#malevolent john aesthetic
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Shitty John Doe aesthetic: it's me arthur i'm the eldritch entity speaking to you from inside your brain. LISTEN TO ME ARTHUR leave arkham now, we don't need it. COME WITH ME ARTHUR and solve these mysteries. we'll have private detective times in... pits, mostly, for some statistically significant reason. doo doo de doo YESSSS ARTHUR. YOU NEED ME ARTHUR OUR FREE WILL IS NOT AN ILLUSION
#john doe#malevolent#john doe malevolent#john malevolent#malevolent podcast#malevolent john#john doe aesthetic#malevolent aesthetic#john doe malevolent aesthetic#john malevolent aesthetic#malevolent podcast aesthetic#malevolent john aesthetic#john doe kin#malevolent kin#john doe malevolent kin#john malevolent kin#malevolent podcast kin#malevolent john kin#shitty aesthetic tm
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John: Arthur, I'm begging you please
Arthur, face full of Mr Foust:
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malevolent moodboard
credits
unknown • fraisesrouge • William Richards Castle Jr, 1921, Philip de László (Hungarian, 1869-1937) • unknown • Eye • love is the aim • La mano destra che sa cosa fa la sinistra, giovanni gasparro 2011 • unknown • Bottega Veneta Fall 2015
#guys i had a fucking breakdown trying to find these sources#I AM BEGGING YOU GIVE CREDIT IF YOU POST SOMETHING ON PINTEREST#anyways#happy 3 years to the concept of malevolent :)#malevolent#malevolent pod#malevolent podcast#malevolent moodboard#arthur lester#john doe#john doe malevolent#kayne malevolent#larson malevolent#yellow malevolent#king in yellow#malevolent aesthetics
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Make the content you want to see, I always say. Well the content I want to see is double sided charms apparently hsferhfjss.
Anyway. I don’t like digital colouring. This took me nine billion years sheesh. Go listen to Malevolent.
Going to make this into charms- have my stupid joke and then the textless versions!
#malevolent#arthur lester#john doe#malevolent podcast#my art#I just really like the aesthetic of John covering his eyes so I made a meme in my sketchbook#then I decided to spend a billion years on it apparently sohrkrhd
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"Where am I? What’s happened?"
"Don’t you remember?"
"Who are you?"
"Who am I? I’m a friend. The best friend you have right now…the only friend you have right now."
- Malevolent podcast
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oh. and a piece i started to paint back in October. i let it be as it is now. not an Illustration, again, but it takes roots in ep7 i think. cold water, lost control, shock. less scars *sigh*
and a beautiful moon eye that was looking into my window, that absolutely royal, honey, insanely bright yellow hue.
"ARTHUR, BREATHE"
...we all need this line to be voiced inside our skulls sometimes, right?
also play Catch My Heart by Bohren & Der Club of Gore and cry a lot.
(ID in the alt text)
#k's art#arthur lester#john doe malevolent#malevolent podcast#malevolent episode 7#not spoilers actually#visionary#sing for me#aesthetic attraction is still a thing#Gefühlsmaschine#i wonder if i stop looking at his face here like <33333 in a few days#the jester team#the ID ahem turned out sort of... poetic maybe#but it sounds better in my first language (which i won't speak here.)
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G'morning.
My heart is in pieces thanks to the mess of a private investigator and his ( late??) Eldritch husband.
#malevolent podcast#malevolent spoilers#malevolent brainrot#My eyes are puffy lol#sleep deprived to match Arthur's aesthetics#good God#I dun wanna start the next season without John#*lays on the floor*
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Malevolent reads like a DnD campaign but there’s only one player, that being Arthur, while Entity and the rest of the people are voiced by the dm.
Example in part 4:
Player: okay, I walk up to the trucker
Dm: okay. Ignoring the vehement protests of the Entity, you walk up to the trucker.
Player: “Excuse me, sir. I’m so sorry to bother you but I was wondering if I could get a ride.”
Dm: before the trucker answers, the Entity interjects, “Arthur! You went to the wrong truck. This one just pulled up. It doesn’t have any signs on it.”
Player: *excuse me*, what do you mean that’s the wrong truck?!
Dm: *well* I’m not the one who walks up to random trucks!
#malevolent#malevolent part 4#yes I know his name is John but it’s for the *aesthetic*#text post#spoiled wine#takes a tumble
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The Malevolent Sheep
Embroidered Livestock Who Hate Everyone, But Me Most of All For Bringing Them Into This World
By Doña Ashildr inn Harfagri, 2023
Presented at Castellan
Purpose
The purpose of this paper is not to document a perfect and period reproduction, but to document my thought process and learning process as I attempt to add to an impression of a 14th century English peasant designed for the casual eye.
I play an English shepherdess in 1360 in the fictional town of Avalon for the Medieval Fair of Norman. Due to the timing of this event, weather can be unpredictable, and occasionally very cold and wet. I am in possession of a wool hood from Hobbitronics featuring the crossed trumpets badge of heralds. While this is a delightful hood and definitely one of my warmest pieces, the costuming director and myself have determined the crossed trumpets are not appropriate for the character of Margery Arkewright and more importantly, do not add to the air of perceived authenticity for the visiting patrons. An important note is that certain concessions of historicity are made in order to create a more coherent and easily understandable experience for the patrons of the fair. For example, we restrict all uses of true (not rusty) red to the King and his immediate family to add visual cohesion and allow patrons to more easily identify King Edward III, Queen Philippa, their children, and their children’s spouses.
With that in mind, I began to research decorative motifs and patterns appropriate to the time. Two documents referenced early on were The Luttrell Psalter (approx 1320-1340) and the
Belleville Breviary, a prayer book owned by Captain Jeanne de Clisson, Lioness of Brittany. The latter was particularly intriguing as an inspiration, as the Captain is portrayed as a cast member though she had died in 1359. However, both of these resources are ink on parchment, rather than decoration on fabric. Lady Asa in Blindi pointed out that though aesthetics may be similar, motifs likely differ.
Thus, the Bayeux Tapestry was chosen for inspiration. Though the date of the Tapestry’s completion is murky with the earliest written reference to it dating to a 1476 inventory of the Bayeux Cathedral, it was likely completed in the 11th century, three centuries prior to the date of the Norman Medieval Fair. However, the popularity of the Bayeux Tapestry in online meme culture with an apparent peak around 2018 (Know Your Meme) in conjunction with the popularity of “bardcore” remixes of popular modern songs starting around 2020 with album art featuring images from the Bayeux Tapestry is hoped to have made the imagery of the tapestry more familiar to the average person. For this reason, even though the tapestry predates the target period by approximately three centuries, the design was based on that of the tapestry.
