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#this is poetic irony if i ever saw it
castielsbees · 6 months
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I cannot make this shit up oh my god.
so I was just at my best friend's house for a nice little cozy movie night together and we watched the austin butler elvis movie again (its so. good!!!) and as i'm driving home, i'm listening to a best of elvis playlist on spotify. I look at the time and no less than a SECOND after it turns. it turns midnight it turns nov. mmm it turns november fifth. can't help falling in love begins to play.
i almost crashed my car
anyways happy november 5th hellers
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One thing I've tried to learn is that there are people who will never be as connected to poetry as I am. There are people who won't understand it's just as much a part of me as my heartbeat, my bones, my soul, there are people who won't understand it brought me back from the dead, how it killed me and revived me and brought me out of what I've been through bruised and scarred but alive, there are some people who never had the connection to poetry I did, that I still do, because when the were falling poetry wasn't the branch they managed to grab onto for dear life. I forget this a lot.
#rambles#my rambles#the irony is i get hurt a lot bc of this#i say something poetic or show a poem to the wrong person and theyre just confused or just give an uninterested response#ig its why i keep that part of me to myself now#sometimes im scared ill never find someone as connected to poetry as i am#someone who understands my body is more ink than blood#idk#its a weird thought#it feels like everyone who adores poetry as much as I do died decades or centuries ago#do you ever wish you could back in time? to your favorite poet in particular#and just hug them and tell them you feel what they feel that both of you thought no one else ever would and write poetry with them#just be there#knowing youre not the only person in your time period to think in broken poetry#logically i know theres other people like me who probably feel what i feel and who loves poetry to the extent i do#but theyre always out of reach#how do you tell someone when you were 14 you were in a mental hospital and there was a rotting apple outside your room window#and it was the most poetic thing youve ever seen#how do you tell someone when you were even younger than that you saw a dead crow on the side of the road and it broke your heart so much#that you scribbled a poem (still your favorite one) about its stolen flight into one of your many notebooks#so it could be immortal#how do you explain all that to someone#especially someone who has never grabbed hold of a poem til their knuckles turned white bc it was the only thing keeping you alive#putting this in the tags bc i doubt anyone will read it
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qcomicsy · 7 months
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I think a thing that people get wrong about Jason's anger is that it's not explosive.
It's cold. Jason isn't the type of person who storms off at every little thing or goes throwing tantrums and setting things on fire blindfully.
He's the type of person who's very practical. He keeps to himself, always. You rarely see issues where Jason's anger is reactive at the moment where the trigger happens to him. If you see his character up close, most of the time when he's triggered his reaction is calm. Even cold.
He gets triggered -> He keeps to himself → He makes a plan → And then he reacts.
Jason's anger being something explosive and out of character and out of place is actually how other people (characters) see it, because they have no idea on how it's playing out on Jason's head.
And that's a thing you can see operating since he was a child.
Where the only exceptions about this effect is either when someone he believes needs his help is involved.
See Nightwing Annual (2021)
But In Batman #411 when Jason learns the fact that Two-Face was responsible for his father's death and Bruce was keeping that from him as a secret his first reaction isn't to blow up on him.
Was to seethe.
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Bruce goes up home after dealing with a Two-Face case (in my field we call that poetic irony) and asks Alfred where Jason is, Alfred's answer is that he's been sleeping all day (which is a conclusion that Alfred drew probably after going to check on Jason and seeing him in fact on his bed all day).
But when you see the next panel, even though he is on the bed, He's fully awake and both his expression and his body language shows that he's in fact angry.
This is the first time he appears again in the comics after learning that Two Face killed his dad.
Jason doesn't go towards Bruce immediately to demand an explanation or ask why he did this, or even to throw the truth on his face.
(Which could be debatable that that's something the Dick would usually do, but I'm not that literate on Dick's comics)
His reaction wasn't immediate.
His reaction was to go to his bed and stay quiet. Jason stayed calm and collected the whole trip until meeting Two Face again.
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But the moment Jason as Robin has the opportunity to get his hands on Two-Face he does this
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From Bruce, and maybe Alfred's perspective it could be interpreted as out of place or him storming off.
But it isn't. Jason was able to keep his cool (even though he shut off), until he was face a face to Two Face.
Does that mean he planned that to happen?
That's debatable, in any moment of this issue it is shown that Jason was actually planning to get to Two Face and do this. I my personal opinion, other and much more plausible explanation is: That he was in fact trying to keep to himself but couldn't hold back the moment that he saw his dad's murder.
You can see the same thing happening as Jason learns that Batman got another Robin in Red Hood: Lost Days.
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Talia asks "You all right?" and Jason's first answer is "Sure Why Wouldn't I Be Alright?"
When he's alone he finally has the moment to break down.
(Actually both Red Hood: The lost days and Batman: Under the Red Hood are great case studies on how that usually play out on Jason's head.)
Jason is way more in control of his emotions than people ever give him credit for. The thing is that Jason holds it back until he either blows off or is capable to throw it back in someone's face.
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llondonfog · 5 months
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No pls 😭 i hate the idea that raising Silver was a fun experiment out of curiosity to see if he could love a human or not, and that the answer still isnt clear. I hate the idea of Silver, the son of their enemy, being raised to be nothing but a soldier to serve Malleus in some poetic irony. I feel there’s love there but I’ve almost been transported into Silver’s mind where everything is melancholy and unclear. Does he matter as much as I believe he does 😭😭😭 or is it just a cruel tale of some foundling human always meant to be put somewhere else when the fairies are done with them
The thing is, is Silver capable of accepting the fact that Lilia's happiest moment is Malleus' hatching? Yeah, of course, who wouldn't. The man suffered for years, absolutely driven mad with guilt over Meleanor's death and the fear that he wouldn't be able to keep his promise and hatch the one thing that remained of her, the proof of her existence and love. He had to hatch Malleus, because Meleanor believed that he could, that he somehow carried enough love in those tired, aching, and emptied bones, a love that she saw in him when he couldn't even believe it of himself. If he couldn't, it would be one more insult to her name, a failure yet again, a last betrayal of her trust that he couldn't afford and wouldn't survive.
So that weeping? He's so damn dizzy with relief and love and affection for this silly creature inside that's a symbol of the love of the most important people in his life, how could one react in any other way? How fragile and vulnerable, to know that the happiest moment in Lilia's life is to realize after hundreds of years, he was capable of that love all along.
And Silver sees this— he sees the lengths that Lilia went to in order to hatch Malleus, the horrible abuse he stoically suffered from the Senate, the massive disrespect for all that he had lost and sacrificed. Of course he'd accept that this is Lilia's pivotal moment, the bittersweet reward for centuries of despair.
But on the other hand, Silver; a boy who has lost equally, if not more. He's been cast out of his own time, four hundred years into the future, where everyone and anyone who might have known him or his family (save for Lilia) has been long since dead, the kingdom he might have ruled long crumbled to dust. Is it even a footnote in the history textbook he reads? Is there any mention of the Knight of Dawn, of Princess Leia? Anything at all besides the ring in his hand and Lilia's memories to prove that they existed, that they were real, that they loved and wanted him as much as Meleanor had loved Malleus?
All he has, all he's known, is Lilia. Lilia, who found him, who woke him from the spell as the one fated to truly love him. Lilia who thought of killing him upon learning who had sired him, Lilia who raised him to be a guard, to serve those his father once stood against. Lilia who wondered if he could ever love a human, a question that I agree hasn't fully been answered (or acknowledged by Lilia himself) if we are to associate the fact Silver still bears the effects of the sleeping curse with the belief that either Lilia hasn't called him his son and confessed his love, or if Silver still struggles with self-love himself (and we can get into a whole debate over his self-worth and his view as a sacrificial tool, that's an endless discussion).
Lilia . . . whose happiest moment has nothing to do with the boy who calls himself Lilia's one and only son.
And regardless of how I fully understand why Malleus' hatching is that moment, it's still so fucking sad to me.
Your whole life is centered around this one person whom you love more than anyone else— your short, human life— and in reality, you didn't even feature in that person's dream. We only saw Silver's past due to the blot, memories that were completely out of order and not in sync with Lilia's true dream at all.
