored music all that often, so the Mozart that plays over this part is especially distinctive. It’s so very Saul, and I love how it contrasts to Carrie’s jazz at the end of the episode. Saul remains old school, traditional, classic. 

Gail: Saul’s house looks so warm and inviting. His street looks like every other suburban street after dinner--minus the Russian kill team waiting for Carrie’s signal.

Ashley: Saul left the porch light on for her. :(

Sara: I love how Saul stays seated while Carrie hovers over him. It gives the impression of Carrie having the power or “high ground” in the situation when it’s the complete opposite.

Ashley: This is such Carrie posture, her face is tense, she knows this will be the end. Look how wide her fingers are spread — she is desperately hoping he’ll throw her a rope and let her off the hook and mixed metaphors, mixed metaphors, poor Carrie. 

Gail: Saul’s ability to stay calm and play his cards close to the vest has always been impressive, but never more so than during this scene with Carrie. He may be sitting casually, shirt unbuttoned and having a drink, but there is nothing casual about his demeanor. In their typical relationship fashion, Saul knows more than he says and Carrie isn’t playing by the rules. The only difference is that for the first time in the series, they are no longer on the same team.

Sara: Saul finally rises to look Carrie square on. This scene is the culmination of eight seasons of their relationship. Lesli Linka Glatter has said many times that the quintessential Homeland scene is one where two characters are having an argument and expressing completely different viewpoints and they’re both right. This scene between Carrie and Saul, as they argue not just about the likelihood of war but the morality of it, is simply perfect. They’re both right and wrong at the same time. After so many years of it being Carrie and Saul versus the world, it was only fitting that the show concludes with it being Carrie versus Saul. 

Ashley: Is Saul standing in front of his shelf of red books? Physically and figuratively protecting his asset? I literally can’t tell. 

Gail: Saul isn’t standing in front of his red books, Carrie is. The only thing standing between him and protecting his asset is Carrie. Literally.

Ashley: The books Carrie is standing in front of don’t look red????

Gail: There is another shelf behind her at a different angle we can’t see here.

Sara: The shelf of red books is parallel to the bar setup. So actually neither of them are standing in front of them.

Sara: It’s really interesting that the focus in this frame stays on Carrie, eyes wide, nearly in disbelief at what she’s just done. 

Gail: Neither can believe what she’s just done.

Sara: Again, Carrie stays above Saul. But this shot and the way it uses point of view really reminds me of the bathtub scene in “Trylon and Perisphere.” Both scenes center Carrie in the frame in the midst of a potentially life-altering, life-ruining decision. I’ve quoted this analysis from Libby Hill countless times over the years, and it is strangely fitting even now:

“Actions that seem only selfish can often look selfless from the other side, no matter how warped that viewpoint is. Consider this: Homeland rarely utilizes point-of-view filmmaking, meant to place us literally inside a character’s head. But it does here. Carrie looks down at her baby. What would it be to be the mother of this child? And, then, as her daughter slips beneath the water, we switch to the infant’s point of view. What would it be to be the child of this mother? Homeland is all but daring us to identify with Carrie’s decision, to push our empathy so far it nearly snaps. And then it reminds us of the horrors present in her choice, lets us see how she might consider she is doing to be somehow merciful.”

Gail: I still can’t believe she called the hunky Russian kill team. Before this episode aired, if you would’ve seen this screenshot, you would’ve thought Saul had a stroke or something and Carrie had just found him. And you would have thought that because, like Saul, we trust Carrie implicitly, to a fault. (P.S. Where can I get that floor lamp?)

Sara: Carrie is literally on hands and knees pleading with Saul, begging him to tell her his asset’s name. We can feel all her urgency, her desperation, her exasperation. And Saul, in stunning contrast, is still as ever. 

Sara: Again, Carrie hovers over him. I love that Saul is forced to look at her. 

Gail: In season four when Carrie goes to get Saul in the prisoner exchange, she gives him back his glasses to put on, which in essence gives his power back to him. Without his glasses throughout the series, Saul has found himself powerless, just like he is here. A prisoner in his own home in his most private space.

Gail: Carrie’s last card to play with Saul isn’t an empty threat, it is a plea. With the only power he has left, she needs him to speak the name of his asset. But the bridge has already been burned and his last words to her solidify it.

Sara: The last thing Saul ever says to Carrie on Homeland is “go fuck yourself,” and that hits deep. Mandy Patinkin is exquisite here. He’s unable to move his face or body; all his emotion and feeling are funneled through his eyes. The look in his eyes here is haunting. It is pure betrayal.  

Ashley: The “go fuck yourself” hits doubly hard, because he hasn’t said a word to her since the serum kicked in. Carrie made it a point to ask whether he’d be able to speak after she dosed him — this is all he said.

Sara: While Saul stares her down, she can’t even look at him. I thought Claire played this so perfectly. She has to cycle through a half dozen emotions--disappointment, shame, denial, to name a few--in a matter of seconds. She makes it look easy. God, it’s been such a gift to see these two act on our screens weekly for the last eight years. 

Gail: Carrie isn’t just turning away from Saul here, she’s turning away from life as she knew it. And like Sara said, the range of emotions that we see Carrie cycle through in a matter of seconds is a master class in acting by Claire Danes.

Sara: And now Carrie goes to see Saul’s sister, a mirror of the scene with Maggie earlier in the episode. It was so unexpected to bring back Dorit for the final episode, and it totally works. Really inspired writing. 

Ashley: I’m kind of disappointed that Saul and Dorit were together in the flash-forward. I would have liked for Dorit’s only interaction to be with Carrie, as Maggie’s was with Saul.

Gail: I’m not disappointed that Saul was reunited with Dorit. I find it fitting. Life has moved on. Saul was given an opportunity to repair his fractured relationship with his sister and he took it. Carrie made choices that will forever keep her from repairing her relationship with Maggie. It’s another reminder of the price Carrie paid and will continue to pay for as long as she lives.

Ashley: Okay, good point.

Sara: I’m fucked up about this all over again. 

Sara: The brilliant irony of the entire second act of the episode is that while Carrie does have to literally pretend Saul is dead, in a very real and true way he has died for her. Again, the best lies are 95% true. Her relationship with Saul at that point, having crossed the line she did the previous night, is potentially destroyed forever. She grieves for him here in a very real way. 

Sara: I only included this because the woman young Saul Berenson is holding is Mandy Patinkin’s actual wife, Kathryn Grody. If you haven’t checked out their quarantine content, get on that. 

Sara: I love how an envelope with Carrie’s name on it has played such a pivotal role in three of this show’s eight season finales. 

Gail: We need a side-by-side of this envelope and Quinn’s letter. The similarities aren’t only between the way her name is written and the handwriting itself. They also contain intensely personal messages for Carrie, who Saul and Quinn both trusted with their lives and cared for dearly. There is probably also a parallel to the ways in which they both saw her and in the ways she betrayed them both (real or imagined).

Sara: Someone’s gonna request that gifset in 3, 2, 1... 

Gail: Dorit is the last person Carrie sees from her “old” life. I think Carrie is grieving that as much as she is grieving Saul here.

Sara: In this moment, Dorit is Carrie’s last link to Saul. There is hesitation here when she hugs her, and then she just gives in and lets the grief of losing Saul wash over her. 

Sara: IJLTP.

Ashley: I like the shot of her creeping in, face only half-visible… it feels like a 24 (drink!) type shot, not a Homeland shot, and the contrast of her coming in to this beautiful bright room from a drab hallway is great.

Gail: Carrie holds all of the power and this time, she doesn’t put the gun down or drop her guard. No needles to the neck this time, Yevgeny!

Sara: I love the complete contrast to the way Carrie approaches Yevgeny in this act versus what we saw from her in the middle third of the season.

Gail: Saul didn’t speak Anna’s name and neither did Carrie. Maybe she couldn’t bring herself to do it. But standing in front of Dorit’s door reiterates just how much choice and power Carrie had. She wasn’t backed into a corner. She didn’t have to give up the asset. She chose to. 

Sara: This is such an excellent shot. Yevgeny’s stance! The gun pointed straight at him. The piece of paper with Anna’s name crumpled on the floor between them. 

Ashley: The paper crumpled on the floor between them is interesting, because this is so important to him — Carrie blew up her entire world to get this name — and it’s just tossed on the floor like a piece of trash.

Sara: Similar to the video call with Yevgeny last week, the camera pushes closer on Saul as the video progresses. And it finally goes to a close-up when he reveals that Anna has been “risking everything for us, everyday.” His words, dripping with irony, are like daggers. 

Gail: The close-ups have been used as a way to see what the character is genuinely thinking or feeling at any moment. This close-up of Saul (with glasses!) shows us just how much he trusted Carrie, and based on the timeline, it was relatively early in their relationship.

Sara: And, again, Carrie can hardly look him in the eye. He’s not physically present, but she still can’t face him. There are a lot of profile shots of Carrie in the second act. I’m not sure if there is symbolic significance to that, maybe that she’s literally been split in two by this ground-shifting decision she’s made. She’s pulled between her patriotism and sense of duty for her country and her loyalty to Saul.

Gail: Carrie feels like there is a gun to her head and puts a metaphorical gun to Saul’s head, and yet Anna is the only one with an actual gun to her head. Everyone feels like they don’t have a choice. The two most important people in Saul’s career seem to have many things in common, including taking matters into their own hands.

Ashley: And look at that dated hardware! She’s surrounded by things that have outlived their usefulness.

Sara: The entire sequence where Anna and Scott Ryan temporarily escape the GRU team is excruciating to watch. Anna is shot here from behind the fence in the basement room. It’s overt and literal imagery illustrating how trapped she is. And yet, despite that, she finds a way to be free, to end the mission on her own terms. We can understand here why Saul wants to protect her so badly. 

Gail: Saul is still without his glasses and without the power to protect Anna.

Sara: Sometimes I forget that in these phone call scenes, someone off-camera is literally just reading the other character’s lines. Mandy and Claire are both tremendous phone call (and green screen) actors. Saul jumping and wincing in pain when he hears the gunshot is heartbreaking. 

Sara: And here, this silent cry. In the span of less than 24 hours he’s lost the two people most important in his life. It gets a little lost in the shuffle of the (admittedly exhilarating) last act of the episode, but there is so much loss peppered throughout this episode. 

Ashley: This moment reminds me of the instant Haqqani shoots Aayan and Carrie jumps. You’re never prepared for that moment, whether you know it’s coming or not.

Gail: The red books are blurry in the background and just out of reach.

Sara: Another profile shot of Carrie. Here, as she watches the fruits of her labor all season long. It’s bittersweet of course. She did “stop a war,” as she earlier claimed she was trying to do. But, in the process, she lost her last remaining “ballasts,” as Claire would say: Saul, and her country. She can never go home again.

Sara: Lots of people turning off TVs this week. Earlier in the episode Carrie turns off the TV in Saul’s kitchen. We don’t need to explain the ~symbolism~ of that. 

Gail: Full disclosure: I did a deep dive on the painting on the mantle. I narrowed it down to something from the medieval times and was feeling discouraged when I took another look at this still from the finale. The menorah, just off to the right of the painting, looks fully lit. The menorah symbolizes light over darkness, something that feels fitting to the end of Carrie’s journey and complements the stained glass religious symbolism of Saul’s house.

Sara: The show has been pulling a Carrie/Brody parallel thread with Carrie and Yevgeny all season long and this scene here really reminds me of Carrie and Brody’s fight in the safe house in “The Star.” Of course, Carrie is now in Brody’s shoes. Just as Carrie couldn’t understand that you can’t redeem one murder by committing another, Yevgeny doesn’t grasp the monumental loss that Carrie is facing now that her relationship with Saul is destroyed. Carrie’s words echo here: 

Carrie: You were asked to do a mission on behalf of your country and you did it? Brody: Is that what you tell yourself? Carrie: That’s what I believe!

Gail: Carrie has done the once-unthinkable: she gave up her daughter so children like this could grow up in a world that isn’t ravaged by nuclear war. Watching them play as if nothing has happened also illustrates that the world still goes round, whether Carrie stops a war or not.

Sara: Carrie watching the young boys play soccer in the street is reminiscent of Carrie watching the two young girls in Kabul in “Designated Driver.” The effect is the same: she’s done it for them, so that they may not grow up in a world decimated by war. But what loss she faces in the process. 

Ashley: Also a reference to Issa playing soccer with Brody; Carrie has given herself mostly over to the… I guess “enemy” is the right word, but I don’t like it. 

Sara: Another profile shot. The single tear dripping from Carrie’s lip reminds me of this quote from James Poniewozik on Claire in “Q&A” (y’all I’m just pulling out ALL the quotes this time):

“As for Danes, she has the less showy part here, but it’s impressively complicated. She demonstrates Carrie in control (her shutting off the cameras shows both sympathy and power), leading Brody through his cover story, taking it apart and then bringing down the hammer—Dana—before walking him to a place where it’s OK for him to confess, telling him that she knows he’s a good man. At the same time, she shows Carrie’s delicate state in the moment, drawing on the feelings for Brody that she has, or at least once had. If she’s fooling Brody with her sympathy now, she’s fooling me too. There’s an almost sexual intimacy to the way these one-time lovers work through the confession: one tear rolling down Brody’s face, a drip of moisture from Carrie’s nose—her nose!—as Brody lies down like he wants to sleep forever.”

Sara: Another TV being turned off!

Sara: Hugh Dancy was so deliciously evil as Zabel, who was a real weasel. His expression here is one of true disappointment that he wasn’t able to wage more war in the Middle East. We don’t see Zabel in the “two years later” coda, but I’m sure he’s a lead contributor at Fox News. 

Gail: Oh for sure, and currently writing his second tell-all book. Maybe he’ll finally bump into Carrie on their book tours.

Sara: I would like to see it.

Sara: I will never this slow pan across Carrie in “two years later” land to reveal her applying mascara. Just… *chef’s kiss*

Sara: First, Yevgeny is leaning, just as always. Second, this apartment! Holy shit! It’s what she deserves dot gif. 

Gail: Hell yes! It’s also what we deserve!

Sara: There is an obvious parallel here to Lynne Reed in season one. Lynne also received a necklace from her ~beau. The irony, of course, is that Lynne was a true victim, and Carrie refuses to be. 

Gail: The first indicator for me that there was something else going on here was this look from Carrie as Yevgeny put the necklace on her. My tin foil hat was DANCING with all of the Lynne Reed parallels!

Ashley: Let’s not consider that parallel, given that Lynne’s necklace was also given to her in good faith by her paramour, and somebody else killed her for it. FOR TERRORISM.

Sara: I really can’t get over how unexpected it is for Carrie to be happy in this moment. The ultimate fakeout. Claire wished for relief for Carrie for years and she finally fucking got it. We all did.

Ashley: I know, and the look on Carrie’s face is so genuine and she might as well have heart eyes.

Gail: I still can’t believe it and it’s almost been a month since the finale aired.

Gail: What a view. So many windows reiterating just how out in the open her life with Yevgeny really is. You know what they say about people in glass houses...

Sara: Look at all the edible food on the countertops! I spy some vinegars, apples, oranges, salt and pepper. Yevgeny probably cooks for Carrie every night. Also, of course, the apartment is stunning. Gotta love that GRU money. I wonder how much Carrie’s book advance was. 

Ashley: Sara, just write the fic already.

Sara: I love the Franny photo showing up again. We know Alex Gansa loves symmetry and this is one of the better moments of symmetry in the series. It is heartbreaking, though. This was Carrie’s daily reminder as she was writing in her office of why she was doing it. 