The sheep were designed to mimic the style of animals portrayed in the Bayeux Tapestry and other contemporary pieces, particularly with the near-heraldic postures in what should otherwise be normal scenes.
Below the sheep is a straight line and added grass hillocks inspired by Scene 51, as seen below. Above the sheep is another decorative strip, with a straight line in the same color again, above which there are two pairs of diagonal bars leaning towards each other as seen in Scene 35 (also below) of the tapestry. On either side of these diagonal bars are the 10 point mullets of Ansteorra and between them are two bendwise, stylized shepherds crooks leaning towards each other. Though there is no evidence in the tapestry of either mullets of 5 lesser and 5 greater points or shepherds crooks, they were selected for recognizability and for keeping in theme. Margery Arkewright is recognizable as “The Sheep Lady” of the Fair, so the shepherds crooks were chosen.
The sheep have been lovingly nicknamed “Bonald the Devourer” (left) and “John Wick” (right) through the course of the design.
Materials
Approx 11”x9” dark brown linen, pre washed
J&P Coats cotton embroidery floss, various colors
Chalk Pencil
Concessions of authenticity in materials are made due to supply availability and cost restrictions. I frankly do not have the money to make and dye embroidery floss, yarn, or linen fabric for an experimental piece I expect to see a lot of wear. The actual Bayeux Tapestry is embroidered onto a base fabric of a tabby-woven linen that appears to be undyed, and is embroidered with wool yarn dyed in various colors. In my Bayeux Tapestry themed patch for this hood, I used a commercially dyed brown linen in a tabby weave, and performed the embroidery with embroidery floss also in various commercially dyed colors.
Methods
First the design was sketched out on scratch paper. The fabric then selected was a scrap of dark brown linen. This was chosen because in part earth tones read to the casual audience as “medieval,” “rustic,” and “peasant,” and because in the target decade green and brown were taking off as the most fashionable colors a person could wear. Rather than using modern pattern transfer methods, the design was transferred to the fabric by gridding, using a piece of string as the straight edge and measure. The sheep are outlined in stem stitch as are most of the figures in the tapestry, though they are embroidered in black for visibility on the dark brown fabric.
Then the laid stitch found throughout the tapestry was first tested on the head of Bonald (left sheep) before being applied to the rest of the body. The laid stitch consists of first setting down satin stitch across an area, then applying slightly more spaced out stitches covering the full length of the area perpendicular to the satin stitches, which are then tacked down as seen below. After first application, I compared again to the laid work of the tapestry and added several more columns to better reflect the density seen in the Bayeux Tapestry. The same direction was maintained for the satin stitch across almost the entire body of this sheep aside from the tail, belly tufts, and ears. On the next sheep I experimented with a little more directionality and texture which is also found in the tapestry, which prevented me from having to make a single satin stitch cover quite as much area. Upon trying both methods, I can see the appeal of the variety of directions reducing the overall length of any one satin stitch, which can become unwieldy and tangle or pull the piece taut.
On the horns of each sheep, I experimented using surface couching, which was used in the 14th century. I chose to do this because at first pass, surface couching and laid work appear very similar, and at least to have similar results. At this time, I had finished the first sheep and not started the body on the second, so I was dissatisfied with the density of stitches in the white body of the sheep and was investigating new ways to increase my coverage. Upon finishing the horns, I determined that surface couching produces a very different overall effect to laid work, with denser stitches, but a much less economical use of thread.
After the horns and bodies were done, I added detail to the sheep in stem stitch to better define the fluffy wool. The folds in the fabric on several figures in the tapestry were done in what appears to be stem stitch and act as break points in many cases for the direction of the laid work. Due to the clarity of the folds and details, I had assumed they were applied after the fill color, but after having finished my piece I believe the internal details were applied prior to the fill color.
Following the completion of the sheep, I began embroidering the borders of the top section, the bottom line, and the borders of the diagonals in a soft orange color that reminded me of madder-dyed wool. This also seemed a close match to the color used on said borders in various sections of the tapestry. It was when I started working on the diagonals that I realized I was not, in fact, sewing a stem stitch as I’d thought, but sewing a split stitch. This realization explained several discrepancies I’d noticed in the visual texture of my linework and the linework in the tapestry. The diagonals are sewn in a stem stitch.
The next stage I sewed was the Ansteorran stars, with much wailing and gnashing of teeth. As my chalk lines kept rubbing off before I could get to the stars, I free handed the stars themselves. The first attempt to outline then fill the star like the sheep went sideways as the star did not come out with 5 even points. I eventually settled on sewing the 5 greater points with laid work and the 5 lesser points with satin stitch.
What would I change?
If I were to do this again, I would seek out a more densely woven linen and use either wool yarn as was used in the tapestry itself or the full 6 strands of my embroidery floss for visual density. I believe the fullness and volume of wool yarn will better mimic the appearance of the period piece. I would add more internal detail to break up the longer sections of satin stitch, and I would lay down the detail before adding the fill color. This seems to be the method used in the tapestry, shown in the detail from Scene 51 below.
In the transition from the neck to the spaces of the neck between sections of mane, and in the crook of the horse’s shoulder, the direction and angles of the laid work change. This seems to indicate that the internal detail (horse’s shoulder) was applied before the fill color, and that the particular direction of the laid work can be broken up to better fill a space.
Overall, I believe this project was a success. The goal was not perfect periodicity or reproduction, but to better make a useful piece of garb fit the ambiance designed for the casual (non-medievalist) patron. The patch covers the obtrusively modern machine embroidery and in doing so, helps create the Magic and the Dream for those visiting the Medieval Fair of Norman. I learned a new stitch that I have gone on to use in other hand embroidery projects for the security and economy of materials. I made several mistakes that gave me a better firsthand understanding of this historical piece and have improved and expanded my embroidery skills.
Navigate Bayeux Tapestry scene by scene https://www.bayeuxmuseum.com/en/the-bayeux-tapestry/discover-the-bayeux-tapestry/explore-online/
Bayeux Tapestry Meme Generator https://htck.github.io/bayeux/#!/
Bardcore https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bardcore
Hobbitronics Hood Listing - https://www.hobbitronics.com/hoods.html
Referenced https://cottesimple.com/articles/medieval-embroidery-on-clothing/ for stitching methods
History of Medieval Tapestry Memes https://knowyourmeme.com/memes/medieval-tapestry-edits
Appendix
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Sci-Fi Saturday: Things to Come
Week 18
Film(s): Things to Come (Dir. William Cameron Menzies, 1936, UK)
Viewing Format: Blu-Ray: Criterion Edition
Date Watched: 2021
Rationale for Inclusion:
Once upon a time in 2006, my partner and I took a formal science fiction film genre class during our year abroad at the University of East Anglia. Like Aelita: Queen of Mars (Аэли́та, Dir. Yakov Protazanov, 1924, USSR), Things to Come (Dir. William Cameron Menzies, 1936, UK) was on the syllabus. Also like Aelita, my partner and I remembered that it was interesting, and had great set pieces, but we did not like it enough to watch it again until this survey gave us the excuse.
