#my friendships have been rotten to the fucking core

[samwisefamgee]

Every day I grow closer to throwing my phone into the river and when I do I won’t fucking regret it

[robertmg]

Conditional

Friendship, companionship, and family all require a degree of tolerance, sacrifice, and adaptability. What is the point of any relationship if it falters at its very first test?

Have you ever felt pressured to bring something to the table? Conditional friends with conditional friendships leaching your energy, wasting your days, they will not bring you the salvation you desire.

I have wasted too much time running towards the greedy in search of refuge, to be left abandoned on the battlefield with little to spare. To be left alone feeling lesser than myself, questioning my value, when in truth it is my fault for investing in a sinking ship. That I loved the unworthy and expected a better outcome.

I’m not implying that someone should become incredibly selfish with their time, I’m arguing that the basis for friendship should always and religiously be loyalty over usefulness because friendship built on the condition that one must be useful and resourceful is rotten to the core and will ultimately crumble at the sight of bad weather.

In order for you to be truly and utterly content, to be whole and strong, your relationships have to be at peace, balanced, and true. I have struggled my whole life, doubting myself, endlessly developing myself, working towards building a version of myself that would please those around me, not realizing that I was corrupting myself for the wrong people. Running an endless race towards nothingness, again and again, and ending up with bitterness and regret.

It’s time to face the music and accept that in order to grow you must be willing to cut out parts of you that simply don’t work. We are only as strong as the people around us, and they will affect our impact on this world, whether we like it or not.

If you have struggled with relationships and people in your life if you feel like you simply don't make the grade, and end up losing time and time again, I say to you, take a step back, work on yourself, create a better version of yourself, one that you want regardless of outside noise, fuck them, the vultures, they have no say in the person you will become, do not allow anyone to cloud your judgment and once you feel comfortable in your own skin, go out in the world and act kind, give time and help people, and you will not only be impactful and purposeful but in your journey for self-fulfillment will find those people you have desperately been looking for.

“Run to the rescue with love, and peace will follow”

[hoochieblues]

The Road to Home: Ch. 4

A death in the family should bring people together. On the worst night of Tobias Hawke’s life, his friends are there to help, but sometimes even the healer needs holding together, and not even magic can repair the fractures in broken sibling bonds.

A look at the immediate aftermath of All That Remains through some of the friendships and relationships that weather Leandra’s death.

M | 15k and counting | Chapter 4/5

AO3 Link

Excerpt:

“I’ve gotta hand it to you, Hawke,” Varric says, shaking his head as he hustles them out into the bright morning sunlight of the Gallows courtyard, “you have a real talent with people.”

“It my winnin’ perdon-ality,” Hawke slurs, pinching his nose and trying to keep his head forward so the blood doesn’t run down the back of his throat. “Aw, fuck.”

He leans to the side and spits a mouthful of blood onto the gleaming white flagstones.

“He hasn’t hit me that hard since we were kids. And Maker, he’s getting big. What the fuck do they feed them in templar training?”

“Ground up apprentices, probably,” Varric says, as they head down to the boat.

“Ugh. Wouldn’t be surprised.”

The ferryman is giving them a suspicious look, though being on the receiving end of those is an occupational hazard of spending time with Hawke. He never seems to notice it.

Varric squints up at his companion, keeping his tone hushed. “Sure you’re all right after the, uh…?”

Hawke is dabbing at his nose with one knuckle, frowning at the blood on his skin. “I dunno why they have to bleed so much. Why do noses have so much blood in them anyway? Where does it go? Huh? Oh, the cleanse? Yeah. I mean, I feel like I got hit in the head with a brick and I’m trying not to throw up, but it’s fine. I don’t believe he did that. Son of a— well, I guess I can’t say that, can I? Or call him a bastard. And ‘cocksucker’ is hardly an insult, despite how much Carv loves throwing that one around, so… I dunno. Backstabbing, faithless, dishonest, mean-spirited, nug-fucking shithead?”

He finishes up the babbling by spitting again, probably more for the pleasure of leaving a gob of pinkish saliva on the foregate of the Gallows than out of necessity, and Varric frowns.

Babbling Hawke is not good. It means he’s on edge, and an edgy Hawke makes for more than tasteless jokes and strings of profanity. Not that anyone wouldn’t be a little testy after the past few days, but… he’s lost too much, wound himself too tight to take something like this inside himself and try to hide the sharp corners by laughing. It’s too much.

They’re on the slipway when Hawke turns back to look at the Gallows. The cold breeze coming off the water pushes at the folds of his shirt and ruffles the ends of his hair, but his face is a tight mask, his eyes hard. All that moves on him is a drop of blood on his upper lip, and the pulse jumping at the base of his throat.

“Hawke?” Varric prompts, his throat dry.

He can’t get the images out of his head, and if it’s bad for him it’s undoubtedly worse for Hawke. The smell in that place… like a butcher’s shop. She deserved better. All those women did. And she should have been safe. That was the whole point of moving up to Hightown, except he sees now—ah, he always knew—that there’s nowhere safe in this city.

Kirkwall’s a rotten place, but it’s rotten from its core out. There’s an honesty about that which Varric grudgingly appreciates; a beauty to its decayed opulence and hopeless, urgent throng of life. Hawke doesn’t see that. Now, he probably never will, and who could blame him?

It’s a point of difference between them, Varric admits. For him, the miserable filth of this place is full enough of guild politics and cut-throat chaos to feel like home, to keep him occupied… but maybe it’s easy to enjoy it from the peanut gallery. For Hawke, it’s personal, now more than ever. There’s so much in this city that would rip him apart if it got the chance, and for years now he’s seemed to like laughing at that, to put himself in the centre of it and dare the world to take a swing. Stands to reason that, at least once, one of those punches would connect.

Shit, he’s been on his feet too long. He’s getting poetic. That little nap in the estate’s library notwithstanding, Varric hasn’t slept properly in close to three days, and there are too many horrible things behind his eyes. All he wants to do is go home and rest, but that’s hard to do when standing next to Hawke feels like being in the eye of a storm, waiting for thunder to roll.