And Silver will never harbor resentment over this, he will always place his family and loved ones first, but damn it, I can be a little miserable about it. All that trauma we went through with the last update, and now we learn that finding Silver and learning to love the son of his greatest enemy (the son of the person that killed Meleanor!) wasn't Lilia's happiest moment?
Was it just for the poetic irony? I really hope not. I really hope that TWST gives the conversation that Lilia and Silver need to have the due gravity it deserves, because Lilia needs, whether Silver realizes it or not, to look that boy in the eye and tell him that he loves him, he's always been his son, and no matter what their pasts may show, he's been Silver Vanrouge all along.
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alleiradayne · 6 months
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Breaking the Cycle
"This is a gift, you know. I won't forget it."
The first time he says it, Astarion has no idea what a gift actually is. Oh sure, he's lavished his targets with expensive baubles and wooed them with poetic praise and pleasured them with all sorts of depraved debauchery. But a true gift? Something given with no expectation of anything in return? It's not like he can remember when someone did that for him...
But the cruel irony here is Tav did give him a gift. It doesn't matter that Astarion is on auto-pilot, the rote manipulation so scripted for him after two centuries, he doesn't even need to think about it. So when Tav gives him this gift of understanding, compassion, and care, his immediate reaction is to say this witty manipulative quip, and move on to the next play.
Except he doesn't know what the next play is anymore. The more he thinks about it, the more he realizes exactly what Tav did for him. And it bothers him. It rankles him for days, keeps him up at night. It's the perfect system interrupt he needed. Not that he knows that. At first, he thinks Tav is trying to outplay him, manipulate the manipulator. Oh, he'll show them. Nobody manipulates Astarion, not anymore. He'll have Tav wrapped around his pinky finger so well that, by the time they realize it, it'll be too late.
But Tav's not a manipulator. At least, not when it comes to Astarion. The next move is flattery dressed in the most purple prose, those lustful lines he's perfected over the years. And he's aroused. He hates that. But if he's going to seal this deal with Tav, claim them so he never has to worry about their betrayal ever again, he has to sleep with them. And he does. And Tav thoroughly enjoys themselves.
That makes it even worse. Because normally, after that, he sends his marks on to their death. He never has to look at them again.
Again, it's another major system interrupt. Tav's right there in camp to look him in the eye the next morning. He has to live with them now, live with their smiles and flirting and furtive glances. He wonders if Tav saw it the night before; the distant stare that glazed his eyes as his consciousness fled the scene...
It'll never happen again. Tav is essentially in his pocket, so all he has to do now is keep up pretenses, kill Cazador, then get rid of this damned parasite in his brain bucket...
That plan quickly unravels. It catches him off guard, which is so unlike him. The first time Tav defends him, he's stunned into silence. They stand up for him. Step aside so he can speak for himself once he's found his voice again. Tav tells him he's pretty when he complains about the mirror. Draws out his scar on his back in the dirt for him to see it.
And that's it. Tav sees him when no one else does. It's kind of a fun-house-of-mirrors effect. Astarion knows what he sees in himself and it's not what Tav sees at all. They reflect him back to him, and it's the first time anyone's done that for him in centuries with any shred of honesty.
Time and again, Tav proves him wrong. He sits with these events as they occur, terrified of what they might mean. Of what he wants them to mean. Of what he needs them to mean.
He starts questioning himself after meeting Ketheric. Maybe it was something about seeing the man catching an axe with his chest, dying, and coming back to life. Maybe it was Tav defending him, again, to some random creepy woman obsessed with blood they just met. Maybe it was just the simplicity in Tav's absolute audacity of strolling right into Ketheric's lair to have a chat with him (that one definitely had him thinking some sinful things about Tav for an afternoon).
Complicated. Compromised, even. Whatever feelings Tav had managed to dig up out of him, Astarion is bewildered by them. But it's the third and final system interrupt that drives it all home. Tav doesn't judge him when Astarion makes the deal with Raphael. If anything, Tav looked impressed. Risky, sure, but it was pretty cunning. Turning the tables and all that. But it meant killing a fucking orthon.
Tav agrees without batting an eye. If it means helping Astarion, they're all for it. So they go kill the orthon and Raphael makes good on his deal and they learn about the rite.
It's too much. The next time they camp, he has to tell Tav the truth. They deserve that much. And even if they didn't fall for his plan, at least he knew where he stood. Then he could bury his feelings for another couple centuries where they might finally die...
Once more--it won't be the last time, either--Tav proves him wrong. They're real. Us. And from that moment on, the real Astarion shines. The manipulation vanishes, his vanity is sarcastic in an effort to make Tav laugh, his humor is light and sincere--unless he's threatening to kill someone, then it's a little more macabre but it's still wildly hilarious.
His needs are validated. And met. For the first time in as long as he can remember, someone seems to genuinely care about him. Most importantly, he's understood. Damn the gods, but Tav knew all along, had seen that thousand mile stare in his eyes the night they'd shared his bed. Tav's there for him in whatever capacity he needs. Hands. Hugs. Little kisses on cheeks, he likes to give those when nobody is looking (or when he thinks nobody is looking, but everyone sees him do it). Sometimes he slips into old patterns, the ingrained habits, he can't help it. He is a creature of comfort after all. But Tav pulls him up when he's drowning every time. Especially when he's about to commit the same mistake his master did.
Things blur together for a couple nights after killing Cazador. Too many thoughts and feelings drown out the world around him, so he anchors to Tav in various ways, some sweet, some not so sweet. Sometimes he's a raging ball of anger, a righteous fury he can't fathom even the most devout of paladins possessing. Sometimes he's a blubbering mess, curled up in Tav's lap and buried in their arms sobbing.
But Tav's there, without fail. And nobody else has ever been there for him like that. He's safe with them. Despite all the threats surrounding them, he feels safe for the first time in two hundred years.
So when he says it again, he knows what it means and he can say it with all the love and vulnerability his heart is just beginning to learn how to feel again.
"This is a gift, you know. Thank you--I won't forget it."
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roguelemon · 3 months
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Lute obviously doesn’t like the idea of sinners being redeemed. (Source: all her dialogue referring to sinners, ever). But what if, in trying to turn heaven towards her ideals to gain more power, she uses the fact that redemption is possible to blame Sera for Adam’s death, then slowly changes the ideals she speaks of to fit her original violent nature with the ‘winners’ of heaven not even realising they’ve been conned into thinking something completely opposite to the original.
Lute and Adam are clearly meant to depict the more violent and prejudiced side of Christianity ( with Sera being more ignorant and stuck in her ways than actually ‘evil’, like your grandma that still says slurs because she thinks its okay) so why not go the whole way and have Lute as a cult leader type character. Using Adam as her martyr and Sera as her focal point for blame she could get a large following.
For a more in depth look, it could go something like this:
Lute finds out about Pentious, realises that she’s got barely any exterminators left to lead and that if this gets out the winners and probably some of the heaven born would want to help more people get up (i think its cannon that they don’t remember anyone from earth that went to hell, but imagine if someone were to remember Pentious and convince others that there were people in hell that they knew and loved, just didn’t remember).
She knows she can’t just straight up target Pentious, as people admire him for rising. Lute goes for the next best thing, Sera, blaming her for Adams death. With the right words the angels in the courtroom may back her up despite what she says. If Lute pretends to repent for all the killing because it wasn’t necessary she could drag people in VERY quickly with pity points from being ‘used’ by Sera. Since she lied to Emily it’s entirely possible that at this point Emily would be super on Lute’s side.
From here, Lute can start to introduce the idea that while sinners can be redeemed, the hellborn are still dangerous. After all, it’s the influence of the hellborn that keeps sinners from the path of good, right? Exterminations start again, this time ONLY for the hellborn, flipping over the deal with Lucifer entirely so the exterminators have to take on a more stealthy approach. Revenge for Adam they all stick by, and they still think that by killing overlords that they’re going to help redeem the sinners.
