#yes i did end up ambiguously sparing them

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

Q's Relevance and Parallels to Double Black

I had a sudden brainwave of thoughts (read: I only got three hours of sleep last night) and needed to share. I've thought this for awhile but I really think Q will be returning to the series at some point.

First of all, there's just too much ambiguity there and I want to know more about Q in general. What happened to Q to spawn an ability like that? Why does Dazai speak about them like they're the devil incarnate? What was the incident that led to so many Mafia deaths in an effort to lock Q up? Is there any significance to Q's unusual eyes (remember that most characters tend to have fairly normal eyes, and this is a series where the eyes carry symbolic weight)? What's with Q being strung up in this position that is eerily similar to a crucifixion, shortly before Steinbeck has a conversation about God existing but not loving them?

There's a lot there. I've spoken about this before in the meta I did about Dazai's change in approach after the Q chapter, which was genuinely an unexpected event he did not anticipate. But there's something fascinating about the way Chuuya reacts to Q as well. In fact, both Dazai and Chuuya are almost uncharacteristically murderous towards this kid, and that's real interesting, seeing as many aspects of Q mirror aspects of their younger selves.

Now I understand you might be thinking: uncharacteristically murderous? Story, they have both literally killed many, many people before. Yes, but context is important here.

Dazai doesn't have strong violent urges - not even in the Mafia, where he was considered terrifying more so due to his apathy in killing than anything. I can't remember a scene where Dazai is described as radiating bloodlust like Kyouka or Mori. Dazai is scary because of his indifferent hollowness at his worst points. Odasaku was described similarly in Untold Origins - there was no real desire to kill, just a listless cold follow-through. Dazai's sadistic methods, brought up by Higuchi in Chapter 25, are acknowledged as a means to an end, a method, not something done out of any strong desire or enjoyment. So when Dazai makes death threats or appears visibly angered - that's something worth taking note of. For him to make a promise to Q to pluck out their heart - holy shit. That is not typical Dazai behaviour. He doesn't even make that kind of threat towards Fyodor. Whatever happened in the past clearly shook him, enough for this moment to change his approach in the series and send him back to using darker methods again.

As for Chuuya, while he has and does kill quite readily, this is mostly in the heat of a fight. For him to give the go-ahead for murdering an unconscious child - it's unusually cold-blooded for him, and I can't think of another instance where he's down with lethal intent outside of combat and direct orders. I've seen some people talk about his reaction to Dazai suggesting he'll kill Q as proof that he's gotten darker since we saw him last in Stormbringer, from someone who would plead for the lives of the Sheep to be spared ("They're just kids") to being ready and willing to kill a defenseless child. While I think it's likely true that he's gone darker since that point - Chuuya appears to be more cynical in the present as well as having darker eyes with a smaller central pinprick of light than in Fifteen and Stormbringer - that's not the only thing going on here.

Thing is, Chuuya has always been fairly ruthless. He’s a very vengeance oriented character, right down to his fighting style (rebounding attacks and bullets). Hurt him or someone he cares about and he hurts back - and that threat will be destroyed. Parallel to this is how he is seemingly unable to turn his back on people who have helped him. Help him and he will remain loyal and protective even if that person goes on to stab him in the back. He has a very “give and take” mentality. Chuuya operates on the reciprocity principle.

So, about Q, here’s the thing: Q is a part of the Mafia, that's true. But Q has never helped them, only hurt indiscriminately. Mafia philosophy says “protect your own and follow the boss' wishes no matter what”. But Chuuya’s philosophy is saying “neutralize the threat”. And interestingly, Chuuya’s philosophy won here. If Dazai had've killed Q, Chuuya would’ve defied Mori’s orders in favour of his own judgement, which is extra intriguing because it emphasizes Chuuya’s loyalty to the people within the Mafia, not the Mafia as an organization itself. This is in full contrast to people like Tachihara and Hirotsu, who prioritize the organization and orders above all.

And about Q being a child: I don’t think this is such a big change in his character if I'm being honest. Chuuya knows full well how dangerous a child can be - he was that dangerous child. People underestimated him as a teenager and paid for it dearly; do you really think he'd make that same mistake? He also has a very warped view on the responsibilities and ways a child should be treated… while I do believe he probably is protective of those younger than him, he also equally understands that a child can be just as much of a threat as anyone else. For Chuuya, it’s always a matter of what wins out: the person or the threat? In this case, it was the latter.

The thing is, it's interesting the way they react when you look at the way Q eerily parallels aspects of their younger selves - as well as some things that carry over to the present.

Dazai and Q share central themes of control.

Q's mind control ability is actually referenced by Dazai as being essentially the worst kind of ability there is, and I know I've mentioned before how he seems to react poorly to those people who attempt to mentally control others, placing them on a heightened level of danger (think Fyodor, Mori). I don't think I need to get into Dazai's control freak tendencies - and what's more, after Q's introduction, after he says that mind control is the worst kind of ability there is - he ramps up his masterminding and enacts as much control as he can over the proceedings of the events that follow. Q's ability is interesting in the sense that it allows them control over others, implying Q came from a background of little control. I have also hypothesized that Dazai, with his need for situational control, similarly came from a background of little control. It's also likely they both were hurt by others - Q's ability turns any pain inflicted on them back around, giving them a way to fight back, while Dazai can level the playing field of any unfair advantages by nullifying abilities.

Q's small segment in Fifteen is also interesting: they're near completely zoned out, just staring off into the distance without responding to their environment until Dazai gets directly in their face. Then Q suddenly flips a switch and becomes all cheerful and playful. It reminds me of young Dazai's quick switches between faux cheerfulness and emptiness earlier in that same book.

They also both have quite interesting relations to pain. Q wonders why cruel things always hurt them, but Q makes this a foregone conclusion by purposely arranging others to hurt them so they have an excuse to hurt those people back. Q's pain becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy: they hate it, but the only means of control they know in interactions with others requires it. Dazai similarly hates pain - his pain loop, however, is more emotional than physical. Dazai feels isolated and alienated from others, but his attempts to exert control require him to distance himself and rely on his mind over all else. He also leans into his inhuman side when it becomes apparent pain is unavoidable (I think often of his reactions throughout Dark Era to Ango's betrayal) - again, this becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. He will not find anything. He will continue to be separate from humanity if this cycle continues. That was why it was imperative that Odasaku break him out of it. Self-sabotage behaviours and unhealthy cycles, physical and emotional, are apparent with these two.

For bonus points: both have injured right arms.

On a more superficial level too, Q and Dazai both have "creepy child" energy, with emphasis on the child part - they are both legitimately disturbing at times but also have moments where they show childlike interest and behaviour. (I encourage people to check out Q's mayoi cards for this - I know it's not super canon or anything but it emphasizes their "kiddishness".)

Also I'm unsure if this is significant, but there's this detail too:

Q has a very unusual right eye with a star in the center. The right eye is also the one Dazai kept covered in the Mafia. Notably also, Q's right eye is frequently obscured by their hair in key scenes.

...Does it mean something? I have no idea. But it's potentially interesting so I thought I'd add it.

Meanwhile, Chuuya and Q share themes of loss of control.

For Q, this is quite obvious. They are literally locked up; imprisoned within the Mafia and unable to exert control over their circumstances. For Chuuya, it's a little more subtle but still present, I believe: I invite people to look at his character song and mayoi (particularly aquarium) for direct references to feelings of being trapped. However, looking at Fifteen and Stormbringer, there are a few mentions of freedom that are intriguing in relation to Chuuya's character. In Fifteen, both Dazai and Shirase mention Chuuya's "freedom"... but this is almost a mockery of what's really going on. A party to celebrate Chuuya's freedom is really an elaborate set up for a trap. Shirase telling Chuuya that he should have the freedom to act on his own wishes is really a cover up for a betrayal. In both instances, Chuuya's freedom is a lie. Stormbringer, at the very least, instates a sense of agency where he at least has the freedom to make choices about his own actions - that's the whole point of his hat; it's a symbol of autonomy (also anti-mind control; more on that in a bit). However, Stormbringer also systematically strips away the start of any alternate path Chuuya could've taken - he cannot be the child he was, he never got to hear the pitch on living in the light. He feels genuine gratitude towards those in the Mafia - they have his back, which is more than he could say before, but at the same time, the Mafia is kind of the last option available there if he wants not to be alone... and Chuuya does not want to be alone. (Seriously. His character song. Please look at it. Also Stormbringer.)

Now, onto their abilities, which also parallel in the sense that they are both used to "get back" at people. Chuuya rebounds attacks - bullets shot at him ricochet back at the people who fired, and Q hurts people who hurt them. There's a very reciprocal relation to the way they use their abilities, and it is absolutely to induce fear and intimidation in others, but there's a key difference. Namely, Chuuya fights only against enemies or people who strike first. Q, on the other hand, intentionally makes "enemies" out of even innocent bystanders just to have a reason to hurt them back. A lot of this is due to Q's misanthropic nature - I doubt Q has ever had a positive bond with another person, and so Q sees the whole world as their enemy - a world which, to them, does not want them in it. Chuuya, on the other hand, has had people who care about him, and he cares about them in turn. He's a bit jaded but he doesn't hate humanity, far from it.

In that sense, Q parallels Verlaine in a sense, right down to being kept in a special secret room in the Mafia, hehe. Though again, there's differences. Verlaine chooses to stay in that room, first of all, while Q doesn't have a choice. Verlaine's angst is internal identity based while Q's is more external situation based. In response to their pain, Verlaine chooses to relinquish control of himself (Brutalization), and Q chooses to have everyone else lose control of themselves (Dogra Magra). Verlaine says "look at how monstrous I am and how I hate and hurt because of it" and Q says "look at how monstrous you all are and how I hate and hurt because of it".

Chuuya is not so far on either extreme that he emulates this - but he could've ended up like Verlaine, and he admits it in Stormbringer. He could've maybe ended up something like Q too, if he'd remained trapped as a lab rat. But see here's the key with Chuuya: his hat makes it so the choice to lose control of himself is his alone, and moreover, that losing control doesn't mean he goes out of control. He trusts that he can lose control for a bit, place it in someone else's hands for awhile before it goes too far. Trusts that the choice to lose himself will be followed by the keeping of a promise to bring him back to himself. Chuuya has bonds, and that's the key difference.

But uh. Going back to parallels... about the scene where Q gets tortured... and the scene where Chuuya gets tortured...

Is this significant...?

...is... is this...

...

.............

Um. I may be delusional. But. Well. *gestures at all of this*

So, where does this leave us? Well, we have Dazai, who sees a manipulative, mind-controlling kid that he calls a "walking disaster", and we have Chuuya, who sees a dangerous ability user that is too big of a potential threat to not be dealt with, so the two decide the best course of action is to kill them about it. The reason Dazai did not follow through is likely a mix of his stated reason (the Mafia cannot harm Dazai so long as he is needed to stop Q), and probably also that he isn't really supposed to be directly killing anymore.

Nice, guys. Really clear and consciously held self-concepts you got there.

Considering everything, it's maddening that all we have on the dynamic between these three is: Q joins in Fifteen at the same time as the other two and is assigned to Dazai since he can stop their ability. Mori doesn't know what it is at that point but assumes whatever it is will be manageable because Dazai can just nullify it. It... clearly wasn't.

I feel like there has to be something here and that we're going to be coming back to it. Q, the old Boss, how Mori got so close as an underground physician in such a short time... there's so much about the Mafia we don't know so I'm assuming the story will shift to focus on these points again... someday. Hopefully.

#i have even more thoughts unwritten if you can believe it but seeing as it is 4 am i should probably stop. also this is too long. #but yeah i frequently think about how horrified and genuinely spiteful dazai is with q like... what happened??? #ok just had an awful thought: what if whatever happened with q inspired dazai's brutal treatment of akutagawa #...honestly maybe. it's actually a possibility if something went terribly wrong before. #this... isn't the meta i was supposed to be writing or even started to write... oh well #enjoy? #is this even coherent? #bsd #bsd meta #bsd q #bsd dazai #bsd chuuya #soukoku #skk #bsd fifteen #bsd stormbringer #storyrambles

[filthforfriends]

Chapter 5: Scared Enough

Authors Note (CW: substance abuse)

Previous chapters linked in my Masterlist

Word count: 4.6k

 The chauffeur observes you all too closely, pacing outside Dami’s dressing room. You're both waiting for him to do a final line of coke before leaving for the airport. Then he flushes everything down the toilet and scrubs out the pill case.

“Are you gonna be okay for another four hours?”

“Absolutely not. I’ll be lucky if this high lasts half an hour.”

“So what do you do on airplanes?”

“Drink and suffer.” He laughs at the face you make. “I deserve it, I did this to myself.” Dami keeps that smile plastered on, but it doesn’t reach his eyes anymore. He looks downward to hide it, awkwardly scuffing the end of his boot against the carpet. You sigh heavily, yearning for the right words, but being unable to find them.

“We have to leave now if we want a chance of making our flight.”

“Yeah.” Damiano essentially chain smokes all the way to the airport and refuses to eat, so you end up consuming half the pizza. He insists on carrying your bag while the valet checks his. On the walk to the gate, you trail behind Dami and tuck your hair under a beanie. Unfortunately sunglasses at night draw more attention, not less.

You make it with negative five minutes to spare; they’re already boarding business class. To avoid a disgruntled traveler filming the entitled rich couple cutting in line, you stand at the very back. The stewardess panics over the fact that first class passengers were the last to board. Damiano uses a bit of his magic to calm her and stop attracting curious glances.

“No complaints here, I promise.” He leans forward enough to just barely breach her personal space and lets his husky baritone take over. Dami has this ambiguous closed lip smile that's totally up to the eye of the beholder. Their interpretation reveals the victim’s motivations. This girl wants to fuck Dami, and you don’t blame her. In fact, she’s so taken that she can only manage a nod. 

Once out of earshot you murmur, “that poor girl.”

“What?” Damiano says under his breath.

“You know what.” He smirks and steps on to the plane. “Let's hope she doesn't fuck up some poor family’s travel itinerary while dickmatized.” Dami scoffs as he shoves your bag into the overhead compartment. 

“It’ll be fine,” he dismisses.

“Says the one without the screaming toddler and 15 hour layover.” This earns a chuckle and he gestures for you to take the window seat.

“Proximity to the bathroom is probably the best plan of action.”

“Stomach still upset?”

“I’m hoping that now it's the kind of upset that can be made better by food that way I can drink.’

“Charming. Maybe wait a bit?”

“Ah, but there's a method to this. You’ve got to start drinking preemptively, that way you’re already drunk when the time for alcohol consumption arrives.” You can tell by Dami’s delivery that he’s used this line at parties and it always landed well. When he sees your face, his confidence drifts away.

“While you're…away I’ll stop drinking, too. That way you have a sobriety buddy.”

“Mm, ‘buddy,’” he winces.

“Yes, ‘buddy.’ Until I’m confident you’re not gonna put your ass in a coma, again. And then some.” 

“Fair, that’s fair.” He puts his hands up in surrender. Damiano leans his head back against the seat and exhales heavily. The sound of the pilot's voice on the intercom makes him startle.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Out of habit you rub his leg, then realize that rubbing his arm is much more platonic, albeit awkward. You decide that the middle ground is petting his hair. The buzzcut is surprisingly soft under your fingers.

“Will you grow it out while you’re there?”

“Do you want me to?” He turns his head to look at you, eyebrow raised. Suddenly, making requests about his appearance has much more significance than it did a moment ago.

“Yes,” you answer timidly.

“Then I’ll grow it out.” It's the most tense airplane ride of your life. You’re trying to monitor how hard Damiano’s crashing, while realizing you have no actual experience with cocaine or withdrawals. What do you look for and how do you look for it without him noticing? One fact is abundantly clear, whether you catch his symptoms or not, there isn’t jack shit you can do about them. 

Soon after the plane has leveled out, he gets jumpy. A cough or the ding of the seatbelt light spook Dami so severely that he has to catch his breath. He starts craning  his neck, looking around at the rest of the plane. Eventually he leans all the way out into the aisle then snaps upright, gluing his back to the seat like he’d been caught doing something illegal.

“What is it?” you whisper.

“I feel like people are filming me.”

“Lets trade seats.” While switching places, you scan the plane for phones. Everyone in first class is laying down except for one woman reading an article on her computer. There's an opaque, closed curtain between first class and business class. The pattern is gaudy, mustard yellow and cobalt blue. Realistically, the only people that could film Dami were those walking up the currently empty aisle or fatigued stewardesses who would be fired for the transgression.

“No one's filming, you’re good. They’re mostly sleeping.” A bored flight attendant infers your concern and hangs a temporary privacy curtain on two small hooks. Damiano orders a mini charcuterie board and two shots of whiskey.

“They’re still filming me,” he hisses, slouching down in his chair. The plane is dark, so you search for the bright light of a camera flash and see nothing.

“Dam, I’m positive no one is filming. If they were, they couldn’t catch anything.” The flight attendant returns with his order and a payment terminal.

“Oh, and two bottles of water please.” You reach down for your purse, but Dami bats your hands away.

“I –”

“No. Do you want anything else?”

“I’m good.” He gives you a dirty look. “I ate your dinner on the drive to the airport.” Dami lets this slide and passes her his debit card. Already knowing that the beep is gonna make him jump, you take your hand in his and whisper, “gonna be a noise. Deep breath.” Dami keeps hold of your hand, even as the stewardess passes his card back, even as he puts it back in his wallet, even as he shoves his wallet into the pocket of his hoodie. Then he leans over and presses his forehead to your temple and all you can think is thank god he’ll be in a secure facility. Because nothing short of that could keep you from throwing your morals to the wind and rechristening your once shared bed.

“It was Aimee, the girl who’s roommate I started – I first did H with.”

“Thank you for telling me.”