“Hawke,” he says again, a little louder. “Let’s go.”

If looks could kill, and buildings could be killed, the Gallows would be a smoking pile of rubble, decorated with neat little chunks of templar. That probably includes Junior, though after his own issues with Bartrand, Varric’s hardly in a position to make judgements about brotherly love gone bad.

Read on AO3

[four-rabbit]

The Last Piece Left

This was supposed to be fluff the first time I had this idea. But then I decided that it could be fluffy with angst in the end. But then I got to actually write it and it became angst with even more angst in the end, so... hope you enjoy

I apologize in advance for any mistakes

Summary: For the first time since he left the Others, Virgil reunites the courage to talk to an old friend, but neither of them seem to know how to feel about each other. Or how to not make things worse. 

Characters: Remus Sanders, Virgil Sanders

Warnings: swearing, mentions to death and dead bodies, angst (does that count as a warning?), fight, sex mention

Word Count: 2287

“I told them my name” Remus looked away from the canvas in front of him, just to see who he once called a friend standing in the middle of his room, with an expression as abstract as the paint Creativity was trying to finish. So many feelings in such a small space it became impossible to understand. 

“Ok? Good for you, I don’t give a fuck” replied, focusing his gazes on anything except Virgil’s eyes, doing his best to keep his emotions simple. We hate each other. He abandoned us. That should be enough. Virgil stayed in silence for what seemed like a lifetime. “What do you want, emo?”

“Thomas painted his hair” he started.

“Yeah, I noticed. Purple doesn’t really go well with green. Unless we’re talking about a wound. Or a dead body. Nevermind, purple and green are awesome together”

“Yeah, I really liked the hair, actually. I was thinking… I mean, you and Deceit have green and yellow. The core sides also have colors. I’m kinda tired of the black” 

“Are you? I think it matches you, boring, quickly establishes that you’re the villain, having been washed in at least some months”

“I just want you to teach me how to sew,” Virgil replied, already starting to lose his temper. Calm down, he said to himself,he may be hard to deal with, but you are here to help, not make things worse. 

“Roman knows how to sew, probably way better than me. Do you think I should add like, blood red or more like a wine red?” He pointed to the canvas, answering his own question before Virgil could do so “Yeah, blood red of course, the classic”

“I kinda wanted it to be a surprise. Also, I don’t think Princey’s style really matches mine” Remus wishes he was as honest to himself as he was with other people. He knew deep down it would hurt more to do that. He knew that getting a bite of what used to be their friendship would just make him more hungry for something that didn’t even exist anymore. He knew it would probably hurt both of them even more. But someone wanted his help for the first time in… well. Virgil wanted his help. 

“Ok, get out of my room” said, finally turning to Anxiety, who tried to pretend those words didn’t send a wave of disappointment though his body. 

“Of course... This was a mistake” mumbled, starting to sink out.

“No dude! Fuck, I mean, like, intrusive thoughts and anxiety is never a good mix, let’s go to your room or a neutral room” quickly explained. 

“Oh” Virgil came back, seeming surprised “I can take your room just fine, dude, I’m used to it”

“It got way worse since the last time you were here, trust me, Gerard Gay” Virgil looked around. The view did look messier, if it was possible. The floor felt like skin, but with something off. He could hear whispers in the back of his consciousness, to which he could never identify a source. The smell was less like trash can and more like a trash can on fire where a corpse had been discarded some days ago. But he could take all that. He could take hours in that room, the same way Remus could take hours in his room. 

“I don’t see how”

“As much as I would love to see Thomas hyperventilating because his anxiety can’t stop thinking about how people are going to invade his house and slowely murder him if he doesn’t check all the locks at least five times, I’m pretty sure you don’t want that headache. And it will be a hell of a headache as soon as the room reaches your mind”

“Fine, My room, then?”

“Yeah, I’m in need of some new spiderwebs anyway” 

Virgil’s room didn’t change much since The Duke was there for the last time, except for some new Disney posters, probably from Roman and a drawing on the desk right beside anxiety’s bed. It was terribly colorful and childish, with all the three core sides and Virgil. Patton, then. Of course it was Patton. Anxiety immediately took the gift out of Creativity’s sight. 

“I’m not gonna eat it or anything, y’know?”

“It’s personal”

“Of fucking course it is” He could see how Patton seemed better compared to Janus. But they didn’t need a stupid - and shitty, let’s be honest - card to prove how much they cared for, everything was just so fucking stupid and boring with the core sides, why would Virgil fucking chose to be with them?! What was wrong with him?! What did Remus do wrong?! “It’s really shitty, but I guess daddy has always been bad at everything he did”

“Could you keep it down? For at least thirty fucking minutes?” Virgil snapped, clenching his fists and looking at Remus with pure danger in his eyes. 

“Do you have a… “He looked around, wishing he could just stop fucking talking for at least one damn second “A sketch. For how you want your hoodie to be? 

“I do, actually” Virgil kept his eyes away from his old friend, the tension in the room so heavy it could be cut, grabbing one of the drawings on the same table Patton’s gift was and giving it to the duke. It was… a concept. Remus conjured a pen, turning the paper and using it’s other side to make a more clear image, giving it back to anxiety.

“How about this?” Virgil tried not to smile, but his eyes betrayed him by shining. It was perfect.

"It 's cool”

“Great” he then started to reunite all the materials. One of Virgil’s older hoodies, purple fabric, white and black threads and…

“Why a spinning wheel?” 

"It 's cooler” replied, shrugging. 

“If I touch the needle will I also sleep for one hundred years?”

“Who knows? Now sit your ass down, emo, this will take time”

“Ok, what do I do first?” said, sitting on his bed and waiting for instruction. Remus flinched until the realization struck him. 

“Wait, you actually want me to teach you? Buddy, I’m the worst teacher ever and you know that” And also I’m a selfish motherfucker who knows very well that if you never learn it every time you need to fix it you will have to ask for my help. 