Emily saw how Angel was treated by Valentino so it’s entirely possible that she’d, while not a fan of the violence still agree with the main message and fall down the same path as Sera (Killing THEM protects US).
Lute can then slowly go down the line as time goes on of, not just hellborn, but also very powerful sinners, but also all sinners close to overlords ect.
If she does it right, Lute can end up with the say in who dies and who doesn’t, who has the potential for redemption and who needs to die. (This is where i see Emily falling out and suspecting that Lute doesn’t actually want the sinners to be redeemed)
Anything Sera says is the opposite of what they need to do, if she preaches non-violence to make up for her errors the irony of Lute continuing to be violent after condemning Sera for it will be completely lost and they’ll blindly follow.
Lucifer gets to intercept at times but would he find it in him to kill angels who think that they’re HELPING the redemption effort?
Lute comes off as a character who is as clever as she is tough and after losing to Vaggie in a fight she’d be inclined to take a different option.
Eventually, Lute being shunned by others in heaven would be POETIC after what she did to Vaggie, so ending this plot point with the angels finding their way through her manipulation rather than a blunt murder is how i envision it. Of course it could be a range of factors that dissolve her following.
I don’t have any hope that this would actually happen in the show due to the complexity and I’ve not even mentioned how Lilith/Eve could fit into this, I haven’t even been specific about how Lute would treat the Hotel (a multitude of different, branching points there). I think this is good purely because many people have pointed out how Lucifer seemed unbothered during the finale and fighting misinformation is significantly harder than fighting in the physical sense so the hotel would lose some of its OP standing. Similar to how Alastor got beat up in the finale so the audience don’t view him as a catch all shield for the hotel.
(If anyone writes this or anything similar as a fic/ comic PLEASE tag me. I love braindumps but forming coherent and creatively adequate works takes more time and energy than i have in me)
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Ice Cold
Whumptober 2022: 7. The Way You Shake and Shiver, 21. You’re Safe Now Fandom: Top Gun, Top Gun: Maverick, f!reader, Reader is Iceman's Daughter Word Count: 760 TW: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Freezing, Death Note: Thank you to @marvelousmermaid for looking this over for me 💖
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You were so cold. Colder than you could ever remember being before in your life. You were shivering from the inside out and you were worried you’d chip a tooth if your teeth didn’t stop chattering so fiercely. But at least your body had gone so numb that the injuries from your crash didn’t hurt anymore.
The irony of the situation wasn’t lost on you. In a way, it was poetic that Iceman’s daughter, code name Snowflake, was slowly freezing to death. But after your plane went down, you were too injured to find cover from the cold or to build a fire. You barely had enough strength to drag yourself away from your plane in case a fuel line caused an explosion. At this point, you were hoping for one. Explosions meant fire, and fire meant heat.
Unless that happened, your only hope was a rescue team located you soon. Maverick had been your team leader for this mission and you knew he wouldn’t stop until he found you. Your godfather had never failed you before, so you just needed to hold out a little longer. Knowing him, he’d have rangled together every available airman to help with the search. 
It was becoming more difficult to breathe as the cold air stabbed at your throat and burned your lungs with each breath. Your vision began to blur and all you could see was the blanket of white stretching in front of you against the inky darkness of the night. 
But suddenly, something else came into your field of vision. Struggling to bring the world back into focus, you finally made out a pair of combat boots standing before you, and the person wearing them squatted down to your level. Giving you a sad smile, he said, “Hey, baby.”
“D-Dad…” you breathed in astonishment. “Wh-what are you d-doing here?”
“Where else would I be?” Iceman asked. “I had to come get my girl.”
You managed a small chuckle before your body was racked with another intense shivering fit that you felt down to your bones. Weakly, you chattered, “Dad…. I’m s-s-so c-cold.”
He rested his hand on your cheek. “I know, but don’t worry. I’ll get you someplace warm real soon. You’ve done good, kid. Now it’s time to take you home.” 
Bending down, he scooped you up into his arms just like he used to when you were a little girl. And as you leaned your head against his chest, you already felt his warmth radiating throughout your body. 
You hummed as you snuggled in closer to him, your shivering slowly fading away. “I feel better already.” For the first time, you looked up and really took in the man carrying you. What you saw made you smile. “You look good, Dad.” 
He returned your smile and said, “So do you, baby. Now, close your eyes. It’s all going to be okay.”
You nodded softly, suddenly overwhelmingly tired. With the warmth from your father wrapping around you like a blanket and the steady beat of his heart serenading you, you closed your eyes and finally drifted off to sleep.
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Maverick was the first one to spot you about a hundred feet from where your plane had crashed. The second he saw the drag marks in the snow, he had taken off running but because of the fresh layer of snow, he had almost tripped over your snow-covered body. 
Dropping to his knees beside you, he desperately tried to wake you, to find a pulse. But, despite his efforts, it was painfully clear by your blue-tinted lips and ice-cold skin that you were gone. That he had been too late.
He collapsed back into the snow and buried his head in his hands even as the emergency team began examining you. However, he knew there was nothing they could do. 
Tears began to well up in his eyes as he silently begged Ice for forgiveness. Since they had met at Top Gun decades ago, Ice had saved Maverick’s career more times than he could count. And the only thing in all that time that Ice had ever asked in return was that Mav keep his daughter safe. It had been the last thing Ice had said to him before he died over a year ago and, now, Mav had failed him. He had failed you.
And as he stared up into the night sky where the snow and stars seemed to merge into one, Maverick just hoped that wherever the two of you were now, you were together once more.
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Taglist: @nik2blog, @dumb-fawkin-bitch, @valoraxxx-blog, @m3laniehearts, @autumnleaves1991-blog,  @rule107, @vintageleather, @impossiblebagelcowboyfreak, @slutforadambanks, @americaarse, @reneki, @ynbutbetter , @sugarcoated-lame, @imagineadream, @sadpetalsstuff, @salty-thembo, @rachelizabethgraham, @duckandrobin, @queenbbarnes, @grincheveryday, @uselesslyromantic, @choochoo284, @littlebadariell, @blue-aconite, @thescarletknight2014
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pokememes · 9 days
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I have thoughts on ttpd
And I don’t know where else to share them without my criticisms and qualms being written off as blind hatred so here goes
Quantity over quality was definitely the motto with this one. She said at one of the eras shows that this album was when she needed writing more than ever. That doesn’t however, mean that everything she wrote needed to be on this album. Part of what makes an album good is an artists ability to edit their songs into a cohesive work.
Going off of that last point: I blame the vault tracks. Swift and her team saw how much people loved the vault tracks and went overboard with the concept of “give the people more.” The vault tracks worked so well because they felt like a bonus. When the whole album feels like “vault tracks” it loses some of the allure.
The concept is pretty weak overall. The aesthetic that was used to market the album only fits about half of the songs. I was hoping for literary references beyond just name dropping various poets and artists but so far Cassandra is the closest that I can recall that actually references poetry. I’m sure there’s some connections I’m missing so please enlighten me, (my academic background is in art history, not literature).
I feel like conceptually there are at least two albums here. The first is the actual ttpd concept of poetic sad songs, and then there’s a second set of songs that feel much more modern and feel like they belong on a different album (Florida!!!, down bad, imgonnagetyouback, etc.). I wish she would’ve taken the double album concept all the way and grouped the songs into more cohesive narratives.
Imgonnagetyouback is the exact same idea as get him back! by Olivia Rodrigo. I just feel like there’s some irony there because didn’t Taylor sue Olivia for something similar (I don’t know the ins and outs of that whole situation so forgive me if I’m missing some nuance)? Not that two people can’t write about the same thing but something about these two songs in particular seems too similar. They don’t sound the same but specifically the lines “key his car… make him lunch” in Rodrigo’s and “be your wife … smash up your bike” in Swift’s are the exact same “domestic tasks/destroy vehicle” dichotomy. Idk man something isn’t quite right about the whole thing to me.
A lot of the lyrics do not fit the melodies AT ALL. so many lines feel oddly paced, either stretched out where they shouldn’t be or too many words crammed in. The melody should fit the lyrics and it’s just not happening in this album as a whole. So many of the lyrics are just too wordy and awkward. Poetry doesn’t need to be long to be good.
