#up in flames / overture | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

operafantomet · 2 months

Text

SO TOTALLY NOT A REVIEW

POTO MADRID, Friday 16 February 2024

PHANTOM: Gerónimo Rauch / Manu Pilas (alt.)

CHRISTINE: Talía del Val / Judith Tobella (alt.)

RAOUL: Guido Balzaretti

CARLOTTA: Marta Pineda

FIRMIN: Omar Calicchio

ANDRÉ: Enrique R. del Portal

MADAME GIRY: Silvia Luchetti

MEG GIRY: Laura Martin / Marina Brisa (u/s)

PIANGI: Francisco Ortiz

This production is basically a love-letter to Phantom history. There are many clever moments, small hints of Phantom history, and in general just a very Phantom-y atmosphere and look. It’s just that sometimes it goes a bit overboard with effects, references and/or tempo, to the point where I feel it takes focus away from the leads and the main story. I get the vibe, I get the love, nut just take it down a notch?

Lots of spoilers ahead, stop reading If you don’t want details.

Examples, you ask? It’s really just the total, the sum of it all, rather than singular moments. Take the Phantom and all effects surrounding him. In “Little Lotte” there’s blinking lamps and ambience sound and gruntle, it almost feels like I’m watching the basement furnace in “Home Alone”. In the Il Muto ballet he swings across stage twice, while the third time it happens it’s the body of dead Buquet. But swinging in ropes has a high level of Tarzan and is hard to take seriously. For the chandelier crash the Phantom jumps on the chandelier, cuts its rope (?) with what looks like a butter knife (?) and it crashes with “flames” and smoke and a loud bang with fake screams on tape. In the Mausoleum scene he is equipped with large black wings and flies up into the air, creating a massive thunderstorm. In the end it gets hard for the audience to trust that the actor himself is enough, as all these tricks and effects and mumbo jumbo gets in the way.

The only new trick I feel adds to the role instead of distracting from it is Red Death’s disappearance. He appears in a red hooded cloak, sings his lines, turns his back to the audience and when the others on stage approach to rip off his cloak there is no-one there. THIS. This adds to the mystique. This is the Phantom in charge, without explosions and sounds and light and props.

Anyhow… I enjoyed so many sides of this production. Let me try and mention some of the things I noticed along the way. (Note: Photos is a mix of Trieste, Monte Carlo and Madrid, but if the performers are in focus I have tried to choose Madrid photos)

AUCTION/OVERTURE Before the show there is some 15 minutes of “spooky” ambience sound and dripping water, dungeon style. The show starts with a huge shatter/bang, to tell the audience it’s starting. Message received.

The auction set-up is fairy traditional, with auctioneer to the left, chandelier in the middle, and bidders sitting with their backs to the audience. Raoul is not in a wheelchair, instead he is sitting in the back, to the right (I. E. nearest the audience), with a nurse (?) by his side. The auctioneer is super rushed, while the bidders clap very slowly, original Phantom style. For the monkey musical box, Raoul calls over the porter who is dressed in a red 18th century livre, and who kneels in front of him. Raoul turns to him and thus the audience. First glimpse of Guido Balzaretti in the role. He is good.

Lot 666 etc… All exactly as assumed up until they pull off the drapes and the Overture starts.

Ladies and gentlemen, this is something else indeed. The cast starts to… uhm, how to explain this… re-enact the first act in slow motion, backwards? The Il Muto fop trio “runs” in, backwards, in slow motion, they bend to not get hit by the chandelier, still slow motion, then taking a bow, still slow motion. And so forth. What is shown here is history as it happened but reversed. It continues with other glimpses of the first act, other characters, leading up to Carlotta as Elissa. Cue: Hannibal.

Now… The idea? Cool. Interesting. Well executed. Time is literally rewinded before our eyes. Yet:

I feel you have to know the musical and the first act to get what’s happening. A moment of “this production is a love-letter to POTO”, a bit wink-wink-nudge-nudge.

