#themes of loss and loneliness and regret

[alarrylarrie]

I’m just…

Spinning out, waiting for ya to pull me in

I can see you're lonely down there

Don't you know that I am right here?

She said, "Give me a day or two"

Wishing I could be there for ya

Listennnnn. You don’t want me to do this lol. It’s a CONSTANT theme. I could talk about this for DAYS.

All of Holding on to Heartache? “I called you twice but then regretted it, and changed my number…??!!”

This is a conversation they’ve been having since 1D days, but more pointedly now that they’re solo. HS1? “Even my phone misses your call, by the way.” Fine Line- “it’s hard for me to come home and be so lonely.” Walls- “I cut you off because I didn’t know no better” and basically ALL of Defenceless lol. Don’t even get me started on Faith In The Future.

#there’s so many more #I could write a ducking book #and THATS WHAT I MEAN when I say if they want me to stop thinking they’re together #they should stop writing shit that’s basically A CALL AND RESPONSE in every. single. goddamn. album. #and like #themes of loss and loneliness and regret #and heartbreak and etc etc are such common themes in songs #hell Niall will have/has had some #but it’s just not the same #for every one Harry has #Louis has one as well #they’re intricate and layered and a photograph of their relationship in moments in time #it’s…. #well besides being ducking wild #it’s gross is what it is

[precious-little-scoundrel]

Dear John || Something Borrowed

Masters of the Air fanfiction

Summary: Upon the sudden stop of all their correspondence, Miss Lana Tierney finds herself bereft of her pen pal John Egan’s support -not however, without him first having made a heavy declaration and entrusted her with a precious bit of himself. Battling Tinsel Town’s awful labyrinth of censors, agents, and an ever disloyal mother, Lana seeks to find John, and having once found him, to remind him of his promise to try. Meanwhile in Stalag Luft III, Major Gale Cleven may loiter at his incriminating radio longer than strictly necessary in hopes of hearing a voice that would bring his best friend a shred of hope.

My many thanks to: Christi and Ashley for endless amounts of encouragement and advice and enrichment of the plot, y’all are invaluable darlings and precious friends. To Bri who has been the brains and requests behind the concept and the beating heart behind giving Bucky a love of a lifetime

Warnings: 18+ disturbing content. Not so much war focused but rather Hollywood in the 40’s which can be horribly gruesome itself. We are happily ripping off Lana Turner’s real story for much of this, and so in this chapter you will find mentions of certain harrowing abuses she endured. Such as: brief references to a forced, studio-required abortion, bugging of a woman’s room, arranged engagements, drugging, hinted sexual exploitation, willing current sexual favors in return for a role, Bucky going a little nuts as a POW, Lana’s mother being the worst, John Huston making a cameo that will probably make you wanna punch the guy. It’s ok, the real fella deserved it. Go ahead. Again, nothing explicit, didn’t wanna get all yucky but these themes are prevalent in here in passing.

Word count: a whopping 8k

Character name reminder: Julie Jean Turner goes by the Hollywood alias of “Lana Tierney”

Lana lay abed and stewed. She was past grief, or perhaps it was easier explained that Grief and her sisters, Denial and Betrayal, were more of Julie Jean Turner’s privilege. Miss Lana Tierney, academy hopeful and box office gold, had little left but rage and the moist silk of her pillow pressed to her burning cheek.

“What an awful few days it’s been.” she’d allowed herself to say a few weeks back.

The Julie Jean of that week didn’t know the meaning of the word.

Life was bad enough then, back when he called, but his voice cured everything from her terrible week. Vincent and the engagement and the studios, all of it. But then came a letter, one written awfully like a goodbye, and another one after it but all of them were little provisions for if he were to go down.

Scribbled hours before going up.

“I love you, I know it’s a lot to spring on a gal who’s just doing her bit and keeping me happy but I do. It’s an awful type of love, Julie, very tight fisted and I think I only love you because you love me so well in your way. I don’t think that’s the sort of love to do anybody any good, but I’d regret not saying it, beginners can’t be haughty. Here I wanted to stick my toe in and you gobbled the whole leg, and I love you. I love you for it. I love you.”

She’d rubbed over his signature, not a bit of cursive in that scrawled -John- a million times.

And then, just like that, just like what had happened to her friends and a million women across the world- his letters simply stopped. Julie Jean learned elsewhere he’d been shot down for weeks by the time she’d gotten the last one. It was hard to have finally heard his voice and known of his purpose, but now? -a dead silence that had a voice and face and love attached to it. It was agony of a sort she’d never known and was made worse by the loneliness in her secrecy of not being able to mourn it aloud.

She moaned into the mess of her pillowcase and ignored Bertha's fifth knock of the afternoon. Who’d recognize the glamorous Miss Tierney now? Pitiful and tear streaked and pale from blood loss. She still lay on a chucks pad the studio nurse had rolled her onto, a feeble trickle still seeping between her legs. Curled on her side with eyes glinting at the afternoon sun, she seethed at one more thing taken from her.

Lana could hardly stand it. But she had to try. She’d made John promise he would. They’d promised each other, and somehow she hadn’t any doubts that wherever he was, he was trying.

“Miss Tierney?” That was Herbert’s voice and Jean rolled her eyes at the predictability of this household. After not answering Delores they sent in Bertha and upon not answering Bertha here was Herbert and if she didn’t answer him, her mother might manage to rouse herself and drive over.

“Come in Herb, if you must.” she groaned, hand outstretched and patting blindly for a cigarette on her nightstand.

Her old driver came in with an unusually light step, it bespoke a sympathy for her plight that Jean would have preferred a thousand times never to read on his usually persnickety face. “How are you holding up after -“ he stood awkwardly at the foot of her bed as Jean rummaged and when she sat back with cigarette and holder in hand, she found him looking down at her with such concern she nearly threw the lamp at him. “Tonsillitis, huh?” he hummed sympathetically.

“Oh yes, nasty bout.” she lied merrily, the ache in her violated womb protested her move to sit up. “They had to take them clean out.” it was the only printable explanation for her ailment.

“Yeah.” Herb had been a renowned stuntman before he’d been demoted to driver, and before stuntman he’d been a soldier in the trenches and before that he’d been a clerk. If anyone knew about coat hangers and poor girls held down to be kept forever virginal and ever in use, Herb knew. Herb had warned her even, told her what a sick racket they ran here in Tinsel Town. Much good it did her, she was in too deep before she knew she had so much as stuck her toe in.

Rather like Bucky in love, apparently, and that thought made her madly blink away a stupid rush of tears.

“What’s that?” she pointed at the parcel she just now noticed was tucked under his arm.

“Oh, this? Chocolates. Here, my lighter miss?” Whatever was under Herbert’s arm wasn’t shaped like any chocolates she knew and Jean was about to give him a talking to for being insipid when her mood was so poor but then she saw him press a warning finger to his lips. He walked around the side of her bed and indeed pulled out a lighter, metal and rude and no doubt a relic of the first war, and flicked it for her to light up. Bending down he smelled of tobacco himself when he took the unprecedented liberty of whispering in her ear: “They bugged the room during your operation, Miss. Must be careful. Especially if you want to keep your gift.”

He pulled away and looked down at her sorrowfully before quietly laying the dirty brown package atop her pristine sheets. Mother had them changed after the bloodbath of the…operation. They were spotless before and now they were sooty. That pleased her.

Jean forgot to look away from him. She was startled and upset by the news but she didn’t doubt it. They’d probably bugged the phone ages ago, god knows they’d stop at next to nothing and she did so want to keep something for herself. If she couldn’t have a baby, her baby, then she’d keep a parcel, damn them all. Then a cold feeling of dread filled her and she thought to grab at her books and look for the hidden letters.

Gone. Mother. It must’ve been mother, it was her sort of thing to have rifled through Lana’s things while she was being operated on and found them and took them and-

The rage spurred her to look down at what Herb brought her, cigarette forgotten between her quivering lips. She expected it to be from him, a little pep up. Perhaps a doll or a stuffed animal to cheer her. But no, this parcel in its plain brown wrapping had come from afar, smudged and delayed a million times judging by its redirected stamps -and she’d know that writing from anywhere.

Her Johnny.

Julie Jean’s little gasp let slip the cigarette from her mouth but not before Herb caught it from singeing the sheets. He was quicker than anyone gave the old man credit for, banged up head or not. “Thought that might cheer you.” he grinned in that begrudging way of his, as if he were cross at the joy made manifest on his face.

“I’m scared.” she admitted in a whisper, hands hovering over the brown twine strings. Whatever was inside was squishy and giving. And whatever it was, John had sent it before he’d been shot down. But still, somehow it felt like a gift from him on this, the worst day of her life. Like he was sending some comfort even from hell on earth and without a clue of her own dispair. Herb seemed to read it the same way, and that’s how Jean knew she wasn’t being a delusional, hysterical wreck, if that crusty old sod knew its significance in coming today, then it was plain as the irregular nose on his face.

“Scared of chocolate?” His tease covered a strong reminder for her to watch her words.

“Mm, yes, what if there’s raspberry filled ones?” she whispered back. “You know how I can’t abide raspberries.”

“Guess you’ll just have to be brave and see.” he nudged her.

Nodding her head solemnly, Jean tugged apart the twine that had kept John Egan’s package together for an entire transcontinental delivery. It fell away with a crinkling sound and she found folded upon it, without a bit of fuss or wrapping, the oddest piece of cloth. Almost a patchwork of pale leather and a zipper and -Jean’s throat closed as her hand descended and felt along the soft fluff of a sheepskin collar.

He didn’t. He didn’t send her his jacket? Surely —

Herb made a noncommittal noise beside her which sounded awfully like some touched sorta gasp at the sight, but as it was Herb and he had a tobacco wad where he should have had a heart, so he must’ve been coming down with the same cold that landed Lana in tonsil surgery.

Hands shaky and heart hammering, Jean reached in and pulled the garment out, a tiny little note fluttered out. Someone else’s penmanship. “To the care of Jean Turner, until it can be retrieved by Major Egan.”

“Oh god.” she felt like sobbing before pressing her face into the sweat fumed plushness of it. “Johnny. Johnny. Johnny.” she kept his name buried in his jacket, secret like his gift and his love and his comfort and her desires. Eyes and mouth muffled into the darkness of something that was his. She felt Herb’s gentle hand pat on her head and the following click of the latch as he went out.

“Mister Vincent called to say there’s dinner and photographs scheduled for tonight, Miss Tierney.” he informed her levelly before he left and her ears were not so buried in Air Force Shearling she couldn’t hear of her doom. “There’s been some speculations -they want to smooth it over. Bertha was trying to pass it on.”