We also need to note the books on Carrie’s desk, which are all actually Alex Gansa’s and were used throughout the series’ run for research.

Gail: I love that Carrie’s curtains are open and you can see the outside from her office. The skyline looks busy and beautiful. Her work is no longer hidden in closets or illegally in her living room. She is letting the world in on her secrets, but not quite into her office. All of the seats but hers are filled with her work. If this office is a sneak peek at her mindset, she is thriving (she has PLANTS--PLURAL!), she is organized, and she is most certainly keeping herself busy. Front and center on her desk is Franny, who I’m sure is always at the forefront of her mind.

Sara: The production design in this office is incredible. First, it looks like an office Carrie would have. All the papers and books scattered about, and yet somehow organized (everything is in mostly neat piles). 

I love the Russian doll at the far right of Carrie’s desk. It is a perfect metaphor for Carrie. A person inside a person inside a person inside a person. 

Ashley: It would have been criminal not to see one more Carrie wall. I would have sued.

Gail: This is the CIA wall where Carrie was finally able to get Brody the recognition she felt he deserved. Quinn too. Carrie has spent the last four seasons trying to answer for all of the blood on her hands, and in writing her book, maybe she can finally atone for some of it.

Sara: This is a searing, unforgettable image. The black ghost on the poster that reads “LEGACY OF TORTURE” stands out among the ocean of white paper. And what a legacy Carrie confronts here. The wall itself is filled with ghosts of all kinds: Warner, Brody, Dante, Quinn, Keane. And then there’s her real-life counterpart Ed Snowden, rendered in the ironically patriotic colors of America’s flag (or, again, is it Russia’s?) staring right back at her. 

Sara: So many details. Thanks to Lesli Linka Glatter, we know that the post-its on the window are the chapter titles of Carrie’s book and actual episode titles throughout the series. All the attention to detail here is mesmerizing. 

Gail: Sara gets her pretty, happy Carrie and I get my Spy Carrie. The post-it notes and easter eggs are the cherry on top of an already amazing series finale. Carrie taking a moment to look around the room at her old life while her new one is literally right outside her door waiting is so poignant.

Sara: We had it on the bingo card and it finally happened! The closing score from “The Star” plays over this scene, and if there’s one piece of music in Homeland that can easily conjure the emotions of loss, it’s this. At the end of “The Star,” Carrie is forced to pay tribute to Brody in her own private way. Now, she’s about to tell her own story to the entire world. 

Gail: By the end of “The Star” Brody had lost everything, including his life, and by the end of “Prisoners of War,” so has Carrie, albeit only metaphorically. When she drew Brody’s star on the wall at the CIA it was an act of defiance, of doing what she felt was right in her heart. Here she is again, defying the CIA and doing what she feels is right. The symmetry of it is breathtaking, especially with that gorgeous score from Sean Callery playing throughout.

Sara: One final Saul over-the-shoulder shot of the season (I mean series... sob)!

Sara: I love the little moments in the last act that give meaning and color to their life together. Her raised-eyebrow look at him as he’s grooving to the jazz is perfect. Carrie finally found a man who loves jazz as much as she does and that’s beautiful. 

Gail: Sharing her love of jazz music with Yevgeny seems symbolic of how much she’s let him into her life and into who she really is.

Sara: Never in 400,000 years would I think Homeland would feature a live musical performance on its show. Kamasi Washington was incredible. It’s such a perfect callback and tribute to the bones and DNA of the show. 

Gail: Russian hearts are breaking all over Moscow tonight.

Sara: Legendaric. 

Sara: The way the light hits Carrie here is gorgeous. There is symbolism to the fact that Yevgeny is completely in the dark. She looks at him, searching. 

Ashley: This shot is just really really really really really really (really to the power of infinity) beautiful.

Gail: “Somewhere down there, there’s a tiny sliver of green just taking its time. This is how everything works. You wait. You lay low. And then you come to life.”

Sara: GAIL.

Sara: This was probably unintentional, but I was struck by the symmetry of Carrie ascending and descending the staircase in the theater just as she did in the first act of the episode, repeatedly, in Saul’s house. It feels very fitting to me. In the beginning, she’s destroying her relationship with Saul. Now, she’s attempting to rebuild it. 

Gail: Carrie beginning to rebuild her relationship with Saul in a place like this, surrounded by religious symbolism, feels right. She leaves the shadows of her place in the audience and steps into the light.

Gail: The last time we saw Carrie look into a mirror she didn’t have time to shower or put any effort into her appearance. Now Carrie seems to have all the time in the world because girlfriend looks AMAZING.

Sara: More Lynne Reed parallels, this time with the purse swap, which bears a striking resemblance to the compact swap in “Grace.” I love that both Carrie and Saul have consistent means of communication with their assets. Saul’s is so perfectly him and Carrie’s is so perfectly her. 

Sara: This image of Carrie is haunting and arresting. The camerawork is brilliant here; Saul angles the book slightly upward, and we’re looking over Saul’s shoulder. The effect is that Carrie is staring straight back at Saul and straight back at the audience, piercing us. This is me, this is my story, her face seems to say.

Gail: I’m sure they were going for a similar look to Snowden’s book, but I love the black and white image of Carrie that they used, stripped of all color and (seemingly) of all allegiance.

Sara: The title, of course, is perfection. That they came up with the idea of this book in a day is quite miraculous as it seems so fitting and right for it to have been this. The subtitle “Why I Had to Betray My Country” is biting and direct and exactly Carrie. You can totally picture this in a bookstore (in the bestseller section, natch).

Sara: This dedication to Franny is simple but gutting. Above all else, it tells us that Carrie’s book and the story told within are real. She extends a hand to Saul with the note in the spine. And she extends a hand to her daughter with this short sentiment. I’m struck by how much of this show has been about Carrie’s struggle to be understood, to be believed. It’s heartbreaking that at the end she has to fight for this from her own child. This is one of the real tragedies of her story, but it makes her “finishing” feel all the more cathartic. This is Carrie’s truth.

Sara: The book is both the mechanism by which Carrie delivers her first piece of intelligence to Saul and a vehicle for her to tell her story, which includes betraying him. The irony and contradiction in that is Homelandian as hell, and completely fitting. So many things in this episode just make sense. They feel exactly as they should. What a rare gift they gave us. 

Gail: When Carrie and Saul get gifts, so do we!

Gail: I love that while everything was packed and emptied, his secret spy gear was still hidden inside his desk drawer.

Sara: Saul’s hand shaking as he reads the message is a specific detail that I really love.

Sara: Carrie’s final words to Saul, and to the audience, are “Stay tuned.” It’s masterful. 

Gail: “Hopeful-ish.”

Sara: Magic.

Gail: Pure magic.

Gail: Finally, a smile on Homeland where everything doesn’t immediately go to shit after!

Sara: In this moment the notes of jazz are repeating over and over, in higher and higher pitches. There is a sense of being trapped or repeating old patterns. Then the saxophone stutters. It wails, finally free. Carrie can’t help but smile. A secret only she knows. 

Sara: Saul grins, exhilarated. Somehow, improbably, Carrie has found a way to surprise him one final time. Earlier in this episode, Carrie’s burned it all down. Now, the light comes in. The white light streaming in from the windows, illuminating Saul from behind, gives this moment a feeling of near-religious importance. How extraordinary to believe again. 

Sara: Carrie’s contented sigh here reminds me of other moments she’s had that, like Saul’s, seem almost religious in nature. Bathed in the soft blue light and ensconced in the warmth of her music, we feel her sense of true belonging. We feel her catharsis, her relief. This is exactly where she should be.

Gail: I spoke about this in the finale podcast, but there is something to be said about watching a television series every week over eight seasons. There is an intimacy to television that builds week-to-week as the show is watched in people’s homes. We’ve gotten to know these characters, and for better or worse, we have taken a piece of ownership over them. In order for a television show to really work, that transference needs to happen and it needs to be authentic. The trick is for that balance to stay intact. Very few shows have achieved that balance long-term and even fewer have maintained it through their conclusions. Homeland didn’t kill off characters for the sake of doing so but instead gave us an ending that stayed true to the show and the characters we have come to love--an ending that was filled with loss but somehow still gave us hope. It was pure magic. It’s something I’ll never forget and something I will forever use to compare all other shows to. 

This last image of Carrie, bathed in the light of a new beginning, is a new beginning for us as viewers too. In ending the show, they didn’t take Carrie away from us, they gave her to us. Beautiful and as whole as she’s ever been. And like Sara said... what a thing it is to believe again... Thank you, Homeland. Ashley: This was a good television show.

Sara: The most shocking thing this show ever did was not killing off a half dozen beloved characters but centering its protagonist and heroine in its final moments in a moment of, dare we say, happiness and hope. Despite the utter unexpectedness of that decision, it never feels anything but honest and true. Carrie fought, she struggled, she stumbled, she lost. She lost so, so much. 

She smiles here, on the other side of it, able to finally see it all. The saxophones and keys and drums and voices drown out everything, they whir into an unmistakable commotion. And we feel this, her final, confounding truth... 

In the chaos, her peace. 

[memnonofarcadia]

Remembering Joey Bruno

Originally published in the Sacramento Jazz & Blues Quarterly Bedtime is sometime around dawn. Dinner is usually whatever you want it to be. Shall we go to Iceland? Festivals, fliers, wristbands, Sharpies on skin, smoke, grass, hash, molasses, sky, blue, crisp, clear sky. And yet I’m still writing all this within a grey airport terminal, locked into some kind of strange Druid-esque ritual with pen and paper. Deadline is tomorrow, where were you when you were supposed to be working? Don’t have any answers for now, just that I need to write and get it out to my boss within the next day. Or two. It wouldn’t have been the first deadline blown. But think, distract myself with the McDonald’s coffee and keep putting down adjectives and phrases from places I’ve been, things I’d seen, dreams I’d never have again with people I’ve never met and music I had. 40 minutes till boarding starts, I’ll be last, of course. It pays enough to fly but not enough to enjoy it. Been getting harder and harder to deal with the travel, at any rate. Starting to notice the spell everyone is under, the sleepwalking nature of the corporate employee. It had only been noticeable after it had been broken, which I had no problem doing, ever. When your home is a hotel you take your shots however you can get them, besides it wasn’t like you have to live in any particular town past a few days at most. Half-heartedly started keeping a list of rejections and their professions, making sure to note that there was only one waitress on the list, most were from bookstores or places where there was an escape for all parties. Don’t need to make it more awkward than it has to be. Sorry, I didn’t mean, then the words fade off into the ocean. On the edge of nowhere, like a little seaside town. Maybe that’s where I’d like to end up, like a lifeguard in the post-apocalypse, no responsibilities, just looking cool for the seagulls. How many life guards had I asked out? Not many, either way. Concerts didn’t go well with water, not in my experience. Can’t seem to find a way to write about anything other than something on the present times, life and times. I struggle, already flipped through the notebooks to jog the memory with some tit and tat that had to be discarded for the sake of length from another article. Or two. Or four. Or 12. Throwing yourself to the wolves, towards and into the meat grinder that one might just pay the bills with the right amount of ink in the right places on a blank piece of paper. Who cares about music festivals and pop culture when there’s McDonald’s coffee and the cold inside of an airplane to look forward to? Four times I’d attempted to ask about an airline attendant’s relationship status, thrice I’d been rejected. Once she’d pretended not to hear me and instead moved to the opposite end of the plane for the remainder or the flight. Understandable, no harm done. No harm done. By anyone, right? Who said this was ever going to be a love story, you and I?

College had been a breeze, not that I’m bragging. State schools were like that, at least then, and Californ-I-A’s were no different. No doubt now there’s better options available for where I was at when I had to decide where to go to school, but there you are. A degree in journalism is a degree in journalism, and I had little else to go on other than my love of music, substances, travel, female company, and a shocking talent at being able to string together sentences. In a way it’s always given me a bit of a guilty feeling. I never sat down and really worked at learning or improving with regards to writing, I just sort of could do it. That’s the short version of how I found my niche of a career, one I thought I could exploit anyway. Turns out I was right, and in a way it was everything I could (and did!) hope for. Except everybody’s got to grow up sometimes, and I did, regrettably. There’s only so many hungover mornings a human being can take before they’re permanently reduced to a shambling, sickly mess of what used to be a humanoid organism, and I had certainly put myself on that path. Got off of it, thanks to the countless AA meetings I made myself go to, but I digress. That had been the first mark on the wall of things that I could no longer enjoy about the gig, the fact that now I had to do the whole thing sober. The hardest substance I have confidence I can enjoy responsibly now is coffee, and even then the ugly demon of acid reflux put me back in my place before too long. Suddenly all the kids were much more annoying than usual, the travel a hassle, the food revolting, and the music itself just kind of bad, which was the real heartbreaker. Some days before it had been all to keep me going, minus the women, which were always a constant. “Festival sluts” is the term you’ll want to Google (or DuckDuckGo) if you’re curious about what I mean, also colloquially known as upper middle class girls whose parents were too busy working to devote anything past a friendly “hullo” to their children, and thus succeeded in raising a bunch of hedonistic, attention-desperate, and morally naïve young people with excess income and too much time to spend it all in. Nasty ain’t it? But it kept me coming back for more, like the good-natured animal that I am. We all are. That’s the secret that I learned more than anything from the beat, we are all more simple and pleasure driven than we could ever articulate or realize. It’s what keeps the lights on at home, for everything and anything. Probably. Or maybe I’m just bitter. Most of the friends I made during college or were colleagues in my escapades writing about indie rock et al. around the globe are gone now. Burnt out, some burnt up, most just couldn’t hack it anymore and left to go get real jobs at real newspapers. The circus, or pirate ship, as is probably more accurate a nomer, is not for everyone, and rarely does it last forever. Bet you’re wondering where that leaves me. Still bitter, but still coming back for more, just like I was always going to. Always. So why don’t I quit? You tell me. Because I know why.