“But I broke my promise,” his voice wavers, barely audible. “At first it was celebrating the new contract, but then I couldn’t stop. I thought I wouldn’t need any of it, once SME let up. Like I’d forced their hand and the drugs had just been a tool to get my way. I wasn’t an addict.” You push the armrest up, undo your seatbelt, and turn to hug him. “My quality of life is better, but I still needed all this shit to alter my perception so I could exist. In my mind it was strictly a causal relationship. That was fucking delusional.”

“No it wasn’t.” Damiano cries against the shoulder of your sweater and you rub his back.

“I’m so fucking scared,’ he confesses. “I thought I had control so it was like the floor disappearing out from under me. Months of rationalizations built on a lie and I was just falling and it still feels like I’m falling.”

“I’ve got you.”

“That fucking feeling is the reason I don’t go on rollercoasters and now I get to feel it all the time, how painfully ironic is that?”

“Fate has a really twisted sense of irony.”

“The world is punishing me and I deserve it.” You pull back and cup Dami’s colorless face in your hands.

“No you don’t,” you emphasize, brushing tears away with your thumbs. “Thinking you deserve pain, that's the reason it's so hard for you to quit, because you can’t bear to be alone with yourself. I love being alone with you. Dami, you are a beautiful person.” He kisses you, and really you shouldn’t have expected anything else. The responsible thing would be to pull away and gently reestablish a boundary, but you’ve been craving this so hard. Five seconds, that’s the amount of time you allow.

In those five seconds, you kiss back with equal vigor. The hands cupping Damiano’s face end up extended behind his head. With elbows out of the way, you can press your torso against his while Dami pulls you close, then closer still. His tongue has just found yours when times up. Unfortunately, you don’t have the discipline to wrench yourself away and instead pull back slowly. Damiano responds by trying to haul you into his lap, but you make a noise of dissent. There's a chaste goodbye kiss and a sexually-charged disentangling of bodies. 

“Sorry.”

“No, no, it's uh…” Not out of my system by any measurement.

“It’s just that, um –”

“Mhm”

“Sorry, what?”

“Oh, no sorry I didn’t –”

“No, you go first.”

“Saying anything.”

“What?”

“I didn’t say anything, sorry.”

“Oh..okay.”

“What were you saying?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like a second ago, you were saying something before I interrupted you.”

“Oh, I was just gonna say that…five months – well, it's almost been five months – is a lot of time.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“Yeah…since the breakup.”

“Since we last made lo – the breakup. Since we made the break up.”

“Also since we last made love,” you smirk. You hold eye contact, just like you’ve been all day, but this time there's heat behind it. Damiano’s eyes fall to your lips and he leans in again. You hold up a hand to stop him while grimacing. 

“I’m sorry, this is my fault. I’ve been giving you mixed signals, acting like we’re still in a relationship physicality-wise while saying we have to keep our distance for now. I’m just so used to comforting you through touch and I have no idea where the line is to be honest.”

“Sometimes touch is the only thing that is comforting, especially yours.”

“I’m just a physically affectionate person, like I need human contact to feel grounded.”

“I know,” he empathizes emotionally.

“So I’m not good at this,” you admit. “But I wanna be, it’s just…” you sigh while staring at the 80s patterned carpet.

“What?”

“I think if we’re physical my body will forget that we’re broken up. My mind will know, but I think I’ll still feel heartbroken if you aren’t there.”

“Baby, no,” he coos.

“I can’t go through it again and still be the support you need me to be and that I want to be. The affection…for lack of a better word, withdrawals were…rough. But I don’t want to act like strangers either. Like this,” you lace your fingers together, “should be fine, right?”

“Yeah,” Damiano murmurs, but his eyes say so much more.

“So I just have to do my best to keep it at this.” You squeeze down simultaneously, all too easily falling into rhythm with each other. “And ignore the part of my brain that tells me to crawl into your lap, take off all my clothes, and give you a bath with my tongue.” Damiano’s eyes go wide and he blinks a couple times in quick succession. 

“Sorry, that was a little graphic.”

“Actually I’m mentally bookmarking that image for tomorrow afternoon.”

“That's when things will get ugly?” 

��Oh, yeah. I’ve never detoxed from H before, but they have medication to help with that.” He’s visibly nervous and sweating. Damiano opens the shot with one hand and his teeth, then knocks it back. You set a bottle of water on his tray in response. He drinks a quarter of that, which you're feeling good about until he takes the second shot.

“Eat something or you’ll make yourself sick.”

“I know,” he retorts, annoyed. To be fair, Damiano does know a lot more about substances and how they combine than you do. As he’s eating, Dami looks at the row behind us through the crack between the seats. Finally, you recognize it as paranoia.

“I’ll check for phones again, you just keep eating.” The woman on her computer is now working on a spreadsheet and the person directly behind Damiano is watching Casablanca on his phone. Definitely not the Maneskin demographic. Beyond first class, even more passengers are dozing and there's not a single flash from a phone camera. 

“Still no one.” The guy behind us is watching a movie in black and white, so I seriously doubt he knows who you are.” 

“Fine,” Dami concedes, still on edge. He orders two more shots and you haven’t seen him consume alcohol like this since he was a teenager. Sure, he’d have four drinks at an egregiously long event, but shots of crappy whiskey in quick succession was a different behavior entirely. He unclasps his hand and excuses himself to the bathroom. It’s so casual that you can’t ascertain why. When Damiano returns, he doesn’t take your hand again, so you pretend to be on your phone.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m all good.” If you weren’t broken up, you’d fling your legs over his lap and coax him to look at you. If you weren’t broken up, he’d stroke your hair and tuck it behind your ears. Then he’d massage the shell of your ear. If you weren’t broken up, you’d press your foreheads together and Dami would say everything he meant with his expression. Totally vulnerable, he’d confess his thoughts in a whisper, wrapping an arm around your waist. If you weren’t broken up, you’d know details he’d never disclose to anyone else. The emotional intimacy would throb with the beat of your heart. You’d become so accustomed to having your person, and the total vulnerability which accompanied that.  

But you were broken up, so you sat in silence. By the time the place descends, Dami is visibly uncomfortable in his own skin. He has no patience, glowering at the passengers around him. At first the lights coming on is the problem, then the ding of the seatbelt warning, then the way the pilot is descending.

“I need to be off this motherfucking plane,” he hisses. He yanks down the privacy curtain then complains how exposed first class is. You just listen to him and don’t comment. Luckily, the flight attendant allows the both of you off first. This time you carry your own bag until that pisses Dami off too and he lugs it over his shoulder with a scowl.

“I’m gonna take a piss,” he announces, when you arrive at baggage claim. You grab his hand and point to the family bathroom.

“Use that.”

“Why?” he bites. “Why can’t I use a normal fucking bathroom.” You scowl right back.

“Because I’m not a fucking idiot. Because you could ask someone for drugs, or sneak away, or refuse to get in the car. I am far too tired to deal with that shit.” He rolls his eyes, sighs loudly, and heeds your request. Five years of dealing with his mood swings had prepared you for this like none other.

The chauffeur finds you, then finds Dami’s bag, all while he’s still in the bathroom. Had he somehow gotten his hands on something? You’d been with him the whole time. After ten minutes you knock on the door.

“You alive?” He undoes the lock and you slip inside. Dami is bent over the sink with his face in his hands.

“I’m not gonna survive the drive there.” He takes a shaky breath in and sobs. “And I can’t detox from both simultaneously, so don’t fucking asking me to. I want to go home!” 

 “Damiano, in five months you have been hospitalized four times for your substance abuse. You’ve been in a coma. You’ve started taking two of the hardest drugs known to man. You’ve been one modicum of self-control away from doing crack. You’ve poisoned your body to the point that it can’t retain food or liquids. You are going to die.” He looks up in shock. “You are going to die unless you get sober and if I take you home with me, you are gonna do it in our apartment.” There's a long silence where Damiano opens and closes his mouth a couple times, then swallows hard.

“I’ve never experienced physical withdrawal symptoms like I’m about to. I’m…I’m not – I mean, I can’t.”

“You only have to do it once and this is the easiest it's ever gonna be. I know you’re brave enough.”

“You know fuck all!” he lashes out. “It’s not about bravery or some positive affirmation bullshit.”

“You’re right. I don’t understand and I know you hate me right now.”

“I don’t hate you,” he grumbles, standing upright. 

“What you’re feeling is a result of withdrawals. That doesn’t invalidate your emotions, it just means that this particular brand of shitty is very temporary.” Damiano nods and washes his face, beginning to regulate. “That also means that your perception is skewed. The world isn’t nearly as horrible as your brain chemistry is fooling you into believing.

“Okay,” he sniffs. Then he repeats himself with certainty. “Okay. I’m gonna do this. I’ll be okay.” On the walk to the car you trail behind him again, prepared to catch Damiano if he makes a run for it. Once everything is in the Sudan you relax, but Dami has his hands balled into fists as you turn out of the airport.

“Just 40 minutes” you remind him. “Less since there's no traffic right now.” 

“Partition, please,” Dami requests, creating privacy behind the tinted windows. Barely perceptible is the sound of a small motor as the driver rolls up the partition between himself and the backseat.

“You wanna lay down with your head on my lap?” He nods and undoes the seatbelt, curling his body to fit in the small space. As soon as your hand makes contact, Dami begins crying. For the first time in a long time, he allows himself to be exposed, to be truly seen. It's the part of him that used to ask for French braids. He’d never actually wear them in public, but loved the sensation. It was the part of him  that got genuinely nervous about you enjoying a family recipe. The part that could relax and receive when you fingered him with two digits.The part that lay with Princess on his bare chest because he liked the way her fur felt.

“I don’t want to be alone with myself,” Dami confesses. “I can’t remember the last time I liked that person. Fuck, I’m starting to hate my own stage persona.”

“Front men are supposed to be obnoxious to non-fans. If you were likable to the previous generation of rock listeners, you wouldn’t be rock and roll.” 

“Maybe I’m a shitty musician.”

“Someone could justify that statement about most rockstars.” 

“Every tour, every album, every new fucking setlist, I watch the power trio get more talented and I just say the same.”

“That’s objectively not true, but I know I can’t convince you of that today.”

“I should take vocal lessons.”

“That’s not a bad idea.”

“Oh, yeah? Why’s that?” Suddenly he’s abrasive.

“Because it will make you feel more productive and more confident. It could also help the longevity of your voice.”

“Oh.” He settles and allows you to stroke his head. “Why is it so quiet?” he gripes.

“Could you roll down the partition and hand me the aux, please?” Leaning over to dig your phone out of your purse also results in Dami getting a face full of your boobs. He seems to be in better spirits afterwards.

“This band is called Snowy Dunes. It’s bluesy hard rock, I think you’ll really like it.”

‘“That's not what I’ve been listening to lately, but sure.”

“Crotchety old man.” Damiano does, in fact, keep his head on your lap the whole way there. There’s two fences, the first with an attendant and the second with an intercom. The security level seems to pacify Dami.

“Just stay in the car, please. I’ll get it,” he says to the valet. You hop out as he pulls his suitcase from the trunk. It’s the very beginning of dawn, when the world is painted in a deep blue light and the birds start to chirp. The facility is just as beautiful as you expected, well manicured trees barely visible and a grand entrance with double doors. The care idles, red taillights ominously hitting the octagon cement tiles. You take Dami’s hand and walk him inside.

“And I thought the other places I’ve been to were nice,” he murmurs.

“Remember that you put yourself on the waiting list three months ago.” He chuckles, before speaking on another intercom.Theres a clicking sound and the left door opens automatically.

“Hey there, we only keep this entrance locked at night,” is the first thing a staff member says. “Are you Damiano?”

“Uh, yeah.” He looks at you, almost overwhelmed with the urge to run.

“I’m y/n, I spoke with you earlier.” You drag him inside and use your free hand to greet someone in a white uniform.

“A little apprehension is normal. Or a lot.”

“Where’s your bathroom?” he asks curtly. 

“Right through here,” responds who you now assume to be an orderly. He leads Dami around a corner and follows him inside.

“Hi there, would you mind if I ask you a couple questions?” A newly appeared nurse seats herself behind a counter on the other side of the hall. The lights were almost as low inside as they were outside.

“Oh, uh yeah! Sorry, I didn’t see you there. And uh, he doesn’t have anything on him. We just traveled through two of the biggest airports in Europe. His stomach has just been upset from y’know…”

“Right, of course,” she responds with genuine sympathy. Now you feel better about leaving him here. “I’ll say goodbye and get out of your hair as soon as he’s back.”

“What's your relationship to Damiano?”

“Well, I was his girlfriend for five and a half years.”

“Woah, five years is a lot in your early twenties.”

“Yeah…but we broke up, because of the…addiction issues. Plus the fame makes things…it makes them complicated.” What you really meant is that global popularity is so intrusive that vital aspects of a relationship go unattended because there's simply no room. She nods like this is something they see daily.

“Do you know what he’s taken in the past 24 hours?”

“Cocaine, uh alcohol, and maybe heroin, I don’t know. He smokes weed and rolled tobacco, plus normal cigarettes.” There's not an ounce of surprise or judgment. She enters the information into the computer like it's the weather report.

“Crack cocaine?”

“No.”

“Okay.” The clicks of the laptop seem loud, but maybe that's because the world around you is so silent.

“He only started using heroin regularly three weeks ago. I don’t know if that matters.” You feel defensive of Dami, then like an dumbass because you were standing in rehab for fuck’s sake. Anxious, you look over your shoulder.

“Do you know when the last time he used heroin was?”

“No.”

“Do you know how he’s ingesting it?”

“No.”

“And do you know what type of heroin he’s using?”

“Um, no. Sorry.”

“No need to apologize,” she reassures. “We’re just happy to have a little extra information if you’re able to provide it. Do you know when he last ingested cocaine?”

“Four hours ago.”

“Alright. Do you have payment information? It looks like his intake fee has already been paid.”

“Yeah, that was me.” While you were dating, Damiano paid rent and you paid utilities. It was far from equatable, but you made a lot less and he insisted. Post breakup, you found out that a spacious apartment in Rome with private parking was even more exorbitantly priced than he’d led you to believe. So you’d called your landlord to clarify a move out date and were informed that in addition to taking himself off the lease as agreed, he’d paid out the two year contract in its entirety. If you were to move out, the remainder of the money would be yours. 

Subsequently, you decided to stay in that absolutely gorgeous apartment, right up until you needed the money for something. After thoroughly guilt tripping your landlord, he gave you half of the remaining lease payment, which you used for application fees and to eventually secure a spot at rehab for Dami. It was, after all, a totally ridiculous amount for him to essentially give you, with no way of rejecting or returning it.

“I’m not sure if his label is gonna pay directly or reimburse him or what.”

“Alright, so I’ll just collect that information later.” She looks up from her computer screen. “The important thing is that you got him here.” You bite the inside of your lip to suppress the urge to cry. No doubt you were gonna end up lying in a pool of your own tears and snot later today, but if you started now saying goodbye would be very ugly.

“How much pain is he gonna be in?” Before she can answer, there's two sets of footsteps behind you.

“No windows?”

“Not ones that I could reach.”

“If you were the proper height for a basketball player…”

“Oh, shut up,” he jokes (mostly). “So which one of you is gonna tear apart all my belongings like a racoon in a dumpster?”

“Damiano!” You’re laughing too hard to reprimand him, as are the two staff members.

“They’re gonna throw out my 70€ shampoo!”

“You don’t have hair!”

“That’s true,” he smiles, rubbing his buzz cut. This was so like him, rallying at the end so you could leave in good spirits. He was trying to spare you some anguish. It also meant he’d decided to commit.

“We actually have storage lockers for this very reason. Once we feel confident, you can have your shampoo back,” reassures the nurse. “Do you have a form of ID you can show me?”

“Uh, yeah.” His voice wavers ever so slightly. Next he signs a release to provide treatment.

“Looks like you’re all checked in,” she announces in a cheery voice. It's your cue to leave. Both staff members find a reason to look away so you have a moment of semi-privacy. It becomes apparent that your tears won’t wait for a more convenient moment. So you hug him to give yourself a tiny bit of grace to wrangle your emotions. 

“Are you crying?”

“Yes.” The hug isn’t platonic at all, with your arms thrown around his neck and his dangerously low on your back. Body to body, standing with your feet between Dami’s, any closeness that can be acceptably achieved in public has been.

“I’m so angry with the world that you have to deal with this and I’m –” You take a steadying deep breath. “I’m so fucking proud of you and for facing it an – and grateful.”

“Even though it scares me shitless?”

“Especially because it scares you shitless.”

“I love you.” He whispers it right in your ear and kisses your temple

“I love you, too,” you hiccup.

“Give Princess a kiss for me.” He pulls away, takes a step back, then another, and he’s gone without ever meeting your eyes. Seeing as they have actual patients to care for, you drag yourself back to the SUV. Then you cry so hard that the chauffeur stops at his brother’s gelato shop on the way home. 

Notes: Well if it isn't some more nice, light reading from your gal FilthforFriends!

@surelyfreedombound @shinshans @lonnybunnys @davianos-blog @hauntedpostpersona @lizzylynch1 @kammerstx @harryssshouseee @slavicgoddess13 @persona1read1ng @katyldamusic @whore4damia @the-chaotic-cow @icarodamiano @gr8rainbowpunk @elvirabelle @bright-shiningstar @maneslut @stardustingold @little-moonbeam-666 @que--sera--sera @ami--gami

#maneskin #måneskin #damiano david #må #damiano #damiano maneskin #maneskin damiano #damiano david x reader #damiano david fanfiction #damiano david imagine #damiano david x y/n #damiano david x you #cw: addiction #angsty af

[chumpovodir]

Man I have so many Thoughts about Hector and Julia

Like. In a vacuum, they'd be cute together, right? Hector is kind and considerate to her. Julia is a little irriverent, but also cares about him and helps him through his journey. They can relate to each other, as outcasts, as people who knew Isaac, as people who have lost a dear one.

But man everything else around them ensures that a hypothetical relationship between them would be fucked up lmao. Hector just went on a rampage to avenge her recently dead lover - he's so dedicated and devoted, can he truly move on so easily? Julia just so happens to look like her - would Hector see her as her, or as a mockery of Rosaly? She's also Isaac's sister, with all that it entails. And then there's what Hector is for Julia...