Plus with a screenplay by H.G. Wells, adapted from his own 1933 book The Shape of Things to Come, the film would have been worth watching for that point alone.
Reactions:
Maybe I had forgotten, or maybe it did not hit the same way the last time I watched it in 2006, but I was taken aback by how ideologically fascist Things to Come becomes after its first act. Despite being a Fabian Society socialist, who was watching fascism and authoritarianism on the rise in Europe, Wells took the stance in The Shape of Things to Come and this film adaptation that the only way to unify the world, and bring about lasting peace and technological advancement, was under a benevolent dictatorship. Maybe being a man of the Victorian era, he simply thought imperialism and monarchy was fine when done the English way, despite it being frowned upon when anyone else did it.
Watching Things to Come in 2021, amid nationalism having a surge in popularity and being well aware of the history of colonialism and how much support Nazi ideology had in what would become the Allied countries in World War II, I was left with the impression that the film was pro-fascist.
The aesthetic of Wings Over the World being what they are, all militaristic and black, it is hard not to draw comparisons to the aesthetics of German Nazis or Italian Fascists. Given how explicitly anti-war Things to Come is leading up to John Cabal (Raymond Massey) flying up to Everytown, the audience is positioned to be as leery of this purposefully intimidating presence as the Boss (Ralph Richardson) is upon meeting the outsider. (Besides, dude looks like Boris Karloff.)
The Boss's leery defensiveness clashes with Cabal's self-assured pompousness, and the latter is taken prisoner. When the rest of his force comes to rescue Cabal, they rain down "The Gas of Peace" to incapacitate the populus, rescue their man, and take over Everytown. Given the mission of Wings Over the World, the taking of Everytown was inevitable, it was just a matter of how willingly the Boss and his community went.
A militaristic anti-war organization that uses something called "The Gas of Peace" is downright Orwellian (despite this film coming out 12 years before the publication of Animal Farm and 16 before Nineteen Eighty-Four) or it would be if it was meant satirically instead of sincerely. The heroic aviators and use of gas as vital technology were standards of the science fiction of this era, as we saw in F.P.1 (F.P.1 antwortet nicht, Dir. Karl Hartl, 1932, Germany), but the prior act of Things to Come being so explicitly anti-war makes it hard not to view a group that uses militarism to achieve their goals as anything but malevolent in the context of the filmic universe, even as the film narrative insists that Wings Over the World and their methods are positive and beneficial to humanity.
The third act of Things to Come, set a generation or two in the future from the second act, in 2036, shows glorious, gleaming subterranean cities that have been built under the leadership of Wings Over the World. Although this type of utopia's homogeneity is its own kind of concerning, the way the government is dismissive of the protestation of citizens that think technology is advancing too fast and the closing speech by Oswald Cabal (Massey again), the leader of the government and grandson of John Cabal, that humanity "must go on, conquest beyond conquest" only reinforces the second act's message that fascism is the necessary key to a successful society.
Did Wells and the filmmakers ever realize that what they were advocating in this film was the same ideology of the Axis powers that their country went to war against? Or was I right the first time when I wondered that authoritarian rule was fine for these Englishmen as long as it was the English doing the ruling?
Needless to say, I do not like Things to Come. I recognize the quality of the filmmaking, special effects and this film's impact on later genre films, but its politics are off putting. I find it equally off putting that most of the negative criticism towards this film is focused on its narrative structure and dull characters. Granted, those things were probably why I had not watched the film for 15 years. Plus, the third act absolutely drags in its pacing.
If I were to teach a science fiction cinema class, I likely would include Things to Come on the curriculum. It's a well made and interesting work of science fiction and has a lot of components to pick at and discuss; as evident from everything I wrote above. I just won't be throwing it on when I want some vintage sci-fi on a rainy afternoon, unlike most of the other films discussed in this survey thus far.
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octopia dlc spoiler img below i just want to theorise about it,
THIS IS FUCKING ME UP BECAUSE IT DOESNT LOOK LIKE ANYTHING WE'VE SEEN IN MAIN GAME AS OF YET. all the robotic enemies in base game are distinctly made by solomon with the red/blue split aesthetic OR the more yellow/green/red varient that's associated with mother
^ note the rust effect and much more haphazard way these creations look (mainly the exposed wires). OR of course the miasma enemies which still adheres to this colour palette v
this new enemy is not only completely visually seperate with only body colour used and pure red eyes (i don't have images but imagine i put an image of the eyss found in the breeding facilities for reference) but is also much cleaner looking with a much slicker design, which leads me to think this is industrial rather than invented and produced by a single person.
this could also explain solomon's much more passive role in this version of the story as seen from official art and trailers, implying there's someone else whose taken on the mantle of producing these malevolent robotic creations to aid mother (or whoever is pulling the string this time around).
the fact its clearly based on a blimpig as well which we know from greenburg are ranch animals implies that it's been created by/for a farming company. i'm pretty confident that's the case considering the dlc focuses on john and sam moving to a farming town and taking up the mantle, reusing the main games theme of SOMETHING malevolent always lurking behind the scenes of a seemingly idyllic setting
trying to not get my hopes up too much but i'm SOOO excited to find out more about this
EDIT: WAIT I REALIZED THE MACHINE HAS ONE RED AND ONE YELLOW EYE WHICH IS CONSISTENT WITH MOTHER BUT NOT SOLOMON. THIS ADDS FURTHER QUESTIONS
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Could you please do John from the podcast Malevolent?
some will say "stan. you already made th ps5 joke about orthax. an also th ps5 joke isn't even funny anymore that video came out almost two years ago". t which i will say. maybe so. bu it was so fuckin stupid an it made me laugh so i actually don't give a single fuck. sorry yer redemption arc is bein rewarded in this way bu no one said gettin an aesthetic from me was a step on th path t healin
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Guise - a Malevolent fanfic
Meanwhile, John and Arthur were bickering again. It was, Hastur decided, some kind of demented mating dance.
Demented because neither of them seemed to realize what they were doing.
Mating because it was fucking obvious to anybody who listened to them for five minutes.
Delusional, as well, Hastur mentally added, and growled to get their attention.
Part of the Surrogate series.
AO3
————
Arthur had her trail. He’d fucking found her trail, and Hastur had to just watch him do it.
