#and now you must be thinking 'anne what the fuck' and i KNOW its bizarre

[xoruffitup]

Annette: The AD Devotee Review

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[ellenripleysbelieveitornot]

What about an Akechi/Joker role swap AU where Akechi is still the detective prince and Joker is still the Shujin delinquent, but the major difference is that Morgana never lost his memories and found Akechi before he approached Shido with his metaverse assassination plot?

Like, imagine Akechi, bitter and jaded, who has just awakened Loki and felt the terrifying and thrilling rush of the berserk power. He's formed a plan to get back at his piece of shit father, even managed to set up a meeting, which he had to set up months in advance, and on the day he's going to present Shido with info on the metaverse, he winds up arriving a few minutes late, because even though he intended to be early, he was accosted by a talking cat (he's been in the metaverse, so he can hear him) on the way over, and in the whole wtf-ery of the moment, lost track of time. Shido, being Shido, refuses to see him and will not reschedule because he doesn't like having his time wasted.

Pissed off, Akechi leaves to find Morgana still waiting for him outside. So he doesn't look like an idiot yelling at a cat on the street, he brings Morgana back to his shitty apartment, where Morgana explains why he had found Akechi and whats up. He doesn't know about Yaldobaoth taking Igor's place, he just knows there's two champions, and Akechi was the one he found first, so he must be Igor's chosen champion. (It is my theory that it doesn't actually matter who was Igor's and Yaldobaoth's champions, it was more about the choices they each made and where they ended up.) 

Akechi has no interest in saving the world, but he knows that if he wants to get back at Shido, he needs to become someone of consequence, so he agrees to undergo Morgana's training, since Morgana clearly knows more about the metaverse than he does, and he can use it to solve cold cases, earning him a place as the Detective Prince. He changes a few hearts, to pacify Morgana, too. It takes a couple years, but during his senior year in high school, he makes it, earning himself the cooperation of the police and the spotlight of the public eye. He's getting so close to making Shido notice him that he can practically taste it. Also, what’s this ‘velvet room’ he keeps dreaming about?

Then Morgana finds Kamoshida’s palace and is like ‘heyo, you thought changing hearts in the metaverse was cool, check this shit out’ and Akechi is admittedly intrigued , so he takes a look. He sees the inside of Kamoshida’s heart and is appropriately disgusted and says to Morgana, ‘hey we should totally kill this guy’s shadow.’ Morgana’s like ‘why is your first suggestion always murder, we don’t know what would happen if we killed his shadow, Igor wasn’t very clear about that bit, we should try stealing the treasure instead’ and Morgana has been useful (and it’s been really nice to have the company these past two years, though he won’t admit that) so Akechi agrees ‘fine, we’ll steal the treasure, but if that doesn’t work, then I’m killing his shadow.’

And that’s when Ryuji and Ann make an appearance (’ohmigawd, goro, be more careful with that damn app, i s2g.’) Ryuji’s mom apparently thinks Akechi is pretty neat and watches all his interviews, so Ryuji knows who he is and is delighted to find out that the lame-ass detective his mom has talked about is actually a grumpy badass in the metaverse, with this shadow that has some kind of insane power, and hey, he helped them bring down Kamoshida (alive,) so maybe he is actually pretty cool, even though sometimes he spaces out and talks about evil twins and some longed-nose dude. He decides then and there that he’s going to be Akechi’s best friend, since he apparently has none, and Ann is all too happy to join in for the ride, and all of Goro’s protests have fallen on deaf ears, and they know about the whole detective prince thing being a facade, so he might as well indulge them for now. 

The ‘Phantom Thieves’ (a name that makes Goro want to roll his eyes whenever he hears it, and why is everyone calling him ‘leader?’) gain fame and change hearts, gaining new members such as this weird-ass artist dude who fights with ice, and oh, god, one Nijima is bad enough, don’t tell me there’s two! and she uses nukes, wtf?!

Around this time, he also meets Shujin’s delinquent, enigmatic transfer student whose talk of hope and justice never quite seem to reflect in his stormy grey eyes, and he and Goro are clearly birds of a feather in a way, he can tell, there’s just something about him, and he thinks this guy might actually be his best friend, but don’t tell Ryuji that, he’d never hear the end of it.

Akechi learns the truth behind Akira’s arrest and Shido’s involvement and he is disgusted to find that he genuinely wants to help this guy, and he can’t do that if Shido’s dead, maybe he doesn’t want his revenge as badly as he thought??? Oh, ew, I have feelings that aren’t anger and it’s all my friends’ fault, I can’t just leave them and go off to get revenge, they’d literally die without me, those lovable idiots. Also, when Ryuji saw his home, he pretty much insisted he stay with him instead, and Ryuji’s mom reminds him of the good times he had with his own mother, and he honestly doesn’t think he has the strength to disappoint her like that. So, he decides to change Shido’s heart, but he knows that there’s no way that this little group of miscreants is strong enough to take on the fucked up bullshit that he’s seen in Shido’s heart, so let’s hit pause on that for now.

Shido had Wakaba killed via completely non-supernatural ways and stole her research, same as before, so Futaba still has a palace. He found out Akira worked at Leblanc a while ago and started dropping by, and then somehow Ryuji found out about it, and now all the Phantom Thieves know, so much for a peaceful place to get away, but he actually doesn’t mind that much, and Akira lets Akechi keep an eye on the shop when there are no customers so he can go out and do errands and Boss doesn’t mind, so they’ve ended up hanging out there as a group from time to time and talking Phantom Thief business, so Futaba knows who they are, and asks for their help.

Okumura’s palace pretty much goes the same, Okumura dies somehow, are we responsible, why does murder actually make me feel kinda bad, stupid friends and their stupid good influence. 

Goro attends the Shujin student fair as guest speaker, whoa, the class president being friends with Akechi does have its perks, doesn’t it? Akira finds them all there together and approaches them, tells them he saw them go into the metaverse, awakened his own persona, and saw a guy in a black mask kill Okumura’s shadow, hey why don’t I join you, you probably need all the help you can get, who’s heart are we stealing next, how about Sae, she knows my probabtion officer and has been giving me hell, plus I already checked, she definitely has a palace.

They agree, and oh, hey, Akira can hear Morgana talk now, but WAIT A MINUTE?! Didn’t he hear Morgana talk before when he told Goro that Leblanc didn’t sell sushi, even though Goro hadn’t asked for any?

They hack Akira’s phone, learn that Shido (Akechi recognizes that voice) will have thugs waiting to capture them when they leave the palace. They plan around it, pull the metaverse switch and manage to sneak a heavily drugged Akechi out of the warehouse Shido stashed him in by traveling through the metaverse. Shido’s lackey’s have written a fake suicide letter from the leader of the Phantom thieves, and the chief of police, under Shido’s orders, delivers a statement confirming its authenticity, and look the plan succeeded. All they need to do know is take down Shido.

Things are going great, until they get to the engine room, where Joker, having realized what happened, is waiting for them. Joker, who lost everything after he transferred, who discovered the metaverse completely alone, who didn’t mean to kill that guy’s shadow, but he attacked him first, and Shido had somehow known, had been keeping an eye on him, had him convicted for a crime that he didn’t commit in the hopes that he would break because he needed an agent in the metaverse, and so far he’s had no luck. Joker, who had nothing left to lose and had accepted the only hand that had reached out for him.

They fight, and when it looks like things are going badly for Joker, he pulls out... a second persona?!?! At least, it looks like a persona, but something about it is off. it looks familiar somehow. And then Akira asks if they knew it was possible to fuse personas and Akechi realizes what he’s looking at. These aren’t the clean executions that Caroline and Justine perform, these are personas that have been ripped apart and haphazardly thrown back together with no thought to form or elegance, look, there’s a Yaksini’s arm, and that bit right there clearly used to belong to a Rangda, and I think that piece might have belonged to a Seiryu, and Akechi should stop listing personas now because Ann thinks she’s going to be sick.

They keep fighting. Joker can’t understand the difference in power between them. After all, aren’t they the same? Unloved, unwanted, soldiers pitted against each other by some bullshit higher power?

When Joker shoots the bulkhead door closed and Futaba reports that she’s lost Joker’s reading, Akechi vows then and there that he’s going to kill Shido after all. And he almost does. He stands there, with his gun pressed to the head of the shadow of his father, his friends can’t blame him, and even Morgana knows better than to try and stop him. But he doesn’t. He remembers Akira’s madness there at the end, and wonders what he would have become of him if it weren’t for Ryuji, who somewhere along the way, he’d realized he’d stopped tolerating and started actually liking. Ann, who shared his woes about being in the public eye and swapped tips with him about how to handle the press. Yusuke, who, although he was still completely bizarre to him, appreciated the beauty in life and didn’t tease Goro for his taste in Grandpa clothes. Makoto, who knew the importance of hard work and who, between herself and her sister, had caused Goro to pick up some healthier coping mechanisms. Futaba, who made fun of him for his food blog, but liked the same nerd bullshit that he did and would bombard him with memes until his day somehow became a little less shittier. Haru, who dreamed of starting her own business and actually cared about Goro’s opinions, and could threaten someone with a smile in a way that even Goro was jealous of. And Morganna, who had reminded him what it was like to not be lonely, and demanded more sushi than he could afford, but always made sure Goro ate his fill, instead of getting so focused on his work that he forgot.

Akechi guesses that he must have turned soft somewhere during the past several months, but after seeing what happened to Akira, he can’t help but be grateful, knowing with certainty that if things had turned out differently, that would have been him. Hey, Morgana, you know that world-saving bs you talked about two years ago? Let’s leave this piece of shit here to rot and focus our attention on that instead.

And you guys know the rest.

Or, at least, that’s how I thought it would go. Feel free to share your thoughts. :)

#shuake #akeshu #akechi goro #akira kurusu #ren amamiya #Shuake roleswap #roleswap #persona 5

[xxxmidnightmasqueradexxx]

Persona 5 Ship Rankings Part 1 {{This is gonna be a long one, so I’m only going over one shipping here, the rest will come later.}}

-

-

-

IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT: All of this is just my persona opinion! I am not looking to start up any debates or otherwise. So I respectfully ask that you DON’T try and start anything with me. I just want to talk about my favorite/liked/disliked ships in peace. Thank you~ ALSO WARNING! THERE IS BOUND TO BE SPOILERS SO YEH! {{I will be pulling up interactions of said characters from both the game and anime for certain ships, so expect spoilers for both the game and anime!}}

Here I shall discuss the ship Akiren/Ryuji {{Note that this is mostly all speculation, seeing hints, context clues, subtext and what not. I’m not trying to push this ship onto anyone or say that it’s actually canon. I’m just saying I believe that there’s something there and that it’s my personal canon. but it doesn’t have to be yours.}}

Akiren/Ryuji: 

I cannot rank this ship with numbers alone, because this ship just sails itself in both the Anime and In The Game. There’s just so much subtext for these two that’s led me to believe that they’re endgame. However if you must know what number rank I’d give them... 

I give them an infinity outta infinity and beyond.

Hoo boy! Strap in everyone cause this is gonna be a LONG one! In this essay I shall tell you all exactly why I believe personally that Akiren/Ryuji is actually the endgame Persona 5 ship! 

Of course you don’t have to agree but just hear me out! For starters Akiren and Ryuji meet under the most bizarre of circumstances. They start out as strangers thrust into a life or death situation after unknowingly stumbling into Kamoshida’s Palace. 

While there, Ryuji shows just how much he cares for Akiren’s well being, despite them being literal strangers! Ryuji immediately asks Akiren if he’s alright upon waking up, and it’s shown by his tone of voice and facial expression that he’s genuinely concerned for Akiren. 

Akiren at this point in time can also ask Ryuji if he’s alright as well, which Ryuji replies more or less to. Then not even a few minutes later, Kamoshida comes in and sentences the both of them to death. Ryuji is understandably terrified, and claims he doesn’t want to die. However despite not wanting to die, he does show that he’s willing to do so, if it means Akiren can escape with his life. 

He even orders him to run. So yes, even though Ryuji doesn’t WANT to die, and he states in terror he doesn’t want to, he was willing to die all the same. Anyone in their right mind faced with a life and death situation would also say they don’t wanna die, even if they know that dying meant that there was a chance someone else could live.

Akiren upon seeing Ryuji’s life in peril, and after watching him get tortured by Kamoshida, literally gets so fucking pissed off that he stands up to Kamoshida therefore becoming a threat to him. This in turn helps Akiren awaken to his Persona. Akiren awoke to his Persona because of his desire to save Ryuji.