Bertha wanted to wipe off whatever remaining blood was on her and primp all signs of coercion off her devastated face, that’s what Bertha was here for. Jean vaguely wondered if her mother’s clenching hand print still lingered on her cheeks, she rubbed John’s jacket against the soreness of her mouth, muffling her sobs the way her mother’s hand had stifled her screams of pain only hours ago.

Back to work, asap, it would seem. -Bleed down your nylons dear, it’ll be alright, so long as they see a happy face and a lucky new couple.

Vincent. She wasn’t sure how she’d face him, the weekend getaway and his little “test drive” of her had been bad enough, the fact he hadn’t the brains to prevent it from having consequences or the spine to stand up for the life of the child he made- oh, she wondered how she’d manage to down her asparagus in the face of it all. Acting, she presumed, a true talent that had suddenly become a personality since -since? -she wasn’t sure when.

Beside her for months now, stacked beneath the pile of new Runyon books she’d taken out of the library, had been a pile of letters that didn’t have a bit of acting in them. Raw and true and terrible and wanton, each of John Egan’s thoughts tumbled off their confining pages and into her heart in mirrored response to her own. Now mother had them.

Jean wondered where all her own letters to him were, now that he was gone and someone else was in his bunk.

Funny to think of that, the most honest account of herself was most likely moldering in the bottom of some MIA airman’s footlocker.

It was all a bit self indulgent, she admitted even as she stripped out of her bloody gown and down to her bare skin, but she had lost plenty and she needed him: so she slipped him on, soft wool caressing her and stopping the shivers of shock that had wracked her all morning. It smelled so manly and sweaty and terribly real she about swooned at the sensation of having a bit of him next to her. Now she’d seen him -all those darling candid photos in repayment for hers- and she’d heard him -oh that awful, wonderful telephone call right before he disappeared- and now she was smelling him.

Jean would have to bathe and take a handful of aspirin and cinch in her girdle and kiss her fiancée tonight, but for a brief hour she layed in bed naked as a baby with her gift wrapped around her like swaddling clothes.

Vincent came later with the car, one of his father’s for certain, and eyed her choice of outerwear with a sour mouth. Fleece and chiffon was an odd mix but Lana always had been a trendsetter and it was early November, even if it was Los Angeles. Of course, for her the jacket was John, and so she wore him like armor -and if she was wearing it, they couldn’t take it without her knowing.

“I’m cold.” she answered Vin’s unspoken question sharply on the ride over, “I’ve just had tonsil surgery, you may recall?”

“It stinks.” he huffed back, his nose presumptuously nuzzling under her curls and very near the sweat soaked fleece, “Smells like a barnyard.”

What it smelled like was a red blooded American man’s honest days work killing Nazis. But Vincent and his pale hands and arranged medical exemptions weren’t likely to know what that smelled like, so Lana felt compelled to give him a pass. “It’s for the war effort,” she sighed, “we must all make sacrifices. Mr. Warner told me it would be grand press to wear it.”

She’d never spoken to Mr. Warner about much else but weather and her tits, but growing ever more desperate as these days went on, Lana thought perhaps she’d pay him a visit.

“Great press?” Vincent seethed, charmingly one track focused, “The press should be about our engagement! Not the war!”

“Be a realest, dahling,” she soothed, “nothing, not even the great scion of a prestigious family such as yours is half as fascinating right now as ball bearings and top turret production in Greenfield. If we want them to print about our engagement, it’s got to have something to do with the general war, see?“

“Ah, ah I see.” Vincent swallowed her lie well enough, still perturbed at the fracturing of his beloved media attention but consoled that Lana was not aspiring to make him a fool.

Oh how foolish that was of him, Lana hummed to herself as they pulled up to the restaurant, perhaps not tonight or in a week's time. No, for now she was down and out and no doubt about it, but eventually, she’d scramble on top, she had to or she’d be offed eventually by it all. She knew that now, it was plain with each aching step on wobbly legs and each smile of her crimped, anemic face, Vincent’s pliable hand more vice than support on her elbow as she stepped out under Chasens’ green awning.

There was conversation and photographs all through dinner, her agent and a Warner Brothers executive kindly gracing the table with heavy, stilted and very implied conversation. Lana might’ve breathed better in her booth had they held an actual gun to her head and told her to finish her parsnips that way. They were very happy she had recovered from the tonsillitis so well, they were very eager to see her on set bright and early tomorrow, they were very eager that any doubt about how in love she was with the respectable Vincent be ameliorated -a very big word to say with a mouthful of steak- and very hopeful that Lana wouldn’t get any ideas about a repeat of the War Bond tour. Yes the last one had been very effective and the government was pleased, but too much exposure to common crowds had a tendency to lessen the goddess effect, she must be let out to the pubic sparingly, and they in turn must not feel entitled to her in any way.

Such as…reaching out through the post, for example, much less expecting to be answered with anything less standardized than what Bertha might write twenty times over in her name in an afternoon.

“I just want to do my part.” Lana demurred.

“Oh honey, you’ve done your part, and now you’ve got a new part. Make a wish.” And there before her was brought out a cake slice with much fanfare, icing making a pretty little drizzle of words -“speedy recovery Lana, love from everyone at Warner Brothers Studio.”

She’d seen actresses carried out plastered to the four winds on sedative from slices just like this one, chivalrously poured into a waiting backseat of a producer or studio head, taken back to be put to bed. God knows what else happened in those beds. Her nausea returned fourfold and it wasn’t acting when she gasped a need to go to the powder room.

Instead she dashed to the phone, the one in the cubby near the toilets, trying resolutely to ignore the spying eyes of waiters and curious waves of famous guests passing by.

“Pick up, Herb, pick up.” she begged, listening to it ring and ring, then suddenly felt a horrid fear at the realization she’d left the jacket slung over her chair at the booth, with Vincent. “Herb please, please.” she moaned, stomping one well shod foot against the marble floor.

“Hallo?”

“Herb, oh Herb!” Lana gushed urgently on hearing him pick up, “You must come pick me up, they’re onto me with the letters and they’ve brought out cake and- bring a car, Vincent brought his father’s-“

“-Thank yeeew, Herbert, that will be all.” Mother’s affected transatlantic sent shivers down Lana’s spine right as she felt the cold clasp of her rings around her wrist, receiver wrenched effectively from her nerveless hand, “This is a family matter, your services are not required.”

“Mommy dearest.” Lana felt her lips trembling in a odd way that fought against the creeping numbness, “What a pleasant surprise.”

“Would that I could say the same, Lana.” Mother reproved, “To abandon your fiancé without thought? And to find you calling on Herbert, like this were some otiresome fundraiser from which you may carelessly abscond -really. Your behavior is nothing but deplorable lately, I hardly know you. The cost, Lana, think of the cost of it all, this recklessness.”

“Who told you?”

“That you weren’t appreciative of the cake?” Mother smiled shyly, “Alfonso.”

The owner, of course, when he couldn’t get a hand up Lana herself he had become quite partial to mother, loyal to an opulent degree. She suspected that cake more than ever, the phone, too. God there was no getting out of this town, this place, this life.

“Alfonso says you’re distracted,” mother went on, “pale and sniffing some jacket? What has gotten into you?”

“Vincent.” Lana joked miserably and if half of Hollywood wasn’t sat so near, she’s rather sure her mother might’ve struck her.

“You’re going to go back out there, and you’re going to smile for the pictures, and you’re going to like it.” Mother laid out the case, the plan and the rest of her life, “And when we go home you’ll be getting a piece of my mind.”

“Oh really mother,” Lana sighed heavily, “I couldn’t take the last piece.”

The pinch on her arm was familiar of when Lana was a child and refused to sing in yet another talent show - the fifth that weekend. “Your fault for falling ill, now we must make up for lost time.” they were gliding back to the table arm in arm with Lana’s pale skin pinched between mother’s manicure, “Smile, darling, smile and wave.” as they wove between one starry guest and another.

Mother’s gait stalled for one fraction of a moment upon coming up to the table and seeing the bizarre article of clothing hanging over Lana’s chair. “Works better than a mink.” Lana proclaimed quite loudly, giddy enough to attract most male attention around who craned their necks to watch her shimmy it on for a try-on, much to Mother’s feigned amusement. She shimmied in the fleece, chiffon doing little to hide the jiggle of her derrière beneath the jacket’s hem and the flash of a bulb cracked significantly amongst the dinner chatter.

“It’s much too large for you -the sleeves, the shoulders-“

“That’s because it’s a genuine article mother!” Lana preened, satisfied to have caught the eye of the one she wanted as he sat in his booth.

Powerful and dark and lecherous, The Jack Huston stared at her unabashedly over the haze of his cigarette, his own date forgotten, taking in the way the man’s coat dwarfed her little body in a pantomime of covering her physically, masculine leather and zipper in stark contrast to baby soft skin swelling out of her neckline. She knew that look well, one of a man sizing her up for how she’d look beneath him.

Lana smirked at him significantly, squeezing the material around her dreamily and created a significantly more substantial amount of decollage for him to view upon doing so. “Lana, sit down for god’s sake.” Mother was hissing and Lana saw Huston laugh at it, she rolled her eyes and dramatically shrugged, seating herself as asked but refusing to break eye contact with him until he raised his glass in a toast to her brazenness.

“Lana, photographers! Come now! Chin up, smile, smile darling.”

There were so many flashbulbs here it was obnoxious to not only Lana’s throbbing eyes but the other patrons, still a hard launch of a stilted, lab grown relationship was hardly an oddity in Hollywood or its most favored eating spots, and so it was endured.

“Doll, open up,” Vincent cajoled in Lana’s ear, hand kneading her waist and nose pressed to her hair, “practice for the wedding.”

It looked quite humorous if a little uncouth in the papers next day, Lana’s gasping and amused indulgence of her green boy fiancé as he playfully stuffed her mouth with cake in that pitiful tradition of marital provocation.

“Look at my dearest daughter, tonsil surgery yesterday and already, so eager, can’t be kept from dinner with her darling fiancé!”

The world grew fuzzy as Lana did her best to keep the wad of cake in her gums until she could spit the most of it out. “Tell your studio i want compensation for having to share press with the war effort.” Vin was complaining to the executive and Lana felt her world swim, only one single, dire hope remaining -Herb.