“It can’t be that hard”

“If you actually want to do something decent, it will take at least some days. Do you want The Duke in your room for days? I wouldn’t mind it, we could even have some fun” He smiled maliciously. He was right. Virgil wouldn’t want any of the core sides to know he still talked to Remus. Especially not Roman. 

“Fine. How long will it take for you to do it?”

“One hour” He could do it in a couple seconds, actually, but sshhh. 

“Ok” Virgil looked down, seeming almost… embarrassed. Creativity grabbed all the materials, conjured a bench, sat down and started to work. He tried to stay in silence, but it was almost painful to do so

“How are the core sides doing? Anything interesting, if that’s possible?”

“Are you trying to do small talk?” Virgil almost smiled. The only one of the Others good with that was Deceit and they all knew that. 

“I’m trying to keep it down like you said to protect your now light side ears or whatever” Virgil chucked, rolling his eyes. 

“What was that painting about?”

“Oh… I was trying to do an abstract representation of the emotions decay and rottenness bring”

“Sounds like you. How was it going?”

“Like shit. Not literally, even though that’s a good idea, did you know that when we die our whole body, like, relax, including our stomach muscles and all? And yeah, we shit ourselves, so go to the bathroom before you die, I guess” Virgil flinched with that unwanted information.

“I feel like you told me that before”

“I probably did, it’s pretty basic. I don’t know what the fuck is happening, I haven’t being able to paint anything good”

“I thought it was pretty nice” For Remus’ standards. 

“Sure you did. But really, how are those dorks? Did someone already explained to Daddy what sex it or nobody had the courage yet?”

“That’s what you’re concerned about?”

“Of course!” 

“Nobody did, obviously, but I’m considering, I like Patton, but if he refers to adulthood as adultery one more time I’ll lose it” Remus snorted. 

“He does what?”

“Long story, dude”

“Holy fuck” He laughed “He’s definitely doing that on purpose”

“What would he win by doing that?” A couple of answers came to Remus’ mind but he was sure VIrgil would hate all of them. Still, he had to choose one, that how things work “Maybe he likes fucking with you guys”

“Not everybody finds it funny to manipulate the people around them like Deceit” Oh, here we go again. 

“Patton and Janus are not that different”

“Name one thing they have in common” fortunately for Remus, the first answer that came to his mind was not that bad. 

“Well, if you’re right, they both don’t know where babies come from” Virgil seemed divided between keeping arguing and smiling. He went with the second option. You can do it, Virge. You can not screw everything. 

“I guess so. But Patton is definitely better with hugs” 

“Which one of the light sides would you fuck if you had to chose?”

“Where did that come from?!” Remus shrugged.

“Just curious”. 

“I won’t fucking answer that!” exclaimed, his face starting to get red.

“For me it would be Logan. Or maybe you. Do you count as a Light side already?” Anyway, Logan must be amazing. It’s almost like fucking a teacher and I always wanted to know how it feels like” Virgil was about to order him to shut up, but he knew Remus enough to know it would only make things worse, so he went with a more effective technique.  

“How is Deceit doing?” Remus raised his eyebrows, the question surprising enough to stop his line of thought. 

“Fine? Why do you care?”

“I mean… are you guys good?” 

“As always”

“Haven’t he been… hurting you or anything like that?”

“Janus never hurted me, dude, what the fuck?”

“Except that he did. Except that he does it everyday. You just don’t want to admit it” Remus looked into his eyes, frowning.

“Emo, what is this all about?” 

“What do you mean?” Based on how he focused his gaze on the floor, Remus raised his eyebrows even more. 

“This is not just about the fucking hoodie, is it?” Virgil stayed in a seeming never ending silence.

“They accepted me, Remus.You guys said it was impossible for the core sides to accept us, but here I am. They could accept you too” Oh, so that’s what this is about. Remus went to one of his rare silences, which were always scarier than his loudest noises. 

“We already talked about this, emo”

“But that was before! When we thought they all hated us! But they don’t! Logan is welcoming and Roman is trying and Patton… Patton is willing to receive us with his arms open”

“No, he’s fucking not. Patton hates me so fucking much I’m pretty sure he would get rid of me the second he had the fucking chance and would still convince himself it was the right thing to do” He got up without realizing, putting all his efforts into not crying like a pathetic child. 

“I think you’re mistaken him for Deceit” Virgil also got on his feet.

“Janus, his name is fucking Janus, why can’t you just call him for his fucking name?! He yelled. 

“He’s a liar, Remus! He doesn’t care about you or any of us! He just wants to… Follow his plans or whatever”

“Oh, do you think Patton cares about you?!”

“Actually yes, I know he fucking does”

“Well, yeah, maybe he does, maybe he doesn’t, but if I get there? Not only will he get scared and kick me out, he will also be angry at you for bringing the freak here into his perfect little world of sunshine and rainbows, so thank you so much, but Janus at least was there for me when I needed it, unlike those dicks or you!” Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry. 

“I should have known this was a mistake” Virgil said, letting his shoulders drop with the height of defeat. 

“Yeah it was. Here is your fucking hoodie” He finished it with a snap of his fingers at threw it at Virgil, sinking out right after. “Have fun with your new friends, Virgil” 

Slowly, anxiety grabbed his new costume. It was amazing, Comfortable, spooky, creative. And it was so… detailed and clearly done carefully, It was… He started crying.Ugly crying, with the tears scratching his throat to came with violent sobs, their warm burning as they fell down his face, wetting his own clothes and the new one in his hands, the pain in his chest seeming like a monster was tearing apart his whole soul, trying to destroy his heart, it hurted more than anything that he ever felt. 

He knew, deep down, it was impossible to have a real famILY like that. But he also knew he was a hypocrite and it was easier to pretend things were simpler. It was easier to pretend he didn’t need Remus. Or Janus, by that extent. It was easier to pretend they weren’t family. But not easy enough for him to not hold on to all there was left from what they once called a friendship.