The finest writer I ever met was a journalist by the name of Joey Bruno, a guy I came across one of the many late nights I spent at the pathetic office of my college’s newspaper. I was editing a freshman’s piece about how the White Album was actually really bad, sighing uncontrollably the whole time, when Mr. Bruno walked in and struck up a conversation with yours truly. I happily engaged, as any activity that didn’t involve that stupid piece of writing was fine by me. He explained that he was friends with the real Editor , who was at his parents’ in Wisconsin for the weekend, and would drop by periodically when he got off work to help out where he could. “Why spend your time working on bad writing by dumb college kids?” I’d asked him. “Free beer, plus it can be fun sometimes. There’s been plenty of stuff come through here that I rewrote beyond all recognition just for fun, and nine times out of ten the original author doesn’t even notice. Good times.” Maybe so, I’d thought. In any case every other Friday or thereabouts I’d get a late night revising buddy to help cull the newspaper’s intimidating stack of submissions. It was in those early morning hours that I came to the conclusion that I wanted to become a music journalist, mostly from talking to Mr. Bruno about his own adventures. But I don’t think I listened, not really. Maybe if I had I’d be off this conveyor belt by now, but then again maybe not. Maybe I’d never have started. One night in particular while we were enjoying our cigarettes, coffee, and beer (all courtesy of the newspaper of course), he retailed me with a story of his long lost love, a girl he’d known briefly in the California punk scene of the late 80s. I was instantly entranced. “It was a magical time,” he’d said to me while stroking his magnificent beard. “But I’m glad it’s over now. It was getting messy there at the end,” I brought up how those little parts of the world, at that time were being romanticized an awful lot in contemporary media then. “And for good reason, too.” He’d responded wistfully. “A lot of great things happened for a lot of good people. It was about as close to the 60s as anyone came since then, I think. That much hope,” And this is where he began to tell his story, the story of “the rebel known as ‘Justine,’” as he’d put it. However it had happened, the two had come into contact through the various zines they’d each produced and sent out to the other punks in town. The closest thing to an internet forum for back then was to just be louder than everyone else, apparently. That was the only real way to get heard, to start a dialogue of some kind. That or take your chances at the shows, which they did anyway, but there wasn’t much talking going on there. Joey had written to Justine complimenting her on “Pop!,” which was her way of pushing her radical politics and militant-feminist views out on to the unsuspecting public behind the thin-façade of a bubblegum periodical. The art had been good, and the writing made everyone Joe showed it to laugh out loud, so he made a point to let the author know, whoever they were. There was an address included in the back for people to write in, so he did just that. He also included a copy of his own creation, the somewhat popular (in those circles anyway) “Buzz ‘n’ Stuff.” “What was it about?” I asked as my friend rolled himself another cigarette. “Nothing really, I just sort of made stuff about interesting things I found at the library then slapped it together in that. It seemed to work. I remember the one I sent her had something about how to get popped bubblegum out of your hair without cutting it all off, so I think that’s what got her interested. There wasn’t anything of value or substance in there, let’s be real,” Joey took another swig of his beer and reached into the cooler below his desk for another, being sure to throw me one too like a sport. “Thanks, boss. But continue, you got me interested now,” So he did. It had started slowly, really, with the trading of zines and letters, the occasional patch or pin by mail too. Eventually after a lengthy correspondence they made a plan to meet up at a concert, The Vandals to be precise. Joey had taken painstaking measures to show up in the most hip clothing of the day, studded leather jacket, combat boots, the whole nine yards. “I looked like a freak,” he told me with a chuckle. “But then I saw her,” Justine had arrived looking like everything and nothing Joey had expected her to. She had the familiar punk gear, Doc Martins and an army jacket covered in patches and safety pins, but the rest of what she had on departed from the norm drastically. It had been some bizarre cross between a punk, hippy, and cult leader all in one, macabre golden jewelry offsetting the “meat is murder” t shirt underneath. “It was great,” said Joey. “People were afraid of her at that show. She looked really scary,” They hit it off and had a jolly old time watching The Vandals play, and later they found themselves alone on a hill overlooking the suburbs, talking about the issues and passing a joint back and forth. It was all music to my ears, as it would be for most any young person, I suspect. “Tell me more,” I’d implored. These were fantasies that I needed fulfilled. Joey paused and rocked back and forth in his chair contently for a few seconds before he complied. My heart sank before he spoke. “We were inseparable after that first time. It really was something. We could go anywhere, do anything, and we would always end up on the same page somehow. It was easily the deepest spiritual, emotional, whatever you want to call it connection I’ve ever had with another human being, let alone girlfriend. But then a year or two later her Mom moved her and her brother up to Connecticut to be closer to the rest of their family. Last I heard she went to school in Maine, but that was it as far as we were concerned. Finito,” He smiled through all this as though recalling some rosy-cheeked memory but I was aghast. “What do you mean that’s it? You didn’t try to follow her or anything?” Joey just laughed. “Yeah, that was really an option at 17 without a car or money. It was just something that happened when we were kids, nothing really. I’m glad it happened at all, now.” Well then. What do you make of that? The conversation drifted pretty heavily after that point, as it always did when Joey and I got to jabbering and drinking, and as usual it was stories of the times he’d been on tour years later with Ozzy Osbourne or The Stooges or someone, then got to interview them endlessly and write about it. The usual vices were there as well in his stories, the drugs, the travel, the women, the glamor, the romance. But it all left pretty quickly once the novelty wore off, hence why Joey had quit after a few years and moved back home to Sacramento. When I knew him at the college newspaper he was a jazz correspondent, if you can wrap your head around that, for several of the snootier publications in the area. “I skipped to the fun part,” he told me. “The shows never get old, now. Plus jazz cats have the best shit,” he said with a wink. I probably just laughed, I don’t know, maybe downed the rest of my beer. I’ll be bound to have another once I get on the plane, off to Finland this time. Apparently it’s festival season in Scandinavia and its surrounding territories. Guess I’ll be writing about that all then though, from a different airport terminal that looks just like this one, with coffee and food and cigarettes and beer that shortens the life as much as the ones that came before. I could go on, but I won’t, for both our sake. There’s no moral to be gleaned from all this just a simple explanation of the reality, and how I’m passing the time in the airport by writing this, because I said I would. I promised. It’s my group now, and I have to go.

[monotonous-minutia]

Don Carlo Met 2010 reactions pt. 3

So this Don Carlo will always be my favorite and I can say that even though I know there’s a bunch out there I haven’t seen and it’s because it doesn’t have my favorite version of everything, it’s the production that really got me into this opera and it’s so very special to me because of the way it came into my life and then inexplicably followed me around for the next several years.

So I have a lot to say about it.

Because it’s on my mind at this time I first want to say that anyone who criticizes Marina’s Elizabetta can eff off. I don’t care if she doesn’t have “a Verdi voice.” She IS Elizabetta. I first saw her picture in an Opera News magazine and I was like Dang she looks exactly the way I pictured based on everything I knew about the character. Plus her acting is METICULOUS. In opera, especially a super long on like this, it can be hard to find something to do during the musical bits between numbers and when the other person is singing because it takes longer for them to say things (IT’S OPERA) and react along with them. SHE DOES IT. There’s never a second where she’s not in character, she’s so PRESENT, she’s always there, and she’s fantastic and also drop-dead gorgeous. Every time she does anything I Die because she’s just marvelous.

As for the meticulous acting this, that’s my only beef with Roberto, because he does that Tenor Thing where occasionally he Just Stands There. But he’s got this warm fuzzy vibe about him and he just needs hugs. I love how he’s super sweet to Eboli even as he’s rejecting her. He obviously really cares about her. His dynamic with Elizabetta is so good and his dynamic with Rodrigo is SO. GOOD.

AND RODRIGO. I have to remind myself to breathe when I watch this one because I DIE so many times and it’s mostly Simon’s fault. WHY IS HE SO GOOD???? it’s ridiculous. Like Marina he’s always Doing Something and his reactions to the others are so real and intricate and auauahgg4hwyiy3hn. And he loves Carlo so much. And gives him all the hugs. Like seriously all the hugs. I can’t get over it. And the best part of his portrayal is that even with all the sweetness he’s still kind of shady. He knows what he wants and he makes some questionable decisions in order to get there, some that he regrets. It’s like he’s battling between wanting to do what’s best for Carlo and also what’s best for Flanders and because everything is so Messed Up these can’t always go together, and he figures that out the hard way and it comes to a shattering conclusion. 

Eboli. This isn’t my favorite Eboli in the whole wide world but dang this lady. Again being the first one I saw she kind of defined the role for me. She captures all the emotions and swings from sassy to hopeful to conniving to remorseful to determined right along with the action. Her journey is so intense and Anna really digs into it and finds the facets and we can see it all on her face. She’s so expressive. And she plays off the other characters so well. It’s obvious everyone is in love with her. (Except the one she really wants to be in love with her, because that’s how it always works out, especially if you’re a mezzo.) And she teases Thibault mercilessly.

And now for my son. He loves his princess so much. He points his gun at Carlo when he jumps out of nowhere and the Look he gives the guy when they tell him he can leave them alone. He’s like “If you do anything I will CUT you, sir.” And Layla plays him so well, like he’s always up to something, be it flirting with the ladies, hanging on to Elizabetta’s every word, checking the doorways to see who’s coming, or conferring with Aremberg as they check in on their princess. And. And. And. The Veil Song. I die. He’s so adorkable. And he goes running around giving all the ladies flowers and he saves the best one for Eboli and the way they dance around with the veil is just. I can’t. It’s illegal how cute they are. And his expressions during the auto-de-fe break my heart. He just wants to follow his princess and then he gets caught up in all of this. He’s horrified. It’s so sad. Also I still am angry that everyone forgets he exists after that scene. Even Lerma gets to pop up later but my son doesn’t get so much as a mention. Anyway. If there’s an afterlife I’m gonna take that up with the librettists. First I have to learn French.

Filippo. Furlenetto IS Filippo. I still don’t get why he has a cane sometimes and not others but Hytner is weird and I blame for a lot of things including Carlo dying (NOT. HAPPY.) and Eboli being pushed to the side during the riot and Carlo not even going with her which was the whole point. Anyway. This king. He’s so expressive and like most of the others he’s always Doing Things even if said thing is pretending to read paperwork while his wife sings farewell to her lady-in-waiting (also these two are totally in love. Like most of the time Elizabetta gives Aremberg a necklace or something but Marina gives her a RING. I think after the events of the opera these two should elope. And take Thibault with them. Maybe Eboli too.) Anyway we can see the many shades to Filippo’s character and the face he makes when he signs the warrant for Carlo’s death is just heartbreaking.

The set. I love the set. Especially Fountainebleau and the monastery. Most of the set is pretty simplistic and not as rich as some others, but it still fit the story. The huge cross in some of the scenes really emphasizes the omnipresent religious undertones that pretty much flavor everything. All the red in Act 2 Scene 2 and the auto-de-fe were bold and atmospheric. The big Jesus picture was unnerving. Also another weird Hytner thing is the added dialogue during the auto-de-fe. Guy should have left well enough alone but. oh well.

I wish this production had the extended garden scene with the masquerade and Elizabetta giving Eboli her veil, because the music is so pretty and it’s like the only two minutes we get of Elizabetta and Eboli interacting as friends. But I’m okay with the shortened opening. Again, having the Woodcutter’s Chous and Elizabetta visiting them does a better job setting up for the rest of the opera and shows the devotion she has to her people which makes her decision more powerful etc. etc. But. Those horns. The fanfare. I can’t. and Elizabetta running up the hill in pursuit of the deer and she’s so WILD and happy and. Every time I hear it I remember sitting by my radio and thinking Dang, this is good, and picturing everything, and then finally getting to see it and dying.

so anyway there’s my ramblings. will probably continue to cry about this in the next few days.

[somekindofseizure]

When the Ink Dries Part IX

This is not the end of the story, still working on the last few chapters but I felt these were ready to see the world and you all have been so patient. Thank you all for that and thank you @icedteainthebag​ for editing brilliance.

This is, as the previous 22 chapters were, adult-rated material.

* * *

Chapter 23

The vinyl upholstery crackled as Mulder shifted his weight and looked out the diner window onto the expanse of knotted beltway.  FM radio scattered particles of music around him like dust that moved with the swoosh and capture of twin glass doors.  It was a busy morning in the restaurant, but for Mulder, there was only unleased space and silence, the room Scully’s voice and body would soon take up across from him, where her new reality would be borne, where time would reset itself for them as it had so many times already. 

The waitress dropped menus and clicked her gum, winked as though she knew what he was about to do.  New realities, a zero on the stopwatch - these were things of science fiction, sexy from afar, terrifying up close.  He turned down the coffee, he was jumpy enough.

He had run his finger up and down the coiled spine of the menu for the fortieth time when she finally slid into the booth, brushed back a front-leaning strand of hair from root to end, an impractical gesture that had never really seemed to serve any purpose except to distract him.  Saturday brunch sunlight pierced the window like a bullet and Scully chose her spot carefully, taking redheaded cover in a shadow.  He fidgeted in parallel, wanting to be directly opposite her when he said what he had to say.  She laughed, as though he was making fun of her, and reached across for a quick squeeze of his hand.  He fumbled the gesture, his grip still favoring the safety of carefully-named omelets over human women.  She didn’t seem to notice his worriedness.  Maybe in her mind worriedness had become his natural state.

“How was London?” he asked because he didn’t want to say you look so good, I missed you, please come sit next to me, and these exclusions limited small talk.  And yes, because he wondered if she would tell him what happened with Stella.

“Nice,” she evaded, scanning the menu.  They both knew she would get two eggs scrambled with an avocado instead of bacon, tell them to hold the home fries but on-purpose-forget to tell them to hold the buttered toast.  Looking at the menu was mere formality. “How are you, Mulder?” 

And now she flicked her eyes up to note the quality and integrity of his answer, a doctor assessing a patient, if the doctor and patient had spent many years being in love.  And so he could assess back, could see now as she studied him was that though she was happy to see him, there was sadness too.  No doubt this sadness had something to do with Stella’s phone call from the bathroom floor. The realization was bittersweet - a poignant comfort on Stella’s behalf that the heartbreak she’d nursed was shared by the silent party, the dizzying disappointment that that other party was the person he himself was still heartbroken over.

“I’m good, Scully.  You were right about the therapist.”

“Well--”

Normally, she was happy as anybody to accept an I-told-you-so, but she demurred here, waving him off.  He persisted.

“I should’ve gotten help much sooner.  You were right.”

“Okay.  Good.  You look well.”

She turned the menu over, pretended to consider a milkshake.  He’d only seen her actually order one once.  It was as memorable a diner moment as they came - glow-cheeked and kohl-smeared, she’d asked for it with a sigh of relief, as though the night they’d just spent together had earned her some sort of bonus.  Relief.

It had been like making love to her all over again, watching her gaze into the frothy glass, the Redi-Whip level and locking like a canal as she sucked her cheeks in making pinwheels of her cheek and jaw bones.  He had reached over to take it, slurp the remains from the bottom of the straw and she’d slapped his hand away.  When she finally chose something, she possessed it, devoted herself to it. What happened when there were two competing items on the table?

“Any good cases lately?” she asked.  

Strawberry, chocolate, vanilla, her finger physically skimming the plastic cover over these joyful words.

“No… well, some,” he said.  “Hospital good?”

“They’re still a little sore over my long leave, but they’ll get over it.  I’m starting to think about retirement.  I think I could do more good that way, volunteering on my own terms… It’s not like I’d do nothing, but...”

Myriad were the hypothetical topics Mulder loved and Scully hated, but this was one of a few that went the other way around.  She could pass hours daydreaming aloud about what she’d do with free time.  It incited a sense of panic in Mulder, made some voice inside him start chanting, I will work until I die.  He muffled a sigh by coughing into his elbow, trying not to sound annoyed, and waited for her to take a short pause before interrupting her.

“I actually brought you here to tell you something,” he blurted.

She looked up, eyebrows at a two percent incline that indicated she was in no way prepared for this moment.  He picked up the file folder on the seat beside him, but the waitress came by with her pad.  Scully made Mulder go first, buying time she didn’t need, and then ordered her usual.

“And a black and white with whipped cream,” Mulder tacked on at the end.

“No, I’m on a cleanse.  London was all red meat and chocolate and alcohol.”

London, not Stella. As though she’d been in a hotel somewhere alone.

“I’ll have it, then,” he said.  

The waitress nodded as she jotted and Mulder wondered how many people used places to set a scene.  Should he have done it in private, where she could cry or scream or do something else (he didn’t know what)?  It was true, he’d been counting on the fake-leather booth and egg-pan breeze to undercut the drama, but now that he was here with her it seemed more likely to exacerbate the situation.

“Sounds like big news,” she said but lightly, a benign reduction - you, the boy who cried aliens.  She folded her elbows on the table and leaned forward.  “Come on, you’re killing me.”