Some of the lyrics are just so bad that they take me out of the song. I’m sure anyone that’s read this far can think of a few instances that made them pause. Hearing the words “finance guy” in a song was absolutely jarring.
Overall I just feel like it’s a poor representation of her abilities. She’s shown that she can write better. Her other albums were better sonically. There’s just nothing about this that is phenomenal. Very few memorable songs. No standout radio hits. It’s not the worst album ever made but it’s just so mediocre.
This album was made for a specific type of fan; someone who is up to date on her personal life and will listen to find Easter eggs, someone who will buy all of the vinyls just to complete their collection, someone who will love these songs just because they are Taylor Swift songs. I think every fan can find a few songs they like but I’d be shocked if anyone could genuinely say that they enjoy every song on this album, or that they think this album is one of Taylor’s better releases.
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goodomensjail · 4 months
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My most controversial and risky prediction for GO S3 but I need to put it to paper in case I’m right:
No flashbacks.
Based on Neil’s own statements, the flashbacks in season 1 episode 3 were necessary in order for their “breakup” at the end of the episode to “break our hearts”. They served a purpose of showing us extra context for the scope of Crowley and Aziraphale’s relationship so when we saw them angry and hurt and walking away from each other it would hurt us.
Season 2 flashbacks are episodical in episodes 2, 3, and 4. They were also written by guest writers, not Neil. To our understanding thus far, Neil alone is writing S3. The flashbacks here served to BREAK OUR HEARTS at the end of the season in an argument that very much follows the beats of the bandstands argument. In many ways season 2 is just an extra long version of S1 E3 (and I’m here for it). And the flashback which opens the show “Before the Beginning” serves to contextualize Aziraphale’s desire to “make” Crowley an Angel again (ie showing us he knew Crowley at what appears his happiest: creating on behalf of God as an Angel). So in both cases, these were giving us information or ✨vibes✨we needed later in order to get the emotional weight of what was happening in the final 15
What would flashbacks serve us in S3 when we don’t need context to break our hearts? In fact, what would looking backwards do when we are evidently looking toward the future for these characters? We KNOW that S3 ends with Crowley and Azirpahale living happily ever after in the South Downs Cottage. We know this directly from the horses mouth from a talk Neil and Terry gave together (in the 90s? I think?) and an ask on Tumblr when Neil answered “not yet” after S1 and a tumblrina asked “are Crowley and Aziraphale in the South Downs Cottage”. I cannot imagine a world in which Neil would change the known canon Terry seems to have written or at the very least accepted.
Secondly, that’s just not how stories work. We have this second act “break up” to enjoy the catharsis of a third act happily ever after; just like the beats of episode 6 of season 1. If S2 was a longer version of S1 E3, then S3 is gonna be S1 eps 4-6 on steroids.
And what did S1 E4,5&6 NOT have? Any flashbacks.
Now I do have a caveat…. I believe we are not done with 1941. I said no “flashbacks” plural, but I could see the story opening with WHAT ELSE HAPPENED IN 1941 and why Aziraphale did the apology dance as a mirror for the apologies that will probably take place to mend their relationship., or maybe it opens episode 2. But anyway that’s the only one I can see happening for the power of three in writing (it’s the only year to get screen time in S1 and S2 so it would be poetic for it to finish its mini story within the larger show by appearing in S3) and because it was referenced mysteriously for the apology dance which we clearly didn’t see in the minisode/flashback.
A few things to note:
I would be devastated to loose flashbacks. I’m not saying any of the above is my preference but it is the feeeeeling I get for the writing without much legit evidence. I’m going on vibes here
I could be TOTALLY WRONG for one big reason being ✨dramatic irony✨, ie I could see a flashback of The Fall or Crowley as a previous Supreme Archangel that contextualizing why and how badly Aziraphale’s suggestion hurt him without AZIRAPHALE being in the flashback or privy to the knowledge
I could simply be wrong cuz the flashbacks are popular and why quit at a good thing?
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Ice Cold
Whumptober 2022: 7. The Way You Shake and Shiver, 21. You’re Safe Now Fandom: Top Gun, Top Gun: Maverick, f!reader, Reader is Iceman's Daughter Word Count: 760 TW: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Freezing, Death Note: Thank you to @marvelousmermaid for looking this over for me 💖
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You were so cold. Colder than you could ever remember being before in your life. You were shivering from the inside out and you were worried you’d chip a tooth if your teeth didn’t stop chattering so fiercely. But at least your body had gone so numb that the injuries from your crash didn’t hurt anymore.
The irony of the situation wasn’t lost on you. In a way, it was poetic that Iceman’s daughter, code name Snowflake, was slowly freezing to death. But after your plane went down, you were too injured to find cover from the cold or to build a fire. You barely had enough strength to drag yourself away from your plane in case a fuel line caused an explosion. At this point, you were hoping for one. Explosions meant fire, and fire meant heat.
Unless that happened, your only hope was a rescue team located you soon. Maverick had been your team leader for this mission and you knew he wouldn’t stop until he found you. Your godfather had never failed you before, so you just needed to hold out a little longer. Knowing him, he’d have rangled together every available airman to help with the search. 
It was becoming more difficult to breathe as the cold air stabbed at your throat and burned your lungs with each breath. Your vision began to blur and all you could see was the blanket of white stretching in front of you against the inky darkness of the night. 
But suddenly, something else came into your field of vision. Struggling to bring the world back into focus, you finally made out a pair of combat boots standing before you, and the person wearing them squatted down to your level. Giving you a sad smile, he said, “Hey, baby.”
“D-Dad…” you breathed in astonishment. “Wh-what are you d-doing here?”
“Where else would I be?” Iceman asked. “I had to come get my girl.”
You managed a small chuckle before your body was racked with another intense shivering fit that you felt down to your bones. Weakly, you chattered, “Dad…. I’m s-s-so c-cold.”
He rested his hand on your cheek. “I know, but don’t worry. I’ll get you someplace warm real soon. You’ve done good, kid. Now it’s time to take you home.” 
Bending down, he scooped you up into his arms just like he used to when you were a little girl. And as you leaned your head against his chest, you already felt his warmth radiating throughout your body. 
You hummed as you snuggled in closer to him, your shivering slowly fading away. “I feel better already.” For the first time, you looked up and really took in the man carrying you. What you saw made you smile. “You look good, Dad.” 
He returned your smile and said, “So do you, baby. Now, close your eyes. It’s all going to be okay.”
You nodded softly, suddenly overwhelmingly tired. With the warmth from your father wrapping around you like a blanket and the steady beat of his heart serenading you, you closed your eyes and finally drifted off to sleep.
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Maverick was the first one to spot you about a hundred feet from where your plane had crashed. The second he saw the drag marks in the snow, he had taken off running but because of the fresh layer of snow, he had almost tripped over your snow-covered body. 
Dropping to his knees beside you, he desperately tried to wake you, to find a pulse. But, despite his efforts, it was painfully clear by your blue-tinted lips and ice-cold skin that you were gone. That he had been too late.
He collapsed back into the snow and buried his head in his hands even as the emergency team began examining you. However, he knew there was nothing they could do. 
Tears began to well up in his eyes as he silently begged Ice for forgiveness. Since they had met at Top Gun decades ago, Ice had saved Maverick’s career more times than he could count. And the only thing in all that time that Ice had ever asked in return was that Mav keep his daughter safe. It had been the last thing Ice had said to him before he died over a year ago and, now, Mav had failed him. He had failed you.
And as he stared up into the night sky where the snow and stars seemed to merge into one, Maverick just hoped that wherever the two of you were now, you were together once more.
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Taglist: @loverhymeswith, @babblydrabbly, @green-socks, @11thstreetvigilante, @merlehs, @sunshineflowerchild789, @wildbornsiren, @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy, @the-untamed-soul, @inglourious-imagines, @airhogger, @piscesvancouverite, @straightforwardly, @bonnieelizabethparker, @srry-itshockeyszn, @flyinlove, @fandomhopped, @sweetheartlizzie07, @yjwnoot, @wanderdreamer, @callsign-fox, @imjess-themess
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moon--mama · 1 year
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I just saw a bunch of theories on another site claiming that Gwyn’s mother could be Ianthe, and her father could be Lucien.