 He held the hoodie tighter.

[hitchell-mope]

They really should’ve been written better

I know everyone loves the rotten fours dynamic. I love it too. But we saw how well they worked together in rotten to the core. So we should’ve been afforded proper development for the couples instead of reinforcing said dynamic whenever possible. Meaning. Bal Devie Janelos and Giljay should’ve had more time spent on their progression instead of being what barely amounts to an afterthought

For starters. Chad and Audrey shouldn’t have existed in the first place. Neither should the potion. Neither of them were interesting. And Audrey was fucking grating in the final movie. Bal should’ve had a more natural progression rather then Mal targeting him to get the wand to please her mother. I like how it led to character development. But I hate how they went about it.

To me. Chad only exists to allow the tried and tired romcom tropes they lumped poor Devie with. Wrong guy first. It would’ve been so much better if we saw Evie slowly fall in love with Doug instead of getting with an up his own ass prince first before her heart gets broken at the game. Imagine if she fell for Doug while he was tutoring her. It would’ve been adorable. You can’t deny it. You all know it I’m just saying it.

As for the last two. I use the doctor who rule for Janelos. You don’t see every single millisecond of the characters lives. So done information will seem out of the blue. It’s why I’m not adverse to the Mickey x Martha pairing. However. I don’t read the descendants novels. Too many canons to keep track of. I only count the movies as canon. So, believe it or not, I can see how some could think Carlos’s crush on Jane comes out of left field. So. What I’d suggest is that they drop hints that Carlos likes her in film one. A little smile. Prolonged eye contact. More of them dancing at the coronation. That sort of thing.

With Giljay. It’s sort of the same deal. Except I think Mal should’ve referenced it at some point a little teasingly in the first film like I dunno. They were friends at first but the whole grudge thing prevented it from happening. This could’ve also doubled as foreshadowing the sea three in the first film so they’re not a case of remember the new guy in the sequel

Long story short. My four favourite canon couples deserved better than what they got. The films spent so much time focusing on friendships we already know are strong that the romance didn’t have time to grow. And we know that when they put effort in the couples are some of best things out of DCOM’s just look at camp rock Wendy Wu and teen beach movie. Bal Devie Janelos and Giljay deserved better and I’ll forever be pissed that they were treated as an afterthought by the franchise

[incorrect-ikevamp-quotes]

Hi! Hope you're doing well~! I was happy to see that you like Shingen and The Mitsus- I kinda called it, haha! However I'm wondering if you guys are also familiar with/had an opinion on Edgar Bright from IkeRev because I feel like he fits your character type too? I literally downloaded the game for him because I never pass on #PrettyBoyAngst~

Hiya friend!! Tysm I’m good, I hope you’re doing well, too! :D Haha, they are indeed my favorites! You guessed right! Long live Shingen (too soon? too soon...) and the Mitsus!! 

Quick warning, I know the game has been out for a while but spoilers for Edgar rt below!!!!

I have indeed played IkeRev, and you are spot on!! My top three bias list from that game is Lance, Edgar, and Fenrir! (surprising no one lmao) I can’t make a cup of hot cocoa anymore without hearing in my head “AND YOU JUST HAVE TO TELL THEM EVERYTHING’S FINE BUT IT’S NOT FINE AND NO ONE WILL EVER UNDERSTA--” Edgar’s route just sincerely hits different. Like holy actual shit yo, boy smuggles us candy all I want to do is give him some sugar, c’mon IkeRev ;-; (CLAUDIUS IF I SEE YOUR MUSTY ASS IT’S ON SIGHT, ON SIGHT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! DON’T FUCKING TEST ME YOU MONOPOLY GUY BITCH ASS--)

Honestly, Edgar is what we all wish ATLA Azula could have had. Yeah he was raised in a rotten environment and did what he had to do to survive, but the guy sincerely didn’t enjoy what he was coerced into doing ;-; and there was never anybody there to protect him. I cry whenever I start thinking about how he saw Zero in sincere need of guidance and affection, and went over to him without a second thought. (Granted, one could argue that Edgar benefited from Zero’s clear inability to fit in, but I really don’t see it that way. Edgar had no obligation to help him out, and very little incentive beyond a desire for mutual friendship. Despite their differences in status and/or capacity, Edgar treats Zero with no shortage of respect and consideration--he just teases him a lot LMFAO) Even when they bicker (IT’S ALMOST LIKE COMTE AND JEANNE AHAAHAHAHH I’M WHEEZING) it’s abundantly clear that neither of them have an ounce of real ill will directed at each other. 

I guess that’s also a sizable point of what I love about him. Against all odds, against everything he was taught and raised to do, he still chooses love. He doesn’t like hurting people, he doesn’t find any pleasure in the power plays/impositions that his uncle lives for. He just likes making people smile and laugh, he just wants to live normally like anybody else--his smarts and his skills be damned. At his core, he was a kid that was raised to be a monster, but even Claudius couldn’t beat the humanity out of him. There is...an utterly heartbreaking, but also profoundly moving aspect to that kind of tension. 

(Now that I write it, it reminds me a lot of Comte and Leonardo. They were both expected to take their place in the hierarchy of vampire/human society, but they both reject it so vehemently. They don’t see human beings as pawns, they don’t see them as playthings or even sources of nourishment. They acknowledge what they are, but they want to treat people with as much dignity and compassion as they can regardless. In the ageless words of Iroh, “Perfection and power are overrated. I think you were very wise to choose happiness and love.” While they may have been able to understand all of this on an instinctive level, they actively chose it over every motivation/coercion they were offered to be cruel and unfeeling. They bear their scars for choosing what’s important to them, just as Edgar does. It is a unique but debilitating pain that comes with being unanimously rejected by your community because you choose to deny the expectations of your upbringing and social status, especially when the standards that were imposed on you were glaringly immoral to begin with.)