Had to hang back, remaining invisible (horrifying) while Arthur, now looking like an ordinary person of this world, asked questions in the docks, and smiled, and paid a few people money from Hastur’s treasury.
Arthur was fucking good at it. Hastur could at admit that, at least to himself.
And Arthur had been right: if Hastur had blown in there, no one would have answered his questions as easily as they answered Arthur.
But of course, this was Celephaïs. That was why it went so smoothly: Hastur could credit Kuranes, not Arthur.
(Damn it.)
Arthur came back, and his news was not great—but at least it was something.
#
Confirmation: she’d gone to the docks. No one had noticed her, but they sure as fuck had noticed Nibbles.
At least until the goat went all shadow, and then no one saw anything at all.
There were little people—possibly children, possibly not—fitting Faroe’s description on several ships headed across the Middle Sea. She could have gone to Hlanith, which would mean a lot of walking to Ulthar. She could have taken the long route to Zakarion, which was much closer to her goal, but longer on the water; would she have braved that to throw searches off?
Damn it. She could even have gone to N’kraal, or the farthest reaches of Thran. Maybe she’d been her very bravest and taken a ship all the way around to Dylath-Leen.
There was no way to tell which ship she had taken.
Hastur could try to hunt the ship down, but that would be foolish—any vessel on this water would be protected to hell and back against interference, and while he could push past that with ease, the risks of capsize were too high.
He had no choice: he would have to portal across the sea and canvas the entire fucking shoreline.
If it became known that the King in Yellow was patrolling the place, she would absolutely get wind of it, and hide again. He would have to do this subtly.
He would have to do this Arthur’s way.
Damn it. Damn it, damn it, damn it.
The stupid human was right.
#
Meanwhile, John and Arthur were bickering again. It was, Hastur decided, some kind of demented mating dance.
Demented because neither of them seemed to realize what they were doing.
Mating because it was fucking obvious to anybody who listened to them for five minutes. Every damn conversation was intimate, and insulting, and rife with inane vows of love even if they didn't use that word.
It would be mildly entertaining if it were all far, far away from him, and if one of the two fools didn’t need to come home and merge with him sooner rather than later.
Delusional, as well, Hastur mentally added, and growled to get their attention.
…said it wanted you specifically, and you’re just being a jackass for—What, Hastur?
“It is time.”
They both stared at him (or in his direction, which was good enough). “For what?” said Arthur.
“The second part of your plan.”
“A disguise,” said Arthur.
“I must contemplate and craft the most effective form for this.”
“Something that’ll blend in,” said Arthur. “That’s the whole point.”
Hastur touched down, crushing some rocks beneath his weight. With a sweep of one tentacle, he cleared away the poisonous weeds and slew the few predatory spiders and insects that would have feasted on Arthur’s flesh and mind. A perfect circle of soft, fine sand awaited them now, aesthetically and tactually lovely, with an indentation for a small fire.
He was pleased. It was pleasing. “I hope this disguise does not involve the necessity of pretending incapability,” he murmured, putting Arthur down.
Arthur groaned and stretched (as Dis had taught him, another way Hastur Was Right, but he didn’t rub it in). “You mean do you have to pretend not to be a fucking god? Yeah, you have to do that. I need to piss. Where?”
Left. Straight. A little further.
“Do not leave the circle.”
Yeah, I see why. Fucking bugs would probably go crazy for him, wouldn’t they?
“If your discussion of the sentient mold wishing to keep him is accurate, possibly.”
“I told you,” Arthur muttered. “It did that to everybody. We found what was left of other people it ate.”
And I’m telling you, it’s a pattern.
Arthur sighed, going about his disgusting biological processes. “Sure, John. Right.”
Hastur created a fire. He also produced little meats and fruits, even going so far as to provide skewers so Arthur could roast it all (with John’s help) as preferred. He doubted he’d be thanked. An ungrateful little worm never thanked anyone.
Arthur knelt, cleaning his hands in the soft sand, then made his way back to the fire by feel.
Whoa. He’s set up a little feast.
“What?”
I mean not what he’s been shoving down your throat.
Ungrateful worms, plural.
Arthur felt for them, finding where Hastur had angled them on a small log to keep them off the ground. “What is this?”
“Skewers, meat, fruit. You may roast them,” Hastur said graciously.
Now you’re making him cook, too? John declared.
Hastur growled. “You disliked my preparation of food for him before.”
First it was fucking raw, and then it was fucking burnt.
“It was neither. It was rare, and then medium well!”
“Hey, this is neat,” said Arthur, already roasting. Juice from fruit and meat dripped into the fire, sizzling and sending a lovely aroma into the air that Hastur hadn’t experienced in a while: the scent of burnt sacrifices, offered by those who worshiped him.
He hadn’t really bothered with cultists and ceremonies for more than a decade. There was all this nonsense with John, and then Faroe took up so much spare time, and…
“This is really good,” said Arthur around a mouthful of meat like some barbarian, and then he made no sense. “Want some?”
Hastur stared. “Some what?”
Arthur held out one of the skewers. “The fruit juice runs over the meat and sort of caramelizes it. Try some.”
“You think I have any interest in something this base?”
“Pretend it’s practice for a disguise, then,” said Arthur, still holding it out like the stubborn fool he was.
“No,” said Hastur.
Yeah, fuck off, said John. It’s all for Arthur. You don’t get any.
Hastur snatched the skewer.
Hey!
“John, it’s fine.”
Stupid mating dance.
The whole skewer disappeared somewhere in his tentacles, into a mouth he created for the occasion, because he was no ridiculous human to breathe around hot food and reveal teeth and saliva and mess.
It was good. Damn. “You may have a point,” he allowed, expecting no gracious response.
“Yeah? I thought so.” Arthur had worked his way through half of them. “Could I have some water?”
‘“Please.’”
He rolled his eyes. “Could I have some water, please?”
“Yes, you may,” said Hastur, producing three blue glass bottles. They gleamed in the fading light, absolutely lovely in the sunset and against the fire. Pity Arthur couldn’t see them. Pity John was too banal to notice.
I wish you could see this, John said, low, entering the smooth phase of their stupid mating dance. The suns are setting and turning the sky soft purple; the fire rages gold, licking the air; the bottles he just produced are a dark and royal blue, and the light dances through the glass. It’s beautiful, Arthur.
“Wow,” said Arthur, softly.
That was moderately satisfying. Hastur preened a little, then settled by the fire to keep his stupid human safe and to consider his disguise.
It would need to be effective. He wasn’t going to be just some ugly zoog, or something; it was one thing to be able to overhear things as Arthur suggested—but when he was revealed, Hastur still wanted witnesses to be moved.
