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youwontlikethisblog · 3 years

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Forgive Me!

This is a long post, like really long so take breaks if you need them :) There's also some rants in this lol

The night started off with Betty leaving Eco Moda and Armando going to a bar with Mario where they talked about the plan. At some point Mario, seeming sincere told Armando that he was convinced and that he shouldn't go and comply with his duties as a man.

However Armando tells Mario that he can't do that and with an endearing smile told him that Betty was really looking forward to them spending time together, that he couldn't let her down.

As I keep mentioning, Armando has an EMOTIONAL ATTRACTION to Betty up to this point. That emotional attraction is what pushes him forward. He does have a physical attraction to her but it is mostly based and motivated by his emotional attraction. I think it's extremely important to understand that having an emotional attraction to someone doesn't mean you don't find them physically attractive. People usually experience physical attraction at first sight and confuse that as love, however those types of relationships don't last long UNLESS there is a strong emotional attraction and while Armando has first experienced an emotional attraction to Betty and then a physical attraction to her, it doesn't make it any less valid that he does like her and that he is attracted to her but by this stage of the novela Armando, though not completely understanding his feelings towards Betty has now come to be at peace with his emotional attraction, though he still rejects the idea of any attraction to her because he's a man obsessed with perfection.

We have been seeing Armando slowly come around to his emotional attraction to Betty and whenever they have heavily emotional conversations or they are being vulnerable it is when he seems to desire her more. The entirety of his character is that he goes from being this vain and superficial man to being a man that cares for true substance and stops being so selfish. If he were to ONLY feel physical attraction to Betty or be ONLY motivated by that physical attraction than his character would have never learned any valuable lessons in life, aside from not being a liar. However the fact that his attraction to Betty is emotionally strong and the main course of action that moves him to change and INSPIRES him to change is what makes this such an important and impactful relationship to him because he knows he can satisfy his human body, however he's never felt his emotional senses satisfied. I don't want that lost in translation when I do these breakdowns because we understand why he has denied, ignored, and confused his feelings towards Betty, however it is important to also understand that the feelings he doesn't hide away from are the ones he is slowly embracing in the past few episodes that set a foundation to what happens on the night of Betty's party.

For that exact reason we get the scenes we do.

Now that that's out of the way, lets dive in.

Armando told Mario that he thinks Nicolas is still trying to get with Betty, that he had been calling her all day long and that he thinks that Nicolas is a cansón(unbearable) guy.

Later on at Betty's house after Don Hermes gave him a tour of his daughter's degree's and such, they're sitting down while Don Hermes drunkenly tells him about Uncle Lazaro, the man who was rich and lost all his money. As he tells him this emotional story we hear a knock. Betty runs to the door and calls out it's Nicolas and Armando tries to hold his composure.

This scene is a favorite for two reasons: One Nicolas does something that Armando swore he'd never do; take a romantic serenade to Betty and Two that while Armando has said he has never wanted to meet Nicolas in this scene you can tell that he wants to.

As Betty is outside with Nicolas who is telling her that he'll behave and that he even wore his best dress to impress Armando is inside constantly leaning towards the door and looking to that direction.

When Betty finally accepts the serenade from Nicolas Don Hermes words are impactful to Armando as he gives him a nickname, which means that Don Hermes like Nicolas a lot and views him as part of the family and lastly as Don Hermes said; that the most important thing to him was that Nicolas adores Betty.

To Armando this means a lot and it does upset him.

Take a look at the scenes of this episode; Betty's dad brags about his daughter, he shows her off like the most beautiful girl to ever exists and she is(being beautiful transcends the physicality of someone). I highly doubt that Armando's parents ever do that. Roberto didn't even know what his son studied in college. Armando has a deep respect for Don Hermes and fear of him as well(it doesn't stop him from being a jerk but he has it) and for a man that brags about his daughter that way, who protects his daughter so much, and who makes her daughter be respected; to declare Nicolas as the son they never had, say he's a member of the family, give him a nickname and say that what matters to him the most is that Nicolas adores Betty means so much to Armando because he holds none of that.

Armando isn't the one they call son, he isn't a member(not yet at least) of the family, he isn't the one that adores(that they know of) Betty and has Don Hermes approval. It angers him. The post I made "Nicolas Mora Is Better Than You" explains this a bit better. Armando has barely just begun to touch surface of what Betty's personal life is like and he now has to not only view Nicolas as his economic and romantic rival but now as the rival that is also taking away his opportunity to join Betty's family life.

Now add that with his short fuse and obsession with perfection and cleanliness, by the time everyone leaves the man wants to go. Also that Betty accepted Nicola's serenade and roses while he was there.

However when he tells Betty that he wants to go home and for her to follow him to the door he literally stops a step or two away from him, as if he sensed that his shadow was no longer there, he turned to look at her and asked her what was wrong, why wasn't she following him?

He tries to explain that they've been drinking, that his clothes are dirty, and that most places are closed but when he sees Betty's demeanor he lets out a sigh and tells her:

"Well, fine, Betty, okay. Let's see what's open." He says with a soft tone and happy to comply to Betty, who's entire demeanor brightens as she asks if he's for real. He gives her a genuine smile at this, she tells him to give her a moment to grab her things and then they can leave. Armando then hears his father-in-law start to sing and he covers his ears.

Just in time Roman and Co. cause a scene with Marcela and Patty(they were there spying on Armando) so that Armando and Betty can sneak off without getting caught.

(Read posts Betty's New Look, I Don't Believe He Desires Me Part 1 & 2 to better understand these following posts.)

Both Betty and Armando have been drinking that night but Betty more than she is used to so she is being more relaxed ;)

While Armando is driving and looking for a place to eat Betty is giving him small kisses on the neck. When Armando asks if she's had a lot to drink she chuckles and says yes.

As Armando explains that all restaurants are closed and there's no more places open Betty asks if he's still hungry and he sarcastically respondes that the appetizers are her house were exquisite(he didn't get to eat) and asks Betty what place did she suggest.

"We can go dance."

"Dance?" he asks surprised.

"Yes Sir, let's go dance." She smiles but Armando doesn't seem enthusiastic or even happy about it. So Betty leans away from him. "Mm, well, if I'm taking your time, if you don't want to be with me, if you're bored, and you want to go to Ms. Marcela's apartment, I get it."

"Betty it's not that, Betty. How do I explain this? It isn't that. It's just getting late, it's getting really late." He tries to play it off with a laugh. However Betty swallows hard and stays silent. Armando turns to glance at her briefly and takes in a quick breath and says "Okay we'll do something, don't get sad my picarona(google translate gives me both naughty and smart so you do with that information what you will)." he grabs her by the chin. "We'll go dance for a little then."

"The Sir had his drinks too, no?"

"Yeah... but a few." He says at the end. "I still need a few more." he says under his breath. Betty then leans her head on his shoulder and he stops the fake smile and shows a genuine one.

(The next scene is of Freddy dropping off Aura Maria and I'm currently writing another post about them :))

[I don't know if y'all noticed that Both Armando and Betty are using the same outfit that they used the day of the new collection launch(before he changed for the show). Betty is wearing the same green dress with flowers while Armando is wearing the same black suit with the dark gray shirt and dark purple tie.]

Armando and Betty made it to a club where they danced until Armando imagined Marcela catching him and he freaked out and told Betty it was best for them to sit down.

He's paranoid because Marcela hasn't been ringing up his phone so he thinks that she's following him though the times he has spoken to her that night he has always said "We'll talk tomorrow" implying that for the night they won't converse anymore but because Marcela is a controlling possessive freak he is paranoid she'll catch him.

Betty goes onto being the supportive girlfriend who wants to take care of his emotional needs by asking:

"Sir what's wrong? Is something worrying you? Are the drinks making you ill?"

"No." He says after he sets his drink down. "Or yes? I don't know." He looks worried.

"What's happening is that we've drank too much." Betty smiles and runs her fingers through the back of his head. "we're a little crazy." she laughs.

"Yeah."

"But I'll make sure to make you better, sir."(GIRL (0O0)). Armando looks at her serious.

"Yeah, how?"(DUDE I CAN'T Y'ALL DON'T UNDERSTAND THESE THINGS MAKE ME UNCOMFORTABLE TO WATCH AND NOW WRITE? LMBO).

"With my kisses." Betty pulls him closer and he leans down to kiss her and they goin, they goin at it, my guy. For a man who says that he isn't attracted to Betty he sure do have a funny way of showing it. CAUSE DANG SON.

Armando jumps back a few seconds later because he is imagining Marcela sitting across from them watching him. Panicked he jumps back and tells Betty:

"Betty you're like pa-pa-passionate[tonight]."

Betty here asks for consent, she is asking for the go ahead to continue.

"Why Sir? Do you not feel the same that I do?"

"Eh ye-yes, of course."

"This urge to be close, kissing." Betty kisses him "Oh Sir, I need you so so much. Do you need me?" Armando has been distracted looking around him, paranoid that Marcela could be around but also because Betty is really putting it out there, you know?

'Ah?" However to reply to her he finally stops looking around and stares at her and with sincerity tells her "Yes, I also need you so much."

There's a reason why I point this out a lot recently and that is that Armando throws all caution to the wind and prejudice and stops caring about his denial whenever he has let his guard down around Betty and whenever they have been conversing about emotional subjects.

Here when Betty said she'd make him feel better it allowed him to feel her love because it wasn't just Betty flirting, he knew and trusted that she would both emotionally and physically, which is why he invited her flirtatious effort and flirted back. Then when Betty was telling him how much she needs him, asking if he too needs her, though for Betty this was all her flirting and being romantic, to Armando this all felt very emotionally charged because when he responded to her that he too needs her very much it wasn't just physically but mostly emotionally and that means to him so much more than anything else when it comes to Betty up to this point because they haven't sinned(lol) so once more he welcomes and returns Betty's affections.

He still pulls away though and he looks confused and worried as well as uncomfortable.

[EDIT: After watching this scene again(I pressed the wrong episode and I'm too lazy to go back on the disc menu but I ain't complaining) I realize that Armando's expression here isn't him uncomfortable, it's worried, and surprised. After he pulls away he keeps his eyes closed, as opposed to before when before, during, and after he kept his eyes open. He keeps eye contact with her and swallows hard and takes in a deep breath and then searches her eyes.]

"What's wrong, Sir? Do you not want to be with me anymore? Do I make you uncomfortable? Am I bothering your?" Again, Betty is asking him for consent. She is asking him if he wants to. This is so important! Not only because it proves that Betty didn't take advantage of Armando like so many think she did but because it holds a lot of emphasis when it comes to Armando and his affairs/relationship with Marcela and I'll explain that later on in the post.

"No-no it's not that Beatriz. I'm just nervous and paranoid." he says looking around "this thing with Marcela, I don't feel at peace. Why don't we leave?"

"Where to?" Betty asks with a smile.

"Where?" He asks worried.

"Yes, or do you not want to be with me, Sir?" Betty again is picking up on his cues. "We've only been together for a little bit." Betty's had her arms around Armando's shoulders this entire time and is staring at him adoringly.

"No yeah, yeah. I don't know. Let's go somewhere else, like some other place."

"We can go somewhere we can be tranquil and at peace." She flutters her eye. "lets go." She kisses him.

Now Armando once again has been a hit or miss. One moment he welcomes Betty's advances and the next he seems uncomfortable. One moment he sincerely encourages her advances and the next he do so forcefully.

When it comes to consent the lines are very clear. Betty has asked for clear consent and when she herself, drunk or sober, has taken notice that Armando is not on the same page as her, she has asked to reassure herself and him. She is doing all of this under the guidance that Armando feels the same way and is consenting, both physically and verbally.

Yes, she's had a lot to drink which would explain why she isn't so timid as to flirt and show her affection. Betty is a affectionate drunk, or a happy drunk if you will. So this is normal behavior for a drunk Betty. We've only seen her drunk once before(when the girls took her out to celebrate her promotion) and she was pretty happy, giggling, and over-all when she got home very excited and happy as she wrote in her journal.

Armando is a cynical drunk...well he's always cynical. This is really based on personal opinion and not on what we are being told by the writer during this scene so take this with a grain of salt. I believe that Armando IS feeling paranoid about Marcela, obviously, we are shown this but I also believe that the reason he also jumped back when he was kissing Betty is because he felt something other than the emotional attraction he's so used to feeling towards Betty and it was a lot more noticeable to him here.

[EDIT: Hey guys this is a correction to a certain detail that I confused, though the meaning still stands.

I wanted to clarify this because I mixed up both scenes. This is the kiss after he jumps back when he sees Marcela sitting across from them. This time he pulls away from Betty with his eyes closed, that expression that he has is the face that tells us that he knew in that moment that physically he would be capable of doing that to Betty. ]

Now Betty and him leave the club and while Betty is inside the car Armando calls The Love Guru, Mr. Dimples, The Hype Man.

While he expresses that he has no desire, no wish, no anything that inspires him to do that with Betty, Mario tells him that he should just grab the situation by the horns and get it over with, that Betty is testing him to see how far his love for her goes and this is where he finally decides to do it.

Mario didn't use his classic tactics of "The Company! Our Money! Your Family! Nicolas! Your Ego!" this time he said "She's testing to see how much you really love her." and Armando decides, with free will and all, that he'll take Betty to a hotel.

This scene pisses me off for a lot of reasons(it's actually my first time seeing this scene since the NBC airing took it off when I saw this episode so this is all my opinion at the heat of the moment lol)

For one, though Armando does care for Betty, he doesn't care enough. He is disregarding the fact that Betty is a human being, a person with feelings and emotions and all he's doing is just forcing himself to go along with it, yes he has secret desires bla bla bla, but above all, his actions are being driven by deceit, to himself and to Betty. The fact that he doesn't even take some time to consider her feelings, to express himself so disgusted by the idea that Betty, his Betty, desires him and he thinks it's so disgusting that she does, infuriates me!

He is being extremely unfair here because he believes he is the first man to ever lay eyes on her, to ever be physical with her. He believes that he is the first man Betty will ever be with to the extent of the word and even then, even for some stupid sympathy, some stupid chivalry or some stupid kindness! He doesn't think about how she could be feeling! He doesn't stop to consider if she's scared, afraid, nervous, a freakin' wreck! He stops to think "Oh I can't take her to my apartment because then she won't ever leave!" just like he expressed himself about Claudia Boche. He thinks more about himself than he does about Betty and her wellbeing and this plays such a huge role in Betty's future pain.

But damned be his dedication questioned and he'll kick into gear.

While yes Armando has begun to actually play the role of her boyfriend, who has now learned to place Betty's feelings before his own, sometimes, he has yet to learn to be a man about it all. He still hasn't truthfully sat down to try to figure out his dream and when he has done so, he has decided to ignore, deny, reject, and push away.