Here’s the issue with that: the timeline.
Gwyn’s grandmother was a nymph and her grandfather was High Fae. That means her mother was half nymph and half Fae.
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Let’s start at the bottom and work up. Catrin and Gwyn are about 20. That means their mother partook in the Rite 20 years ago.
At that time, a lot of High Fae are under the mountain. Amarantha does let some out to celebrate Calanmai, so it doesn’t take every High Fae out of the equation. The biggest hint to Gwyn’s parentage being discussed by fans so far is her red hair. But we already know that her grandfather was associated with the autumn court. That means her autumn connections are likely NOT through her father.
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It seems that in ACOTAR, red hair is a dominant trait. Therefore, anyone mixing in with the autumn court would likely have some shade of red/auburn hair. ((I’ll just mention here that the human queen Vassa has red hair and large blue eyes, matching Gwyn in description)).
So the red hair would carry to a grandchild easily.
Two things:
Where did the surname Berdara come from?
Who are potential candidates for her father and grandfather?
Gwyn’s Mother:
Gwyn’s mother cannot be Ianthe. In ACOWAR, Feyre notes that Ianthe was hiding out in Vallahan for 50 years while Amarantha terrorized Prythian. The timeline doesn’t add up.
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Plus, Gwyn’s mother was half nymph. Her people lived in rivers, and Catrin had webbed fingers. Ianthe is High Fae—not half nymph, as far as Feyre ever observed.
BUT, it’s interesting to note that Mama Berdara tried to live in the Autumn Court for a while. What does “untamed” mean? I believe that it means she would not keep quiet about her parentage. She couldn’t be “tamed” into playing the political games of the Autumn Court. If she’s tame enough to be a priestess and live at Sangravah, then it has nothing to do with her avoiding confinement. Mama Berdara was sent away to keep her quiet.
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Also, Mama Berdara is dead but we don’t know what happened.
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Lifespans don’t get discussed much in ACOTAR, since everyone is constantly on the verge of being murdered, but they do get discussed in Crescent City. Generally, the different species live…
Asteri: forever?
Fae: 1000 years
Angels: 500-1000 years
Shifters & witches: 500 years
Humans: 100? Years
If Mama Berdara died naturally, she would have likely been between 500-1000 years old. Gwyn doesn’t mention her death beyond this, suggesting that it wasn’t a murder or anything traumatic.
Gwyn’s Grandfather:
The fact that Gwyn’s mother was brought to the Autumn court as a baby suggests that her father had a position of power. Unless he’s a random unknown character, that leaves all the men of the Autumn court as potential suspects.
The popular theory is that Lucien is Gwyn’s father, and that idea does work.
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Rhysand says this to Lucien in ACOTAR, which indicates that Lucien is less than 500 years old. That’s a lot of Calanmai hookups. Also, it makes Lucien potentially old enough that he could have been the Autumn Fae who fell in love with the nymph.
All that we know about Lucien’s first love, Jesminda, was that she was a lesser fae who lived in the countryside. Was she a nymph? It’s possible, since Alis proves that lesser fae are capable of moving from one court to another. It would be a heart-wrenching story arc for Lucien to discover that Gwyn was a surviving remnant of his love.
But I’d like to propose two alternatives.
Beron: the irony of a High Lord alphahole who murdered his son’s lover for being “lesser fae” also siring a daughter with a “lesser fae” would be too rich. He doesn’t have any official daughters at all, though. And Lady Autumn’s thing with Helion suggests that perhaps Beron has been distracted elsewhere romantically.
Eris: it would be somewhat poetic if the eldest Autumn lad who seems to be a secret softie had changed because of his love for a nymph. Maybe his father’s treatment of Lucien softened him up towards the “lesser fae.” Maybe his father’s rejection of his love and his daughter caused him to help Lucien when Beron killed Jesminda.
Also, Gwyn might know the identity of her grandfather. She specifically says that her mother never told her who her father was. But if Mama Berdara was tossed out of the Autumn court, what’s the likelihood that she would have shared her family connections with her daughters? Especially if she knew that she was coming up on her death due to her age—she’d want them to know where to turn for help.
Berdara…Who?
So if you google this, Berdara means “blood” or “bloodied.” But it can also mean “of a certain ethnic background” as in, the blood of ancestors.
Is this nomenclature a hint about the past, or the future?
Gwyn is one of fourteen people to achieve the Carynthian status in the Illyrian Blood Rite within the past 500 years. Does her surname mean that she’s destined for a life of bloodshed and warfare?
Gwyn’s family is brutalized when the temple of Sangravah is attacked by Hybern. Could her surname be a nod to the way her sister was murdered?
If she happens to share blood with Beron, Eris, or Lucien, is her surname a hint that she is “of the blood” of the Autumn royal family?
Also—where did this surname originate? Is it from her mother, her father, or her grandparents? Arguably, Berdara sounds a bit like Vanserra.
For my Spring Court believers:
Yes, it’s possible that Gwyn is the daughter of Tamlin during the Rite. But wouldn’t her mother have mentioned being chosen as “The Maiden?”
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Twins do tend to run in families. And what we don’t know is whether or not Tamlin’s dead, cruel elder brothers were twins. If they were, it’s a point in the favor of him being Gwyn’s father.
Also, as many have observed, his redemption arc would work better if he was dealing with a paternal love instead of a romantic love. So I’m in favor of a daddy Tamlin revelation.
My only point against Tamlin’s paternity is the whole “lightsinger” concept. Tamlin does not seem to be a lightsinger. The only light-manipulating characters so far have been Feyre and Helion, but THAT would be messed up. If Lucien and Jesminda were Gwyn’s grandparents, and Helion is Lucien’s father but also Gwyn and Catrin’s father…ugh. It seems too complicated to be likely. Perhaps the lightsinger powers come from the nymph bloodline.
Theoretical Family Tree:
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Looks like we have to wait for the next book to know for sure! Anyway thanks for reading over my theories. Let me know what you think!
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chxna-cheeseycake · 8 months
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So like at 12 years old I used to be a major and I mean MAJOR Zane fangirl. Zane Ro'Meave was my everything as a kid frfr like I would deadass defend his every action when I was 12. Like even in his MCD form you best bet that 12 year old me was using their every waking breath to stand up for Zane. I would see someone make a valid point about Zane being a dickhole for killing Jeffory and I guarantee you my 12 year old self would still try to find a way to defend Zane. That's just how much I was fucking in love with him bro. This man's straight up shaped my whole personality as a kid because his existence is why my main persona/online alias is Zana. Deadass before I gave her a heavy revamp, my persona was straight up just a female version of Zane 💀 And I always find it kind of funny because I created her long before we got canon genderbents so like... Jess you copying me gurl??/j Anyways, I was such a Zane fangirl that I even cut my bangs at 12 to try to look similar to him. I had wannabe emo bangs in 6th grade because of this fucker. He ruined my life I tell you. I never technically got rid of them either, I just let them grow to be the same length as the rest of my hair. No one in the present day will ever know about it but I will always remember. It's a memory of my middle school days that will never leave me.
And then there's the dramatic irony that after rewatching MCD and Mystreet now, Zane is no longer my number one fave anymore. It's fucking Dante now. Of course I will always love Zane, that bastard clearly holds a special place in my heart. But ultimately, Dante did in fact steal Zane's place as my number one favorite Aphverse character. He pushed Zane off the goddamn podium and snatched up the first place medal for himself. And I have no problem with that. But I just know my 12 year old self would be in pure shock if they saw that I ditched Zane for Dante lmao. Yet at the same time, I can't help but look at this in a poetic sense.