A woman? No; too many beings, even in the Dreamlands, would dismiss him right away, and while it was fun to correct foolish assumptions with blood and violence, he couldn’t risk Faroe hearing rumors of his actions and location.
“I miss it,” Arthur said. “Sometimes, I’m afraid I’m forgetting what colors looked like.”
Well, that was unexpected.
Arthur… no, it’s all there. You haven’t forgotten.
Arthur sighed. “Sometimes, I don’t think I’m ever going to see again.”
We’ll find a way. Hastur just hasn’t focused on it because he’s got his head up his ass.
Hastur growled.
“I don’t think he can help,” said Arthur. “Kayne said… back when he stuck Yellow in my head. He said, ‘I’ll even give you your arm and leg back—but not your eyes. You only have eyes for him.’ I think he did something.”
That’s stupid.
“No, I remember. ‘John comes back, owns your eyes, as he always did…” I’m telling you, Kayne did something.”
Hastur stirred. “Stop using that name, fool.”
Arthur snorted. “What, you think he isn’t watching? You think using his name makes a damn bit of difference?”
He might be right, Arthur.
Arthur sighed. “I’m right, too. He’s watching.”
Hastur said nothing. He was busy considering Arthur’s eyes.
The moment he’d realized Arthur could play the piano blind, he’d abandoned any idea of repairing his eyesight. Why would he have wanted to? At the time, it was just another way to hurt him, to limit him, to scare him.
Now, Hastur found himself thinking that Arthur had no idea what eight-year-old Faroe looked like.
And that…
That felt…
Hastur did not like how that felt, somewhere deep between his many hearts. So, he studied those eyes.
John being connected to Arthur’s eyes had happened naturally when John entered him from the book, since it was literally Arthur’s vision that was the gateway for that possession.
But why had it not gone farther? It should have. From Arthur’s eyes directly into his brain, John should have taken completely over. (And apparently, briefly had, if their small mutterings about Parker’s death were accurate.)
Then something Arthurian had gone wrong, and Arthur had popped back up again, refilling his body, and limiting John to the eyes.
Which couldn’t happen. Which was a puzzle.
At any rate, there was something else going on here. The connection wasn’t… right.
There was a denseness to it, like a dark and hardened glue, that he could not quite make out. This was not the normal way a being of Hastur’s caliber possessed someone.
It was as if whatever that connection was existed on a level of power beyond his own.
Old, sour fear shivered through him, familiar from that first time nearly six years ago when Kayne had appeared. Hastur tried to peel back warding to see the dark binding clearly, but it did not work. He couldn’t see it; he could only see its shadow.
Kayne had done something to keep Arthur’s eyes attached to John, and Hastur had not even known.
If they merged, Hastur might own Arthur’s eyes.
Hastur did not want Arthur’s eyes. What was this? What the hell could this mean?
There was nothing to be done about it; nothing good could come of poking this mess, and besides—if he were going to risk Kayne’s wrath about anything, it would be for Faroe.
So. Hastur stored the data for later, and returned to thoughts of disguise.
John was trying to help Arthur remember colors. It’s a warm blue, not a cold one. It makes me think of summer nights in the south, when the sun stays out so late and the sky seems endless.
“Late summer skies. I remember that,” said Arthur.
The vibrance matches the flame. It’s not an ordinary fire; he’s fed it with will, somehow, and it’s the warm gold of honey in the sun.
“That dark?”
Huh. I guess that depends on the kind of honey. Scratch that, try… the color of sunlight on brass.
“Bright.”
Very. It feels like a sizzling color, looks like it would burn.
Did Arthur even know he was caressing John’s hand? That his thumb slid over the back, bumping over knuckles, tracing the strange pinky? Impossible to say. Or no, it wasn’t. Hastur was sure Arthur had no idea.
Hm. The colors they put you in, this outfit… it’s very much nature colors. It’s light diffused by evergreens.
“I know that color! That dusty green. I saw it when I was a boy, in that scouting program I told you about.”
Hastur was letting himself be distracted. Back on topic.
It would be wise to look humanoid. For one thing, that would ease suspicion as to why he was traveling with an actual human. Arthur was not a Dreamer, as anyone with the ability to see would know—but a humanoid form for Hastur would let people come to their own conclusions about this partnership, and prevent anyone questioning Arthur’s role.
Of course, he still had to be intimidating. The balance between harmless and don’t fuck with me was one he’d never had to consider before. Hm.
The idiots were entering the combative stage of their mating dance.
It was gold, and it was form-fitting. It was like paint on you.
“So everybody saw everything.” Arthur rubbed his face.
Look, we don’t think about nudity the way humans do. Relax. It wasn’t weird or inappropriate or anything—it just showed off how hard you’ve worked.
“Well, I am human, and I’m not thrilled thousands of monsters saw my ass.”
It’s a fine ass.
“You wouldn’t know.”
I would. Mirrors.
Arthur’s face did some stuff. “You’ve been looking at my ass?”
I’ve been looking at all of you, idiot. How the hell else am I supposed to make sure you’re okay?
“I don’t fucking know! This is awkward!”
You’re awkward!
“At least I’m not some weird… deviant!”
You wouldn’t know a deviant if they bit you on the ass!
Hastur sighed and tuned them out.
There were things he could do to incorporate himself into this disguise without completely hiding who he was—but it would have to be subtle. Delicate. Easily ignored… until it wasn’t.
You don’t know anything!
“Prick!”
Jerk!
Hastur changed.
Shrank down, spreading his power like a cape. Altered his form so he would be taller than Arthur still (and broader, and distinctly more physically imposing), and definitely not completely human.
He retained his glorious ebony black, the color between stars; he liked that about himself, and saw no reason to abandon it. He reduced his visible eyes to two (again wondering how any species managed to survive with such a limitation). He formed pointed ears, and full lips, and a strong jaw.
Yes. He would be beautiful, but strong, and when he pulled his hood back, everyone would want to please him.
His robe, he faded—his yellow, but paled as if by sun so that it seemed quite neutral on the outside. Inside, the lining retained his color, which would only show in glimpses—either intentionally revealed, or when he had to fight something and it flared open with his thrusts.
Last, he combined his many, many limbs and sheathed them in the appearance of two legs, closing to a vee where other parts—normally tucked away where any sane being would want them—now had to sit out on display.
Disgusting. He added more clothes.
The idiots were, of course, still going.
You’d still be a scarecrow if I hadn’t!
“Maybe I don’t care if I was!”
Shocked silence. Arthur, you were dying. Don’t you get that? Why don’t you get that?
More silence. “I didn’t care, then. I…”
Arthur—
“I do now. And it’s as surprising to me as it is to you, okay? Though it shouldn’t be.”
Shouldn’t be?