Betty deserves so much more than this "man" that night.

Ok personal rant over, let's continue being objective.

Okay it's not. Can he make up his mind?

Now it is.

So Armando drives up to a hotel, where Betty asks where they are and he tells her, a hotel(okay sometimes breaking down Armando's behavior exhaust me but it's like I love to suffer IG, so I keep doing this to myself lol so I'm probably gonna be snarky and sarcastic a lot for this one lol) and goes on to explain that he thought this is what she meant but then tells her in a fast pace "or not. We can go home to our beds because we have to get up early-" and Betty interrupts him by saying that it was what she was thinking and leans in to kiss him and again, homeboy goes in. He goes in with enthusiasm, like someone pointed a gun to his head and said "Kiss her like you mean you slut" and he said "bet, no gun needed."

Yo that's a nice hotel(THIS IS ALSO MY FIRST TIME SEEING THE SCENE OUTSIDE OF THE HOTEL. Y'ALL GETTING MY LEGIT FIRST REACTIONS).

Armando's behavior here is embarrassment as he is whispering who he is and that he wants a hotel reservation. He keeps looking around to see if anyone will notice him.

Also Armando is bougie cause he told Calderon that he wasn't going to go to a dingy dark hotel and look at the very NOICE hotel he did go to. The hotel is very nice.

Betty however has not once laid her eyes off of Armando. One could imagine what she's thinking. It's something probably along the lines of "I can't believe this is happening, that he's here, that it's really him and that we're here together. That he desires me just like I desire him."

However as soon as they enter the room Betty's entire demeanor changes. She stops holding onto him and her smile falls from her face and she looks like she's holding her breath. Very timidly she sits on the bed and when she notices Armando sitting as well she moves away with her hands holding each other in front of her, on her lap.

I imagine this probably brings back flashbacks of her first time and how she must've felt. She's probably running all these memories and thoughts of it, wondering if Armando will also be like Miguel.

I do appreciate the fact that this scene is so quiet. It makes it so realistic and honest as well as raw. While Armando is thinking about he is sacrificing himself, Betty is reliving a trauma.

This is why I didn't want to talk about Armando physically desiring Betty as this eager craving that was driving him crazy. His desire for Betty in a physical sense was motivated and pushed forward by the growing of his emotional attraction, again, that doesn't invalidate his attraction to her, attraction is attraction one way or the other the only difference is that physical attraction doesn't last very long while emotional attraction does.

Armando turns to look at Betty with a pain expression on his face. His brows are furrowed but his mouth is in a snarl.

Betty then stands up quickly and excuses herself to go to the bathroom.

Now Betty's first time has a lot of impact here, it isn't only because she's been bullied and made fun of because of her appearance all of her life. Her first time with a man made her feel extremely hideous as a woman. Could you imagine what she felt when she found out that Miguel had only slept with her because of a bet? To look at herself in the reflection of a mirror after that? And not obsess with it, not hate what she was staring at? To not feel disgusted by her own reflection? While before she hated that she was ugly this time it felt so much more personal, to the point that she wanted to die. Her first time was traumatic and it holds so much meaning here.

Betty is staring at her reflection, she glances at her body covered in her baggy clothing and pulls her coat forward, she rolls her shoulders back, pulls her glasses up and stares at her face, while Betty is going through this Armando is going through his own dilema.

He calls up Mario and tells him that he doesn't think he can do this and Mario tells him to order a pill or something but to do it.

"I'm going to try to be more explicit. I won't be capable of it."

"Where's Betty?"

"She's in the bathroom." He points with his hand holding a whisky. "She's in the bathroom, I'm waiting for her to come out. Brother, I want to leave, yeah? I want to run out of here." He says those last words as a begging.

"Look, Armando, I don't think you've understood me. You're playing with fire. Get serious. You can't take her to a hotel room and then try to escape. You can't, it's too late. Comply with your obligation, man."

"I can't. I'm not capable of doing this to Betty. Plus I've had two bottles of beautifiers, of whisky, and none of that, none of that convinces me that I have to do this to Betty."

"Listenlisten wait for her to come out of the bathroom, turn off the lights, close the curtains, leave the room in complete darkness and think of Adriana Arboleda[...] but you're not leaving there, you understand me? You. Are. Not. Leaving."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Thanks a lot." He angrily hangs up the phone. Armando then goes to turn off the lights and close the curtains.

A very shy and timid Betty steps out of the bathroom and the darkness towards the part of the room where the bed is.

"Betty..." He squints at her. "Would you like a drink?"

"No Sir." She smiles. "I drank enough tonight." She laughs(her smile here is so cute! Like she smiles so bright that her eyes almost close and she looks so cute! I told you I love Betty, she is my child and I will defend her to the ends of the earth.) but when she turns to look at Armando she stops. He stands up and goes to kiss her but Betty, though for a second looks like she's going to kiss him, walks past him and sits down on the bed, again, sitting very straight and still(A sign of nervousness) with a worried expression, her hands are once again clasped in front of her, sitting on her lap.

Armando and Betty both lean in to kiss once they're both sitting on the edge of the bed again but Armando pulls away this time. Betty searches his face while he maintains his eyes closed and swallows hard. His expression was pained one.

"What's wrong, Sir?" She leans back. Armando now opens his eyes and stares off at something else.

"it's-it's just that I won't be able to, Beatriz, I'm sorry." He finally says.

"It's because of Ms. Marcela, right?"

"No, it's because of you." He says the last word looking away from her and standing up and going to the couch next to the bed, against the wall.

Betty swallows hard and stares off to the other side of the room and then turns to stare at him, once again swallowing hard, her eyes start to tear up and she nods.

"Don't worry, Sir. I understand." She looks down at her hands.

"Thank you, thank you." Armando replies while staring at her though for a quick second he looks confused about it.

Betty draws in a sharp breath and begins to speak. "I knew that this, this couldn't happen." Armando now stares at her, again, with a solemn expression. "That it was the start of a dream but without an ending." She chuckles while Armando still stares at her, Betty hasn't made eye contact since she said she understood. "I aspired too much with you." Armando looks away from her, deep in thought and considering what Betty is saying. "It was already enough that you would have noticed me, for you to go out with me..." Betty's chin quivers and her eyes become more teary while her voice chokes up as she tells him "for you to have kissed me." she shakes her head and looks like she's fighting the urge to start sobbing. "This is a big deal to me, Sir. What I have accomplished with you up to now, is just too much to just expect that you desire me as well." She finally looks at him.

"No. No, Betty you're misinterpreting what I just said. It's not like that either." He speaks to her softly. Betty however shakes her head, with tears streaming down her cheeks.

"No-nono Sir. You don't have to explain it to me. You-you don't have to feel that kind of attraction for me...that desire. You can't be the exception...and for the fact of having this... very beautiful relationship...by the fact that I love you, Sir." She again makes eye contact with him. "Doesn't mean that you're under the obligation to make love with me." She looks down at her hands.

Armando removes his glasses and stands up to take Betty's hands in his.

"No Beatriz, come, please come." He takes her hands into his and holds them up. "Don't say those things, yeah? Don't say these things, no." he says staring at her.

"Sir." Betty looks somewhere else. "Forgive me. Forgive me for pressuring you, for-for having been so overbearing tonight. Forgive me, sir." She begs. "I'm such an imbecile." She cries. "Forgive me." She covers her face with her hand. Armando takes her hand.

"Don't say those things, Beatriz. I do desire you." He whispers and leans in to kiss her but after two kisses Betty pulls away, stands up and says:

"No no, Sir. You don't have to do it. Don't do it out of compassion or commitment."

"Beatriz I-I'm not doing this nor do I want to do this for any of the things you just said." he says emotionally frustrated. Betty turns to stare at him again.

"Then why do you want to, Sir?" She asks timidly.

"I want to do this because I love you." Armando himself seems surprised by this confession of his. "Because I love you, Betty."

And scene.

Marcela, the models, and the women Armando has had affairs with have more in common than looks and social statues. They also don't take no for an answer.

When Armando has at first said no, has said that he doesn't have time, this and that, the women continued to insist until he finally gave in. Yes, Armando is a seggsual man and yes he does choose to sleep with these models but lets not ignore the fact that he too at times is pressured, persuade, or manipulated. Is he an easy victim? Yes because he is a man driven by his seggsual needs, does this excuse his cheating? No because at the end of the night he does consent because he finally gives in into his desire but it doesn't happen until they basically beg him to. Marcela is a different story. She seggsually manipulates him a lot.

In other words what I'm trying to say is that for the first time ever that's about to change. When he calls Mario to beg him to get him out of that situation, Mario dismisses his feelings and tells him he has to "man up" and do it, an angry Armando agrees and hangs up, however this is very similar to the time he tried to explain his feelings and why he felt so guilty for what he was doing to Betty and Mario just made a joke about it all and he stopped talking about it.

So he stays, against his will, feeling guilty, terrified, and scared of it all and a timid Betty enters the room and when he makes an advance she moves, when he makes an advance and she follows it but stop when she sees that he isn't doing anything anymore, she studies him and asks him what's wrong.

Even when Betty is terrified, reliving a trauma, she caters to him and his emotional needs. Armando finally confesses that he can't do that(I'll explain I promise!), when Betty asks if it's because of Marcela, he again confesses that it's because of her[Betty] and this shatters her but she understands and she again places his feelings and his needs before her own.

Betty has been cautious, sober or drunk. She has asked for consent, she has read his body language, she has waited for him to reciprocate it. Up until this point, Armando had given her the green light. When she was doubtful, apologized, and pulled away, he told her otherwise.

However now things have changed. Again Betty asked for consent and this time he didn't give it. However unlike all the other ones, Betty doesn't pressure nor try to convince him otherwise. This time the woman he was going to spend the night with tells him that she understands him, that he doesn't owe her an explanation, that he isn't obligated to do that just because she loves him.

This time Armando's no is being respected and this holds a huge significance in what is to come next.

As he hears Betty's expression of remorse, her shame and guilt over her behavior towards him, he is once again grabbed by the cheeks and forced to face his feelings for Betty.

When he repeated that he couldn't do that to Betty we have to look at the context of that. Unlike when he spoke to Mario at the office and outside of his car at the club Mario told him to take a pill, something to physically make him capable of doing it but Armando clarifies that he didn't mean that, he meant he wasn't going to do that to her.

That he wasn't going to be her first time under the guise of love when he wasn't even aware that he had those feelings for her.

Finally Armando pulls his head out of his an*se. and starts to think about Betty and how it could impact her because he is capable to physically do this. He sits on the corner of the mattress taking in deep breaths, mentally preparing himself to think of AA to be able to do this but when it comes down to it, when he is now faced with timid and sweet Betty, he no longer can.

When he is faced with an emotional Betty that is being vulnerable, sharing her spirit with him, he is faced with the reality of his feelings.

What is love?

Love is an emotion we all feel to certain degrees. There is familia love, platonic love and romantic love.

Above all that however love has qualities that allow us to pinpoint what we are feeling and if it's healthy.

Love is kind, respectful, honest, loyal, faithful, humble, peaceful it is not possessive nor jealous and it does not hold record of wrong doing. Love is forgiving and love is selfless.

Betty truthfully loves Armando.

However, Armando is still figuring this out but in this scene, while Betty cries and tries to hold herself together, Armando shows to be kind, honest, peaceful, forgiving and selfless.

Armando has the exact same expression he has when Betty is letting him in, when she's giving her all, showing her heart and being to him with simple words of confessions. He is always deeply impacted by what she is saying. When Betty says that she aspired too much he looks away from her because the guilt is now killing him. He is seeing how what he has done has affected Betty and his fear of hurting her sets in because now what Betty feels, he feels too.

"it's just too much to just expect that you desire me as well." his expression here is pained, it hurts him to hear this from her.

He replies to her "You're misinterpreting what I just said."

What exactly is she misinterpreting?

He said that he couldn't have relations with her because of her. For Betty, who has once been with a coward, who has been made the laughing stock of Eco Moda, her neighborhood, and schools, there's only one reason why, she's ugly and no man would ever desire her.

So what does Armando mean here? Because his tone of voice, his behavior is very natural.

Armando couldn't sleep with Betty under deceit. He couldn't sleep with her by pretending she's somebody else and he couldn't sleep with her for the sake of everyone else that he's doing it for(the company and his ego). Armando couldn't be Betty's "first" if it meant he wasn't being honest but as he sits there and listens to her his heart is moved and it isn't for sympathy, empathy, obligation, or pity that he stands up to tell her the he does want to be with her, that he does desire her, it is for love.

This is where that emotional attraction I keep pointing out comes into play. Once again, when Armando is fully charged on emotion with Betty he is ready to go.

"Just because I love you." He is fully concentrated in every word Betty is saying and the meaning of it and the fact that under deceit he has gotten Betty(We know she's loved him since before but he doesn't) to fall in love with him makes him angry at himself(he clenches his jaw showing anger or frustration.).

But how are we so sure Armando is being honest in this scene with Betty?

For one Armando can't bare to make eye contact with Betty when he's lying to her or feeling guilty. When he is being manipulative his voice sound distant from emotion, rehearsed, unnatural, and cocky. This time it isn't like that at all. He stares, makes eye contact and his voice is sweet, tender one could say, full of emotion, natural, and desperate to comfort her.

So in conclusion this night is very meaningful for the both of them. For Betty this is the first time since Miguel that she is giving all of herself despite her trauma. It is the first time she is trusting somebody else and welcoming them into her intimate space. However for Armando this night is also very meaningful because it's the first time that someone respects his boundaries and doesn't demand for excuses or reasons. Its the first time someone apologizes to him for crossing the line, the first time someone considers him in the relationship, add that to the fact that he was already deeply moved and affected by the way Betty is treated and how it makes her feel and you've got yourself a man that for the first time ever is in love and he isn't only going in for the mechanics of it all but to make Betty feel his love, to give himself to her, to show to her that she is important, she is desirable, she is his love.

However when all is said and done, Armando is left confused with everything because an otherwise emotionally "controlled" man who has been denying and ignoring his feelings towards Betty has finally let his guard down and he has crashed into the abyss of his feelings that finally came to light.

Was Armando in love before? No.

Up until this night Armando wasn't in love but in the heat of the moment with emotions riled up inside of him, he fell in love.

How do we know he didn't lie or manipulate Betty?

Because when we finally see their scene after they fornicated(I am really immature and that makes me laugh) Armando is sleeping like nothing, homie fell asleep like he just had the best time of his life and was ready to hit the hay but we've been told that Armando hasn't been sleeping and shown scenes of him tossing in bed but this time he is sound asleep.

Now, again, this is the first time that both his physical and emotional needs were met at the same time so of course it's an important night.