 Akiren stood up to Kamoshida to save Ryuji’s life, not because Kamoshida had wronged him personally, it was all to save Ryuji and that just speaks volumes to me. Because every other team mate that The Phantom Thieves gain, always awakens because they have a personal score to settle with A Palace Leader. 

It’s never anything as grand as desiring to protect The already existing members of The Phantom Thieves. But here, Akiren has no personal connection with Kamoshida, he’s only heard of him being this supposed perverted teacher who preys on innocent Students who can’t fight back. Akiren’s reasoning for standing against Kamoshida was as simple as not being able to ignore that someone’s life -Ryuji’s- was in danger, and acting upon it. 

{{I LITERALLY CANNOT TELL YOU JUST HOW MANY TIMES I’VE REPLAYED THIS SCENE! JUST TO WATCH AKIREN AWAKEN TO ARSENE, JUST SO HE CAN KICK SOME SHADOW ASS TO SAVE RYUJI FROM CERTAIN DEATH. LIKE FUCKING YES! AKIREN! YOU SAVE THAT BEAUTIFUL BLONDE BOY! YOU SAVE HIM AND YOU SAVE HIM GOOD!}}

After that, the two of them blindly rush off into the Palace with one another, trying to find an exit. Ryuji also shows his concern during this little segment, when they’re jumping over rushing water, telling Akiren that he better not fall while they’re crossing over the water.

Then they meet a curious feline named Morgana, whom helps them escape from Kamoshida’s Palace. Afterwards, Ryuji and Akiren become unlikely friends, pulled together by an experience only they could relate to.

Ryuji asks Akiren to meet him on the roof of the School, and there, they talk about what happened. In the end Ryuji tries to brush it all off as some weird-ass dream. But he still thanks Akiren for saving him from Kamoshida even if it was just a ‘dream’.

Ryuji also doesn’t give a damn about all these rumors spreading around Akiren, and wants to be friends. 

{{Speaking of later on after Akiren tells Ryuji what actually happened that landed him in probation, Ryuji is visibly upset at this.-In the Anime he actually sheds tears upon hearing what happened- And in game he’s also upset, to the point where he raises his voice in anger upon knowing what was done to Akiren.}}

Eventually Ryuji and Akiren both go back into Kamoshida’s Palace, upon which they reunite with Morgana. While in the Palace, Akiren waits for Ryuji to memorize the faces of the Cognitive students that are being abused by Kamoshida’s Shadow, which means the real Kamoshida is abusing the real students in the School too. 

One event leads to another, and we get to a point that Akiren and Morgana are rendered helpless upon the ground, about to be killed. During this event, Akiren speaks out, telling Ryuji to stand up for himself, to not allow himself to give into hopelessness. 

To rise against Kamoshida, an adult who has abused, oppressed, and hurt Ryuji and caused everyone to label Ryuji as a problem child. Causing everyone to label Ryuji as the track traitor, caused the entire School and most of the Teachers to dislike Ryuji in general.

Ryuji finally gets to his feet and stands up against Kamoshida,not only because of what Kamoshida has done to him, but also because---

Akiren is about to be killed by a Shadow. 

The Shadow is about to bring its sword down upon Akiren. Ryuji literally fucking woke to his Persona to save Akiren and---

That’s just fucking beautiful man.

Watching Ryuji awaken to Captain Kidd, to save the guy he now considers his best friend, even though they’ve only known one another for a short while is just-

BLESSED CONTENT.

{{LIKE EFF YA, RYUJI! YOU AWAKEN TO CAPTAIN KIDD TO SAVE YOUR BEST FRIEND AND KICK SOME ASS! FUCK THEM ALL UP YOU BEAUTIFUL REBELLIOUS SUNSHINE BOY! SHOW THEM WHAT HAPPENS WHEN THEY THREATEN THE PEOPLE YOU CARE ABOUT!}}

 No other teammates have awoken to their Personas to save the other, besides Akiren and Ryuji. Both of them awoke to their Personas to save each other, and you don’t see that in ANY other awakenings. The other awakenings are all about the other Phantom Thief members standing up to the unjust treatments of the Palace rulers towards them and in Ann’s sake -other people she cares about-. 

Other than that you don’t really see any of the other Phantom Thieves waking to their Persona to save one another. Akiren and Ryuji are probably the only examples of this through the entire game/anime and they’re still just fresh friends at this point. 

If THIS doesn’t speak volumes about how much Akiren and Ryuji have come to care for one another, then I don’t know what fucking does. Doesn’t it seem like the start of a romance to you? 

Because this just parallels the start of so many romantic stories. Two strangers coming together, both of them being cast out by society, both of them coming together and facing death defying odds and doing incredible feats to save one another.

{{Also not to mention it’s adorable how when Ryuji and Akiren go get some food, Ryuji puts more food on Akiren’s plate after he notices Akiren’s barely touched his food. And even when Akiren assures him he can do that himself, Ryuji insists that he has to TREAT him, to thank him.}}

{{Oh and this little animation of Ryuji having to touch Akiren as they open a treasure chest together.. like OMG HOW ARE THEY THIS FUCKING ADORABLE?!}}

Anyways through the course of the anime/game, Akiren and Ryuji’s friendship just deepens even more. Especially during the game in Ryuji’s confidant ranks he’s always saying how cool Akiren is. Complimenting him, and saying the cutest fucking shit like he feels free whenever he’s talking to Akiren. 

Thanking Akiren whenever he gets the chance, like Ryuji literally thanks Akiren all the time. So much to the point it’s nearly god damn ridiculous the amount of times Ryuji thanks Akiren. Also just the fact that in game Akiren is given the option to square down with the former Track Team while they’re shit talking Ryuji is just... AHHHHH it warms my heart. 

There’s just so many instances in game while Akiren is hanging out with Ryuji, that Ryuji will just suddenly say something so fucking heartfelt out of the god damn blue. Once Ryuji is maxed out, he tells Akiren that if he EVER needs help with anything EVER- that he’s there for him. That he has his back no matter what. 

Like there’s this one instance where Ryuji tells Akiren that he found his place next to him. And then he’s like: Huh... I guess your place is next to me...

And then seriously...

During one of their hangouts, right before Ryuji and Akiren go for a ride on an attraction, Akiren has the option to tell Ryuji to go by himself. 

And what is Ryuji’s reaction to that?! 

“What are you scared? Don’t worry I’ll protect ya...wait... that came out wrong. Hey there’s a ton of couples around here. I wonder what they think when they see us?” - Ryuji

^^^ That’s right, he’s immediately embarrassed by what he’s said, and his mind then IMMEDIATELY jumps to the fact that there’s so many couples around them and he’s asking Akiren what they might be THINKING seeing them here together. Why would his mind even be thinking about the couples around them for? 

My best guess would be he’s wondering if the couples around him think that he and Akiren are a couple. And even upon thinking that, he seems totally chill with it. Like he doesn’t really give a damn if they do or not. Honestly I think Ryuji just wanted to see what Akiren thought. Ryuji wanted to know if he was bothered by the fact that the other couples could potentially see them as a pair.

Also right before the end of the game if Akiren says that there’s nothing to see in his hometown, Ryuji will remark: What are you talking about? You’re there. - 

AND IF THAT AIN’T THE GOD DAMN CUTEST FUCKING THING AHHH----

Anyways back to all the subtext that happens in the main story. Right after they take down Kamoshida, and go to the restaurant, there’s a choice for Akiren to say he’s so happy. And Ryuji says that it’s cute hearing him say something like that. 

Right after that, Akiren, Ryuji and Morgana all need to go find a bathroom because they over ate. Then Shido -the uncle Ian looking ass motherfucker- comes by and is being a snobby ass bitch. Akiren has the choice to demand that he and his posse apologize to Ryuji. 

After he leaves though, Akiren realizes Shido’s voice is familiar to him, but he can’t place it just yet. Ryuji at that point turns to Akiren and takes notice that something is up with him. And if Akiren says he’s feeling lightheaded, Ryuji will look concerned and say: You not feelin’ good? - In a very concerned tone, like...he’s just so worried cause his best friend is telling him he’s feeling lightheaded and not feeling well.-

But then Morgana, not really knowing why Akiren isn’t feeling well, will pipe up and just say it’s probably because neither of them eat well, and this will soothe Ryuji’s worries, because from what he knows of Akiren, it makes sense that he might not feel well at all after over eating when he doesn’t eat enough.

Ryuji is also super physically affectionate with Akiren, in the anime there’s a lot of instances where Ryuji will be touching Akiren. Either his shoulder with his hand, or he’ll drape his arm over his shoulders and pull him close to him, or he’ll press his shoulder against his. 

Especially the scene in the bathhouse.

But you’re probably thinking in the anime Akiren says: “Don’t touch me” 

However I think it’s so obvious that Akiren said it because he’s bashful. Ryuji literally pressed up against him with no warning, while they’re both in a tub together. 

How can that not be awkward and embarrassing for Akiren, who has been presented as someone who is very socially awkward? Like he’s seriously just a god damn shy nerd that really only shows off his more confident and sassy side when he’s acting as the Leader of The Phantom Thieves.

They’re in reality, so right then Akiren isn’t the bad ass, suave Leader of The Phantom Thieves, he’s just the shy and awkward nerdy Akiren of reality.

So yes, Akiren might have told Ryuji NOT to touch him, but given all the context and subtext, it’s obvious he’s just shying away from being touched out of the blue like that.

-Also Akiren was totally fine with Ryuji touching him before that, he didn’t mind all the physical contact. So for him to suddenly be “disgusted” by Ryuji touching him in the tub makes no damn sense. Akiren didn’t mind all the other times Ryuji’s been physically close to him. 

So yeh, Akiren didn’t tell Ryuji not to touch him because he was disgusted, he was just surprised. Anyone would be if their best friend just pressed up against them without warning while they were in a bath house together.-

Speaking of other physical contact they’ve had:

There’s that scene in the anime where Akiren and Ryuji’s hands linger for just a few seconds together in Sae’s Palace, right before Akiren takes the suitcase, and leaves either to pull of one of the greatest acts of deceit, or to his death. And even if Ryuji says: I’m sure you’re not gonna die

The fact that his hand lingers there against Akiren’s prove his unspoken worry for him.

And then when Akiren arrives back at Leblanc? Who is there by his side first? Ryuji. He pulls him into a one-armed side hug. So happy to see him back and safe.

{{Also I will never get over the fact that Ryuji calls Akiren by Renren in the anime quite often. Also this nickname he gave to Ren he gave it to Ren really early on in the anime. It’s like a god damn pet name that a person would give to the person of their affections. So to hear Ryuji cry out “Renren” with utter joy in the anime, and rush over to him upon coming back.... is just...GAH MY FUCKING HEART IT’S SO FULL OF RAINBOWS AND BUTTERFLIES IT’S TOO CUTE!}}

Ryuji always seems to need to be touching Akiren, like, he just needs to touch him at certain times. Like he just can’t help himself.

Oh and let’s not forget about the Hawaii trip and the gay implications in the game about Akiren that happen there.

What happens with the Hawaii trip? If Akiren -in game- doesn’t show any interests towards girls. Ryuji -in the game- will ask Akiren what kind of guys he likes. And this is no mistake, because he asks it twice. First he gets interrupted by Yuuki {{Mishima}} because he’s gotten himself sick by drinking tap water. And so he says it again. 

Oh and during the school Festival, Akiren has the chance to yell to everyone he loves Ryuji. And during that moment, you can hear the 3 note happy jingle that plays when Akiren makes a confidant happy. So it heavily implies that Ryuji was secretly happy to know that Akiren was gonna say something like that. But true to Ryuji form, he would die of sheer embarrassment if Akiren shouted that in front of everyone.

Then there’s the time they’re all in Destinyland, and they’re watching the fireworks.

Yusuke says the scenery is quite beautiful. 

Akiren turns to look at Ryuji - Right as Futaba playfully says this in response to Yusuke: “But it’s not as beautiful as you!” isn’t that what couples would say to one another?

Ryuji also then turns to look at Akiren after Futaba says that.

THEY’RE LEGIT LOOKING AT ONE ANOTHER! WHILE THIS TALK OF COUPLES AND BEING BEAUTIFUL IS GOING ON! 

LIKE?!?!? UH------??!!?

ATLUS EXCUSE ME?!?! AT THIS POINT YOU’RE NOT EVEN BEING SUBTLE ABOUT IT ANYMORE!