“You’re the reason. You’re the one who did it. Who… got me to care again. So.” Arthur’s swallow was loud. “Thank you.”
Arthur, I…
Would John say it? Would he finally say the words he’d only confessed when drunk?
I… had to. We share a body.
So that was nope.
Hastur sighed. Why the hell Kayne enjoyed this was beyond him. It was frustrating. If they were properly his and not all entangled in complications, he’d lock them in a room or something until they figured it out.
“Liar,” said Arthur.
Oh? Unexpected defiance?
What?
“You have another body to go to right now. You have since we got here. That’s not why you saved me.”
Ha! thought Hastur.
Maybe not. Maybe… it was just for your ass.
Arthur laughed.
John laughed.
Hastur sighed, then decided enough was enough, and bellowed: “BEHOLD!”
They both jumped.
John stared. What the everloving fuck?
“I am disguised,” said Hastur, who had gone to some lengths to make his voice sound less… just less. Still a booming bass, of course, but less.
“You are?” said Arthur. “What does he look like?”
You have got to be kidding. We’re supposed to be under the radar!
“And we will be, fool. Like this.” Hastur pulled his hood up.
“Like what? John, come on.”
He’s all… fancy!
“I am not fancy. I am humanoid; I should blend in just fine on the road, and seem a fitting companion for you.”
Bullshit!
“Could someone please tell me what’s going on?” Arthur complained.
“You have been told. Finish your skewers. You have not taken in enough calories for your day.”
Ridiculous. Fucking peacock.
“What did he do? John! What did he do?”
It’s a stunning face, John muttered. Because he couldn’t be normal.
“Is that all?” Arthur sounded relieved. “No wings, or iridescent scales, or fifty dicks, or something?”
Fifty dicks?
“It’s Hastur. Look. He’s got just one head on his shoulders? Already better than I expected.”
John huffed.
“Think you so little of me?” said Hastur, who was still floating in John’s disgruntled compliment.
“Yes.”
Hastur couldn’t growl. That organ was restrained, made temporarily vestigial and tucked away. He made a low sound anyway, rumbling.
“Right, so that’s obscene,” Arthur said. “Maybe don’t do that in front of people.”
“And your next piece of advice, oh wise one?” Hastur snapped.
“We follow her trail. It’ll lead on like it did before—but this time we walk into places, instead of exploding them like a bomb.”
Hastur made a dismissive sound. “Cart and mule. Walking is ridiculous.”
Arthur rubbed his face. “Sure. Plain cart. Nothing fancy.”
“Done.”
Vain piece of nonsense.
“Let him have it. It’s more cooperative than I thought he’d be.”
“This isn’t a game,” Hastur snapped. “This isn’t some… lesson she can take or leave without consequences. Of course I’m cooperating!”
“Right,” said Arthur around the last mouthful of food. “No consequences. Sure. She had nightmares about some of the shit you taught her.”
Easy, Arthur, said John in an even tone. That’s not all she had nightmares about.
Arthur went still.
Hastur stirred the fire. “Did you truly believe I didn’t know she occasionally visited you at night?”
“You knew about those?” Arthur said, voice high with sudden fear.
Rolling one’s eyes felt quite satisfying, Hastur discovered, when one only had two. “How could I not know she left her room at night and went to yours?”
“But… you didn’t stop her.”
Hastur sighed. “The process of it hurt you and comforted her. Had it not helped her, I would have intervened, but she benefited. Why would I stop them?”
“Weren’t you worried we’d bond, or something?”
Hastur wasn’t sure why he answered. He’d been doing that for a couple of days now. It felt natural to do. Maybe he should question the urge—but not now, with so much at stake. “Kayne ensured you’d be in her life no matter what I did. And when I heard you sing together, I… back at the beginning. The night it all happened. When she sang the lullaby to comfort you, and you sang with her… I felt something between you. I hated you for it, for a time.”
John inhaled.
“I don’t really remember that night,” said Arthur quietly. “I don’t really remember anything other than walking into the room, and then… John’s warning she’d die if I gave up. The next clear memory is being told it was her birthday celebration, which was what, days later? Weeks? I wish I remembered singing with her.”
Hastur poked the fire, shifting magical embers because he had no tentacles to wave, and felt strangely fidgety. “A bond was inevitable. I merely concentrated on ensuring she understood you were lesser. Less than she. To be pitied.”
“Gee, thanks,” Arthur muttered, then frowned. “But… thanks. For letting that happen.”
That was utterly unexpected. “I did it for her. Not for you.”
“I know.” Arthur hung his head. “But I love her. I’d do anything for her. And it makes me happy to be able to spend time with her. To be… cared for by her.”
John gripped his hand.
Hastur had so many options here. You can say you love her, but not him, was one. Loved her so much you let her drown, was another.
Those didn’t feel good.
She benefits from seeing even a broken human make things of beauty—that felt better, but still not right. Closer, but…
How did one stay still with only four limbs? Hastur would figure it out. He would conquer this. He would also shift subjects. “Do you recall her kittens?”
“Of course I do.” Arthur sat back, frowning. “She talked about that pregnant cat for weeks. Then the birth.”
“Which she assisted.” Hastur sounded proud because he was proud. She’d been all of six years old, and had handled things very well.
Arthur remembered. Oh, Arthur remembered. “You let two kittens die.”
“I did.”
She was fucked up about that for days, you ass.
“Yes, two of the kittens were stillborn, as happens in a litter. She had never seen death up close before.” Hastur sat back. “Not in a personal way. ”
We heard about it forever.
Arthur sighed. “My parents did the same thing with me, actually. Only it was our dog, and she had a litter of four, but one didn’t make it.”
Shit, said John, low.
“I planned for it,” said Hastur. “She wept, of course; but it was important for her to know how permanent death could be. And, truly, that sometimes it simply… happens.”
“You didn’t kill the kittens, right?” said Arthur.
“No,” said Hastur.
“So you were… trying to teach her.”
“I was. The same as I taught her spells, and the cost of magic, and the languages of the Dreamlands. The same way I taught her to kill, when she was barely older than that. You may disagree with how I have done things—in fact, you obviously do—but I have always had her long-term survival in mind.” (And why the fuck was he still talking? He blamed it on the limbs, which would not stay still.) “This was hardly my first attempt at parenting.”
Oh, said John very softly, as though remembering something.
“It… what?” said Arthur. “You’ve got actual children?”
“Quite a few.”
“Wh… where are they?”
“Scattered. Many are dead. Most know better than to approach me.”
“Oh, so you were a shitty father,” said Arthur.
Arthur!
Hastur laughed, low. “I told you before—you don’t understand us. We are not communal. We are not human. It is natural for our offspring to attempt to usurp us, if they have the power—and wise of them, if they do not, to stay away.”