Betty is left more in love than ever, more enamored, hallucinated than before and when she exits the bathroom we see a cold man who at seeing Betty softens.

Homegirl gave mans a five star rating in her yelp review.

When she hugs him he looks confused but also savoring the moment.

As they walk towards the reception desk Armando no longer looks stressed out. In fact he walks with Betty at her pace, holding her hand and checks out without whispering and behaving casual and normal.

When they're in his car and she leans her head on his shoulder, he asks what she's doing and she says "I want to keep dreaming." and he looks pained by this because Armando has had conversations with himself about his feelings and the ending of their relationship because he knows he will never end his relationship with Marcela.

Finally the drop off scene.

While Betty is asleep on his shoulder, Armando stares at her sleeping and gently wakes her up.

"Thank you so much for everything. It was the best birthday of my life." She smiles at him.

He swallows his guilt and tells Betty that she has no idea how happy that makes him.

"Beyond the best birthday of my life, it's been the best night of my life and though I know this is just another night, that you've had other nights with so many women(girl nice way of calling him a whore, I approve) -"

"No." He states. "No. this night was very special, very, very special."

"Of course." Betty picks up her head. "Because you've never been with a woman like me." She laughs but Armando stares are her serious.

"No Betty, No. This night was very special and you won't ever imagine how special it was. See, lets talk tomorrow, alright?" He smiles at her. Betty's demeanor shows us that she believes what he said to her.

"And will you go to Ms. Marcela's apartment now?"

"No." He says quickly. "No. I'm going to stay at my apartment." Betty nods slightly and moves to exit his car when he stops her. "Betty see I need to ask you a question, I don't know, I've got stuck inside of me, and it's best that I ask it now."

"Ask me." She nods.

"What happened tonight, what we did you and I...truth be told...I-I always thought that it be your first time ever. I would have never thought that you'd made love in the past."

Betty swallows hard and asks him: "and does that affect you? Does it change your image of me? Sir, will you stop loving me?"

"No, no, no. It was imply curiosity, Betty. Beatriz, who were you with before[me]?" Betty looks away from him and swallows hard. "There was another man in your life, right?" he seems a bit jealous here. Betty nods.

"Yes, Sir...there was someone...I had a relationship before[you]."

"Nicolas Mora?" he asks mad.

"No." He looks away, relieved. "another person but I don't like talking about that."

"No I don't want to make you uncomfortable either so lets no talk about it anymore. You know.. go in and rest a bit. We'll see each other at the office, alright?" Betty nods and they both lean in for a goodnight kiss.

Armando asks himself what he did as Betty walks across his car to get to her house and he watches her until she enters her house and turns on his car to leave. Unlike before that he turned on his car as Betty walked to the door and drove off as she entered her house, this time he waits for her to go in to turn on his car and this small details is so important!

It is currently 10 am where I'm at and I have been writing this post since 11 pm last night so forgive me for my typos, which I'm sure there is more than the usual but by this point it's my signature.

'Til next time! :)

[EDIT:

I just wanted to also point out how relaxed Armando is when he shows up to his apartment that he starts to play with his dog(yet another victim of this show WHY DON'T WE GET MORE DOG SCENES, WHAT HAPPENS TO HIS DOG?) and for a brief moment is deep in thought while we hear Betty's monologue, as if they're sharing the same thoughts.

Then Armando walks into his room and his actual girlfriend is waiting for him, he rolls eyes and this is the first time that not even her seggsual manipulation works on him.

Marcela asks the same questions Betty asked him "Does it bother you? Does it make you uncomfortable?" but unlike Betty who was truly concerned for him, Marcela does it to control him.

They argued but by the end of it when Armando tells her he is perfectly fine and just wants to wash up and go to bed Marcela goes to kiss him, telling him that she wants him(and unlike when Betty said this, that he told her he did too, this time Armando doesn't even interact with Marcela) but unlike before, when he'd at least give in a little, well at least to the degree that Marcela thought it was okay for her to continue, this time Armando just stares at her with a serious face.

"What's wrong with you? What? You don't want to be with me? Want me to leave?" She asks angrily. Armando once more, with a dead serious expression tells her:

"I'm tired." He says and purses his lips while he stares at her.

"That's never been an impediment in the past."

"Well tonight it is." He says.

He tells her not to worry, that tomorrow will be another day and the last part sounds like he is telling that to himself. As well his rejection to her is not only because he made love to Betty, with Betty, but because he also told her that that night he wasn't going to be with Marcela, in other words, he wasn't going to get rid of her trace.

I do feel bad for Marcela in this scene but not enough.

Okay I'm sleepy bye. ]

#armando mendoza #don armando #armando ysblf #beatriz pinzon solano #betty pinzón solano #beatriz pinzón solano #betty #yo soy betty la fea #betty ysblf #betty la fea

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dannyphantom-rewrite · 4 years

Text

Character ref for; Jack, Maddie and Jazz,

Art by @gally-hin / @gally-hin-phantom

Okay so first off; in terms of Actual redesign, I didn't change a whole lot. I'm actually very fond of Jack and Maddie's design's, my only real issue was with their proportions. Like...look as a lady person who is also thiCC I do not have a fucking wasp thin waist and I'm sure I'm not the only one, lmao. As for Jack? Godamnit he looked like a brick on toothpicks. Just Let him be a fucking Bara man! Anyway of course I asked Gally to do this one bc they're fucking great at drawing different body types

I also cannot and will not take credit for Jazz's outfit. I didn't have any issue with her canon clothes aside from them being a bit plain, so what she's wearing here was literally pulled straight off of her original concept art, which I will link here.

Anyway, getting to the Actual character lore now, let's start with

Maddie Fenton

-Full name is Madeline (I haven't decided on a maiden name yet)

-Born and raised on a farm in Arkansas, had a southern accent that she trained herself out of in college bc it was just one more reason for people not to take her seriously. Still sometimes uses "y'all" completely unironically bc old habits die hard.

-She has a really big family, and they're proud of her accomplishments but feel like she's wasting her talent studying ghosts, because really, up until the Fenton portal was up and running there wasn't even any solid proof they existed. Her sister Alicia is the one outlier there, and even if she doesn't understand, it she completely supports her.

-She majored in engineering and minored in psychology at Wisconsin EDU. Her, Jack and Vlad were all in the same engineering class, and that's where they met.

-Maddie is particularly interested in how ghosts think, analysing their behavior, their motives. Not only that, but they aren't just dead people with unfinished business, they've built an entire culture in the Ghost Zone that is completely seperate from humanity, and she wants to understand all of it.

-skilled marksman and 9th degree black belt, (which is. The highest fucking level there is holy shit? I looked it up after I saw it on her wiki page.)

Jack Fenton

-He's from Minnesota (Amity park is in Illinois and him and Maddie didn't move there until after they got married)

-okay, "but why minnesota specifically" you ask? Because. I crave. Foot ball discourse.

-minnesota vikings vs green bay packers guys do you UNDERSTAND WHERE IM GOING WITH THIS

-The funny thing is that Jack only watches football casually while Vlad is a fucking die hard so when these two got together to see a game it was like....

-Jack: Here to chill and have a good time.

-Vlad: Primed and ready to start a fist fight at any given moment.

-I am never not going to be salty about how Canon Jack was portrayed like a complete moron 99% percent of the time. Like no...theres a difference between Actual Stupid and ADHD induced dumbass-ery.

-Am I saying Jack Fenton has ADHD? Yes. why? Because I also have ADHD and I have always vibed So Hard with his Character.

-Jack is loud and easily excited about things that interest him. He's impulsive and fidgety and yeah, a bit absent minded. He has a mouth that clearly runs so much faster than his head. His train of thought doesn't get derailed so much as it stops and takes several different detours on the way to it's final destination.

-and that's only the tip of the iceberg, really, I'd need an entire essay to get into this completely, but I just really relate.

-Jacks skill-set / interests regarding ghosts vary a bit from Maddie's, most notably in the sense that he doesn't believe that they're static entities already set in their ways, completely incapable of change.

-Jack majored in engineering and minored in Biology at Wisconsin EDU.

-Jack's work with tech is a bit hit or miss. He definitely HAS the engineering skills, but the intrest isn't always there and he's constantly jumping back and forth between different projects. He tends to focus on the concept work and schematics and leave most of the assembly to Maddie as a result. It's an arrangement that works well for them, and has drastically decreased the number of unintentional explosions in the lab.

-A lot of Jack's work tends to revolve around ghostly biology and Ectoplasm, figuring out how ghosts are made, what makes them tick, what the hell Ectoplasm Actually Is, how it's used as an energy source, ect.

-and yes, that does also mean he handles the dissections.

-See that facial scar? Yeah, that's not actually there at the start of the series rewrite but it's very important for plot reasons so I had to include it. Can't say much more on the subject because SPOILERs owo.

Jasmine Fenton

-Jazz is a 18 years old, and a senior at Casper high.

-Which means she prepping to go away to college and won't be around to keep an eye on Danny.

-Obviously that doesn't mean I'm just writing her out of the story, oh no. Know why? Because she's also gonna go to Wisconsin EDU. ya know who else is in Wisconsin? Fuckin' Vlad.

-Jazz is autistic, Although she passes for neurotypical in part due to symptoms being completely over looked in girls due to gender stereotyping and also the fact that she doesn't have any special interests that are considered " "too weird.""

- Her hyperfixation with psychology started at a young age in an effort to better understand people, and social/emotional cues and all that.

-Jazz is well liked at school but she's not popular or apart of any specific group or clique. She's very kind and compassionate to people, and just about everyone knows her, but you'd be hard pressed to find someone who actually Considered her a friend. Except maybe Spike.

-I'm gonna have to give spike his own Character ref at some point, but he's this scary looking goth kid that's been held back twice. He's actually super sweet, just really fuckin' quiet and anxious. Him and jazz kinda ended up gravitating towards each other. She might do most of the talking, but they look out for each other.

-its not like jazz doesn't try to socialize, but it's difficult and she's found it much easier and less stressful to just. Keep to herself and let her interactions with her peers stay shallow and superficial. Sure, it's lonely sometimes but it's better than constantly worrying about saying the wrong thing or making some other misstep.

-One of Jazz's other special interests is football, and it's not so much the players or the game as it is the strategy of it? Started out as one of those things you do to bond with your dad, and she ended up getting really into it.

-She absolutley winds up getting into stupidly intense discussions with Vlad about it, too, lmao.

-Her and Danny probably bonded over SBNation bc that shit has both sentient satellites and ridiculously complex football mechanics.

-She's completely oblivious to the fact, but Dash has a massive crush on her bc holy shit this girl understands football (hey bud your toxic masculinity is showing put that shit away)

-I mentioned that Danny was in Cheer for a bit in middle school so it makes sense that she'd also be pushed into doing some kind of extracurricular activity.....so.....she was in a martial arts class for a bit thanks to Maddie and has a good grasp on self defense.

I think that's everything? I feel like I'm leaving things out tho? Idk if I did I'll come back and add on to this later and also pls don't hesitate to ask questions bc it really helps me flesh things out better.

#danny phantom #art #danny fenton #maddie fenton #jack fenton #jazz fenton #ref

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loudsuitlover · 4 years

Text

Doctor Harry XIII. El Pájaro Azul

A/N: This is smut, filfthy and meaningful because that’s a thing; and some angst but some fluff too.

Thanks for all the support and the time you put not only on my story but also on talking to me, you guys are awesome!

INDIE’S POV

Something stirs me awake. I don’t know when I fell asleep but through sleepy eyes I can see Harry tucking me into bed. He’s left my laptop on my desk too and the only light on is the one coming from his phone screen on the bedside table.

“What are you doing?” I croak.

“Tucking you into bed, Sleeping Beauty. Fell asleep on your Brad Pitt” he jokes “seems like you don’t like him that much to me.”

I smile at his silliness and feel him press a chaste kiss on my cheek.

“Don’t leave.” I let my sleepy mind take over.

“I won’t. I’m just not sleepy yet.”

“Well, cuddle with me.” I pout with my eyes closed and feel him getting into bed next to me.

I rest my head on his chest and let him invade my senses. His scent, the sound of his heartbeat, his warmth…

“Harry”

“Yes.”

“Next time we could watch Ad Astra.”

“Please tell me you’re kidding.”

“I like that movie. You know Roy McBride actually reminds me of me.”

“Okay, I guess this is the kind of silly things you say when you’re falling asleep.”

“He says ´so many times in my life I screwed up: I've talked when I should've listened, I've been harsh when I should've been tender´ and I’ve done that a lot.”

I feel his hands holding me. I like being this close to him.

“I am focused on the essentials, to the exclusion of all else. I'm unsure of the future but I'm not concerned. I will rely on those closest to me, and I will share their burdens, as they share mine. I will live and I will love.”

I fall asleep.

I’m cold. I shimmy to warm myself up and notice my quilt covers me up to my forehead. I finally open my eyes and realize I’m alone in my bed. Checking the time on my phone, I realize it’s four am. I remember Harry telling me he wasn’t going to leave before I fell asleep but he might have if he didn’t manage to sleep himself.

I can finally breathe through my nose without a single bother but my mouth is dry, probably because of the salty popcorn. I get up from my bed decided on drinking from the tap on the bathroom but when I make my way back towards my bed, my heart almost stops beating.

Harry’s sitting on one of the chairs on my sitting room holding his head on his hands and his elbows on his knees. He almost looks like a statue, a very sad one too, like he just lost a beloved one and it breaks my heart to see him like that.

“Are you okay?”

Harry jumps on his seat and lifts his head. I’ve scared him.

“Go back to bed.”

But I walk towards him wrapping my arms around my body. When I’m close enough and he looks up at me. I can see his eyes bloodshot and tired. He hasn’t managed to sleep.

“Leave me alone, Indie. Go back to bed.”

He’s getting mad. I can tell by the tone of his voice, harsh despite the low volume, and his tensed shoulders.

“Don’t talk to me like that.”

I confront him but still take a seat on the chair in front of him. I hug my knees to my chest to fight the cold and when I rest my temple on my knees, I see his laptop closed on the table.

When I look back at him, he’s staring at me with a hard superior gesture, as if he didn’t need me nor want me here, but I can still see the desperation or even the pain in his eyes and that’s enough for me to stay. I don’t know why he’s seems so anxious or why it’s so hard for him to sleep but I guess I don’t need to.

I think about what he told me before dinner, about him wanting me to open up and tell him things and I open my mouth to tell him about my own nightmares as I bring my hand to his hair so I can remove it from his forehead.

“Can you just leave me the fuck alone?”

I freeze on the spot.

“I’ve said it once but I’ll say it again. No one talks to me like that, much less at my own home so either you stop or you get out.”

He sighs and drops his head on his hands again, tangling his fingers on his hair and contributing to the messy look.