The thing is, can he be considered Isaac's killer? That's ambiguous. What killed Isaac: being slashed by Hector's sword while his body was inhabited by Dracula's soul, or the ritual itself? I suspect Isaac died the moment Death put Dracula's soul inside him. If that's the case, Hector is not the direct cause of Isaac's death. But... Julia asked Hector to please save Isaac, and only kill him if there was no other choice. Hector didn't care. He did sympathize with her sadness, but then the cursed thoughts took hold of him again, and he kept insisting that Isaac had to die by his hand. He never tried to take a pacifist option, even after he realized that with his power he could nullify the Curse. By the time he put two and two together, Isaac's fate was already sealed.

So imagine from Julia's perspective. Hector reassures her that only he can "dispel the vile curse": this might make her hope that Isaac could be saved. An hour or so later, she sees his corpse abandoned on the floor, and Hector ready to die under the crumbling castle. He managed to save himself and Wallachia, but not her big brother.

I do believe part of her, in her grief, would blame Hector for not doing enough. But she would never express it, because if there's one thing that's certain about Julia, is that she represses a lot.

I think they'd stay friends. They'd be able to joke around and visit each other and maybe even open up to each other. But the ghosts of Rosaly and Isaac would always hang between them. Yes, it's complicated, and messy, and bittersweet.

(and hey, the ending of the game only shows Hector going to live with her. Nothing says they'd have to be together lol. Or that Hector won't be able to find himself a new arrangement later on.)

thoughts so Huge™ tumblr wouldn't dare show me this ask notification 'til i got back on desktop lmao

The thing is, can he be considered Isaac's killer? That's ambiguous

it's funny because even if Hector did spare Isaac, he really had no reason to after making that mistake the first time, in PtR, which arguably kicks off the whole chain of events in the first place

I do believe part of her, in her grief, would blame Hector for not doing enough. But she would never express it, because if there's one thing that's certain about Julia, is that she represses a lot.

oh, absolutely. she'd know it wouldn't be fair to begrudge Hector after putting his life on the line, doing Trevor's job for him, and basically saving the entirety of Wallachia by breaking the curse, all the while suffering from his own loss. what are her own personal desires to see her only living relative spared, compared to acting for the greater good, right? i see her as the kind of person that never complains about her lot in life, which is how she managed to survive living on the fringes of society without growing a misanthropic bone about it like Isaac did.

and yeah, honestly it's just such a disservice to relegate her to the new love interest. rosaly at least got fleshed out as her own person in both the mangas, but we don't get much insight to julia's character or how she feels about everything that went down. to make matters worse, it seems like the fanbase doesn't see much value in her so there's so little, if any, fanworks that feature her POV

#castlevaniaposting

[bestworstcase]

Well, it could've been another Jadis, how would I know?

(Also, yeah, last survivor of a dead world, I forget sometimes...)

hfgfhd entirely fair!

the thing abt jadis is—ough

now of course narnia is many things but textually interested in ethical nuance is not one of them—as a textual matter, jadis is purely evil, and it is not at all ambiguous that she is meant to be interpreted as such—however. sometimes being countertextual on purpose because you’re an evangelical apostate and TMN gave jadis a really interesting backstory is fun.

i will try to be brief.

charn—charn is the name of her city but lacking a name for her world i’m going to use it in reference to the planet as well—charn orbits an old and dying star.

Low down and near the horizon hung a great, red sun, far bigger than our sun. Digory felt at once that it was also older than ours: a sun near the end of its life, weary of looking down upon that world. To the left of the sun, and higher up, there was a single star, big and bright. Those were the only two things to be seen in the dark sky; they made a dismal group.

charn (the city) was once a vast, thriving, powerful city-state ruled by jadis’ family, but when she reflects on its history—when she recounts her memories of what it was—she tells the story of a horrifically violent state: these are the dungeons, there is the way to the principal torture chambers, in this banquet hall my great-grandfather slaughtered seven hundred disloyal nobles at a feast; she tells the children to look well on the magnificent view of her once-great home, and then she tells them i remember the cracking of whips and the cries of our slaves, i remember sacrifices in the temples, i remember when brutal war made the rivers run red.

and then, after a moment’s thought, she adds, and one woman blotted it out forever. i, jadis, the last queen.

and then, into the children’s horrified silence, she says this:

“It was my sister’s fault,” said the Queen. “She drove me to it. May the curse of all the Powers rest upon her forever! At any moment I was ready to make peace—yes and to spare her life too, if only she would yield me the throne. But she would not. Her pride has destroyed the whole world. Even after the war had begun, there was a solemn promise that neither side would use Magic. But when she broke her promise, what could I do? Fool! As if she did not know that I had more Magic than she! She even knew that I had the secret of the Deplorable Word. Did she think—she was always a weakling—that I would not use it?”

[…]

“That was the secret of secrets,” said the Queen Jadis. “It had long been known to the great kings of our race that there was a word which, if spoken with the proper ceremonies, would destroy all living things except the one who spoke it. But the ancient kings were weak and soft-hearted and bound themselves and all who should come after them with great oaths never even to seek after the knowledge of that word. But I learned it in a secret place and paid a terrible price to learn it. I did not use it until she forced me to it. I fought to overcome her by every other means. I poured out the blood of my armies like water—”

[…]

“The last great battle,” said the Queen, “raged for three days here in Charn itself. For three days I looked down upon it from this very spot. I did not use my power till the last of my soldiers had fallen, and the accursed woman, my sister, at the head of her rebels was halfway up those great stairs that lead up from the city to the terrace. Then I waited till we were so close that we could see one another’s faces. She flashed her horrible, wicked eyes upon me and said, ‘Victory.’ ‘Yes,’ said I, ‘Victory, but not yours.’ Then I spoke the Deplorable Word. A moment later I was the only living thing beneath the sun.”

“But the people?” gasped Digory.

“What people, boy?” asked the Queen.

“All the ordinary people,” said Polly, “who’d never done you any harm. And the women, and the children, and the animals.”

“Don’t you understand?” said the Queen (still speaking to Digory). “I was the Queen. They were all my people. What else were they there for but to do my will?”

“It was rather hard luck on them, all the same,” said he.

“I had forgotten that you are only a common boy. How should you understand reasons of State? You must learn, child, that what would be wrong for you or for any of the common people is not wrong in a great Queen such as I. The weight of the world is on our shoulders. We must be freed from all rules. Ours is a high and lonely destiny.”

AND THEN. a little bit later, digory asks her if the deplorable word is what made charn’s sun so strange and cold, and she tells him it has been so for hundreds of thousands of years.

“[…] Have you a different sort of sun in your world?”

“Yes, it’s smaller and yellower. And it gives a good deal more heat.”

The Queen gave a long drawn “A-a-ah!” And Digory saw on her face that same hungry and greedy look which he had lately seen on Uncle Andrew’s. “So,” she said, “yours is a younger world.”

She paused for a moment to look once more at the deserted city—and if she was sorry for all the evil she had done there, she certainly didn’t show it—and then said:

“Now, let us be going. It is cold here at the end of all the ages.”

ALRIGHT. SO

it, of course, goes without saying that jadis is not a nice person, or anything like a good one; evidently she was the crown heir to a regime of staggering cruelty and she rose to the occasion with devastating passion.

but: yours is a younger world. and it is cold here at the end of all ages.

now imagine this—imagine that you are the eldest scion of royalty in a dying world. the sun burns low and cold and the only other light in the unrelenting darkness of the sky is a single star, brilliant and terribly far away. you know, and everyone knows, that your world is doomed. the sun is dying. the sun has been dying for hundreds of thousands of years, each generation more despairing than the last, and the closest thing anyone has to hope is the preservation of an ancient memory of a time when the sky was filled with stars and the sun shone bright and warm.

your lineage is old and powerful and rich in magic and in the span of all the thousands of years of your dynastic rule you have accomplished nothing that matters: you have found no way of rekindling the stars or breathing new life into the sun, and no manner of escape. your great-grandfather slit the throats of seven hundred guests on suspicion that they had entertained rebellious thoughts. your home is a dungeon ringing with the screams of tortured prisoners. your city is blood running down the steps of temples to indifferent gods and slaves crying out for mercy that will never come. your whole world is death and pain.

all you have ever known is violence and power. and there is the smallest part of you, the faintest glimmer of instinct, that recognizes that this Should Not Be. you gaze back across countless generations of your family’s history and you find gazing back at you the hideous and unavoidable truth that something has gone profoundly, irreparably wrong; but all you have ever known is violence and power, and so greater violence, and greater power, are the only means you can imagine to undo centuries of wrong. you look back on your ancestors and think: they were weak and afraid. they refused to do what was needed. i will not be like them.

so you violate the sacred oaths of your forefathers and take the deplorable word into your mouth. you do not speak it (you do not want to speak it) but the mere knowledge is enough to damn you, invite the wrath of the gods and your kingdom. your sister leads your people in revolt and you cling to your power with everything you have because that is the only thing you know how to do, but you beg her for peace while the word that will end every life on this planet but your own remains silent under your tongue. you do not know how to yield any more than she, and your world rips itself apart around you.

think about

what it means

to speak a word that will extinguish every life in the world except your own. to feel the whole world die in an instant by your hand, except for you, because whether by curse or conscience you have no choice but to live in the emptiness you spoke into being. you are the last queen of a dead and dying world and you, alone, will endure until even the sun turns black.

in every way that matters you are already dead, but the mercy of a swift death is not for you; yours is to bear witness to the end of all ages. a high and lonely destiny indeed.

and then two children from another world—a younger world, a living world—come to (as you understand it, from what you piece together of their confused answers to your questions) rescue you from this fate.

you do not lie to them. you tell them what you are, of the violence that made you and the terrible things that you did. you tell them directly of your intention to conquer their world, and (because this is the only kindness you have ever known how to give) you reassure them that you will not harm them, nor wage war against the kingdom you imagine the boy’s magician uncle must possess. you do not understand why this should horrify them: it is how the world is and has always been. how could you imagine anything different?

and in their world you are nothing. the sun is warm and you cannot properly remember how you came to be here and you are so strange and so wrong in this place that your magic fails; because their world is not an ever-turning wheel of violence and power, and it is not a place where magic and blood matter above all else. it is a world where those ideas are subject to mockery, because it is a world run by the weak and the worthless. (you don’t know it, but you are seeing the answer that you missed so long ago, before you learnt the deplorable word, when you looked back upon your family’s legacy and found it wanting.)

could you have recognized that, given time? could this world without magic where the little people matter have taught you a better way to live? you’ll never know, because scarcely have you grasped that this world is profoundly different from your own than you are dragged out of it and into narnia at the very, very beginning.

and there you find the lion, singing of kindness and beauty and joy at the dawning of the world. you, jadis, the last queen of charn; you who bore witness to the bloody death throes of a cruel, brutal, hopeless world before you burnt it to the ground and waited alone in the ashes to die—you watch the lion sing a perfect new world out of nothing.

is it any wonder the only thing you feel is rage?

#AND THEN THE EMPEROR MAKES HER HIS HANGMAN

[valkyrie-of-the-rising-sun]

HI VAL!!!

Who do you feel is the most interesting antagonist in Rejuv?

HI AXEL!!!

Most interesting rejuv antagonist, huh? Okay, this one is admittedly a tough question, because they're all intriguing in their own ways. Yes, even the silly ones like Team Anti-Assist (seriously, I really want to know why this organisation is even a thing. What did the Help Centres even do to them that made them this way??)

(potential spoilers incoming)

Madame X and Team Xen are the first antagonists encountered in the game. Their goals seemed straightforward at first, but as we progress through the plot it starts to get into ambiguous territory. Why do they fight for oblivion? Clearly each Team Xen admin has their own reasons for joining, most of them being for survival or for the sake of their loved ones (exception being Geara who most likely joined because of Vitus' influence), but if they knew that Team Xen is working towards oblivion why would they keep going? Sure there's the whole Soul Crystals thing which keeps them compliant, but by then they'd have realised there's no point staying loyal to Team Xen. Especially in Neved's case, which I'm not sure if he's that delusional to hope that his daughter would be spared from the oncoming oblivion if he remained loyal to Madame X's cause or he's also given up and decided he's past the point of redemption so might as well play the role of a villain until the bitter end.

Also, speaking of Madame X. She's the main antagonist, but she doesn't seem be wholly evil if ch12 is any indication. Her goals have something to do with breaking free from karma's cycles, but why? Who exactly is she? Why did she think that oblivion is the answer to what she wants? What connection does she have to Vitus? Too many questions, so little answers...

Vitus is also interesting one, and one we all love to hate with the sheer amount of shitty things he's done and how he's basically the root behind some of the game's most prominent antagonists (i.e. Geara, Angie, Melanie in the Bad Timeline arc, Angelus, Alice in ch14 and .karma files, and maybe even Madame X herself if her appearance in the prologue cursing him out and her Yveltal is any indication). But if you really look at it, isn't he just doing what he's made to do? He's the Yveltal host, a literal sentient exe file made for the purpose of destruction as part of the cycle of life and death. The only problem is that he's gone way out of control and destroyed more than he should most likely due to Zygarde's disappearance, not to mention his obsessive fixation with Arceus and the Archetype. For what purpose does he seek the long-dead god? Does he want to become the next Arceus, or is he trying to revive Arceus in a vain attempt to salvage this world and return it to "paradise"? Is that why he and Nymiera had a falling out in the distant past? Again, a lot of mysteries...

...okay, I've gone on a ramble here so. tl;dr, I find them all equally interesting.

#ask answers #tysm for the ask! #axelcreations #rejuv 13.5

[hannigramislife]

First of, I would like to tell my dear friend @mattmurrock that I personally blame them for my descend into madness, because I was fine without watching Vincenzo, and my deteriorating mental health is their fault ❤️

Now, I need to get some things off my chest about this show, because I am getting tired of seeing these weird as fuck takes on tumblr and tiktok and twt, like, are y'all asleep???

Idc if the entire fandom comes after me, I will fight each and every single one of you.

Hot take number 1: Han Seo's writing was atrocious in general, but him becoming this lighthearted little brother figure to Vincenzo in the second part, practically glowing, becoming a "better person" and all that, is a disservice at its finest. Han Seo's "real self" isn't him projecting his inner child trauma onto Vincenzo; this man had a person throw up blood on him and he wanted to call an ambulance for himself, like come on. He deserved to be morally grey, and I'm done with this fandom infantilizing him.

Hot take number 2: Cha Young and Vincenzo's love subplot was hilarious, there was not a drop of chemistry between them, Cha Young looked like she wouldn't spare Vincenzo a second glance during the entire show 😭 This is a personal subjective opinion, so I'm fine with people disagreeing with me on this one.

Hot take number 3: Jang Han Seok was smarter, stronger, and a better strategist than Vincenzo Cassano, on every level. He was more connected, more brutal, made moves more similar to the Mafia than Vincenzo himself did, and the only reason he lost, consistently, is because the plot was centered on Vincenzo, and gave him the wins. If this show was evenly written, Han Seok would have won within the first five episodes. Him begging Vincenzo to let him live was also our of character for the guy who stared Vincenzo dead in the eye and told him to shoot. Running away while he had a hockey stick at hand, Cha Young injured, bodyguards at the door and Vincenzo unarmed is also out of character.

Hot take number 4: Vincenzo Cassano, who might I add, doesn't have a drop of Italian upbringing in him, is a romantic lead, and he should get the credit for that only. Vincenzo, as a show, is a dark romcom, and I use the term dark loosely. I have seen many act like he is the end all be all kdrama lead, as though his character is a perfectly written depiction of the anti-hero, scumbag who takes care of worse scumbags, morally ambiguous, flawed-but-not-really main character. And that's laughable. He has walked straight out of Wattpad.

Conclusion to my thoughts and ranting: Han Seo deserved his own storyline, and to not be treated as a prop for Vincenzo. Cha Young was a better lead than Vincenzo by miles, and she shouldn't have been taken out of commission in the showdown. Han Seok was able to win in the finale. If they wanted me to believe he lost, they should have written it better. Vincenzo as a show has a 7/10 rating at its highest, while Vincenzo as a character is 5/10 at best, 6/10 if you take my bias against him away. Enjoying such shows is fine, I had a blast watching this thing, but I am tired of people pretending this show has quality. It has good points, like cinematography and cast, but its writing, characters, and plot is weak.

Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk, yes I will take comments and criticism, and if people want to debate me, I will show them they are ✨️wrong✨️

#vincenzo #vincenzo kdrama #kdramadaily #song joong ki #jang han seok #ok taecyeon #hong cha young #jeon yeo been #jang han seo #kwak dong yeon #kdrama thriller #kdrama recommendations

[mr-leach]

I was curious, what's your opinion on the ending of Tales of Arise? I see a lot of negativity about it, but feel like we've had so many bittersweet endings the last few games (no shade, I love those too) that a happy ending was a breath of fresh air, plus the characters fought tooth and nail for their happy ending and it feels cathartic to see the get it for me.

It's funny, cause a lot of what I've seen has been positivity around the ending itself with a lot of griping about the writing/pacing of the latter half (which I definitely have opinions about).

I agree though! Like, usually with the credit slides in Tales of games we get some post game scenarios that are more ambiguous, but idk, I felt like it was just the right move for Arise to confirm Alphen & Shionne's post game life. Like, Alphen spent so much time not having any sense of self outside of fighting, and Shionne was stuck in such a lonely place, and it just felt so good to see and confirm that yes they got to live peacefully after, yes they made that promise to stay side by side, and I think that was really important because...I mean that's literally what they all promised Shionne halfway through the game and many, many times after.

I don't think they had to do it that ~specific way~ but it's not like they just randomly mashed them together at the end, the entire game they were steadily getting closer to one another until the point where they were inseparable, and it just felt like a natural conclusion (or "next step" I should say) for them. On the flip side, I'm really glad they left the other characters alone lol cause it did feel pretty forced the way they tried to pair the spares in some of the side quests. If they had tried to show us that everybody paired up at the end I probably would have been annoyed. Not everyone needs a fairytale ending lol. I think Alphen and Shionne deserved it though, and it's nice that they sort of broke Tales of tradition and made it official, cause to me it felt really satisfying.