It doesn’t really make sense. What they show us is the fops almost being hit by the chandelier as It comes crashing downwards. What we see in the actual crash is the Phantom riding the chandelier as it is pulled backwards and flung towards the audience. Plus, there is a knife, there is “flames” and smoke, and no other people in sight. Sorry, but you have to settle for one of the crashes…

However: original? I will certainly give them that.

Also, props for introducing what is usually my pet peeve and hate object number one: The Eiffel Tower. Thing is, this opera appears to have burned down (2004 movie style, more about that later) and through the ruined ceiling the Eiffel Tower can be seen. I don’t oppose this as the auction scene is set long after then main story and the tower would have been built by then. My annoyance with productions automatically adding it to underline that THIS IS PARIS is because the tower would (depending on when they set the main story) not have been built. But in the auction scene? Yes.

(Auction photo from Trieste)

HANNIBAL Whereas Marta Pineda as Carlotta possesses a grand voice, I am no fan of how she portrays Carlotta as a performer. I assume it is in the directing. In the mock operas she goes for massive overacting, mainly one specific hand pose and a hammering voice. In scenes like Prima Donna you can tell she is able to sing gorgeously and act well, hence why I assume it is in the directing. Carlotta as a performer in this production is one where I understand the Phantom’s dislike… Just way too much, too annoying, it really makes you wonder how this specific soprano came to be the wonder of Paris.

(Francisco Ortez and Marta Pineda in Hannibal)

They make a point of not showing Reyer. I will come back to why later. In Hannibal he is in the prompter’s box, with a slightly distorted sound to his voice and which Firmin at one point imitates. Heh.

The ballerinas did a sort of shawl dance in Hannibal which suite the music well, and Christine and Meg were also nicely singled out.

Instead of an elephant there is a portechaise, a litter, a sedan chair, whatever it’s called. Now... the people carrying this on stage wears the same uniform as the porters in the auction scene. If the opera burned down and the auction is many years later, why would they…?

(Hannibal photo from Trieste)

Also, the sedan chair gets a bit too much attention, with them struggling to get it out on stage, Piangi struggling to get on it, and when he finally does for the end pose the bottom breaks. This, combined with a constant rush in pace means there was never any applause after Hannibal. Unusual.

The turning set had me wondering. It looks wonderful within the structure (see photo above), and it's also always how it is photographed. But in use it means a large part of the stage is not used. Admittedly it was more noticeable sitting in the upper balconies than in the stalls, but especially the first 7 or so meters on stage was all bare. This is rarely shown in official photos, so it took me some time to understand what I was looking at. At first I wondered why the set was not placed further out, but I quickly realized that it needs that position to be able to turn. I wonder if a slightly shorter and/or more square set would fill the stage in a smarter manner? Not sure. Here's the view from the balconies:

The falling backdrop in Hannibal was so well done. It almost came a surprise to me, who knows the show by heart. A mixture of well timed sight and sound and a lot of ropes.

And now for Christine Daaé… For the first performance I saw principal Talía del Val, and for the second performance I saw alternate Judith Tobella. Their overall appearance on stage felt fairly similar in terms of height, build, and wig. Voice wise they are both also bell-voiced sopranos with an operatic touch. But I felt Talía maybe added more nuances to her singing, varying volume and intensity whereas Judith was more consistently bell-voiced? This came to view in TOM, where Talía did one of the biggest transitions I have seen, from whispering the notes and just going mute to full-volume operatic diva. Fantastic. Judith showed less of a transformation but possesses a gorgeous and light voice and is just as radiant. Both of them are so good in the role.

(Guido Balzaretti, Omar Calicchio, Enrique R. del Portal and Talía del Val in Think of Me)

Elements of TOM was also a bit rushed. For the quick-change, a bar of the instrumentals was cut, and the cadenza at the end was short and effective. Why the rush? I don’t know. But the Elissa costume was nice, a turquoise and golden confectionary with nice amount of drapes and sparke, and a nice match to Christine’s honey coloured wig. It was also very visible when the set took a full turn during Raoul’s lines in TOM.

