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tigersharktheautisticseawing · 2 months

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WAIT GUYS FUCK I GOTTA TALK ABOUT THIS OR I'LL FUCKING DIE

(spoiler alert: this somehow grew from five talking point to almost 2000 words of Bad Trip symbolism, so buckle up, buttercup, cuz we goin' for a wild ride)

So, I'm rewatching Truth Seekers with a friend, and Moxie's Bad Trip and Blitzø's Bad Trip, and I just noticed some things (this is gonna be heavily Blitzø centered, so prepare for that)

Moxie's Bad Trip

In this, I specifically want to point to four things

So Blitz is very accurate throughout Moxxie's whole segment (read his pegging comments and "Because you my precious little bitchboy are tripping balls!"), but I want to point to one moment specifically

At 10:09 Moxie says

"Cause you're thoughtless and cruel and you'll end up alone!"

And at that point, at exactly 10:11, Blitz makes this face

Up until this point and from this point onward his eye on the mask part of his face is glowing red and undetailed, pupil not visible

This singular frame shows exactly how deep Moxxie hit Blitz with that comment, and foreshadows the fact that he has a massive phobia/obsession on the whole "dying alone" thing. Like, I want to scream, this is so beautifully done. Whoever thought of this frame in this context has my fullest respect

The second thing is what Moxxie says just before the first part of Blitzø's Bad Trip

At 9:02 Moxxie says

"Cause if you're here causing frustration, I'm torturing you in your hallucination!"

Now let's take a look "causing frustration" and "torturing you", because that's exactly what's happening here

In Moxxie's Bad Trip, the worst Blitzø does is call him a bitch/bitchboy and making some comments about the whole M&M pegging thing, but that's about it. It's mostly Moxxie screaming at Blitz and singing with him about becoming better

In Blitzø's Bad Trip, Moxxie brings up Blitz's worst insecurities, calls him basically stupid once, and kinda just rants what Blitz thinks about him

So the words "frustration" and "torturing" definitely fit the respective songs

The third thing is that the mask replaces Blitzø's scar

Under that mask Blitz has a completely normal and unscarred face

Meaning that Moxxie's subconscious straight up erased the physical embodiment of Blitzø's most major trauma and replaced it with a mask, of all things

I saw a theory on here, concerning the people at the Blitzø hate party, that the fact that the Blitzø cake is unscarred means that Blitz hid the vulnerable side of his and showed it off as "tough guy scars", so they stripped him of it as a "fuq u ur not tough", when meanwhile it's exactly what Blitzø would want happening, his scars just straight up disappearing one day.

Well, I think the same happened to Moxxie

I think he doesn't see the scar as a sign of vulnerability and/or physical embodiment of his worst mistake that caused his trauma, but as a tough-guy mask, designed to make him not have to talk about his feelings

(If you think something else's going on here, do tell! I just realised that last one while writing this and I find it very interesting)

And, lastly, Blitz's short line just before the one I talked about in point 1

Aka:

"I don't know, eventually everyone goes"

It feels really self aware of Blitz, but this isn't Blitz, this is Moxxie

So Moxxie, consciously or not, realised that Blitz pushes people away with his behaviour and that it's a genuine problem, but didn't realise the whole scar thing

So I wonder what exactly is Moxxie's image of Blitz. Like, considering what we know that Moxxie knows, he seems to have some elements of the puzzle but not the whole picture, and assumed incorrectly what the full picture is

2.Blitzø's bad trip

Now, here we begin the absolute fucking masterpiece that is the symbolism in this one

For one, let's talk about the spectre's voices

Moxxie and Stolas's voices are pretty on-point, at least to me, and we'll later touch on why I think that's the case, but let's talk about Bad Trip!Verosika, Striker and Fizz first

All three of them don't sound like normal

Instead, they sound like Blitz trying to make their voices

Striker's has an obvious tinge of Brandon Rogers in it, honestly it sound more like Blitz than Striker, as if Blitz hadn't really memorised his voice that well

Fizz's is, in my opinion, more well-balanced. I can hear a bit of Alex Brightman in it but also quite a lot of Blitz

Lastly, we have Verosika. She sound a lot like Blitz, but her manner of speaking is purely Verosika, which imo makes this the most accurate one.