#tales of arise #arise spoilers

[hallothere]

Brave the Darkness

Previously titled “Blunt Force Ghost Trauma” but since no ghosts actually get served onscreen I changed it. Also because like Halros and the Very Bad Time it isn’t uhhh.... funny enough for that kind of title!

(warnings for Candaith Going Thru It but there’s no like blood or anything)

Somehow, the cold was coming from inside his bones. The chill was ice in his marrow. Radanir visibly shook next to him, as did some of the others. He was hard-pressed not to tremble. Halbarad, his companions, they would all have to stand strong together. They had been warned off once by the Oath-breakers in this cursed place. Candaith supposed these were not the sort of spirits to give a second warning. 

The frostbite within only sharpened as he continued further onto the Forsaken Road. With a glance over his shoulder, he wondered if Thurvi- his shadow in this lightless place- had ever felt such a chill in the Mountains of his homeland. The Guardian seldom spoke of the land of his birth, of the Dwarven city of Kechel, nor of Dwimorberg whose fell name lay like a shadow over their quest. Perhaps he hoped not to discourage his companions. Perhaps the dwarves did not venture near enough to these places to know them so well.

Candaith had become accustomed to the mask his friend had acquired in Lhanuch. The Grey Company’s enemies were Thurvi’s enemies as well-- and they knew his face. Though there were likely few Dwarves in Enedwaith, he sought to protect them with his anonymity. It was the same logic behind their ‘uniform’. Though a dwarf traveling with a bunch of Dunedain was going to stand out like a hobbit in Othrikar, Candaith appreciated every precaution. 

After all, his friend had kept the company from danger more than once. Though quiet, he was quick to action and sturdier than the rest of them. The last Candaith had seen of Thurvi before his summons, the dwarf had been preparing to head to Angmar with nothing but a large club and a scavenged shield. But the Grey Company’s odd companion out had returned from parts unknown with a dwarf-make axe of strange metal, and a shield with the unmistakable stylings of Khazad-dûm. 

It was only too bad there was no time to stop for a fire. If the Guardian could coax a spark from the bed of the Anduin, he would not be much surprised. Still, the Grey Company needed more than warmth to kindle their hopes. This was a desperate gamble, but one Candaith believed in. If they could gather this host of the dead on behalf of their Chieftain, if they could muster an army unhindered by death nor pain nor hunger-

Maybe it was not such a vain hope or a far-fetched plan! Surely the Oath-breakers tired of existing like this? Did they not long for peace? Candaith did. His kin yearned for it, as did the Eglain, the people he had spent so much time near. The heir of Isildur could bring it. He believed that. Surely the Dead- if not motivated by honor- could only see the release from their curse as gain! A swift, deathless army to bring peace to the world. An invincible host at Aragorn’s command…

“This seems to me a good sign, Thurvi!” he whispered, turning back to his companion. It was dimmer still here, but they could both carry on. “If the Oath-breakers will fulfill their oath to Isildur, we will command an army the like of which has never been seen in Middle-earth. Surely victory will not be far behind!” His comment was met with only a tight smile. This place weighed heavily on them all. 

But soon they would be free of it. Of this, he was certain. 

Another shade flickered into view before them. The Dead all appeared able to hide themselves from sight if they wished, and it was an effective intimidation tactic. Based on the temperature, this could be none other than Britou before them. Idly, he wondered if Dwarves were hardier to this fell atmosphere than Men. Candaith stopped and his Guardian friend came to stand beside him. 

If it was a show of force the Dead wanted, so be it. They acquitted themselves well, though Candaith found the glacial air sapped his strength and stiffened his limbs. He looked to Thurvi but could see no sign he was in any way affected. Britou was probing for weakness, but he would find none. There was strength in the Dunedain. Candaith would not fail his brothers. 

Back to back they fought on. Ghostly blades rang against their steel, but these Dead did not move with the same fell determination as others had. Doubt began to chip through the frost around Candaith’s heart. Was Britou toying with them? This test was little more than a farce for his amusement. What then? Did he desire proof? More learned foes than he had doubted the line of Kings remained unbroken. What would the Dead on the Forsaken Road know of the way Aragorn’s ancestors had endured?

They cared little for the living, that much was clear. They threw around insults, hurled belittling words without thought. The Dead had nothing but contempt for them. Indeed, with the bones of travelers and the plague of shades above ground, what evidence did they have that any of the Oath-breakers’ intentions were honest?

Hah. He was a fool for giving them the benefit of the doubt. But no longer! If they would not be swayed by words or arms, let them be swayed with power. 

“Hold!” He thrust his blade through yet another shade with a shout and commanded the attention of the leader of the Dead. Candaith was breathing hard. The doubt had wormed its way in deep, but he could not let it end like this. Greed was a powerful enough motivator for any Man, even those among the Dead. 

“I have the authority to command you and all your kind, Britou!” He straightened up, emboldened by a confidence he could not feel but must not let waver. "For I...I am the Heir of Isildur!"

He could feel Thurvi’s eyes upon him, as well as the attention of the Dead. The cold was like a rock in Candaith’s chest. As long as they were in peril, he could not falter, but every breath became heavier. It seemed the very air was hardening to stone and ice within him. 

Britou fell silent. For a long moment he stared, sizing Candaith up. Now was not the time for fear. More than ever, he was grateful for the mask. It was as much a shield as the one his Guardian wielded. Perhaps his and Thurvi’s uses for them were more alike than he had thought. 

"What evidence do you have that this be so?" 

Britou’s voice reverberated off the frozen walls. Now more than ever the cold pained him. Candaith tried not to wince as he drew the breath to answer. Taking a finger of his glove in his teeth, he slid it off without lowering his sword. "Only this: the Ring of Barahir, heirloom of Isildur's line!"

After all, they had been made for one purpose: to deceive the enemy. Why not use it now, as it had been intended, for their advantage? 

It was a long while still before Britou spoke again. “I see.” The cavern was still. “We will fulfill our oath at last, that the Heir may lift the curse. Tell your Men."

Candaith could not breathe a sigh of relief. The cold had taken him, and it was all he could do to nod, to turn around, to look for the relief that must be plain on Thurvi’s face. 

It was not there to greet him. Candaith saw only fear.

"But that is not the Ring of Barahir, and you are not the Heir of Isildur."

He did not have time to think. There was ice on his skin now, on his fingers. Cold pierced him. Thurvi was moving faster than Candaith had ever seen him go. There was a horrible rending of metal, and the ice splintered under his skin. Dust and rock rose up to meet him. 

There was a black and frozen pause. Trapped within a pincushion of ice, Candaith did not notice at first that he was being moved. He could clear little space in his lungs to cry out, and he could not coax his algid limbs to motion. Too many frosted shards had gathered themselves within him. They cut like glass, tore at his mind, and ate at his heart. He knew naught of what was transpiring, only that he had failed his kin. He had led them to this place of ruin, and now he was to join the miserable Dead. 

His whole body was jolted up and sideways. A single pauldron came into view. Thurvi! Candaith’s tears were surely frozen, but he felt the warmth of relief thaw them a little. It mingled with the heat of shame long enough to warm sensation back into him. There was new pain too. His back was taut and tearing as Thurvi hurried him away. With a final cry, his awareness too failed on the cursed road. 

Something was trying to crush him. A pressure bound him, constricted his thoughts. He could not will himself to move or to breathe. So Candaith struggled. The now-familiar cold had abated some, but it had not released its stranglehold on him. He had failed, but for now desperation overrode his shame. The others-- his brothers were nearby! If nothing else they needed a warning, they needed to know that no Dead would ride by their side save to run them down. 

Candatih fought to turn over. He had fallen flat before Britou in that frozen chamber, and now he must get up! He must get up or let his brothers be slaughtered for his reckless gambit--

“Fool! Be still, Candaith!” 

A hand, warm and living, reached him from the darkness. It held his shoulder with a gentle firmness that made him pause. There was no time for this! So far underground, they needed every moment to escape.

The crack of a log fire hoisted him up from the dark then flung him down into awareness. His waking senses hit him with force and the air was driven once more from his lungs. Suddenly Candaith discovered he could feel, only to wish desperately that he could not. What had once been solid ice had thawed, and his whole body burned in the spaces where it had been. He turned to push his face into whatever had been beneath his ear. Candaith was on the ground, and pain trampled him flat. 

The hand was joined by another on his other shoulder. He tried to smother a rising scream as the fire was stoked again by his squirming. 

“Candaith, listen to me.” The voice was familiar, but it was as full of uncertainty as he was. “We are out of there now, but you are lucky to be with us! Lie still if you can. If you are too stubborn to listen, it will be hard to bring you back to Lhanuch alive! We will give you…” Here the voice paused, and with more clarity came a growing certainty that Candaith had never heard Radanir more distressed. “We will give you something for the pain.”

“Radanir!” Halbarad’s voice cut through the fire and the relief was like a balm. More crushing a blow than the catastrophe he knew would have been the loss of their leader. Halbarad was the cord that held them together in Aragorn’s absence. They would follow him with the same loyalty and should he be lost grieve for him with the same sorrow. 

But Halbarad lived. It brought Candaith less comfort than he had hoped. 

“Hold him up. We must do something for the wound before we try moving again.” It was not at all what his leaden limbs wanted to hear. This time Candaith could not stifle a groan as Radanir hefted him like a sack of potatoes. 

“You could not… be more careful?” The words sounded strained to his own ears, but as his head was being rested over one of Radanir’s shoulders like a sickly infant’s, he would not get to see a reaction. 

That did not stop Radanir from having one. “And you could not stop from telling falsehoods to the undying shades of traitors!"

It brought down a deathly quiet. A popping ember rang as loud into the night as a thunderclap. Radanir had gone as stiff as a statue, and only after a long pause could Halbarad get things moving again. 

“It is a grave wound, but it might have been much worse.” Candaith could feel the sleeves of his tunic, but the back had been torn asunder. Now exposed to the night air, he wished for the blanket or cover that had seemed so smothering a moment ago. Halbarad was moving the fabric. Every pull jostled the nettles that had taken up residence in his limbs. He tried to push away, but Radanir held him up under his arms. 

“If we have to set you back down, there will be less firelight to work by.” The words were terse, but there was an undercurrent of concern nonetheless. Radanir was right, Candaith was a fool. It was becoming more and more obvious just how close he’d been to being a dead one. 

To his surprise, Thurvi stepped into his narrow field of vision. The dwarf offered out his hand. Weakly, Candaith took it.

“Distract him if you can, Thurvi.” Halbarad instructed. “We are lucky he is awake but we might have been luckier were he not- at least, not for this.”

Candaith was reluctant to meet the Guardian’s eye. It had been a rather poor performance on the Forsaken Road. He had shamed himself and shamed the entire Company. Only by a miracle was he out under the stars instead of rotting among the Dead. To his surprise, Thurvi did not attempt to make conversation just yet but began sliding up the metal mask that had long covered his face. 

Despite everything- or perhaps because of it- Candaith could not bite back a delirious laugh. “You have a line! Clear… right across your face from cheek to cheek, over the bridge of your nose-”

Halbarad chose that moment to strike. Something cold and stinging coursed down his open wounds. He gritted his teeth and tried to crush Thurvi’s hand and Radanir’s arm. The work had begun in earnest. Now, Halbarad would not stop until everything was dressed to his satisfaction. 

Thruvi pulled his hand down. Attention diverted, Candaith managed to look up. “Your cloak did not make it, I’m afraid.” The Guardian said in a solemn tone. “Alas, it was the first casualty. And my shield gave its life for yours. Cursed be the blades wielded against the craftsmanship of Khazad-dûm!”

Candaith could not laugh. Thurvi’s heart was not in the attempt at wounded pride. It was hardly the shield of his homeland, and besides that it called to attention a more glaring absence. 

Ignoring the agony behind him, he ground out a question. “The others…?” His mind flew to Linnor, his and Saeradan’s friend, to Calithil who he had last seen by Radanir’s side. Old Hodhon and Himeldir had been there as well, they who had been fraught with worry over Dagoras’ capture and thick as thieves again upon his return. 

Thurvi’s face was more exposed now than it had been underground. The mask was pushed into his hood on top of his head. Candaith did not know if his friend was old for a Dwarf, but he looked older than he had the last time his face was on display. 

“Scattered.” he said at last, “We lost all the torches as the Dead gave chase. You and I were tempting enough targets to allow the others space to run. If they were pursued to the road or to the bluffs, I do not know. We ran into Halbarad and then Radanir in the dark.”

Candaith tried to focus on the words instead of the pain. Whatever salve Halbarad had conjured burned as fiercely as his shame. Loath might he be to admit it under other circumstances, Radanir was right. Who was he to command the Oath-breakers? What right did he have to try!

There was little left of his strength. Candaith used it to first return Thurvi’s grip on his hand, and then to better support himself on Radanir’s arm. Neither he nor Halbarad had spoken again, and it was time for Candaith to acknowledge the disaster on all their minds. 

“I should never have-- I would give my life a thousand times... to be even the smallest help to Aragorn… That was all… all I-” Halbarad took his shoulders and started to tip him back. The movement clouded his vision so completely he could hardly be sure he was still awake. Numbness started to overpower him and Candaith did not have the strength to be alarmed by the empty wave. 

The void held him captive for a moment. But, vigilant Pain was quick to revive him as bandages met the raw edges of his wounds. He was slumped in a sitting position as Thurvi held him up and Halbarad finished wrapping the tender flesh. Candaith was given something bitter from a water flask, and then worked up the courage to try and speak again.

“I am… sorry-” he croaked from the ice-carved hollow in his chest. 

“If you are sorry, Candaith, I am doubly so.” Halbarad’s voice was thick with worry, and regret. “For had I not sought to make copies of the Ring of Barahir, had I been more focused on keeping us from danger, this never would have occurred.”

Halbarad finished tying off the bandages, and Candaith was surprised to find Radanir waiting there at his shoulder. He was without a cloak, as were the others, and did not waste time in guiding his dead-limbed companion to where the collected fabric was balled up into a makeshift bedroll. Far though they were from a suitable camp, he was going to see that Candaith had some small comfort. Not Thurvi, not Halbarad, but Radanir who was rightfully furious with him. 

Of all their companions, he was one of the least likely to shy away from saying what he meant. There was no quip too untimely, no sentiment best left unsaid. No doubt it was why he had taken on this task. Halbarad was too noble to scold a man on death’s porch if not it’s doorstep. And something about Thurvi’s tight-lipped expression had told him that the Guardian had seen the events transpire in an entirely different light.

Of one thing Candaith was sure: whatever reproach Radanir had ready for him would be well-deserved. Only, Candaith did not know if he could bear it. He had almost just gotten eight of their number killed in an ill-advised attempt to sway the Dead- the Dead who were known chiefly for their treachery! He feared the long night as he had been frightened of the long road underground. What if the others had not made it out? Their blood would be on his hands, and he would have to meet the rest of the Company alone with his shame.

No doubt his chief critic would be Radanir. Radanir who had been forced to flee with the others, who had stumbled across Thurvi in the dark, who must have been told the tale from the eyes of an observer- and the only one of them who could never have done the same in his place! 

Still he could not help but to look. Candaith turned his head to the side and found Radanir’s stare fixed on him. Guilt swept over him again before it was replaced by great confusion and worry. The firelight illuminated anger, yes, but also vivid fear that took a moment for Radanir to conceal. 

“I suppose I prefer you a living fool rather than a dead one.” The irritation in his tone was as empty as Candaith felt. “Still,” here an edge of something crept back in, “do not ever attempt such a thing again.”

As much as he wanted to assure Radanir that he would not dream of it- that he was shaken to find a lesson learned had nearly cost his and his kinsmen’s lives- Halbarad had designs of his own. Whatever herbs had been in the water were beginning to take effect. The pain of his wound was no distraction anymore. Already sensation was floating away. It felt as if he would dissolve if it began to rain, like dust on stonework. Candaith could no more keep his eyes open than he could leap up and begin the search for the rest of their group or to share the burden his decision placed on them. 

He could no longer see the light of the fire when Radanir’s hand came to rest carefully on his shoulder. Their companions were discussing something too quietly for him to hear. It would not be long now before Halbarad’s bitter potion forced him to rest. 

“That was a fear so cold I thought I would never be warm again.” Radanir’s voice was nearly lost to the cushioning effect of the medicine on his ears. “But I would prefer to never be rid of it than to lose even one of my brothers.”

The candor in Radanir’s words did not absolve him, but it was a balm to a hurt no healer could treat. Comforted beyond measure, Candaith could at last bear to face the night and any troubled dreams it could conjure.

#this one went through way less rigor than halros and the bad time so #and i settled on quote/unquote Thurvi because a joke name did not feel right in this context #the context of candaith living but getting rekt #lotro #candaith #writing #umm umm tags it's just more rambling honestly #i did not put down any guardian-specific skills in this bad boy #but please know i meant 1) brutal charge 2) shield smash 3) any of the draw aggro so the other rangers could escape #yes i did end up ambiguously sparing them #i couldn't do it #i couldn't read the transcript of the session play talking about all the dead rangers and NOT get attached #also unpopular opinion but it wasn't the WORST idea Candaith could've come up with especially with all the heavy handed foreshadowing #i mean it makes sense #it was stupid but it made sense

[see-arcane]

Final Thoughts

I honestly don’t know how to feel about it. On the one hand, it wasn’t The Absolute Worst version I could have dreamed up. On the other hand, it felt a lot like getting a bullet to the head rather than the expected slow agony of a Jigsaw trap. On the third hand, it just...