No sooner did the sarcasm settle than she spotted the mustard yellow folder under his hand and her technicolor complexion went grey.  This news was not we’re going to a basketball game, I’m getting a dog, or I found your favorite sweater, here ya go.  This news required a folder with a standard bureau label on it.

He placed it in front of her on the table, laid his hand flat on top of it so that she’d have to look at him before she opened it.  She knew the moment their eyes met.

“How?” she demanded immediately.  She regarded the folder itself like a bomb, waiting for him to tell her which wire was which.  His heart raced and he tried to remember his patience, tried to quell the urge to rush her into feeling any one specific thing. 

“I wasn’t sure we’d be able to find him at all.  That’s not how we set it up,” he said to stall, and to explain why he hadn’t told her he was looking into it in the first place.  He hadn’t wanted to get her hopes up.  

“And… how?”  she repeated, now sounding light headed, shallow-breathed.

“Working for the FBI for a hundred years has to come in handy at some point, right?”

“Is he…?”  

He reached for her hands, bending forward like a branch, an unexpected gale of guilt curling his back.  Generally file folders appeared when a body turned up.  Of course he should have led with this:

“He’s fine, honey.  Just fine.  Sorry.  I should have...”

She nodded quickly, let out a breath.  

The waitress arrived with the milkshake in a deep old-fashioned glass, a spoon, two straws and the stem of a cherry sticking up out the top. For the first time, he understood Scully’s gravitas around ordering these things.  There was a time and place.  Celebration could turn to sorrowfulness, expectation to terror quickly.  Sometimes you’d be sorry or embarrassed you had a milkshake in front of you. Neither of them touched it.

“There’s a picture,” he said.  “Pictures.”

In slow motion, she registered this development, licked her lips, straightened up as gradually as a puppet, pulled her hand from under his and placed it on her stomach.  Air shifted visibly within her ribcage, rippling her fingers as she tried to support her diaphragm externally.  Condensation began to encircle the base of the glass.

“I know, it’s a shock.  I’d half been hoping Stella told you, even though I asked her not to.”

Her face twitched in confusion.  

“Stella knew?”

He shook his head quickly.  

“Just for a couple days before you came back.  It came up.”

Color reappeared in her cheeks and her fingers went to her temples.  The kind of face she normally made when she found herself in the middle of a desert in a suit in hundred-degree heat, chasing down one of Mulder’s hunches, her how the fuck did we get here again face.

“Sorry -I -?  When did it come up?  How?” she stammered.

“She probably didn’t think it was her place.”

“Why do you talk to each other behind my back?”

“We weren’t talking behind your back, we were talking and it came out, Scully.”  

This was a coping mechanism of hers, to bicker through a loss of control, but sometimes mechanisms malfunctioned, caused damage.  He knew that ‘cause he went to therapy now.  Sometime - definitely not now - he would tell her she should go too.  

“I hate feeling like I’m the last one to know things,” she said.

He leaned forward and lowered his voice.

“I hate that there’s someone who can make you come faster than I can.”

She startled, almost laughed, but couldn’t - that folder was still here, in the room, staring her down, just like the milkshake.  

Her eyes moved over the edge of the piece of cardboard, as though it required planning - how does one open a file folder that contains the son you gave away? He tore it open for her, a Bandaid off a scab.

Mulder wasn’t there the first time Scully laid eyes on their son.  He’d had to guess at the way she must have marvelled, the beauty, the awesomeness of it.  No telling how he might have held up then, how that experience might have toughened his tolerance so that now thirteen years later he might not fall apart watching this second first-time.

His chest tightened, tears freezing somewhere between his eyebrows to avoid falling.  Across from him, Scully shed them with sensible abandon, weeping as science intended, peeling the surfaces of her eyes away like dead skin, leaving behind something new and unprotected, something healthier but easier to wound.

There was a school photo of William, a close-up, and then a few surveillance photos that had been taken at a distance.  Mulder had insisted they take no chances disturbing the boy, so these were a little blurry, taken at odd angles, slightly refractory images.  You had to use your imagination in order to piece him together.  But Scully stared, tracing a finger over his profile like he might pop up from the paper and sit with them.  What would he order if he could join them, Mulder wondered?  

He was tall for his age and pouty-lipped, possessed of the pronounced Mulder brow.  But he had Scully’s eyes and his skin was so fair he looked like he’d get a burn just turning the lights on.  And there was one odd thing -

“He’s blonde,” she said finally, mystified.  

“Yeah. Tell Stella I want a paternity test.”

She smiled and laughed, held a napkin to her upper lip to blot the snot.  

“There’s some information, too,” he said.  “It’s mostly, well, you’ll see.”

She flipped nimbly through, taking it all in like one of the old casefiles she’d had to cram before she got out of the car.  As in those cases, there was little to go on.  A tonsillectomy.  One school change to enter a gifted children’s program, a broken arm when he was ten from falling off the edge of a staircase, climbing up the wrong side of the rail, an activity which had almost gotten him kicked out of the fancy school.

She looked up, topmost edges of the papers trembling over her knuckles.  Her fingers were ripply at the knuckle, but her hands were still lovely, expensive looking - little blown-glass figurines that would outlast every piece of furniture in the house.

“He’s fine?” 

“Yeah.  He’s fine.”

William’s life was average in the extreme.  It was regular.  It was everything they could have hoped for.

She put the photos down in a neat pile, straightened her shirt, her lipstick, her hair, pushed the file folder closer to the center of the table beside a ceramic bed of sugar packets.  In a moment, food would arrive and they’d have to pack everything up, put it on a seat to her left or to his right, but for now it sat evenly between them.  Just as much his as it was hers.  

She scratched her lips thoughtfully, tapped the other set of fingernails on the table.  

“He’s fine,” she said, this time quietly, talking to herself, or to the folder, or maybe to God.

And then her gaze settled on Mulder.  It lingered there as the waitress balanced their food on her shoulder, placed down little dishes of overly cold butter and plasticky jam.  A few feet away, a newly minted middle-aged couple joined hands for the first time ever beside their forks.  Behind Scully, an aide helped an old woman into the booth.  Two college girls cooed at the counter, full up with things to tell each other.  Time moving forward and backwards, borrowed and stolen and still and running in circles at every table.

“Fine,” Scully repeated and tugged the cuff of his sleeve.  She mouthed the words thank you, bottom lip grazing her teeth.  She did it again, this time forehead collapsing into the center of her face to make that vertical wrinkle she’d had above her nose since she was twenty seven.  

He nodded, reached his foot under the table so that it rested against hers, his rubbery arch warming the sharp edge of her shoe and he pushed the milkshake across the table.  

She laughed and then took a sip.  Relief.

Chapter 24

As a biology major, Scully had sometimes been warned she was signing up for a life of disappointment.  Satisfaction would be fleeting.  Few of them, if any, would make grand discoveries in their careers.  The earth was already round.  The miracle of penicillin had already been witnessed, sprouted hundreds of other little miracles that bore an ever-less-impressive resemblance. A scientist, Scully was told, must learn to love the question, not live for an answer.

William had been a hypothesis for most of these past thirteen years, and though that was sometimes painful, it was familiar.  It was a circumstance Scully had come to accept.  She’d given him up because she’d firmly believed it was better for him.  Conclusions: none.  Control: none.  It was how she’d assumed things would always be.  But now there was an answer. William existed once again. He looked a certain way and sounded a certain way and lived a very certain life and she would always miss him.  This was harder than she’d ever expected or allowed herself to imagine.  The earth is round - think what that had taken for people to get used to it.  

She rationalized things like the thing she was doing by going over this, comparing the unfamiliar emotions associated with her son to the familiar territory of science.  But Stella was no scientist, and she was no poet like Mulder. She was an answers person. And now she was here, involved in Scully’s experiments, and was not particularly happy about it.

They were seated on a cool-slatted autumn park bench, Stella draped in cashmere and reluctance, the chilly peach East Coast air settling on her cheekbones like stains of faint embarrassment.  It had been eight months since their parting ways - eight months of silence. Stella had granted Scully’s request for a visit without knowing specifically what it would entail.  Now she clasped her brown butter leather gloves over a tightly crossed thigh, pulled the cuffs of her sweater down closer to the edge of her gloves to warm her wrists.

Had this once come easier?  The restraint it took to refrain from touch and mentioning the effect of light on the color of her eyes?  An evening they’d spent in a hotel as just-friends came to mind.

“Did you color?” Scully asks, her surgeon-steady hand poised over Stella’s, light pink bottle of Chanel nail polish in place of a scalpel.

“Color… my nails?” Stella asks and blows a stream of air across her other hand.

“No, you know, like, crayons.”

“Oh.  No, not that I remember.”

Scully glances up quickly to make sure of two things – first, that Stella’s not touching her hair, her spaghetti straps, her Scotch, anything that would smudge the half-finished work, and secondly, that she hasn’t overstepped Stella’s bounds by asking questions.

Stella smiles, quick, casual, disappearing.  It’s hard to tell if it ends quickly because there is no reason to force it longer or because some shadow of the past has swallowed it.

“Isn’t that the sweater you let me keep?” Scully asked, eyeing the grey marled drawstrings on the hood.

“Bought myself another one.”

“And here I thought you’d made an ultimate sacrifice.”

“That would be unnecessary when I could just re-purchase it.”

“You could have just asked for it back, it was expensive,” Scully says, feeling the sting.

“And now it has dog hair on it,” Stella continued.

A stranger’s Golden Retriever had brushed up against Scully’s leg and she’d kept him there for a matter of seconds

“It’s barely noticeable.  You and the dog have the same color hair,” Scully said.

“I don’t shed.”

“We all shed.”

“I don’t like dogs.”

“You just pretend not to like them.”

Perhaps this had been a terrible idea.  Perhaps she should have waited for Stella to call first.

“Are you certain he’s coming today?” 

“No, not certain.  I haven’t really established a pattern.”

“That’s good to hear.  Aren’t you freezing in that denim jacket?  What have you got under it?”

“A t-shirt.  I’m fine.”  

“I’m not pretending, I truly dislike dogs.  They’re jumpy and they stink.”

Suddenly, Scully thought of some version of her life not lived, pictured Stella in their home, going stone cold as she brought in this or that mutt home from the pound.

“You’re a cat person, is that what you’re telling me?” she asked.

“I’m not an animal person, I’m a people-person.”

Scully double licked her lips as she waited for a punchline that never came.

“What?” Stella pushed back.  “I’m good with people.”

“You’re good at making people do what you want, that’s not the same thing.”

“You should know.”

Scully looked away, scanned a group of children without guardians - not the right group of children.

“I should have told you this was where we were going, but I thought you’d say no.”

Stella looked at her hard - her hardest countenances were reserved for her kindness.

“I think you know me better than that,” she chided softly.

“Did you swim?”  Scully asks with eager intrigue, that new friendship glee still fresh even after a few years of knowing one another.

“No.  I learned when I was older,” Stella says.

Scully nodded, dug the heels of her hands into the bench as she shuffled her feet - uncrossed and then recrossed.  She tossed her hair to the other shoulder so the wind wouldn’t pin it to her lip balm.  Maybe it would be better if he didn’t show up.

“How many times have you done this?” Stella asked.

“Five or six times.  Seven.”  Eight, nine, if she counted the times he hadn’t showed.

“Long drive coming from your place, isn’t it,” Stella murmured.  

Scully said nothing.  She had never even noticed how long.  She had spent exactly none of those hours considering the moral quandaries involved.  It was only talking to other people about it that even made her aware of them.  Alone, driving here, she wondered about his favorite color, his favorite food, if he could play any instruments.  

“Mulder go with you?”

“Just once.”  

He’d thought it was weird, said it felt wrong.  She’d pretended to agree. 

“What did you do then?” Scully presses.

“Horses.  Everything was my horse.  Riding, being with him, sitting there staring at him leaning on a fence, anything.”

Scully laughs and mumbles something about how very English this is and still Stella’s cuticles stay clean, not a stray stripe. Steady fingers, doctor’s fingers.

“Look at that,” Stella says in a soft, appreciative voice, eyes hot and hard where their hands are occupationally joined. “Even better with your hands than I remember.”

The flirtation is a change of subject, a subtle warning, and Scully licks her lips, doubles back for a second coat of the other hand, prepared to drop the topic of the horse.   But Stella keeps talking.

“My father would take me.”

The father, yes. Somehow always comes back to him, somehow always seems like the best and worst of what Stella remembers.  Scully paints, carefully considering her next question.  The color on Stella’s nails thickens so that it goes from a translucent skin color to a ballet pink that matches Stella’s satin slip camisole top.

Stella had turned slightly to watch a crowd of nearby teenagers approaching the skate park.  She slipped off a glove to scratch her lip with her nail.  This was the kind of thing Stella remembered to do that Scully wouldn’t have - all her leather gloves were marked with pink, red, mauve colored wax.

“How did you and I wind up friends?” Scully asked, eyes on her son, voice going wistful against her better judgment  Sometimes she wondered why they’d had to break up (was that what it was?).  Other times, she wondered how they’d started in the first place.   She caught Stella’s profile for a moment at such a perfect angle that she had to look the opposite direction to catch her breath.  Perhaps eight months had not been enough.  “Two not-people-people from separate parts of the world sitting on a bench together.”

“We almost didn’t.”

“And?”

“And I have irrepressible impulses to fuck beautiful people I know for certain I’ll never see again,” Stella said, pronouncing the F so hard it produced pulp in the air.  The playground moms turned to look.

“Blonde, you said? How’s he blonde?”

“Mulder said to ask you.”

“Idiot,” Stella murmured absently, busy separating the boy out from a crowd, putting him at the crosshairs of her attention. Scully found him at once. She knew his walk by now.  His carriage.  She could spot him a mile away.  She didn’t worry when he didn’t come.  She didn’t think about talking to him or touching him.  It was just this, watching, at a distance, periodically.  Still there.  Still there, watching him like he was an infant sleeping in a cradle rather than an almost adult riding a skateboard.

“There, yes?” Stella said, a voice like a long hooked finger, the drawl so sustained the word could have reached across the Atlantic Ocean.  “That’s him, isn’t it?”  

“Yes,” she hissed to herself without Scully saying anything at all.

He was wearing a hat today, a striped beanie and a pair of Ray-Bans, trying to look cool, Scully thought, but the rest of him was still sloppy and silly, lecturing at his friends about something.  Like his father, she thought, and still she felt no angst, no sadness, only peace.  It was like bird-watching, only it was her son out there in the wild.  And this lanky creature here is known as a young human.

“Not what I expected,” Stella murmured, as though a voice any louder might make him flit away, all the way across the park.  Stella said.  “All you.”

“Why is that unexpected?”

“They say the first child always resembles the father, to keep him from wanting to kill it, eat it or abandon it.”

Scully looked at her knees. 

“That’s not what I meant,” Stella said quickly.

“I know.”

Ten, it had been ten times.

“Were you pretty?  You must have been very pretty.”  Scully is flirting and she knows it but it seems harmless enough.  

“I don’t know.”

Scully gives one of Stella’s fingers a little tug, bats her eyelashes to let Stella know she’s teasing, overdoing it.  She doesn’t know how to pay compliments without turning them into jokes.

“Did people tell you you were pretty, fawn over your golden hair while you relentlessly questioned them?”

It’s Stella’s turn to laugh.