She gripped the edges of the jacket tighter and tried to focus. Mother was being called away, taking her leave with a photographed kiss to Lana’s clammy temple -some business with Aunt Lu and that promised check for her swimming pool. Lana had put in a lot of swimming pools for a lot of relatives, she was beginning to lose track between the pools and the houses and the cars and the wardrobes and always -“it’s family, Lana, they depend on you. Chin up, smile, smile darling, smile for the cameras, there’s my golden girl, box office magic.”

“Lana it’s very important you understand the role of an engaged woman-“ the executive was very insistent and Lana was very tired and very fuzzy feeling, which apparently Vincent could sense as his hands began to grow courageous in his petting, “-it’s a fine balance between respectability and attainability. The studio has worked so hard to give you this life, made enormous sacrifices so you could have a chance at this career, created an expertly crafted persona for you -if you were to jeopardize it all in any way, by inviting speculation about yourself or your lackluster roots-“

Lana was about ready to stand up and scream “I’m Julie Jean Turner from Broken Arrow Oklahoma!” and watch the deflated disinterest cover her audience like snow, it would ruin the effect -she wanted them to care that her life was a lie, but as soon as she told the truth, they’d lose all interest either way. Fame was funny like that.

“Mr Vincent,” Alfonso was most solicitous as well as perispring when he hurried over to her fiancé’s side, “there’s been an incident, your car, sir! The windows, they are smashed! And there appear to be eggs?”

Lana wasn’t sure she successfully suppressed the bubbling little laugh that flitted out of her leaden chest at Vincent’s deathly white pallor. There were two of him in her fractured, drug impaired vision and he acted like looney twins, scrambling up from the table in a flurry of hands and pomade, tux tails flapping like a frightened bird. “It’s my father’s car you idiot! Where was the doorman? Where?”

“Ooooh daddy’s gonna be mad.” Lana cooed to herself, amused at how this failure of a son couldn’t land a deal or a car or his own, only a troublesome actress who was in dire love with a man she’d never met.

Dear Herb, the eggs were such a nice touch.

The executive was waving off the cameras, this part of the night hardly suitable to be recorded. “Stewart, phone call for you.” A commanding, sonorous voice beside her sent goose flesh popping along Lana’s arms beneath the jacket, Jack Huston and his cologne suddenly pervading the place like an ominous deity casting its shadow over the now almost empty table.

“Mr. Huston.” Lana simpered sweetly when Stewart had left and it was just them alone with his hand on the back of her chair, thumbing at the lamb skin. There were two of Huston too, in her vision, and Lana gulped in trepidation of having to please both.

“Miss Tierney,” he replied, grinning a little too wide for her to focus, “you know what you look like you need?”

“What’s that, Mr. Huston?”

“Call me Jack.”

“What’s that Jack?” she tittered, happily courting ruin.

“A nightcap.” Jack declared and was extending a large palm for her before she could second guess. It was the choice of a lion over a wolf here in Hollywood, and Lana had such plans for Mr. Huston. But, like most things, Lana’s plans must wait until Mr. Huston’s plans for her had been satisfactorily met.

Of all the backseats to be poured into in Hollywood, Huston’s was rather plush and smelled nice and had a clinking little bar in the console, well stocked and vintage. Better yet, the car wasn’t his father’s, it was his. As was his mind and his time and his appetite. Lana could only dream of having that sort of brash freedom, for now she must attach herself to those who did if she so much as wanted a taste.

“So what’s with the jacket?” Mr. Huston had the liberty to be casual on a ride back to his house with a much desired starlet, after all, he had a slam dunk assurance she wasn’t going to say no on arrival.

“It belongs to a man who loves me.” she slurred earnestly.

“Pilot?”

“Yes. He writes the sweetest, filthiest things.”

“To you?”

“Only to me.” she whispered with drunken vehemence.

“I bet he does.” Huston laughed.

Mr. Huston enjoyed ribbons: tying them around her, to be specific but of all the novel and varied ways to be satisfactory it wasn’t so bad, and when he lay next to her afterwards as the drug began to take her fully under, Lana was pleased by the heavy arm around her waist. He didn't care about the tonsillitis. Bucky’s jacket hung carefully over the armchair in her line of sight, Jack had been nice about that, too.

Yes she could make some use of Huston and his ribbons and his new army uniform and his government contracts.

————————————————-

“I was insensible.” Lana maintained the following day at a meeting with Mother and Stewart and a slew of concerned agents and executives who were pleased enough by the engaged cake smashing photographs, less so by the discreet vandalizing of their blonde product by John Huston. “I don’t know what you put in that cake but it did the trick and I was as aghast as you upon waking up where I woke up.”

“And the jacket?” Mother had her priorities straight, troublesome memorabilia first, dear daughter’s virtue second.

“Shoot, I think Huston has it.” Lana whimpered, “I was in such a state, such a rush to leave-“

“Well that was a very unfortunate oversight, Lana.”

“I know.”

“He could use it against us.” Mother fretted.

“He’d make a fool of himself if he did,” Stewart shined best when full of his self-bloated importance and meetings such as these were essential fuel for that importance, “it would look like he took a pilot to bed.”

“Stewart, she’s all over the nation’s morning paper’s wearing the horrid thing!” Mother snapped and while she herself was admittedly awful most times, Lana never doubted she was shrewd, far more than Stewart and all the men in the room she jockeyed for lead with. “In fact Lana, this has really brought to a head a growing issue. Your restlessness, your ingratitude, it’s become insufferable and now it jeparadizes everything. I am speaking of the coat but also of the letters. Oh yes, I know all about those.”

A wise performance required Lana to play the frightened and shocked little miscreant and so she did, wide doe eyes looking beseechingly penitent and horrified in the face of having been caught doing a single independent thing. “Oh mother-“

“They are bad enough with their filth and their familiarity,” mother cut her off, “but to have written to him in your old name! Lana, the carelessness! It’s a mercy he’s dead, think of the presumptuous attitude he would have adopted had he returned. Unthinkable!”

“Dead?” Lana felt her throat close up, wishing desperately to be back in his jacket again, regretting most harshly her high-priced scheming of last night. All of it had been for him, and he was dead.

“Quite dead.” Mother was irritated by her crestfallen state but not so much as to prevent her crowing over little Lana’s misstep. “And now I am burdened with the necessity of tracking down his effects, getting your side of the correspondence back, think of the unpleasantness of contacting his family! Conversations with dead servicemen's families are always so tedious. You do recall what a bore it was for me to have to carry-on with them on your tour. And all of this to get back your filthy, perverse break of discretion.”

“Were they to get out they’d ruin your reputation.” Stewart put in the obvious, “They’d reveal your plain and common upbringing, your drab name and worse, you would be known to be a horny, hungry young woman.”

Lana stared at him across from his desk, that adrift feeling of aloneness taking over her, such as she’d only felt a few times in her life, like when her mother left her on her first studio couch for an audition, despite her pleas to stay. “Yes,” she agreed faintly, “it would be a terrible thing for an object of desire to appear willing. Or wanting, at all capable of their own needs. It would really ruin the shine of it all, I see.”

“Lana!”

“Oh mother, really, pimped out all my life -all for it to be ruined by the suggestion I might like it!”

“It’s worse than all that.” Stewart insisted gravely, immune to female objections and tantrums, “I’ve been contacted this morning by one of the branches of our government dealing with espionage and information,” -no wonder he was feeling so very important today- “and they’re concerned that the German Air Force is aware of your correspondence with Major Agen-“

“It’s Egan, actually.”

“-Agen and a tapped phone call as well, they have concerns, Lana, about the Germans using this connection as leverage on him, now they have him in their camps, under their thumb, at their mercy.”

Lana’s fractured world slid together again like a suctioned mosaic, one focal point of reason being clear. “He’s a prisoner of war.” she knew just the right inquisitive tone to encourage Stewart to keep blabbing.

“Yes.” Stewart was very grave and very important about being privy to this information, and Mother let out a fuming little cluck of her tongue at his fumble.

“So, he’s a prisoner.” she smirked triumphantly at Mother and was not corrected for once. “Not dead.”

“Good as dead.” Mother clarified.

Lana still smiled, she could work with “good as.”

———————————————-

“Jack?” Lana had timed her delicate attack most carefully, waiting until Huston was relaxed but not asleep, dressing but not in a hurry, happy but not restless, and most importantly, not remotely tired of her.

“What doll?” Jack had a broad back and nice hands, sometimes Lana imagined they were rather like Egan’s, or maybe that’s what she told herself to keep the tears at bay long enough for each amorous performance to conclude, “Your mother bitchin’ about me again?”

“Well,” she shied away into the bedding, “to be honest, yes.”

“Little rebel.” he praised her on his way to sling on his suspenders, apparently he was going out tonight, she felt a clench of panic in her gut at the need to throw her pitch before he left or hushed her.

“Jack I’ve been thinking.” She began again.

“Not what you’re payed for, doll.”

“No, true.” Lana was used to laughing at that same joke told by a couple dozen different men, “But is that skit competition still on? The one for the CBS slot?”

“Yeah, few more days left, why?”

“Anything promising yet?” Lana ventured carefully, Jack was so very busy with all these government contracts for documentaries and proganada shows, and ever since then he’d had a very short fuse, fussy over his stalled artistic dreams. Not that he didn’t care about the war, he did in fact, and that’s why Lana liked him if she liked him at all. But he liked it the way a movie maker does, he wanted to tell stories and he wanted to be somebody important, and if he wasn’t going to be shot at he damn sure would be known to hang about the guys who were.

He was off to the Pacific to film some Marines mucking about on some godforsaken Atoll in a month or more. She had to make her move.

In the meantime, he was to organize a broadcast. Lana bad learned that from the grapevine at Warner’s, Betty D. dropping as much over her three carrots at lunch.

“I was wondering why we haven’t got ourselves an anecdote to Axis Sally.” Lana chose to be blunt, Jack was different from other men, he liked her babified act as much as the next man, but he’d belted her too for ‘playing dumb’. Since then she’d said her mind, as much as she dared and he called her idiotic often, but she’d not been belted again. “Our boys keep listening to that trash, and the housewives too, just to hear reports on the missing and the prisoners.”

“They listen ‘cause she’s sexy and funny.” Jack informed her with a pointed look.

“That too.” Lana contemplated the sheets before her, “But can’t we be funny and sexy too? Instead of demoralizing we could be happy! And we’d not have reports on prisoners but we could give them clues and hope, in case anyone's listening in.”

“Listening in.” Jack had stopped his halfhearted listening to her, wheeling suddenly with cuff links partway hanging, “You mean in camps?”

“Camps. Resistance. Wherever.”

“They don’t let them have radios, ya know.” Huston pointed out, but it wasn’t said in argument, he was pondering too.