Now, what does the Blitzø-voice mean?

Well, it all has a very specific motif

It's things that Blitz would say as a form of self-hatred

Think about it

"I don't need you, I can do this shit on my own so easily!" "But you don't want to do things alone Blitzo!"

"You tried the solo act, but it didn't work out so well!"

"Yet you still shove away anyone who gets too close until they resent you for being a selfish, shit spittin' snob!"

(the bold parts are the hallucinations, the red is Blitz)

Now, the things they said are very much the stuff Blitz would hate in himself. The fact that he wants someone to care for him, the fact that he can't do what he wants alone even though he tried, and, of course, his inability to get vulnerable with anyone causing him to push people he cares about away until they hate him.

So, I think that these are the thoughts that plague Blitz's brain daily, his self hatred, but it chose to talk through the mouths of the people most affected by said flaw

Striker was literally invited to join IMP. That proves that Blitz didn't want to do this stuff alone

Fizzarolli was his duo act for a while, and his robo version saw him trying the solo act, so it makes sense for him to say, that, on top of the circus vocabulary

Verosika is pretty self-explanatory. He shoved her away when she tried to be vulnerable with him, and she now resents him

So, now that we have that outta the way, let's talk about Moxxie and Stolas

Moxxie does a lot of rambling, but he also roasts him pretty bad

"I simply follow your orders! It's not my fault that your orders are as nonsensical as a suntanning bed left out on the cold rainy porch of a fresh April shower"

"Perhaps you should crack open a dictionary sometimes"

"Admit it, my dear boss. You don't know what you're doing half the time, and you depend on me and the missus to manage your foolish flights of fancy"

"I believe your subconscious is trying to tell you that you simply cannot fathom proper intimacy, but also crave it as well. It’s rather unfortunate sir, considering it’s often how you treat those who stand by you, such as myself"

"Are you worried I might have enough of it one day as well?"

But he also says some rather self-deprecating stuff that he wouldn't say in real life

"And then maybe you can understand half of the frivolous things I carry on and on about on my many rants about upbringings"

So, I think that this is Blitz's opinion of Moxxie. Now, why do he and Stolas keep their normal voices?

Well, I think that it's because, in Truthseekers, they both didn't hate him yet

That wasn't his self-hatred speaking

That wasn't him speaking

Well, at least in Stolas's case

In my opinion Moxxie's voice is altered for one of two reasons

• Moxxie is literally right next to him and high with him, so his voice is fresh in his mind

Not fun, kinda boring, but reasonable

• He hasn't fucked up with Moxxie yet, so his subconscious hasn't created lines that would be repeated so much in his mind that his voice slowly seeps into them

Very fun, also very reasonable

And that second reason is what I think happened in Stolas's case too. His voice is kinda flirty/condescending because that's the Stolas Truthseekers!Blitzø knows. He doesn't know his personality yet. For now he's just a rich, blue-blooded asshole he fucks once a month.

Now, another thing, Blitzø's outfit

He's dressed like a clown here, specifically he looks kinda like in the Loo Loo Land flashback

And his outfit changes when he gets dragged around in chains by Stolas

So this (I think), symbolizes one of three things:

• He fucked up relationships with people in the past

This is his past outfit, so it obviously has something to do with his past, and this is a pretty sound theory, but Striker kinda makes it fall apart

• The people he fucked up relationships with see the past version of him

A bit better, and pretty good overall

• This is himself at the worst point in his life in that outfit he wore in the past

Yeah, his self hatred would *absolutely* exploit him like that, plus he kinda hated himself at that time, so bonus points!!!

Now, the fucking marks on his face

For one, his usual tattoo that looks kinda like an imp/succubus got replaced by a broken heart both in Blitzø and Moxxie's Bad Trips, but in Blitzø's bad Trip at one point the heart (and his outfit) get replaced by his normal self

When does this happen?