The kids were moving closer, William looking at his phone as he smoldered leaves underfoot, swiveling on the balls of his feet with each step to make the crunch and sizzle.  Who was he texting with?  His mom?  Maybe a girl.  Or boy.  She lost herself in the last of the questions she could dredge up - imagining his turns of phrase, his favorite emoji and soon he was closer than he had ever been, just a few feet away, kicking a ball as he walked.  Scully felt her breath quicken as one of the boys got William’s attention, asked him something.  She had heard his voice only a couple of times, from much further away.

Stella nudged her in the side, drew her attention to the map on her phone.

“Here look,” Stella said.  “Says they’ve a good Caesar salad.  I’m in the mood for that.”

Scully nodded, her ankles brittle as weak stemmed flowers succumbing to first frost. Stella tugged her up from the bench.  She suddenly was very cold and shivered as she wrapped her denim jacket tighter.  She knew Stella’s instincts were right, that it was too strange, too risky for them to just sit there, so close to him.  Don’t turn back, she told herself.  And:

“Don’t turn back,” Stella echoed aloud.

Stella’s hands were in her pockets as they walked, eyes sympathetic but stern. Scully imagined it was how she looked when she brought someone in to identify a body, tell someone their sister had been strangled.

“Mulder’s right about this, you know that.”

Stella’s mention of his name, even in this context of William, or maybe because of it, angered her.  Stella pulled the scarf from her neck and forced it around Scully’s neck.  Loving Stella was no more or less painful than loving someone else, but it was more embarrassing, like loving a ghost or a phantom limb.

“How did you know I asked lots of questions?” 

“Most children do.  And you’re a detective.”

“So are you.”

“Not like you, not a born one.”

“Well you do have a second profession to fall back on.”

“A doctor?”

“A manicurist.”

Scully fake-raps Stella on the wrist and a bit of paint splatters on the crests of her knuckles.

She was grateful that she was not alone, that Stella’s footsteps were falling right beside her own, Stella’s musk-heavy floral scent bedded in the fabric beneath her own chin.  

“I’m glad I got to see him this once,” Stella said. That’s it, William was in the past again, at least for today.

Would she have disliked him as she disliked other children (and dogs?)  She would have been good to him, spoiled him, refused to stop cursing in front of him, probably?

“You and Mulder doing all right?”

“I don’t really want to talk about that.”

“You’ll have to get used to it again at some point.”

“So you’re not going to fight for me,” Scully said, meaning it as a joke, but her voice cracked.

“Fight for you,” Stella repeated dubiously, deciding whether to enter a game or a boxing ring.

Scully was glad they weren’t facing each other now.  She had things she wanted to say.  A fireplace burned somewhere in the neighborhood, the smell of a family gathering around it.

“You sent me back home because of William, didn’t you?  Mulder told you.  That’s why you made me leave you and now I’m home and you don’t think I should see William but you’re not going to try to get me back either. It doesn’t quite track for me.”

She stopped only because her breath ran out.  Stella was silent a moment. Walk, keep walking.  

“I don’t fight for people.”

If not people, then what, Scully wanted to say.  But she bit her lip instead, trying to keep it from trembling as she faced the chill, keeping time as though accidentally, side by side like strangers just off the same bus.  

“You can’t keep doing it.  This was the last time.  All right?”

Scully pursed her lips, shook her head, looked at the sky.  Stella was not going to use her son to change the subject.  

Or were they the same subject?

“You could do worse than Mulder,” Stella said, sharpening the edge on her voice, her weapon of choice, that vicious casualness.  “You love him.  He loves you.  You’re best friends.  He’s very well-endowed, from what I remember.  He can reach things.  Kill bugs.  He found your son for you despite absolute impropriety and deep ethical and legal breaches.”

“Stop,” Scully said, looking away over her other shoulder just to keep from crying.  A cadre of barren trees was ready to march off into winter, leave their dead, once-treasured leaves at their feet.  “Please stop.”

“Fine.”

This was how Stella faced her fears, she knew.  Laughed in the face of murderers, memorized her nightmares, re-read them like fairytales, salivated at the sight of blood, sneered at a plane nose-diving with a slug of Scotch.  

“You aren’t supposed to tell little girls they’re pretty too often,” Stella says with slow, deliberate breaths placed mid-phrase, as though she regrets having to tell anyone this, having to spoil an innocent, unruined worldview where a compliment to a child is merely a compliment, where little girls can be pretty and not suffer for it.

“Why not?”

“Because it makes them think they’re nothing else.”

“Mm,” Scully says and caps the polish.  Stella sits still as stone, hands out in front of her on the magazine, watching the polish dry with more patience than Scully has ever seen her muster.

“Sometimes you just have to let a person go,” Stella said as a boy - not her boy - on a skateboard sailed by.

“Which of you are you talking about now?”

Yes, the same subject.

Stella stopped abruptly, took Scully’s chin in one hand.  Rough enough that Scully might have objected except that it was stopping the incessant spinning she’d felt since they got up from the bench.

“I can’t do what Mulder can do, Dana.  And Mulder can’t do what I’m doing right now, and I don’t live here, so you need to let me say this right fucking now and tell me you hear me.”

Scully tightened her jaw stubbornly.  She felt small but safe here in Stella’s one hand.

“This is the last time you see him until he’s eighteen and you can ask.  Or you’ll regret it.”

Scully nodded, gulped away the tears in her throat, but they were tears of embarrassment, not sadness.  Stella’s grip loosened but did not release her.

“Tell me you hear me.”

Stella finally dropped her hand and held Scully’s.  The skin was bare.  Where was her glove?

“I wish I could have known you then,” Scully says, replacing the fancy second square cap over the little ridged round one.

“Take this,” Stella said and handed her one glove.

“Why?”

Scully heard the footsteps before she saw him and she saw the slightly sad, slightly satisfied smile in Stella’s eyes.  It could be any of them, Scully told herself, any of those kids.

“Excuse me!  Lady!”  

But it was him.  Stella nodded for her to turn.

“This yours?” he asked.

He held the abandoned glove out at arm’s length and Scully choked the sob in her throat.  Despite Stella’s impression, he looked just like Mulder the first day she met him.  First day of school science lab boy, nerdy and needy, sanguine and sweet and unaware of his charms, willing to cut open anything you didn’t want to touch even if he had to hold his breath to do it himself.

“Yes, yeah that’s mine,” she forced herself to say finally, knowing that once she did it would be over.  Her pause made him laugh for some reason.  When she stuck her hand out to take the glove, she must have still looked dazed, lame, because he frowned at her as though she’d made a silly mistake, then stuck his tongue between his molars and held her wrist with one hand, pretending to struggle to put it on her like a toddler.  She laughed, counting the seconds until she could collapse.  She’d have to make it out of the park, clear the area, she knew.

“Thanks,” she said and he nodded, licked his lips, and yes that was all her, turning them chapped to the wind and jogging off to meet his friends, a thirteen year old interrupting his afternoon to return a single glove to two middle aged women he’d never seen before.

Stella immediately took her arm, keeping the pace steady but consistent.  Scully kept up but would not stop looking until Stella looked back.

“What if he didn’t return it?” Scully managed to whisper.

“Why?” Stella asks.

As in why would anyone want to have known a four- and six- and eight-year-old girl like her, freckle faced and quiet eyed, brushing a horse’s back as she stands on a stool, proud and kind and a little strange, inconceivably wise beyond her years.

“Because,” Scully says and picks up Stella’s hands, squeezes her palms between thumb and middle fingers. “Then I could have told you you were everything.”

“I was willing to lose a glove today.”

Chapter 25

He realized he’d left the door unlocked by the way the early November candy corn breeze whistled through the first grade teeth of the patched screen door, winter dragging autumn out by its ankles.  The kitchen was as clean as it had been when Scully lived there, back when she’d tidy it every night before bed, caring for it like she cared for her teeth or her skin.  

It had taken him some time to figure out how to do this.  Time plus a therapist, two bottles of pills on the bathroom counter, and experiments with various citrusy smelling liquids in spray bottles.  Toxic, non-toxic, lemon-mint, gingerberry, when to hit the hard stuff - bleach, served neat.  Certain things like mental health and spotless surfaces had always been Scully’s area of expertise, but in her absence, he’d learned about both.

He’d done this often over the years, sat with William’s baby picture, forearms resting on the kitchen table, staring at it the way most people had learned during those years to stare at their tablets and phones.  He only ever did it alone - waited for Scully to leave and go home, which she always did.  When she lived here, he’d had to wait for her to go to sleep.  He had never told her it wasn’t all research and computer screens wrestling him from their bed.  

The photo paper was pliant from age and attention and it took only ten minutes or so for it to warm between his fingertips so thoroughly that he worried the colors would come off on his fingers, that baby William would disappear from prosperity into the temporariness of his skin.  He used to think of old world boy-things - model rockets and baseball caps, the stuff of fifties sitcoms and Norman Rockwell.  He used to think you belong here.

He used to wonder if William would look at him the same way Scully did when she was thinking aloud, the little line forming between her eyebrows, the squint, the lips tightening in distaste and restraint, or if William was more like him, a dreamer and a rambler.  He knew himself.  He knew Scully.  That William possible, knowable. But now he was a third thing - himself.

The screen door hinge cracked and smacked behind him.  He’d recently tightened the screws and she wasn’t used to its newfound snap.  Stella must have gone back to London.  He had not asked for dates and times - had never done that, not even when they were together.  He’d always had plenty to keep himself busy while Stella was in town.  He more often had trouble stopping that busyness when Stella had gone.  He always made Scully re-announce her presence. “Just me, Mulder.” “I know.”  I can tell by the way the gravel crunches under your tires, can tell by the tone of the wooden moan in the porch floorboards, by the way you breathe on the other side of a weight-bearing wall.  You belong here. “So clean,” she marvelled quietly, as she often did when she stopped by these days to say hello or drop off some pizza or check on him, he knew that’s what it was.  He wondered if someday it would sound like superiority.  He wondered if he’d ever learn to take her for granted again, just a little bit, just enough to relax.

“How’s Stella?” he asked, and considered shuffling the photo out of view as he normally would, but for some reason, this time, he did not.

“She’s good, I think.  You know, Stella doesn’t say much.”  

She dropped William’s folder on the table. She’d had possession of it since the diner. Now she leaned on the back of the chair over him, her fingers snuggling between the wood and his back as she saw the baby picture.  She petted his hair from behind, rested her chin on his head so that her voice came out funny.  He wondered how long she’d been watching from the door.

“I didn’t know you still had that,” she said and her voice sounded strangled by the lump in her throat.

Someday something like that might feel like a vote of underconfidence, a dig… he wished for that someday to come.

“I don’t know what’s harder, having information about him, or when we had nothing,” she said.

“I was just thinking that.”

“Were you?”  

For years, they’d resisted this.  Done everything else together while they mourned the loss of their family in private.  Like they’d had separate roles in that crime.  Like they weren’t serving the same sentence.  Just minutes ago, he’d been making plans to keep doing it forever.  Why?

“I spoke to him,” she said.  “Heard his voice.”

He tried not to look alarmed.

“No, not like that, not about anything.  Just accidentally left something behind and he… he was… good, he’s good.”

“Of course he is, Scully.  He’s yours.”

She came around the chair and leaned her behind against the edge of the table, half-smiled.

“Maybe it’ll be better if we put them away,” she said.  “For us.  And for him.”

Someday this might sound like she was couching her own self-correction in a criticism but tonight it sounded like thank Christ, Stella had talked sense into her.

“I think you’re right.”

“Regular people with normal jobs wouldn’t have even gotten this much.”

“No.”

“But I’m glad you did, Mulder,” she said and this would always mean what it meant tonight.

She picked up the photos - the baby one and the new ones, stared at them as she shuffled to the drawer next to the fridge and laid them in there with their love notes, blank birthday cards, Scotch tape.  Sometimes junk drawers weren’t for junk, they were just for the things you didn’t know what to do with.

She hesitated, then pushed it shut, and then, leaning back against it, hands still behind her on the pull, she looked at him, really looked at him.  Sweet and sexy and yes, a little sad.  Her lips shined, caught the glow of the single source of light in the room over his head.  He held his breath.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me,” she demanded softly.  “That you were sad about it?”

“I didn’t think I had to.”

He waved her over and she came, held his hands like the holster of a carousel horse.  In her eyes, shades of blue spun as she tried not to cry.

“Hard to say goodbye to him all over again.”

He nodded, swallowed, and put one arm around her hips.

“But this time I’m here.”

Her belly shook at his ear, though he heard nothing.  He kissed the hem of her sweater, leaned his chin into the dip of her navel.  She wiped her cheeks dry and then took his face in one wet salted palm, bent to kiss him on the mouth.

Her hands crept around his throat, thumbs at his Adam’s apple.  The room stopped smelling “clean” and smelled instead like her, like the perfume she’d been wearing since the day she first walked into his office, something he had never heard the name of, never heard her mention having to replace.   She was only good at keeping the silliest secrets. He put his hands around the trunk of her right thigh and tugged her towards him.  More need than want is what it was up until then. 

But now her body swayed toward him and she climbed into his lap in her sweatpants.  It had been years and her lips dripped with salt.  She tasted like love and sadness and the future.  He was hard for her, hell, hard for all of it.

“I’m here this time,” he said, pulling his mouth just far enough from hers to speak, letting her tongue catch the chap of his lips.  “I’ll always be here.”

She stopped then and something passed behind her eyes, a shift of color behind blue-tinted glass, a sheet in the wind, a wave of blonde hair, a silk shirt.  Would she think of Stella whenever they kissed, when he made love to her on this table?  Would he ever not wonder?  

“Always is a long time,” she said without hiding the hint of mournfulness, of missing something, and he nodded.

“I didn’t say she’d be gone.  I just said I’ll be here.”

She frowned, breath quickening even as her mind slowed.

“Mulder?”

“We’re too old to give up things we love,” he said and meant it. Who cared what she thought of when he kissed her?

She unzipped her sweatshirt, pushed it back off her shoulders.

He placed a kiss on her neck, stripped her naked from the waist up.  She moved his lips back to her own and dropped her weight deeper into the cusp of his pelvis.  With their noses pushed together and her shoulder blades clipped toward one another over the table, she breathed into his mouth.

“God, I missed you,” he said.

“Fuck me, Mulder.”  

Her hair frizzed in his fist as she pulled her hamstrings tight atop his quadriceps.  The grace of youth was gone but it was replaced with something better.  This is what age looked like.  This is what fixed mistakes looked like.

One hand on her lower back, hooked into the back of her pants, the tag silky between his thumb and her skin, he pulled her closer and tighter, sucking her into his mouth, savoring her like a sublingual pill, like he was waiting for her to melt under his tongue and be absorbed into his blood.  

She arched and stretched, placing herself over him with such anatomical precision that he might as well be inside her rather than on either side of four layers of clothes.  Her body was hot and impatient against his belly as his fingers slipped into her pants and under her thigh, past the cotton seam of her underwear.  She hummed in his ear, fit her body more closely over his hand.  

He lifted her at the waist, laid her back on the table, pulled her bottoms off in a swift but clumsy motion.  He leaned over to kiss her cheeks, her neck, her chest. She bent a knee and brought the top of her foot to brush his cock through his pants, rubbed the sharp crest of her instep against him until it hurt.

“Fuck me, Mulder,” she said again, the solid edges of her voice absorbed by the wood at her back.  She squeezed his arms. “Easy, baby,” he said and as he entered her, her eyes watered and a tear rolled out onto the table, crystal clear.  She’d come over for dinner and television, sweatpants and chopsticks, but he had trapped her with his clean surfaces and exposed wounds.   Her body shuddered, shoulders convulsing, shrugging off the past, making herself new for him.  “So tight.  How are you still so tight for me?”