Anyways lets get to late game stuff. 

Like take for example- Ryuji calling up Akiren right before they take Shido down -in game- Ryuji seemed to want to tell Akiren something over the phone. But he stops himself and says never mind. 

He’s like: “Hey Akiren... once we change Shido’s heart...no, nevermind, forget it.”

And then the phone call ends...

It’s like...RYUJI! WHAT WERE YOU GONNA SAY RYUJI!? TELL US RYUJI!

I don’t care who you are THAT phone call sounded like the start of a confession that Ryuji didn’t end up following through with.

Seriously there’s just so much content for these two, that it’s hard to deny that they’ve a strong bond with one another. From Ryuji defending Akiren from Makoto, saying that Akiren is an upstanding guy, to Ryuji being SERIOUSLY protective over Akiren whenever someone wrongs him.

There’s so many instances where Ryuji will yell at people that have treated Akiren unfairly. 

Take Shido for example before the battle in game, Ryuji literally states: OUR LEADER’S GONE THROUGH SHIT, CAUSE OF YOU! IT’S ON!

Ryuji is ALSO very hostile towards Akechi, yes part in fact because he opposes The Phantom Thieves, but also because they discover the fact that Akechi was planning in killing Akiren. And Ryuji shows his utter distress at the fact Akiren might die because of that bastard.

OH AND BACK TO SHIDO’S PALACE

It was a god damn fucking SHAME that Akiren hardly reacted at all to the “supposed” death of Ryuji. 

Literally in both the game and the anime and it hurts me so much that they didn’t give him more of a reaction. 

Because you can CLEARLY tell they care so deeply for one another.

LIKE BITCH WHAT THE FUCK!? 

AKIREN’S BEST FRIEND JUST SUPPOSEDLY DIED! LIKE YOU CANNOT DENY THAT OUT OF ALL HIS FRIENDSHIPS, RYUJI WAS OBVIOUSLY HIS CLOSEST AND MOST INTIMATE ONE!

LIKE LET THE BOY SHOW HIS EMOTIONS OVER THAT. 

GOD DAMN THEM FOR MAKING AKIREN’S REACTION UNDERWHELMING!!!

Ahem anyways!

Onward to when after the Thieves all vanish from reality, and end up in The Velvet room prison. 

Once Akiren has found Ryuji he immediately dives into how it reminds him of their first meeting, when they were locked up at Kamoshida’s Palace. Ryuji then starts to doubt what they were doing, as if all the pressure that had been weighing on them and all the responsibility they had to take up - had come crashing down on him. Akiren is then able to talk it out with Ryuji, and help him regain his drive and rebellious spirit.

. -In the anime it also seems Akiren found Ryuji first out of anyone else, like he was destined to find him, although that might be stretching it and me looking too deep, but still it just seemed too intentional-

Ryuji calls Akiren so tough, for still being able to take a stand, while he’s just sitting there trapped and being consumed by so many emotions. Ryuji remarks upon thinking about it, he’s the one that really started all this Phantom Thief stuff, because of how pissed off he was.And maybe he was just doing all this out of defiance. Akiren’s first dialogue choice option is to tell him that how he felt was fine.

Ryuji then seems utterly shocked to hear Akiren say it’s fine. But he doesn’t question it, he just accepts it as the truth. He tells Akiren he is right. Then he gets back up and calls forth his rebellious spirit to stand alongside Akiren to fight a God that they don’t even know if they have any chance of winning against.

Like how is that not giving off serious vibes of there being something more between Akiren and Ryuji?

Then finally after all the shit with Yaldabaoth is finished up, and Christmas day rolls around, and Ryuji notices that Akiren isn’t around. And that everyone seems so downcast

He’s the first to ask where Akiren is, he sounds so dismayed about it to. And upon hearing that Akiren is now in juvi, he slams his fist down into the chair booth, and cries out “WHAT THE HELL” and then he and the others all come together to try and figure out a way to help Akiren out of juvi. 

Ryuji gets up and says: Yeah! Now’s not the time to be hangin’ our heads!”

Then afterwards he firmly states: We’re gonna save our leader, no matter what it takes!”

Once Akiren is back, Ryuji is just so frikken overjoyed about it. In the anime he once again even calls out to Akiren as: RENREN! - In that excitable tone of his, showing just how happy he is.

Now we get to Valentines day. In the game if Akiren didn’t date any girls, Ryuji comes over and spends the day with Akiren. He even gives him chocolate. If Akiren asks Ryuji if it’s a confession he’s like: HELL NO.

And also depending on the choices you pick with Akiren there’s a dialogue path where Ryuji states he’s done with girls - and even though he says this: “you think I’ll get a girlfriend before I graduate highschool” - probably added for comedic affect, and Ryuji just pouting about it. He’s just a lonely boy really.

However that’s the in game version, but in the anime OVA hooo boooyyyy. That’s soo different! In the anime Valentines ova special.

In the anime ova special: A Magical Valentine’s Day-- Ryuji comes in all pouty. He even shakes Akiren asking him “what does it mean” after saying Yusuke got chocolates and after stating Mishima ain’t there. 

Ryuji sits back for a moment, then asks Akiren if he got any chocolates. Once Akiren says he didn’t Ryuji takes Akiren’s hand in both of his and sounds so jubilant that Akiren didn’t get any chocolates.

He cries out joyfully: “THAT’S MY RENREN!”

You hear that he says: MY

He calls Ren HIS! 

HE LITERALLY IS CALLING REN HIS HERE.

Not only that he’s cradling Ren’s hand in his, all tender like, and he gives him the chocolate. 

Akiren then asks Ryuji if he’s his Valentine.

To which Ryuji replies: Yes, yes you are...

But upon realizing what he’s said, he gets undeniably flustered and adds: NOT!

At the end of it. But he fucking SAID it. He admitted that yes, Akiren was his Valentine. Even if he added the not on there. HE SAID YES. Not only that he said YES TWICE.

Then Ryuji suggests they close the shop and hang out.

Afterwards we get to see Akiren and Ryuji standing closely together in the attic, through the window, and Ryuji totally pulls Akiren closer to him. Heavily implying that they probably kissed. 

Cause if you watch the whole special, every date ends with Akiren getting a kiss from his date!

So why the hell would Akiren and Ryuji’s special not end with a KISS? Even if we cannot clearly see that kiss. 

I’m not saying that they kissed...

OH TO HELL WITH IT.

THEY KISSED! THEY TOTALLY KISSED.

Anyways, I’m just stating the fact that this pairing seems to sail itself in the main story of the game, and in the anime itself. There’s just so much between them that points to the fact that there’s much more going on with them than just being friends. 

Their relationship is made so it can be viewed in a romantic way. And I just happen to think that due to all this evidence, the subtle hints, the not so subtle hints, and the way Akiren and Ryuji seem to adore one another to the point they can tell each other anything, and everything, and be so trusting and physically affectionate - that Akiren/Ryuji is ENDGAME.

But hey that’s just a theory a GAME/ANIME THEORY! 

I’m sorry. I’ll shut up now.

But before I do, this is just a reminder that this is all my personal views, and I’m not asking people to enjoy this ship. If you don’t care for this ship, or for Ryuji as a character, or you don’t think that Ryuji or Akiren are either gay/bi - then that’s fine with me. You can dislike this ship or not agree.

Just don’t come storming into my inbox, or reblogging this with negativity, I beg you. I don’t want to see any negative stuff being sent my way for just expressing my love for this ship. If you want to talk about your dislike for this ship then do it somewhere else and DON’T involve me! 

With that being said, I believe that Ryuji is bi, and Akiren is probably gay. And no matter what Atlus says contrary wise, there’s just too much implications to be denied here. Through the entire game and anime itself it just seems to hold so much Akiren/Ryuji content. There’s just so much of it that I’ve probably missed many scenes just while writing this post.

This is why to me Akiren/Ryuji are boyfriends and why they will always be my number 1 favorite Persona 5 ship.

A Good friend of mine put the relationship of Akiren/Ryuji into simple and sweet words and I’d like to share it as my closing statement:

My Good Friend: 

Don’t get me wrong, I love their canon friendship so much. Their loyalty and willingness to die for each other and their friends fills me with joy. But bro...They are so intimate that it borderlines their friendship and becomes something so much more. Its beyond friendship, and beyond romantic love

HHhhhhh I LOVE THEM SHSJJS

And it really baffles me that there is people out there that somehow cannot see this. Or that they dont think this is the case

Their relationship (romantic or platonic) is so raw and powerful that you can see it miles away, like the ship or the characters or not. I can make a whole essay of why Akiren/Ryuji IN GENERAL is so beautiful and why they are so perfect for each other.

-END STATEMENT-

Thank you so much for reading, and I hope to those of you who do enjoy this ship are pleased with this post~

#Persona 5 #pegoryu #Akiryu #Akiren/Ryuji #Shipping #Persona 5 Ship #Ship Rank #In depth essay of the Pegoryu ship #Shipping support #I swear don't drag me into negativity #please just let me ship these two in peace #ignore this if you don't like this ship #leave me out of your ship hate

[ohblackdiamond]

little t&a (paul/gene, nc-17) (part 19 of 29)

part 1   part 2   part 3   part 4   part 5   part 6   part 7   part 8   part 9   part 10   part 11   part 12   part 13   part 14   part 15   part 16   part 17   part 18   part 19   part 20   part 21  part 22   part 23   part 24    part 25   part 26   part 27   part 28   part 29

Four weeks before KISS gets back on tour, Gene discovers that Paul’s been cursed by a groupie. For the sake of KISS’ finances, Paul’s comfort levels, and Gene’s libido, this crisis must be resolved. Sexswap fic.  In this chapter:  Paul has a nightmare and finally starts to confess to Gene. (Yes, there’s finally some smut again.) (Author’s note 6/24/2020: Smut has been revised! Thighsex imminent.)

           In his dreams Paul was always himself. Sometimes he was eight years old, in the school playground, hearing his classmates singsong "Stanley the one-eared monster" to the tune of Rudolph, and sometimes the classmates would turn into a whole stadium full of people, thousands, cackling and pointing, while he stood onstage and couldn't say a word. Sometimes he was his own age, walking off a plane, or at a photoshoot, stripped down and bare-faced and afraid as soon as the cameras started.

           That night he was seventeen again. He knew because the T.V. was on in the living room, Neil Armstrong on the screen in all his astronaut garb, sticking the flag up on the Moon's rocky soil. Julia was there, for once, sitting beside him on the couch.

           "Do you think it's real?" she said, and he looked at her, disgusted.

           (of course it's real)

           "Do you think it's real?" she repeated, and he thought she must not have heard him. He put his hand to his face, touching the start of his sideburns—something new he was trying, something he'd need to shave before school started back up, but for now, it was cool. He'd seen them on rockstars, but rarely in person, and never on someone he knew, until that guy he'd met a month back. Gene. But Gene was too fat in the face to pull the look off. They would look better on him, once they grew out.

           (it's got to be real. why would they waste all that time and money on something that wasn't real? why would they be so stupid?)

           "You tell me," Julia said, and her face and build shifted, dark hair bleaching out to light brown, pockmarks and freckles sketching across her face, Carol's face, Carol's voice now, Carol's hand reaching out to touch his shoulder. "Why don't you tell me, Stan?"

         (i don't—)

        Another shift. Carol's face melted down, skull pushing outward, hair going shaggy and wild. Her nose forced out and flattened all at once, muzzle emerging. A lion's face on a man's body, a man's voice coming through its throat.

           "Are you going to tell me?"

         (please)

          (please, take it off, i'm sorry—i'm so sorry—)

           "Is it real?"

          (please)

        (what're you saying, i don't understand)

           "Is love real, Stan?" Marbas' voice was oddly soft as he curled his hand around Paul's suddenly much more narrow shoulder. Tapped it, then Marbas' still-human fingers moved to trace the sides of his smooth, bare face. "Or—let's put it differently. What she felt for you, was that love?"

           (i)

            (i don't think you can love someone you don't know)

           But you've made your fortune pretending." Marbas' lips pulled back, revealing teeth as long as his thumbs. "And so has he."

          (he?)

           "The man in your bed." The demon pushed Paul's hair behind his left ear. "I've cursed greater men than you. Byron. Shelley. More. Watching you was hardly entertaining in comparison, until he came along."

         (don't hurt him)

          (please don't—)

           "Do you really love him, Stan?" Marbas didn't give him time to answer, tugging at a curl, longer now than it had been minutes before. Paul couldn't feel a centimeter of what was happening to him, could barely do more than watch and breathe as his body warped before him. "Why? Because he was kind to you?"