Well, yes, it was always going to be a tragedy. But beyond a satisfyingly curt [SOUNDS OF BRUTAL PROMOTION] on Jonah Magnus, Jon and Martin didn’t get anything at the end. No last second victory, no salt-in-the-eye to the Web. Nothing. We get to see exactly why the Web made Jon so forgetful of the lighter--blanking on Georgie taking it the episode before--and whatever Jon might have been planning against the Web, against the Big Fear Move, it was all torn away before he could even try anything.

The Web has presumably won its apotheosis. And it never, ever suffered a single consequence. We can guess that it likely never will. Which really is incredibly on point as far as existential/cosmic horror goes. The Cthulhu Mythos and similar flavors of grand scale horror are fearsome on a solely supernatural and unfathomable level. But this?

This we can and do fathom. We know exactly what the Fear(s) wants. We know what it is capable of. What it will do. And that isn’t where our misery comes from: it’s the fact that there was no way to win. No way to change anything. Nothing to do but pass it on to the next victim; or victims, plural. That’s what makes me sit back in agonized awe of it. Not any of the phobias made solid. Just the pure crushing defeat of it all. It’s a deflating, stagnant recognition of helplessness that twists the knife far worse than any mere bogeyman. 

Jon did everything he could and failed. The only plan that ‘went right’ was the one the Web decided upon, which was designed to inflict itself and its kin on other worlds. The Only Success Allowed is the Success of Your Tormentor. 

God. God. 

I will say I liked the implications of that last scene; that Simon Fairchild and the rest of the depowered sadistic avatars got what was coming to them. (Much as I still love her, I honestly hope Annabelle Cane suffered some severe Mastermind Buyer’s Remorse when she realized she was left high and dry by her patron. Whoops. (For Oliver’s sake, I hope he was either spared or was finally allowed to die peacefully.))

Much as I loathe all the “Hope-hope-hope-Let’s-make-ourselves-feel-better-by-pretending-we-don’t-know-we-willingly-fucked-over-another-infinity’s-worth-of-victims-hope-hope-hope-!” talk from the survivors, I do appreciate the fact that it is an ambiguous “end” for Jon and Martin.

No bodies likely means they went with the Panopticon down the drain. Martin had to kill Jon to make that happen. Which can mean one of two things.

1) Martin is with the Fears alone--hello brand new Lonely avatar status--unless he found a way to end himself too. That’s the short version. Very neat.

Which makes me doubt it. So we turn to:

2) Jonathan “Too Inhuman to Stay Dead” Sims bounced back again. This isn’t just wishful thinking talking. Not counting his survival post-Unknowing, he was still the most powerful thing on two legs due to the Eye and the Change ritual. Martin being able to kill him made nightmare logic sense--but in the presence of the Fears, sans Terminus, death remains a temporary state. 

Jonah absolutely fucked off to the Corpse Roots in those final moments, may he rest in piss.

But Jon? Jon who was willing to sacrifice everything of himself since day one and was long past fear of dying? Jon who is the Eye’s Chosen Pupil? Jon who I’m sure in my bitterest heart of hearts is still far too ripe for torment for the Web to just let go, free from its strings at last?

I think this ‘death’ was as permanent for him as hitting the off switch on a tape recorder.

Which is all a long way of saying I think Jon is still alive with the Fears in their new playground, along with Martin. I honestly believe that. I believe this without any of the bells and whistles of wishful thinking. Because I frankly can’t tell--or don’t want to tell--if survival was a good or bad thing. Just that it’s very likely.

Thank you for the nightmare, Jonny Sims. It was horrible. I loathed it. I feared it.

I cannot wait to listen again. 

Supplemental:

For what it’s worth, Jon did confirm one important thing for us post-Pupil. The Web is making assumptions. Theorizing about what waits for it on the other side of Hill Top Road. It is likely we and all our interdimensional neighbors are there, true. But I do like to think that the fact of its obliviousness to what’s actually waiting there means it will meet something unexpected. 

To borrow one of the Web’s favorite words, perhaps it is another smorgasbord of waiting victims, free for the taking.

Perhaps not. 

Perhaps the Fears are not alone. 

Perhaps, even if we do not get to hear it, there is some catharsis waiting on the other end of the chasm. A frightful realization made too late that perhaps the Fears were only ever a big fish in its own small pond.

And now that the Web has swam the Fears out into the open ocean with no way back, perhaps now is when they realize they were never the apex predators they thought they were. Only a schoolyard bully faced with the sudden presence of a threat, or threats, infinitely greater than themselves.

Perhaps they have finally knocked on the wrong door. And what lurks on the other side has happily, hungrily welcomed them in. 

#how are we feeling guys? #the magnus archives #spoilers #finale #minor tweaks due to somebody's sharp-eyed tags #that last bit should absolutely say Supplemental #shout out to #azsdesertwillow

[silkylious]

“I love you. Truly, deeply, eternally.” (Lucifer x Reader)

fandom: obey me! shall we date?

pairing: lucifer x gn reader

warnings: angst, fluff (mildly lol), suggestive (nothing explicit though!), bittersweet, ambiguous ending (??), unedited 

wc: 2.1k

“Lucifer?” you called out to him on a whim, eyes trailing the seconds ticking away on his grandfather-clock.

“Yes?” he didn’t spare you a glance as he worked methodically through his second hill of paperwork; a heaping stack of duties assigned to him by Diavolo, endless bills–a consequence of Mammon’s latest spending spree, you ought to talk to him about those soon–and the sort piled neatly on his pristine desk, slowly but surely decreasing in size as Lucifer burned through the tedious task with unwavering efficiency. You felt exhausted just watching him work. Lucifer? He hadn’t so much as blinked more than three times in the past five minutes (yes, you counted). Obsidian sleeves rolled up just past his elbows, hair perfectly framing his face with one strand slightly out of place–hot–and a gentle crease between his brows (the only observable hint alluding to the mounting stress on his shoulders). He looked positively delectable, nothing like someone who’s been working diligently for hours without any breaks. But that just served as a testament to the fundamental difference between the two of you, you supposed.

“I’m in love with you,”

That made his meticulous fingers pause in their tracks.

“Pardon?”

As it turned out, his ears hadn’t, in fact, deceived him. You repeated the confession as if it weighed nothing on your tongue. You were strangely calm given the words you’d just blurted out; he almost didn’t recognize you. An unfamiliar shade of desperation painted all over your face, and yet your voice bared to him a serene conviction, one he’d never heard from you before. Lucifer’s heartbeat stumbled in your wake.

Basking in your courageous display just a second longer, he sighed. Too bad he’d have to mutilate such a pretty sight so soon.

That didn’t go exactly as he’d planned. The harsh rejection barely deterred you, leaving only a petulant pout on your lips and a promise that you’d come talk to him later.

Lucifer was anything but stupid. He knew that he let things stray too far between you, knew it was his fault for not pulling away from your kisses and instead indulging you (and himself) to the fullest. His fault for ignoring the guilt that settled deep in his gut like hunks of steel when you looked at him like he’d never experienced before. Lucifer had lived for many millennia, had relished the warmth of countless passionate lovers and faceless hookups, none of which had ever set him alight from the inside out like your adoring gaze had. It terrified him how after all these years, watching humans thrive and collapse over and over again, he thought he’d seen everything there is to see, all that humans had to offer. And then you come along, reinventing what love meant right before his eyes, with a simple look no less.

He never intended for you to fall in love with him, and he never intended to reciprocate. Had he been mortal, maybe things wouldn’t be so complicated. But life dealt a cruel hand, and he wasn’t. A relationship like yours was doomed to crumble in heartache from the start, it was best to stop it before things went too far. That was the plan anyway.

You didn’t share the same sentiment.

With one last exasperated sigh, Lucifer focused his attention back on his duties. He didn’t know how long he could hold up against your persistence, and honestly he preferred not to dwell on it. Whatever outcome lied for the both of you in the near future, itching one step closer with each tick on the clock, he’d face it head on when it was time.

Meanwhile, you laid wide awake, in your bed, rethinking every decision that led you here. You didn’t regret your confession, nor were you keen on giving up, but Lucifer’s ruthless rejection, his vehement claim that a relationship between a human and a demon is destined to end in tragedy festered a bud of doubt in you. You noted pettily that he hadn’t outright denied any feelings for you. How could he? Lucifer was many, ugly things but a liar’s not one of them; you wouldn’t believe him even if he did lie, not with how delicately he holds your hand in his gloved one, not with how heartbreakingly beautiful he was when he lets you in at his lowest, stripped completely of his pride.

You knew though, that as much as Lucifer was a creature of the past, he was a creature of regrets.

Somehow, you’d managed to reach the heart of the Avatar of Pride himself, bestowing a porcelain touch on it and subsequently rocking the monotony of his endless life. Despite the acknowledgment of both your feelings, you weren’t naïve enough to dismiss how his heart drums thousands of years apart from yours and would continue to do so long after yours gave its last valiant pump.

He was a creature of the past you realized; humans intently watch minutes, hours, years approach because there’s only so much of them live out, there’s only so much to do in a lifetime. Naturally it would be counterintuitive to waste scarce time on the past. The immortal have no such concern. When time is limitless, and life is all but a blur of recycled events, its only instinctive to lose interest in what’s to come. And you guessed, maybe there was a strange comfort in the predictability of eternity, maybe that’s why Lucifer was so offput by the notion of something serious yet temporary, especially romance.

You decided. You wouldn’t let him look back and ponder what ifs in that stubborn head of his, not while you were still breathing. With regained determination, you glanced one last time at your countertop alarm and entered a dreamless slumber.

Not even two days later, three consecutive raps on his door made Lucifer rub at his temples for the nth time and begrudgingly called for you to enter. Piled on his desk were several stacks of papers (as was the usual), though, that night he was in a particularly sour mood. Ever since your confession, he’d been feeling uneasy, Diavolo hurling more work at him last minute was only pushing him to his wit’s end.

“Lucifer,” he hummed in response, not bothering to conceal his growing agitation. “we need to talk,”

Ah, there it was. He was wondering when you’d confront him again.

“I believe I made myself quite clear last time,” he sighed, dropping his pen and finally meeting your eyes. “If this is about your feelings again then I’m sorry but I can’t–”

“But why? Can you really say that what we have isn’t special at all?” your lower lip quivered just a bit and Lucifer had to fight the immediate reflex of holding you close and hushing your worries. His impassiveness quickly arose frustration out of you. “God Damnit, Lucifer! All I want is to be with you while I still can! To die with no regrets, knowing you’ll be there with me, but it’s very fucking hard to do that when you’re too scared of the future to do something about–about us!”

It was a low blow to go after his pride, you knew that, but he wasn’t giving you much to work with.. Rubbing salt in a ghastly wound had certainly done the trick, the dimmed crimson that pooled just below his pupil began to shine scarlet. You would have found it gorgeous had it not been imbued with near murderous intent. Lucifer’s poker face was rapidly breaking, a horrid mix of anger and melancholy sat heavy in his throat. He was looking straight at you, but his eyes were somewhere else, some time else. He was staring hundreds of years behind you at an unhealed, poorly bandaged cut. An everlasting guilt he carried with him everywhere.

“What would you know about regret?” he breathed out the words like they’re bullets, whatever restraint he’d managed to scarp together deteriorating. He stepped closer, each stride bigger than the last as he closed the distance between you, a perfect diamond manifesting on his forehead and you could see the beginnings of black feathers sprouting from his back. “Do you have the slightest clue what a blessing mortality is? Do you have any idea how agonizing it is to live with your regrets and not be able to die with them?”

“You’re right. I don’t,” you stood your ground. “But, do you really want to live with one more regret to bear?”

He kissed you. He kissed you like he hated you, animosity and anger and pain and, most prominently, pining spilling from his lips. Lucifer parted from you just as quickly as he’d initiated the kiss, taking the time to let his irritation bleed out of him, until he was left grappling with (frankly terrifying) longing and adoration. Just this once, he’d take a leap of faith, he’d break his own rigorous code and take the risk of undying heartache in the future to be with you in the now.

One kiss turned into many, and soon you found yourselves stumbling your way from his office to his bedroom. He couldn’t get enough of you, the thought that some day he would be deprived of you broke him and made him yearn to cherish you just as much. Precious things aren’t meant for longevity, he learned. All the more reason to treasure them when given the chance. You were pushed onto his bed and not once did his hands and mouth and breath leave your skin; he couldn’t bear sever that connection.

Before long, your hands were pined to the mattress, fingers tightly laced with his as if he was petrified the moment will break and a thousand years would pass you by the instant he let go.

“I love you. Truly and deeply.”

Neither of you heard the clock strike midnight.

Lucifer was well-acquainted with sleepless nights. He was no stranger to the prick at the corner of his eye, excruciatingly familiar with midnight’s cold, lonely touch. But this one was different. Where usually lied a cool emptiness in his sheets, your warm, inviting body was just in reach. Where the corners of his mind were usually plagued by past mistakes and sorrowful repentance, you were all he could think about. He reflected on your words now that the high of emotions had worn off. He still disagreed with you on many things and, if he was being true to himself, it would take more than one night to abandon his reluctance, much more. But he was willing to put in his fair share of effort. He was willing to do many things for you, he mused. You were right about one thing though, regardless of whether or not he acted on his feelings, your parting would hurt all the same. Part of him was still resentful that he let himself fall so deeply in love with you, and a part of him knew it couldn’t be helped. You’d carved a home for yourself out of his heart, invited yourself in and declared pompously you’d be there to stay, and he’d be damned to hell all over again if he said he didn’t like that.

Pulling you closer to leech off your warmth, for the first time in forever, he dreamt of the future, a future with you.

Snapping out his reverie, Lucifer refocused his vision on the framed picture before him. It’s been a couple dozen years, the pain dulled into a hollow longing, and yet not a single regret weighed on his back. He was astonished, how you, who had lived but a fraction of his own lifetime, had such impeccable foresight. He lays in bed every night and morning thanking you for not giving up, knowing that if you had, he’d be spending the rest of his infinite days in self-loathing regret.

All Lucifer could ask for now is a little guidance. What was he to do now? Was he even capable of falling in love again after you? Would he allow it? All questions that began frequenting his head since you’re no longer there to occupy it. He only knew is that he’d love you, and love you, and love you until this world fell apart. He toyed with the idea of reincarnation. It certainly wasn’t out of the realm of possibility; he saw you in everything he did. Strange how you’d taught him more about appreciating every day’s mundanities than he had in the many eons he’s been alive. Lucifer wonders about the possibility of you donning the same white wings he once had back in the Celestial Realm. If you ever did, he wonders about the complications that would arise from that, he wonders if you’d even remember him. All Lucifer was left with was a simple truth. If you ever came back, whichever form you may take, he’d welcome you back into the adobe of his heart without a second thought.

He ran his thumb over your smile, a bittersweet acceptance in his own.

“I love you. Truly, deeply, eternally.”

Obey me! taglist: @katsucookie @strwbry-m1lk​ (you wanted to be tagged in this one lol) join my taglist here! <3

#obey me x reader #obey me lucifer x reader #obey me lucifer x y/n #obey me lucifer x mc #lucifer x reader #lucifer x y/n #lucifer x mc #obey me lucifer #obey me #obey me shall we date #lucifer angst

[peachiimilquetea]

something angsty with tenya leaving fem reader for the event? ty! prompt: “you can’t leave me. i don’t know how to survive without you.”

“𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐞. 𝐢 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮.” + tenya iida

a/n: bro… i don’t really like angst without the potential for a somewhat happy ending so i hope you’re ok with the fact that it’s not completely sad. i did pull on the heartstrings quite a bit tho, i hope you enjoy! check out the event here

contains: angst (obviously), iida being heavily influenced by his family, tensei to the rescue lowkey, crying, insecurities, mentions of alcohol, ambiguous ending, miscommunication

length: 2.0k

at first things had started off small.

iida worked long hours as the work of his brother’s hero agency fell on his shoulders. he tried his best to make time for you, but it always felt like your schedules could never line up just right.

you tried to work something out, quick calls on break times and cute messages around the house to remind you of one another, but most efforts fell flat.

then things started to get worse.

long and empty nights were spent building up resentment towards the man you had married. he was always doing something, something that took precedence over the vows you made when you walked down the isle no more than three years ago.

you knew his family didn’t like you that much, feeling that a marriage for love was a waste of such a powerful commitment. a commitment that could built them an empire, and boost the rank of their hero agency, solidifying a legacy for them.

tenya defied them for you, boldly declaring that he would marry whoever he wanted and that you were in it for the long haul. you were the girl of his dreams, he said, and anything that got in the way of his happiness was not something he would subscribe to. that only made them hate you more.

so when his texts of encouragement grew shorter and more sparse, and he began to have more special responsibilities bestowed upon him by none other than his father, you knew it was on purpose.

unfortunately, it was an effective strategy to chip away at a young and unseasoned marriage.

“tenya can you please just check your schedule? i really want to spend more time with you.”

he sighed and rubbed his temples as he sat in his office. why were you bothering him with something so insignificant? you knew how important this transition of power was for the iida family, for the legacy of ingenium, but you still persisted.

he could feel the anger beginning to build until he looked in your eyes and saw the sadness brimming in them. his heart squeezed in his chest as he watched you, his wife, plead with him to spend time together. when had things come to this?

“i’ll try my best, but i cant promise anything.”

at this point, that was better than anything you could’ve hoped for.

with a kiss to his forehead you left him alone to get the heaps of paperwork he had to do, spirits lifted at the prospect of spending time with him again. just like the way it used to be.

you checked the time on the microwave for the 9th time. fifty-seven minutes had passed and your husband was officially late.

you should have seen it coming really, empty promises were becoming more and more common amongst the two of you. he would promise to try harder and you would promise to cut him more slack, the constant push and pull never being enough for either party.

getting up from the barstool at your kitchen island you made your way to the wine cooler to get a drink. not even bothering to pick up a glass you slumped on the couch, kicking off your shoes and splaying yourself out, just wanting the cushions to swallow you whole and dull the aching in your heart.

he wasn’t coming.

he was never coming.

you laid passed out on the couch when iida finally came home 2 hours later. he was only stopping by for a quick break, then going back out on patrol and he completely forgot about the things he said, smiling through tired eyes as he thought, this time i’ll make it up to her.

at the very least he could clean you up and tuck you in. he could brace himself for the impending fight later, but he was concerned about you. you never drank, not unless there was something wrong.

iida easily hoisted you up over his shoulder, discarding the various wine bottles and taking you to your shared room, although he wasn't sure if it was still considered shared anymore.

he laid you on the bed softly, changing you into one of his old shirts. his fingers ghosted over your cheek as he watched you sleep, the reality of where he was sitting heavy on his heart.

he loved you and yet there was nothing he could do to help at this moment. he had to leave for night patrol. he had to leave you.

his gentle touches roused you from your sleep and your eyes felt heavy as you tried to blink them open.