“Sorry, Indie… It’s just…” I can hear how tired he is. “Shit, I’m sorry, baby.”

It must be terrible, to be tired and not to be able to sleep and my heart aches for him.

“You can’t sleep?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” His tone gets harsh again but he regrets it the second his eyes meet mine. He looks like a lost puppy. “I left the fucking pills at home.”

“Why didn’t you wake me?”

“Are you a living diazepam?”

I dodge his curt behaviour. I think I deserve it but I also think this might help him understand me. We’re curt when we’re not good.

Standing up from my chair, I slowly walk towards him and feel his surprised eyes study me as I place my hands on his shoulders and push his torso so that he’s opened to me instead of closing off. His lips part and I know he’s as lost as I am. I feel his eyes calmly study me, they roam my body up and down from my neck to my feet and then back up. He takes more time in some parts than in others, but in general, it’s a complete examination of my body still in my winter pyjamas.

I can’t quite read him but it scares me that I have this effect on him. He already seems to be more calmed and the only thing I did was stand before him motionless as if I was just another piece of furniture on my sitting room. He takes a deep breath and when our eyes meet, I know what that gaze means, I know what he wants. It’s the same eyes that melt me.

With a confidence I didn’t know I have and without really knowing why, maybe to satisfy the desire I can read on him, I cup his cheek with one hand and my pulse relaxes when, not only does he not pull away, but leans into my touch. He closes his eyes and sighs and when they open again I see something in them I’m scared to describe. Not that I would know how.

Feeling brave after his acceptance, I cup his other cheek and seeping in between his legs, I lean in to kiss him. I do it like I’ve never done it before; with a softness I didn’t know I had for him, letting the shape of his lips tattoo mine. There’s no tongue, no bites, no wetness. Just a kiss, a simple kiss, yet deep but calm and reciprocated. It’s the first time we kiss like this and even though it’s literally the most superficial kiss we’ve shared for it stays on the lips, somehow it flaps around the pit of my stomach and speeds up my heartbeat.

When we pull apart, I don’t know what to do with myself so I just stare at him not knowing what that was and I don’t know whether I am curious or embarrassed sut I try to read him. Maybe if I find out what he’s feeling I can understand what I’m feeling too.

“I don’t deserve you.”

I frown. Why would he ever say something like that? I told him nasty things last night, and even though I don’t think my opinion is that important, for all I know that must be the reason he’s staying up. I don’t tell him nice things, I don’t think that’s what he needs from me right now and instead I straddle him and press my lips against his again.

The mood has completely change again. This kiss is hungry and desperate and we both are gasping and fighting for air as his hands squeeze the back of my thighs. His tongue pushes inside my mouth but this time I don’t let him have control. I bite his bottom lip hard as a way of letting him know and he moans on my mouth. I don’t know why I want to bite him but I just can’t get enough of him.

“Baby, you’re gonna make me bleed.” He groans against my mouth.

He’s right, if I don’t stop now I just might so I pull away from his mouth and unfold a spate of gentle kisses along his jawline and down his neck. I lick a stripe of his tight, soft skin from the crook of his neck to the spot below his ear as if I could take his concerns away with my mouth and feel him gasping over me. I don’t know what’s gotten into me. I’ve never wanted someone like this before but it’s like I need to be closer to him, to have him in any way I can and I can never get enough.

His hands caress my body under my sweater with a gentle touch but I know he’s going to let me be in control now. I take this opportunity to get drunk on him and to learn his body like he seems to know mine. My hands caress his bare thighs behind my own as I keep kissing every inch of his skin on his neck and upper chest. I love how hot he is and how I can feel his muscles with my lips.

I kiss every freckle and lick the ink of his tattoos and feel myself getting wetter just by watching the soft hair on his chest. He’s so sexy it’s ridiculous. I want to touch myself so badly, my lips clench out of their own accord as I just drink him in but he’s so perfect and so warm and he’s here in all his glory just for me.

I get off from his lap and his green eyes shoot me a hint of panic but his lips part and his breathing gets worked up when I sit on my knees between his legs. I want to suck him off so much and it surprises me that the idea of having a dick in my mouth can be so enticing. I don’t know why I’m feeling like this but I’ve never been more turned on in my life and it doesn’t really make much sense to me because objectively, what do I get from sucking him off?

He's so quiet and I can’t read the way he’s looking at me. If I didn’t know any better I’d think he’s scared of me but when my eyes look down at his crotch, my breath catches in my throat when I see how hard he is for me. I lick my lips, my mouth is getting dry.

I bring my hand to his harden length and am surprised at my own confidence as I start pampering him through his boxers while my trail of kisses guide my hungry mouth to his arousal. I look up into his eyes as my fingers tangle with the hem of his boxers on either side of his hips, silently asking for his permission to put them down and I love the way he looks with lips parted and eyes wide opened as he lifts his hips for me to undress him.

My eyes still widen at his perfect erection. It’s everything I think about when I think about sex. Healthy and hard and wet and blood red. I wrap my hand around the base of his manhood and kiss his skin before I lick my way to the top. I look up at him and am gratified with a imagine of Harry biting his bottom lip, his chest wildly inflating and deflating every time he takes a breath.

I caress his length with a warm hand a few times before really holding him from the base and licking him like a kitten would lick an ice cream. I keep the eye contact and almost laugh when I remember what Olivia guessed about me. This is turning me on more than it should, I’m sure.

I wrap my mouth around his length and every time I bow my head I get him deeper and deeper, moisturising him with my hot saliva until I fill my throat with his tight, hot, throbbing length. Watching him I understand the thrill he gets every time he does this for me. It’s delightful to see the other person’s reaction.

Harry’s gasps, moans and grunts seduce and claim me as he fills my mouth. My sole purpose is keeping his sex as moisturise as possible as my hand massages the soft pearls crowning the baseline. I relax my jaw and try to keep my teeth to myself as he slips inside my mouth once and again, in and out, forth and back. My bowing is aided with his gentle thrusts but his intrusion only arouses me even more. His hand reaches out for my head and he whispers something I miss. I’m completely consumed by the way he sounds inside me.

He pulls from my hair and I supress my moans until I can’t hold them in anymore and let out a long throaty moan over him. He growls and curses and his fingers, tangled in my hair, slow my bows down.

“Go slower, baby.” He pleads. “I’m gonna cum otherwise.”

Isn’t that what this is all about? With a popping sound, I get him out of my mouth and admire how shinny he is with my own saliva covering his slick skin. It surprises me that it doesn’t look disgusting to me. Moreover, the thought of him, this wet, stretching my tight walls is driving me crazy. I suck his balls into my mouth as I pump him.

“Shit.”

I can tell he’s holding back again. I want to confront him about that because I don’t like when he holds back with me. He’s had me hard before and only picturing him fucking my mouth without any inhibitions, holding my head as he intrudes my throat in and out, brutally, choking me has me dripping down my thighs.

I start devouring him faster, sucking him inside my mouth and letting my tongue lick his precum as he grunts and pulls from my hair. A thought flashes through my mind, I want to see him and so I look up at him from behind my eyelashes and I see his jaw clenching and he frowns.

“Fuck, baby, I’m gonna cum.”

I only suck him harder, bobbing my head frantically as I help my mouth with my hand in the part I can’t get inside and within seconds I feel hot, creamy spurts of his cum hitting my throat. I swallow it instantly for it shot deep enough for me not to have a choice and I feel my pulse down my lower lips as I lick my own lips and sit on my bottom, watching his chest go up and down in a frenzy whilst he calms down.

I’m out of breath too and my walls are tighter than ever because I can’t seem to relax them and I feel like I have my own fluids all over my inner thighs. I don’t know in what perverted way I’m looking at him but the way his eyes twinkle tells me he knows.

Very calmly and without saying a word, as if I had not just sucked him off, he offers me his hand and pulls me up from the floor and then he stands up from his chair so that he’s taller than me again.

I look up into the green of his eyes and he just stares at me for the longest time and there’s not a trace of a smile on his face but somehow he doesn’t seem serious either. I don’t know how to explain it. He seems… Intense, I guess that’s the only thing I can tell. His eyes never leave mine as he pulls from the hem of my pyjama pants with one hand and the other sticks to my belly, snaking down underneath my underwear until he touches the place I want him the most. He lets out a nervous giggle when he finds out how wet I am but I am so turned on I don’t even have it in me to feel embarrassed. He chooses not to torture me as he presses three fingers against my clit and starts fondling me with just the right pressure and my eyes roll to the back of my head as I moan out loud for him.

It's like the intense, serious Harry that let me have him in my mouth just minutes ago is suddenly gone and I can’t say I miss him when this cheerful, careless Harry is smiling at me. My hips start lifting from the table he pushed me at and they find his hand on their own accord, amusing him.

I gape and try to hold his gaze fighting my own eyelids and when I’m afraid my legs are going to fail me and I’m going to fall, I cling onto his bare shoulders with my hands and he rests his forehead on mine. Intense Harry is back. Our breaths mix together between our parted lips and as much as I want to see him my eyelids cover my eyes and I don’t fight them, feeling him is enough. When two of his fingers slid inside me while his thumb still massages my clit, it takes him less than a minute to have me arching my back and screaming.

His hand stays pressed against my dripping core as he kisses my opened mouth trying to give back some of the calm he took from me and he holds my low back with his other hand pressing my body to his. He tenderly bites down my plump bottom lip and pulls from it until it slips from his white teeth.

I think something just disappeared. I feel like he saw me naked for the first time and I’m still wearing all my clothes.

I pull away from him. Not in a rush way or even in a bad one, but I’m overwhelmed. I close the bathroom door behind me and rest my open hands on the marble sink and stare at myself in the mirror. It’s happening again. I need to lie down and put an order to my running thoughts but right now all I can do is cry.

It surprises me that he gives me this minute to myself so quietly and when I open the door, after having washed my face and remove my dripping underwear, I find him still sitting down on the chair I found him at first but now he’s got his sweater on. I open a drawer and get fresh undies on before I go look for him.

“Come here.” I tell him.

He sighs and gives me a look as if saying a blowjob is still not diazepam. He opens his mouth to protest but I don’t let him.

“Come on” I insist “let me help you.”

“Are you going to tire me out with sex?” He smiles.

“No, you idiot.”

He shrugs feigning disappointment before he follows me inside my room and watches me as I get under the blankets holding them up for him.

“Lie down on your stomach.”

He stands very still, cautiously watching me as if I was some sort of dangerous animal, but after some hesitation he chooses to trust me and does what he’s told. He’s watching me as I lean over his body and pull the cover up his bottom before I slip my hand under his sweater and start drawing figures with my nails on his back.

I don’t know if this will relax him as much as it relaxes me but this never fails to calm me down and get me sleepy. I think everybody likes these fingertip caresses. He can’t be that different to the rest of us. Plus, he’s wasted, he’ll fall asleep sooner or later.

After a couple of minutes, he suddenly sits up and it saddens me that he put up with my pampering for so little time but I try to supress my smile when I realize he’s just taking off his sweater so I have better access to his skin. I don’t want him to think I’m only doing this for him, I like touching him just as much as he likes to be touched, not just on the place that makes him a man.

He doesn’t take his eyes off him and he’s the most serious he’s been all night. I want to ask him what’s troubling him but I just cried myself a few minutes ago, who am I to judge him? I feel his muscles relax under my fingers and it’s so nice to caress him like this, he’s so soft it’s pleasurable to touch.

I take this moment of silence to try and unravel my own messy thoughts. I feel terrible for doing this to Dylan and I am scared shitless for doing this to myself but the truth is I care about Harry more than I dare to admit. I don’t want him to be sad or worried, not because that makes things bad for myself but because I just don’t want him to suffer.

He's so quiet and still I have to look up at him to check whether he’s asleep but his eyes are opened and still studying me.

“What’s on your mind?” I whisper.

“Nothing nice.”

I frown, but this time it’s not out of anger but out of concern. I guess he could have asked me the same thing and the answer would have been the same.

“Is it because of something I said to you?”

He doesn’t answer but that’s all the answer I need. It surprises me that my opinion can give him such a headache. I didn’t know whatever I could think about him was so important to him. He didn’t strike me like the kind of person who would care about what the rest of people thought of him what with all the times he’s tried to convinced me that I shouldn’t care about what people thought about us, and how naturally he just says whatever is on his mind and all that.

“Listen, Harry, I was mad and I’m such a bitch, you gotta know this. When I’m mad I say these things I don’t even mean just because-”

“It’s not about what you said before dinner.”

That surprises me.

“Then what is it?”

“Do you remember when I told you to stop beating yourself?”

I remember that night perfectly fine. That was the night he had his anxiety thing and I went home with him. That was also the night this whole thing really started.

“And every time I’ve told you to just let go and enjoy life?”

I nod. I also remember when he told me there was not enough Indie on my heart and how many times he’s pointed at the lack of life in me, knowingly or not. I swallow.

“Well that’s something that happens to me too and a lot more often than you think.” He smiles as if he knew perfectly fine what I thought of him and also how wrong I am. “I don’t know if you remember but before you fell asleep you started reciting these Roy McBride’s lines and it just got me thinking about a lot of things.”

I instantly blush. That I recited what? Nobody even knows how I secretly feel about Roy McBride and how identified I felt with some of the things he said during the movie. Oh, God, I hope I didn’t tell him that.

“About what things?”

Our voices are low even if no one can hear us.

“My life.” He starts as if I should have known better. “My thesis really did open so many doors for me but then I kind of just started working like that was all that mattered because somehow it was.” He pauses and his green eyes give me a look I don’t understand. “I got myself crazy busy with work so that I didn’t have to think about how… I had nothing else to… Worry about.”

I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way before but I don’t like it. It’s like someone punched me on the stomach and I want to cry and tell him he never can say those words again but he’s opening up to me and I bet telling me this is not easy on him so I won’t shush him and make him feel as if his feelings are wrong. Yet this is breaking my heart.

“Don’t get me wrong, I love my job and I love actually knowing who my patients are and hearing them out and giving them the time they deserve but… Sometimes I do worry that’s not enough and when you said all that shit to me about relying on those closest to you and sharing their burdens and letting them share yours and living and loving I just… I don’t know how long it’s been since I don’t do that.”

My fingers stop their movement on his back. I’ve been so unfair to him. I had no idea he had all these cloudy thoughts on his mind and that the reason he couldn’t sleep was because at night he sets them free like a snake. That has me thinking. Does he have a burden too? Is he afraid of sharing that too? Does he feel as lonely as I do?

I don’t know exactly from where I’m getting the strength is taking me to stay out of this and focus on him. I guess I’ve become so good at tiptoeing over my own feelings without getting in that I don’t even have to think about it so as to do it. It just comes natural to me.