“You know they still manage.” Lana smiled softly and he smiled back.

“Ok, what’s the pitch?” He sighed and sat himself down again on the side of the bed, evening plans abandoned for the moment.

Lana’s heart swelled with hope and the delicious feeling of being taken seriously. Even if she was lying in his bed with hair a mess and dignity mighty rumpled. “Perhaps we could tack onto Fred Allen’s spot? Hasn’t he got a vacancy? A variety show? A skit? I don’t know, but we could have repeat actors and we could have guest stars. And it could- it could be a girl-“

“-Allied Sally.” Huston joked and Lana genuinely snickered at that.

“Something like that.” She agreed, chagrined at the need for a catchy, corney radio name, “And she could be waiting for her sweetheart, sending him messages and well wishes and jokes and -Oh! The score! The scores on everything! Baseball! Jack!”

“Calm down, calm down, it’s decent.” Jack hushed her, waving her giddy self back down as she warmed to her topic, “And you could be her.” he stated the obvious.

“Don’t you think I’d manage it well?” She cajoled, cocking her shoulder in her best pantomime of a coquette. “Aren’t I funny and sexy, Mr. Huston?”

“Hmph,” he scratched his cheek and stared at her as if summing up the likelihood of this working, “needs another angle. Beyond skits.”

“Alright. Like what?”

Huston secured his cuff links, smile broadening as his mind began to whirl, “Letters.” he stated and Lana’s heart froze, “Love letters, we gotta keep it sexy, you said so yourself. There’s nothing so funny as a redacted letter being read out over the censors. The constant beeps alone will get laughs, give it the right inflection in between and you’ll have a game on your hands with the listeners guessing and filling in.”

“Letters.” Lana mumbled in agreement, numb at the brilliance of it and filled with horror at the idea of monetizing what John Egan had given her -connection, love, devotion, grit, humor. But this broadcast, it might be the only way to keep in any sort of contact with him. At what cost? Would he care at all for her after it? Would he think she used him up for a little business inspiration? Oh she couldn’t bear it, yet worse, she couldn’t bear life as Vincent’s wife, locked in for another ten years at Warner’s under mother’s thumb. “It’s brilliant.”

“Almost uncanny how likely a story it is.” Huston grunted as he pulled on a shoe, sending her a sly look that broke her a heart a little more, “Nothing so powerful as a tale based on a real thing, Lana.” he reminded forcefully.

The letters, the blackmail her mother hung over her, all of it dealt with if this pitch became a reality. It would all fade into a myth. And with it all the realness John had brought her. “Yes, I said -it’s brilliant.”

“Yeah, well, easy does it for now.” He cautioned, “Gotta sort your mother and let that contract expire gently. I’ll pitch it myself. See what CBS can wrangle up. Don’t get your hopes up and keep that jacket safe, it’ll be invaluable when we get you a storyline for it.”

“Right.”

“Well go on, tell mommy dearest.” he goaded, nodding to the phone.

“Oh they wouldn’t be approving.” Lana disagreed, referring to the whole pack of them, her mother and her lawyers and her agents.

“Why not? Sounds like great business. Solves all the scandal too.”

“Something like this part-“ Lana demurred, “-wouldn’t suit my image, mother says.”

Jack barked out a rough laugh, plopped back down on the bed and tugging the sheets from her clutches. “Your mother does realize you’re walking wank material, right? That’s your image.”

“Yes,” Lana sighed, “but…unwilling, she says. That’s the crucial part.”

“Oh. Yeah, well,” Jack eyed her up, “you do make a great impression of a scared lamb in bed.”

“They’re concerned it’ll make me too independent. Like the War Bond tour,” she gave a wistful smile, “I kissed so many boys my lips swelled right up. It was grand.”

“Now Lana,” Huston cautioned, “I’m not on any crusade to liberate you, myself.”

“Oh I know!” She was quick to assure, ever the obliging little lady, “And I don’t want to be. Not from you or the studio-“

“-just from mother dearest?” he nodded knowingly, not knowing the half of it.

“Yes.” she pretended great relief at his perception.

“Huh, well, good. Because this idea would have a contract of its own, and it would be long if I’m any judge of the longevity of the project. You’ll be locked in for years.”

“But it’ll be my choice.” She reaffirmed, and this time she meant it.

“And you’ll look willing.” Jack grinned and she grinned back, compulsively like a child mimicking their threat. “Might take some practice though, to make you look willing. Get over here, doll.”

———————————————-

Major Gale Cleven was appreciative of the dangers of listening to the radio in camp, it was one of those necessary and crucial risks that required responsible stewardship and utmost care. It wasn’t a flippant pastime and it wasn’t a recreation, but then again, neither was it strictly business. Like much of their lives as prisoners of war, he and his fellow soldiers toed a strict line between honoring their captors’ jurisdictions while also thwarting their imposed restrictions at every possible juncture.

Sometimes one should listen to the radio because that is what free men did, and Gale Cleven tried by any means possible- letters, books, calculus or his frigid metal headset- to stay free in his mind, to comport himself with the same surety as his free counterpart.

Otherwise, you lived like a ghost in your own body. And that was no good for oneself or those around you. As everyone who shared a bunk and combine with John Egan was quickly learning. The immediate joy of reuniting with him, the fear of losing him to his wounds, the relief of his recovery, it had all leveled out at the end like a anticlimactic ride on a rollercoaster, skidding to a plateau where he was neither well enough to be exempt from Gale’s concern, nor ill enough to warrant the patience required to put up with his rabid moods. Always restless, being kept in the glamorized equivalent of a dog run was hardly fitting for his nature. It was hard on everyone, but Gale wasn’t such a relativist as to assume John Egan had it the same as everyone. Some folks required more miles and more sky to keep them sane, and Bucky was one of those.

It had tipped Gale into a habit that could no longer be qualified as strictly informative, nor could he defend it as necessary where he to get caught. It was undoubtedly poor stewardship to spend an extra half hour listening to the inane comedy of a BBC guest production. But he had started it to cheer Brady when Glenn Miller’s band was on, and it had done such good for him and Bucky as they crowded ‘round, that Gale had since stayed alert for any other such ‘triviality’ that might be of use.

If the Colonel walked in and demanded an explanation for this extra bit of carelessness, Cleven thought he might make a decent defense about waiting for Ed Murrow to come on, broadcasting for CBS from London, always with a decent take on what was happening in the war. The motivation of Murrow often having stars on his program was completely erroneous.

Or so Gale swore to himself for the tenth time as Demarco kept watch and he himself painstakingly tuned the dials and bent his ear to sort the static.

There was music and the typical overlap of voices for awhile until he honed it down, British and American accents floating in, obnoxiously layered all on top of each other still, yet this time intentional. He must’ve hit a variety show. He gave himself two minutes, that much he’d allow and if the thing he’d been waiting for in secret for months did not occur,

he’d move right on or pack up for the night.

“I’m not sure about no boy writing you letters!” a man’s voice crackled through, comedically irate.

The next voice was girlish, smooth despite the poor frequency and made the hair of Gale’s arms stand on end from universal male appreciation and a gut wrenching sense of recognition: “Well I don’t know any more about it, paw paw, except that he loves me and I love him!”

“Yeah?” -Gale thought perhaps that was Bob Hope’s voice, play acting as the fuming father figure, “Yeah, then tell me, dear daughter, what sorta fella calls the girl he loves: Acorn! Huh?”

Gale’s eyes bugged from his head, glassy and shocked and Crank rushed over in solidarity, terribly sure the whole continent of North America had just been reported as broken off into the sea. “What is it Buck?”

“Crank!” Gale croaked, “Go! Go get Egan, tell him his girl’s on the radio and to get his ass in here, goooo!”

“Egan’s got a girl?” Benny was bewildered.

“Acorn!” Brady and Gale yelled in unison.

“But that’s Lana Tierney.” Crank pointed over the spunk wall, or as it was called in more noble moments of higher aspiration, the Wall of Hopes and Dreams, where Lana and Rita smiled tantalizingly and warm from their crinkled posters, down on the men’s bunks.

“Yes, Acorn. Go!”

Gale held his breath and listened harder, trying to gauge how far into the sketch he had caught them, wishing them to linger, as if by sheer willpower alone he could make her stay on until Bucky got there.

Fuck -acorn? Why would she use that? She had to be out of her mind to dare a thing like that, had to be just to get his attention, right? Surely? Had to be out of her mind, Gale decided, which was just another diagnosis for love. And that gave him pause.

“What’s your feller anyway? He a squirrel?” Bob Hope was pressing the issue right as Bucky burst in with a flurry of flapping overcoat and steaming breath.

“Get in here, come on, get over here.” Gale stood up and pointed to his vacated seat, shoving Bucky down for good measure and crouching to press the headpiece to his ear, wanting to share it for some idiotic reason, as if like a parent he could cut the cord if something sad or risky came on.

“Maybe he is,” Lana was breathily defending, “and we’ll live happily ever after in our tree. And there’s nothing you or Jerry can do to stop us!”

“Shit.” Egan breathed out reverently like he’d been punched real and good and an epiphany on life was brewing beneath his shuttering smile. “Holy hell it -it is her. It’s acorn.”

“On a show called ‘Dear Acorn’, Bucky.” Brady chimed in, face as lit up for Egan’s current happiness as if it were his own.

“So what’re you twos gonna live on, huh?” Bob Hope crackled through “Love and nuts?”

“Oh well dunno, I do so love my nuts.” Lana rejoined.

“Jesus!” Gale pulled away from the headset like it had personally accosted him for a tumble in the sheets.

“Acorn.”

“Yeah paw paw?”

“You’re nuts.”

“About him I am.”

“Uhuh.”

“And there’s nothing you or Jerry can-“

“-can do about it, I know, acorn.”

“Pinky promise!” Lana chirped a couple thousand miles away, and John Egan obeyed her once more with a raised hand and a crooked finger.

That night at roll call they had something to whisper about, and for once it wasn’t half cooked schemes to climb the barbed wire or try smothering the commandant in his sleep. Instead Bucky was rocking back and forth joyfully on his heels in the bitter night air, trying hard to keep his grin in check as the spotlight swooped over, choosing the intermediate bits of darkness to nag Gale for any bits he’d missed.

“I sent for ya right away, Bucky.” Gale insisted in a gentle whisper out the side of his mouth, “They were just starting to joke about letters being written to an acorn.”

“Can you believe it?” Egan hissed, almost demented in his sudden good cheer, “She’s that proud of me, built a whole damn show on it. Fuck, it makes a man wanna fight a dozen wars.”