          (i don't know)

           "Because he had the qualities you lacked? Or because you didn't believe he'd want you?"

          (i don't know!)

           The demon wasn't letting the point go. Neil Armstrong still in the background, the sound of the T.V. tinny. His shoes off to the side on the dirty carpet. The plugged-in fan on the coffee table. Everything, everything the same in that little apartment but him.

           "You won't tell me. You won't tell him. What I wrought on you really makes no difference." Marbas touched the center of chest, full and heavy before the demon even moved his finger towards it, and Paul realized, just from what he could see of his body, that he was still seventeen after all. The weight he'd had back then was there, the stomach flab, the too-thick thighs. Every bit of him dumpy and unattractive, no definition, nothing worth wanting. "Even if you'd always had this form, you'd have kept your silence. You'd never have given yourself up."

          (i can't, i just can't—)

           "Then you want to remain as you are?" The demon's mouth twitched again; he seemed almost to smile, fingers toying with Paul's shirt.

          (of course not!)

          (you don't understand!)

           "Paul? Paul, wake up."

           He opened his eyes. Gene was there, leaning over him. Out of the corner of his eye he could see a book and a newspaper on the other side of the bed. Gene had stayed with him.

           "What time is it?"

           "Noon. Are you okay?"

           Paul nodded, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. Looking down, he realized he was still in last night's dress. The nightie's straps beneath it, amazingly, had stayed in place, though the sleeves of the dress had slid a bit. He swallowed, the memories of the night prior trickling in like a drizzle before a thunderstorm, replacing the fragments of his dream, and tugged the sleeves back up to his shoulder.

           "Did I say anything strange?"

           "You were getting kind of twitchy."

           A glance at the kicked-askew bedsheets told Paul that was an understatement.

           "I'm sorry."

           "No, I'm sorry. I should have stopped you."

           "From kicking in my sleep?"

           "From leaving last night."

           Paul looked over at him.

           "What could you have done? Chased down my car?"

           "I could've grabbed you when you were going out the door." Gene grabbed the book—it was one of his old self-help numbers from high school—and set it on the nightstand, possibly the only attempt at putting something away that Paul had ever seen out of him. "Or I could've done what you wanted. It's my fault."

           "It's not your fault at all. You got me out of there." Paul shifted until he was on his side. "If it hadn't been for you, I…"

           "Mary-Anne was taking care of you."

           "She… she was, wasn't she? She must've thought I was so stupid." He shook his head. "I don't know how you knew where to look for me."

           "I didn't. It was just a guess."

           "I shouldn't have gone off. I guess I wanted to… I don't know what I wanted." Paul paused. "I'm okay. I promise."

           "Are you sure nothing—"

           "Nothing happened." Paul tried to smile, weakly. "I wouldn't still be in this shape if something had."

           "If anybody touched you, then—"

           "It's fine. I'm fine."

           "Paul, you're not fine." Gene swallowed. "Somebody spiked your drink."

           Paul didn't answer for a long moment.

           "Nobody spiked my drink."

           "What?"

           "I said nobody spiked my drink. I took the 'ludes myself."

           He didn't want to look Gene in the face. He didn't want to see the disappointment and disgust there, now that he knew that Paul had drugged himself when he was already in danger. That he hadn't been innocent. That had to have done it for Gene. Wrecked any chance of leftover fondness or want.

           "Why?"

           "Because I couldn't stand the thought of fucking some random guy sober." Paul exhaled. "I didn't realize I couldn't stand the thought of fucking him trashed, either."

           "Paul—"

           "It's okay, all right?"

           He was surprised when Gene gathered him up in his arms. His breaths hitched, all of him just tightening, tightening up at first. Gene almost let go then, but then Paul grabbed him, burying his face against Gene's neck.

           He didn't deserve that kind of comfort out of Gene after what he'd done. Worrying Gene. Risking his own safety. He knew it, but that didn't make him any less greedy for it. He remembered, in blurred-out fragments, Gene's hold on him in CBGB last night, Gene's arm around him in the limo. Gene wiping his face off with the towel. He remembered leaning into all that warmth, too 'luded out to even quite understand it, only recognize that it was there for him, despite everything.

           Hopeless. So hopeless. But he kept holding on anyway, grateful, pathetically grateful, holding on longer than he should have, breathing in the scent of Gene's skin. Closer than he'd ever let himself get before. Closer, maybe, than he'd ever get again. Gene hadn't even gotten dressed yet, was still in his boxers, and his bare arms around him felt so good, so reassuring, it almost hurt. Paul shut his eyes and peeled himself away, not wanting to wait for Gene to let go first.

           "It's really… it's okay."

           And then he got up. He felt more clearheaded than he'd expected. Peter had told him 'ludes kept him from waking up with a hangover after a night of partying, but he'd never really believed him until now. Except for the acrid taste of vomit and morning breath still in his mouth, he felt… bizarrely enough, he almost felt refreshed, physically. He crossed over to the master bathroom, brushing his teeth and gargling with mouthwash before returning to the bedroom. He walked over to the closet door, where the other blouse and dress that he'd bought still hung from coathangers. "I… I'm gonna get dressed. Which one do you want?"

           "Paul, they're your clothes."

           Paul chewed on his lip and took the dress off its hanger, lining it up level against him. The hem fell two or three inches above his knee. He turned around, dress in hand, and started to head back to the bathroom, but Gene spoke again before he got there.

           "Don't wear things just because you think I'll like them."

           "I'm not."

           "Paul." Gene got up from the bed. "I gave it a lot of thought last night. I haven't helped you out like I needed to."

           "Gene, all you've done is help me out."

           "I've hurt your self-respect. I told you what to do. I made you dependent on me."

           "I was depending on you way before this. You just didn't realize it."

           "Not that way." Gene walked up to him. Paul draped the dress over one arm like a waiter's napkin. "I made you feel like you had to—to wear things, to do things, to keep my attention. I never should've—"

           "That's not true."

           "Yeah, it is. Last night, before you left…" Gene's gaze lowered to the floor before lifting back to meet Paul's. "I didn't know why you were acting like that. I'd thought you wanted me."

           There it was. There it was, closer than Paul had ever dared to put it himself. There was his chance. He could shut it all down right now, seal off any hope of Gene ever getting close enough to hurt again, do what last night had, somehow, failed to manage. Drive Gene away with an assurance that what he'd done, he'd done out of practicality. Tell Gene he'd used him all the way around, that every flirt, every kiss, had just been a means to an end. Lie to him the way he couldn't lie to himself.

           He had to struggle to keep looking Gene in the eye. The nerves that the Quaaludes and drinks had destroyed were all back again; he was keenly, so keenly aware of what he stood to lose. Gene's expression was guilty, almost penitent, and that hurt, too, but—maybe there was something past that. Maybe there was still some desire left in him. Maybe, even, if it wasn't the same as what Paul felt, it would still be okay. Paul wanted to believe that. He took a breath, and said three words.

           "You weren't wrong."

           "What?"

           "I did want you."

           "C'mon, Paul. You know my ego could use a little knocking down."

           "I did want you. I do want you."

           "Paul—"

           It felt like he was walking through water, every movement artificially slowed down. Two steps to close in on Gene. The reach of his hand to touch Gene's face, the morning stubble he hadn't yet shaved, tugging his chin down to kiss him. Just once, quickly, softly. Gene didn't stiffen up, didn't draw back, but he didn't answer immediately, either. As he broke the kiss, looking at Gene, trying to gauge his expression, Paul realized, offhand, that he'd had to raise up on the balls of his feet just to reach him. He hadn't even noticed.

           "You're not gonna want me after. I know that."

           "I don't know that I'd say that."

           "I would." Paul's mouth crooked upward, only a little wobbly. The words seemed to spill out of him like the water from a burst dam. "That's why I acted like that. That's why I left, because I knew."

           "Paul, listen—" Gene started, but Paul cut him off.

           "It's okay. I… I haven't treated you right. You've been real good to me and I—" Paul shook his head. "Let's try, all right? If you still want to—I wanna try."

           "I—"

           "I don't think I could go all the way yet. But I wanna be with you."

           "Don't push yourself. Especially not after last night."

           "I'm not pushing myself."

           "Paul, I'm serious."

           "I'm serious, too."

           Gene didn't answer for awhile. Paul felt frozen in front of him, biting back a thousand more words, swallowing every impulse to spill his guts even further. He wouldn't hold eight years of want over Gene's head like a ransom that needed to be paid. He wouldn't beg Gene again. He wouldn't yell at him, or throw a fit. And he wouldn't—he wouldn't give himself up, any more than he had already. He couldn't.

           Gene's hand touched his cheek. He seemed to be thinking. Gene always seemed to be thinking. Paul took a few quick breaths, until Gene bent his head and met Paul's lips with his own. Warm lips he'd already half-given up on touching again. Paul kissed back hard, suddenly desperate, arms looping around the back of Gene's neck. Beyond eager, beyond grateful, wanting to erase the memory of last night on the bed. Touching him the way he'd wanted to before. Kissing him the way he'd wanted to before, the way he'd done when they were dancing. Gene's tongue was in his mouth, one hand tangling against in his hair while the other tugged him tight against him.

           Paul was getting wet, like before, trying to grind against Gene like he still had a dick, like any movement of his hips right now, standing up, was granting him half the friction it was giving Gene. Gene was tugging him backwards before long, back towards the bed. Paul let him. His whole body felt hot and just on the verge, already unraveled over so little. Gene eased him into sitting on the bed and he scooted backwards, swinging his legs across the bed.

           Gene didn't go for the zipper of his dress this time. He seemed almost cautious, only kissing him on the mouth and neck, not yet even groping his chest. Paul reached behind him, sliding the zipper down, down, sliding the dress off. More purposely exposed than Gene had seen him until now, nothing remaining but the thin, purple nightie and panties. He was trying not to squirm as he felt Gene's gaze on him, but he couldn't seem to help himself, fingers curling around the nightie's hem. When he'd put it on late yesterday afternoon, he'd realized how short it was, the hem only barely skirting the upper part of his thighs, and how the silky material strained against his breasts. It had sort of warmed him, then, made him feel a little hopeful, a little desirable. Now, he wasn't so sure.

           "Do you like it?"

           "Yeah. It looks good on you."

           "I got it for you."

           Gene hesitated.

           "That's what I mean, you don't need to wear things to—"

           "I'm not—"

           "What… what I mean is, you had my attention already."

           Paul felt the heat rise in his cheeks. He didn't know how to answer that. Gene didn't seem to be waiting on an answer, anyway, one hand sliding up his thigh, beneath the nightie, tracing the soft skin there and the spreading wetness on his panties. His other hand went for one breast, squeezing it, sending another surge of need through Paul's body. He'd tried groping his own breasts a few times, before Gene came, never getting anywhere with it. It had been about as pleasurable as rubbing a hand against his knee. But now that Gene was touching them, tweaking one already-hard nipple and then the other, Paul found himself groaning, back arching. On some level it was almost humiliating, to be crying out over so little. Gene's other hand had only barely started rubbing him through the damp fabric.

           Gene tugged Paul up on his lap before long, Paul's legs splayed on either side of him, the nightie bunched up above his hips. Gene's erection was rubbing up against him, too tantalizingly close to be avoidable now, and Paul held his breath, half-expecting Gene's slow strokes to stop entirely, but they didn't. Paul grunted a bit, tugging the elastic of Gene's boxers down just enough to free his dick.

           "Lemme suck you off," he urged, starting to scoot back, although the twitch of Gene's fingers, finally sliding beneath his panties, made it almost impossible to want to get off of him for that long. "You haven't gotten a damn thing out of this yet."

           "I don't know about that." Gene was smiling, running his fingers against his slick folds, Paul pushing his hips forward to meet them. "Just give me a hand here. I've got a great view."

           "C'mon, you… you can't just want a handjob." It had to be disappointing enough just keeping it to fooling around in the first place with him. Paul hadn't even been brave enough to take off the nightgown. Paul grasped Gene's dick anyway, almost unprompted, his own strokes firmer and more assured than he'd expected. He watched Gene take a deep breath, his cock already twitching a bit in his hand. "I've blown guys before, I'm not a virgin there—"

           "Maybe later." Gene grinned, pressed a kiss to his throat. "You know, I never actually got to see you relax the other night." His finger ran lightly across the edge of his clit, too lightly.