“you came?” you breathed, voice sounding foreign even to yourself.

iida gave you a small smile, “im sorry.”

your demeanor did a 180 at his apology. he was sorry. he was always sorry. but sorry couldn’t fix this. not when it had been so broken.

you winced and sat up, “sorry for what? sorry that you broke your promise for the thousandth time or sorry that you’ve been such a shit husband for the past few months?!”

“______-”

“no tenya. you do this every single time! every time i want to spend time with you theres always something more important! what could be more important than your wife?!”

“______ you know my father-”

you laughed bitterly at the mention of his dad. he always had to be such a good little iida child, always on daddy’s beck and call. it made you sick.

“your father doesn’t even want us to be together! cant you see that he’s doing this on purpose! youre a grown man! not a child permanently tied to his mommy and daddy!” you spat

“hes giving more responsibility for the sake of the agency! for the ingenium legacy! why are you always so selfish when it comes to these things?”

“selfish? selfish?” you asked, incredulous. you couldn’t believe your ears.

“yes selfish. do you know how much i sacrificed to be with you? how much i already have on my plate on top of trying my best to make time for you?”

you stared in astonishment.

sacrifice?

what had he sacrificed for this relationship? he got to do what he wanted, come and go as he pleased with virtually no regard for how you felt or what you did. what sacrifice was there in that way of living?

“fuck you, tenya.”

tenya took a deep breath and ran his hand down his face. he chose his words carefully before finally saying, “i cant do this. im leaving.”

you could hear a pin drop in the room. you felt your blood pound in your ears as you stood up quickly, dizzy from the alcohol but still trying to process the words you had just heard.

leaving?

“youre leaving?”

“yes, i have to go. im not doing this with you, not now.”

your heart felt like it had been smashed by a sledgehammer, as you tried to regulate your breathing. leaving. he was leaving.

“w-wait,” you feebly attempted to cling onto him as he gathered a few of his things.

“tenya you cant leave me.”

“_____ i do not want to do this right now,” he sighed, easily shaking you off and moving to collect more things. his words were buzzing around on the inside of your skull. he was leaving.

leaving without so much of a second thought. he had been planning this. still unsteady on your feet you hobbled after him as quickly as possible, desperation taking over every fiber of your body. you didn't want to lose him, you just wanted your husband back, you happiness back.

“y-you cant do that! you cant leave me! i dont know how to survive without you, tenya, please-”

“_____, just go to bed. you’re drunk.”

you trailed him around the house,“no, you don’t get to decide when this is over. i'm the one whos been hurting for months you cannot just leave me by myself.”

iida spared you one last glance before grabbing his bag, “goodbye, _____”

crushed, you sank to your knees, leaning on the couch for support. you felt like you were dying., hell, you probably were dying. you had never had so much to drink in your life, and you were desperate to make the pounding pain in your chest stop.

you cried yourself to sleep that night, waking up to the sunlight coming through the window with a splitting headache. you felt like your skull was trying to crack itself open from the inside but you shakily got to your feet, remembering bits and pieces from your fight with iida.

you could tell he didn't come home last night; everything was exactly the way you had left it last night. the house alarm was still on, and his shoes were gone.

he actually left.

anger bubbled in your chest as you thought about what had actually happened. you would not let him get the last laugh, or be the last one left, the one waiting on him patiently to pick up the pieces after trying to keep it together. you would leave too, as much as it hurt, and show him just how selfish you could be.

in a flash, you haphazardly packed a bag with essentials and had texted your friends that you needed a place to stay for a few days. you didn’t get into specifics- your heart ached too much to relive the events of the previous night- but you told them you had reached your limit and you needed to take some time to cool off.

alternatively, iida did not sleep that night. after finishing patrols, he stayed at his brother’s apartment out of pure convenience, not feeling prepared to face you after everything that had transpired between the two of you.

the dark-haired man laid staring at the ceiling of tensei’s guest bedroom, wracking his brain and trying to pinpoint how things had gone south so fast. he wanted to fix things, but really didn’t know how. he couldn’t even tell you what was broken, let alone how to begin to fix them.

his brother had tried to give him advice after listening to the entire story, but there was only so much he could do. he knew that you were right, their father was keeping him from you on purpose, slowly making tenya think that he was in the right in an attempt to break you up, but he couldn't be the one to tell him.

tenya had to come to that conclusion himself. he needed to be the one to set boundaries and save your relationship, but from the looks of it, soon any attempts would be futile.

“_____? darling?” iida called as he came into your home. immediately noticing your missing shoes, he moved to the bedroom in a flash, checking to see if you had just moved them or something.

the room was a mess, drawers left open and clothing strewn across the bed and floor. the bathroom had been cleared of almost all your essentials, and a note was left on the dresser. gingerly, iida picked it up and read it, offering up a silent prayer that it didn't say what he thought it did.

i don't know when you'll see this, or if you ever will. if you're reading it, that means you came back home but you will not find me there.

im tired, tenya.

im tired of always being the one to extend the olive branch or bend over backwards for you.

i refuse to be in that position any longer. i love you… i love you so much it hurts sometimes because i know this isn't the way things were supposed to be. but you left, and so i decided to leave too.

if a way to fix things exists, i want us to find it, but right now i need some time to reevaluate us and what that means. i hope you understand, i know you will.

if you want to reach out, im open to talking about this further, but for right now i need to think.

goodbye.

--------

#peachiileaf50! #[🍑]peachiimilquetea #[🍑]peachiiwrites #scenario #tenya iida #mha iida #iida angst #angst #tenya iida x reader #iida x female reader #peachiileafsfw

[gaitwae]

"I would rather die a thousand times;" with loki please?

Warnings: argument, hurt/comfort, cringey crying, ambiguous ending.

Summary: You decided to ask Loki if the two of you could ever have a romantic relationship. Loki, who knows this question might be from some weird Midgardian infatuation instead, gets defensive.

Tags: @make-me-imagine @thorfanficwriter  @bwemph @myraiswack @rorybutnotgilmore @loki-snape-our-hero @wolfish-trickster @lucywrites02 @mostly-marvel-musings @winterfrostsarmy @superheroesandstardust @castiels-majestic-wings @geekns @lokis-high-priestess @natandersonnla @cozy-the-overlord @megthemewlingquim @frostedgiant @whatafuckingdumbass @thebookbakery @delightfulheartdream @twhiddlestonsstuff @lokistan @the-emo-asgardian @amwolowicz

Happy ending! I’m sorry for the (mostly) angst!

+-+--

The sun sank low beneath the horizon long before Loki had said a word. You were biting at your nails silently. The god was yet to make his decision. Time dragged on and on, ticking along with the clock on the mantle. The sound it made was horrendous. The sound of silence would have been worse. You wanted an answer, but it would take years and years before the two of you could reach an agreement. 

You just wanted to know if there was a possibility.

“Loki?” you whispered. You couldn’t keep your mouth shut any longer.

“Hmm?” Loki picked up his head and faced you. He had that sad look in his eyes, again, his fingers curling nervously. “Oh, yes,” he said quietly. “I was still thinking, Y/N, I apologize.” He pulled his hands over his knees, then back over his thighs. “You really think that he’s out there, don’t you?”

“Who?” you asked, knowing exactly what he was referring to. You didn’t want to give in to his let-down — not when you still had some shred of honor left. You found your feet very appealing, suddenly. 

“That man; the ‘One,’ you’ve called him.” Loki heaved a heavy sigh and shook his head. He wiped his face. Your heart plummeted. Dipped. Your belly was set ablaze and your eyes felt scratchy. You knew what was coming. “Listen, I don’t know if we’d ever be… together, but I would feel much better if I knew your ‘One’ was still searching for you, too.”

“Loki,” you pleaded, “that isn’t fair.” You swallowed the tears down — if you cried now, it would show how weak you were — how much you relied on him. He would be scared off, wouldn’t he? Would he lose respect for you? Would he despise you? What would be the outcome? What would happen? “That’s not fair at all…”

“No, it isn’t,” he conceded. He turned his head away from you. You knew he couldn’t handle your tears well. His voice raised slightly as he continued, “But asking such a fragile question isn’t fair to me, is it?”

You felt the tears slip down. You wiped them away quickly, trying to regain your composure. “Loki…”

“Is it?” he snapped, causing you to jump. “Did you have to ask now, Y/N? Did you have to let your emotions get the better of you when we’re trying to escape this blasted planet?” With each word, more rage slipped into his voice, his tone, his whole manner. He was furious with you. You had upset him.

“Loki, I —” 

“Asking me to be your partner is out of the question! I would be dead first, Y/N! The situation we’re in, the pressure we’re under, I would rather die a thousand times than put our lives at risk for your silly fantasy!” He threw his hands down. You didn’t remember them flying so high. “Dying like a hero is far better than dying to protect your flimsy, mortal heart.” His chest peaked, then fell harshly. “You change so frequently; I’m surprised you even figured out that you wanted me. Perhaps it’s the thrill of danger, yes? The possibility of becoming a legend? An idol? Or is that too much glory for you? Are you hoping for rescue? To be saved like you had been taught from so young?”

You couldn’t speak. You didn’t move. You didn’t know how; after all, you hadn’t really been on the receiving end of his scolding. Well, that wasn’t really scolding. That was just… degrading. He was insulting you, peeling away your confidence layer by layer with a steady glare. He was angry — no, he was embarrassed — at your query. If you knew he would react this way, you would have sewn your own lips shut. You thought you could trust him. You wanted to trust him. You wanted that more than anything.

“You’re being cruel,” you pushed out. “You have no idea what I want.”

“I know you’re a small, witless child,” he growled. Loki stood from his seat. You ducked your head and stared at your knuckles. He grabbed your chin, jerking your face up without hurting you. “You’re simply an… an insect in the grand scheme of things who imagines greatness for yourself. I’m something you haven’t attained, that you haven’t experienced. You don’t want me for who I am, but rather what. Y/N, you’re a dreamer. That is why you follow me. Yes?” The god’s eyes searched yours with a frantic need. You clenched your jaw, removing his hand from your face. 

You said nothing.

“Answer me,” he spat. He dropped his arms, spreading his legs apart in a warrior’s stance. He was battling this topic more than you had imagined. Unless you were seeing things, Loki’s blue eyes were shining. His lips were tight against each other. Why was he losing his temper so? “Answer!” 

You kept your eyes focused on his; you wouldn’t say anything, you couldn’t, your tongue wouldn’t let you. Your knees shook. Your hands tingled. Your cheekbones tingled, too. Your throat hurt. Your nose burned. The longer Loki saw your tears, the wetter his own orbs became. Your body hadn’t racked with sobs yet, but they were waiting to erupt any moment. 

“Why could you possibly want a relationship with me, Y/N? I’m not yours to study, to toy with. Greatness cannot be the basis of love.” He looked between you and the door. His escape was too far away. The confrontation was hurting far too much — it was evident, written all over his face. “You can’t love me. Why would you?”

“Because you’re a hero,” you whispered. Your eyes followed him, but your limbs disobeyed every order to stand, to turn away, and walk out the door. Your last chance to spare your own feelings was slipping through the door. “If you weren’t, I would have been gone long before asking the question.”

“So… it is greatness,” he said quietly. “You want the persona.” He sniffed sharply, settling back into his chair. He raked his hands through his hair, once, twice, three times. He couldn’t sit still, but you still couldn’t move. “Not… me.” He wiped under his eye with his thumb. Finally, you understood why Loki was so offended by your question.

After all, who could ever love a man if he was a concept? What woman was loved wholly when the world focused on her beauty?

Your own heart shattered as you watched his crumble. Before you understood what was happening, you stood and walked to the prince. The forgotten prince. The prodigal son who had been thrown away, cast aside, and crushed like a cigarette under a boot. Once a bright flame, but quickly reduced to dying embers. Oh, and you had the nerve to ask him if there was a possibility of having his heart… you were like a child asking to hold something frustratingly delicate. 

You held his head, petting his hair for him. Your lip wobbled, as did Loki’s. He shook his head with agony. He buried his face in your body, clinging onto your hips with arms wrapped tight. You kept running your fingers on his head, scratching his scalp, and playing with his hair. His arms shook against your person. He tugged you between his knees to grip you better.

“I love you,” your voice came, echoing the ringing thought in your nearly empty mind. “I would love you even if you weren’t a god; I would love you if you lived under a bridge and smoked gasoline.” You tried for some humor. Loki’s fingers dug into your shirt. “Your greatness comes from your heart, Loki. Isn’t that what matters? Your heart?”

His shoulders jerked forward, the pace faster and faster as a heart-wrenching noise escaped from him. You tightened your grip on him. His sobs kept coming, over and over and over. They weren’t loud —  they sounded more like whimpers than anything else. It didn’t mean that the sound wasn’t enough to tear someone’s soul in half. It was tearing your soul in half. Seeing him like this… you didn’t know what to do other than to be his anchor. This was so unlike Loki; at the same time, this was Loki. 

This was every piece of hurt he had been holding onto for who knows how long. You had just found the weak spot in his armor. Loki loved you deeply and you could care less if it was platonic or romantic. Your stupid selfishness had caused a breakdown… 

Yet, it was healthy. He needed this. He needed this. 

You didn’t need an answer tonight. You didn’t need an answer for a while. 

This was more important. You’d rather die a thousand times than walk out on him in a moment of need.

The clock passed midnight long before Loki calmed. By the time he had stopped making that tear-jerking sound, the clock was seconds away from chiming. When he stopped shaking, it was almost one o’clock in the morning. You had moved to sit next to him then. Loki rested his head on your chest and shoulder. The only words spoken were your affirmations and your coos. For the Norns’ sakes, the crying was awkward; just by the way he stared off into space, you could tell he wouldn’t want to talk about this.

Ever.

“I’m sorry,” he said once it was over. “That wasn’t very… very heroic of me, was it? He laughed sourly. You continued to stroke his hair. “I wail like an infant and you’re still here…”

“I thought it was very brave,” you said honestly. “Breaking down in front of someone who might not truly love you? I’d just run away and hide.”

“You’re pushing it,” he mumbled, deadpan. “If this was me years ago, I don’t suppose I would have even let you see me like that. I would rather be dead, first.”

“I’m glad we solved something, tonight,” you told the giant in your arms. “But next time, I think we should talk about it slowly.”

“Agreed.” Loki closed his eyes. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

“Oh, you’re excused,” you yawned. The clock ticked quietly. It was like a lure to sleep. You felt safe, squished in this seat with Loki. 

If someone wanted to take you from Loki, you’d have to be dead first.

#gaitwae writes #loki #marvel #mcu #loki x reader #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #loki x y/n #loki mcu #mcu loki #loki x you #loki angst #loki hurt/comfort

[xoruffitup]

Annette: The AD Devotee Review

So I saw Annette on its premiere night in Cannes and I’m still trying to process and make sense of those 2.5 hours of utter insanity. I have no idea where to begin and this is likely going to become an unholy length by the time I’m finished, so I apologize in advance. But BOY I’ve got a lot to parse through!!

Let’s start here: Adam’s made plenty of weird movies. The Dead Don’t Die? The Man Who Killed Don Quixote? There are definitely Terry Gilliam-esque elements of the unapologetically absurd and fantastical in Annette, but NOTHING comes close to this film. To put it bluntly, nothing I write in this post can prepare you for the eccentric phantasmagoria you’re about to sit through.

While the melodies conveying the story – at times lovely and haunting, at times whimsical, occasionally blunt and simple – add a unique sense of the surreal, the fact that it’s all presented in song somehow supplies the medium for this bizarre concoction of disparate elements and outlandish storytelling to all coalesce into a single genre-defying, disbelief-suspending whole. That’s certainly not to say there weren’t a few times when I quietly chortled to myself and mouthed “what the fuck” from behind my mask when things took an exceeding turn to the outrageous. This movie needs to be permitted a bit of leeway in terms of quality judgments, and traditional indicators certainly won’t apply. I would say part of its appeal (and ultimately its success) stems from its lack of interest in appealing to traditional arbiters of film structure and viewing experience. The movie lingers in studies of discomfiture (I’ll return to this theme); it presents all its absurdities with brazen pride rather than temperance; and its end is abrupt and utterly jarring. Yet somehow, at the end of it, I realized I’d been white-knuckling that rollercoaster ride the whole way through and loved every last twist and turn.

A note on the structure of this post before I dive in: I’ve written out a synopsis of the whole film (for those spoiler-hungry people) and stashed it down at the bottom of this post, so no one trying to avoid spoilers has to scroll through. If you want to read, go ahead and skip down to that before reading the discussion/analysis. If I have to reference a specific plot point, I’ll label it “Spoiler #___” and those who don’t mind being spoiled can check the correlating numbers in my synopsis to see which part I’m referencing. Otherwise, my discussion will be spoiler-free! I do detail certain individual scenes, but hid anything that would give away key developments and/or the ending.

To start, I’ll cut to what I’m sure many of you are here for: THE MUSICAL SEX SCENES. You want detailed descriptions? Well let’s fucking go because these scenes have been living in my head rent-free!!

The first (yes, there are two. Idk whether to thank Mr. Carax or suggest he get his sanity checked??) happens towards the end of “We Love Each Other So Much.” Henry carries Ann to the bed with her feet dangling several inches off the floor while she has her arms wrapped around his shoulders. (I maybe whimpered a tiny bit.) As they continue to sing, you first see Ann spread on her back on the bed, panting a little BUT STILL SINGING while Henry’s head is down between her thighs. The camera angle is from above Ann’s head, so you can clearly see down her body and exactly what’s going on. He lifts his head to croon a line, then puts his mouth right back to work. 