And the thing that kills me the most is that Edgar just. Has always done this, has always chosen what’s right as much as he was able no matter how painfully thankless--if not actively harmful to his well-being--these choices were. So when MC takes notice, when she makes a conscious effort to return that mindfulness, he’s floored. It literally changes the landscape of his mind, he goes into a god damn crisis to be able to process what just happened. Imagine being so desensitized to positive attention that you have a trauma response in trying to deal with direct, unfettered goodwill. And don’t even get me started on that desperate moment where he just loses every ounce of calm when MC briefly loses faith in him/wavers. I don’t even remember the exact words exchanged I just remember the sheer devastation in the wake of that scene, the way I cried. There are no words for how much I love him and how little that man has been allowed to live. (AND LANCE SUPPORTING MY BOY!!!!!!!!! SCREAMING AND CRYING AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA)

Also. Idk if you've seen the “my desires are unconventional” Edgar memes but the ducky and roller coaster ones just SEND me, it was literally the reason I decided to do his route and I regret NOTHING 😂😂😂 

And the Creeks!!!! The Creek family!!!! I sob!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! So pure!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Though now that you mention it there are a lot of elements in Edgar’s rt that align with Leonardo/Comte rt, feeling exposed 😂😂😂. I guess between them and Shingen/the Mitsus, one thing that I find really, really attractive is this notion of being kind to people with a deeply compassionate motivation. It’s not enough to say nice things, it’s the fact that they do care about the people they’re paying attention to, and seek to de-escalate conflict (whether internalized or externalized) as much as they can before it reaches an explosive point. They’re good to people with very little--if anything--to be gained in return, and they know what’s worth being grateful for in life. There is a breadth of altruism that is simply unmatched by some of the other suitors, a maturity that just draws me in like the proverbial moth to the flame; I fall head over heels in milliseconds. 

I do this a lot in real life but they are what I like to call “ninja nice”. They are schemin’ bois but the scheme is wanting to make you smile!!!! And it’s so god damn wholesome ;-; it never fails to make me laugh

I’m also deeply interested in this idea of “love at play.” It’s apparently a pretty common literary device/premise, but I wasn’t made fully aware of it until recently. The implication is that relationships are not only built on mutual feelings of affection, but also on a kind of language that people develop together; they find ways by which they comfortably tease, or poke fun, or just enjoy the same things and joke around while doing it. It may seem pretty intuitive to some, but for me this was a very new concept--I’ve never really seen it done before. And yet, I can see for myself that I tend to seek it out a lot without even knowing, and I think it’s a beautiful and crucial thing for people to share. It really makes me so happy to see :D <33333

So yeah, this is a house where we love and cherish Edgar Bright!!! I got a little side-tracked, but I hope I’ve answered your questions! Oh yeah, and as a note my wife also does love Edgar as well, we tend to share biases LMAO (Never on purpose, we always just watch/play the same stuff and come back like “THIS ONE!!!!!!!! YOU TOO!?!!?!? FLKHJAHGKHDLKJ”)

[neverendingparable]

Tw: verbal abuse, transphobia, suicide mention, self harm mention

Somehow it feels like they always end up here. The tension in the air is thick enough to suffocate in. Maso pretends not to notice as he shrugs off his jacket and walks into the dining room.

Ezra is already sitting at the table, waiting silently. His face is neutral but the coldness radiating off him is unmistakable. A calm before the storm and with the stillness he watches Maso, it seems like the storm will be catastrophic.

The routine feels familiar, although Maso can't recall the last time they fought. Perhaps it was always brewing in the underground, waiting for the perfect moment to bubble up.

He sits across from Ezra dutifully and offers a hesitant smile.

'Let's talk,' he wants to say. 'Let's work it out.'

Ezra doesn't return it, but his gaze has darkened.

"I have something to tell you." He says curtly.

"Sure." Maso tries not to sound too eager. Talking is so much better than brewing in this angry silence and he wants to know what he did wrong so he can change it. He feels indebted to Ezra somehow, guilty despite not knowing what he was guilty about.

They've been living together ever since they graduated out of high school and moved from their home town. At first it seemed to go well, and there were times when they could've been called boyfriends. Ezra was supportive despite Maso's disfigurement and it felt like everything that had plagued them in childhood had disappeared. 

It was just Maso and Ezra against the world, until a coldness settled in between them and Maso found his friend distancing himself more and more as the days went by. Maybe now he will find out what happened, what he did wrong to cause Ezra to reject him.

"I feel like you're just using me as an emotional crutch," Ezra started. "Like I am just your toy, your replacement therapist, a boyfriend without me getting any of the benefits. You demand too much from me and it's wearing me down."

The words cut sharper than any knives and for the first time in Maso's life, he was speechless. Ezra showed no sympathy for the shocked hurt on his friend's face.

"You are not easy to love, you know. You are loud, arrogant, you think you can make up for your bad traits by being overtly doting or sexual but it just disgusts me. I do so much to accept your body for the way it is but you can't even decide if you want to be a boy or a girl, Stanley."

I can't stand your constant neediness but I can't say anything because you might end up getting depressed again and we all know how much you make the world around you miserable when you feel so."

Ezra's voice has risen with a hateful vigor. Every word seems to have been bubbling below the surface for a long, long time.

"I'm going to have to babysit you after this to make sure you don't do anything selfishly drastic like cut yourself or attempt suicide. I mean, do you ever think about anyone else? Did you ever consider how it feels to have such a messed up friend? I can't even take you out of the house in the summer because if people aren't staring at your arms they're staring at your scars or trying to figure out what sort of freak you are-"

"Since when has my transness bothered you?" Maso interjects defensively. He doesn't know whether to yell or cry. The latter will certainly get Ezra to make fun of him or worse, walk out for good.

"Since always." Ezra sneers without a moment's hesitation. "I thought it was just a phase. But you kept going, forcing me to defend you to not look like a jerk in front of the others. And then you started 'crossdressing' and it was like make up your damn mind what you want to be!"

"Pssh! You like my skirts."

"You're such a child. You can't take anything seriously."