When he's near Stolas

I think this symbolizes how Stolas heals his heart and fixes it, as well as how he sees him for his present instead of his past, which is very sad considering *couch cough* the last two episodes *cough cough*

Now, the tear

The fucking tear

If it was on both sides of his face, this would be maybe about how sad he is

But, it's only on the white side

Only on the scar

So I think this is sort of an opposite to what happened with the scar in Moxxie's Bad Trip

Moxxie's subconscious got rid of the scar and replaced it with a mask, since Moxxie thinks of it as a sort of Tough Guy Personality™ thing

Meanwhile Blitzø's subconscious recognized the scar as a physical reminder of his emotional pain and added a tear, a single tear, that can mean that the scar is something left of a time of sadness and grief, a time of tears

Another thing is that the imps fanning Stolas with those big-ass fans are actually Blitzø's but completely black

So that's Blitz's subconscious telling him that he will end up serving Stolas/is already doing that/is under him, while also trying to tell him that he loves the bird

Also, how the mud on the golden stairs disappears after feathers touch it Again, just like with the heart thing, I believe it's another part of the whole "Stolas heals you" symbolism thingy

Also, notice how he turns from Past!Blitzø to normal Blitzø gradually, and the closer to Stolas he gets the more normal he gets

So I actually just realised that and I'm pretty sure it's part of the whole thing I mention in the (hopefully) las paragraph of this post

And, lastly, how he gets covered up in golden feathers at the end there? I think it's some part of him trying to say "You're gonna end up trapped, tied down, unable to escape, so escape NOW"

So yeah, now I'm interpreting Blitzø's Bad Trip as two parts of his subconscious fighting, with the dead dog of the matter being "Should we trust Stolas?"

(Yes, it did turn really Stolitz in the end there huh? Now I gotta add the tags!)

#helluva boss #helluva blitzo #helluva analisys #helluva deep dive #helluva boss truthseekers #Moxxie's bad trip #blitzø #blitzo #helluva boss blitz #helluva blitz #this is way too long #But this is so much symbolism crammed into one #perfect song #(technically two but we won't adress it)#stolitz

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assortedseaglass · 7 months

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Talk Refined - Chapter Two

Michael Gavey x Reader

[Masterlist]

Summary: When Michael Gavey unwittingly insults a fellow Oxford student, they enter into a game of intellectual cat and mouse.

Content Warnings (this chapter in bold): Language, Smut, Saltburn Spoilers

Esme did not let you live your encounter with Michael Gavey down.

“You should have heard her. Like she was interviewing all over again!” At any given opportunity, she took the chance to tell the story of how her best friend had shot down the genius from Brasenose.

“Esme, everyone’s heard this story a hundred times,” you’d said when she once again brought the matter up at the pub. “And anyway, he didn’t even reply when I shouted at him. Just said he needed a piss.” People at the table tittered. Michael’s reputation as a genius made had its way around the university’s colleges. Mainly because he was the one telling them.

It was a fact begrudgingly agreed upon at each recounting of the tale. Esme would tell her college mates, or new friends at the pub, the story of you and Michael getting into a fight, and inevitably they would say “The self-proclaimed genius?”

“The maths nerd?”

“That dickhead?”

Before resigning to the fact that, despite his arrogance, Michael Gavey really was a genius.

“Didn’t you hear him shouting at dining hall first night?”

“Heard he got 100% on the maths admissions test!”

“Pretty funny really. If he wasn’t such a twat I’d invite him out, he’s great entertainment.”

Luckily for you, the spectre of his reputation loomed larger than the man himself who, since your encounter at the pub, you had not seen. Perhaps he was too embarrassed after his very public rejection. More likely, it was because you were preparing for your extended essay deadline. Burrowed in your room at the desk, or else tucked in a dark corner of the library, Esme almost had to drag you to leave your room these days.

“Should have done something on Gentileschi,” you muttered into the open book on the library table. Your endless studying on the use of women as decoration that formed the basis of your essay was slowly crushing you. “Wanted to do a feminist essay but this is fucking depressing.”

Esme shifted in her seat next to you, leant over your book to look at the pictures on the open page, then pushed it from your view. Before you could protest, she spoke.

“One minute not looking at that dull picture,” she gestured to the image of Turner’s Reclining Nude on a Bed, “-isn’t gonna hurt you. But I’ll tell you what won’t be depressing. My end of year party!” Esme grabbed your shoulders and shook you.

You laughed, stifling it behind your hand when a few pug-nosed students frowned at you.

“I thought you’d settled for a cheese and wine night? ‘Sophisticated with a chance of minor sluttiness’,” you quoted her and she winked.