           "You felt it," Paul protested, distracted. It was already getting hard to concentrate. He didn't want to halfass it, especially when part of him could still barely believe it was happening at all. Especially when he knew, from rare, scattered conversations early on when they'd toured, that Gene tried to avoid masturbating much—which had always struck Paul as weird. Gene's selective orthodoxy and hang-ups were so baffling. He shifted, rolling his hips harder against Gene's fingers and hand.

           "Let me see it."

           Oh. Oh. Paul was crying out again, cursing as he tried to focus, keep a rhythm going despite his own arousal. The precome already dripping from the tip was gratifying, Gene's breaths getting ragged, but he didn't know if it was enough. Gene kept watching him, watching his face. Every high-pitched sound that came out of Paul's throat was hotly embarrassing, not in the least because Gene was quieter in comparison, while Paul's moaning was only ever covered up when his lips met Gene's. But Gene was getting less cautious now, groping his breasts beneath the nightie instead of just through it, the skin-on-skin sensation almost overwhelming. His other hand, caught between Paul's thighs, was certain, slipping along his folds, finger running small strokes against the hood and clit.

          Gene was already closer than he was. Paul could tell that by the feel of his dick in his hand, and the expressions crossing his face, making him redouble his efforts. Paul’s vision swam, his own concentration faltering far before Gene came, groaning lowly, spurting mostly in his hand and on his dick, a bit of come ending up on Paul’s bare thigh. Paul let go, bracing his damp hand on the bed, leaning forward. Gene’s own hand had gone almost still between his legs. The blissed-out look on Gene’s face almost made up for it.

          “Hey, Paul, you haven’t—” Gene started, fingers moving again, not quite as intently as before. Paul grabbed his wrist, tugging it back.

          “Wait. Let’s try something else.”

          Gene looked a little confused but moved his hand away, starting to rest it on his leg. Paul shook his head.

          “Not there. I need that.”

          “You need that?” Gene furrowing his brows post-coital would’ve been funny, if Paul wasn’t battling his own arousal. The heat was starting to rise in his cheeks as he took Gene by the wrist again, setting it on the sheets. He wasn’t quite able to look Gene in the eye again yet, so he ran his fingers against the warm, soft fabric of his boxers, rolling up the hem of one leg slightly, mouth pursed.

          “You’ll see.”

          Paul closed his eyes briefly, breaths heavy, and scooted in closer, shifting until he was straddling one of Gene’s thighs. He made only a token effort at wiping his right hand off on the sheet before clasping both hands around the back of Gene’s neck, as he started to rub himself against Gene’s leg.

          Gene’s lips parted in surprise. Unbelievably, he actually looked like he didn’t know what to do at first, hands taking awhile to find their way back to Paul, one resting on his shoulder while the other slipped back under the nightie to rove over his stomach and back up to his breasts. Pairing that with Paul’s own grinding made it all the more intense, stimulation almost overwhelming. His damp panties were barely a barrier, exactly the extra friction he needed as he rocked his hips in short, quick bursts. Every so often, his leg would brush up against Gene’s dick—still soft for now, but still its own sharp thrill. Warm. As long as he was this close, this wet, he wasn’t nearly so worried about how letting him, about how actually fucking, would end it. It was just something else spurring on his arousal, a promise of something to come.

          “You’re killing me, Paul.”

          “Yeah?” Paul’s mouth twitched into a small smile as Gene tugged him into a kiss.His legs were clamping tight around Gene’s thigh nearly of their own accord, amping up the pressure, concentrating it. Paul was panting and groaning again before long. His clit was throbbing, the wetness that had already soaked through his underwear going past it, making Gene’s bare skin and the edge of his boxers slightly slick.  Easy to push and rub up against, find the exact right rhythm to leave him breathless.

          But it wasn’t quite enough until Gene pulled him forward just a bit, just until Paul found himself panting against his neck. Paul sped up a little, hips rocking, moans and curses all he seemed able to manage as the pleasure built up, closer, closer. He realized, dimly, that he was starting to finally get used to this body, figure out what he liked now, how to get off. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that, not that it mattered right now. Gene was still watching, his gaze, the unfettered, needy want there making Paul feel heady. Looking him right in the eye was better than before, better than it had been in the dark. He cried out again, sharply, as he finally came, clutching Gene hard as he rode out his orgasm. It was a few seconds before he let go, Gene’s grip on his shoulder not loosening up until Paul relaxed his legs again.

          “Gene,” he said. “That… that was good.”

          “Yeah? Good.” Gene grinned. “You look cute when you come.”

          Paul glanced down reflexively at the comment, shaking his head. The spunk on his hand and on the sheets was long since clotted up. He started to get up from Gene’s thigh, a little shakily, straightening his underwear and pushing down the nightie with his clean hand. He felt a little like apologizing—it couldn’t have been that good for Gene, who probably hadn’t had a chick stop at a handjob with him in ten years, and Paul knew he couldn’t have been that fun to watch get off, either, if only because of what it wasn’t—but Gene didn’t look unhappy with the way things had gone at all. He looked pleased, maybe almost sated, running his hand almost possessively down the wet spot Paul had left behind on his thigh and boxers, rubbing the fluid between his fingertips. Paul’s face felt hot as Gene brought his fingers to his lips.

          “You taste pretty good, too.”

           “Aw, c’mon, Gene--”

          “You do.”

          Paul shook his head, but his heart was beating a hard, hopeful cadence at the words. He didn't quite feel sated. There was a weird leftover warmth in him, a deep-down feeling that he could probably go again without much trouble, but he felt like he'd asked too much of Gene already. It'd probably be another ten minutes at least before Gene could get hard again.

           "Uh. Lemme get you a towel or something, then we can… I don't know, I can fix some toast…" Paul trailed, awkward as all hell, starting to scoot off the bed. He'd forgotten how to handle anyone in the after. Gene, especially. Gene looked at him as if he were about to laugh.

           "You'll really leave it at that?"

           "I'm not leaving it at anything." Paul tried to rearrange his face into as bland an expression as he could, too keenly aware of how tightly he was still pressing his thighs together. Gene laughed, tugging him back up by the arm, back nearly into place on his lap. He wasn't facing him head-on this time, at first, but he turned his head, a vague sort of hope making his pulse flit. "C'mon, Gene, I know you can't—"

           "You have a hard time enjoying anything, don't you?"

           Oh, God. Just like last time, Gene was picking the worst point possible to start asking questions. Paul hesitated.

           "I enjoy plenty."

           "You're still soaking." Gene had gone for the hem of the nightie, tugging it up and pressing a finger against his panties, making Paul twitch anew. "I bet you could go again. Maybe more than once."

           "I don't know— "

           "You wanna try?" Gene leaned in, kissing the top of his head. Just as easy and thoughtless as if they really were together. As if this wasn't going to evaporate the second Paul gathered up enough nerve to give in entirely.  Why shouldn't he be thoughtless about it? I want you was all Paul had managed to own up to.

           Paul shoved those thoughts aside as hard as he could, and turned around entirely, tracing his hand down Gene's chest. Gene, to his credit, barely winced at the cold, not nearly inadvertent smear of come from Paul's hand.

           "Depends. Would you go down on me for it?"

           The glint in Gene's eye gave him away long before he even licked his lips.

#kiss the band #kiss fanfiction #gene simmons #paul stanley #gene simmons x paul stanley

[theotherballingirl]

Here is my stab at a Falsettos fic. It’s Whizzer-in-hospital, so not exactly happy, but it’s not too terrible either (I think). I hope you enjoy. 

Éclair

 During the third-to-last day of his life, Whizzer starts speaking solely in French. Well more mumbling than speaking, really, but clear enough and consistently enough that Marvin knows he’s trying to tell him something. But what?  Marvin, of course, does not speak any French. Whizzer tried to teach him once, but that had gone bust. He had stopped the lessons pretty quickly, citing “the gratuitous use of silent letters.”

 Whizzer’s eyes are shut, his voice raspy. “Étienne, apporte-moi quelque chose de sucré de cette boulangerie de la rue Cuvier.”

 Marvin bites down on his lip so hard he thinks he tastes blood. “In English, babe. Please. I don’t understand.”

 “Quelque chose de sucré de la boulangerie--Maintenant, Étienne!”

 Marvin starts to cry, which isn’t as shocking a thing as it used to be, except now it’s tears of frustration mixed in with the usual sadness and rage. What is he supposed to do in a situation like this? Call a nurse? Consult a dictionary? He doesn’t exactly have one handy, and it’s not like he can swing out to the library and get one. And he had promised him. I’m not leaving this room, not for one moment, not even to take a leak or get Nureyev’s autograph. And it could be any minute now.

 Then, he remembers: the pager in his pocket, a recent gift, of sorts, from Charlotte. “Page me when it’s time.” It wasn’t time. Not yet. But in the shadow of Whizzer’s tower of babble, Marvin feels that such measures were warranted. He presses the button.

 Seven minutes later, a panting Dr. Charlotte slams into the doorway at full speed. “Is it-Is he-“

 Marvin silences her with a wave. “No, no, no. I paged you because I wanted… to ask if you know French.”

 “Excuse me?” Charlotte asks. She wonders if Marvin’s has, at long last, lost his fdamn mind.

 “Yes, I know it sounds bizarre, but this is the first fucking thing he’s said in over 48 hours and I need to know what it means. Just tell me.”

 Whizzer rouses, pushes his cheek into the pillow. “Allez, avant de fermer. Aller!”

 Charlotte’s face falls. “Marvin, I, I don’t speak French.”

 This throws Marvin for a loop. “I…thought you knew everything,” he says, with barely a hint of sarcasm.

 Charlotte gives a small, terse laugh. “We both know that’s not quite true. Look, we have a few translators on staff, but I’m pretty sure they mostly do Spanish and Chinese and maybe, maybe Italian. Just, Wait one second.” She runs out of the room.

 An hour seems to pass before she finally returns. “Sorry. It turns out one of the them, Candace, knows French.”

 Marvin smiles in spite of himself, a weird sort of grimace. Finally, he thinks, some good news.

 “…but she’s on vacation now.”

 Oh. Stupid Marvin. He grasps the handles on the bed so hard he feels it cracking under the pressure of his palms. “Are you telling me no one in this goddamn hospital speaks any French? NO ONE!?”

 Charlotte stands there very still. At first Marvin thinks she’s upset, but then he remembers who he’s dealing with. Charlotte. The girl who liked to study standing up when they were in college: rod-straight, still as an old photograph, her pose one of total concentration.

 “I might know someone who can help. I’ll be right back, I swear.”

 She returns, quicker this time, with a slim black man in a lab coat. The man looks tired, somewhat perplexed, but not annoyed. He has droopy shoulders and big eyes like Marvin’s old Kewpie dolls.

 “Marvin,” Charlotte says, “This is Dr. Pierre, a clinical pathologist. He works downstairs. Dr. Pierre, this is my friend Marvin and his-this is my other friend, Whizzer.”

  Unlike most of the other doctors who give their surgically-masked spiels from the safety of the doorway, Dr. Pierre walks straight to the side of the bed before reaching over to shake Marvin’s hand. “It’s lovely to meet,” he says. Then he puts his hand on Whizzer’s shoulder. “And you, also.” Marvin likes him immediately.

 “You should know I speak Haitian Creole, not so much French-”

 “That’s fine.” Marvin cuts in. “Just try your best.”

 Dr. Pierre clears his throat, “So what is the problem?” he asks.

  “Buddy. Buddy. Tell the doctor what you want,” Marvin says, rubbing Whizzer’s face.

 Whizzer inhales, then exhales. “Étienne. Apporte-moi. Quelque chose de sucré. De la  boulangerie.”

 Pierre pauses before speaking. “He says, Étienne, bring me something sweet from the bakery.”

 “Etienne, What is that?” Marvin asks.

 “It’s a name,” Dr. Pierre replies. “A man’s name.”

 A man?

 “Whizzer, Whizzer, who is Etienne? Who is—shit.” A wave of recognition, then embarrassment, then anger, and then shame at said anger overwhelms Marvin. He looks up at Charlotte. “He’s asking for the guy he had when he lived in Paris. That magazine editor with the strong jaw and the fancy apartment” Then he turns to Dr. Pierre. ‘Tell him this is Marvin with him, NOT ”yeti-anne” or whatever.”

 “Whizzer,” Dr. Pierre says, “C'est Marvin. Pas Etienne.”

 For the first time in nearly 24 hours, Whizzer opens his eyes. Marvin forgets to breathe. Scanning the room, Whizzer’s eyes fall on his hoody-clad lover.