As a child I know I had such an attachment to Zane because I related a lot to him with being that person that was kinda seen as weird because I was quiet and wasn't a social person. I also had a few friends like Zane but just like him, I met some of them through a single friend that interacted with me first cuz I was far too socially awkward to speak to literally anyone. But now that I'm older, I don't really relate to Zane anymore. I'm not a full on social butterfly but back when I was 12, I couldn't even talk to people my own age that weren't friends because of my shyness and socially awkward personality. But now I'm not like that anymore. I would still say I'm a quiet person ofc but nowadays I don't freeze up and immediately get awkward when people I don't really know try talking to me. Sometimes it can still happen but I just don't really do that anymore. I don't think I actively made this choice though it just sorta happened. Growing up will just do that to you I guess lmao. And that's probably why I don't relate to Zane as much anymore and have now gravitated towards Dante. I grew up and now I find myself being more attached and sorta relating to Dante way more now than Zane. Zane's still cool to me but he's just not my fave anymore because I'm not the same person I was when I was 12.
That got way more deep than I was actually expecting lol. But I still stand by my point regardless. Zane was a huge comfort to 12 year old me but not anymore. I still love his character but he just doesn't bring me that same comfort like he did when I was 12 because I don't need that type of comfort anymore. Dante however is my new comfort character probably because I relate to him more now than I did as a kid. I barely paid attention to Dante when I was 12 but look at me now. He's all I ever seem to post about on this blog lmao. Honestly, seeing myself go from having Zane as comfort character in the past to now having Dante as my comfort character kinda brings me a peace of mind because I think it truly represents all the healing I've done over these past years. Even if it is a little silly to think about it in a deep and poetic fashion like this but I don't really care, thinking about this topic just brings me this sort of warmness I don't really know how to explain. I feel like maybe some people will understand what I'm trying to get it. Hopefully. Anyways, hope y'all enjoy my stupid thoughts and rambling because honestly I don't even know what I'm typing anymore skssjkdsdjknon
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The Vain Hope of Closure
For MegaStar Week 2022
Day 2 Prompt: Yearning / Forgiveness
Continuity: IDW1 Rating: Teen Relationship: Megatron/Starscream Characters: Megatron & Starscream AU: Some canon divergence Warnings: Suggestive themes/content. Mentions of past abuse. Sad ending. Please see AO3 entry for full applicable tags.
Summary: In which Starscream visits Megatron in prison.
Crossposting: AO3 | DreamWidth | Pillowfort
Fic under cut
"Are you sure you want to see him?" the stumpy little organic guard asked, all bright yellow eyes and green-gray skin. Some polished brown textile—"leather," he thought it was called—emblazoned with the insignia of the Galactic Council, was wrapped too tightly around the guard's body. He only came up to Starscream's waist while sitting on the stool behind the table.
Tiny.
Soft.
That's what Starscream thought while looking down at the security desk and the guard manning it. Soft and weak.
Sometimes it was hard to deprogram millions of years of spiteful ideology, but something didn't seem right with everything ending this way, with Megatron being defeated at the hands of an organic legal system. He deserved it, of course, and the irony was not lost on Starscream, but it still felt… strange.
Starscream frowned, narrowing his optics.
It almost sounded like the guard thought the he was trying to help Starscream, doing him a favor by checking if this is really what he wanted. The look seemed earnest, but, frankly, there hadn't been help for him in quite a long time and very shortly there simply would be none ever again.
The guard didn't realize the gravity of the situation. Things hadn't always been so bad. Even when things became terrible, there had still been a terrible need to be nearby, even if just to know. It had been years, far too long.
And Megatron was just beyond that door. Well, several doors.
"Of course, I'm sure!" he snapped, slapping an impatient palm on the guard's desk. A crack in the wooden surface formed under his hand. A crack he would not be paying for. This useless prison ship should have had a budget for that.
"Let me in! I didn't sit through all of the red tape and paperwork to get the specific visitation permissions necessary just because it sounded like a fun way to waste my newfound copious free time."
The guard sat there, stunned and dull.
"Megatron still owes me," he hissed.
Though not anything tangible and not anything Megatron had a chance in hell of paying back.
"Right, of course. Right this way."
--
Starscream had been right about it being several doors.
Reinforced titanium and plasteel doors. Electronic and physical locks. Cameras arranged so that not one millimeter of floor or wall was unseen by their insensate optics.
Every lock was unlocked by the guard, every door in this unadorned, cold, utilitarian passage pushed open for Starscream as he passed through. He knew exactly what Megatron had done to end up here, behind all this security, behind all of these physical manifestations of fear and paranoia. It was almost warranted.
And if the stars had aligned a bit differently, Starscream would have been somewhere like this too, just waiting for the end.
Probably on the opposite end of the prison from his "leader." No one would want two destructive forces housed in proximity to each other. A sensible security feature, especially if they riled each other up enough over something asinine and petty for either of them to somehow slip their bonds for the express purpose of shutting the other one up.
When the last door opened, Starscream stopped on the threshold, not having been prepared for what he saw.
He had expected Megatron to be sitting and sulking on a little bench behind energy bars, elbows on his knees like the unmannered thug he was behind poetic verbosity.
What greeted him instead was an enormous, cabled contraption behind glass. A large, boxy machine covered with blinking lights and data readouts covered the back wall. A pair of massive cables led from the machine to a heavy crate in the middle of the “cell” where they seemed to be feeding power to whatever was inside.
It was hard to discern the materials of the crate, but it looked, at first, to be some sort of reinforced stone or concrete. How primitive. Surely, if Megatron had wanted to, he could have destroyed some pitiful rock.
It looked solid though, no obvious seam save for wherever those power cables fed through.
It looked like something—or someone—was locked inside… like a corpse in a coffin prior to smelting.
Starscream was, at first, so confused by the crate and the machine in the back that it took him several attempts to cycle his optics before he saw a familiar black hand hanging out of the box, as though the cement had been poured over him. Did they simply miss his hand or… there was some sort of tag tied to his wrist, the sort one might use in a morgue for the physician to identify who was who. Probably used to identify whomever was in a crate like this.
Not that there would be any mistaking this one.
So this was how they were restraining him, a claustrophobic hold that wouldn't permit even the twitch of a pneumatic fiber.
Wise.
But a personal hell for Megatron, who never cared for being confined. The narrow dark spaces of the mines and bloodworks in the temporary arenas had left their enduring marks.
Starscream could, despite what people said to the contrary about his emotional capacity, empathize. He too preferred the open space of the skies to any hole in the ground.
Was he conscious in there? Was he in stasis? Or was he already a corpse in there and Starscream would be having just another one-way conversation with an unresponsive Megatron? Comas. Wheeljack’s restraining field. Being a cold frame in a box would just be the newest incarnation of something that had been a recurring theme.
Perhaps Starscream ought to have felt some sense of vindication, maybe some Schadenfreude at the sight of Megatron being encased in something sure to be tormenting him. Assuming he functioned.
Instead, Starscream’s spark ached.
The guard coughed quietly. Wetly. Organics were so damp inside, full of water. It permeated everything about them, water did.
It was unnerving.
"How am I supposed to talk to him like this?" He turned to face the guard, pointing accusingly at the “coffin” behind the glass.
"I'll just… wake him up for you." The guard turned and starting to enter commands into a console on the wall. "The warden demanded that he's left offline until his disassembly date."
The displays on the machines in the back changed in response, shifting colors. Glyphs in a language Starscream didn't recognize flashed and danced.
“Except, of course, for visitors,” the guard continued. “You’d be the first one.”
“The first one? Surely his Autobot friends came to—“
The guard shook his head.
“They couldn’t get permission from the Council. I remember the orange one came by and tried to break down the door anyway, but the big blue one stopped him.”
Of course, they did, but at least they had tried.
Starscream, however, had had a bonus they could never have hoped to achieve even with Ultra Magnus’s admirable skill with legalese: a legal bond.
The machine in the back of the cell hissed loudly, cables retracting from the crate.
Their bond was poorly defined, but he had it: documentation stating that Starscream was Megatron’s legal next of kin. It did not specify the type, gave no clues as to the nature of their relationship. That was how they both preferred it. It mostly had existed, early in the war, to ensure a smooth transition of power and resources should Megatron have died.