"Maybe." Maso stands up, trying to get leverage of the situation. Ezra's glare was withering but he refuses to give up so easily without a fight. "If you hate all those things about me so much, why didn't you ever say anything? How was I supposed to know you were just pretending to tolerate me?"

"You would've realized that sooner if you took time to focus on someone else but yourself. I was trying to spare you the humiliation but-"

"But nothing! You should've said something, Ezzy. I could've made it right. I could've done something but if you're just going to hold it in and pretend everything's fine, then that's on you."

Ezra stands up as well and what little leverage Maso had on height is gone. He doesnt think it matters anymore, because now he's mad as well. He has been self absorbed, he can admit to that. And he hasnt always been a good friend. But part of a proper friendship requires communication from both sides.

"You never listen." Ezra's tone has changed. Maso is certain that under different circumstances, he would've never stood a chance. It was so full of hurt, anger and hatred, all directed at him.

"I tried and you ignored me for the sake of playing the victim. Don't you dare blame this all on me, Stanley."

A moment of silence passes between them as the two men glare at each other. And to his own surprise, Maso relents.

"Okay." He says, stepping back. "Okay, I'm sorry. I admit I wasnt the best friend. I want to be though, Ezra. Just tell me what I have to do."

Ezra's laugh is cruel. "Oh, you wish it were so easy, dont you? You're rotten to the core, Stanley and no apology or therapy will help you."

"So what do you want me to do? Leave you alone? I can pack my bags if that's what you want. But I want to do right by you-"

"No. I can't let you go out into the world and mess  up someone else." His path to the front door is blocked now, but Maso can't help rolling his eyes.

"Come on, Ezzy. This isn't necessary. You know I dont go apeshit."

"Don't call me that, Stanley."

"Seriously, why are you doing this? What's really the matter?"

Maso approaches him carefully. It isn't like Ezra to get violent but after today, he doesnt think he knows him as well as he thought.

"I feel like you are just using me as an emotional crutch. Like I am just your toy, your replacement therapist, a boyfriend without me getting any of the benefits."

Maso falters. "Wait...what?"

"You demand too much from me and it's wearing me down. You're not easy to love, Stanley."

"You've already said that, Ezra. Like, five minutes ago?" Something is nagging at him. Ezra keeps glaring at him like Maso is shit he just scraped off his shoe and slowly it dawns on him.

Everything Ezra said, the most painful accusations and insults was everything Maso was scared he would hear one day. He never put it in words but this very situation is one he dreaded he would walk into one day, find out that Ezra's kindness and patience was just a lie and that his best friend hated him deep down. He never was able to convince himself it wasnt true, especially after he left Ezra to return back to the Office.

It's not like I didnt give him the opportunity to join me. I tried to get him to come along. I didnt just leave him, I told him I didnt want to stay and that if he wanted to tag along I would protect him.

The hurt in his chest was replaced with indignation and when Maso looks at Ezra again, he doesn't wither under the glare.

"You know what? Fuck this. If you really hate me so much you dont want anything to do with me anymore, then I'm leaving. I'm sure I'll find someone else who can give me a second chance and if not, then I'll just keep on going alone."

"You're never going to find anyone who tolerates you, Stanley." Ezra spits.

Maso steps forward and his lips curl into a sarcastic sneer. "Eat me, Jaxden. I deserve better than you."

Something in Ezra's face twitches. For a moment Maso is sure he's going to pounce and tear all four of his arms out but then the entire world shifts and suddenly he's snapped back to reality.

He left Ezra. For the Office. He's no longer in that particular Office because he went on a mission to spy on a creepy human Maelle. He got beaten up per request and as he went back through Michael's doors to deliver the information he gathered to Alice, something went wrong. He's been stuck in the loop of his worst nightmare realized for the last week and now it's all coming back to him.

The Ezra doesnt disappear as he expected. He - or it - just keeps glaring at Maso like he wants to rip him apart but he quickly fades into the background of Maso's attention when he realizes where they are.

Standing in an Office he unfortunately knew too well.

Except, unlike before, it isn't bustling with Mariellas flitting back and forth from experiment chambers to research rooms. There are no sounds of machinery or screams or even the buzzing of electricity whenever the hallways got quiet. The entire Office that had once belonged to Jon is still as the grave, dark, depressing. 

A heaviness settles all around Maso as he took it in. But before he can really comprehend where he was, the scene changes.

[allthefilmsiveseenforfree]

Knives Out

I’ve been vibrating with anticipation from the moment I saw the first trailer for Knives Out, a star-studded classic whodunnit from Rian Johnson. The premise is simple - Harlan Thrombey (Christopher Plummer in peak jovial grandpa mode) has made his fortune writing murder mystery novels that the world loves, and is the patriarch of a sniping, backbiting family who all feel entitled to a piece of that fortune. The morning after Harlan’s 85th birthday party, he is found dead in an apparent suicide - but his nurse and best friend Marta (Ana de Armas, who steals the show) knows there is more to the story. A private investigator named Benoit Blanc (Daniel Craig) has been hired to unravel the mystery of the case, and in the course of his investigation he discovers that everyone in the family is a suspect.

 I love a good murder mystery, and this one had lots of elements that looked like they would add up to a rollicking good time - Chris Evans playing against type as a trust fund asshole; Daniel Craig doing his best Belles, Bourbon, and Bullets murder mystery dinner theater accent; two massive and Very Good German Shepherds; and more twists and turns than a pretzel on a rollercoaster. Plus there’s that thing where it has a 96% on Rotten Tomatoes and a 94% audience rating. All that adds up to some sky-high expectations for this pulpy mystery to give you a couple of hours of respite from your most aggravating relatives over a long Thanksgiving holiday weekend. Does it actually deliver on what it promises? Well...

This is one of the rare cases this year where my expectations were this high and were still exceeded. Johnson’s script is tight, the actors are all having the time of their lives, and the mystery is clever and even manages to retain a sense of real human emotion and tragedy at its core. Do not miss out on the chance to see this one in theaters with a live audience that gasps and laughs and, like my theater, even applauds when it’s all over. 