 “Je le sais, connard,” he whispers.

 “What did…” Marvin sputters.

 Dr. Pierre has a pained look on his face. “I cannot-“

  “Just say it!”

 Dr. Pierre looks down at the linoleum. “He said ‘I know that, shithead.’”

 Marvin freezes, hunched over on the mattress, mouth agape. Then he starts laughing—a deep, throaty lap from deep in his bowels, or maybe directly from the underworld, he doesn’t know. Charlotte covers her mouth, trying in vain to stay professional, while Dr. Pierre stares shyly out the window, trying his very best not to crack. Finally, Marvin speaks up.

 “So which sweet thing do you want, sweetie?”

 Whizzer blinks. “Um.”

 “Um what?”

 Charlotte pats Marvin on the back. “Give him some time.”

 “Éclair!” Whizzer bursts out. “Chocolat, s'il vous plait.”

 Marvin collapses into his chair. “Now that I understood.” He picks up the phone and dials Cordelia.  “It’s Marvin. No no, he’s uh—hey, I need you to pick up some éclairs—chocolate éclairs—and bring them to the hospital, stat. Got it? Thanks.”

 --------------------------------------------------------

 One hour later, Cordelia storms in in her windbreaker clutching a large shopping bag. “I ran as soon as you called, they get so busy on the weekends. But they just happened to--“she pulls out the pastry box— “have made this batch fresh. Just our luck!”

 “Yeah,” Marvin says quietly. “just our luck.” He starts pulling the pastry apart, cutting it into smaller and smaller pieces.

 Awkwardly, Cordelia stares into the hall at a passing nurse. “Uh, Marv, are we allowed to feed him this?”

 Marvin cocks his head like he’s about to lecture a child, or an insolent child. “Why wouldn’t we be?” he barks, before stopping himself His eyes start to brim over. “Do you really think anything could possibly make any difference now? Do you?”

 Cordelia nods quickly, trying not to cry. Being the go-to beacon of sunshine is not all its cracked up to be.

 “No. You’re right. I’m sorry.”

 She turns to Whizzer, who has now trained his empty gaze on the inert TV. “Bon Appetite, monsieur!” He doesn’t respond, or look at anyone., but after it’s over Marvin will tell her he swears he saw him smile.

 Marvin goes to work feeding him, poking bits of pastry into Whizzer’s mouth. Soon Marvin’s hands are covered in cream and chocolate frosting. He doesn’t even try to wipe it off. “I must say, you are a much more efficient eater than Jason was!” Cordelia laughs, a real laugh, a laugh Marvin knows he can rely on.

 Charlotte comes to check in, and Cordelia makes her take an éclair over protestations of blood sugar and saturated fats. She leans against the wall, goes to touch Whizzer’s neck, goes back to the wall. Marvin asks about Dr. Pierre. “He immigrated from Haiti,” she says. “His family has ties to some of the most decorated leaders of the Haitian Revolution. They used to be well off, but the Duvaliers took almost everything from them. He’s worked like hell just to get the right to work here, and now he’s trying to bring his sister over too.”

 “Good guy,” Marvin says.

 “Yes,” Charlotte says. “It’s nice to know those people still exist, isn’t it?”

 -------------------------------------------------------------

 Two weeks later, Dr. Jules Pierre is sitting at his desk, a microscope by one hand and a notebook in the other, when a deliveryman enters his space.

“Excuse me, but who let you come in here?”

 “Dr. Miller did.”

 “Oh.” Jules’s face softens. “Charlotte. Bring it over.”

 It’s a small box, light and delicate, whiter than his coat and wrapped up in a pink and gold ribbon. Attached is a note. He reads:

 Thank you for helping us in a time of great need. Or, as Whizzer would say: Merci beaucoup. Charlotte tells me you have been having some issues with immigration and raising money to bring over your family. While I’m no lawyer, I have recently come in to a bit of money and I would like to see it spent wisely. I know that’s what he would want. Please let Charlotte know if you’re interested.

-Marvin F.

 Jules opens the box to find six immaculate chocolate éclairs. He takes a bite, the éclair crumbling in his shaking hands. It’s the best thing he’s ever eaten.

     THE END 

#falsettos #marvin #whizzer brown #dr. charlotte #cordelia #falsettos revival #fanfic

[betsynagler]

1.8 Insults a Day

On inauguration day in 2017, which was also, sadly, my birthday, Damon and I were feeling shitty about the world, and so one way we decided to resist was by creating a Twitter bot called About a Bully, with the handle @insultingdonald. For those of you who don’t know what a Twitter bot is, it’s a Twitter account that you digitally alter to run automatically. Most bots tweet on a regular schedule or in response to certain stimuli, like people tweeting at it who want to see what it will come up with when it answers them. You can make it generate its own material if you know enough about AI (although if you think you know about AI and you don’t you can end up creating something like this, so it’s best not to fuck around), or you can create a bunch of material that it can mix up according to formulae you give it and send out at random. The material we chose for About a Bully was Trump’s insults, but rewritten so that they are directed at him. So if you follow @insultingdonald, about three times a day you will see it tweet out things like “Trump is a liar!”, or “Sleazebag President Donald Trump,” or “Never in the history of our Country has the ‘president’ been more dishonest than he is today.” If you're familiar with our current president, you will recognize a lot of these tweets for who they are typically directed at. For instance, from time to time you'll see something like “Donald Trump, who I call Pocahontas,” which refers to Elizabeth Warren, or something about “FAKE TRUMP,” which fills in for his many tweets railing at the media, and of course lots of “Crooked Donald”s — which you'd have to be living under a rock to not know was in its original form “Crooked Hilary,” something that also comes up at lot because he’s still regularly tweeting about her this way, two and half years after the 2016 election, especially when he’s feeling defensive about the Mueller probe, which is basically always.

Which brings me to something that I didn't anticipate when we created this bot. Because Damon is the coder in our duo, I do most of the analog end of our work. To maintain About a Bully, this means that I am the one who has to go in every few months and collect and adapt Trump’s insults, which means I have to comb through months of his tweets at a stretch. Given how industrious he is in this one area (as opposed to pretty much anything else, other than maybe watching Fox), that generally means I spend several hours immersing myself in…well, just garbage. A stream of pure, steaming, foul-smelling offal. At least that’s how it feels. 

This is not what most people experience when they follow the president on Twitter. For them, he’s just one person in their feed, that flow of tweets from all of the people they follow, that appears basically in real time. If you're following maybe 200 people, one of whom is Trump, you'll see his tweets mixed up with everyone else’s, popping up a few times a day — which is why lots of people I’ve always assumed are sane, like some of my friends as well as Jordan Peele, Chris Pratt, Chris Rock, Seth Meyers, and John Cusack, who don’t have to follow him for work like journalists or politicians presumably do, can tolerate following him (although the comedians do also need to generate material, so there’s that). 

But if you go to Trump’s Twitter page and read three to six months of tweets at a stretch, the picture is very different. First of all, you see just how much he repeats himself, over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and just keep going with the overs. He hammers away at the same claims, complaints and attacks, day after day — sometimes the exact same, when he retweets himself, as he frequently does, or when he uses his regular slogans, like some version of “THE FAKE NEWS MEDIA IS THE ENEMY OF THE PEOPLE.” He also repeatedly uses the same words or phrases, such as

exciting 

beautiful

tremendous  

great

smart

sacred (this one’s especially bizarre, given all that we know about him)

special 

NO COLLUSION

PRESIDENTIAL HARASSMENT (ironic)

not smart / low IQ (also ironic, for someone who threatened his high school and college not to divulge his transcripts or SAT scores) 

crazy (okay, let’s just say they are all ironic)

disgrace / disgraceful

conflicted (used to describe someone or something that has a conflict of interest, not someone who feels conflicted. Yeah, took me a while to figure that one out, since my reaction was always, “I don't really think Bob Mueller is conflicted at all about the Russia investigation.”)

dopey 

fake or FAKE 

failed, or failing 

illegal

dishonest

lying or lyin’ 

Crooked, as I already mentioned, always capitalized because it’s always used as part of, or a substitute for, Hilary Clinton’s name. 

Whether this repetitiveness is a strategy or something of which he's unaware, or a combination of the two, is hard to say since we can’t actually go inside his mind (although reading his tweets gets pretty close, which, again, is why I feel covered in filth after doing it for a few hours). Regardless, it is mind-numbing, and thus hard not to read as both the work of someone absent-minded and slightly deranged, and propaganda. Especially because, second, his tweets are just full of flat-out lies, which he also repeats. This is a technique we’ve seen perfected at Fox News and then passed on to the entire Republican Party as “staying on message,” but it’s especially necessary if you’re trying to generate a "fact” out of thin air. Here are just the ones that he said so far today:

“The Wall is being built and is well under construction.” People on both sides of the aisle (most blatantly his friend and foe Ann Coulter) have pointed out repeatedly how untrue this is. 

“We are apprehending record numbers of illegal immigrants - but we need the Wall to help our great Border Patrol Agents!” Impossible, since only 521K were apprehended in 2018, and the trend is downward overall, from a high of 1.5 million in 2000. He actually claimed himself that the numbers were down throughout 2017 and 2018, as proof that his border policies were working, and has only now 180-ed on that to prove we have a “state of emergency.”

“Both the Judge and the lawyer in the Paul Manafort case stated loudly and for the world to hear that there was NO COLLUSION with Russia.” What the judge actually said was that Manafort was “not before this court for anything having to do with collusion with the Russian government to influence this election,” which is not at all the same thing, and the lawyer who said there was no collusion was Manafort’s lawyer, who also claimed he wasn’t guilty of bank fraud or cheating on his taxes, two things of which he was just convicted.

And this is not an unusual amount, since, according to the Washington Post the president averaged 15 false claims a day in 2018. 

Third, his tweets are full of incorrect grammar and spelling. Typos like “hamberders” and “Covfefe” have become the most famous instances, but nearly every tweet has something wrong with it. There's erroneous capitalization (most of which he claims is for added emphasis, but in the case of, for example, “Where are the new Texts between Agent Lisa Page and her Agent lover, Peter S?”, what is there to emphasize about Texts?). There is the weird/incorrect use of punctuation, like dashes and scare quotes where they don't belong and missing apostrophes where they do (here's one that contains all three!: “Without strong Borders, we don’t have a Country - and the voters are on board with us. Be strong and smart, don’t fall into the Democrats “trap” of Open Borders and Crime!”). And there are the most basic mistakes like spelling “lose” as “loose,” “heal” as “heel” (very Freudian), “there” as “their” and vice versa, “too” or “two” as “to,” etc etc. Of course with any of these, you can say that lots of people make these kinds of mistakes, but you must always remember, they aren't the president of the United States.

Which is what's so remarkable and disturbing about diving into this stream of spew: it’s yet another appalling example of something we've just accepted Trump does that you cannot imagine any other president would have been caught dead doing, of something that is not normal that we've just gotten used to. Even W, who we all thought was not the sharpest tool in the shed, knew enough to delegate things he wasn't good at (and if the world as we know it is fucked because he delegated too many of them to Dick Cheney, that’s not because Cheney was not competent at achieving what he wanted, but because he was). Trump’s Twitter feed shows him not only to be just as stupid and arrogant as you think — because he figures that all of this thoughtless, repetitive crap that comes into his head and then out of his tiny fingers is exciting, beautiful, tremendous!, just as it is, and thus doesn't need to be vetted or edited, even when it potentially obstructs justice or reveals information damaging to national security — but even more self-promoting, defensive, childish, crude, and vindictive, and obsessively so. It's the feed of someone who so believes that the only truth is what he wants it to be, and that he can make the whole world that way if he just continues to hammer it into submission, repeatedly, day after day after day. And on a lot of those days, it seems that America keeps proving him right. Republican lawmakers are certainly trying.

Perhaps the saddest thing that we’ve figured out since 2015, when the New York Times started collecting his insults (and we give them full credit for tracking this phenomenon before we did), is that Trump has averaged 1.8 per day. And that means, since he actually can go for days without an insult if things are going well for him or if he just feels like retweeting other people (and we only include the insults that originate with him), that the concentration of insults you’ll encounter on a given day can often be an impressive four or five. Now, I’m sure we all know people who average more insults than this — the worst bully you ever encountered in junior high, the most horrible boss you ever had, the crazy neighbor down the hall who made your life hell, Howard Stern, Rush Limbaugh — but again, none of these people are the President of the United States, to whom we somehow chose to give more power than anyone else in the nation, and in doing so, perhaps the world.