Now it granted Starscream the right of visitation to see a dying mech before the end.
Not that Megatron had much by way of personal items to bequest. Except that surgical kit. Starscream didn’t need it, but he knew after the execution, Ultra Magnus would bring it by. It was a mockery of the cannon Starscream had gifted Megatron so long ago, a cannon destroyed years ago as part of the fool’s remand.
The hand outside twitched, like Megatron was waking up, definitely conscious now of his claustrophobic confinement. Were they expected to converse through the concrete?
At least, inside the box behind the glass, Megatron couldn’t do anything. It was always safer when he was far away… but Starscream hated it, no matter how much he knew it was better to keep his distance.
The machine in the back emitted a loud noise, almost like a klaxon, as suddenly the solid material of the crate liquefied, pulling back into an orb, floating on its own. As the material retreated, Megatron dropped to the floor with a sickening thud, discarded by the restraints with little care, like spitting out poorly flavored fuel.
Starscream jumped back out of reflex. With wider optics than he would have admitted to, he looked over at the guard, who kept their hands on the console, as though willing to contain the monster again if needed.
“Did you change your mind—“
“No!” he snapped, now waving that pointing finger back towards the door they had come through. “Just go! I need to speak to him privately!”
“I can’t—“
“Conjugal privilege!” Not strictly true, but close enough.
The guard looked briefly terrified before beating a hasty retreat. Starscream didn’t care what potentially horrific thing the organic imagined but that hardly mattered.
What mattered was that this was a conversation that no one needed to overhear.
As soon as the door slammed shut, Starscream turned back around to see Megatron still picking himself up off the floor, a bit like his age was finally catching up to him. He wasn’t even that old. They were of similar ages, practically in the middle of their lifespans, but Megatron had always been hard on his frames.
The bastard seemed a little confused as well, but he’d allegedly been in stasis ever since his conviction, ever since he’d been confined to death row.
Best get started while Megatron was still on his back foot.
Starscream approached the glass. It was probably shatterproof, but all that meant was it would take Megatron a little longer to break it if he decided to lash out. Though that sort of outburst didn’t happen anymore the way the Autobots told it. The red badge pressed into Megatron’s chest still looked comically out of place.
"You ran away."
“Starscream?” Yes, still confused, a little too confused. “Is it… time already?”
“No, unfortunately, not for another month.” He snapped his fingers impatiently. “You ran away.”
Megatron looked at his hands and then back at Starscream, optics uncharacteristically wide while still getting his bearings. It was unsettling, like he’d been woken from some terrible dream. What dream could be worse than a brief foray into consciousness before being disassembled like some inanimate machine. A brutal way to go, but probably not undeserved.
Starscream waited only a few moments more, his patience for Megatron’s returning awareness running thin.
“You ran away!” he repeated, stamping his foot against the metal floor. “You ran off into space with those Autobot clowns!”
"And you didn't do a thing about it except pout in your palace."
At least Megatron still seemed to have some bite left after making nice to those Autobots for a few years. It was hardly any bite at all though, a shadow of what had once been.
Starscream knew now he had nothing to fear anymore. The retort, a pretense, had come from a shell of the tyrant that was probably long dead. The condemned moron behind the glass was no threat to him.
He jabbed the glass with his finger in accusation, the tapping noise echoing in the cell.
"Don't you dare turn this around and make me out to be the coward. I had to live with the consequences of your failed war, your defection, and—"
Apparently Megatron, even functionally on his deathbed, still knew how to interrupt.
"You thought me a coward?"
"Yes!” It was impossible for Starscream to restrain the snap in his voice. “All that nonsense about changing? You should have fallen on your sword! It’s what you expected of the rest of us. And yet you ran a—"
"Is that not what I'm preparing to do?"
The thick glass was all that was keeping him from reaching through and throttling the bastard. Disassembly day could come a little early—
"No, you're preparing to die like an animal. A farmed mechanimal, livestock, being scrapped for parts. No dignity, no fight. You're just letting it happen. No effort!”
And Starscream was just getting started. He lifted his wings high, to make their full breadth visible.
“You're leaving me with nothing! I put up with your slag, sub-par interfacing skills, and violent temper for millions of years and this is all I get out of it? A garbage retirement on a perfect clone of our homeworld after it and my government got eaten and your stupid surgical kit!"
“So, this is only about your material means. Typical—”
Starscream slammed his fists against the glass with a shout. The barrier didn’t even shudder under the assault.
“Shut up! You’re not listening to me! You’ve never listened to me!”
He leaned his weight forward on his fists, still pressed to the glass. Starscream forced himself to take a few slow ventilations to bring himself back down. This was how their conversations so often went over the years, winding each other up until they either fought or fragged or both. They both knew just where to poke and prod to hurt… and yet they kept doing it anyway. No one else knew Starscream quite so well… and probably never would.
Even Megatron’s death would mean his safety and the end of millions of years of pain, it would also mean the loss of a uniquely unhealthy intimacy. There were times when Starscream had been so sure that Megatron dead was exactly what he had wanted, that it would fix everything, but it wouldn’t. It would leave a hole in his spark, no matter how much he wished otherwise.
The worst part of all of this was that the person he would miss was already gone, even if his frame was still walking around.
Megatron stood there quietly, waiting for Starscream to continue, something he would never have done before.
Who was this?
“You’re right.” No. “I’m sorry.”
This was a stranger.
Starscream sighed, leaning back and letting his fists slide down the glass. The glass, carefully engineered, didn’t even scratch.
Megatron was already dead. He’d been dead for years now.
Starscream had no idea who this Autobot was, all “active listening” and self-flagellating guilt.
He shook his head.
There was no point.
“It doesn’t matter.” The words came out softly. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”
A palm, cautious and ginger, settled on the glass on the other side, over the spot where one of his fists still contacted it.
“I—“
Starscream yanked his hand away as though burned, not willing to suffer even the suggestion, the idea of touch. The person he wanted to touch, no matter how much he hated the notion, no longer existed. This stranger was all that was a left.
“I said, it doesn’t matter anymore!”
The palm on the other side of the glass retreated. Politely. Politely.
“I shouldn’t have come here. I shouldn’t have—“
“I’m glad you did.”
Did he mean that or was it because he’d seen no one else?
Starscream sighed again.
“Shut up. Just… shut up. For once in your life, shut up.” He cradled the hand that had almost come into faux contact with Megatron with his other one, rubbing the palm as though that would clear away any remnant, imaginary contamination. “Those ‘friends’ of yours tried to visit, but they couldn’t get permission.”
Megatron opened his mouth to say something but Starscream just waved a hand.
“No, no, it’s because I have something they don’t. You know exactly what it is.”
A nod of understanding. Good. He hadn’t forgotten.
If he had forgotten their legal bond, no force on this prison ship would have stopped him from breaking through the glass to murder Megatron in his damn cell.
“They tried to see you. They did. I don’t know what they wanted to say to you.” He paused to ventilate. “And, frankly, I don’t know that I have anything more to say to you either.”
“I see.” Remorse was an unnatural expression to be on Megatron’s face and Starscream knew that the wrongness of it would be burned into his memory for the rest of his own life. “I would ask for your forgiveness, but—“
“Yes, you don’t deserve it. That’s right.” That didn’t mean he didn’t consider giving it. “Don’t… don’t worry about it. It doesn’t matter anymore. The person who needs my forgiveness is already dead. It won’t do him any good and you don’t need it….”
What a waste.
“Will you be there then?”
The execution itself would be semi-public.
Starscream had all the rights and permissions to be present in the “audience,” but others would be as well. The organics who put him here, certainly. Perhaps Ultra Magnus as Megatron’s legal defense, to ensure what few “rights” he had remaining were upheld and respected. Maybe that drunk roadster “friend” of his; he’d been an absolute mess in the tabloids since his ship was seized.
Did he really want to watch Megatron, not anesthetized as the Galactic Council “determined” that mechanicals do not feel “pain,” be methodically disassembled by organic engineers like a disobedient appliance with poor wiring?
And, standing there, looking at the empty, uncaring floor, Starscream didn’t know how to answer.