Gale eyed him up carefully, the inside of Bucky’s head a foreign place even to him, but if his friend was hopeful and generous enough not to mind his intellectual (or rather, lack of intellect) property being capitalized on for the war effort, then Gale wasn’t about to sow seeds of doubt. “She’s somethin’ else.” he agreed nebulously, and meant it, “Bombs Away Betty, huh?”

“Showing partiality to one branch of the armed services, Buck.” John was back to grinning, “She must’ve liked the jacket.”

Hope you enjoined, thank y’all for all the screams and thoughts you’ve sent through my asks, the comments and reblogs too, I treasure each.

If you’d like to be tagged in my MOTA writings, drop a note below. 💋

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#masters of the air #mota #mota fanfic #john Egan #Bucky Egan #gale cleven #john egan x oc #john x acorn #Julie Jean Turner #mota spoilers #masters of the air fanfiction #john egan fanfiction #Callum Turner

[seekers-who-are-lovers]

‘Don’t Say Goodbye’

Misaki Unasaka doesn’t seem to have many fans from the fandom.

There was a particular post criticizing her reappearance saying Misaki only wanted to take Miri back b/c she didn’t want to have regrets on her death bed. But of course! Don’t dying people have a fervent wish to rectify their mistakes if they could? If only they would have that opportunity, the ones who they left behind would be more accepting of their loss.

No dying person grieves for his death. He mourns only what he didn’t do. Why did I wait? Why did I not…? Why did I neglect to…? (Rumi)

“Don’t Say Goodbye” is, without a doubt, her theme. On episode 3, the piano accompaniment of the song she was singing when K first saw her was playing during her heated conversation with Kazuki. It became turbulent, full of anguish and regret. She had intrusive thoughts, true, but she never acted on them. Until she sent Miri away, which was clearly a child neglect.

On episode 10, it was again playing the moment she showed determination to get Miri back. Faced with the possibility of a second chance with Miri she was cunning enough to lay out the cards to make Kazuki and Rei to give up the custody.

You can hear again her theme song when she was dying in Kazuki’s arms asking him to take care of her daughter (episode 11). This time with vocals singing in English.

No one to talk with /Just all by myself

No one can save me/Just all by myself

But suddenly everything has changed and then I met you

The truth inside of me/My reason to live

I'm saving my love for you/Even a thousand miles can't keep us apart

Don't say good bye/ Don't say good bye

I wanna spend as much time as possible with you

I wanna feel and touch your smile/But are there just dreams?

I'm saving my love for you/Because my heart is wherever you are

Don't say good bye/Don't say good bye

Oh, so l'm takin' this chance to sing

Don't say good bye

Can't let this moment end

But now we have to move on

Don't cry/Don't look back

And, Don't even remember my name...

(Source: Buddy Daddies blu-ray inlay card)

As she was about to expire, Kyutaro kneeled down so she could touch Miri’s face for the last time, the first two lines and the last four lines could be heard playing with the ending “Don’t cry. Don’t look back. Don’t even remember my name...”

The lyrics bear sadness and loneliness until one person came into her life, which we could all surmise as her daughter Miri and her second chance to be with her. But Misaki felt the weight of the words as she sang the truth because it was for nil.

#buddy daddies #misaki unasaka #buddy daddies music analysis #buddy daddies wall of text #episode 3: the spice of life #episode 10: lost at sea #episode 11: everyone will be hypocrites #they could have let her live longer but I think plot wise it will be more complicated #it is really wrong to pin high hopes

[anysin]

Fic: On a Tender Guard

For anon requester, a Jon/Elias with "putting a blanket on" theme! Set right after S1's last episode, Elias looks after worm-ridden Jon. Hope you enjoy!

On A Tender Guard

"Sorry," Jon says as he opens the door for the two of them, "it's messy."

Elias takes a peek over Jon's shoulder, and isn't surprised to see a perfectly tidy, if just slightly dusty, flat inside. He shakes his head, but refrains from commentary as he follows Jon in, closing the door behind them. He allows himself to look around, taking in every detail.

This is his first time inside Jon's home; as much of a mundane, ordinary moment it is, it's still thrilling. Seeing that Jon is taking his coat off, Elias reaches out for him, trying to take it from him, but Jon steps out of his reach, giving him a sour glance as he shrugs his coat off.

"You really didn't need to come here with me." Jon is trying to be stoic, pretending that every movement doesn't hurt, but even if Elias didn't know, it would be easy to see the distinct, deep discomfort on Jon's face, tugging the corners of his mouth downward. Still, Jon meets his gaze. "As you can see, I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. So actually, you can go."

Elias sighs, taking his own coat off.

"Jon, you don't have to put up an act around me." He keeps his movements brisk so Jon will think twice before trying to stop him, hanging his coat and taking his shoes off too. "I saw you there afterward, you know. You made quite a rough sight, and you don't look that much better now. You need help, and since I know you won't ask for it, it's my duty to give it."

Those are all pragmatic, practical reasons for Elias's presence here, and as such they should be acceptable to Jon. But Jon frowns, crossing his arms over his chest.

"You weren't too concerned about us when we were under attack." Jon makes an effort to sound neutral, but the accusation comes through clear. "Are you trying to ease your guilt?"

The answer to that is easy, and therefore the question is not worth answering; the answer to why Elias is here in the first place is less straightforward. Maybe he wants a moment with his Archivist, who has survived his first true ordeal; while they could have managed with less damage to the Institute and without the loss of Sasha, Elias is proud of him. Or maybe he really is here for Jon's well-being, to make sure that Jon won't be further bothered tonight, except in his dreams. But none of that has anything to do with what he needs to say out loud.

"I would have a reason to, wouldn't I?" he asks softly.

As he hoped, Jon is caught off guard.

"Well-" Elias can tell that Jon wants to say 'yes', but bless him, he manages to restrain himself. Instead, Jon says: "I do appreciate your concern, although I think it's unnecessary." He sighs, his tense shoulders falling slack. "But I guess-"

"I can help?" Elias smiles. "Let's get you to bed, then. I think that's the most important thing now."

"Fine." Jon starts to walk, leading the way.

Jon's bedroom is like the rest of his flat; mostly tidy and organized with some fussy details, screaming loneliness. It's in the bedroom when Jon seems to give up on his strong act; once he's close enough on the bed, he just climbs up on it, lowering himself down on it with a deep sigh.

"You will regret not changing later." Still, Elias takes the blanket that has been folded on the back of a chair and walks over to the bed with it, spreading it over Jon.

"Probably," Jon agrees. "I guess I just want to close my eyes for a moment. Just be." Jon closes his eyes for a second, but opens them quickly in order to look at Elias. "You can leave if you want to. I can manage."

"You could, but you don't have to. I'm not in a hurry to anywhere." Elias gives into his own desire; he reaches out and strokes a lock of hair out of Jon's face, grasping his glasses carefully. "You can be at ease now, Jon. I'll be there when you wake up."

Jon scoffs at that, but doesn't stop Elias from pulling his glasses off him. "If you want to," he says, and closes his eyes.

Elias wants to do so many things with him. But indeed, for now, he will just be here.

#my fic #the magnus archives #jon x elias

[denimbex1986]

'When the losses and grief of the past are too great, the present becomes populated by ghosts, those ghosts that you call to yourself in your memory and then can't get rid of. “All of us Strangers” is a tale of ghosts and suffering, a great inspection of modern man and his way of mourning.

And it is one of the most tender love stories in modern cinema. The fact that it is the affection between two men that is illustrated here in a subtle, at times reverent way is important and also not. Being gay is a significant but not the only theme in the Andrew Haigh-directed film. With Adam (Andrew Scott) and Harry (Paul Mescal), the two lovers, it becomes clear what a challenge intimacy, understood as mutual recognition and acceptance, means - beyond sexual orientation.

Meeting the dead parents

The two men are neighbors, both residents of an anonymous high-rise apartment building in London. Harry makes very direct advances to Adam. At the beginning it's just a flirt, you spend a night together. Adam is a screenwriter, working on a script about his own story, his youth in the eighties. He regularly drives out to the suburbs to his parents' house. There he miraculously meets his parents, who died in a car accident when he was twelve years old. Adam's puberty, his queerness, his life as an author - his parents missed all of this.

Who is this couple, played by Jamie Bell and Claire Foy, who live as if the eighties never passed? Are they projections of the son, on whom the unresolved grief is playing mental tricks? Are they ghosts, stranded in an intermediate realm of nostalgia? Are they actors in Adam's script scenario, which takes shape in concrete reality, just as an artist's imagination can become real, as concretizations of a poetic higher truth?

The puzzle is not solved. This is the film's outstanding aesthetic achievement: despite all its openness to interpretations and readings, it shows something very directly, namely what grief is like. That the injuries, the missed opportunities, the unspoken insults of yesterday help shape our today.

Catch-up coming out

Adam visits his parents three times, who now get to know their son as an adult. They didn't know he was gay, and his coming out is the cause of many touching, painful moments. “Aren’t people being mean to you today?” asks the mother, whose world is that of the Thatcher era. “No, things are different today,” says the son with a mixture of indulgence and amusement. “They say it’s a lonely life,” worries the mother. “If I’m lonely, it’s not because I’m gay,” Adam replies.

Andrew Scott plays this man in his mid-thirties as a self-confident man who is at the same time hurt by loss and loneliness. The longing for closeness and comfort from parents is covered with a fine veneer of disappointment. His polite way of tutoring his father and mother about life in the 21st century is mixed with defiance and resentment.

The conversation with the father, who suspected that his son was gay - "you were pretty tough as a child" - but didn't stand by him and forced the boy to perform rituals of masculinity (sitting with his legs apart, playing football) is one of them moving highlights of the film. Because the father regrets his lack of sensitivity and solidarity, and in turn longs for closeness to his beloved, but always estranged, son. Rarely has one seen the high moral and emotional demands that a serious reparation must achieve illustrated in such a way in a film.

Parallel to the journey through time and memory, Adam and Harry get closer to each other in the present - although present is a questionable term in this narrative that weaves the levels of time and imagination together. Harry, for his part, is hurt: by the averageness of his family, which, in its bourgeois saturation, has to repress and marginalize the queer. Harry seems lost, one wandering through nightclubs and casual romances. Adam's affection could be an anchor in this life weighed down by self-doubt and fear.

Virtuoso camera work

In his brilliant portrayal, Paul Mescal shows us the breaking points of modern manhood. How difficult it is to appear cool and at the same time remain sensitive, casual and yet serious and authoritative in personal matters. Jamie D. Ramsay's camera work is masterfully tailored to this differentiated game: primarily in close-ups, he literally brings us closer to the characters and captures their ambivalent nature in precise images.