ANGEL OF MUSIC / LITTLE LOTTE As a tiny surprise I got two different Megs – principal Laura Martín for the first show, and u/s Marina Brisa for the second. Their portrayal differed slightly. Laura’s Meg was super affectionate towards Christine, hugging, touching, caring, supporting. Martina was maybe more inquisitive and more of a narrator of the show in a way. She told the audience a lot of the action and mood in the Managers scene just with her facial expressions. But both had fantastic voices.

In Angel of Music the turnable set was placed diagonally, with the end towards the right side of the stage and featuring a large mirror and dressing room table. Now… the diagonally placed set leaves little room for the cast. For this specific scene it did however work, and it was moody with a dark stage and chandelier visible in the shadows.

Nothing radically new in Little Lotte, apart from the already described blinking lamps, ambience sound and gruntle when the Phantom reacts to Raoul’s presence. So moving on to…

MIRROR SCENE First sound of the two Phantoms. Principal Gerónimo Rauch went for a slightly twangy sound rather than booming, I am not quite sure why. Alternate Manu Pilas was all boom. I do prefer the latter, just because it sets a standard and mood for the rest of the show. Christine interestingly entered the mirror by stepping on her dressing room chair and then the table. Heh. Also cool from some angles in the auditorium to see the Phantom lean out of the mirror opening, fully cloaked. Moody sight!

(Ramin Karimloo and Amelia Milo in Trieste)

I could not quite make out Christine’s emotions here. It’s like she thought “gotta get out of here before Raoul returns”…, rapidly wrapped up her dressing gown and ran through the mirror.

TITLE SONG Is it allowed to say it felt too similar to the original staging? Because… them crossing the stage, them going down under stage, them appearing higher up, them crossing the misty stage by boat… It’s not that it wasn’t done well, I had just hoped for a totally different take. Biggest surprise was probably the Phantom’s massive (ahem) organ rising from what looked like the pit, with masses of lit candles, and then slowly moving towards the back of the stage – all while the Piranesi “imaginary prisons” like set backdrop came to view. A stunning lair set, and finally a scene where the front stage was used!

(Amelia Milo and Ramin Karimloo in Monte Carlo)

MOTN This too felt very close to the original staging. With one exception. The Phantom put a lit candle in front of Christine, on the floor, sung about the music of the night, and blew out the candle. I mean… I appreciate this more than the Restaged Tour’s blindfolding, but I am not sure I fully understand what Christine was to learn from it SEEING THERE IS A HUGE ORGAN WITH LOTS OF CANDLES only two meters away…?

(Gerónimo Rauch and Talía del Val in the First Lair)

The MOTN pose totally felt like a homage to the original. Biggest difference in blocking was probably that Christine fainted in the Phantom’s arms and was put to bed in a four-poster bed to the right on the stage.

(Gerónimo Rauch and Talía del Val in the First Lair)

Singing wise both Phantoms brought down the house, Rauch especially hammering in those money notes. Dude got a grand voice. In this scene I (interestingly enough) felt Gerónimo Rauch was more experimental, while Manu Pilas felt old-school and classical. I would have thought it opposite, seeing Rauch’s history in West End. But cool! Got Tomas Ambt Kofod vibes from Pilas.

(Gerónimo Rauch and Talía del Val in the First Lair)

(Judith Tobella in the bed in the First Lair)

STYDI Christine waking up did not go unnoticed by the Phantom; he invites her to come over and sit at his piano bench. As she comes over, she caresses his face, they have a fairly tender moment and then she rapidly takes off the mask. Felt like a natural move, out of curiosity and closeness, which created an interesting contrast to the Phantom’s rage and despair.