“Have you never had like a turning point in your life? Where you had to reconsider what you were doing and if it was what you wanted or not?”

I watch my own fingers dancing over his back and nothing happens I don’t know how long for. Nobody says anything and nobody moves so I wonder if he even heard me but when I look up at his eyes, I feel like my throat is going to close and I’ll choke on my own woe. Crystal tears blurry his eyes and I want nothing more but for them to never spill out. It’s affecting me enormously to see him like this but it’s just too vulnerable, too close, and I can’t do nothing to take that away from him. I have no idea what my words have brought to his mind but he’s just passing it all on me. I hate that my own eyes fill with tears. God, this is not about me.

I don’t know what to do so I just wrap my arms around his shoulders and press him against my chest and he hugs me too. If he had done this to me, if he had made me talk until I ended up bursting my own protection bubble and crying, I would never forgive him so all of a sudden I feel so terribly guilty I want to scratch my own face until I bleed.

“I’m so sorry, Harry” I whisper on his ear as I hug him tight “Forget it, forget what I said and sleep, love.”

He slowly pulls away from me so he can rest his head on his pillow and closes his eyes and thank God the tears don’t roll down his cheeks, but I can see them on the inner corner of his eye next to his nose.

My fingers continue their voyage across his skin and I’d pay to have that frown removed from his beautiful face. I comb his hair out of his forehead praying to God he won’t pull away from me. To my relief, he doesn’t react to my touch and lets me pulls his hair away from his troubled face. We don’t normally do this, this cuddling in a non-sexual way, but I guess we don’t normally cry to each other either.

I let my head fall on my own arm and keep caressing his back until I fall asleep. I hope he falls asleep too.

#harry styles imagine #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles one shot #harry styles blurb #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic

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pipsketches · 5 years

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Is there anything you’d change about the characters in Three Houses for fun? Such as, height, age, clothes, body type, hair, or even their house? I find myself unintentionally imagining Caspar buffer and taller then he actually is ^^,

I’d make a lot of them older. The teacher student thing would have been a lot less of a weird issue if they were all at least 18-20. I mean Sylvain and Mercedes were in their 20s from the beginning so idk why they felt everyone else had to be like 16. Except maybe Lysithea whose need to be seen as mature would benefit from everyone being 20 somethings to her 15-16. It would also make her backstory, imo, sadder being the youngest by that many years and still being the most likely to die. It would make her look smarter and play up the whole prodigy thing. Like all around her character would benefit from everyone else being older.

And I’m going ahead to say this got longer than I intended lol. I’m so sorry! The rest of my long rambling mess under the cut

I don’t really know a lot of the character heights. I know I’ve looked at the heights even charts people made with all of them lined up but I guess cuz their fictional I don’t keep that in mind to much. I’m probably imagining a lot of the character heights wrong to but it’s whatever to me. Caspar funny enough though I had checked and I swear I remember seeing he was 5′9″, which was fine that’s taller than I am lol, but I checked again and he’s actually 5′6″ which is shorter than me but only by an inch so it’s still fine like it’s hardly a noticeable difference. I do prefer guys my height or taller though so I guess I’d make him taller??? It just seems kind of ridiculous cuz it’s just an inch lol.

Hair though! That’s all Felix and Raphael like holy shit do they have terrible hair. Felix more so than Raphael. Like Raphael just needs it maybe a little less fluffier and shorter. He highkey looks like a hobbit post time skip and tweaking it a little could remedy that. Felix on the other hand has like three different parts to his hair. Idk if that’s suppose to mean he’s trying to look good or if it’s suppose to show he isn’t trying at all but Pre-Timeskip had the perfect “I don’t care about my look” look. It was pulled back in a messy bun with strands sticking out everywhere because he genuinely doesn’t care about the superficial. It perfectly told us that he woke up pulled his hair back and called it a day oppose to his timeskip look which seems like he took more time for??? Judging from the little ponytail it’s also shorter which is a good choice. I totally believe Felix just got fed up of dealing with his hair and just cut it to not waste his time on it anymore. So maybe they could have gone shorter. Maybe like a more messy version of timeskip Claude’s hair? Or keep the short ponytail but just don’t have the three different hair parts to get to the ponytail.

Clothing wise I’m gonna say they should have let Raphael l have a boob window! Like it looks like they were gonna let him have one but then added another layer to cover him up. Like if Bernie of all people can have a boob window why not Raph??? I’d also change it so Caspar could maybe have at least his arms exposed. He’s very proud of his muscle (which is why I think a lot of people draw him beefy) so I would think he’d want them out for people to see. He literally has a tea time line drawing attention to his arms being muscular but we can’t even see them??? The generic warrior class, which is his cannon timeskip class, is also pretty revealing so he more than other male character could have been showing off some skin. Change his unit class color to something other than brown. I want to say blue but I think they might have not done that so he wouldn’t be confused as a blue lion,which I get but it also didn’t stop Marianne. Green or teal would be nice to if we can’t go blue (which are Lynhardt colors but their besties so its fine).

Speaking of going blue and being mistaken for a blue lion. If I had to change Caspar’s house it be to blue lion. I’ve seen a few posts on here actually of people making a case for why he’d be great in that house and I can’t say I disagree. He has a lot of potential dynamics there (three of his supports are blue lion with only two yellow deer already) with the most important to me being with Felix. Those two would immediately fight for sure but I think come out as best friends at the end over their love of fighting and even world view. They’re both characters who don’t care about nobility or what others think of them just doing whats right for them and looking out for people. A support with Sylvain could also be pretty funny considering how his C-support with Dorothea and A-support with Hilda went. He’s lovable but not particularly flirty or even good at catching on when someone is flirting (shout out to the random girl who tried to get him to the goddess tower) but clearly interested in flirting, sex, and romance based on his reaction in Dorothea’s C and B-support (personally I think he really thought he was getting to first base until he was made to move furniture lol) and how excited he got in Byleth’s S-support. So having Sylvain try and teach poor oblivious Caspar would be great! Idek if it be funnier to have it end miserably like Dimitri’s or in actual success. A support with Dimitri would be…Something. If you have Caspar, which of course I did, Dimitri personally apologizes to Caspar about Randolph and Caspar didn’t really seem to care but maybe seeing that conversation in more detail could be interesting. Theirs also the whole justice and violence conversation they both could have with eachother. Other than Caspar idk who else I’d move maybe Lyndhardt to yellow deer? The house is a lot more chill so it seems more his speed. Mercedes being a black eagle could lead to very interesting interactions with Edelgard and Huebert.

For body types I’d make Leonie and Petra have a more visibly athletic build. I honestly think Caspar is suppose to be muscular. Based solely on that one tea time line and his support with Raphael but if he isn’t then I’ll make him muscular! Like the only reason he isn’t…Shown? Is because they gotta have the characters with mostly the same body types to make all the unit class modeling and animating easier. They did this in Fates to with the most glaring example being Saizo. The portrait clearly shows him as this really buff very muscular ninja but give him the towel and all of a sudden his like really lean??? I think that’s what’s happening in three houses. The brawler and grapplers show this the best because Raphael and Dedue who are clearly bigger than the whole cast still have the same model as everyone else. It’s honestly a little weird but I get why they do it. So while I don’t think Caspar is anywhere near Raphael or Dedue he is beefier than what his brawler/grappler/war master class would suggest imo

#thanks for the ask!#I also saw the other one!#I really appreciate it #I'm assuming your the same anon #reply #anon

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miguelmarias · 5 years

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The Head and Eyes of Otto Preminger, or The Thinking Gaze

With the passing of time, almost every great film creator, as well as — often earlier — some of the very good directors whose contribution to the art of cinema is far less important and original, end up by being "discovered" (or rather, rediscovered) and acknowledged, achieving a more or less widespread and enduring reputation. Thus, it is no longer regarded as some sort of exotic caprice, befitting only a bunch of eccentric maniacs, to highly value or even openly admire Douglas Sirk or Jacques Tourneur, and the names of John Ford, Alfred Hitchcock, and Howard Hawks have been firmly incorporated into the shared Pantheon of critics and film buffs wherever, so much that praise is implicit when their names are mentioned, and it seems no longer necessary to take up their defense.

Their causes are battles fought and won, albeit if this victory remains relative and only among rather specialized, minority groups, but these names have at last achieved respectability, and in due course — some years more from now, at most a couple of generations into the future — their high position will have become generally established and will remain undisputed. Much more strange and deplorable — though not for their long-dead victims, of course — is the limbo in which float those filmmakers who, even if for some time — more or less long, usually around ten years — they were successful enough at the box office, did receive some awards and enjoyed a certain degree of critical recognition, have fallen into oblivion and whose reputation has been for a long time stagnant at a level well below their merit, basically as a result of the scarce circulation of their films, a circumstance which bears no relation to their artistic value. This is what happens, and will not probably change in the foreseeable future, with Frank Borzage (who always had a few enthusiastic admirers, but is never remembered), Leo McCarey, or Allan Dwan, to mention only three, although the list could be easily expanded, the same as happens, despite appearances to the contrary — and even if he retains a place of choice in every Film History — with the increasingly unknown and maligned figure (this latter only in the U.S., to the scandal and astonishment of most Europeans) of D.W. Griffith himself.

To these names several others could be added, of course — from Nicholas Ray to Tod Browning — but I find no "forgotten one" case as downright scandalous as Otto Preminger's, whose appreciation was at best a minority affair and even then remained a controversial taste subject to violent debate, to be finally swept into oblivion as the result of a deliberate discrediting policy against him (and others, including Vincente Minnelli), started in 1964 inside the very group which had discovered him some twenty years before. The downturn — to which such reversal of critical fortune certainly contributed to some extent; I recall Preminger was still much affected in 1979 — suffered by his career during his last years of activity, in the very midst of the disintegration process undergone by the whole U.S. film production system, until his death in 1986, before his work had reconquered even the degree of interest it had deservedly awakened approximately from 1954 to 1963, completed this demolition job, turning him into an unknown item.

An unknown which, moreover, was not regarded as a serious hole, much less one which required urgent filling, for at least three generations of cinéphiles (or the dubious, watered-down, less passionate version which is today so nicknamed, often in a rather dismissive way), with no chance whatsoever for any revindication attempt to prosper, had there been one, given the scarce availability of the main evidence in his support, which is, of course, Preminger's own films, only now, thanks to DVD, and partially as yet, beginning to circulate again in their adequate format ratio and with their visual values restored (although severely diminished in scale, always "smaller than life").

While not a single feature of the dominant cinematic culture will incite or urge them from outside, I firmly believe that the most curious amongst the surviving true film buffs might begin to discover by themselves that Otto Preminger was not only a smart producer who had the opportunity (or rather, seized it from Rouben Mamoulian) of directing Laura, still widely regarded as one of the crowning peaks of a genre which, once it conquered the taste of moviegoers, has retained its enormous popularity everywhere, as noir in Europe or thriller in its own country of origin (although the most cultivated circles in the US prefer to name it in French).

This film is almost the single reason that has kept Preminger's name from being wiped out of cinema dictionaries, historical reference works, and textbooks. Of the other films directed by Preminger which the spectator seduced and intrigued by the vision of Laura — and few have ever remained indifferent to its charms and mysteries — could wish to inspect as a result, in many countries you can find on DVD Angel Face (1952) and most of the other films in the same genre which Preminger made in between for Fox, using again either Gene Tierney or Dana Andrews, the stars of Laura: Fallen Angel (1945), Whirlpool (1949), and Where The Sidewalk Ends (1950), the latter reuniting both again at Preminger's orders. But you still cannot find on DVD another of his most successful movies, an unusual and unlikely incursion of this reputedly "cool" filmmaker into the realm of melodrama, Forever Amber (1947), nor the unjustly neglected The Thirteenth Letter (1951), dismissed sight unseen as an inferior remake of Clouzot's Le Corbeau, which it is, but that is of no consequence whatsoever.

Whoever ventures into a standard film dictionary or history book will hardly be spared from learning that Otto Preminger, after being one of the first directors to become their own (independent) producers, defied the self-imposed censorship code of the motion picture industry and released, without the supposedly unavoidable MPAA seal of approval, a couple of controversial and (at the time; not so much now, of course) "daring" movies, The Moon Is Blue (1953) and The Man with the Golden Arm (1955). If the consulted reference-book is not too superficial, the curious fan will read with some astonishment that Preminger directed two dramatic musicals with all-Black casts, Carmen Jones (1954) and Porgy and Bess (1959), although the second was a Samuel Goldwyn production, prepared and already started by (again!) Rouben Mamoulian; that Preminger discovered Jean Seberg during a nationwide casting contest for Saint Joan (1957) and had the good taste of employing her again in Bonjour Tristesse (1958). And the eager researcher may even get the idea that after admiring her in both, (then) well-known Preminger fan Jean-Luc Godard picked her as the attractively treacherous female lead in À bout de souffle (Breathless, 1959), and that, despite his Viennese birth, Preminger did once film a western, whose durable popularity rests on being one of the first movies to be shot with ease in the then-new CinemaScope widescreen format and, even more, on the presence of Marilyn Monroe, River of No Return (1954).

Of all these pictures, only the two he directed in 1954 and recently also Bonjour Tristesse can so far be found on reliable DVDs; the French release of The Moon Is Blue and Saint Joan (and The Human Factor [1979]) has been quite a disappointment; and you have yet to forget The Man with the Golden Arm, since there is only a mere transfer from flat VHS to CD, as bad in the many DVD editions released in the US as in its European versions, all available at low prices far exceeding their real worth.

Considering the erratic policy — if there is anything deserving such a name — seemingly inspiring DVD edition wherever, the period of Preminger's career with seems better covered is, quite surprisingly, that of his full maturity as an artist, when already a portion of his early supporters were beginning to mistrust him as too prone to sensationalism and yielding to box-office interests, while another portion of them even increased their deep admiration for such a filmmaker. Anatomy of a Murder (1959), Exodus (1960), Advise and Consent (1962), The Cardinal (1963), and In Harm's Way (1965) allow us to see again five films in a row which are probably the (as yet unacknowledged) peak of his whole body of work.

Although only available on Zone 1, and packaged so confusingly and contradictorily as to be discouraged from buying it, its cover casting doubts about its ratio presentation (finally approaching the original 2.55:1 early Scope at the standard 2.35:1), there is also a DVD edition of a film which announces that greatest period of his career, albeit on a lesser scale, the very badly known — I guess that for far-from-innocent reasons — The Court-Martial of Billy Mitchell(1955).