“I know how easy it is to stop taking care of yourself,” Harry says at one point. This describes a burden that burdens every fragile, fundamentally damaged person: the effort to lead a middle-class, conventionally successful life. The encounters of today and the connections of yesterday: Both represent social, mental and psychological challenges. In order for the present to succeed, the past must, if not cleaned up, then at least be recognized and accepted in its formative effects. “All of us strangers” demands this project from its heroes and us, the audience. And this impertinence is cinematic bliss.'

#Andrew Haigh #Andrew Scott #Paul Mescal #Claire Foy #Jamie Bell #All of Us Strangers

[tragedicna]

#TRAGEDICN  ―  a study of tragic circumstances , fabricated worlds , journey to healing , pathways to destruction , forming and dissolving relationships ; exploring themes of finding release & relief from strong , repressed emotions by observing tragic instances . [blog]

#SHCNSHI  ―  a study of war crimes, existentialism, life after death, loss of innocence, justified killings, loss of identity, finding purpose to living, morality, shouldering guilt  ,  burying the dead  ,  resentment and regrets  ,  daddy issues  ,  bloody hands  ,  and praying for redemption  . [blog]

#HUSONGZHE  ―  a study of life & death, life after death, the afterlife, cycles of reincarnation, deityhood, meaning of life, guiding hands, messages from beyond  ,  immortality  ,  self-discovery  ,  isolation & loneliness  ,  altruism  ,  and coming to terms  . [blog]

ind. sel. multiversed muses as written by GENIE / 27 / EST timezone blogs contain mature subjects, not recommended for those under 18 (cr.)

#( the men and women are merely actors ╱ promo ) #save y'all from having to reblog so many promos lmao #3-in-1 :) love me pls #genshin impact rp #multimuse rp #oc rp #animanga rp #hsr rp #video games rp

[starreadssstuff]

Fate is cruel - Megumi Fushiguro

Warnings-  This fic contains themes of grief, loss, and intense sadness. It has the emotional thoughts of a character dealing with the death of a loved one. 

Authors note- YAYAY!!! New character unlocked! LOL but seriously I have only written about the “older men” of the JJK fandom and wanted to do something else! anyways hope you enjoy this very fic love,star ♥️

The rain poured relentlessly outside, matching the heaviness in Megumi Fushiguro's heart. He sat alone in his dimly lit apartment, surrounded by silence that only seemed to amplify his loneliness. Thoughts of you, the one person who had brought him solace and joy, consumed his mind.It had been weeks since he last saw you, since that fateful day when circumstances tore you apart. Fate had a cruel way of playing with their emotions, and now Megumi found himself drowning in a sea of sadness.

 He missed your laughter, your smile, and the way you made him feel alive.As the raindrops cascaded down the windowpane, memories of your time together flooded Megumi's thoughts. He remembered how your eyes sparkled with happiness, how you understood him without words, and how your touch could mend even the deepest wounds. You were his sanctuary, a safe haven from the darkness that consumed his life.But then came that dreadful day when you were taken away from him. A tragic accident had stolen your life, leaving Megumi to navigate the world without you. The void in his heart was unbearable, a constant ache that refused to subside. Every corner of his apartment held a reminder of you, a cruel reminder of what he had lost. 

Megumi longed for one more moment with you, to hold you in his arms and tell you how much he loved you. The pain of regret consumed him as he realized he never truly expressed his feelings, never had the chance to create more beautiful memories together. The weight of those unspoken words suffocated him, leaving him in a state of perpetual sorrow.In the depths of his grief, Megumi found solace in the memories of your time together. He would close his eyes and imagine your warmth, your voice, and your presence beside him. But no matter how hard he tried, it was never enough. The yearning for your touch grew stronger with each passing day, leaving him broken and empty.The rain continued to fall outside, a somber symphony that matched Megumi's heartache. He wondered if he would ever find happiness again, if he would ever find someone who could fill the void you left behind. But deep down, he knew that no one could ever replace you. You were his soulmate, his other half, and losing you was an indescribable tragedy.

As the night grew darker and the rain persisted, Megumi clutched a photograph of you, tears streaming down his face. He whispered words of love and longing, hoping that somehow, in the vastness of the universe, you would hear him."I miss you, my love," he whispered into the void. "Every day, every moment, I miss you. I wish I had the chance to tell you how much you mean to me, to hold you one more time. But until we meet again, I will carry your memory in my heart. You were the light in my darkness, and I will love you for eternity."With a heavy heart, Megumi closed his eyes, allowing the tears to wash away the pain, if only for a moment. The rain continued to fall, a reminder of the sorrow that consumed his world, as he held onto the memories of a love that was lost but never forgotten.

#this is so sad #jjk #i love jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu sorcerer #jus #jujutsu kaisen angst #megumi #megumi x you #jujutsu megumi #megumi fushiguro

[creepiefarm]

Marble Hornets Playlists

Marble Hornets but i'm emo (general series playlist, heavy on rock)

regret tastes like cigarettes (Tim Wright, theme of regret, loss and anger towards self)

arson singed hands (Masky, theme of anger, fire, and feeling animal in a protective but othered way)

stigmata (Alex Kralie, theme of believing you're righteous while struggling with regret, loneliness and loss)

rage therapy (Hoody, theme of hurt, anger, trying to convince yourself everything is okay so you can complete your mission)

the twins (Masky and Hoody, theme of brotherhood, loss, protection and you're all i have)

her name aches like the stab wound in my side (AmyLex, theme of young love, escaping together, loss, trying to find her, deciding to convince himself it was on purpose.)

Playlists are updated at times, and this post is a wip as more will be added as i make them :3

#'theme of loss' in like all of these is everything ok at home /j #realized this is easier and neater than separate posts for them all #next up probably brian? maybe jessica #marble hornets #playlist #creepie.stuff

[thelonelybrilliance]

Taylor Swift Megamix Themes/Personas/Facets

SHADOW: shyness, questioning the world & love, embarking on a new beginning, self-doubt, feeling like an outsider, faith, chagrin, wistfulness and longing

ULTRAVIOLET: passionate, blunt, accusatory, seeking certainty, holding people accountable, regret, jealousy, euphoria, youthful love, forgiveness

CHERRY: innocence, dreaming of true love, fun-loving/sense of adventure, the power of choice (your own & others'), challenge, idealism

RUST: bitterness, self-sabotage, secret-keeping, wanting to be saved, weariness of the soul, rage, thirst for justice, lust, reflection, wisdom

SAPPHIRE: honesty, nostalgia for the past without necessarily wanting to return to it, loneliness, maturity, loss, realization, healing

AMBER: homecoming, desire for forever-love, remorse, reliving the past, warmth & comfort, self-love & criticism, farewelling what you'll never have again

AURORA: pride, truth, realism, indulgence, hope, vows & promises, embracing contradiction (fragility & strength), permanence

#Could write this more tidily #And may #But wanted to jot it down #What a glorious tribute #Art that makes you think #taylor swift megamix #Taylor Swift

[spookymultimedia]

Heartaches [18+]

Laszlo spends the evening alone with his mixed up feelings towards four different men in his life and wishes his polyamorous heart would take a fucking break

CW: there is strongly suggestive content but nothing explicitly in detail. This is not a lewd fic but the themes are mature.

'Heartaches, heartaches

My loving you meant only heartaches

Your kiss was such a sacred thing to me

I can't believe it's just a burning memory

Heartaches, heartaches

What does it matter how my heart breaks

I should be happy with someone new

But my heart aches for you." 

        The phonograph crackled out music in the small library of the house as Laszlo was laid facing down on his belly next to the fireplace with his face resting in his arms. Crickets hummed outside the window accompanying the music. Cold November wind blew harsh against the house. The boy was fast asleep in his bed and Nadja had been working at the club leaving the tired vampire alone with his thoughts. He was vexed by the thoughts of men, specifically. Multiple men whom he felt a variety of feelings and affections towards and it all spiraled into a headache of heavy feelings that left him stressed.

           Love. Love was one of the emotions that was spiraling through his mind. His charming human neighbor Sean Rinaldi has been his sights for a year now his crush on the fellow had blossomed into something romantic. His spirit fluttered with joy when he walked into the room. The air was light and Laszlo's mood brightened. His voice was like a melody that could stain his memory for weeks. He was witty, bold and beautiful. He could never get as close to the man as he desperately desired. He recalled the prior week while, for a moment, he was hand in hand with Sean pretending to be lovers and parents of baby Colin Robinson. He remembered how soft his hand was and how his hand felt on his knee. Sean wouldn't remember but Laszlo certainly did. For a moment it was real. For a moment they were lovers. He wanted to be Sean's lover so badly. He wanted to embrace him and kiss him and make sweet love to him and belong to Sean. But that love was mixed with fear. He was scared of getting too close to Sean and getting burned. He was scared of rejection. What if Sean wasn't queer or keen on loving him in that way? What if he ruined their existing relationship?  What if Sean knew the truth about who he was? Would he be scared?  Even worse, what if Sean did love him back? Sean was human and he didn't know if Sean wanted to be a vampire. Humans are delicate things. Humans die. Someday Sean would die and Laszlo would have to live on without him.

        Grief. Grief was another emotion. Everyday he yearned for his deceased lover Colin Robinson. His love for Sean was challenged with guilt. Was he trying to fill this unbearable empty space with Sean? Was his sickly sweet adoration a shallow ruse? Could he be using Sean as a distraction from his grief? No, Sean could never replace the one true Colin Robinson. Colin could never be replaced. He knew that. But the void that Colin used to fill certainly made him feel a unique loneliness for another. It was unfair. Sure, the time he spent with Colin was full of passion and love, he didn't regret any moment of his amorous relationship with him, but it only lasted a number of months and before he knew it all of it was turned to dust. It was so brief that the memory felt like a dream. His time spent with Colin was wonderful and even though Nadja would never ever admit it he had heard her sobbing in the daytime over the loss of Colin Robinson. He remembered Guillermo recalling the first night in those crates to London. He could hear her crying all alone for Colin. He was hurt knowing that his lady wife was also grieving. She, however, hid her feelings under a thick veil. Colin Robinson touched their lives. 