And THEN they fuck – still fucking singing! They’re on their sides with Henry behind her, and yes there is visible thrusting. Yes, the thrusting definitely picks up speed and force as the song reaches its crescendo. Yes, it was indeed EXTREMELY sensual once you got over the initial shock of what you’re watching. Ann kept her breasts covered with her own hands while Henry went down on her, but now his hands are covering them and kneading while they’re fucking and just….. It’s a hard, blazing hot R rating. I also remember his giant hand coming up to turn her head so he can kiss her and ladkjfaskfjlskfj. Bring your smelling salts. I don’t recommend sitting between two older ladies while you’re watching – KINDA RUINED THE BLATANT, SMOKING HOT ADAM PORN FOR ME. Good god, choose your viewing buddy wisely!

The second scene comes sort of out of nowhere – I can’t actually recall which song it was during, but it pops up while Ann is pregnant. Henry is again eating her out and there’s not as much overt singing this time, but he has his giant hands splayed over her pregnant belly while he’s going to town and whew, WHEW TURN ON THE AIR CONDITIONING PLEASE. DID THE THEATER INCREASE IN TEMPERATURE BY 10 DEGREES, YOU’RE DAMN RIGHT IT DID.

Whew. I think you’ll be better primed to ~enjoy~ those scenes when you know they’re coming, otherwise it’s just so shocking that by the time you’ve processed “Look at Adam eating pussy with reckless abandon” it’s halfway over already. God speed, my fellow rats, it’s truly something to witness!!

Okay. Right. Ahem. Moving right on along….

I’ll kick off this discussion with the formal structure of the film. It’s honestly impossible to classify. I have the questionable fortune of having been taken to many a strange avant-garde operas and art exhibitions by my parents when I was younger, and the strongest parallel I found to this movie was melodramatic opera stagings full of flamboyant flourishes, austere set pieces, and prolonged numbers where the characters wallow at length in their respective miseries. This movie has all the elevated drama, spectacle, and self-aggrandizement belonging to any self-professed rock opera. Think psychedelic rock opera films a la The Who’s Tommy, Hair, Phantom of the Paradise, and hell, even Rocky Horror. Yes, this film really is THAT weird.

But Annette is also in large part a vibrant, absurdist performance piece. The film is intriguingly book-ended by two scenes where the lines blur between actor and character; and your own role blurs between passive viewer and interactive audience. The first scene has the cast walking through the streets of LA (I think?), singing “So May We Start?” directly to the camera in a self-aware prologue, smashing the fourth wall from the beginning and setting up the audience to play a direct role in the viewing experience. Though the cast then disburse and take up their respective roles, the sense of being directly performed to is reinforced throughout the film. This continues most concretely through Henry’s multiple stand-up comedy performances.

Though he performs to an audience in the film rather than directly to live viewers, these scenes are so lengthy, vulgar, and excessive that his solo performance act becomes an integral part of defining his character and conveying his arc as the film progresses. These scenes start to make the film itself feel like a one-man show. The whole shtick of Henry McHenry’s “Ape of God” show is its perverse irreverence and swaggering machismo. Over the span of what must be a five minute plus scene, Henry hacks up phlegm, pretends to choke himself with his microphone cord, prances across the stage with his bathrobe flapping about, simulates being shot, sprinkles many a misanthropic, charmless monologues in between, and ends by throwing off his robe and mooning the audience before he leaves the stage. (Yes, you see Adam’s ass within the film’s first twenty minutes, and we’re just warming up from there.) His one-man performances demonstrate his egocentrism, penchant for lowbrow and often offensive humor, and the fact that this character has thus far profited from indulging in and acting out his base vulgarities.

While never demonstrating any abundance of good taste, his shows teeter firmly towards the grotesque and unsanctionable as his marriage and mental health deteriorate. This is what I’m referring to when I described the film as a study in discomfiture. As he deteriorates, the later iterations of his stand-up show become utterly unsettling and at times revolting. The film could show mercy and stop at one to two minutes of his more deranged antics, but instead subjects you to a protracted display of just how insane this man might possibly be. In Adam’s hands, these excessive, indulgent performance scenes take on disturbing but intriguing ambiguity, as you again wonder where the performance ends and the real man begins. When Henry confesses to a crime during his show and launces into an elaborate, passionate reenactment on stage, you shift uncomfortably in your seat wondering how much of it might just be true. Wondering just how much of an animal this man truly is.

Watching this film as an Adam fan, these scenes are unparalleled displays of his range and prowess. He’s in turns amusing and revolting; intolerable and pathetic; but always, always riveting. I couldn’t help thinking to myself that for the casual, non Adam-obsessed viewer, the effect of these scenes might stop at crass and unappealing. But in terms of the sheer range and power of acting on display? These scenes are a damn marvel. Through these scenes alone, his performance largely imbues the film with its wild, primal, and vaguely menacing atmosphere.

His stand-up scenes were, to me, some of the most intense of the film – sometimes downright difficult to endure. But they’re only a microcosm of the R A N G E he exhibits throughout the film’s entirety. Let’s talk about how he’s animalistic, menacing, and genuinely unsettling to watch (Leos Carax described him as “feline” at some point, and I 100% see it); and then with a mere subtle twitch of his expression, sheen of his eyes, or slump of his shoulders, he’s suddenly a lost, broken thing.  

Henry McHenry is truly to be reviled. Twitter might as well spare their breath and announce he’s already cancelled. He towers above the rest of the cast with intimidating, predatory physicality; he is prone to indulgence in his vices; and he constantly seems at risk of releasing some wild, uncontrollable madness lingering just beneath his surface. But as we all well know, Adam has an unerring talent for lending pathos to even the most objectively condemnable characters.

In a repeated refrain during his first comedy show, the audience keeps asking him, “Why did you become a comedian?” He dodges the question or gives sarcastic answers, until finally circling back to the true answer later in the film. It was something to the effect of: “To disarm people. It’s the only way I can tell the truth without it killing me.” Even for all their sick spectacle, there are also moments in his stand-up shows of disarming vulnerability and (seeming) honesty. In a similar moment of personal exposition, he confesses his temptation and “sympathy for the abyss.” (This phrase is hands down my favorite of the film.) He repeatedly refers to his struggle against “the abyss” and, at the same time, his perceived helplessness against it. “There’s so little I can do, there’s so little I can do,” he sings repeatedly throughout the film - usually just after doing something horrific.

Had he been played by anyone else, the first full look of him warming up before his show - hopping in place and punching the air like some wannabe boxer, interspersing puffs of his cigarette with chowing down on a banana – would have been enough for me to swear him off. His archetype is something of a cliché at this point – a brusque, boorish man who can’t stomach or preserve the love of others due to his own self-loathing. There were multiple points when it was only Adam’s face beneath the character that kept my heart cracked open to him. But sure enough, he wedged his fingers into that tiny crack and pried it wide open. The film’s final few scenes show him at his chin-wobbling best as he crumbles apart in small, mournful subtleties.

(General, semi-spoiler ahead as to the tone of the film’s ending – skip this paragraph if you’d rather avoid.) For a film that professes not to take itself very seriously (how else am I supposed to interpret the freaky puppet baby?), it delivers a harsh, unforgiving ending to its main character. And sure enough, despite how much I might have wanted to distance myself and believe it was only what he deserved, I found myself right there with him, sharing his pain. It is solely testament to Adam’s tireless dedication to breathing both gritty realism and stubborn beauty into his characters that Henry sank a hook into some piece of my sympathy.

Not only does Adam have to be the only actor capable of imbuing Henry with humanity despite his manifold wrongs, he also has to be the only actor capable of the wide-ranging transformations demanded of the role. He starts the movie with long hair and his full refrigerator brick house physique. His physicality and size are actively leveraged to engender a sense of disquiet and unpredictability through his presence. He appears in turns tormented and tormentor. There were moments when I found myself thinking of Conan the Barbarian, simply because his physical presence radiates such wild, primal energy (especially next to tiny, dainty Marion and especially with that long hair). Cannot emphasize enough: The raw sex appeal is off the goddamn charts and had me – a veteran fangirl of 3+ years - shook to my damn core.

The film’s progression then ages him – his hair cut shorter and his face and physique gradually becoming more gaunt. By the film’s end, he has facial prosthetics to make him seem even more stark and borderline sickly – a mirror of his growing internal torment. From a muscular, swaggering powerhouse, he pales and shrinks to a shell of a man, unraveling as his face becomes nearly deformed by time and guilt. He is in turns beautiful and grotesque; sensual and repulsive. I know of no other actor whose face (and its accompanying capacity for expressiveness) could lend itself to such stunning versatility.

Quick note here that he was given a reddish-brown birthmark on the right side of his face for this film?? It becomes more prominent once his hair is shorter in the film’s second half. I’m guessing it was Leos’ idea to make his face even more distinctive and riveting? If so, joke’s on you, Mr. Carax, because we’re always riveted. ☺

I mentioned way up at the beginning that the film is bookended by two scenes where the lines blur between actor and character, and between reality and performance. This comes full circle at the film’s end, with Henry’s final spoken words (this doesn’t give any plot away but skip to the next paragraph if you would rather avoid!) being “Stop watching me.” That’s it. The show is over. He has told his last joke, played out his final act, and now he’s done living his life as a source of cheap, unprincipled laughs and thrills for spectators. The curtain closes with a resounding silence.

Now, I definitely won’t have a section where I talk (of course) about the Ben Solo parallels. He’s haunted by an “abyss” aka darkness inside of him? Bad things happened when he finally gave in and stared into that darkness he knew lived within him? As a result of those tragedies, (SPOILER – Skip to next paragraph to avoid) he then finds himself alone and with no one to love or be loved by? NO I’M DEFINITELY NOT GOING TO TALK ABOUT IT AT ALL, I’M JUST FINE HERE UNDER MY MOUNTAINS OF TISSUES.

Let’s talk about the music! The film definitely clocks in closer to a rock opera than musical, because almost the entire thing is conveyed through ongoing song, rather than self-contained musical numbers appearing here and there. This actually helps the film’s continuity and pacing, by keeping the characters perpetually in this suspended state of absurdity, always propelled along by some beat or melody. Whenever the film seems on the precipice of tipping all the way into the bleak and dark, the next whimsical tune kicks in to reel us all blessedly back. For example, after (SPOILER #1) happens, there’s a hard cut to the bright police station where several officers gather around Henry, bopping about and chattering on the beat “Questions! We have a few questions!”

Adam integrates his singing into his performance in such a way that it seems organic. I realized after the film that I never consciously considered the quality of his singing along the way. For all that I talked about the film maintaining the atmosphere of a fourth wall-defying performance piece, Adam’s singing is so fully immersed in the embodiment of his character that you almost forget he’s singing. Rather, this is simply how Henry McHenry exists. His stand-up scenes are the only ones in the film that do frequently transition back and forth between speaking and singing, but it’s seamlessly par for the course in Henry’s bizarre, dour show. He breaks into his standard “Now laugh!” number with uninterrupted sarcasm and contempt. There were certainly a few soft, poignant moments when his voice warbled in a tender vibrato you couldn’t help noticing – but otherwise, the singing was simply an extension of that full-body persona he manages to convey with such apparent ease and naturalism.

On the music itself: I’ll admit that the brief clip of “We Love Each Other So Much” we got a few weeks ago made me a tad nervous. It seemed so cheesy and ridiculous? But okay, you really can’t take anything from this movie out of context. Otherwise it is, indeed, utterly ridiculous. Not that none of it is ever ridiculous in context either, but I’m giving you assurances right now that it WORKS. Once you’re in the flow of constant singing and weirdness abound, the songs sweep you right along. Some of the songs lack a distinctive hook or melody and are moreso rhythmic vehicles for storytelling, but it’s now a day later and I still have three of the songs circulating pleasantly in my head. “We Love Each Other So Much” was actually the stand out for me and is now my favorite of the soundtrack. It’s reprised a few times later in the film, growing increasingly melancholy each time it is echoed, and it hits your heart a bit harder each time. The final song sung during (SPOILER #2), though without a distinctive melody to lodge in my head, undoubtedly left me far more moved than a spoken version of this scene would have. Adam’s singing is so painfully desperate and earnest here, and he takes the medium fully under his command.

Finally, it does have to be said that parts of this film veer fully towards the ridiculous and laughable. The initial baby version of the Annette puppet-doll was nothing short of horrifying to me. Annette gets more center-stage screen time in the film’s second half, which gives itself over to a few special effects sequences which look to be flying out at you straight from 2000 Windows Movie Maker. The scariest part is that it all seems intentional. The quality special effects appear when necessary (along with some unusual and captivating time lapse shots), which means the film’s most outrageous moments are fully in line with its guiding spirit. Its extravagant self-indulgence nearly borders on camp.

...And with that, I’ve covered the majority of the frantic notes I took for further reflection immediately after viewing. It’s now been a few days, and I’m looking forward to rewatching this movie when I can hopefully take it in a bit more fully. This time, I won’t just be struggling to keep up with the madness on screen. My concluding thoughts at this point: Is it my favorite Adam movie? Certainly not. Is it the most unforgettable? Aside from my holy text, The Last Jedi, likely yes. It really is the sort of thing you have to see twice to even believe it. And all in all, I say again that Adam truly carried this movie, and he fully inhabits even its highest, most ludicrous aspirations. He’s downright abhorrent in this film, and that’s exactly what makes him such a fucking legend.

I plan to make a separate post in the coming days about my experience at Cannes and the Annette red carpet, since a few people have asked! I can’t even express how damn good it feels to be globetrotting for Adam-related experiences again. <3

Thanks so much for reading! Feel free to ask me any further questions at all here or on Twitter! :)

*SYNOPSIS INCLUDED BELOW. DO NOT READ FURTHER IF AVOIDING SPOILERS!*

Synopsis: Comedian Henry McHenry and opera singer Ann Defrasnoux are both at the pinnacle of their respective success when they fall in love and marry. The marriage is happy and passionate for a time, leading to the birth of their (puppet) daughter, Annette. But tabloids and much of the world believe the crude, brutish Henry is a poor match for refined, idolized Ann. Ann and Henry themselves both begin to feel that something is amiss – Henry gradually losing his touch for his comedy craft, claiming that being in love is making him ill. He repeatedly and sardonically references how Ann’s opera career involves her “singing and dying” every night, to the point that he sees visions of her “dead” body on the stage. Meanwhile, Ann has a nightmare of multiple women accusing Henry of abusive and violent behavior towards them, and she begins growing wary in his presence. (He never acts abusively towards her, unless you count that scene when he tickles her feet and licks her toes while she’s telling him to stop??? Yeah I know, WILD.)

The growing sense of unease, that they’re both teetering on the brink of disaster, culminates in the most deranged of Henry’s stand-up comedy performances, when he gives a vivid reenactment of killing his wife by “tickling her to death.” The performance is so maudlin and unsettling that you wonder whether he’s not making it up at all, and the audience strongly rebukes him. (This is the “What is your problem?!” scene with tiddies out. The full version includes Adam storming across the stage, furiously singing/yelling, “What the FUCK is your problem?!”) But when Henry arrives home that night, drunk and raucous, Ann and Annette are both unharmed.

The couple take a trip on their boat, bringing Annette with them. The boat gets caught in a storm, and Henry drunkenly insists that he and Ann waltz in the storm. She protests that it’s too dangerous and begs him to see sense. (SPOILER #1) The boat lurches when Henry spins her, and Ann falls overboard to her death. Henry rescues Annette from the sinking boat and rows them both to shore. He promptly falls unconscious, and a ghost of Ann appears, proclaiming her intention to haunt Henry through Annette. Annette (still a toddler at this point and yes, still a wooden puppet) then develops a miraculous gift for singing, and Henry decides to take her on tour with performances around the world. He enlists the help of his “conductor friend,” who had been Ann’s accompanist and secretly had an affair with her before she met Henry.

Henry slides further into drunken debauchery as the tour progresses, while the Conductor looks after Annette and the two grow close. Once the tour concludes, the Conductor suggests to Henry that Annette might be his own daughter – revealing his prior affair with Ann. Terrified by the idea of anyone finding out and the possibility of losing his daughter, Henry drowns the Conductor in the pool behind his and Ann’s house. Annette sees the whole thing happen from her bedroom window.

Henry plans one last show for Annette, to be held in a massive stadium at the equivalent of the Super Bowl. But when Annette takes the stage, she refuses to sing. Instead, she speaks and accuses Henry of murder. (“Daddy kills people,” are the actual words – not that that was creepy to hear as this puppet’s first spoken words or anything.)

Henry stands trial, during which he sees an apparition of Ann from when they first met. They sing their regret that they can’t return to the happiness they once shared, until the apparition is replaced by Ann’s vengeful spirit, who promises to haunt Henry in prison. After his sentencing (it’s not clear what the sentence was, but Henry definitely isn’t going free), Annette is brought to see him once in prison. Speaking fully for the first time, she declares she can’t forgive her parents for using her: Henry for exploiting her voice for profit and Ann for presumably using her to take vengeance on Henry. (Yes, this is why she was an inanimate doll moving on strings up to this point – there was some meaning in that strange, strange artistic choice. She was the puppet of her parents’ respective egotisms.) The puppet of Annette is abruptly replaced by a real girl in this scene, finally enabling two-sided interaction and a long-missed genuine connection between her and Henry, which made this quite the emotional catharsis. (SPOILER #2) It concludes with Annette still unwilling to forgive or forget what her parents have done, and swearing never to sing again. She says Henry now has “no one to love.” He appeals, “Can’t I love you, Annette?” She replies, “No, not really.” Henry embraces her one last time before a guard takes her away and Henry is left alone.