“Yeah, well, it’ll still be a cheese and wine night,” she opened another textbook and riffled through the pages absent-mindedly. “With slightly more wine than cheese-”

“And about sixty people.”

“Only after the meal! Had to take the chance and get in there before Catton. No-one’d come otherwise.” Esme’s face dropped, a flash of worry crossing her bonny face at the prospect of competing with Felix Catton for the Party of the Year.

“It’ll be grand,” you grabbed her hand reassuringly. “Who wants Catton’s friends there anyway? Load of stuck-up snobs-”

“You sound like Gavey!”

You shot an irritated look at Esme. She grinned back and busied herself with the work in front of her. You looked at the title scribbled across the top of the page. “Semper femina: misogyny’s early beginnings.”. You really picked a corker when you saw her at the humanities social. You nudged her shoulder affectionately, rubbing off her last comment and, still a little distracted, look around the library.

Not all libraries in Oxford had vaulted ceilings of ancient oak, or were decorated with elaborately carved roses. Some had harsh fluorescent lighting and tiled navy carpets. It just so happened that you and Esme preferred the grander of buildings. So too, did most other students. When dedication and inspiration waned, the quickest way to feel inspired was to pop to the libraries with ancient tomes alongside the course textbooks, sharing silent exchanges with other students gazing in awe at the latticed windows and rows of paper possibility.

“By the way,” Esme whispered, not due to the setting but what she was about to say next. “Who are you bringing?”

Your eyes didn’t flicker from the book in front of you. “Bringing where?”

“To the cheese and wine party,”

You looked at her, a mixture of exasperation and amusement on your face. “Since when did I have to bring someone?”

“Well,” Esme fully turned in her seat to look at you. “You don’t, but I’m bringing Eleanor-”

“Pretty girl from the pub.”

Esme nodded and continued counting people on her fingers. “Laura’s boyfriend is visiting that weekend, Holly’s bringing some rugby lad, Joe’s best mate is coming and the other three all have boyfriends. Bit sad if you’re the loner.”

“How can I be a loner at a party?”

“You know what I mean! Come on, it’s the end of the year, loosen up a bit. Doesn’t have to be a bloke, just pick someone!”

You thought a moment. Though you hated to admit it, Michael Gavey had been right; a lot of the people on your History of Art course were public school wankers and horsey girls fast-tracked to jobs in their parents’ cosmopolitan art galleries.

Nope. No-one there you could bring, and all of Esme’s friends were already going.

“I don’t know!” You despaired, slumping back in your seat comically in mock defeat.

Esme laughed. “Tell you what, next person that comes round that corner,” she pointed to the last bookshelf of a long row, right by the library entrance. “You’ve got to take. Deal?”

“Absolutely not.”

“I’ll buy your cheese and wine for the night.”

You stared at her. Trinity term was almost up, and so too was your scholarship loan. “Fine.”

Esme laughed excitedly and stared excitedly at the shelves. You did so with apprehension. A minute passed and no-one rounded the corner. A group of gorgeous boys left the library, but not one person entered.

“Looks like you’ll be coming alone after all.” You pinched Esme’s side and she giggled. “Aha!” She pointed behind you and your stomach dropped. Turning slowly, you faced your fate. Date.

A wizened old man no taller that the fourth shelf shuffled along the wooden floor, his worn leather shoes squeaking with every step. There were more lines on his face than the tube map.

“No.”

“Don’t be a bitch!”

“People don’t want their fucking lecturers there, Esme.”

“Fine,” she huffed. “But it has to be the next person or my share of the food is on you.”

“Fine.”

You both stared at the bookshelf. The wizened old man shuffled past you, and soon the sound of his leather shoes faded. You glanced over your shoulder at Esme. “This is stupid-”

“Oh. My. God.” Esme was looking past you, and what had momentarily been shock was turning to unbridled glee.

“What?” You span in your chair. “No. Absolutely not.” Panic prickled the hairs of your neck. You whipped back to face Esme. She was laughing. “I can’t. Fuck. No!”

“This is brilliant,” Esme clapped her hands together. Some students shushed her and she sent them a two fingered salute. “He’s coming this way! Go on, ask him!”

You took a deep breath and, with growing unease, turned to face your unknowing date.