There are several other holes, some of them very harmful and not likely to be repaired — I would be most surprised if the hardly popular but quite extraordinary Daisy Kenyon (1947) came out on DVD — including the lack of most of his late films, which, despite their very bad reputation and their box-office failure, certainly deserve taking a new look at them, as proved the very satisfying Bunny Lake Is Missing (1965), recently released. The magnificent Hurry Sundown (1966) and the films that followed it are still missing. Even his reassuringly good farewell film, adapted from Graham Greene's The Human Factor, is unavailable in good shape.

Anyhow, it is only recently that the minimal objective conditions are at last beginning to concur in order to recall why, for some people, Otto Preminger belongs with the greatest and most truly original filmmakers in the whole History of Cinema.

To avoid a solitary discourse which finally would lead nowhere — I am already where I am — however convincingly might I try to explain such claims or to persuasively argue my reasons for admiring Preminger, while the reader has not the opportunity to contrast these arguments with the films in question and to think and judge on his own what he sees, I would rather advise whomever feels some interest for Preminger's work, or anybody suspecting he can be a far more important filmmaker than he had been led to believe and other opinions had let him even guess, as well as to anyone without theatrical screen knowledge of his output, to entirely eschew VHS prints as a working tool, especially if what he can get are second-or more-generation copies or commercial editions usually not respectful of the aspect ratios in which the actual films where shot, and try to see them in 35mm prints (those filmed in 70mm seem now almost invisible everywhere) and on sufficiently large screens (it is almost useless to look at Exodus or even the black-and-white Panavision Advise and Consent on a surface only slightly larger than that of a 34-inch television set). Were such ideal conditions outside your reach, the next best thing would be DVDs, which usually offer restored prints.

I would also recommend, at the sight of what there is at hand, to begin with the best: I'd suggest for a start the most intimate Preminger films already shot in CinemaScope, River of No Return and Carmen Jones; then proceed, whenever possible, to The Court-Martial of Billy Mitchell; or jump to Bonjour Tristesseand go on — with the forcible omission of Porgy and Bess — with the masterpieces up to and including In Harm's Way.

Once seen that, if, as I hope, the reader now wants to see every thing Preminger made, he can go backwards and see his dark side, the noir films from the years 1944 to 1952, less personal but full of elements which resurface afterwards enriched and fully developed, and then anything else he can get in acceptable viewing conditions: one of the essential Preminger virtues is that even his less successful or only partially controlled pictures are usually, at the very least, quite entertaining, employ attractive players, and almost always include some most extraordinary shots which, in those films where not each and every one of them is wonderful, result — by comparison — astonishing and spectacularly accomplished. I will warn the reader that, pending an eventual revision on DVD, I have seen the Preminger film I least like — Rosebud (1975) — five times without ever being bored, and that even in that film, for me by far his worst, there are moments, although certainly (and uncharacteristically) isolated, that are worth the entire output of many present-day highly praised filmmakers. That I focus my interest on the period after Bonjour Tristesse — when his own personal, distinctive style reaches the maturity that makes it unique — does not mean that you should skip the earlier films, many of which are admirable and some of them even count among the best he ever directed: Daisy Kenyon, Bonjour Tristesse, or Carmen Jones are as good as any other. And Fallen Angel, Where the Sidewalk Ends, Whirlpool, Laura, Forever Amber, Angel Face, or River of No Return are films not to be missed.

I think advisable to keep in mind a further point: Preminger's best films don't go ostentatiously soliciting attention, avoid strident eye-catching gimmicks, and — despite his enemies' claims about his "sensationalist" penchant — do not advertise their own "importance," so they can seem quite unexceptional at first sight, if not enough attention is paid at every moment.

They are often built on extraordinarily protracted tracking shots of astounding complexity, staged and shot with such elegance and naturalness that you do not notice either their length or their elaborate movements; rather on the contrary, they seem quite simple and "normal," not to say deceitfully commonplace. Often, after several minutes, one begins to wonder whether there has been some cut or the same shot is still going on; if one looks again — as both DVD and VHS allow — almost in every case, there has been no cut, it is a very long one-shot sequence or that, at most, Preminger interrupted it to introduce a change of distance or point of view which was so strictly unavoidable and necessary that it would have been contrived to replace the simple, direct cut (and he did not fear to jump over the axis) by a quite arbitrary and comparatively slow camera movement.

Several of the films Preminger produced from Exodus onwards are obviously very expensive "blockbusters" and last for well over two hours, sometimes three or even more; in every instance, both the cost and the length — never tiresome or excessive — were perfectly justified by reasons of amplitude, authenticity of the locations and settings (Preminger systematically avoided back-projection), and by the sheer complexity of the plot, often involving an incredible number of individual characters and incidents.

One of the defining features of Preminger as a filmmaker is his unsurpassed ability to clearly tell any story, which in the mature period of his career expands to a wide variety of people with their own personal stories and relationships, very precisely interwoven in such a way that characters who seemed of secondary or passing relevance suddenly take an unexpected moral or dramatic weight and move to the forefront before disappearing or returning to the background, while those who had acted as agents or had served as our guides through the chain of events Preminger is building, often lose power or presence and are temporarily eclipsed by lesser figures.

Since another of Preminger's identifying traits is the neatness and density of the images he organizes and presents to us in the clearest and more deceptively simple way possible, it is quite important that the physical state of the prints and the neatness and precision of their projection do not hinder our viewing, either making it out-of-focus and fuzzy or restricting it to a portion of the original frame.

It can be felt since the first vision of Laura, which surprises no matter how much one may have previously read about it; our guess is steadily confirmed from River of No Return onwards, no doubt because the CinemaScope ratio both allowed and encouraged this inclination or choice, which becomes manifest, in particular, since Bonjour Tristesse, to reign uninterruptedly from Exodus until Hurry Sundown: Preminger created — and brought to perfection — a cinematic style which is not merely plastic expression, but the eminently visual equivalent of very personal dramaturgical and narrative imperatives, and which becomes a unique conception — quite original and without any clear precedent, at least in the sound period; also, I'm afraid, without any true followers — of time and space (the primary means of cinema), i.e., of the environment in which evolve the actors and actresses entrusted with embodying in gestures, movements, and words the development of the story which Preminger is telling us.

Ambition has been an often-voiced charge against Preminger, accusing him of the pursuit of notoriety, success, and money, when what he was really after belonged to quite another order of ambitions, and was a goal much harder to attain: the fullest understanding of events — often historically important and of the utmost transcendence, but which was not that different when he merely dealt with small interpersonal struggles, or fully fictional, rather sordid criminal machinations — and its complete, undistorted transmission to the spectator so that each individual in the audience, exercising his own liberty and understanding, could fully grasp them, their meaning, their causes and consequences.

The aim, the subject-matter, and the method of most Preminger films could be summarized using only one word: intelligence, a word which etymologically sets up a full action program and requires to connect each thing with other things, to link them rationally. If reason can be explained as the apprehension of reality in its connectedness, then no other cinematic style — not even Fritz Lang's — would embody reason as fully as Otto Preminger's in the whole history of cinema.

And, since everything that happens takes place in the flow of time, and often simultaneously, while others are the effects of previous actions, the means for understanding and showing them to other people are unavoidably narrative, and force the teller to put order where, at least at first sight, there is such complexity, given the amount of factors and elements at play, that it can easily be mistaken with chaos.

The first thing, therefore, that such a project demands from an artist is an enormous mental power, which obviously not everybody has; a well-organized mind, a calm and reflective attitude, that will not allow the accumulation of data to hinder its functioning, a brain which will not fall into perplexed paralysis in the presence of apparent contradictions.

This takes someone balanced and skeptical enough not to let himself be carried away by hurry, by the temptation of witticism, or by blinding partisan assumptions. Such an artist needs to know how to maintain a difficult — and almost never commercially or politically profitable, since it can be criticized from both sides — emotional balance (the so-called "coldness" of cool Preminger) and always mistrust appearances, first impressions, prefabricated images, ready-made phrases, and conventional notions. Accepting passed-on ideas without further inspection, taking for granted truisms or accepting them as axiomatic, logical or "natural" thoughts (or even laws), when they may well be, and so often are, sophisms, fallacies, superstitions, misconceptions, myths, or simply "likely" lies, believable alibis, truthful-sounding excuses, is precisely what Preminger was never ready to do. This requires alertness, lucidity, and self-criticism, remaining absolutely awake and aware at all times, and a sound amount of general mistrust. It entails a not very comfortable rejection of the easier way to get things done and demands at all times a clear-sighted and far-reaching vision.

As well as a considerable amount of imagination, since without this last ingredient it is impossible either to foresee consequences and next moves or to extrapolate events or trends that can be detected in what so far has only begun to inchoate or exists yet merely as a possibility, as a threat, a risk, or a promise. Such a vision has to be at the same time very attentive to the present instant, scrutinizing the diminutive variations of whatever is happening at every moment before our eyes at variable distances, without ever losing sight of the need of forecasting its future evolution, amongst several directions which remain open, nor refraining from looking, with the hindsight of a historian — or at times, that of an analyst — at what happened before, because it explains or can serve as a model or parallel for whatever so far has failed to become concrete or to surface.

The main thing is to think where we are, how and why we have reached this situation, and which path we can take from here and now, from this moment on, starting where we are. It is again, certainly, quite a lot to ask for from a mere film director, but that seems precisely what Preminger always wanted to do, what he took pleasure in trying to attain, the goal which he wished to reach and towards which he, step by step, confidently and unrelentingly advanced for years.

This previous mental vision allowed him to think up a story, conceived as a sort of Platonic ideal whose physical elaboration on paper, as a simple but detailed blueprint, he commissioned to competent or trustworthy screenwriters, from whom he demanded to translate into writing the desires not always explained in full by Preminger himself, and up to the point where, at last at such early stages in the process of making a film, well before the actors were under contract and principal photography started, no further precision was possible. Intellectually, in the absence of physical elements, it was impossible to advance a step further.

From this narrative framework with its distribution into scenes, grouped themselves into big dramatic blocks perfectly linked one to each other, with the characters already designed in full detail, although not described physically to allow a perfectly free hand in the casting stage, Preminger went on to visually conceive each film, which, as he once confided, he would have liked to shoot in chronological order and, at least ideally, in a single uninterrupted shot.

Preminger's theatrical experience, started as an assistant and apprentice of the great Max Reinhardt in Vienna, then pursued both as stage director and actor — a trade he practiced for a short time in the theatre and also sometimes in front of the camera — had made him a strong partisan of the unity of time and space, which he felt allowed players to feel both more at ease and more secure than when subjected to the fragmentation and repeated takes which had become usual in the cinema.

Since chronological shooting is in practice almost impossible in a standard film production, more so if the budget is high and he is employing very in-demand actors and actresses, with quite tight and complex working schedules, Preminger tried to compensate or reduce whenever feasible the unavoidable chronological disorder and fragmentation of filming by means of intensive and very detailed rehearsals, quite similar to those which are the rule in theatrical companies. At the moment of shooting, Preminger imposed his concept of the unity of vision, and therefore of point-of-view.

Unlike his admired friend Alfred Hitchcock, Preminger never attempted to emotionally identify the audience with any of the main characters and therefore did not think useful to convey their changing points of view through the choice of adequate camera angles, distances, and framing, which in turn would subjectively determine the size of each shot. In an Otto Preminger film there is no place for anyone else's but his own point of view, Preminger's perspective being rather that of a director who would very much like to reach something almost akin to Jeremy Bentham's ideal watchman's panoptical view, although (and this is a very relevant difference) in a state of freedom: he aspired to see everything at once, in its own space, in its changing environment, and all the time, but without hindering the characters' movements or forcing the space where the action takes place, which whenever possible was the actual setting. Preminger wanted nothing to escape him, even if it happened, so to speak, at his back, outside his field of vision, which therefore had to be as wide as possible and with the possibility of swiftly changing its limiting frame, of adapting its boundaries to the characters' displacements. Therefore, Preminger's camera was always ready to move, expecting or following the action he had, of course, previously staged and rehearsed intensively, but that he tried to capture as if it were something happening spontaneously and unexpectedly, and as if he were a documentary filmmaker, certainly well-equipped and with the best technical means, always attentive to what was happening on the set in order not to miss anything interesting.

For Preminger, the camera is his sight, the technological equivalent to his pair of alert eyes, always connected to his brain and his heart, responding to whatever might happen. Therefore, he needed to see clearly even what was far away (hence the depth of field, and a complex lighting scheme that makes equally clear every inch of the screen), what is at some distance, even in a crowd or in a large place or open space (hence the widescreen); moreover, he needed to remain able to look elsewhere, in the middle or near distances, and on the spot (hence a moving camera, usually mounted on a dolly or a crane, extreme mobility combined with the possibility of approaching and getting a good panoramic view, perhaps slightly upwards so as to dominate the action over the heads of characters, with only the slightest unavoidable obstruction).

A purpose for which, in principle, and from a moment that I feel would be of the utmost interest to pinpoint and put a date to, although that seems no easy task at all — and which, now that Preminger is dead, it would be impossible to settle for sure and beyond any reasonable doubt — Preminger started by considering that the most effective and logical way to do that was through respecting and preserving the unity of time and space of every scene, and filming it, if possible, as a whole, in a sweeping movement encompassing everything, without the usual fragmentation of both factors, and searching other ways of accelerating the action and enhancing the emotion of selected moments. The standard procedures established for years in the American cinema, and almost taken for granted and considered as "natural" practically everywhere were of no use for Preminger. Not that he ever cared to voice such a dismissive idea, or to pass as a radical partisan of change, since he had not the notion that his choices were the only ones possible, or that what he thought was right for himself should be the only way of doing pictures for others.

Ultimately, that conception of what I cannot find a more suitable name for than mise-en-scène implied for Preminger that, as long as it would not be (or look) too artificial and elaborate, too contrived and unnatural, or too static, each scene or sequence should be shot, on principle, whenever it was possible (and however difficult it might prove) in a single, long, continuous take or shot, without cuts to inserts or close-ups or sudden set-up changes, moving the camera as a function of the displacements of dramatic interest inside the scene, and preferably, in order not to draw attention to the camerawork in itself, at the cover of some character's movements in and out of the scene, in and out of a room, which normally will be connected to the often microscopic changes in their dramatic weight, and seemed to naturally call for these accompanying movements.

This principle of one action/one shot, driving ideally to one-take sequences and to avoid whenever possible and reasonable inserts, jump-cuts, close-ups, and mechanical, conventional shot/counter-shot series for confrontation or dialogue scenes has, logically, immediate consequences in the narrative, dramatic, and, above all, ethic terrains. But all of these repercussions suit, support, and reinforce the willed absence of partiality and the refusal of spectator-manipulation techniques that Preminger had adopted early in his career as the surest way to allow and encourage each individual in the audience to look intelligently at the film and exercise their own freedom of thought.

