he says i hate everyone except you and that is addictive and that is kind of romantic and beautiful because you're young and you're kind of a sarcastic asshole too and you don't like bad boys, per say, but you don't really like good ones either. and you like that you were the exception, it felt like winning.
except life is not a romance book, and he was kind of being honest. he doesn't learn to be nice to your friends. he only tolerates your family. you have to beg him to come with you to birthday parties, he complains the whole time. you want to go on a date but - people are often there, wherever you're going. he's just so angry. about everything, is the thing. in the romance book, doesn't he eventually soften? can't you teach him, through your own sense of whimsy and comfort?
at first - you know introverts often need smaller friend groups, and honestly, you're fine staying at home too. you like the small, tidy life you occupy. you're not going to punish him for his personality type.
except: he really does hate everyone but you. which means he doesn't get along with his therapist. which means he has no one to talk to except for you. which means you take care of him constantly, since he otherwise has no one. which means you sometimes have to apologize for him. which means he keeps you home from seeing your friends because he hates them. you're the single exception.
about a decade from this experience, you'll type into google: how to know if a relationship is codependent.
he wraps an arm around you. i hate everyone except you. these days, you're learning what he's actually confessing is i have very little practice being kind.
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due to personal reasons i am now firmly on team “i hope aziraphale does change heaven for the better actually (going on the assumption that his return is as straightforward as it seemed etc”
like if the alternative is just this ohhh he’s so NAIVE and SOFT and so WRONG and he’ll have to LEARN A TOUGH LESSON etc etc nonsense then yeah 1000% go for it babe knock it out of the park
i hope choosing hope and kindness pays dividends. i hope the soft traits that made other characters continually disparage and underestimate him and his intelligence turn out to be his greatest assets bc i kinda don’t give a shit about a “toughen up it’s the only way everyone else knows better” life lesson for this character
(which like honestly a lot of the rhetoric is dismissive of the fact that persistent goodness in the face of an existence of disparagement takes great strength and that at the end of the day aziraphale has always been able to stand up in his own way)
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I love how Howe is like. Just some guy who works for Loghain if you play most routes.
Like if you're a Cousland, absolutely fuck that guy he killed your family, etc etc. But if you're an Amell or a Surana in particular (who are more isolated from regular Fereldan politics in my brain, but I suppose that depends on how you imagine the Circle and how interested in politics your character is) you might have zero idea about who this tool is other than "he's the acting arl of Denerim and he works for the dude who's tried to kill us a few times". Which admittedly is a perfectly valid reason to dislike him, and that is added to once you see the torture stuff while rescuing Anora, but like. At this point you've fought so many people and dealt with so many nobles and you've got the landsmeet looming over your head quite imminently, not to mention the Archdemon. So it's very plausible that your non-Cousland Warden can just kinda forget about him in all but the vaguest sense.
And then Nathaniel breaks into your new castle (his old castle so it stings more for him) to kill you but you barely remember killing his dad in the first place so you're just like oh. Sorry bout that. Wanna join my blood club?
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Okay but the song choice during the Zava domination/Richmond winning streak montage? Very significant. They always kill it with the soundtracks.
The song is called Prisencolinensinainciusol by Adriano Celentano and it’s a fucking BOP but all the lyrics are gibberish written to sound like English to an Italian audience. It’s designed to sound good if you don’t look too closely but once you do, you realize it’s all wrong. He wrote it to explore miscommunication. “I thought that I would write a song which would only have as its theme the inability to communicate.” x
Richmond seems like they’re on the right track with Zava. They’re winning. Everyone’s happy. But once they take a closer look, everything is wrong. They look good but they’re lacking the fundamentals of what made Richmond, Richmond.
GENIUS
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dark justiciar shadowheart is genuinely so interesting to me as like... a facet to her character. like it really hammers home how desperate she is for shar's love and affection (+ the validation and love from other worshipers of shar). like in a lot of ways I get that it seems shocking to others / some fans because it really does contradict some of the morals we see her express BUT imo that just speaks to the level of desperation she feels. her comments on how shar "must" love her for her to survive the shadowcursed lands, or the bit where she talks about shar nurturing her and loving her and sounds... almost more like shes trying to convince herself more than shes trying to convince you. theres a bit about other sharrans not thinking she had earned her name, and of course the mother superior not thinking she was ready / worthy of being a dark justiciar. like shes just so completely desperate to feel unconditionally and securely loved, and to earn the approval of others that shes entirely willing to injure herself in the process (as well as.... the people who actually love her, of course).
not to mention that mechanically, afaik, she can only end up there if shes encouraged to by the player. ie... she needs to know someone else approves.
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he had to hurt her like that, look at the cinema he made. did he? how do you know? the ends justify the means, huh. a woman could never actually act this well, it had to be real, a snuff film. yes, she was hired for her talent - but pain will make the talent brighter, right.
he is not alone. there are men around him who think like this. who choose actresses they can manipulate, exert power over. who write scripts that demand the pain be felt. she must hurt to uphold the message.
(an aside. author's note, i guess. in poetry, when the words cannot hold themselves up, we actually blame the writers. it shouldn't matter who speaks the literature. the words should carry their own weight. be their own scaffolding.)
the men in the room all applaud each other for doing less. they say they push boundaries. they're leaders in their field. they ask the hard questions.
when they get your resume, they put it into a pile that they will put into a trashcan. when they get your screenplay, they will use it as a coaster. when they build their museums, they will have a disjointed room dedicated to "repairing" the ways that women and people of color have been eradicated from "fine arts". it will be self-effacing. we may have overlooked some artists, they apologize. but really it's not our fault that white men make better art. (those men and their works are in permanent displays. for more on this, see: the way that he laughs at your work will make you sick to your teeth). in six weeks, their apology will be scrubbed and the room will be scrubbed and all the paintings will go back into storage.
they know they are right. sure, okay. maybe we have had less opportunities. but what would we have done with them? not something like this. it took a man to do this. okay, okay. it was deranged, we can all agree about it. but look at the product.
in your life, when you wake up, isn't it grand. if they made a museum for people like us, it would be a cycle of empty frames. of ruined videos. of songs with a voicecrack. all the little plaques reading some variation of a theme. here is where my work would stand if someone like me could actually get published in this fucking industry. here is the work i tried to make, before my agency was stripped from me. here is the placeholder of my dreams, but i could not afford them in this society.
if you keep walking, out in the greenhouse out back, the whole world is full of color. every fabric and fortuneteller and feverdream we spat out in despite. centuries of brightness, of novelty, of exploration. of talent, of wisdom, of creativity.
there is only one sign here in this alexandrian library. the sign acts like an epitaph. you already know what it says, don't you. THIS ISN'T ART, it tells you.
the blankets. the chef-level 5-course meals. the carefully-colored journal pages. the abandoned works-in-progress. the library of fanfiction. the margin drawings. somewhere in there, an actress makes a face, and you think - oh shit! she's really broken! but then she smiles at you, winking. she could do it, you know. she could always act like a starbeam. it's just that his name is the one scrolling at the bottom. she hadn't wanted to undress for him. she goes home and gets forgotten. in our museum, another blank frame goes up on the wall.
they'll give him an award, looking to the camera with almost an apology. he will laugh ruefully. nobody will do anything. little white strings will drip from his fingers. young boys in film studies will continue to chainsmoke while explaining how beautiful it is that there's violence in those scenes. she couldn't have done it without him pushing, he'll tell you, shrugging.
but what if, you wonder. what if he had never existed? without him, what else could we be making? all that time and love and spirit, allowed back into the light. into knowledge. what has he taken, to give us his art?
and is it a trade worth making?
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