She grinned wickedly.

“She only has so many fingers.”

And he laughed, bit her neck as he fucked her slowly.

They’d made their baby just like this, in a bed rather than on a table, but just like this, with this much love and intent.  He’d known right away that it had worked, known just looking at her collapsed on his torso. “Oh my God,” she whispered as the edge of the table met the back of her knees.  She pinched his t-shirt to her in both fists, then slammed one hand down hard next to her hip.  He moved his hands from table to body, alternatingly bracing his weight and cupping her breasts, aligning her hips and brushing her lips, fucking her until she white knuckled the slab he used to eat his depressed dinners on.

She pulled herself up against him, gripped his neck and pushed her feet against the seat of the chair behind him for leverage.  Sometimes it upset him how little he had to do to make her come.  Sometimes but not now.

“Look at me like you used to,” she said and he spun around to sit on the table, let her put her knees down on either side of him.   “Look at me so I can make you come.”

They did it together, like they did most things, their work and their driving and their arguing and their meals and now their goodbyes to their son.  Soft staccatoed moans and her pelvic muscles squeezed and tugged him and he peeled the cheeks of her ass so that she’d take him deeper and then the rhythm of their bodies broke like a fever, madness taking over, breath tangling, toxic and medicinal at once, words all nonsense and undictionaried.   If she was thinking of Stella too, that didn’t matter, that was not a bad thing, because nothing associated with this could be bad.

He held her until he went soft inside her, and she smiled - her favorite magic trick, his dick going from hard to soft and back again, biology and anatomy in motion at her whim. When they got up, she picked up her clothes, tucked them under one arm, and led him up the staircase naked, her rear silhouette incarnadine with freckles and friction.  He followed her three steps behind, watching each calf raise each heel carefully on the edge of each plank, soles searching the wood grains for the stamps that showed where her footsteps belonged.

[snicketsleuth]

Slackin’ with the Sleuth: reviewing Netflix’s “The Vile Village”

After two sluggish double-episodes, we are now headed to the three best two-parters of the second season, nay, of the entire show until now. Today, we’re going to talk about direction. “A Series of Unfortunate Events” has suffered not only from being overwritten, but also from being under-directed.  Not an unfortunate consequence of the original writer being involved in the production of the television series, but rather of the other writers not controlling him enough. Episodes written by Daniel Handler get a bad rep amongst the fandom, but from their structure it’s pretty clear that he was more than willing to change his own outlines and listen to the contributions of other people. That being said, it’s hard to criticize the guy who came up with the work you’re supposed to adapt. Which is why episodes written by other people and peer-reviewed by Handler tend to fare better, as his role is to remind everyone of what made the story so successful in the first place.

We’ll see how this contributed to the improvement in direction in the latter half of Season 2. Most of it comes from the production team finally treating the series not only as an adaptation, but also as its own cinematic work. Let’s determine why below the cut.

DISCLAIMER (NOTHING TO DO WITH THE REVIEW):

I missed you guys, it’s been a while.

I apologize for abandoning the blog for so long, to the point that some of you people started worrying about me. I do appreciate the concern, so thank you. Most of my absence can simply be explained away by the many hours I’ve had to put into my day job. This has led to difficult choices regarding my hobbies and extra-work activities, writing for this blog being one of them. Truth be told, I don’t feel this blog fulfils as interesting a purpose as it did before. I’ve already talked about most book theories I cared about, and the books have been discussed to death at that point. As to other types of analyses, there are plenty of talented people on Tumblr who do it as well as me, so I didn’t feel the need to add much to the debate. But I’ve had time to think about plenty of Snicket-related topics during my absence, so no, the blog isn’t dead, just… much less active as it was a few years back. Stay tuned for more, my love for the books and their associated material is very much alive and kicking.

With all due respect (and affection) for our community, your duly devoted Sleuth.

This is the most atmospheric episode to date, and a beautiful one at that. While episodes of the first season certainly had their ambiance, most of it came from the introduction of new musical themes. The second season tries to bring the direction to the next level by fashioning each double-episode after a certain genre, which influences the entire aesthetic of the piece from its writing, colors and camera work. This is perfectly in line with the tone of the original series: each book focuses on a vivid and peculiar location which becomes a character in and of itself, and also parodies specific literary tropes. In keeping with this tradition, the televised version of  “The Austere Academy” mocks coming-of-age teen movies, “The Erstaz Elevator” has shades of musical romantic comedies from Hollywood’s Golden Age, “The Vile Village” pays homage to Westerns, “The Hostile Hospital” is a straight-up horror exploitation flick and “The Carnivorous Carnival” is a neo-expressionist drama. Or rather that’s what we were supposed to infer. In reality, “The Austere Academy” and “The Erstaz Elevator” don’t have anything special in terms of direction to truly allude to their models, and while “The Carnivorous Carnivale” is a blatant remake of “Freaks”, so was the book in the first place. Only with “The Vile Village” and “The Hostile Hospital” do we see the direction add a substantial commentary on the original aesthetic of their respective book. So while the intention is laudable, the execution is somewhat lacking as far as the entire season is concerned. More on that in the next review.

But for now let’s just gush over the gorgeous visuals of “The Vile Village”. Westerns describe the struggle of civilization in a lawless territory, a perfect setting for the crux of a book concerned with legality and mob psychology. While the introduction of the Nevermore tree leaves something to be desired, we do eventually get some fantastic shots. The integration of the CGI and the digital matte paintings significantly improves from this episode on, although whether the artificiality of previous episodes was an intentional choice from the directors is anyone’s guess. The scene of Hector’s first flight aboard the self-sustaining mobile home is a work of beauty. One must regret his line about crows being too “scary”, though. Not only is this an unnecessary change to his character (he is fascinated by the crows in the book), it doesn’t even make sense as the adaptation does not portray Hector as being scared of crows in any shape or form otherwise. He actually has a line about admiring them in the first part of the episode! What on Earth were the writers thinking?

The feels of Western movies is well-rendered, with an impressive focus or lighting. What the director seems to have forgotten is how dusty the Village of Fowl Devotees should look. This is pretty unforgivable given that the book insists on the unbearable feeling of dirtiness which permeates the town. There’s an egregious continuity error where the Baudelaire orphans escape from prison in a massive cloud of debris… then come into the next shot with immaculate clothing. This is a major sin as far as immersion goes.

Another blatant directorial choice is the tendency to film scenes across a two-dimensional space, with characters moving from one side of the screen to the next. This ever-present horizontal axis gives the series a somewhat stiff aspect, with characters not being able to express themselves in a dynamic body language in action scene. There are two possible reasons for this camerawork. Firstly, it makes certain scenes easier to follow (we must not forget that the series is expected to remain watchable for small children), although a little boring on the visual side. Secondly, it does imitate the format of a theater stage, and the theater world plays an important role in Snicket’s world, from “The Marvelous Marriage” to “La Forza del Destino”. I do think the showrunners went a little too far in this direction, though. If they’re so deadest on reproducing the feel of a theater production, maybe they should just pitch the series as a Broadway show rather than a television series. The chase sequences in this double-episode look more like a Street Fighter screen than a cinematic production.

But by far the greatest contribution of this episode is the merciful introduction of SILENCE. What a relief to hear the godforsaken concertina shut up for one minute and let us enjoy the dialogue! The heart of the double-episode comes from the back-and-forth dynamic between Jacques and Olaf (or, to a lesser extent, Esmé and Olivia). Truly a battle between blind, hopeful idealism and cynical nihilism. Major props to Nathan Fillion, who remains possibly the best actor in the entire series, and Neil Patrick Harris who should ruin the seriousness of the scenes with his constant bebopping but somehow doesn’t.

This however comes as the expanse of the Baudelaire orphans themselves, whose presence is somewhat secondary in this episode. The symbolism of them escaping the town in a fire truck is a strike of genius… but the Isadora couplet subplot is drastically skipped over and the unnecessary introduction of Mr Poe drastically reduces their screentime. It’s more forgivable than in “The Erstaz Elevator” as most scenes between the adult characters do help move the plot forward and provide interesting information, but it’s still one of our major criticisms for this season. The writers are clearly infatuated with the adult actors, which hurts the pacing of the story. It’s a shame as the child actors’ acting shows major improvements in the second season. Louis Hynes comes into his own in the prison scene, but the breakneck speed of the scene’s direction does not leave him enough room to grow. We will however concede that Jacquelyn and Larry don’t overstay their welcome in this episode, and that Jacques and Olivia’s romance is sweet to look at. While we disagree with the changes made to Olivia’s character on the whole (we’ll get to that in my review of “The Carnivorous Carnival”), it did produce some well-written, well-acted scenes. Less appreciated is the unnecessary and overstated introduction of a Violet/Duncan romance subplot… this is what happens when you base 90% of an adaptation on what admittedly amounts to fan-pandering. It’s sweet, then it’s sweeter, then you’ve got diabetes.

As far as character development goes, it’s pretty hit-or-miss. Esmé is as usual fantastic. The writers have managed to attain a difficult equilibrium regarding her character dynamic: she obeys enough not to overshadow him, but she also acts as her own antagonist, pursuing her own goals and betraying him if the need arises. The rest of the troupe also has an interesting dynamic with her and her integration in the crime family feels pretty seamless.

But so far we’ve saved the worst for the last paragraph, and as you’ve probably guessed, we’re going to have to speak about Hector. Gods almighty, what a waste of a perfectly good character. Josephine’s death was shot in a very disrespectful manner, but at least her character remained mostly the same. Here the Hector from the books, a tragic and heartbreaking portrayal of peer pressure and social anxiety, is reduced to a joke. To add insult to injury, it’s not even a funny joke: his constant fainting gets tedious quickly. And the ultimate twist about his mom’s fate not being the source of his trauma after all basically reduces his arc to a complete waste of the viewer’s time. If the writers hated him so much, why not just cut his screen time instead of demeaning his entire existence? This does not bode well for a potential adaptation of “All The Wrong Questions”, as Hector’s outlook on family loyalty and peer pressure is somewhat of a plot point in this series. I truly cannot begin to understand these choices as Hector plays a similar role to Hal, Charles and Jerome, who also have likewise personalities… but the writers have adapted Hal, Charles and Jerome faithfully and cleverly, so what gives?

[glitterandrocketfuel]

YBC Hot Take: Save Rock and Roll

Here we are, kids--the home stretch. Get a snack, because there's a lot to unpack here, and unlike John Mulaney, I do have time to unpack all that. Torn to pieces and lost in the wilderness, a soul-broken Patrick comes to the end of the line and it’s time to decide the fate of rock and roll.

Save Rock and Roll - Back To The Places That We Never Shoulda Left

The opening scroll (never NOT a callback to Star Wars in any modern media whatsoever) begins with a short summary: Our four heroes, violently torn asunder (pieces of Patrick, torn from himself) and laid to waste. Shades, neither live nor dead, where destruction or salvation awaits. An Empress of discord...hope in dire threat...Can it be saved?

Pete and Patrick, having murdered each other, lie in the dust. Patrick, having severed the final piece of his talent, his Confidence-Conscience, cannot survive (a house divided against itself cannot stand), and the only thing left is what’s in the briefcase.

Sirens scream in the distance, footsteps echo in the muted sounds of the cult's destruction of everything Patrick has worked for, and support he might have gotten or kept for his efforts. The montage includes brief shots show the Vixens beating up the random people who are tied up.

Bad Courtney--the Product of this manufactured, strategized, profit-driven, over-produced, surface-level, metrics-influenced corporate version of music (the "noise" masquerading as the silencing of noise) presides over it all, thinking she's the engineer and not the product itself (this is something Courtney Love has referenced in her own music, especially in context with women and women-fronted bands), looking smugly content with herself as if she's cracked the code for a formula of how to make the audience take what the industry wants to give it.

But wait--the briefcase isn't intended for her--it's intended for something behind and beneath the random destruction and senseless violence. The shadowy masked, hooded, and robed figures who are Out For Real Blood. And in the montage, there's a very brief flash of something lurking within. It's time to dip below the cut and find out if there's anything worth saving...

Part I: Purgatory

Patrick finds himself on the same Hellevator as Joe in "Death Valley" where instead of the light, it looks like Patrick may be headed in the other direction. His guide--as from the "Phoenix" and "The Mighty Fall," the will o'wisp kid (fan) sent to tempt him, distract him, and trigger him, stands now at the controls as Patrick in his monstrous, empty form is faced with his final challenge.

Flashbacks from the previous videos show Patrick's parts being broken, beaten, severed from him, and the role this kid (fan) played in Patrick's descent. Only now, instead of the smug confidence in his role, this kid (fan) is cleaned up and wearing a suit (might we say he at least appears to be a little more mature--older and wiser, would one say?), and the kid (fan) is definitely looking a little more uncertain in his control over Patrick or his fate.

Because now is a moment of truth and a choice. Patrick, soulless and in limbo, is confronted with his losses and his transgressions (against his selves and his bandmates) and their consequences. The fans/supporters in bondage, the kneeling man helpless, and the knife on the pillow, waiting for him to cut down the sacrificial victim. To slay the last shred of hope, to cut himself completely out of that which he once loved, to sever the tie for good.

In the Infamous blog post, Patrick talks about going back to school to learn a trade. It seems a little over-dramatic given he already had experience producing and doing behind-the-scenes work in the industry (along with acting and VO work), he didn't need to chuck it all and go be a plumber, but it would have been a symbolic decision to abandon the industry altogether.

He even goes so far to take up the dagger presented so neatly next to him (is this a dagger I see before me?), ready to do it, aligning with the lyrics. Even though this study isn't devoted to the lyrics, they still do a bit of telling in this segment--"I need more dreams and less 'life'" - Patrick's been dealt a hefty dose of "real life" between industry changes and confronting his own shortcomings both creatively and in a business/performance sense. He's been beat down, kicked around, and abandoned by his infrastructure of support in spite of working so hard and putting so much of himself out there that it's time to throw in the towel and close the book on this phase of his career.

Maybe even this phase of his entire life and go run off and be a plumber instead.

But when you love what you do, that's not always an option or a solution.

On the elevator, where Patrick has to make his choice, he's given a cutting tool--a sharp dagger--and shown a helpless victim with the clear intent that he needs to kill it. The last, tiny spark of him that still wants the music, even after he says in that heartbreaking blog post that he has no desire to ever perform live again (and can we all pause here and thank Elton John that he overcame that?).

Patrick rejects the dagger, rejects the sacrifice, rejects the last dirty thing he'd have to do to kill his music for good. "I cry tears you'll never see, so fuck you, go cry me an ocean."

Because you are what you love, not who loves you.

There's still that helpless, hapless victim, waiting for him to deal the final blow...except even as he flashes to a robed cultist for a nanosecond's worth of video, Patrick rejects the severance of the last thread (Fall Out Boy never did break up) and it's that tenuous, gossamer thread that leads him out of the labyrinth of self-loathing enough to even forgive the kid who got him eviscerated in the first place (the fans who never forgave him for changing after "Take This To Your Grave”). 

Letting that kid (fan) go, and that need to please the industry, the idea of what he should be like as an artist, a musician, a performer, is the choice that leads the elevator up to a place where the haze of disillusionment clears the scales from his eyes and Patrick...ascends.

Part II: The Divine

In this place, Patrick's bandmates--his Selves are waiting for him, alive and whole and made brand new--their scars healed, their bodies cleaned up, and their faces full of joy.