Michael Gavey was walking stiffly along the rows of bookshelves. The muscles of his jaw were set in a tight line; he wasn’t here to browse; he knew what he wanted and was making his determined way towards it. You watched him carefully, waiting until the perfect moment to speak. How the hell were you going to ask?

“Let’s wait a minute-” Esme made to cut you off but you continued quickly. “Just to see where he goes. I don’t want to ask in front of everyone.”

Esme huffed but nodded, and you both went back to watching him.

“This feels creepy,” you said, watching as he got closer.

“All we’re doing is looking at him.” Esme said matter of factly. But that wasn’t quite true. It felt altogether more like you were studying him. Something about Michael Gavey meant you couldn’t look away.

Just as when you last saw him, his clothes looked second hand. Or like something an aunt would by. A crisp, short-sleeved shirt, starchly ironed, tucked into a pair of beige cargo trousers. Vile. Around his belt swung a number of carabiners, one containing his keys, another a collection of USB sticks. They jangled as he walked past.

You ducked your head to avoid being seen. Esme scoffed. You kicked her under the table.

The two of you watched his retreating back. You noticed you weren’t the only ones looking at him. A few other students, some boys smirking and some girls, were watching him to. None indicated that they knew him personally, for none sent him a smile or a wave. They simply watched as he passed. His reputation really did precede him.

You tried to think on what it was that made Michael Gavey so hard to ignore. He had done nothing today but enter the library and, by now, everyone knew him to be a stuck-up knobhead. So what was it that was making everyone stare?

Perhaps it was the rigidity with which he walked, so upright and solid. For one so thin, you imagined that if someone bumped into him now he would just continue walking as though nothing happened. Maybe it was the unnerving way in which his grey eyes stared. You remembered them from before. How he analysed people, unblinking, as he spoke to them, dissecting every minutia of their movement behind his glasses.

Could it be, that underneath the dreadful clothes and frankly alarming attitude, he was quite handsome? You blushed at the thought and turned away from Esme.

In another life, with better clothes, better glasses, a kinder face, he might have been attractive. Afterall, his hair was that Gisele Bündchen colour girls in your sixth form tried unsuccessfully to get from the bottle. His face was all angles, like the bassist in some boy band. Not front man handsome, but with a little something that appealed to the weird girls. And he was tall. God, was he tall. Not Felix Catton tall, but after him he’d been the tallest at the pub. You remembered the way he’s unfurled his body uncomfortably from the chair. Even now, he was almost half the height of some of the old bookshelves. When he came to a stop, depositing his Tesco carrier bag on the table with a rustle, his shoulder bumped into one of the shelves, and you noticed how broad they were, accentuated by the black leather belt holding up his trousers. Who’d have thought it? Michael Gavey vaguely good-looking. Shame he was a prick.

“There you go,” Esme whispered in your ear as Michael disappeared between two shelves. “Perfect chance.”

Your mouth went dry. You’d momentarily forgotten the reason you were both watching Michael. Sensing your apprehension, Esme turned you by the shoulder and looked you deep in the eye. “It’s fine, I’ll help.” She was loving this, and the two of you spent the next five minutes working out how to approach the Bastard from Brasenose.

You tried to get rid of Esme as quietly as possible.

“Just let me do it on my own!” you hissed.

“I don’t trust you, not after last time!” She was pushing you towards the bookshelf Michael was browsing. You were digging your feet in.

“Please, just let me-”

“No,” Esme giggled, pushing you closer to the shelves. “You’ll either have an argument or not ask at all. I want to see this.”

Your hand gripped the wooden bookcase just as you arrived and blocked her from going any further. She pushed against you, trying to force you towards Michael.

“I’ll do it, Esme, just give me a second!”

“Just get on with it, for God’s sake!” she whispered with a shove.

“Ouch! You’re hurting me!”

“Can I help you?”

You both jolted. Michael was staring at you, his hands balled into fists at his side. He looked…nervous. Esme had clearly pushed you closer to him than you’d thought.

“No, er, sorry,” you took a step backwards only to be blocked by Esme.

“Oh,” Michael relaxed a little, a tight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “It’s you.”

You stared at him. “You don’t need to sound so offended by my presence.”

“You’re the one stumbling around the library hissing like a banshee.”