Some thoughts:

So often the victim at the center of a murder mystery is just a means to an end, or an asshole that you don’t really feel that sad about. But one of the best decisions made in this script is to make Harlan feel like a real person with real relationships. His friendship with Marta is sweet and feels like it’s built on genuine respect and love. In spite of their age difference, you feel a true kinship between them - the rest of the family goes on and on about how they consider Marta family and will “take care of her” with Harlan’s money, but Harlan is the only one who treats her like a real person. You feel his loss acutely at the center of the film, and it makes solving the mystery feel all the more urgent.

That being said, Harlan’s sense of decor in the house is fucking terrifying, all these dolls and figurines are made of straight up nightmares.

Ana de Armas is really the center of the whole film, and her performance here is off-the-charts. She’s vulnerable, earnest, conniving, put-upon, terrified, and resolute in equal measure, and just a real delight to watch onscreen. And her character’s incredible plot device of never being able to tell a lie without puking is inspired. 

Keep that in mind - if you are sensitive to vomit, please be warned there is quite a bit of it in the film and it can get REALLY gross in places.

Marta’s other main purpose is to act as a counterpoint to all the WASPy awfulness of this rich, entitled family. If you have to spend any time around racist relatives this holiday weekend (and I specifically mean the casual microaggression type of racism) you’ll definitely empathize with Marta as each member of the Thrombey family says some variation of “You’re from ___, right?” and lists a different country.

The film’s greatest asset is the cast - you don’t get better ensembles than this. Jamie Lee Curtis, Don Johnson, Michael Shannon, Riki Lindhome, and Toni Collette are the adult generation, squabbling over their pieces of the Thrombey publishing empire and shit-talking each other’s kids. Then there’s Chris Evans, Jaeden Martell, and Katherine Langford as the younger generation, each their own brand of insufferable - one’s a trust fund layabout in a Beemer, one’s an alt-right prep school punk, and one’s a bra-burning Sarah Lawrence peak white feminist. Each and every one of these actors is given a distinct, interesting piece of the mystery to sink their teeth into, and each character brings something new and different to the table. The first sequence of questioning from Blanc feels like a ballet, with each character lying and flashbacks revealing the truth in an elegant, twisting dance. The sum is so much greater than the parts, and it helps that everyone looks like they’re really having fun. 

None more so than Chris Evans though, who doesn’t show up until about 45 minutes in, but when he does, things really kick into high gear. His delivery of scathing sarcastic retorts is downright gleeful, and I would like to petition the universe to always ensure that he is wearing this kind of New England chic with thick wooly sweaters and camel driving coats and intricately patterned scarves. That’s one Boston boy who can wear the HELL out of a cable knit, and it’s a joy (for many reasons) to watch.

Even with a cast this great, the movie only works because the script is tight and the mystery is interesting. There are lots of fun little call-backs and payoffs to earlier lines - this is one of the few movies this year I actually want to go see twice in the theaters just to catch things that I may have missed the first time. 

Did I Cry? I did not, but I felt a definite sadness every time Marta looked at the large portrait of Harlan, because I could feel her missing him. 

This movie is seriously a goddamn delight. Go see it immediately and just let yourself be taken on the ride - there are few films this year I’ve flat-out enjoyed more.

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[believerindaydreams]

tomorrow, the deluge

the continuing story of a Baker who’s gone to the dogs

probably literally, now I come to think of it. 

"Tomorrow, partner, we're off to the races."

"Shouldn't we be getting some sleep, then?" Can't stand Baker calling me partner, it's more like dealing with a juvenile delinquent. He'll be charming one minute, sulky the next, always way too touchy where his pride's concerned. It's one thing to sleep in your car, because you're too nervous or broke or whatever it is to stay at a hotel. To kick out your passenger at night to fend for himself so he won't see you doing it, that's something else.

Baker says it's all for my own good, naturally. Field training. (Guess he wasn't quite wrong; I have learned considerable, how to trail someone unobtrusively.) God above, I never put Tuco through this kind of nonsense- hope I didn't. He kept me honest more ways than one.

Certainly, Tuco wouldn't linger for hours liquoring up at a dive, when he could be somewhere more comfortable. Apparently there's a safehouse in this neighbourhood, clean sheets and a hot dinner, and if Baker would just tell me the damn address I'd have been there hours ago. It's getting on for midnight by now.

"I want to tell you something," Baker says, tipping back another martini. Stirred. And he says I'm the James Bond fanatic. "About Angel Eyes."

I'll give it to him, he sure knows how to dole out information. Drips and drabs. "Oh?"

"Can't tell you in here, mind. Too quiet. Someone might overhear." He catches the bartender's eye, with a bleary wave; pays up for his cocktails and the glass of red wine I've been nursing all evening. Haven't cared to test, whether his notion of charity will stretch so far as two drinks.

Damn good thing Tuco didn't let himself be frightened into this. Since it had to be one of us, glad it was me; he'd resent this to the core, get worked up and say something indiscreet. Which wouldn't be a smart move, when dealing with a man who packs as much as Baker- anyway, I never did drink as much as Tuco does.

Out on the street, the air's still hot but less musty than that basement bar. Wish I had something better to smoke than the cigarette I've swiped from Baker's glove box- turns out, he only uses the pipe when he's with Angel. Figures. Still, tobacco's tobacco.

"He trusts me, you know," Baker says. Cheerful, obnoxiously so: if ever a man could get high off alcohol alone that's him. "More than anybody else, even you- let's face it, you love your ambiguity and Angel's too much a creature of habit to appreciate that. But he knows exactly where he stands with me."

Baiting me, to see if I'll mention Tuco. Can't fall for that trap. "How about Susan?"

"Who?"

"Susan. You know, his cook."

"...oh!" Too big smile. "That's not what we call her professionally. She goes by her surname, then."

"So what is it?"