Patrick himself has lost the hook that did nothing but tear himself and other people apart. His hand has returned whole, and his eyes have cleared from their disillusioned, poisoned haze...and they welcome him back with open arms. Call back to "Alone Together" where Patrick is imprisoned in the chapel of the hospital (one foot in your bedroom and one foot out the door) and only has access to one of his critical soul-parts with a poor substitute for his hand and the insidious whispers of the outside world and his own self-doubt. But now and here, this is the Real Deal of Rock 'n' Roll Heaven.

Taking a left turn into Obvious Religious Imagery Territory, everybody gets guitar-pick Communion (Fall Out Boy-branded picks), starting with Pete (Patrick's Confidence, his musical Conscience), taking spiritual nourishment from the essence of the band, and drinking from the golden cup. A case can be made that only Pete and Patrick are shown taking this communion because of their creative partnership, but Joe and Andy are implied to be taking the same.

In a black-mass reflection, the cult members take blood-red communion (of what looks to be cut-up Swedish Fish? On one level, let's laugh, but on another, let's consider that candy may be sweet but there's no nourishment or substance to it, and it engineers sugar-high rises, followed by sugar-crash lows, much like the flash-in-the-pan careers of a lot of manufactured artists. So cheers to you, underpaid assistant who had to chop Swedish fish in the props department--your budget creativity held more visual significance than you thought). Their tarnished cup is filled with their own blood sacrifices.

Back in rock 'n' roll heaven, suitably cleansed and absolved through the Rites, the boys are graced (Patrick reconnects) with the Presence of the Divine.

Here, Patrick questions his faith, his experiences, the great mysteries of Why Things Happen.

Patrick’s actions are mirrored by the masked cult leader below, whose physical state seems to be deteriorating after the blood communion.

As the cult leader prepares to open the briefcase (strip away the container that holds the thing), Our Divine Sir Elton answers Patrick's doubts and formally grants celestial musical instruments to the boys, gifting each of Patrick's other selves the tool/weapon/talisman it needs to be fully realized: Pete's bass is the grounding notes of Patrick's Confidence in his music, Joe's guitar is the melodic sound that defines his Creativity, Andy's drumsticks keep the steady beat that points him in the right direction of his Integrity, and Patrick's own guitar returns to his hands.

In the clean and pure place where all music comes from (the Crucible of Creation), THEY JAM. With the Divine.

In a blinding flash of divine light, Patrick's broken pieces are put back together. He reconnects with the place where nothing else exists but the music--no bullshit, no business, no success or failure, not even an audience--just the pure joy of making music from a place that's honest and true to yourself (and with the people who feel the same way you do about the music you make together). It's important to note here that it's not about going solo or reforming the band, even though his solo time saw Patrick wandering in the wilderness a whole lot. It's about where you go and where you come from when you Make The Thing.

Patrick's solo career came from a place inside him where he put his all into it, but without an acceptance of all the places he came from. Where all the fuel came from him, but without the clean connection to his true love of music, it ended up depleting him instead of letting him be part of something greater. The need to prove himself, to commercially succeed, were outside forces that skewed his experience and created noise to disrupt his signal (not the music itself, but all the stuff around it).

Part III: Back To Earth

The band returns to earth--the cult headquarters, where the destruction is still going on. The adult music lovers (I see these people as music supporters in the industry that are focused on the music rather than the business--critics, journalists, venue talent bookers, etc.) are still bound and hooded (unable to break free or to see/hear anything but the noise and destruction around them).

Facing down the cult members, the band is glowing with divine light, shooting lightning into the darkness of the cult warehouse, taking down the cultists one by one until they blast the sign for the cult itself. The flag reflects the lightning out to the remaining cult members, turning their clothing white (purifying them) and bringing them to their senses.

A brief shot of Courtney, wearing an expression of sadness and remorse as if she remembers what she's lost, illuminated by the first light seen in the warehouse in ages as His Divine Elton-ness delivers his message once again and she finally hears it over the noise. This is why Courtney Love is a whole level of symbology on her own, folks.

But wait--all is not well. Because as Courtney is letting in the light, as the cult members see the light and hear the message, the secret cabal is finally unleashing what's in the briefcase. As Courtney Reborn rises, wearing a (really divinely stylish) white toga and taking up her guitar, the beastly form of Xibalba (the word refers to an underworld or city of demons in Mayan mythology, but here, Xibalba--named so by Pete in one of his tumblr posts--is the thing in the briefcase) rises from the smoke in the cabal's hideout.

The cultists, rapt, look on as the demon spreads its arms, mimicked by Courtney assuming the same position (crucifixion pose). Courtney is unarmed in surrender, while the demon is armed with hooked blades and it is the opposite of surrender--pure aggression--that drives the demon to cut down those closest to it, those who enabled its presence, set it free, unleashed it on the world.

As the cabal scatters once its leader has been beheaded by its own creation, the reformed cultists and the music fans begin to scatter in panic, while the demon looks on curiously and the band notices something amiss. Something that could not enter the divine place with the pieces and remnants of Patrick's spirit. Something that did not, could not, tap into the divine well where all creative art comes from, because it could only destroy.

Once the joyful parts of Patrick were all excised, nothing else remained except what used to be a deep and abiding love, a soul-connection that's been abused and polluted and no longer tempered by the joyfulness in making music. Raw talent directed by nothing more than monumental arrogance. Which has always been the monster Patrick has needed his band to keep in check.

In the chaos, with more and more blood staining their pristine garb, the very disgruntled band members/pieces of Patrick finally confront his own dark side. Because you don't create things in a vacuum. Sooner or later, they go out into the world again, where the forces of greed and celebrity and public opinion can rip a beautiful thing (the enjoyment of music between creator and audience) to shreds and cover it in viscera.

But they stand together, and this time, Patrick's got his parts back in order. His Confidence, his Conscience and connection to music (Pete), shoots the final lightning bolt that banishes the demon and his red hooks of severance.

And Elton John gets covered in far more fake blood than he ever signed on for.

Part IV: Exorcising the Demon

Patrick has stated multiple times that he was so arrogant about music in his youth, hell, their very first fateful meeting was when Patrick fell down a Well, Actually in Borders with Joe. Lucky for all of us, that one turned out okay, but the danger of wielding that arrogance without it being tempered by the deep and abiding love of music carried by his Confidence, the respect that's carried by his Creativity, and the honor carried by his Integrity is what led to the cult in the first place--confusing music with noise and silencing the music, not the noise.

The pressures of success, business, industry, and the changes in it took their toll on the band separated Patrick from the good things about creating music and fed the negatives--his stubbornness, the need to do everything himself, even when collaboration would have made things better and easier, his aggression and his temper gone unchecked that only drove him further away from the thing he loved. It drove wedges in between him and the people closest to him. Ultimately, Patrick had to try and fail in order to find himself again from a more honest place.

They had a short, but blissful, break in playing to the converts and true believers who never left, to remind them of why they do what they do. Patrick has reunited the parts of himself, sans the poison that ate into his connection with the place of creation and found his pure music again.

By leaving his pride and his arrogance and the external influences that warped his experience of making music, Patrick once again found the place where he gets his joyful music from, only this time with more humility and grace.

His brokenhearted experience led him to the realization that after he'd tried other things, branched out, exorcised his arrogance, his pride, and his dissatisfaction, he found what gave him joy in creation again, and that was making music with the band. Only this time, he knows the secret to where it all comes from isn't something that needs to be tightly closed inside a steel briefcase and locked to his wrist as if it's going to be stolen or depleted at any moment.

Because you can't silence the noise or cut through the bullshit to get back to what's important by staying above it or out of the fray. You can't make the music that reaches the people who need it without steeping in the scene and sticking to the gunky floors of the shitty clubs and rolling in the sweat and getting dirty. Now, Fall Out Boy is no stranger to ambiguous endings (lookin' at YOU, "16 Candles"), and covering rock and roll Elton God with blood at the end suggests that the divine spirit  of rock 'n' roll might not be all-powerful or infallible, and that's why musical warriors are needed to keep beating back the forces of evil that will try to stuff it into a box and make it fit a marketable, narrow, easily-digestible, false-fronted, mass-produced thing.

But ultimately, this is about Patrick and his solo career and how he lost his way, found his band, and saved rock and roll, and he did that by making the music he loves to make, with the people he loves to make it with, and to their own standards, rather than to please others or chase an audience.

In a world full of "yes," if it's not right, then you gotta scream, "no."

If you're making something creative to please other people or according to what you think other people want, you lose something. If you're making something just to copy your own former self, you're imitating instead of creating. If you're chasing the past, you're just rehashing the old. If you aren't genuine about the thing you're making, you will always pay a price. if you're not making the thing you love, for the primary reason that you love it, then it will, slowly or quickly, pull your guts out, consume pieces of you, and turn you into a monster useful only as a weapon wielded by something else for whatever its purposes are, rather than yours.

You are what you love, not who loves you.

Going forward, Patrick will make his musical choices using his own moral and musical compass. Whether those choices please others or not. Whether the awards come or not, the music will come from a pure place inside him, woven in with the people whose talents he loves to make that music with. He has nothing more to prove.

[tellywoodtrash]

ishqbaaz 23.08.18 lb

ugh starting off the ep with nikhil’s uggo mug. 

LMAO REALLY NIKHIL? YOU DON’T GET IT? YOU STILL DON’T GET IT, AFTER YOUR GIRL AND THE “WEDDING PLANNER” PRACTICALLY GOT TO SECOND BASE RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU????????????????

lol i’m really loving anika’s “dgaf” break up style tho. may we all be blessed with it while casting away the fuckbois who haunt us. 

lmaooooooo she lapsed into mooneyes for a sec there, surely thinking about last night’s pool shenanigans. 

goddddddddddddd girl, could you stop throwing this damn kismat line at every damn man (other than omkara, who seems to be the only one who seems to get it.) 

ok she should have def bought om or gauri along. nikhil’s starting to react like every fucking asshole does when broken up with. 

lol she still dgaf tho. 

lmao, nikhil’s last ditch attempt: “shivaay kya sochega??????” 

lololololol. get fuckt, fool. 

god this dude’s eye-widening waala acting is so yuck. 

A+ to prinku who wants to say A LOT OF THINGS to her brother re: his dumbassery, but is wisely keeping mum, but cannot quiet down HER FACE. 

RETURN OF THE OLD ANIKA MUSIC. *weeps tears of joy* 

god it’s so good to see her so happy. 

also, surbhi said she had wisdom tooth issues while shooting this day. i see it. her face looks kinda puffy and she’s kinda clenching her teeth on that one side. 

i don’t like how this shivaay is so... pheekaaaaaa. like old shivaay would be intrigued and kinda try to get it outta her and challenge her. this one is just like yeah ok whatever. 

haaaye with all the times she’s saying “billu”, kaan taras rahein hain to hear her sing a billu ki shaadi hogi type song. 

that momentary flash of puppy eyes tho. 

fiddling with his kapde when nervous is his tell in this universe. 

she cute af. 

does he sign a lot of things “billu”? ki ainvayi “galti” se ho gaya??? 

i’m as resigned and pakaoed at all this bullshit kismat talk as he is. 

ok she came right out and said it. thank god. 

(please god please don’t play the biwi no 1 music after this moment.)

“main nikhil se shaadi nahi kar sakti.” “kyun nahi kar sakti? jab mujhe problem nahi hai toh tumhe problem kyun hai?”

LMAO COZ YOU’RE NOT THE ONE GETTING MARRIED TO THAT LOSER??????????? MATLAB WHAT LOGIC IS THIS? 

yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaas return of The Faraq Games!!!!!!!!!!! 

ah man caps aren’t capturing his microexpressions coz they’re super fleeting but fuck that is NOT the face of a man who gives no Faraqs. fuckkkkkk, my heart. 

also the way he’s super softly saying “faraq nahi padega”, as if to convince himself more than her. THE ANGST. 

SHE’S BACKKKKKKKKK. 

lmaoooooooooooooo it splashed on surbhi almost equally. she said in the BTS that jaise taise she just wiped it off and continued with the scene.

her daant chabaane (non-toothache related) waala gussa tho. you better watch out billu. 

lol glass bhi tod diya jaate jaate. 

SO MUCH CUTE, I CAN’T!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

goddamnit there goes my shivri moment of gauri calling him jiju out of her own volition. anika’s forcing her to call him jijaji, ugh. 

what a face, lord. god was truly in the best of moods when he made it. 

lmao om whipping out that phone as if he’s a new mom waiting for baby to say its first words. (coaching her too!) 

OMG I STILL GOT MY JIJU MOMENT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! #blessed

I LIVE. JUST LOOK AT GAURI THROWING UP PEACE SIGNS WHILE POSING ALL HAPPILY NEXT TO HIM.

lmao @ shivaay’s completely nonplussed face at sudden and unexpected acquisition of new baby sis tho. 

oh hey wazza tejvi! you exist! 

i’m so so so happy om has a good and healthy relationship with his dad in this universe. no really, so fucking happy. 

lmao the gossip has reached tejVi in london. no doubt via rudra. i’m willing to put money on it.  

loving om relishing in shivaay’s squirming at the interrogation. 

i’d grown tired of hating tej, who’s played by suchhhhhhh a likable actor. i’m glad he looks to be a positive character and a good father figure in this universe. 

could you not please???? your “i don’t give a Faraq” statement is falling apart rapidly.

lol. he almost wants to laugh, but he’s also flustered and in love with her, but also mad at being cornered like this.

(they fucking ruined it by playing that garbage biwi no 1 music tho.) 

om’s tinyyyyyyyyyyass wink at prinku ugh why is he soooooooooo cuteeeeee.

tejVi are all of us. confused af. 

anika’s reallllllllllly milking this to the max lmao. 

trollololol. 

OH NO. I JINXED IT. TEJ IS KIND OF A PUSHY “SHARMA JI KA BETA” TYPE. WHYYYYYYYYYYY????? IT WAS GOING SO WELL. OM DESERVES A GOOD SUPPORTING FATHERRRRRRRRRRR. WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY. 

ugh added layer of heartbreak for shivaay, who just said “aap mere sagge maa-baap se badhkar hain.” why tej? why you gotta break my heart in every universe like this?????????/// 

BLESS THIS BOY. TOO PURE. THIS SHOW, THIS INDUSTRY, AND ESP. THIS DAD DO NOT DESERVE HIMMMMMM.

tej has some serioussssssssssssss jealousy issues with shivaay and he needs to get the fuck over it. 

oh ho, shivaay is on “kuch nahi chupaata” lvl with jhanvi? (or so she seems to think.) interesting. 

ohhhhh boy, old tadi waala shivaay music. mentally preparing myself for a phone-phenk. 

who’s he calling? 

STOP FUCKING CALLING NIKHIL. LORD. 

i am loving how much nirmal anand she’s taking in calling him “jiiiiii” and billu ji. 

the way his eyes get all half hooded and he just lets himself hope and believe for the tiniesttttttttttt second that all of it is true and real. 

oh ho, he intends to be the mira to her krishna. forever devoted to her, never considering another spouse. 

also, lol @ that step he took backwards when she stepped forward. i loveeeeee it. good. be intimidated. or do you just not trust yourself to not jump her, like you did last night? 

unexpected boner due to ziddi and challenging wife. 

ok what’s the angle with these lillies now? 

god what’s this cockroach chutiyaapa tomorrow????????

lmao @ om shouting “main kuch karoon kya???????” and gauri being like STFU AND LET JIJU HANDLE IT YOU IDIOT!!!!!!!!!!! at him. 