One other thing I noticed this time around, though, was that there are now a lot of people trolling Trump. More people who are anti-Trump than pro respond to his tweets these days, and there are people who do it relentlessly. Sometimes they have cogent arguments with evidence to support them, but a lot of the posts just include memes and name-calling. Then the MAGA people troll the trolls, and then other people troll them, and on and on, until all the yelling and insults surrounding his feed become a reflection of it. It’s sort like what our bot does, only we created our thing to purposely hold up a funhouse mirror to Trump’s tweets and point out their ugly absurdity, whereas this flow of comment bile just shows how he's actually reshaped so much of the way people “talk” about politics now into a warped reflection of himself. And yes, you can and must also blame the internet for that, and Newt Gingrich, and Steve Bannon, and Roger Ailes, but Trump is their golem, the ultimate manifestation of what we let them do, brought to life in such horrible fashion that many days it still doesn’t seem real to me. And then I go read his fucking tweets.

I used to think that if your average Republican — not his die-hard supporters, because I've given up on them — read his feed the way that I do, with all the repetition and lies and mistakes, and repetition of the lies and mistakes, over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and hopefully you get it now, they'd recognize how appalling it is that Trump is our president, and realize they can't vote for him in 2020. But now I think maybe they'd just see it all as normal, as the way we talk about issues, the way we talk about each other: us vs. them, good vs. bad, my truth vs. your truth because I make mine real, everything justified in this zero-sum conflict which is best expressed not in conversation, but in insults. And where do you go from there? 

[diary4]

11/6/18

I want to pick up on yesterdays ‘to be continued’ and finish filling you in on the ‘major breakthrough’, but first, quick catch up. I couldn’t finish telling you about it yesterday because I’d been cooped up (locked in the bathroom, sat on the floor, leaning against the shower door, crying etc) for a long time and thought I ought to go downstairs and be with Dad. When I came down Amrit and Manjeet were there, sitting outside with Dad and Uncle Johnny and Tony and Angie on the patio. They had olives and salami and tapasy things out and people were chuckling and talking about Brexit (Manjeet’s in the cabinet office now – friends in high. Really should enquire about experience). It was strange because it felt like everything was back to normal and I kept catching myself looking around the table and wondering where Mum was or which seat Mum would sit in. Strange. Anyway Anne-Marie and Harriet and Chrissy came round (intrigue – really must find out how the marriage broke up) and then Max arrived, and it all started to feel nice. The tone was not happy necessarily but somehow celebratory – maybe it was something to do with everyone keep banging on about how Mum had lived her life exactly how she wanted to and really had had the best life she ever could have, which gets truer the more I think about it. She never went without, she never knew great pain, she never had to come to terms with significant loss (Larry keeps saying how, because Grandma and Grandad were so estranged from their families, they’ve never been through death and funerals before). She travelled widely, she lived well, anything she wanted she got and she never had to kill herself working for it, but rather kept busy with a job that she loved. People mention such facts with the tossed around label ‘small mercies’, but really they’re very big. At the end of the day, everyone has a limited time on the planet, and the only consolation we get for it isn’t a decade or two tacked on at the end, but the quality of the time you’ve had. For how much better it makes me feel, I reckon that’s a pretty big mercy.

Another small mercy that’s actually pretty fucking girthy – Chrissy parroted month younger me when he said about how the whole thing feels unjust and unfair and why me. Dad answered for me, saying that you get over that, because really it’s a nonsensical way of looking at things. There are babies, children who haven’t even learnt to walk yet who get diagnosed with the very same thing. Against eighteen months Mum’s fifty five years look pretty bloody kushty. And it’s not just that. There are people who lose their whole village in wars or get born into abusive families. What about that bitch that got chained up in the basement and raped by her Dad for twenty years? Where’s the justice in that? Fact is we live in an unfair world and you’ll go mad trying to right all the wrongs in it so all you can do is try and stick a big fuck you up to the whole lot of it by being very very happy.

I know it sounds like I’m really really okay with everything and even happy about some things, and I suppose that in a sense I am because in a way, there’s a great sense of relief, that now the suffering is over and were on the upwards slope. We’ve got past the halfway nadir and now its back on the up – bizarrely, things are looking up. That’s not to say I’m not devastated and I don’t miss Mum every minute of the day and that whenever the doorbell rings I don’t have a moment of wild hope that she’ll come shuffling through the door. But what it is is that I’ve gotten used to being devastated, and I can’t really remember what it feels like not having a hole in your heart. Maybe that’s just growing up – learning to live with pain is symptomatic of living itself. Life is a disease an incurable disease of which pain is a primary symptom (others include happiness, joy – expand the metaphor).

Anyway. Yesterday panned out pretty much as expected. Had a mish mash buffet for dinner. Made pesto to have pesto pasta then didn’t fancy it so jarred it and fridged it (even better the morning after – will have tonight). Did some shooting with Max and Harriet. Watched Love Island then, when everyone except me and Dad and Ellie had trickled away watched the end of Pulp Fiction. Front room felt empty without Mum. Anyway, was suddenly knackered and kept falling asleep – what is it about that final scene of Pulp that I can never seem to make it through without falling sleep? Still don’t know really understand what happens with Tim Roth.

Went to bed. Dad came woke me up in the morning coming in for a hug. One thing I will say – I was very worried things would be difficult and awkward between us and Dad, but I’ve been happily surprised. Yes, it’s a little awkward because we’re all having to adjust and he’s heartbroken and we’re all very sad – but I think we’ll be okay. We’ve been speaking very freely, and I keep going over and hugging him or holding his hand – not just to make a point, I’m glad to say, but because when I see him looking heartbroken across the table my whole being yearns to cuddle up. He’s the only parent I’ve got left.

I started writing this entry this morning when Janet and Chris, and then a little later Sarah, we’re around and Dad was out arranging the funeral. Made awkward chat with Chris and Janet, then, to my pleasant surprise, had a very enjoyable and ‘free-flowing’ chat with Sarah when she came over (look here, her daughter is closer to my age than she is yet she clearly views me as her equal as opposed to Paris’s – symptomatic of our biological relationship ‘cousins’?). Chatted about driving instructors and stuff, then Dad came back with Uncle Tony and John and Johnny and we all sat outside and sorted through lists of people to come and stuff. Its odd but I take a strange joy in funerals. I thoroughly enjoyed Nanny and Grandad’s (apart from that horrid bit with Dad crying), was thrilled by Aunt Lizzie’s and rather excited for Auntie Mary’s. I thought it would be different this time and that I would absolutely fucking hate it – my position for much of the past few months has actually been that I would ask to be excused from the whole thing. And while there’s still a lot of apprehension, it was nice planning it today – made me feel like we had a purpose, maybe like there was a reason for the whole thing. My mood towards the funeral in general has shifted since yesterday, and I’m now viewing it exclusively as a celebration of Mum rather than a lament. After all, why must death be a sorrowful occasion? Why must we mourn loss? Isn’t life’s ephemeral nature what makes it so beautiful after all? I don’t know. Maybe I can only say all these things coming from a perspective of having already been in mourning for a month – or, more terrifyingly, from still being in shock and unable to process the death. Maybe I just like feeling like part of a big family, and feeling like everyone is around to look after us – maybe I just like seeing how much better Uncle Johnny is doing these days (really, really – glowing, I have to say. An act put on for our benefit?). Or perhaps (more cynical) I just can’t wait to be the attention, to see all my friends, to get pissed and finally be the punter rather than the waiter, to sit outside and bask in an open bar. Who knows. Even if it does seem a bit irreverent, I think Mum would rather I enjoyed it than dreaded it.

Anyway that turned into a fucking long recap but it does cover the whole of today/ yesterday afternoon so.

But back to the breakthrough:

I think it may be partially responsible for the good relationship with Smarl we’ve enjoyed over the past 24 hrs. Truth is that the next thing I found in Mum’s manila memories envelope told me more about him that anyone else. They were three letters to Mum from Dad, which he scrawled on hotel stationary in the early 90s. So the first thing that struck me about them was that Mum and Dad’s relationship as presented in these private, pre-parenthood letters was exactly the same as the relationship I’ve known them to have my whole life. The jokes were the same (Toady, ‘A Toad Abroad’) – the bloody syntax and lexicon were the same. I don’t know, I feel like all children suspect their parents are putting on a show for them, and that really there’s something strange that they never see. Of course, the suspicion tends that this hidden je ne sais quas is of a *sexual* nature, and I was steeled for mention of this as I tiptoed through the letters. And, of course, it did rear its head when halfway through one letter, which takes the form of a lodged complaint about Mum not spending time with Dad even though he took the morning off work to be with her, he mentions a lack of ‘The Naughties’. I paused there. So that’s what they called it. I suppose every couple has a codeword – Charlie and I have ‘sexy time’, don’t we. Not going to lie, it felt pretty perverted prying on my parents sex life like that. Anyway, I was grateful to Dad for encoding the thing because it made me feel comfortable enough to read on. Cue the phrase that’s still kind of doing my head in because it’s so achingly beautiful and beyond anything I thought my parents were capable off, especially my mid twenties father. Don’t get me wrong, there’s a hell of a lot of affection in the letters – Dad is clearly smitten, he talks about keeping a photo of Mum with him on his travels and about always wanting to be with her and talk to her and missing her constantly and I mean ffs no boy has ever written me a bloody letter despite my constant requests so he obviously had it bad. But the tone of the relationship was banterous, friendly – again, don’t get me wrong, in a good way. In places Dad is just downright hilarious – one of the letters is addressed as being from ‘Paul Murphy, International Businessman, The World’. They sound like relationship goals tbf – jokes guy, beautiful woman he’s head over heals with, comfortable friendly rapport (at one point he calls for more naughties with the parenthesised ‘Better effort next time Boyce!’). But while there’s clearly an incredible amount of love and affection, there isn’t a lot of room besides all this for morbid sexual passion. They aren’t thrusting hips and craving lips etc (thank god). Except for this one place, this one line, which stands out like, idk, like a graveyard in a flowerbed, like a bullet in a plate of pee, like a human heart in pile of heart shaped pillows. Dad writes how much he’s been missing Mum, and how it’s tough for him to have not seen her for five weeks because ‘every time I see you I want to jump on your bones’. ‘Jump on your bones’. God, I fucking wish I’d come up with that. I had to reread it twice over to make sure I had it right but there’s no mistake, that’s what it says, the handwriting is clear. What is that, a quote. What does that even mean? Jump on your bones… God, what an expression of absolute longing for another person.

The sexual references did get more explicit. On the page after the bones Dad writes ‘have a nice time on holiday, bring me back some porn films’ which I actually laughed at but which was also something of a ‘caution: danger ahead sign’, because at the bottom of the page was a drawing of a dick with an arrow and caption of something like ‘he needs attention’- but I slammed the thing shut before I could read more. No one needs to know their parents that well.

So yeah. That was revealing. I think the main thing I got from it was, like I said, an insight into Dad rather than Mum, and an insight into just how much she meant to him. This was more than just the love of his life – it was one of the greatest loves of any life. He’s a generous and caring person with an excellent capacity for loving other people, but what she brought out in him was special even for that. That relationship, those early days of dreaming and just wanting to be together all the time. He must be fucking dying. I wish there was more I could do. My first thought was to return those letters to the drawer so that he could find them and have them, but now I’m not sure. I’m afraid they’ll make him really sad. Don’t know if it’s my decision to make. Need to talk to someone. Don’t fancy talking to Charlie about it – if I’m honest, the whole situation has made me rather cool towards him. There I was thinking we had something akin to Mum and Dad. I don’t think it’s even half of that. And honestly, I don’t think it’s me, I think it’s him. Maybe I’m just being harsh, maybe he’s just not as good as Dad at expressing his emotions. Even so. I think it’s my right to be picky, having something like that to hold boys up against – the bar is very high. Touche Paulie – the bar is very very high.

This morning before anyone arrived Dad, Ellie and I sat out on the patio and had our respective breakfasts in the sun. Felt strange again. Empty chair staring at me across the table. What it felt like exactly was the end scene of a film, which has been cut to suddenly after some great dramatic fight. And what you see in the scene is three characters that you knew were safe talking around a table, but really you’re just sitting on the edge of your seat waiting to see if the person who was badly injured in the fight made it out alive. And all the characters except this one person are just sitting around, and you can see them all but you don’t care you’re just waiting and waiting, and they drag it out right up until the final frame of the film when at last you get to let out that sigh of relief and leave the cinema on a high – they made it! Except, obviously, without getting morose, this isn’t one of those films this one ends poignant and sad and you don’t leave on a hip hop high you leave on a slow mow low.