Of course, to be able to shoot a scene in such a way requires it to be organized in precisely one of several different possible ways; to begin with, the filmmaker should avoid the temptation of setting it merely in order to make possible (or easier, faster, cheaper) the application of such a style of filming, which was never an end in itself, but only a means. One quite frequent mistake that Preminger was never lazy or conceited enough to incur.

But this requires yet more work. It asks for a new critical re-reading, which would already be — at the very least — the fourth revision, of each time/space unit in which has been tentatively fragmented an action which must flow uninterruptedly — yet not uniformly, but with continuous rhythmic modulations and intensity variations — on the screen, and without ever losing intelligibility as a result of those narrative ellipses or jumps as may be needed, and which in any case should not be obtrusive, each shot looking seamless and continuously flowing, the camera's existence as forgotten as that of our own eyes while we see whatever we may want to see that does not require our sight to strain.

Just imagine the investment of intellectual effort, so far merely imaginative, required by each shot, each scene, in an Otto Preminger film. It demands not only an exceptional mental capacity but also a steel-hard willpower, a self-exigence which explains and puts in its place — being neither a caprice nor merely domineering and exploitative — his much-commented demands from technical crews, players, or any sort of collaborators — that's why he only employed the best professionals available, and required that they perform accordingly.

All of it is the result of an enormous effort, which moreover — since it would be a lack of elegance, and could displace the audience's interest/attention from the action itself to the technical prowess of the makers — must not be noticed by those regarding the film, so that all artifice should remain hidden or concealed, if not so much as strictly invisible. Artistry becomes therefore yet more complex and subtle — double artifice — so as to not detract from or disrupt the moviegoer's attention, which must be subtly attracted (during the '40s through a process of spellbinding fascination, usually based on the female leads, later by the sheer elation of seeing everything so well and clearly and by the continuity of a forward thrust movement) and channelled (although forever maintaining the wide scope of his/her perception) towards the main action and the behavior of the characters as they are embodied at every moment by the players.

This principle requires, of course, the full subordination of the players to their respective roles; the chosen performers can be great stars, but must always adapt themselves to Preminger's fictional creatures until no distinction can be made between one and another, until they fully materialize their way of being and of moving, of regarding or speaking, through their bodies and their fitting corporal dynamics or their voices, even in scenes where they must remain passive and quiet or if they have to keep silent. This explains why Preminger has sometimes replaced an actor for another (he fired Lana Turner from Anatomy of a Murder because she wanted to wear her own clothes, and therefore would have remained Lana Turner, and substituted for her Lee Remick as Laura Manion); that he usually did not accept demands or welcome suggestions from the main players, a fact which is the basis of his reputation of having dictatorial ways on the set and of being ill-tempered and bad-mannered; that he refused to change dialogue or traits or clothing, or to allow actors to embellish the characters they played, rather forcing the performers to stick to the roles as they were written in the script.

It has been often pointed out, rightly — although it is something that will rarely escape even the less attentive or insensitive viewers: the relevance in Preminger's cinema of hand gestures, always so revealing, of the rhythms and cadences of the characters' walk or the way they sit or stand still, even when we are shown only their backs. How they handle a ballpoint, a telephone, or a gun is telling us something while they talk or look at each other, without any cut or camera movement ever isolating, stressing, or underlining that detail as something significant. These are indirect, objective, and patent means to subtly let the characters reveal (rather than explain) themselves cinematographically, to suggest what they are really thinking or feeling, letting the audience perceive their changes of attitude, in an unstressed fashion, without verbally stating or imposing any meaning. That kind of watchful observation is within the reach of anyone paying close attention to the whole screen and willing to reason from the indices put at his disposal and thus reach his or her own conclusions.

Preminger's cinema style both takes for granted and demands an intelligent, interested, and alert spectator, who can be trusted not to need that things be repeated to him/her several times nor to require being guided by the hand throughout the plot, however intricate it may be, but who will be able to see what is relevant with the mere guidance of his/her look, without anyone else delimiting excessively, univocally, his/her field of vision, but rather allowing him/her to see quietly and clearly more than he/she needs merely to understand the storyline, letting him/her grasp also other things, even some things which might be more meaningful for him/her than for Preminger himself, or which could seem contradictory or besides the point. Preminger does not require his audience to be cultivated, but only asks their members to be interested, attentive, and watchful, to act as individuals, to look, to remember, to think.

A cinematic style like Preminger's, which quite early could be seen — although Preminger himself never claimed or would have admitted such a pompous thing — as some sort of "theoretical model," requires on the filmmaker's part an extraordinary organizing capacity and an astonishing clarity of mind, traits certainly infrequent either in the film business or elsewhere; such scarcity might perhaps explain why only a few other filmmakers have been able to conceive a roughly equivalent system, why only exceptionally has anybody been able to emulate him or even to try to do so beyond the merest external look of his images, which are instantly recognizable as Preminger's despite being in themselves rather undistinguished-looking and completely devoid of any "signature effects."

It can be comparatively easy to manage a linear storyline, with only a couple of relationships going, with two or three main characters and four or five supporting roles involved, evolving through six or seven places or settings, usually each presented through one or two rooms, that is, less than fourteen sets. These are figures and items which look manageable enough, which can be orderly disposed without headaches, with relative ease and only a reasonable amount of work. Therefore, regardless of their quality and achievement or daring, and several are masterpieces in their respective genres, I see no reason to consider as out of the ordinary the early noir films Otto Preminger directed after Laura, partly as a result of its success.

They are, in the context of the general good looks of the Fox productions of the time, particularly elegant and pointed in their framing and composition as well as in their precise camera movements or the general organization of space and the chained, logical, rhythmically neat succession of one shot after the other; the actors and actresses are as well chosen (usually among Fox's contract players) as they are controlled and directed to obtain the best possible unspectacular performances; the screenplays are intriguing and do not limit themselves to gradually unveiling a mystery, solving a criminal intrigue or chronicling the society or the mood of the period. They are excellent in every sense and repeatedly awake a high degree of unflagging interest, which is, I believe, a direct result of the high power of fascination that is one of the main distinctive traits of Preminger's cinema.

This bewitchment affects as much each spectator sitting in the dark looking at the screen as most of Preminger's fictional creatures, not to forget a third unseen party, his own camera — which, in Preminger's cinema, stands, more than for any of the characters, for the director himself, whose detached but interested, intrigued, and even concerned point of view it usually conveys, a detail which we must never forget.

This fascinated gaze of the characters at those of the opposite sex, regardless of which may be the gender of the central figure of each film — like the detective played by Dana Andrews in Laura and Where The Sidewalk Ends, obsessed and attracted by Gene Tierney even when, as it seems in the first of these, he initially believes she's dead, has prejudged very negatively her personality, and has no other references about her than what he has been told by far from innocent bystanders and a haunting painted portrait; or the kleptomaniac wife embodied by the same actress in Whirlpool, herself hypnotized by Dr. Korvo — is what really intrigues and beguiles the still relatively young Preminger; the same multiple fascination process is also present in Fallen Angel, Forever Amber, Where the Sidewalk Ends, or Angel Face, to be further and more subtly developed in later films such as Carmen Jones, Bonjour Tristesse, Anatomy of a Murder, and even as late as Bunny Lake Is Missing.

This works even when the general dramatic center of the film is no longer such a kind of fascination and its narrative weight is distributed among a considerable crowd of characters. In the whole '40s only on a Fox project which fell from John M. Stahl's hands into Preminger's, Forever Amber, but then increasingly during the following decade, the average population of his films begins to expand. Finally, we find in Exodus, a historical piece based on real and comparatively recent events, a true crowd of characters who are never anonymous, indistinct masses, but are individualized even while they retain their identity as groups, from which, in any case, several — many more than is usual — main figures detach themselves and are treated by Preminger as fully accomplished characters with complex and differentiated relationships which evolve in time and are affected by the course of events or which influence their development. Exodus is the very kind of what at the time was called a "blockbuster" which usually other filmmakers, with less powerful brains, would prove unable to fully keep in control, which quite easily get out of their hands, that makes them worried and confused, unable to put enough order in their minds or keep track of every other sequence while they are trying to shoot a scene, uncapable of coping simultaneously with all the elements at play; often, once they have set such films in motion, they cannot see or cover everything, therefore being overwhelmed by the film's own dynamics. Just for that it is quite remarkable how Preminger, far from being overdriven, seems to be extraordinarily stimulated by the challenge of paying attention to so many things at the same time, without ever losing sight, at least mentally, of political or logistic problems while he concentrates, as he usually does, on the most intimate and personal, even the secret or unconscious motives, behind these relationships he goes on showing while he tells a very complex story on a wide canvas, because the characters always remain the axis on which his movies are built, despite the multiplicity of elements, settings, actors, issues, and problems in general. In retrospect, one can realize that the very unique style developed by Preminger was singularly adept to such a kind of narrative drive, since it allowed to show in an orderly way a lot of things at the same time, and that his ample scope and the variety of interests that awakened his curiosity encouraged this change in scale. One could even venture that such a development seems logical and coherent, and could have been foretold since he made The Court-Martial of Billy Mitchell or Saint Joan.

However, what remains an utter mystery is why nobody else has ever made movies the way Preminger conceives and films them, which is precisely what makes the experience of watching them so exhilaratingly unique. A further enigma is how he came to think of such an unprecedented, although very logical way, of telling a story, of developing a plot while showing the audience, from the outside and relying on mere appearances, the inner struggles of the characters involved beyond those very appearances.

Of course, there have been other filmmakers — before and after — who also developed a system based on long tracking shots, almost covering a whole scene or sequence without cutting. Even such silent masters as F.W. Murnau did something which would loosely fit that description. In the talkies, William Wyler, Orson Welles, Max Ophuls, Kenji Mizoguchi developed deep-focus fixed shots as well as one-shot sequences with long tracking camera movements. Each in his own way, both Erich von Stroheim and Jean Renoir also approached such a conception. And, on a lesser scale, Roberto Rossellini did already something of the kind in some isolated moments of Paisà (Paisan, 1946), developing in the early '60s a new sort of zoom lens which he named pancinor and which allowed him to explore, without need of a track or of even really moving the camera, the space inside a very protracted set-up, changing the frame but not the point of view. But all those antecedents or near-parallel research do not really explain how Preminger thought out what seems already sketched in Laura, fully developed around Bonjour Tristesse, and only partly abandoned, quite suddenly and surprisingly, around the time he made Tell Me That You Love Me, Junie Moon (1969), before returning to his own way of shooting at the ending of his career, in both Rosebud and The Human Factor.

Only as a hypothetical suggestion, I think the first sparks of this idea of cinema have their origin in the theater, where Preminger started learning his many crafts. In the '20s and '30s, the classical Vienna stage which Max Reinhardt presided over was generally respectful of Aristotle's three unities rule, of action, space, and time. Actors on the stage play continuously, in order, and are seen from a distance. The camera can bring us nearer to their faces, so they don't need to overplay their movements and gestures, and their acting methods may be more realistic, more naturalistic, more subdued, more like people are and act spontaneously in everyday real life. By that time, Murnau was eliminating titles, even dispensing altogether with them in Der letzte Mann (The Last Laugh, 1924), while the camera was more and more free to move "unchained," as can be seen from then up to Sunrise (1927). Then sound came and put a temporary stop to the increasing mobility and expressive freedom of the camerawork. As a matter of fact, this static-camera period did not last long, at least outside Hollywood. One can see early talkies in Japan or Europe where the camera moves quite freely. For instance, in Max Ophuls's Liebelei (1932), a film I guess Preminger saw while still in his native Austria. Then came the decisive impact of Welles' Citizen Kane (1941), which was particularly influential (much more than on the RKO sets) on most mid-'40s productions of 20th Century-Fox, where as it happened Preminger was then under contract. And, on top of all that, Rossellini made Roma città aperta (Open City, 1945) and Paisà at the ending of World War II, the former admittedly a Preminger favorite, while of the second I can see traces even in some Exodus battle scenes.

Therefore, I think that the cumulative impact of those very different steps in the course of almost twenty years had probably some influence on Preminger, although it is insufficient, in my view, to properly explain how he arrived at such a original conception of cinema, which is not primarily aesthetic, or even narrative, but has an ethical stand as origin. Despite what a lot of people today would seemingly like to believe, Godard was not merely playing with words when he wrote that a tracking shot is also an question of morals. Maybe he was thinking about Rossellini, but he could have been referring as well to Otto Preminger.

Preminger's style can be considered "functional" insofar as it has always a function, serves a purpose. He privileges long shots over brief close-ups, and long or single takes to film a scene, not only because he thinks that actors are more comfortable or feel more challenged that way; they might be more at ease, but their responsibility if a take had to be repeated would increase, as well as the risk of forgetting part of a long dialogue they had to say with a certain tone and rhythm, so the difficulty was also greater that way. He certainly had some inclination towards fluent camera movements which would accompany the action, but not for the sheer elation of accomplishing a feat, but rather because such a way of filming, which was never systematic or repetitious, allowed him to show several things as they were happening, at once although on different levels, at varying distances, and to bring to view the connections between diverse characters sharing a space (or fighting for it) without underlining it or overstressing such relationships. Anyone watching Exodus, Advise and Consent, The Cardinal, or In Harm's Way will soon find several instances of this, without any need of my pinpointing them. You can take any other film, American or otherwise, made around the period or at any earlier date, with similar scope and themes, and will not find anything even remotely resembling Preminger's movies, except perhaps, to a somewhat lesser extent, in a less perfected and radical form, in the more ambitious large-canvas melodramas directed by Vincente Minnelli: Some Came Running (1958), Home From The Hill (1960), The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse (1961), or Two Weeks in Another Town(1962). Or, very exceptionally and unexpectedly, in other movies sharing with Preminger's the complexity of intimate and political clashes, like the astonishing Bhowani Junction, directed by George Cukor in 1955, simultaneously deep and wide and with the courage of not pretending to have a happy ending, a true satisfactory and permanent solution for problems and situations which cannot be really reconciled. The acknowledgement that private individual or couple solutions are always temporary and unable to heal the general wounds of a society is something the American cinema seldom allows itself, and that only people like Preminger, and occasionally some others, dared.

http://fipresci.hegenauer.co.uk/undercurrent/issue_0306/marias_preminger.htm

#miguel marías #otto preminger #fipresci

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maxhoemo · 6 years

Text

prompt: royalty/arranged marriage

ship: maxian

(wtf did i just write?)

Sometime in the Future....

Ian sighed, scrolling through the internet on his holo-screen. Earth’s own Overlord Jr. was set to be married in only a few days. Something he had absolutely no choice in. He felt he was far too young to be married, especially to someone he hardly knew. She was M’xx, Princess of the planet Diomia. She was known across the galaxy for her beauty, and her oafish clumsiness. That girl walked like she was trying to start an earthquake! But Ian had only seen her a handful of times at diplomatic events. The wedding was completely cynical.