You were about to retort when Esme caught your arm warningly. You looked back at her with annoyance. She simply nodded at you and gestured to take a deep breath.

“Sorry, Michael,” you said. He flinched a little as you said his name, not that you noticed. Esme did. “Erm,”

“She has something she wants to ask you, Michael.”

“Ask me?”

Fucking hell, here goes. You tired to smile at him. He stared back blankly. Why did he make everything so bloody difficult?

“Yeah, um,” you stepped forward and leant against the bookshelf for support, to make it seem less formal. “Well, Esme is having an end of year party-”

“A dinner party,” Esme cut in.

“-and we wondered.”

“She wondered!”

“We wondered,” you said louder, drowning out your friend. “If you’d like to come? Maybe?”

Michael stared at you. His head jerked almost imperceptibly, as if it had suddenly fallen out with his neck, and he scoffed quietly. “Is this a joke?”

“What?” You and Esme said together.

“Are you taking the piss?”

“What? No-”

Michael placed the book he was reading back on the shelf and faced you both fully. “Get out of the way please, you’re blocking the exit.”

“Michael,” he stopped again when you said his name.

“Honestly, we’re not taking the piss.” Esme said kindly.

“We saw you come in, and Esme keeps reminding me what a bitch I was at the pub.” Never mind the fact that you were an absolute arsehole. “And we just thought, as a way to apologise, you might like to come to the party? Fresh start?”

“I don’t do parties.”

“It’s-a-cheese-and-wine-night-actually.” Esme said quickly.

“Right,” he continued staring at you. The longer he did it, the more you regretted asking. Fucking blink. He glanced quickly back at the shelves of books, and screwed his eyes tightly shut, as if working out something impossibly difficult. When he opened his eyes again, you weren’t sure whether he was going to scream or cry.

Then you realised he wasn’t looking at you. He was looking past you. With surprising force and speed, Michael pushed past the both of you.

“Oliver Quick.”

Esme looked at you with excitement. Without a word, you both hurried to the end of the bookcase. There he was. Oliver Quick, caught in a staring contest with Michael Gavey. Oliver glanced quickly at the two of you, eagerly poking your heads around the shelf to get the gossip.

Michael hadn’t noticed. “You look different.”

“Do I?” Oliver sounded bored and you wanted to smack him. What was it with the boys at Oxford? He turned away from you all, but Michael wasn’t done with him.

“He’ll get bored of you.” A pang of pity twisted your stomach. Esme had been right. Oliver’s abandonment at the pub had hurt Michael more than he let on.

Oliver stopped and turned around. “Excuse me?”

You glanced at Michael, waiting for his retaliation with bated breath. He said nothing.

“G’wan, Mikey,” Esme whispered.

Oliver walked away, but not before Michael could twist the dagger. “Bootlicker.” He enunciated every delicious, vicious syllable.

Oliver looked back again, only to cast an uncomfortable look at Michael and see Esme swearing at him behind Michael’s back. “For that Michael,” she clapped her hands. “You can be guest of honour!”

Notes: Short one this time but I’m getting back into writing by doing shorter chapters. SO excited to write the party.

Tags: @lexwolfhale* @theoneeyedprince @lovebittenbyevans @fan-goddess @ellrond @very-straight-blog @arcielee @tsujifreya @liv-cole @myfandomprompts @annoyingkittydetective* @elizarbell @solisarium @thekinslayersswordhand @nightdiamond8663* @slowlysparklyninja* @kate-to-the-ki @bellaisasleep @xxxkat3xxx @lacebvnny @moonriseoverkyoto @ewanmitchellcrumbs @moonlightfoxx @pendragora @aemonds-holy-milk @st-eve-barnes @sapphire-writes @babyblue711 @targaryenrealnessdarling @slytherincursebreaker @bottlesandbarricades @valeskafics @anjelicawrites @exitpursuedbyavulcan @barbieaemond @chattylurker @itbmojojoejo @humanpurposes @cyeco13 @heimtathurs @in-a-mountain-pool @aemondsfavouritebastard @marysucks-blog @rheaxes @xivilivix

*could not tag

#ewan mitchell #michael gavey #michael gavey x reader #ewan mitchell x reader #saltburn #oliver quick #michael gavey x oc #assortedseaglass

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