[trumpsupportersunited]

The Globalist Takeover of the InternetLong before fake news or Net Neutrality (N.N.) became major media topics, the U.S. government was already orchestrating a legal crackdown on anything it would eventually label fake news.N.N. was just one move in a sequence of events to completely take over the internet. A sequence that happened so slowly none of you noticed it happening at all. After all, Net Neutrality wasn't even all that bad, right? Sure the internet became a quasi-utility, but it didn't really affect you. If anything, you got a chance to finally stick it to Comcast! Go you! Right?But is anything ever that simple?Ask yourself why N.N. came out of nowhere. Why was it so heavily advertised? Who paid for the advertising? And who benefited from it?Now ask yourself what sequence led up to N.N. and who led it to there? Where did the sequence intend to end? Believe it or not, the sequence already came to completion. On Obama's final month in office, the internet was quietly nationalized by legislation he signed the day before Christmas Eve. The president himself became legally capable of taking down any website in the United States within minutes. Of course, that was ruined by the election.This is a long piece, and the beginning will cover some material that you already know but it is crucial to understand the big picture. I split this into two posts, the first one covers the two-decade buildup to Net Neutrality, which I will summarize below for those who are lazy.1950 - EducationU.S. House of Representatives commissions the Reese Committee to investigate potential communist influence of domestic NGOs and nonprofits. Head investigator, Norman Dodd, published the final report in which he discovers that the Ford, Rockefeller, and Carnegie foundations were actively influencing universities to promote "moral relativism" and "internationalism" to the end of "oligarchic collectivism." In other words, globalism. His report was silenced and the two-year investigation was abruptly shut down.1980 - Civil Society SectorThe civil society sector is typically understood to be comprised of NGOs and nonprofits that, according to conventional wisdom, engage in humanitarian efforts, human rights advocacy, government accountability, and other international efforts of the sort. But if that was ever true, it isn't anymore, and hasn't been for decades. By 1980 all of civil society had been taken over by private and state interests, operating as proxies for their agendas. Just as Norman Dodd had discovered. Julian Assange gives the contemporary example of Google Ideas, a think-tank that proxies high-risk endeavors directly for the White House. Google Ideas was heavily involved in the Arab Spring, which was instigated by social media. VP of Stratfor said they have a "covert role in foaming up-risings," and that "they are doing things the CIA cannot do."1990 - MediaBill Clinton's Telecommunication Act of 1996 legalizes the monopolization of the media, paving the way for a two-decade globalist crusade to consolidate dozens of media outlets into just six. And just like that, the globalists need only pluck six strings to make us dance to their false song. Comcast, Disney, Viacom, Time Warner, News Corp, CBS, and still shrinking.2000 - Social MediaThis section is best summarized by a quote from a reddit user."If you happen to have a right-wing perspective, Google puts your search results on the 10th page, Youtube demonetizes your videos (or removes them), Twitter bans your account, and Facebook censors your posts so they never show up in the news feed." -/u/spydiggity2010 - The InternetThe globalists, having solidified their control over banks, education, civil society, media, and social media, now turn their gaze to the crown jewel of their decades-long pursuit: the internet itself.Already controlling much of the internet's media and all the social media platforms that propagate it, the only thing left for the globalists to control is the infrastructure itself that comprises the internet. That's why ISPs are important now. Before Verizon v. FCC, the FCC classified ISPs under Title I of Clinton's 1996 Telecommunications Act, meaning they acted as private entities with minimal regulation from the government. Separate and unrelated to that classification, the FCC held ISPs accountable to the Open-Internet Rules (no throttling, no blocking, no paid-prioritization).Verizon v. FCC changed that, ruling that if the FCC wanted to enforce Open-Internet Rules they need to re-classify ISPs under Title II as quasi-utilities strictly regulated as "common carriers", effectively a state-licensed monopoly. The most critical factor here is that under Title II, ISPs need to apply for Broadcasting Licenses, which give the government massive leverage over them. There was an insane amount of influence being exerted over Verizon v. FCC by tech companies and their politicians. Netflix allegedly manipulated their own service to frame the ISPs for throttling. The full extent of the influence is not yet known. It may be that the lawsuit's outcome was sheer coincidence. Regardless, this was a huge win for the globalists, because now they are one step closer to forcing ISPs to apply for Broadcasting Licenses and regularly renew them. Without a license, the ISPs go bankrupt. The government can leverage this over them. Remember this, because Broadcasting Licenses become the globalist's most valuable weapon in just one act more of legislation.Three judges presided over the case, two Democrats, one Republican:Laurence H. Silberman (appointed by Ronald Reagan)Judith Ann Wilson Rogers (appointed by Bill Clinton)David S. Tatel (appointed by Bill Clinton)The Clinton-appointee Democrats ruled in favor of the Title II classification ruling. The Reagan-appointee partially dissented. No surprise. Now the FCC is stuck between a rock and a hard place. If they want to enforce Open-Internet they have to practically nationalize the internet, and any company that wants to offer access to the internet must receive a Broadcasting License. The FCC is stumped and can't really figure out what to do next... So Obama comes in to save the day. He pressures them to move forward with the Title II classification and give the government sweeping authority over internet infrastructure. This potentially unpopular move is quickly rebranded with a cute name and sold to the public as... Net Neutrality. Surprise!The public is told that they are saving the internet! But saving it from whom? Hahaha from the very people who are telling them to save it! Whether by intent or by circumstance, the globalists ended up playing both sides and winning. They revoked Open Internet in Verizon v. FCC, repackaged it, and gave it back to us in a box full of red tape.Now here's where the story picks up...Net Neutrality invokes Title II of the Telecommunications Act of 1996 to require all ISPs and any company that provides internet service to register for Broadcasting Licenses from the government and regularly renew them.Well... what if the FCC doesn't want to renew them? Ah but that's crazy talk, the FCC can't just revoke Broadcasting Licenses on a whim. It would be taken to court within seconds!But imagine what happens when you're appointed by the president as chairman of the FCC, and shortly after you get a call. And that call you get is from whatever said globalist president rules your timeline. And that globalist president tells you that a particular ISP needs to have its license revoked because it's violating federal law. Well, you'd probably say "fuck you I voted for Trump" and just hang up. But then the office phones start ringing and you get a little nervous because now other government bodies are calling in, all substantiating that yes, in fact, the ISP really is breaking the law. So you hang up, call your lawyer, and ask him to look up all the laws they were talking about to see if the ISP really is violating them. After all, what kind of law would justify such an abuse of power? None, in fact, that you know of. The next thing that will happen is your lawyer will walk into your office, looking pale as a ghost, and hand you a legal document titled Countering Information Warfare Act of 2016 (S.2692).This is where everything comes together.Beads of sweat start to form on your forehead as you begin reading the Countering Information Warfare Act of 2016 (S.2692). You put it down and look up at your lawyer, realizing why his face is drained of life. It was drained by the Countering Information Warfare Act of 2016 (S.2692). You're about to ask him a question about the Countering Information Warfare Act of 2016 (S.2692), but you pause, and another thought strikes you-"Why don't they just call it 'The InfoWars Act'?"Your lawyer simply closes his eyes, as if with erotic satisfaction, and quickly whispers under his breath "...Bill Clinton is a rapist." You look back at the InfoWars Act to read its mission statement....counter foreign propaganda and disinformation from our enemies by establishing an interagency center housed at the State Department..."That's so bizarre, you think to yourself. Usually agencies are created independent from other branches of government, specifically to preserve accountability and dissuade corrupting influences. Why would you bother creating a new independent agency if you're literally going to house it in the White House?interagency centerOkay so it's a center, of multiple agencies. In the White House...p. 1399 - The head of the Center... shall be appointed by the President....that answers directly to the President? Okay? What exactly is it going to do?Maintain, collect, use, and disseminate records for research and data analysis of foreign state and non-state propaganda and disinformation effortsWait what? Non-state propaganda? You mean like my evening shitposts on T_D? What the fuck does that mean? Literally everyone on the planet is not a state. And how exactly is propaganda defined? Huh, that's strange... there's no definition in here. Like they deliberately omitted it so they can just... call it whatever they want. Incredible.You look up to your lawyer, "How the fuck did Obama get this through Congress?"Your lawyer drops another file on your desk. It looks suspiciously familiar."He didn't."The file is titled National Defense Authorization Act for Fiscal Year 2017,"He waited until Christmas Eve and hid it inside of the 3,000 page annual military budget so nobody would notice it.""Ohhhh shit yeah this is that fuckin propaganda thing that Obama legalized I always see it get reposted on The Donald! God, what a Kenyan pedophile thing to do, amirite?""So you've already read through it?""Oh... yeah no I'm a simple guy I just see a grey arrow and I make it orange.""Jesus Christ." The lawyer flips through the 3,076 pages of the NDAA to page 1,396 (or 1,438 in pdf format).SEC. 1287. GLOBAL ENGAGEMENT CENTER."This is so much more than just propaganda. Look at what they're going to be doing."Identifying current and emerging trends in foreign propaganda and disinformation, including the use of print, broadcast, online and social media, support for third-party outlets such as think tanks, political parties, and nongovernmental organizations, and the use of covert or clandestine special operators and agents to influence targeted populations and governments in order to coordinate and shape the development of tactics, techniques, and procedures to expose and refute foreign misinformation and disinformation"Clandestine special operators?? That's like some Tom Clancey shit!""Not even Tom Clancey would write something like this. Earlier you called this a 'Kenyan' thing to do. But even Kenyans have never sent secret agents to brainwash their people. Really let that sink in.""Yeah... Malik Obama would never do that."The legislation establishes a fund to help train local journalists..."But just when it couldn't get worse... it gets way fucking worse."Second, the legislation seeks to leverage expertise from outside government... provide grants and contracts to NGOs, civil society organizations, think tanks, private sector companies, media organizations, and other experts outside the U.S. government..."They call in their globalist friends from some "totally neutral third-party" and together they can call anyone a propagandist. They can go after literally anybody who's been flagged by a third-party "fact-checker" without having to take them to court. ""Oh fuck.""Those fact-checkers were there all along for a reason. They started by flooding the internet with disinformation and then branding the cute term "fake news" to generate a demand for fact-checkers. And then they satisfied the demand that they created. They trained the public to accept the idea of "neutral third-parties" policing online content. Facebook, Twitter, Reddit, Google, all the tech companies, and the White House itself were planning to use bots to auto-flag-and-censor any content that contradicts the fact-checkers... across the entire internet. ""Fuckin' Snopes.""It's brilliant, really. They control the fact-checkers, the enforcers, and with the passage of Title II, the infrastructure to utilize them. Once a propagandist has been targeted, the President can use absolutely anything in the government to stop them."The Center will develop, integrate, and synchronize whole-of-government initiatives to expose and counter foreign disinformation operations...And that's it ladies and gentlemen.That's why passing Net Neutrality is so important.The President uses the "whole-of-government" to suppress information. Thanks to Net Neutrality's Title II, they can order all ISPs to take down hostile information and any websites that distribute it. If the ISP refuses, their Title II Broadcasting License is legally revoked, they can no longer do business, they go bankrupt, and the government buys out their infrastructure. The government can integrate into the ISPs to censor anything, anywhere, at anytime. The ISPs are forced to obey.STORY TIME IS OVER THIS IS ACTUALLY REALAre you imagining how real this is?They can physically shut down your access to the internet without a court order! Just because someone called you a propagandist! Just because you shitpost on The_Donald! They can take down Drudge Report, Breitbart, The_Donald, 4chan, Voat, and any other right-wing website that pops up to replace it! They would have done this slowly, over the course of years, like they always do, so that nobody would notice until it's too late! They could've taken us down one buy one, year by year, and quietly suppress any online reactions!And it was 100% legal! They passed every law they needed to do it!YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW LUCKY WE ARE TO HAVE WON THE ELECTION BECAUSE THERE WOULD HAVE NEVER BEEN ANOTHER ONE AGAIN.AND NOW ONE FINAL QUOTE:p.1446 - "The Center shall terminate on the date that is 8 years after the date of the enactment of this Act."They thought she would win.[LAUGHS IN KENYAN] via /r/The_Donald

#MAGA #Trump #trumptrain #trumparmy #usa #politics #trump2020