"I am," he hiccups, "I am telling a story. Pay attention, Blondie, it's not something I do for free very often. But I think you're the only man- the only man in all of creation," Baker says, just barely missing a lamppost, "to appreciate just what it was Angel said to me that night."

If he was hoping to lose attention by leaving the bar, it's not working; this part of the city's still populated enough for us to be attracting stinkeye. "Baker, I think we'd better find somewhere quieter for this. Out of earshot."

"Right. We'll take the car."

"I'll drive."

"You will not," Baker informs me. "It's my car. You don't get to drive it, you- nameless hayseed you."

Tomorrow, the noodling around comes to a head when I meet Rose. Worth hanging on to that thought. "Is it a long way we're going? Be pretty ironic if we were busted for drunk driving tonight."

"Stop asking me things out of order," Baker says irritably, patting down his pockets for the key. Takes him all of six minutes to find it, while I smoke a cigarette down to my fingers.

Least he doesn't speak until we're inside, windows rolled up. "It was a night that Angel was just as drunk as I am now- you know, that's very unusual for him-"

"I'll say-"

"Quit interrupting. He'd been with this shameless- shameless- I don't remember if it it was a woman or not, that time. The last one he had before you turned up. This was years back, you understand...see as deft as he is, it shook even our implacable Angel Eyes some, when he got stabbed in bed."

"Literally?" Enough scars on him, for sure...

"I was never quite sure of that," Baker says, slumping against the steering wheel. "He'll only let vulnerability go so far. But for all I know, part of the blood we were cleaning up was his."

Tuco would be better at this, be admiring in a way calculated to draw out the story while rifling through the glove box. Only three cigarettes left. Maybe I shouldn't take any more.

"He'd called me over, to help. Me, Blondie. Not that he needed help from the technical side of things, he could handle that- it's just that he needed a friend. When a night goes from champagne buckets to knives, you need a good friend. I was- I was-"

"You were that friend?" I prompt. Hell, might as well take the rest of the pack. I'll be needing it tomorrow.

"Yes. So he called me over, and I helped him, and he was drunk as a lord, still- amazing he wasn't dead, but you know what marvelous dexterity Angel has." A salacious looks appears, as Baker pries himself off upright with difficulty. "You do, don't you?"

"You were telling me a story." 

"That's - that's right. Never heard him so talkative. About how it wasn't much of a life, this business, when a man couldn't have a thoughtless fuck without wondering if he'd die over it, and why the hell hadn't his father gotten out while the war had made going straight a choice- let me tell you, his father certainly came in for a share of the flak that night. Even if the man was still alive, I don't think they'd ever have reconciled. Not that he deserved it."

"Angel or his father?"

"Both of them, I suppose. Both of them...he's never forgiven himself," Baker mumbles. "I mean, he's never seen that he had any other choice, but he's never forgiven himself. Poor wingless Angel. We should take up a collection."

If a man's your partner, you can whack him upside sometimes and tell him he's blathering. Can't do that to Baker. "Uh."

"Too much of a coward...that's what made me hopeful. Hopeful that maybe I'd been wrong all this time, maybe there was some common ground between us- you know what I mean, Blondie?"

Tuco would be kind and tell him yes; or tell him yes, in the hopes of being pleasing. Myself, I can't see the resemblance. "You still want to get him back?"

"Always," Baker says promptly, the picture of confused sincerity. "You should apologise to me, breaking in a great romance like ours."

He really does mean it sometimes, and I don't know if that's more or less irritating. "Didn't know I was intruding on your turf."

"Say sorry."

"Is that the whole story?" I ask. There must be some point to it, some reason he's told me this. Angel getting drunk and calling in Baker to help mop up a body, that's a narrative all right but one I can't fathom why he's mentioning. Takes more than a plot, to tell a story; it lives and dies on the details, the audience appeal, a purpose for the story to be told at all, not just barebone facts. Any half-decent hustler could enlighten him on that. 

"It was the most important thing that's ever happened to me in my entire life," Baker hisses. Through his teeth, like a bad screen villain. "You think that’s funny."

"Tuco would think it's funny," I say. Out loud, unfortunately. Baker gives me a foul look and leans forward on his horn, hard as it can go.

A lot of yelling and abuse in our wake, as he finally gets the engine going and speeds off at too many miles an hour. Lucky thing I've got used to buckling this seatbelt as soon as I get in, or I'd be flat against his windshield now.

"See, tomorrow- tomorrow I'm gonna prove that I'm the man for Angel Eyes, and you're gonna help me."

"You seem pretty worried for a man who has it all worked out."

"Flipside's that we both die if it goes wrong," Baker returns, staring at nothing. Wish he'd look at the road instead. "But hell, I've had enough skulking for a lifetime. Angel's worth a little risk, isn't he?"

"I'd swap this whole dirty business for a bowl of soup, right now. Where the hell's the safehouse you promised?"

"...I've forgot where it is."

"No way."

"Prove it. I'm drunk," Baker says, grinning. "And you never apologised."

Go on, I can all but hear Tuco say. Let him hear what he wants to hear, so you can look after yourself right.

Can't do that. Baker needs to hear I'm not his partner. "Fuck you too. How in creation are you planning to square things with Rose tomorrow, if you'll need my help to do it?"

"You'll fall in line when you met Rose," Baker says. Almost soberly, which says worlds about how terrified he is. "Believe me, Blondie, you'll be glad of any friendship then. Even mine."

Hell. I don't want this anymore. 

Let him fight it out with Rose, with Angel Eyes. I want to be comfortably resting in some crummy motel room with one bed and bad carpets and an optimistic ice bucket, my partner hogging the blankets and keeping me warm anyway. Doing what we did, which as rotten as it is was ours, never beholden to authority. If we starved maybe we starved, but we didn't go around in fear of anybody else.

For that matter, I never would admit how much keeping Tuco happy meant looking after myself, too; and the faultline between what I've been asking for and what I'm wanting now is downright cavernous. Might take all three of those cigarettes, before this empty feeling eases up for me to sleep.

Guess I'd better get started.