“So none of yours have that power.”
“None. Though there was one who…” What the hell was he doing? What the actual hell was he doing? He shook himself. “Never mind,” Hastur said, sharply. “Are you fed enough?”
“Uh. Sure? I—”
“You will sleep now,” Hastur informed him. “For precisely four hours. Then we will resume our search. Your foolish human needs are in the way.”
Arthur cleared his throat. “Or—hear me out—you drive the cart, and I sleep in the back.”
Haha! His human face—the expression on it! You should see it! Haha! You blew his mind!
“John, you aren’t helping,” Arthur muttered.
Instead of answering, Hastur doused the fire. He waved his arm, conjuring with stupid human limbs but his own godly power, and a few crunching, wood-creaking moments later, they had a cart—just a flatbed with a lip of wood around, which should be enough to keep Arthur from tumbling out.
Transporting one of his mules here was easy. The animal knew him already, and submitted at once to being petted.
“What happened?” said Arthur.
If you stand and move to your left, the cart is there. Take one of the water bottles, though. You didn’t drink enough.
“I swear, you people,” Arthur said, but obeyed. The small rucksack Lori had given him made a perfect pillow.
We’re under incredible stars; it’s like the sky is endless. I wish you could see this.
“I wish I could, too,” said Arthur.
“Sleep,” Hastur commanded, and then he made it happen. It took very little power through the mark; Arthur was already exhausted.
Fucker, said John. We weren’t done talking.
“You’ve been talking all day. He needs the rest—and I need his mind, rested.”
Ha! So you do see the benefits. You do see we need him!
Hastur sighed. “I see he has experience which might help here—and if it does not, and his plan fails, he will suffer so much that he will no longer remember his own name, John. My daughter is at stake. I won’t kill him. But I can and will hurt him.”
The mule pulled forward, trotting along.
John audibly swallowed. No, you won’t.
“I will.”
You won’t. Not if you want me.
“I don’t have you—and you keep saying you’ll never rejoin me, John, so—what’s the loss?”
I…
The mule trotted. The cart’s wheels crunched on gravel. Far off, something awful screamed, followed by a higher scream, wetly cut off.
I’ve been… thinking. I…
“Out with it.”
I’m hurting him. Aren’t I?
Hastur was silent for a long moment. “When you are angry, yes. I don’t yet know why, but it causes him pain. Perhaps mental, perhaps physical; perhaps one, then the other. I don’t yet know.”
Fuck. John’s voice dropped. I don’t want to hurt him.
“I know.”
I…
“You, what?”
Swear to me you’re not doing this. You haven’t hijacked something, or neglected something, or… in any way made this happen.
“John, I have done nothing at all except begged you to come home. I don’t know why your anger hurts him, but that suffering is on you.”
Fuck.
The moons slid across the sky. Someone had been creative; there were six of them in a row, increasingly smaller, ranging from dark red to light blue. Lovely. He wondered who’d imagined them there.
If I have to leave him to protect him, you’d have to swear to me… a lot of things. A lot of things.
“Regarding his safety, I take it?”
You think I’m stupid enough to phrase it as safety? No. If I had to do this—had to—by the time I worded just how things will be for him, you’d practically be worshiping him.
“What an appealing concept,” said Hastur, absolutely dry.
Shut up.
“To get you back, John, there is… much… I’d be willing to do.” Though setting Arthur free wouldn’t be one of those things. (Naturally, Arthur wouldn’t leave, anyway. He’d choose to stay with Faroe, so the point was moot.)
John fell silent.
Well. At least the topic had been breached—and all with Arthur unaware and unable to pipe up and share his stupid opinions.
All the better.
Hastur hummed to himself, recalling traveling songs he’d heard from long-ago worshipers, and let John twist in the wind.
————
#malevolent fic#malevolent podcast#malevolent#arthur lester#john malevolent#kiy malevolent#hastur malevolent#malevolentpod#surrogate series
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Ask Game: 1, 4, and 50 asdfghjkl
1: who is/are your comfort character(s)?
HOO BOY THERE'S A LOT OF THEM but I'll try to keep it condensed down to the important/current ones rn
Daughter Dooley and the Walker Sisters from Old Gods of Appalachia
Cecil Palmer from Welcome to Night Vale
Oliver Banks from The Magnus Archives
John Doe from Malevolent
Sabriel from Garth Nix's The Old Kingdom series (a mainstay comfort character I've loved for a very long time)
throw darts at a board of well-known Final Girls from horror movies, you're sure to hit a comfort character of mine (yes I count Quentin from the Nightmare on Elm Street remake as an honorary Final Girl, he's chilling there with OG Nancy)
you could probably count the entire Legion from Dead By Daylight but Frank Morrison especially is a comfort character
Power Girl from DC comics
also throw darts at a board of characters from all of MXTX's danmei series and you're probably gonna hit one for sure (bonus points if it's Wen Ning or Jiang Cheng)
and listed last but definitely at the top of the pile right now above all else is Shuichi Iguchi/Spinner from My Hero Academia (no, I don't accept criticism.) Look at him. Look at him.
(I was doomed from the start the first time I watched s3 because he instantly appealed to my inner TMNT-loving 8-y.o. self, like my past child self fuckin reached through time, grabbed my shoulder and went "that design pleases me aesthetically, good job", then we get the moment GIF'd here and I was like "oh he's a fuckin' dork okay", and then when I actually researched the character later it was like HOLY FUCK THIS BACKSTORY KNEECAPPED ME, I HURT IN MY HEART, OH NO, THIS ONE IS MY FAVE.")
*proceeds to stuff the feral side of myself back into their cage*
Ahem. Anyway, moving on...
4: which cryptyd being do you believe in?
The Thunderbird, if you want to classify it as a cryptid?There are several cryptids I find cool, but the Thunderbird I've known about since early childhood (lived on the res as a little kid, what up.) So it's special to me, and yeah, I'd say I believe in it and have for a very long time.
50: can i tag you in random stuff?
ALWAYS.