…..Yes, that is the end. It left me with major emotional whiplash, after the whole film up to this point kept pulling itself back from the total bleak and dark by starting up a new toe-tapping, mildly silly tune every few minutes. But this last scene instead ends on a brutal note of harsh, unforgiving silence.

BUT! Make sure you stick around through the credits, when you see the cast walking through a forest together. (This is counterpart to the film’s opening, when you see the cast walking through LA singing “So May We Start?” directly to the audience) Definitely pay attention to catch Adam chasing/playing with the little girl actress who plays Annette! That imparts a much nicer feeling to leave the theater with. :’)

#Adam Driver #Annette #Cannes 2021 #driverdaily #Annette spoilers

[valdangelodumbasses]

Valdangelo Headcannons #1

Leo and Nico are both introverts but Nico loves affection

Leo made Nico tiramisu once and he swallowed it faster than Percy could ever

Leo couldn't look him in the eyes for a week or he got so flustered

Nico is lawyer bf 

and a demon at monopoly; him playing w/ Annie is the worst.

gamers! both like monster (specifically mango loco) but Nico also loves tropical redbull

Nico teaches Leo and hazel how to play so they can battle 2v2

Nico wipes the floor and Leo is just glad he understands half the rules

Nico and Leo wear heels. 

and they're good at it too.

Confident Nico>>>>>>  

Leo has a fucking heart attack when Nico pins him to a wall

Leo makes Nico laugh with his jokes and shitty pickup lines

but when Uses shitty pickup lines on him he steals them, after he stops looking like a tomato

Nico does Cosplay and they cosplay together and its so fucking rad

making out while baking/cooking? more likely than u think

Leo tells Nico he looks cute one day b4 they started dating and Nico is like: Is this friendly affection

Caffeine addicts rise up

but Nico hates coffee and honestly same

teas n energy drinks>>> 

Leo is a fucking swine who mixes all his foods and Nico nearly vomits bc he wont let his food even touch goddamit

Piper and Hazel being wingman while Percy and Jason are the matchmakers

p r a n k s

like so goddam many

they are unstoppable and they pin it on the Stolls

or Leo gets caught

Nico n e v e r does bc like? scary emo kid? prankster? nah, NAh,

he sticks his tongue out at leo anytime leo gets caught

bisexual leo or gay leo? leo doesn't even know!

all he knows is that nicos hot and has a cute butt & personality

nico is a theater gay

he sings every musical

his favorites are Heathers, Beetle juice, Legally blond, and the greatest showman

Leo has theater kid energy but probably works the tech stuff

he likes heathers, Chicago, legally blond, Grease, and dear evan Hansen the best

Hamilton is neither of their favorites yet they end up dueting it all the time

Art kid and Repair kid>>>>>>>>>>>>

Percy sees them kiss after dating (and kissing) for 6 months and wait yall are friends?

Hes slow but he means well, Nico sticks his tongue in leo's mouth after percy says that

he's like  “O H , sorry im dumb”

“jackpot” “Valdez shush”

they talk abt their moms

angsty emo boys listen to greenday

and every other emo band

Leo calls Nico mammacita once

never again (Nico started crying)

why? It was commonplace used by his uncles and grandpa

Nico demands leo call him that more though

Leo is Hesitant but obliges

mexican or italian food restaurant arguments

leo steals nicos breadsticks even tho he has some

nico steals leo's nachos when he has his own

they're petty? yes but petty and in love!

and gay/ did i mention g a y 

Demiboy leo rights

leos a fuckin lefty

Trans Nico rights mtf or ftm rights

nico may not be trans but he's also demiboy

demi boys calling each other they all day because nobody uses the they in he/they (speaking as a demigirl)

If nico IS trans tho hades 100% uses magic to transition Nico bc yes good dad

laughing abt trauma and they're friends are like: NO

memes

“get ur hands off my bf”

“kick their ass baby i got cho flower”

imagine, just imagine nico fussing over leos hair because curly is the cutest

leo fusses over nicos when he's in a slump and brushes his hair

skincare is vital to both

Leo does engineering n shit but does it for like 16 hours straight much to everyone's dismay, but Nico who has (arguably) fresh eyes and make sure his physics is right

Nico loves physics fight me

but nico sleeps like 4 times a week for 3 hours or 3 days a week for 12 hours

Insomnia gang don’t rise up go to fuckin sleep 

will keeps giving them melatonin and they always forget to take ti and will is going to fuckin murder them maybe then they'll sleep

u know that comic where they naruto kiss S P I D E R M A N  K I S S I E S

nico hangs like a bat and leo is a memelord

nico also loves spider man

they def try to make spider man gear but annie smashes the shit out of it

dorks! comic!

omg comic book shop au nico owns it

soulmate au where u loose shit n it goes to ur soulmate

nico has NO clue what the hell to do with all this nails n hammers n shit

Leo builds stuff out of nicos lost mytho dupes 

Leo doesnt know what to do with his underwear, or all the mcdonalds receipts and the crumpled up sketches and sketch books

anyway

aphrodite ships it as she SHOULD and hades n heppy do too

why did i cal hephaestus heppy ? idk maybe aphrodite calls him that

They both hate yoga with a passion

does nico have an obsession with spn or does he hate it sm that he watches it ?

its as ambiguous as leo's sexuality!

Leos like what if i'm straight

then nico walks in 

No he's definitely not straight

who even heard of greeks being straight smh

Nico in miniskirts, aline, or any skirt makes leo go brrrrrrr

he wears leggings or tights under them though

Nico also wears leggins to bed

or the fluffy pants he steals from leo so leo doesn't have any pants

“IM FEELINGS DEVIOUS AND LOOKING GLAMORUS-”

band band band band band band band band band  Nico can sing and leo plays drums

Nico and katie are friends and Nico has a green thumb so leo is surprised when nico has more houseplants than crowley (Good omens)

He has tons of hanging and not hanging terrariums

Leo tries not to set them on fire

After Leo and Nico start hanging out more Nico bribes Lou Ellen to make his plants fire proof

they are now

Nico knows how to fire a gun and he's good at it

Pirate Nico!! 

Leo and Hades get along well

So does Nico and heppy

the parents get along too but they diss heras bad mothering

Nico gets de aged and leo is ???? but he's so CUTE AND TINY

Leo babysits him for a week in the bunker and nobody even knows until Percy and Will goes in there looking for him

Nico and Clarisse sparing? Sweaty bf? Leo loves it and chris and leo are just staring and say “yes”

Nico has freckles and leo kisses each one

Leo has these really dark freckles spread across his body but they aren't as frequent as freckles?? y'all know what i mean? ne way nico kisses them

Leo uses Yall. 

It rubs off on nico

jason is a die hard anti y’all

they annoy the shit out of him

Cuddles

nico and leo having bakeoffs

Nico asking piper for advice but editing it so its not super obvious its leo

She figures it out and tells leo like any good bff

nico promptly leaves camp when leo busts in asking if he has a crush on him

hades laughs but understands

leo sulks back to piper and percy is there and Percy got no chill

so he goes down there

Hades ain't too happy w that but Nico just gets so embarrassed and goes back with him

Hephaestus and aphro watching this go down like a romcom

I'm getting tired so im going to stop here anyway stan valdangelo for clear skin

#valdangelo #ghostfire #Leico #leo x nico #nico x leo #headcannons #valdangelo headcannons #pjo #hoo #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #jason grace #nico di angelo #leo valdez #heros of olympus #pjohoo #piper mclean #hazel levesque #stan for clear skin #gay #theese bitches gay

[catlulu-the-only]

Okay, so it’s been weeks since mag200 aired and I’ve been thinking about Jon and Martin in Somewhere Else ever since. There was no way I would headcanon anything besides them being fine and together there. But I need “proof”, you know? My brain needs my headcanon to make sense. I know a lot of things happened the way they did for the very delibarate and important purpose of the ending being left ambiguous and open to interpretation. Jon needs to be a mystery after all *sob*(flashbacks to mag39) But! Still, here are my very personal readings and opinions on things that totally make it obvious that our sweet babies are together Somewhere Else and relatively okay.

-No bodies. Yes, maybe they could find them later. But let’s say they’ve looked all over since they’re so ready to conclude that they’re gone. Also the tape sounds after Martin stabs Jon totally sound like it could be tape wrapping around them to whisk them away. (Very lukewarm start I know, but gotta cover all the bases)

-Annabelle’s exact words when she explains the way to free the Entities are “Destroy the Archives, and cut out The Eye’s pupil.” She doesn’t say “kill”, everyone else just defaults to thinking about killing and murder because the pupil is Elias who everyone wants to kill at this point anyway. True, she doesn’t correct them, but what does she care, killing works too. All she cares about is the Entities being freed. But it doesn’t mean only killing works.

-Furthermore, it’s already been established with regards to becoming an Avatar that death is the final step, but that that doesn’t necessarily mean physical death. Symbolic death, making the decision to become an Avatar, is enough. I don’t think it’s too far fetched to employ the same logic in this case, as well. Always remember — dream logic.

-Speaking of dream logic. I know that after we saw that Daisy could hurt Jon, we all collectively realised that Martin hurting Jon might very well be a thing at the end. But. Daisy wanted to hurt him, just like Basira wanted to kill Daisy. (You know what I mean, she didn’t want to, but she had decided she will) So I think that intent is very very important. Martin says that he’s not going to kill Jon, therefore he doesn’t. The tether will be cut, but Jon will be okay.

-Also, at this point Jon is super powerful, like, come on, he is going to be okay. He healed super quickly after Daisy chomped on him. Which brings me to...and my apologies to Martin stabbed Jon in the eyes truthers...But he regular stabbed him imo. Like we get one deep stab. We would need two shallow stabs for him to have stabbed him in the eyes. Unless one eye is enough? Could be. It would also leave him connected enough to be okay. But I don’t think Martin would have deeply stabbed him in the head...So yeah, Jon still has eyes, is connected to The Eye and has his powers, it’s fine.

-So, the biggest hindrance to my headcanon was whether or not The Web would want to take them along. Of course I wanted it to, but for some time it was like, yeah, but...they would actively oppose it and other entities in the other reality. So it felt a bit off...but! I had an epiphany last night! An “of course, duh” realisation.

-See, The Web helped usher in the eyepocalypse in our reality because it wanted a way to spread to other realities, right? Right. But now that’s it’s succeeded, it actually wouldn’t want a ritual to succeed again Somewhere Else, because unless there’s a gap in the reality there too, it wouldn’t want to starve. And let’s say that since it already spread to numerous realities, it’s not gonna need anymore spreading for now and will just chill, feeding on humanity unimpeded. This is where our sweet babies come in. The Web would actually want a couple of well informed boyfriends who would do everything they can to thwart other avatars and whatever the equivalent of Leitner books and artefacts in that place would be, so that the apocalypse never happens there. (Idk how exactly the books and artefacts came to be here, but you know they will definitely pop up in the new realities, too, considering how helpful to their feeding they are)

-Plus, even if it does wanna spread to even more realities, still, they’ve already proven quite useful, so why the hell not take them. But I doubt all realities have their own gap, so there is definitely a place for them to help. Also, the tapes are literally their voices and The Eye is fond of them. So there.

-And lastly, if you’re one of the people who really want that sweet sweet tragic chocolate torte to be full, I’ve got you covered. Because let’s be real, them dying together and having a lovely afterlife or whatever, is actually less tragic than them being alive Somewhere Else wracked with guilt over what they’ve done until the end of their days. At least in a way. I personally still think they’ll be happy together, running around protecting the world, but hey, if you really need suffering to float your boat, don’t be disappointed, we can have that in Somewhere Else, too.

So yeah, I know that this is quite long, but I hope it helps strengthen your headcanon if you needed it. If this isn’t your headcanon that’s fine, of course, live in love, peace, happiness and prosperity. But for the love of God don’t share your explanations as to why they’re dead. I don’t wanna know, my strong beautiful headcanon is still fragile, you know, spare me. They’re fine. :D

#tma #the magnus archives #jonmartin #mag 200 #tma 200 #tma spoilers #somewhere else #martin blackwood #jonathan sims #jmart #they’re fine and you can’t tell me otherwise #while your headcanon is valid mine is more valid #just kidding #don’t come for me #i’m fragile

[morwensteelsheen]

for the character meme: faramir and cassian

yaaaaaaas thank u 👑👑👑

Faramir

How I feel about this character

Oh boy. Yeah. So I see in Faramir what I wish I were — not just the good stuff like the pacificism and the intellectualism and the romanticism, but what I wish my flaws were too. It’s hard to not treat him as something of a literary patron saint of historians for all the incredible exposition work he’s given throughout the books, y’know? Like he has this incredibly historically-minded perspective on things, yet instead of taking it and behaving (as I tend to) in a sort of deeply pessimistic, confrontational, and defeatist way, he uses it to enable his (over)confidence. And I think that’s really brilliant and something I wish I could do. Yeah. God. I feel a lot of things about Faramir all the time, constantly torn between gender envy for him and normal, slightly furious envy lmao.

All the people I ship romantically with this character

lol whoops it’s just Éowyn lol. I am very much pro he and Aragorn shagging, if I don’t think too hard about it, but there are basically no other characters in the book who have forceful enough personalities to act as a countervailing force to some of his, uhhhh, Extremes, and I think Éowyn ends up being his [David Duchovny voice] human credential, which is lovely.

I guess I’m also partial to the Faramir-As-A-Sloppy-Bitch hypothesis which has him behaving like a bit of a fuckboy, but that’s not really shipping so much as character development? I guess?

My non-romantic OTP for this character

I’m buying him one of those awful one man wolfpack tshirts lmao, my dude absolutely does not have pals. I think he’s got loads of decent working relationships with people and is definitely charismatic when he wants to be, but outwith that……. lol

My unpopular opinion about this character

looooooool, I feel like the Faramir Is Not A Crybaby one is well trodden ground at this point, but one of my favourite unpopular opinions is that I think he’s, like, 15% more cynical than everybody gives him credit for. I think a lot of what he does can be construed as very obviously, uhhh, putting the moves on, I guess? Like I think he’s not making grand statements to Éowyn because he’s Magically Compelled To Do It, but because I think he absolutely 100% knows it’s stroking her ego. And I think playing one man good cop/bad cop with Sam and Frodo isn’t him rapidly changing his Take on the situation after getting new information, I think he’s very purposefully trying to unsettle their psychological defences a bit so he can get a better sense for what’s really going on and whether these two guys are going to end up handing Isildur’s Bane™ over to Sauron.

One thing I wish would happen/had happened with this character in canon

Actually nothing super significant. I guess I think the one kid shit is nonsensical. Even without turning on dumb horny shipper brain that says 0% chance he and éowyn weren’t fucking loads, I genuinely refuse to believe that any self-respecting feudal lord would not at least go for the And A Spare, if not And Several Spares, especially if you’re Faramir and your entire family got obliterated leaving you — Man Who Was Not Meant To Hold The House Down — the sole survivor.

Beyond that Faramir gets exactly what he ought to out of LOTR (though I would have loved to have read about his misery life in the Fourth Age), and I can’t really complain? Maybe a line or two at the trothplighting in Rohan? A chat with Galadriel? idk he really did fine for canon appearances imo

Cassian

How I feel about this character

There’s no way to say this without sounding slightly unhinged, but the scene in R1 where he shoots the injured informant on the Ring of Kafrene is genuinely one of my favourite moments in all of Star Wars. It threw down the gauntlet for visceral depictions of the unfeelingness of the GFFA in a way that hadn’t really been done before. Both the OT and the PT make gestures at it (the destruction of Alderaan is a good example, as is the slightly-bungled slavery subplot in TPM), but neither really show how fucked up people can get when they’re living in a fucked up world and they never show good guys doing things that are of ambiguous morality. Cassian ends up making a (surprisingly, given it’s a Mouse™ production) sophisticated argument for how the Real World works once you get past the golden boy heroes. Yes Luke blows up the Death Star, and yes he brings Vader back to the Light — both things that are unambiguous moral goods — but the reason he’s able to do that is because there’s someone like Cassian out there taking the karmic/emotional/spiritual/whatever hit to enable the Golden Boy behaviour. And I think that’s a really beautiful, really exciting bit of narrative development for SW generally, but to also do it in the context of Cassian — who actively defends his choices? That fucking rocked. I’m bracing for impact with the new show but R1 Cassian is absolutely one of my favourite SW characters, lovely wee man.

All the people I ship romantically with this character

Literally just Jyn. Actually funnily enough he’s very much like Faramir to me in that I think if he didn’t end up with Jyn, he wouldn’t have really ended up with anyone at all. Not in a weird comphet or soulmates way, just in that I think sometimes people need a very specific kind of personality to wear down their defences and sometimes it’s a very specific kind of personality.

My non-romantic OTP for this character

Okay in a fix-it AU I like to think he and Hera would get along fabbo, but from a great distance, as I think each of them would prefer it. Otherwise, I’m sorry to say it but my guy absolutely does not have pals lmao. Cassian no mates rip

My unpopular opinion about this character

I don’t think he’s actually repentant for the fucked up shit he’s done. When he tells Jyn that he’s had to do stuff he isn’t proud of, he’s not saying that because he’s seeking absolution or a chance to do penance or whatever, he’s saying it because it’s objectively true. He has done some stuff he’s not proud of, but contextually I think it’s pretty clear he’s able to justify it to himself well enough that he’s not looking for redemption or whatever.

One thing I wish would happen/had happened with this character in canon

I feel like I need to whisper this so the monkey’s paw doesn’t curl in advance of the show, but it would be genuinely very interesting to see him try to build an actual espionage network for the Rebellion. SW: Rebels touched on the notion of industrial sabotage (actually Mando did too, didn’t it?) and I think it would be especially interesting to see them try that out in a resistance/rebellion framework via Cassian. Let him do some covert ops organisation of workers to undermine Imperial production/supply lines or whatever.

Give me a character xxoo

#thank you!!! #god i hope the formatting isn’t as fucked up as it looks on my phone lmao #hc #asks #faramir / #Cassian / #Cassian is just bizzaro-world faramir without even basic literacy lol