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randomvarious · 4 months
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Today's compilation:
Animal Liberation 1987 Industrial / Post-Punk / Synthpop / New Wave
God, this thing is just so fucking on-brand for PETA, folks. Back in 1987, the oft-ridiculed animal rights activist org teamed up with Chicago heavyweight indie label Wax Trax! Records in order to release this benefit comp that saw its royalties go straight into PETA's own coffers. And, as you might expect, like clockwork, it was made up almost entirely of pure, unadulterated cringe 🥴.
Now, to be perfectly clear, I'm definitely not here to evaluate or criticize the merits of animal liberation as an ideology itself in this post, but people have to understand that if you're trying to convert others to your own way of thinking, you're not likely to get through to them with ridiculously over-the-top, preachy propaganda that, in true PETA fashion, will leave your target scratching their head and wondering if all of this is actually just some elaborate ruse or a silly bit. What I think would've been a far more effective tack to take during this era that saw the concept of the benefit comp really flourish would've been to include maybe a song or two about animal rights, and then have the rest of the comp filled out with a bunch of other non-topical goodies.
But obviously, PETA and Wax Trax! didn't end up doing that here. What they chose to do instead was load up this album with almost nothing but ridiculous songs about animal rights and animal liberation; songs that certainly reflect Wax Trax!'s own love of self-aware irony and detachment as a bastion of the intersection between industrial, synthpop and punk and post-punk music, but are not likely to translate into swaying anyone to alter their own consumer habits in order to help lessen the plight of animals themselves. It really feels like just about everyone on here knows that what they're doing is already too on the nose to be taken seriously, and so they're just deciding to act accordingly. Like, if you were to make fun of animal rights activists through the art of musical comedy, you would probably just release this album pretty much as it already is.
The only track on here that would've kept you from using this CD as a coaster is the final one, "Assault & Battery," by Howard Jones, who wasn't even ever a Wax Trax! artist in the first place! This song, like the rest of them, is about animal rights too, but it's a bit more poetic and compelling in how it deals with the subject, rather than the vast majority of this slate, which takes the route of being very lyrically dogmatic and deliberately straight-forward to the point of being exasperatingly eyeroll-inducing 🙄. But with "Assault & Battery," a song that had previously appeared on Jones' 1985 album, Dream Into Action, he pairs his trained piano background with some synthpop and ends up delivering what is, by far, the most captivating and enjoyable song on this album.
So, an exceedingly bad and torturous release that seems par for the course when it comes to PETA's history of overly lame attempts at being provocative rather than actually being thought-provoking, but there is still one very good tune on here; it's just that Wax Trax! had to go outside of their own catalogue in order to obtain it 😆.
Highlights:
Howard Jones - "Assault & Battery"
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sakialumei · 1 year
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The Forbidden Text
After giving Astarion the cursed book of necromancy, Lilith notices something... amiss
This is going to end badly, I just know it...
"...can you-- ugh! Can you shut up and let me read?" Lilith had approached him when she saw that he had opened the book, but she was stunned into silence from his remark. Her eyes glanced down, seeing the text on the pages glow a sinister purple. Closing her slacking jaw, she sucked in her bottom lip to wait for him. Then, rising from the pages, she could see tendrils forming and lurching towards him, an ominous humming ringing in her ears. "No, I won't do it! I won't kill them! Well--" He smirked, "--maybe Shadowheart... no!" The book was overpowering Astarion. "Stop that! Stop it! Let! Me! Go!" And he slammed it shut, catching his breath. It was only then that he noticed her standing there. "Oh." He held up a hand. "Hello."
Lilith could only gawk, shock coloring her eyes as her jaw dropped again, an expression unbecoming of a proper lady.
"Okay, that's it." She held out her hand. "Give me the book."
"No!" He pulled it away, but that did not stop her from lunging forward in a feeble attempt to swipe it. "Lilith--" he warned as she tried it again, chasing him.
"Give--me-- that--Astarion!" For a few moments, they carried on this circus of keep away, him holding it out of reach and her doing the most she could. "Aha!" Her hands found purchase and she yanked it towards herself. "Thank you--mmgh!" Astarion seized her in a deep kiss, his tongue rolling against her bottom lip. "Mmm..." It was all too easy to let her guard drop and as her grip on the book slackened, he swiped it right back and broke off the kiss.
"Thank you, my dear." He took a few steps back, holding it behind him.
"Th-that's cheating!" she said, clearly flustered.
"Darling, you should know by now that I am not above cheating to get what I want." He smirked. "Besides, I'm saving you from the torture that is this book."
"Yes, I saw, why do you think I'm trying to get it away from you?" She crossed her arms under her chest. "What is so important that you're risking... all of that?" His fingers gripped its bindings.
"This is a book of necromancy, of the dead. There has to be something in here that will give me an edge over Cazador." Right, that's what this was about. Lilith inhaled to calm herself, exhaling and dropping her arms to her side. "But the spirits invade my mind every time I open it."
"So they're speaking to you telepathically?" she asked, taking a step forward.
"Yes, I suppose."
"Mm. There are spells and artifacts that can block that, you know." She pointed to her temple. "Not that our tadpoles make anything easier. But I'm willing to bet something like a Ring of Mind Shielding will shut them up. Then you can read it without intrusive thoughts." A soft chuckle escaped him as he rested his palm on her cheek.
"Ever such a sweetheart. And a clever one at that." He ran his thumb over her soft skin before dropping his hand to his side. "And, I suppose if it doesn't work, I could always beat Cazador to death with it."
"There's some poetic irony in there, beating a vampire lord to death with a book of necromancy," she said, punctuating her words with a brief laugh. "Ooh, even better. We'll cast Daylight on it first, then let the beating commence." Even Astarion got a chuckle out of that one, the image of beating the bastard to a bloody pulp with a shining beacon of necromancy that burned his face with every swing.
"You're right, that is much better." Lilith took a step away from him.
"Then it's a plan." She took another, pointing to him. "But no more reading! Not until we find protection."
"Fine." Not that he really minded taking orders from her anyway. "As you wish, darling."
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power-chords · 2 years
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All right one more Tumblr post and then I have to get back to freedrafting: It's so funny [heartwarming] to see the original SAW movie experiencing this very fandom-oriented resurgence amongst Tumblr zoomer horror nerds because that was Literally Me almost 20 years ago, age 15 (and one of the original administrators of the Chainshipping community on Livejournal, I might add). At some point during my early twenties I underwent some inexplicable biological/intestinal change and lost the stomach for excessively sanguinary movies, and most horror fare in general, but at the time I was obsessed.
And it really was this fascinating pop culture phenomenon to experience in real-time. It was powerfully influential. So much so that I recognized it instantly — it wasn't one of those films whose stylistic shockwaves become apparent only in retrospect. And it reached a much bigger audience than some of the indie predecessors to which it is indebted, like Cube. A $100 million return on a $1.2mm investment. Everybody I knew went and saw it, even people who had no taste for that stuff ordinarily.
I remember the posters on the subway platform, Amanda with the reverse-beartrap affixed to her head, exposing only her eyes, wide with terror. HOW MUCH BLOOD WOULD YOU SHED TO STAY ALIVE? Sparse and stark, disturbing and enchanting. It was a genius advertising campaign. I went in that October weekend with no idea what to expect beyond the basic premise; the trailer revealed only what was necessary to lure your ass to the box office and plant it in a theater chair.
Say what you will about the franchise that followed, that has (with poetic irony) bled itself dry of any substance, but nobody saw that twist coming. We were all squirming and groaning and shielding our eyes while Lawrence committed himself to the inevitable and gruesome task of auto-amputation, but that didn't hold a candle to the reaction when John Kramer got up from the bathroom floor. The eruption of disbelief. Gasping, cursing, exclamations of dread and delight. By the time that door sealed shut to black and Charlie Clouser's brilliant "Hello, Zepp" motif reached its terminal crescendo, my jaw was in my lap. The lights came up and my high school boyfriend at the time and I just looked at each other. It was great. It was so much fun. It remains one of my top ten theater-going experiences ever.
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