Here Rauch seemed to go for emotions running deep, doing a quite heartbreaking rendition of the scene. Pilas showed more rage, even tipping over the piano bench along the way. The blocking calls for the Phantom to react on Christine’s touch before handing him the mask – for Rauch it was when Christine touched his hand, and for Pilas it was Christine touching his shoulder. Rauch seemed more terrified, Pilas more surprised. Both returned to their very-much-in-control mood when they put the mask back on. NOTES / PRIMADONNA Now the revolving set was turned the other way, with the short end facing left side of the stage. Instead of a mirror it featured a window with trees and daylight. For this scene it meant the cast had only a tiny little triangle at the very end of the stage to act out the scene. Whereas it worked well with only two or three present in Christine’s dressing room, Primadonna is fairly crowded. We’re talking seven people on stage, and it showed that they didn’t have a whole lot of space to go. I’m still not on board with the distribution of set and cast in this production.

Acting wise little new to add, just very very very solid. Extra plus for Silvia Luchetti as Madame Giry. She was u/s Christine in the original Madrid production, and thus feature a strong soprano. But she is also a strong belter, and good actress. Her Madame Giry seemed to read every situation well, and act accordingly.

(Laura Martín, Silvia Luchetti and Guido Balzaretti in Primadonna)

As for the two Megs, they both had good chemistry with Luchetti. Whereas Martin had an air of “I trust my maman to sort things out”, Brisa felt more inquisitive.

The turning set was used to full effect at the end of Prima Donna. With the set revolving, the cast entering the stage, with a Garnier curtain like backdrop it looked majestic, beautiful and very Phantom-y. It is also one of the instances it worked well to always have a glimpse of the chandelier and boxes in sight, to remind us of them being in the opera all the time.

(Prima Donna photo from Madrid)

IL MUTO The intro with “old scenery… old audience”… was cut, I think? Another instance of the show being rushed. When I keep repeating this it is because the matinée clocked in on 2 hours and 14 minutes, WITH interval. That might be the quickest one I’ve seen, except the intentionally shortened one-act edition in Las Vegas.

I liked this Il Muto a LOT. The set, with two doors where people entered and exited, gave a mild hint of a farce without going overboard. The middle window could be lit to show Don Attilio spying and the fops whisper gossip into his ear. All in all a nice flow and a nice Mozartesque feel.

(Il Muto photo from Madrid)

The interrupted performance and André entering to present the ballet was also amusing, as he comes out with a bottle of champagne in one hand and a glass in the other hand. Not drunk!style like Barry James, but rather a sense of him being in the middle of something completely different. When not managing to exist the stage during the ballet, the male ballet dancer literally grabbed him by the waist and lifted him off stage. Heh. Nice one. Giggle snort.

Then the funky part. Instead of the dancers being interrupted by scary shadows, blinking light or other “minor” incidents, this production features the Phantom crossing the back of the stage in a rope, not once but twice. As mentioned previously I do get how the third time with dead Buquet then comes as an extra surprise. But it is too much of a Tarzan factor. To me, anyway.

(Il Muto ballet screencap from Trieste)

ROOFTOP Possibly the most original scene in this production, and in a good way. It is set towards a slightly abstract backdrop with a hint of – no, not the Eiffel Tower, bless them, but the Notre Dame, and to the left a rooftop sculpture. Main set is a ledge. Christine crawls out on there and does not look like she wants Raoul to follow, but he does, reluctantly, afraid. She will clearly jump, he is doing anything in his power to stop her. He realizes she is terrified and struggles to find the right words, but offers what he can – a hand to hold and a promise of a better future. Slowly, slowly Christine gets closer to him, trusts him.

(Bradley Jaden and Amelia Milo in Trieste)

A very nice take on AIAOY, because it is all done subdued, not in an overly dramatic manner. Only negative I might add is that AIAOY may not be the best song to sing sitting, or even hunched. But that was only something I pondered about at the end of the song, with the high notes. And also, this showed Raoul at his best. More of content like this, please! CURSE / CRASH The Phantom was of course underneath the two lovers all the time, and he comes to view twirling his cloak. Not a huge fan of the red lining of the cloak, a too high vampire factor. But anyway… Here Rauch’s twangy singing style (which he only did here and in the mirror scene) was used to good effect. Now, the actual staging… With the Phantom singing the end of his curse the set turns and the chandelier comes to view, lowered. The Phantom jumps on it, works hard on cutting its cord with a knife, the chandelier is pulled backwards, and it is then “flung” towards the audience, with “fire”, smoke and the sound effects of shattering glass and screams. It is an original and fancy take on the chandelier crash.