            Bitterness. Nandor the Relentless was a man whom his relationship with had been growing more sour as the days went by. Did he love him? Yes, they had been close companions for centuries. Nandor had been someone he had confided in once. Once he felt happy with him. He was fun. He was someone he felt like he could really bare his soul and talk to. He remembered one particular time when he spent all day hunched up in the basement in a gigantic pillowfort watching SpaceJam on the television, which was inside the fortress. He remembered being cuddled up and talking about everything on their mind. He felt like a fool to think he meant anything to Nandor. It was getting harder to call Nandor his friend. His rose tinted glasses were broken and now he could see Nandor for the selfish insecure ass he was. His trust for Nandor was shattered on the day his beloved Colin had died. He stood there stunned as Nandor dismissed his wife when she told him Colin Robinson was dead. She was vulnerable and sorrowful and he had disrespected her with skepticism. He stood there watching in horror as Nandor ridiculed their feelings. He spent the entirety of Colin's party thinking about himself. He didn't care and if he did he was too cowardly to show it. He believed that Nandor was too busy with his stupid face and his stupid wedding to think about how he treated others. In that moment in Colin Robinson's bedroom, something broke within Laszlo; their friendship was broken. He felt like nothing to Laszlo and it tore him up inside. 

          Guillermo. The felt lust towards the fellow was the icy snow on his mountain of the emotions piled up in his mind. The lad was unremarkably sexy. He wanted fuck him. He wanted to fuck that murderous chap. He fantasized seducing Guillermo into taking advantage of him. He dreamed of being under the killer's control; he wanted to be captured and tamed by him. He wanted Guillermo to let out his frustrations and put him in his place. His mind wandered there often when he spent time alone in his shed. Guillermo felt like something forbidden and naughty not only as a vampire killer but as Nandor's ex familiar. He didn't deserve such a beautiful human. A human like Guillermo deserved to be worshiped in bed with an attentive head between his large orc-like legs like the beautiful warrior he was. Nandor would be furious to know he fucked the man who he was closest to. His closest friend of 13 years. He knew Nandor longer than that!? What the fuck did that make him?!! Nothing?

           Love, grief, bitterness and lust were the four horsemen that plagued his psyche. He laid there on the library floor feeling all four of these emotions all at once. Somehow they all connected to each other in a cycle that nauseated him. He closed his eyes, wishing his emotional heart would stop feeling. He wished his feelings would just blow away like the wind outside the house. He felt a hand brush against his shoulder. He immediately recognized it as his wife's hand. He looked up at her. "You're home early." He muttered.

             "The workers had a walk out. I tried everything. If you can't beat them, join them." She sighed dryly in defeat.

                            He huffed out a chuckle and smiled, "I'm sure you'll think of something my love."

       She smiled and ran a hand through my hair, "Now, what are you doing sulking on the floor like a dead fish?"

        He frowned and moaned. "I'm exhausted Nadja, I'm tired of how much I feel for other men. My amorous feelings bring me nothing but strife. I don't even know why I spend my time and energy on such stupid emotions. " he said bitterly.

                   "Did Sean reject you?" She frowned in sympathy. He winced.

       "Not-not verbally but his body language implies it. I don't know. I don't believe he swings that way my beauty," I rubbed my eyes trying to alleviate my aching head,"Am I smitten for this man? Yes. But frankly he's not the only man on my mind right now. I'm still in grief, Nandor is an massive bloody arsehole, and I am getting sexual fantasies about Guillermo that I am struggling comprehend-." He started to cry. It was too much stress and emotion for his dead heart to handle. "I want it to stop."

            "Laszlo you're going to worry yourself into insanity one of these days." She shook her head. "Why can't you just talk to Seanie? Just get it all out and deal with it."

                       "It's not that easy." He shook his head.

          "Just tell him the truth!"

 "Oh so am I supposed to waltz up to his door and say: 'Oh surprise I am actually a blood sucking vampire who's madly in love with you and who's been thinking of your hands gripping my sopping wet dick!' in front of his wife??!"

    She looked him up and down, "Yes." she answered, looking at him like he was the one talking crazy. 

           "Absolutely not. No. That would not end well at all." He shook his head am groaned," I am desperately in need a good fucking." He breathed out and rubbed his head. "That'll do my mind good. I don't want to think about anything but your body for the next 12 hours, thank you very much. No men. No more. I've had enough." 

            She grinned in delight, "Oh Laszlo I quite agree, I have some stress I need help with myself. There's nothing more stress relieving than sex," she said as she pulled him onto his feet before leading him to their chambers.

#18+ #18+ fic #suggestive text #wwdits fanfiction #what we do in the shadows #laszlo x sean #laszlin #laszlo x nandor #Laszlo x Guillermo #nadja x laszlo #laszlo cravensworth #sean rinaldi #colin robinson #nandor the relentless #queerplatonic exes #queerplatonic ship #guillermo de la cruz #nadja cravensworth #Spotify

[the-tzarina-alexandra-paracosm]

Something hit me nowadays, namely that my current project, Fireworks in the Fog, is in more ways than one, fulfilling the vision (in terms of overarching themes) that I had for my very first novel, The Image through the Thick Glass (I was 12-13). ITTG was supposed to be about dealing with suffering, rejection, loneliness, depression etc but it ended up a very incoherent and depressing story, with a hopeless ending and no clear vision. But I'll never regret I wrote it, and at least my intentions were very good. Now my current story is about much the same themes. Love and suffering, mental illness etc. But it feels like it's got much more of a purpose and hopeful ending. Though the characters are very different, the themes are rather the same. The misunderstood gifted kid Kaito could not find happiness in the end. He could not find somebody who truly loved him in the end - even while married to her! Such a blameless person and yet suffering so much. Contrast that with Laurențiu, who is also suffering a lot, but some of it is self-inflicted. He does find love but in the absence of a higher purpose it becomes toxic. But he does reconcile with her in the end! And he does get better in the end! He's decidedly not a very innocent person, but he suffers, gets better, forgives, is forgiven and ultimately has a hopeful ending.

Or take the love interest as an example. Kata is a very indecisive and changing person, and her loyalty is always quite questionable. She suffers in her own right from a fear of loss. Objectively she doesn't have much reason to treat Kaito the way she does, but she lowkey only loves him back briefly, after which, regardless of the fact that they're married now, she kind of rejects him as before they were even together. She distances herself from him as he is basically on his deathbed. Part of it is explained by her fear and avoidance of any suffering, but logically it doesn't make much sense. Now take Mădălina, who is decidedly a much more complex character. She loves Laurențiu, but their relationship turns rather toxic over time, and she does wrong him in several ways. However, that's not her completely abandoning him, but instead treated as a low point which the two do recover from. She is just as broken if not more so that her love interest. She's dealing with a lot and suffering a lot in her own right. She can be rather self-destructive! Certainly more so than she is toxic towards others. But it doesn't end there for her. She reconciles with Laurențiu and the two eventually get to have a very loving and healthy relationship. She gets help for her issues, and she tries to right all her wrongs. She is also very much motivated by her fear and avoidance of abandonment and suffering in general but she deliberately tries to deal with that.

Other characters that are in many ways similar are the supportive siblings on each side. Kaito has an older brother who is very protective of him and frankly the only one who loves him in the true sense of the word. Mădălina has two siblings that she relies on, especially her older sister. Only in her case she doesn't act like, in comparison to a romantic relationship, the love her siblings have for her is lesser or doesn't count as much.

Even the titles express very similar things which I only noticed recently. The Image through the Thick Glass is obvious a very blurry one. The glass in question refers to the glasses the main character wears. But it also refers to his mindset. He cannot see life clearly. His vision is clouded in some way. Fireworks in the Fog also suggests a blurry image. The fireworks are a New Year motif but not only. The fog part also shows that the characters see life in an unclear way. In both stories it's implied that this is due to mental illness.

#my writing #my novel #the image through the think glass #fireworks in the fog

[oohq]

hi there! i'm super interested in applying, this concept looks really fun and a small group is very appealing! i'm curious as to what kinds of characters you think would fit the theme or would make good tenants? i have a couple ideas but would like to narrow them down before applying!

hi .ᐟ thank you so much. in general, anyone in need of growth, healing, or redemption. the theme would be very compatible with characters who are going through some sort of personal crisis (ex. illness, addiction, financial struggle, legal trouble, fear and doubt, purposelessness, lack of self worth, midlife crisis, identity crisis); dealing with trauma; experiencing relationship troubles (ex. romantic breakup, family conflict); seeking redemption for guilt, regrets or mistakes; feeling disconnected from themselves or their loved ones (ex. rediscovering passions, finding belongingness.) i've added some more specific ideas below and hopefully you find them helpful .ᐟ if you find yourself wanting help with deciding on a character, feel free to message directly too.

an ex-con and former doctor who has been trying to get back on their feet since finishing their prison sentence for an almost-fatal medical mistake. through the loop, they're able to build a new life, confront their guilt, seek forgiveness, and rediscover their passion for helping others.

a middle-aged tenant grappling with the recent loss of their job and a shocking loss of purpose. the loop helps them find new opportunities and redefine their self worth.

a former child prodigy burdened by unmet expectations and burnout. the loop helps them find joy in their talents again.

a corporate executive feeling unfulfilled despite their success. the loop helps them find meaning in life beyond the borders of a career.

[tw underage pregnancy] a single parent struggling after eloping as a teen and being abandoned by their partner. the loop helps them reconnect with their parents, who end up caring for their child while they gain stability. eventually, they find a stable job and reunite with their child.

a recent college graduate struggling to find a job and dealing with the tragic loss of their parents. through the loop, they're able to deal with their feelings of loneliness and isolation, and discover more about their own strengths and passions.

a musician who lost their hearing in an accident. the loop helps them rediscover their love of art and new avenues of creative expression.

an investigative journalist, who once narrowly escaped an attempt on their life by a disgruntled and powerful figure, suffers burnout from years of writing puff pieces and disillusionment from the industry they once loved. the loop helps them regain their courage and passion for sharing the truth.

a former athlete struggling with a crushing loss of identity after sustaining a career-ending injury. the loop helps them find new purpose and direction in life.

an aspiring artist paralyzed by fear of failure and self-doubt. the loop helps them gain confidence to pursue their passion.

[tw death] a grieving widow who recently lost their spouse in a car accident. the loop helps them move on from their spouse's death, find peace and joy.

a recent divorcee who is dealing with the fallout of a failed marriage and a distant relationship with their children. the loop helps them rebuild both themself and their family connections.

a successful lawyer facing a moral crisis after defending a guilty client. the loop helps them calibrate their ethical compass and find redemption.

#ooask

[jongsecg]

Behind The Story of Our Music

Hey guys, it's Jorao (@iminggyu) and Christian (@Chrlistian) from EuphonicTape! So, we were given this cool mission to swap three meaningful songs each. Today, we're teaming up to share our stories and thoughts about the songs we exchanged. Let's get into it!