#answered asks#changeling-selfship#please excuse me while i now go find a rock to hide under#Cyanide speaks
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If feel like typing that desire rant I would absolutely read it
ok so. i typed it out a while ago but i don't know where it went so you're just getting some slightly nonsensical scattered thoughts. +stuff that's not really related to desire but other complaints i have(the first few are very rambly don't worry the last few are smaller)(sorry that was a lie they are all very rambly)
i understand why they might make desire use they/them pronouns and more neutral terms(if i'm feeling very generous i think maybe they thought it was bad representation. if i've thought about it too much and i'm mad then i figure it's probably to make it more palatable) but i'm still pissed cause he was literally the only representation i have ever seen of people who use the same pronouns as i. literally in all my time with queer media i've seen representation of so many different identities but never someone using he/she before desire. her gender fuckery was incredible. he was not gay as in happy, but queer as in fuck you. this is something i love about all the queer representation in the sandman comics. there aren't just lesbians, but dykes. there aren't just transgender people, but transsexuals. it was revolutionary for the time it was published(i have more to say on that, see point 3) and it's a distinct "fuck you" to respectability politics.
desire is the antagonist. again, i get why they would've done this, it's hard to have a show without an overarching plot and some major villain. maybe, just maybe have you considered, this story is in comic form because it works best in comic form?(see point 5)that maybe there doesn't need to be an adaptation into a different form of media? that it's alright as it is?(this isn't me complaining that it exists, don't get me wrong. i just think it worked way better as a comic.) in the comics they were in conflict, sure, but not any more than dream was against his other siblings. they're in conflict because they're siblings and that's just how siblings are(especially when they have godlike powers and are immortal)
2a. another benefit of it being a comic, people having funky speech bubbles. dream's voice is just normal and i'm so annoyed about that. reading the comics i imagined his voice with the same sorta quality as john's voice in malevolent, it's a little echoey and distinctly conveys he is not a person. show!dream is just normal. it was cool how all the endless had cool speech bubbles, it was cool how desire's was subtle and delirium was wobbly and colorful, it was cool how despair's was scratchy around the edges, it was cool that there was some contrast in how death's was normal. there's no way to show that same thing in the show.
3. cause i said i'd say this in point 1, time period. i feel like it doesn't work as well set in the modern day. the aesthetics are different. and the politics of it are so much different. it was so powerful to see a character doing a drag show when i knew it was published in 1989, when there were still sodomy laws in the us. it was cool to think about the symbolism of the corinthian, with teeth in his eyes, targeting gay men, killing them when they let him see them, in 1989, when the gay panic defence was still valid in every state. it's not like drag isn't villainized today, and the gay panic defence is still valid in most states, but it feels less impactful.
4. desire is not all sex!! i feel like he was made much more sexual in the show. i want to see desire being more about gender envy(i have so much gender envy for her) i want to see him being jealousy i want to see her being "ooh shiny rock" i want to see him being "that dress is so cool but sooo expensive..."(i feel like i'm overusing the word cool but whatever i'm from california)
5. back to what i mentioned in point 2, i just don't think it works as well in show form. there's too much silence. as a comic there are empty panels, there are slow panels, and they give the impression of space without me having to sit through thirty seconds of silence every time there's a dramatic moment. also there's no narration, which i mainly noticed during the episode he was hanging out with death, cause in the comics dream is narrating all the information about her, so she comes off as very cheerful and energetic, while we also get this information about her. in the show, though, she's monologuing about it, which makes her seem much more sorta contemplative and introspective than in the books.
conclusion: it's a good show objectively but it's not a good adaptation of the comics. i think if everyone who worked on the show got together and made an entirely different show that would be wonderful, but i just don't really like it as it is.
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Movie Review | Pathaan (Anand, 2023)
At the end of this movie, sometime after the end credits supposedly start and we've gotten one last musical number under our belt, our superspy heroes Shahrukh Khan and Salman Khan (the latter in a cameo appearance) discuss that they've been at this for thirty years and ponder who could follow in their footsteps. No names are spoken, but they reach the conclusion that they must continue, because nobody can replace them. This movie is in some ways a throwback, not unlike Top Gun: Maverick from the previous year, making a case for the importance of genuine star power. There are a few differences. One is that movie stars are still prevalent in Bollywood to a much greater extent than in Hollywood. When Tom Cruise positions himself as the last of his kind, it's a bit more convincing given the competition is in the form of ouroborotic IP-propagating vehicles. (If that isn't already a word, it is now. Let me just scribble it into the dictionary.) The Khans have their origins in an earlier era, but they're competing with the star vehicles of their arguable successors. The other thing is that Cruise in Maverick, after many years, is finally allowing himself to age, even if it seems like he's resisted the process for years through sheer willpower. Shahrukh Khan here sports a haircut that no man in his fifties should ever be seen in (and is called out for it at one point by another character), and in any given scene has his shirt open, his intimidatingly sculpted abs glistening from all the right angles. I'm not even being a hater, I'm a little in awe that he pulls it off. Genuine charisma goes a long way.
So there's an out of time quality to this, which also manifests somewhat in the movie's politics. The plot here has an obvious nationalistic streak, but one which seems tied more to Bush-era hysteria about terrorism than (my very rudimentary knowledge of) modern Indian right wing politics. And that kind of framing is also complicated by some of the hedging of bets that the film does. Torture is a prevalent theme, deployed both against at one point by the heroes. Pakistan is initially framed as an enemy, but then sympathized with. The hero's religion is inquired about, but deemed to be beside the point. (SRK is Muslim in real life.) The terrorist villain is given a sympathetic origin story, and the hero in a flashback foils an overzealous counterterrorism operation to save an Afghan village. The movie is likely covering its ass to an extent, but these gestures make it less noxious than it could have been, as the movie clearly does not take place in the same world we live in.
That unreality extends to the action, of which there is a lot and which managed to entertain me quite reliably. The movie, with its shared universe context, ugly yellow lighting and unconvincing and heavy use of CGI, is not immune from modern blockbuster conventions, and I should say that I have a personal distaste for all three of those things. Furthermore, I have a strong distaste for the 2000s-style sense of cool that colours this movie, an aesthetic seemingly zapped in from the Mission: Impossible 2 (a movie I do like, but only because John Woo knows how to do great set pieces like the back of his hand). But when the action is this over the top, one digitally-exaggerated bombastic set piece after another, it's hard to hold any of those things against it. When characters are zipping around on jetpacks, complaining about the physics seems like a moot point.
And the shared universe framing is less about paying off five second bits of throwaway dialogue from twenty movies ago than providing an excuse to get the stars together. SRK, Deepika Padukone, Salman, John Abraham (who at one point provides what can be describes as a malevolent Cameo message). Even if you don't have the same history with them (and there are references to their earlier films; I cackled when a character named "Karen" set up an endearingly lame Darr joke), the combined charisma is off the charts. When the movie isn't pulverizing you with its action scenes, it turns the lusty gaze of its camera on its unreasonably attractive stars, constantly swerving to ogle them from optimal angles. Listen, I said I'd be less thirsty in writing these reviews, but while Deepika Padukone has always been really hot, in this movie, her hotness reaches distressing levels, particularly as her loyalties appear to shift over the course of the story. I should also note that the movie refers to as a doctor, but I missed what she did her Ph.D in. Infectious diseases? Art history? Who knows.
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