(Chandelier crash photo from Monte Carlo)

INTERMISSION Everyone and their mother taking photos by the rose wall. I bought merch (read: socks).

MASQUERADE The opening was like out of a Doctor Who scene, with the managers being flashed up by light, shifting pose and moving closer for each flash – don’t blink! They wear large cloaks, and of course Firmin’s large frilly pink confectionery of a dress gets lot of attention when revealed. Omar Calicchio looked adorable.

(Firmin dressed up, André and Madame Giry in fairly regular clothes, and Meg Giry doubling as the monkey musical box)

Cool main set – the opera stage with its boxes, a lowered chandelier, and a backdrop showing the Garnier auditorium. Reminded me of the Hungarian design. The opening features a giant monkey musical box which soon enough turns out to be Meg in identical costume to the music box figurine. Nice lil’ detail.

The cast floods in, with rows of people dressed in cloaks and masks dancing in a rather stiff style. I could not quite put my finger on why it looked a bit off until I remember each of the pairs featured one cast member and one dummy on wheels. Aha. But the oddness aside, it was cool to see the stage filled with people like that. It looked like a true Venetian carnival.

(The Masquerade scene in Trieste)

Once again Christine missed out on the dress code, wearing a pale Victorian bustle dress. She must start reading the invitation…! Nothing wrong with the dress per se, but I wish they’d dressed her in something more innovative, or at least make her wear a cloak for parts of the scene to later on reveal the bustle dress.

(Talía del Val and Guido Balzaretti in Masquerade)

And now for what always feels like a regional theatre stunt: At the height of the show a lot of the cast came into the auditorium to sing. I feel you need to have a better reason to break the fourth wall than just surprising the audience. Why were they there? It appears mainly to empty the stage for Red Death.

Did I mention the confetti? Oh the confetti. A sea of confetti. Gold and silver, pouring down. So much that the front aisles were filled, and people so covered it stuck on them when they went out after the show. The pavement of the theatre was glittering. I always wonder if it is really worth it, seeing that the confetti will also glitter up stage in the Mausoleum scene and Final Lair. Places were there technically should be no glitter… Well. Fun to watch regardless.

Red Death: They’ve picked up original magic consultant Paul Brown’s idea of the Phantom just disappearing from his costume, making it fall to the floor. Here the Phantom turns his back to the audience, and when the (few) people on stage runs forward to pull off his red cloak he is no longer there. Beautifully executed!

(Red Death from Monte Carlo)

I wish they did not follow up with the next scene, with Christine in the audience and a cloaked figure behind her pulling off his hood – surprise, it’s the Phantom – grabbing her necklace/ring and running off. Felt like a bit of a cheap trick after the quite magical Red Death disappearance. Would be so much cooler if her grabbed that necklace on stage and then disappeared mid-air. Would also give Christine doubly a reason to fear him, if he can just vanish like that instead of having to run out the door.

BACKSTAGE The backstage tale started all dark, but soon featured a hint of a Coney Island like faire to hint of Madame Giry’s first encounter with the Phantom. IF you want to draw some lines to “Love Never Dies” this is a discrete and non-intrusive way of doing it. Kudos for that. The chandelier is also still lowered, and first when its light goes off is Madame Giry startled enough to flee Raoul. Maybe the most effects I’ve seen in this scene and also working very well.

NOTES / TWISTED We are back to the crammed office set-up and too many people. At times Christine’s dress train swept into the bit due to the lack of space. Well… Both here and in the first managers scene each lead is lit up with purplish light when mentioned in the notes, which is a visual for the audience – especially when they are so crammed together as well.

On stage there are a lot of stacked chairs under the darkened looming chandelier. Nice reminder of still being in the opera.