-iminggyu pov-

The first song is 'Out of Time' by The Weeknd. In my opinion, this song is incredibly soothing and perfect for listening to while working or relaxing. As a fan of several of The Weeknd's songs, it's definitely going on my playlist! However, it's also quite sad as it tells the story of loss and regret in a relationship that has ended.

The second song is 'Leaving California' by Maroon 5. I've never heard a song as good as this one before; it's really enjoyable to listen to. Once again, it's a song filled with emotion, about saying goodbye and moving on after losing someone you love. The lyrics reflect the sadness and longing felt when leaving California, often seen as a symbol of freedom and dreams. This song also depicts the emotional and physical journey of finding peace and healing after a breakup—Hey bang Crisht, don't dwell on it too long!

The third song is 'Holy Grail' by Jay Z. This time, the song is full of solid beats and rap! I've never heard this song before, but it's really hitting the spot. It reflects on fame, success, and its consequences. The lyrics convey mixed feelings towards success and fame, as well as the burdens that come with that status. The song also portrays how celebrity life often isn't as perfect as it seems from the outside, touching on themes like isolation, loneliness, and internal struggles.

-chrlistian pov-

Some type of love by Charlie Puth. I think this song delves into the concept of an everlasting and fulfilling love that transcends the passage of time. The song portrays a deep and unbreakable bond between two individuals who vow to remain together through life's ups and down. The song conveys a message of commitment, selflessness, and the enduring power of love that can stand the test of time.

Stand out fit in by ONE OK ROCK. A song about the society’s hypocrisy which, at the same time, encourages the individual to ‘Stand Out’ and demands him to ‘Fit In’ into a standard created by the society itself. There is a lot message in this movie video. The song is about being yourself despite the voices around you that tell you to be a certain way.

Save Yourself by ONE OK ROCK. The song is a call to take care of yourself and save yourself from the pain of love. It encourages the listener to trust themselves and their own fate and to not rely on anyone else, even if they feel tempted to do so. The chorus repeats the message of 'saving yourself' in order to protect from the potential pain of heartbreak. It also encourages everyone to be brave, and to have the courage to take their own path and to trust themselves.

And that's our opinion on the songs given by our partner. We really enjoyed the songs provided; there's no doubt our partner made the right choice.

-End of mission.

[noahfandomstudies]

Fanwork 3

"Woke Up This Morning" by Alabama 3 - The opening theme that introduces the audience to the world of Tony Soprano and sets the stage for the show's exploration of power, family, and morality, however it also symbolizes walts mentality to leave his safe life as a teacher and take risks while pursuing his thrilling life as crime/.

"White Rabbit" by Jefferson Airplane - Represents the surreal and often hallucinatory nature of Tony's and Jesse’s psyche, as well as both show's exploration of identity, self-awareness, and his desire for what can’t be.

"The Sound of Silence" by Simon & Garfunkel - Reflects the underlying repressed loneliness and existential crisis experienced by many characters, despite their outward displays of power and bravado. This can relate to Jesse hitting rock bottom after the death of jane and feeling worthless in life. This can relate to Tony due to his constant panic attacks that stem from having the pressure of dealing with two familys in his life.

"Gimme Shelter" by The Rolling Stones - Captures the pervasive sense of danger and instability that permeates the world of The Sopranos and walt and jesse being under watch by the Dea, as well as the constant struggle for survival.

"Sympathy for the Devil" by The Rolling Stones - Symbolizes the morally ambiguous nature of Tony Soprano and his fellow mobsters, who often justify their actions as necessary evils. This also relates to walter white who justifies his wrong doings as a way to provide for his family

"Fortunate Son" by Creedence Clearwater Revival - Represents the generational conflict between Tony and his children, as well as the broader tension between tradition and modernity. This also is shown in Breaking bad as walt tries to instill morally correct values on to his son while simultaneously acts immoral in his secret life of crime.

"Behind Blue Eyes" by The Who - Reflects the inner turmoil and conflicted emotions experienced by Tony and other characters as they grapple with their dual identities as family members and criminals and how that effects their relationships. This is also seen with walt constantly trying to keep his family afloat when his meth business starts to interfere with his wife noticing him become distant.

"Paint It Black" by The Rolling Stones - Symbolizes the darkness and nihilism that visually and metaphorically lurks beneath the surface of The Sopranos' seemingly idyllic suburban setting. Throughout breaking bad Walt is seen to live a dual life as a family man and a drug kingpin which the lyrics in the song also explain as he tries to cover up his separate lives sometimes in favor of keeping his family safe.

"Hurt" by Johnny Cash - Captures the profound sense of regret and existential despair that haunts Tony and Walt and Jesse as they confront the consequences of their actions.

"Everybody Hurts" by R.E.M. - Reflects the universal themes of pain, loss, and vulnerability that permeate The Sopranos, as well as the characters' shared repressed humanity beneath their hardened exteriors. The repression is also shown in breaking bad as Jesse and walt know what they’re doing is wrong but continues to do it because they know that it will ultimately complete some kind of objective within their own lives for satisfaction/

“Money” by the Flying Lizards- Reflects on the contant theme of greed with money that is present throughout the show and how it ultimately becomes alot of the characters downfall. Both tony and walt are victims of greed and desire to money which ultimately lead them into the life of crime and causes all of their troubles.

"Comfortably Numb" by Pink Floyd - Symbolizes the characters' in both The Sopranos and Breaking bad including Christopher and Jesse as they attempt to escape from reality through substance abuse, as well as the emotional numbness that often accompanies a life of crime.

"Don't Stop Believin'" by Journey - The controversial final scene of the series, which invites viewers to question the nature of truth, reality, and redemption through its interpretive lyrics. For breaking bad this song could also signifies closure for the viewers of the show and gives a sense of completion and finality for conflicts and character arcs

#fandomstudies #com255 #officeofdocmalone #Spotify

[limitlessscion]

About

While I'm primarily canon-compliant, my heacanons and potentially unique interpretations of the source material makes up the backbone of my portrayal. I do expect them to be honoured on my blog, even if they end up contradicting canon eventually.

One very key headcanon that serves as the foundation of much of what I do is that the Six Eyes is a curse and not a cursed technique, and can not be turned off. It is the primary sense with which he perceives the world.

Other key themes I explore and adhere to include:

Loneliness and the isolation of unshared perception

His entirely unique experience of the world is both beautiful and isolating

He has difficulty forming genuine human connections primarily due to this, not just the power gap

Vulnerability and overcoming weakness

He was raised by his clan to not show weakness

Failing, or appearing weak in any way brings him a deep sense of shame

His first thought whenever he fails is how to overcome it

Neurodivergence, performative humanity and intersection with trauma

His experience of the world is highly unconventional. I will not put a specific label on him, but he is heavily neurodivergent

In his adult years he's learned how to mask his behaviour into something more socially acceptable in the presence of people he cares about

His emotional reaction to trauma and loss is very atypical, resulting in an inability for people to properly understand him and offer the support he requires

The abuse of singing one's praises whilst destroying them

He is taken for granted as The Strongest, even by himself

He shoulders so much responsibility / puts so much responsibility on himself. First and last line of defense for society. People do not question his ability to win, they expect it. So does he.

In this way he is denied an experience of humanity, and it has been thus since the moment he was born

The burden of power and having no regrets

He is put in a high position in the world where every choice he makes can matter on a huge scale. Every whim can save or destroy lives, and he does not get to abstain

This leaves him unable to have regrets; it is the only way to be able to live with this understanding. He makes his hard choices and he moves on ( gods don't make wrong choices, they just choose )

He is capable of making choices that are antagonistic to each other ( protecting the weak, while not stopping suguru ) because he does not care to justify himself

The choice of morality // compassion without empathy

Satoru still does not feel, on an emotional innate level, a need to do good or protect others. But he actively chooses to, Suguru's words about protecting the weak having been internalized through the experiences of losing Riko Amanai and Yu Haibara

He takes his moral choices seriously after he makes them, even if he does not feel them

He can still feel very strongly about matters that are personal to him

Treasuring the experiences of youth

His short few years at school were the only years where he was truly happy, was included by genuine friends who treated him like another kid

He wishes to preserve that for his students

Tags

Headcanons

Drabbles

Ask memes

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[musicalfisher0306-blog]

Being a musician, I found this assignment extremely fun. I grew up playing the trumpet, and in early middle school, I fell in love with playing the guitar and drums. My favorite style of music to play is the blues, so the musical theme I have chosen is sadness. Typically, sad or depressing songs are slower in tempo and are played in minor keys. They tend to show dynamics in vocals to dramatize the emotion the artist is trying to convey in each song. For the first song I chose, I decided to go mainstream and pick "Someone Like You" by Adele. This song evokes feelings of heartbreak and longing. Adele's powerful vocals and lyrics convey the sense of loss and the struggle to move on after relationships end. The song stays mid-tempo, and during the verses, Adele gives the feeling of having a conversation with the person she is singing about with unbelievable vocal dynamics. The second song is "Hurt" by Johnny Cash (originally by Nine Inch Nails). Johnny Cash's rendition of this song conveys deep sorrow and regret. Although he is a little deep and monotone in his vocals, his gravelly voice and the stripped-down arrangement emphasize the pain and vulnerability expressed in the lyrics. The third song is "Everybody Hurts" by R.E.M. This song captures the feeling of loneliness and despair. The slow tempo, melancholy melody, and empathetic lyrics reassure listeners that it is OK to feel down sometimes, and that they are not alone in their struggles. The fourth song is one of my favorite songs of all time, "Tears in Heaven" by Eric Clapton. This song was written after the tragic death of Clapton's young son. The song communicates profound grief and loss with a tender melody and heartfelt lyrics expressing the pain of losing a loved one and the anxiousness to be reunited with them. The song is stripped down with just vocals and guitar, making it feel more emotional. The fifth song is "Yesterday" by The Beatles. I have listened to and played this song a lot on my guitar because of the satisfying melody and chord progression. Lyrically, the song gives a feeling of nostalgia and regret. People are watching time go by, and they want to reclaim memories from the past but are unable to. The final song I chose is "Mad World" by Gary Jules (originally by Tears for Fears). I chose this song because of the current world we live in today. Everyone is very opinionated about everything, and conflicting ideas are on the news every day. The song conveys a sense of disillusionment and existential despair. Jules' haunting vocals and the minimalist arrangement create a haunting atmosphere that highlights the feeling of alienation and confusion.

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