“Mom!” He remembered arguing. “I don’t wanna marry that loud-mouthed cunt! She get’s totally shit-faced at every event! She’s a complete disaster!”

“Ian, you’ll thank me when you’re the richest and most powerful man in the Universe!”

Of course, she was right. Ian, known by many as the Google heir, was pretty much destined to marry the Disney heiress herself. And when they did, the couple would effectively own every single company and corporation in the known universe. But come on, weren’t they rich and powerful enough?

“Miss Google?” Ian asked his super-computer.

“Yes, master?” it answered in a robotic tone, it’s screen (the size of an entire wall of Ian’s room) lighting up as it did.

“Is Princess M’xx hot?”

“Princess M’xx was voted 7th Sexiest Organism Alive in 4998 and 1st in 5000 and 5002.”

Ian grumbled. He could only imagine some stupid teenage boy, getting his rocks off to the Princess. If only they knew...

“Image search,” he commanded. Instantly, the screen showed a layout of results. A regular green skinned, purple eye’d space babe. Those short locks of hair perfectly framed her soft face. Even Ian had to admit it. Those big, pouty lips, that thicc round ass. “Okay, okay. She’s hot, I admit it. So what?” At least he’d have exclusive rights to that ass.

.....

Historic First Ever Earth-Diomia Wedding Could Improve Planetary Relations

While the Galaxy is captivated with Princess M’xx’s dress, or the Overlord-to-Be’s shoes, leaders across Solar Systems are looking forward to the Royal Wedding for other reasons. With Diomia and Earth, historically being at odds with one another, leaders hope that the love between M’xx* and Mr. Carter will bring the two planetary superpowers together. Earth was forced to apologize to Diomia for the Meme Embargo in 4923, resulting in the gifting of the Walt Disney Company and it’s assets to the planet in an attempt to mend their economy. Left in shambled after unfair, inflated Meme Taxes. Princess M’xx has long been known for her dedication to preserving and spreading memes, stating; “It’s hard to imagine a world without memes, but so many across the Galaxy go without. Like clean water and Marvel DVD’s, Memes, at least spicy ones, are a basic right.” An enquiry conducted by the #DramaAlertJournal found that Earthlings were overwhelmingly supportive of the Princess. Diomian’s however, are mostly skeptical of the marriage. Many raising concern that Mr. Carter possesses an inadequate penis. Either way, the merging of the two planets will effect us all in the months to come.

More Articles: Ian and M’xx’s Million Dollar Wedding Cake, Why the Princess Named “My Name Jeff” Her Favourite Historical Meme, What to Expect From Ian As Overlord

Cameras flashed, reporters and members of the public crowded the couple as they exited the Church. Ian smiled his biggest, brightest fake smile, the alien Princess on his arm. The wedding had been excruciating. Unbearably awkward. But this was going to be even more awkward.

Waving to the crowd, the couple crawled inside the hover-limo. He was about to spend more than an hour, alone with someone he’d never spoken two words to. And of course, that someone now being his wife.

As the car pulled away, off to the reception, Ian chose to stare silently down at his feet. How much did his parents blow on these shoes?

“Uhh....” Oh God. M’xx was trying to start a conversation. Ian cringed. “Sorry if that kiss was awkward... I’ve never kissed anyone before....”

Ian forced a laugh, looking over at his bride. “Don’t worry. I don’t think there was any way to have made that kiss any less weird.”

She laughed in return. “Yeah. I didn’t even want this wedding to happen, if I’m honest.”

“What? You think I did?”

“Well... My parents said you did. They kept guilting me with how excited you were.”

“Those lying bastards...” Ian muttered, though his tone remained playful. M’xx giggled. She really did look great today... Her bright purple eyes sparkled as she laughed, and her flower adorned brunette locks clung to each side of her face. But that was just the problem. It was about the only thing he knew about her. M’xx was the Princess of Diomia, she liked memes and every time Ian saw her at an event he pictured himself bending her over a table. But he couldn’t tell anyone what she was like day to day. What the alien liked to eat, or watch, or even a favourite colour.

“Worst part. They’re going to print close-ups of that awful kiss everywhere!”

“Yeah....”

Over the course of the reception, the couple did get to know each-other. Or rather, speak to each-other and learn superficial facts. Though, Ian had to admit, as the night went on he was becoming more and more comfortable around his bride. Of course, the two were also becoming drunker and drunker. By the time the limo made it’s way back, Ian was all set for a goodnights sleep. That is, before a stern reminder from his parents. “I don’t care if you think it’s embarrassing! It is extremely important you go back to that hotel room and consummate your marriage!”

...

“This hotel room is fucking crazy! It’s enormous!”

“Aren’t you used to being rich yet?” Ian yawned, kicking off his dress shoes.

“My species doesn’t spend money on luxuries like this.” The Princess explained. The honeymoon suite was not only needlessly large, but fuzzy and pink. Coupled with her green skin, it looked absolutely eye-bleeding. At least to Ian. “Unzip me!” the alien commanded. Ian did, her wedding dress falling to the floor. She flopped down on the sofa, unstrapping her shoes and massaging her swollen feet. Ian was leaning on the arm of the sofa, struggling to shed his many layers.

“Hellooooo Drama Alert Nation!”

“Turn that shit off!” The blare of the TV was already giving him a massive headache. M’xx didn’t listen, just turning the volume down a little instead.

“It’s about us,” she said.

Ian raised an eyebrow, glancing at his own picture on screen. He plopped down beside the bride, admittedly curious.

“But was the marriage a set-up?” asked the Gnomarian host. “For more on that, we go to Xana and Leafy in our New York studio. Guys?”

The scene cut to two anchors in another studio with the same obnoxious hashtag and popcorn branding decorating the walls. A three eyed blonde woman and a typical Grey with emo hair stared into the camera. “Thank you, Keem. Leafy and I attended the wedding, and let me tell you that couple did not seem like they even knew each-other, let alone were in love. ”

“What would that blonde cunt know about love anyways?” Ian scoffed. “She’s the most hateful bitch on the planet!”

“I didn’t even know they were there....”

“I hate this whole news network. It’s just a bunch of gossip.”

“I kinda like Leafy.... “

“Ugh! Why!?”

“He tells it like it is.”

“He’s just an insecure jackass...”

“....Couldn’t agree more, Leafy. If Ian lost all his money and broke both his legs, I would be genuinely happy. Now, talking about the kiss...”

Like an instant reflex, M’xx switched the TV off as soon as he saw a glimpse of the kiss photo. “No fuckin’ way!” Tossing the remote away, she lifted one leg onto the sofa so she could lean against her knee. “This is so much more stressful than I thought it would be....”

Ian turned to her. The way she was sitting drew his gaze to her crotch. The sheer-white panties left nothing to the imagination. Though, not quite what Ian had been expecting.

“Why are you staring at my penis?”

“I just.... Didn’t expect you to have one....” He looked back to her face, a perplexed look crossing her features.

“Why?”

“Well, I.... I just....”

“Everyone on my planet has a penis....”

Ian blinked. Couldn’t anyone have given him a little information before the wedding? How was he supposed to know that? Even Drama Alert didn’t know. “Then why are you a Princess?” Why would a species like that use gender’d terms?

“Princess is just a rough translation. It’s easier than saying, ruler with one penis.”

“What the fuck are you talking about? No offence, but your species if fucking stupid.”

“Fuck up. Your species is way fucking worse than mine....”

“Are you even a she? Or a he? Or what do I call you?”

M’xx shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. Those words don’t exist in my language.”

“Well... Do you feel like a guy or a girl?”

“What a stupid question. I feel like a Diomian with one penis. I’m a Princess, but that doesn’t make me an Earth-girl.”

“Wait.... Does that mean other Diomian’s have more than one...?”

M’xx’s eyes widened a little. “You mean... You don’t have more than one!?”

“No!”

“I’ve only ever seen porn with a one-penised one and a four-penised one. I wasn’t expecting this to be a same-penis number marriage.....”

“Me either....”

“What were you expecting?”

“Well. I guess I just assumed you had a pussy. Course, you’re not even from Earth I don’t know why I’d assume that. But if you all have dicks, how do you have kids?”

“What do you mean? The couple spits in a tube and sends it to the lab, where they grow the baby.... What the fuck is a pussy!? I thought this was an Earth creature! Like a Pokemon. ”

Ian sighed. “Miss Google....” The hotels computer lit up. “Image search Earth Woman.... Uhh, painting...” He didn’t want to freak M’xx out with some pornographic image. The computer pulled up an Ancient stature of some Goddess, her name lost to time. The Princess tilted her head, staring at the image in utter confusion.

“There’s nothing there!” Ian just shrugged in response. Ian was not going to go all into human anatomy right now. “Disney-Assist!” M’xx’s watch lit up. He held it up, showing off it’s projected holographic planet. “Image search, Diomian penis!” Ian’s eyes practically bulged out of his head at the series of images suddenly flashed before his eyes. It was horrible! Like a nightmare! Green, lumpy penises. On top of each-other, growing out of one another.... It was downright disgusting... Was he going to have to look at something like....

“T-take off your panties... Show me your dick....”

M’xx giggled. “If you insist!” He turned his watch off, standing before Ian and wiggling his hips. Sliding down the lacy panties, his penis spring out as he did. Ian felt relieved. It was an ordinary, human looking penis. Well, apart from being mint green. Still, nothing Lovecraftian. “What do you think?”

“It’s very nice...”

“That didn’t sound very enthusiastic.”

“Sorry. I’m tired....”

“But it’s our wedding night. Aren’t we going to at least fuck?”

“Ugh, no. Just.... Put that away and go to sleep.”

“What the hell? You can’t order me around. I’m a Princess, remember?”

“Yeah, and now you’re my wife.”

“So?”

“Don’t you remember your vows, dear? Love, honour and obey?” He asked with a cheeky grin.

M’xx scowled. “Fuck up. I don’t take orders from you, or anybody else!”

“Oh, really?”

“Really!”

The Princess was awfully cute when she was worked up. Ian thought to himself for a moment, concluding maybe he wasn’t as tired as he thought. “So... You don’t take orders, huh M’xx?”

“No.”

“You’re not gonna be a good little bitch, and do what I tell you?”

“Don’t call me a bitch...”

“Give me your panties.” For someone who didn’t like taking orders, M’xx sure obeyed that one fast. “You wanna get fucked?” M’xx nodded. “Then get in bed.” Again, without hesitation, M’xx did as Ian told him. Ian threw off his boxers, climbing on top of his bride. He ran his hands along her smooth, nipple-less chest (different, but not bad, Ian decided.) M’xx shuddered at the touch. “Do you like that?” M’xx bit back a moan, nodding. Purple pupils dilated. Ian took the Princess’s delicate wrists in one hand, tying them to the bar of the bedpost with her panties. “How many of those giant alien dicks have you sucked?”

“None,” M’xx answered honestly. “I only know from porn...”

“That’s okay, that’s okay....” Ian ran his fingers through M’xx’s soft hair. “You’re gonna use all that porn you watched, you slutty little Princess, and suck my Earth-Cock. You wanna be just like those porn star’s, huh?” M’xx nodded. “That’s a good girl,” Ian praised. M’xx would usually find it disrespectful to be referred to with an Earth word like ‘girl’. But being disrespected was turning him on.... Ian shifted, so he was on M’xx’s left, kneeling on the bed. “You better be good, bitch.” M’xx grinned, taking Ian’s dick in his mouth, trying to do just what she remembered. She was relieved honestly. An Earth dick was probably much easier to take in her mouth than the one’s she had seen online. Just as she was getting the hang of it, Ian pushed her off by the forehead.

“Was I doing it wrong...?”

“No, Princess. You’re a natural,” he breathed. “I just... Ever since I first saw you, all I could think about was burying my dick in your juicy fucking alien ass!”

M’xx stared up at him, his mouth forming an o shape. “Really?”

“Yeah... Fuck, it just looks so fucking good in your slutty little outfits...”

M’xx yelped as Ian entered him. Ian’s dick slid in easily, thanks to the slick alien spit. But M’xx had never been stretched like this before. “Ian...”

“Shh, shh.... Just hang on, I promise...” Ian got a little deeper with each thrust. Hitting M’xx magic spot sooner than he anticipated, judging by the change in expression. Diomian anatomy, he guessed. He felt M’xx relax around him.

“Fuck... Ian.... That’s.... I never felt anything that good....”

Ian smirked. “That’s why.... You should trust me, Princess. I know what’s best for you better than you do...”

“Mmm....”

He could feel himself getting close. He would have happily cum deep inside M’xx’s ass, but had a better idea. He pulled out, the Princess letting out a whimper at the loss. He gave his dick a few last tugs, cumming all over M’xx’s chest and face.

“W-what.... What is that?” The Princess looked confused, but still blissed out. Of course, they reproduced with spit in a laboratory. They had no reason to ejaculate.

“It’s cum... Try it...” He commanded, untying her.

M’xx, eyes still locked with Ian’s, obeyed. Swiping some from her face with a finger, she tasted it.

“You like it, bitch?”

“It’s weird....”

“Well, you better get used to it. You’re gonna do what I tell you, aren’t you Princess? And you’re gonna be covered in that a lot more than you aren’t.”

“Oh, really?”

“Fuck yeah.”

“Think again...” Before Ian could even think of a response, the Princess had grabbed his wrists, flipping the two over so he was now in the vulnerable position. She must have been hiding that strength.... “Alright Ian, you pathetic one-penis earth gir-BOY!”

“Come on, M’xx...”

“That’s Princess M’xx, cunt!” She slid upwards, sitting on Ian’s chest. “What the fuck are these?”

“Those are my nipples! And you’re fucking hurting them!”

“Good, they’re fucking weird! Anyways... You’re gonna suck your Princess’s dick!”

“Oh, that’s what you want? Desperate to get off, are we?”

“Shut up! Get on the ground! On your knees. Kneel before your Princess!” She demanded, rolling off. Ian could use the oppurtunity to get back the upper hand, but decided to play along. He kneeled down on the fuzzy pink carpet, M’xx sliding off the bed and looming over him. “Go on,” Just like before, M’xx found himself overwhelmed with the feeling. Who could ever anticipate such a weakening, overload of pleasure. Ian grabbed her ass from behind, and M’xx didn’t complain. Course, it was weird to suck someone off without the ‘big finish’ so to speak. Still, at least M’xx could still orgasm from his dick.

“Mmm.... Ian that was so good....”

“You give a mean one yourself.”

“Is this what love feels like?”

“Umm... Let’s see how we feel about that in the morning....”

#this just came out idk ok #pls enjoy anyways #maxian #writing

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