[dickie-gayson]

Rockabye

CHAPTER 1: LOVE AND DEVOTION

Summary:  After an accident took Bruce from their family and their 'uncle' forced them out, Dick's been left to pick up the pieces of their shattered lives. He's tested day in and day out on just how far he'll go to keep his siblings safe and warm.

Characters: Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne, Tim Drake, Cassandra Cain, Alfred Pennyworth, Thomas Wayne Jr.

Genre: Family, Hurt/Comfort

Length: 3k+

Other: Dick adopts and takes care of his younger siblings. Jason is an overprotective little brother. Civilian!AU, Stripper!Dick, Waiter!Dick, the other siblings are all students, Thomas Wayne Jr is Creepy AF toward Dick. Jason wants to be a pediatrician, Cass wants to be a Dancer, Dami wants to be a vet, and Tim doesn’t know what to do anymore.

Find It On: Ao3 Fanfiction

LOVE AND DEVOTION

The faint scent of citrus and smoke lingered in the air as a cacophony of music and drunken chattering painted the room with what could only be described as grating background noise. In the dim lighting of the strip club, the hazy trails of cigarette smoke could be seen hanging in the atmosphere. Nine Lives was as refined an establishment as it was sleazy in its backdoor dealings. The traffic it drew varied from patrons eager to get drunk and ogle the entertainment to shady individuals with less than noble intentions. Anyone who spent time in the underground crime scene knew of this place, if for no other reason than the owner of the club; Sal Maroni.

Dick hated this place with every fiber of his being, but he needed the money desperately. Had he any better option, he wouldn't hesitate to take it. Sadly, there were surprisingly few opportunities for a former circus performer and ex-cop. Perhaps it had less to do with his resume and more to do with who is family is, or rather was. Being the son of a deceased billionaire garnered little sympathy, even one as benevolent as a Wayne. If only they knew why he was searching for a job. In the end, his pride wasn't worth a damn when his little siblings were starving. There wasn't a thing on this earth he wouldn't do for them. That much was being proven every day.

He could still remember the moment he found out about the accident. His world fell apart around him once more. And while he and his brothers and sister had been grieving, their 'uncle' swooped in to pick the remains of their inheritance clean. He'd taken the manor and evicted the five as well as their butler without a moment's hesitation. It was the single most callous display of human greed and malignance he'd ever seen.

There'd been a moment of hope that the six wouldn't be left homeless. Thomas had taken him aside, an almost kind expression on his face. It made Dick's skin crawl. The man was never kind. It had to be a ruse in an effort to further his own agenda. The words that came from Thomas' lips, the sliding hand and growing leer only justified that thought. He'd let them live in the manor, all of them, under one simple condition. He felt disgusted, downright nauseous at the memory of the proposition alone.

Thomas never used to be like that. Sure, he never was a pleasant man. There was something innately...unsettling, almost evil, about him. A bone-deep coldness that no amount of money or faux-grins could hide. Being around him for any length of time felt like sitting next to a hungry cobra. He was far too calculating and distant from anything even resembling human emotions to be comforting company. Still, what he proposed was sick. Dick noticed the mounting change over time. Thomas had always been interested in his acrobatics, but never in any way more than clinical interest, to see what asset he could be to the man's enterprise.

That began to change as he aged. When he started to grow into himself and fill out into his current appearance was when those icy, appraising stares turned a little more into interested leers. Touches drifted and lingered uncomfortably. Words turned almost slimy to the ear. He wasn't the only one to notice. His father confronted Thomas in a fit of explosive rage and it quickly turned violent. Had Alfred not split it up, the cops surely would have been involved. After that, Thomas made himself scarce. In fact, the next time he saw his 'uncle' was at the funeral. The man had the audacity to arrive late without an ounce of remorse or sadness. One would never believe his little brother lay in the casket from the uncaring way he lingered in the back. The entire time, Dick felt those unsettling eyes watching him like a hawk.

After that is when Thomas evicted the five and fired Alfred. He'd fought tooth and nail with the man. How could he just kick out his niece and nephews, one of which was thirteen and sickly and the other only nine? That oily little smile gave him a clue just what sort of proposition was coming. Even though he'd been expecting it, it still didn't stop the sickening feeling from rising in his stomach. Despite the fact that it made his gut churn in horror, he actually contemplated accepting the terms just so his siblings and unofficial grandfather had somewhere to sleep and food to eat. Jason, bless his soul, intervened with an anger and vicious protectiveness that matched their father's. It was what kept him from taking the deal. However, not a day went by where he didn't think of calling Thomas up and accepting.

He was pulled from the thoughts as he made his way out of the back halls of the strip club, deftly stepping around other dancers. It was reaching one in the morning and his shift was officially over. He took his tips and couldn't wait to get back to their shitty apartment and just crash for a few hours. He halted midstep when his eyes landed on the familiar form of his little brother hunched over a breakroom table, steadily writing away. He couldn't help but let out a slightly frustrated sigh. Jason knew better than to be here, especially on a school night, especially at this time. Then again, the teen never cared much to follow rules he didn't like. It seemed to be a family trait.

Quietly, he crept up on his brother and peeked over his shoulder to see what had him so enraptured. It appeared to be an essay about the Catcher in the Rye. He could remember reading that in high school, though it hadn't really caught his attention well. Jason was far more enthusiastic about school and its entailed work than any of the other siblings. He'd even been a Class Officer, whatever that meant. Dick liked to tease him about being a nerd, despite his 'James Dean, rebel with a cause' style he had going on. Never before did he see a guy rocking a leather jacket, combat boots, and riding a motorcycle so excited to do extra credit homework. The kid was going places, that much was known and Dick couldn't be prouder.

For a moment, he just stood there and watched his little brother scribble furiously and make agitated noises while erasing. Then, he cleared his throat, causing the younger man to startle violently. He had to duck a backhanded punch. The string of swears slipping from his brother caused him to laugh lightly. Dick slung his arm over his shoulder and nudged him.

"What are you doing here?"

The spread of crimson across his cheeks showed that he was sufficiently embarrassed. Naturally, to cover up that perceived weakness, Jason shoved at him with a glare. It wasn't nearly as intimidating when his face was doing a good impression of a tomato. He never was big on showing anything he considered a 'weakness', even something like caring. Really, he couldn't blame his brother. With his past and where he came from, something like that could be held against him.

"What does it look like? Waiting for you, dumbass."

It was hard to take it as an insult when the words were mumbled out with a genuinely caring edge. Dick just sighed and leaned back to let Jason gather his stuff and stand.

"I told you not to wait here for me, especially on school nights."

The look he got was only mildly scathing in nature, which was a plus.

"Yeah? And I told you I don't care. There are way too many creeps around here."

An amused little smirk curled the corner of Dick's lips. While his brother might have trouble really expressing himself - who didn't in his family? - he had a real heart of gold. It was adorable.

"Aww. how sweet. Your concern is really endearing. You don't think I can take care of myself?"

His attempt at ruffling Jason's hair was thwarted by a dodge and half-hearted swipe from the younger boy.

"Shut up, dickhead. I know you can, but these assholes don't play fair. I'm just evening the odds."

There was that slight twist of his features that showed just how embarrassed he was to display any concern. The thought that his seventeen-year-old little brother was 'evening the odds' was almost surreal. Though, he couldn't really deny that he was growing to be intimidating in stature. The two were damn near eye level now with Jason being broader built and more heavily muscled, cutting an imposing figure.

"Alright, alright. C'mon, you know Alfie's waiting up to chew you out, and by proxy me. Plus you gotta get up in like five hours."

Jason just let out a scoff and very pointedly rolled his eyes.

"So do you. You don't sleep, I don't sleep. That's the rules."

It tugged at Dick's heart how serious Jason was about that. He'd been fighting with his brother over this since everything fell apart. Jason figured if he refused to sleep until Dick did, it'd encourage the older man to sleep more and take better care of himself. It was as endearing as it was heartbreaking.

"That's definitely not the rules. If you start falling behind in school because you don't sleep, it'll be harder for you to get a scholarship."

Jason just looked at his feet with a scowl firmly in place at the words. He knew it to be true, but that didn't mean he liked it.

"Wouldn't need a scholarship if that asshole didn't take everything."

His words were filled to the brim with a searing hatred and Dick mirrored those feelings. Though there was a touch more fear on Dick's end, for obvious reasons. With a low sigh, he put a hand on Jason's shoulder as they made their way toward the exit.

"I know. We'll work things out though, we always do. Besides, you're so damn smart, Jay. Colleges are probably lining up with scholarships for you."

Try as he might, Jason couldn't quite suppress the pleased little grin from appearing on his lips. Getting praise still felt strange to him, even four years after being taken into the family. But it was a nice sort of strange. It's one reason he fought so fiercely for them all, even if sometimes he wanted to throw his little brothers in a ditch somewhere. They all came from broken backgrounds yet they managed to find a common thread in their pains that tied them together in this strange little fucked up family of theirs. Even that absolute douchebag that is Bruce's older brother couldn't shatter their bond. If anything, he only served to make their attachment to one another stronger. Still, if Jason had the opportunity, he'd shatter Thomas' everything with a baseball bat, no hesitation.

"Damn right they are. Who wouldn't want me to attend their school?"

A cocky, crooked grin was sent Dick's way, causing the older man to laugh lightly.

"Exactly! I can see it now: Doctor Todd, the renowned pediatrician. They'd be crazy not to snatch you up."

Jason was quiet for a moment, that small smile still in place. There seemed to be an added heaviness to his features, a sort of sadness that Dick was all too familiar with. Without looking at him, Jason spoke in a small voice.

"You think Bruce would be proud?"

The words caused Dick's heart to break all over again. For what seemed to be the millionth time, he cursed the drunk driver that had caused the horrible accident that took their father from them. He gave Jason a tight, one-armed hug, knowing he wasn't big on physical affection.

"Absolutely. We're all so proud of you, Little Wing. Don't ever forget it."

That heaviness that seemed to weigh Jason down lightened just a bit at the heartfelt words. He'd always had an affinity with kids and loved to help others. His decision was only solidified after the accident when the doctors couldn't save Bruce. It had also caused Tim internal injuries, resulting in him needing to have a kidney removed. Some trauma never left and he's been borderline sickly ever since. They needed special - and pricey - medication to keep him healthy. Jason wanted to help those like his family, those that lost it all. He'd planned to work in a free clinic as he knew all too well how bullshit the medical system has become.

Dick tossed a casual 'bye' to his coworkers as they went out the back. They returned with a chorus of good-byes, many of them tacking on 'Little Wing', much to Jason's intense mortification. Dick had to bite his tongue not to laugh at his brother's cherry-red face. The scowl would be more threatening if it didn't look closer to an embarrassed pout. He got a shove for his efforts. Jason huffed and crossed his arms, looking all the part of a moody teen now more than ever. Dick just shook his head in amusement.

Both brothers walked in silence down the darkened Gotham streets, each lost in thought. They made careful to avoid alleys like the plague. 'Evening the Odds' didn't mean they felt even remotely safe traversing those passages and with good reason. The chances of them getting mugged or worse were astronomically high, even if they were two grown men. Well, one grown and one almost eighteen, but Jason certainly looked the part. Dick would very much rather drive to and from work, but he did so as little as possible. Their money was tight as is, he couldn't afford the gas, repairs, or payments to maintain a vehicle. That hatred for Thomas in him burned a little brighter.

At Jason's insistent nudge, Dick crossed the street. He gave his brother an inquisitive look only to notice the sharp way he was staring at one particular alley. Quickly, Jason averted his eyes in an effort not to be caught looking by whoever the hell was lurking. Dick didn't see anyone but he trusted Jason's instincts. He grew up on these streets and knew the ins and outs better than any of them. If he thought something was up with that alley, they could take a detour around the entrance. Anything to keep his baby brother safe.

He didn't ask and Jason didn't tell. That's how it usually was with the streets. Better to keep quiet and pretend you didn't see anything than make yourself a target. Dick sighed softly at the life they now led. One day, it'll change. He swore it. No matter what he has to do, he'll change it for them. Until that day, they'd scrape by one way or another.

There was an obvious ease of tension once they stepped into their shitty apartment complex. It was small, the walls were cracked and yellowed, the floor looked and felt like it hadn't been cleaned in ages, and he's pretty sure their neighbor was a drug dealer, but it was better than the streets. They only had two bedrooms to split between six people. It was a tight squeeze, especially compared to the cushy life they had at the manor.

The two tiptoed around the creaking floors in an effort not to disturb the sleeping kids. Before he got far, Dick noticed Damian fast asleep on the couch, clearly waiting for him to return. He frowned lightly as he debated on moving the young boy to his room but decided against it. Damian was a notoriously light sleeper and he wanted to disturb him as little as possible.

The eldest brother continued on his path and peeked his head into one room to check on his other younger siblings. Tim was curled up on a beat up mattress and Cass was sprawled out on the mat next to the bed, both sound asleep. Or so he thought. Cass appeared to have heard him despite his best efforts and looked over at the door, body tensed to move. Once she recognized the intruder as Dick she relaxed and flashed him a small, tired grin. He gave her one in return and signed an apology. She just gave a light shrug before curling back up to sleep.

Dick moved from the doorframe and looked into the other room. As he suspected, Alfred was up and sitting in a chair, reading a book like it wasn't after one in the morning. The elderly man glanced up, looking as put together as ever despite the time. Dick gave him a small wave and smile. Alfred returned it in like before marking his place and putting the book down. It looked as if he didn't want to sleep until his two eldest were safely home. Dick hated that. He just wanted the others to take it easy, not wait up for him because he couldn't get a better job in a safer place. They deserved better than they were getting. It grated on his every nerve.

Jason gave him a somewhat awkward shoulder-pat as he moved passed him to lay down on his own mat. It was his way of being affectionate without having to get too touchy. He gave the younger man a slight grin and quiet 'good night' before making his way toward the bathroom to take a shower. He needed to wash the stench of the club off him. It helped him feel cleaner on a more than skin deep level. Not to mention his customers at the diner probably wouldn't appreciate the scent of liquor and sweat or the copious amounts of glitter coming off of him.

It had to be a brisk shower, the hot water rarely lasted long, much to everyone's frustration. Once he was clean, he made his way to the living room to get a nap before having to take his shift at The Monarch Diner. That place was possibly as bad as Nine Lives. He's pretty certain they hired him because he was nice to look at. They encouraged him to flirt with customers in hopes of better tips and returning patrons. Well, it certainly worked. He's had enough creepy people returning just to try and get with him. Both Jason and Damian have nearly been banned for attempting to throttle some of the more touchy customers.

Since then, he's toned down on the flirting, even if his bosses insist otherwise. It wasn't their asses on the line. They weren't the ones who had to look over their shoulders for literal stalkers. God, he hated working there but there wasn't much else for him to do. He's constantly looking for better jobs but without success. Even Alfred's taken up a job working at a hotel to clean the rooms in an effort to keep the income somewhat steady. It only made Dick all the more determined to find something, anything, better.

He slipped onto the couch quietly, trying to disturb the nine-year-old as little as possible. The kid, attentive as ever, woke at the shifting of the cushions. Spotting his eldest brother, Damian curled up closer to him. Dick wrapped him in a hug and ran his fingers through his raven locks to try to coax him back to sleep. He placed a gentle kiss on the top of his head and tried to enjoy his few hours of peace. It'd get better for them, it had to.