In this scene I felt both Christines lacked a real anger or temper, even if Judith Tobella displayed it more than Talía del Val. But one thing I did like is that she went from person to person during her solo, almost pleading them to understand the dangers of performing the opera, and they all kinda turns away. Two of the footmen enters (as if the scene was not crammed enough already) to remove the furniture and prepare for the sitzprobe on stage, putting out the chairs in line. Meanwhile Christine does not refuse to sing and does not flee stage, as per usual. At first I thought it was another rushed detail to save some time, but no: Raoul sings “Christine, Christine don’t think that I don’t care…” (loooong pause) and then more or less take her by the arm and force her into the sitzprobe. It does solve the problem of why Christine refuse to sing and then appear at the sitzprobe, but doesn’t quite do Raoul any credit…

SITZPROBE Also an in-between scene with an abundance of ideas. Most of which I liked. The setting is very familiar, piano to the right, cast lined out on chairs. But the piano is not facing the audience, it is turned. We can hear Reyer but not see him. Remember Hannibal? Ar’right. When quarrel breaks out the piano starts to rotate at a massive speed while playing by itself, and Reyer is nowhere to be found. Maybe he never was. Was he the Phantom all the time? We will never know…!

Then for the odd moment… As the set itself rotates, a slow-motion quarrel breaks out, people throwing chairs at eachother, fighting, fleeing (didn’t they just behave when singing? I have questions). Christine puts on her mint cloak, she carries a red rose in her hands and she walks off, towards the audience and a presumed grave which we can’t see but she addresses over the orchestra pit.

(Amelia Milo in Monte Carlo)

MAUSOLEUM Both Christines did a heartfelt “Her father promised her”, not being able to finish the line. The red rose is put on the grave and she starts on the main song. The rest of the scene pretty much as usual.

Help me say goodbye… Oh no thought the Phantom. Towards a discrete mausoleum backdrop he appears, with his giant black wings. Raoul enters around the same time, they sing the trio version. Raoul goes in between the Phantom and Christine. The Phantom creates thunder and lightning, and for each time he flies higher up. Christine is quite passive during the whole ordeal. Eventually a massive thunderstorm is created, and the scene ends. And I’m like… mkay.

If you gonna camp it up that much you have to at least feature the black wings better, they were hardly visible towards the dark mausoleum backdrop. From the upper balcony it looked like he was… bungee jumping? From the front rows in the stalls you could see contours of the wings, but nothing more. As a contrast the silhouette of the chandelier was visible, which didn't quite make sense. Aren't they in a graveyard?

("Angel of Death" in the Mausoleum scene in Trieste)

This scene felt like the prime example of a place where the effects works against the story rather than underlining it. It felt like a lot of noise and little emotions, mostly. And Christine’s role in it all was non-existent.

DON JUAN / PONR Once again a cast member appeared in the auditorium. But here with a purpose – the marksman was placed in the upper stalls. Worked well.

The opening of Don Juan was cool, with the cast as black silhouettes towards a red, smoky backdrop, before coming to life. Featuring Meg as a prominent pageboy was a nice touch.

(Don Juan in Monte Carlo)

The costumes did in large resemble the Bjørnson ones, with breeches and doublets and corseted bodices and tabs, in large held in red, black and gold. Exception being Don Juan’s costume, a large tan cloak and an even larger HAT OF DOOM which would eventually help hiding the Phantom’s mask and face. Christine's costume has also gotten more of a Mary Philbin spin.

(Point of No Return photo from Monte Carlo)

The set too reminds me of Bjørnson's design, especially the timber frame with torn drapes behind a centrally placed table.

It is clear from the start Christine recognize the Phantom’s voice. She pleads to Raoul in the box, but decides to go on. She appears to decide to give the Phantom a hard run for his money, turning up the heat and almost challenging him with the blocking. The overall staging is quite close to the original blocking, and also: no table dancing in sight. Bliss.

(Ramin Karimloo, Amelia Milo and ensemble in Trieste)

I wanna say that Talía del Val removed the Phantom’s hat while Judith Tobella waited for him to remove it? But memory is a bit blurry there. Either how, the Phantom put his ring on Christine’s finger himself.

DOWN ONCE MORE Down once more also felt fairly traditional in terms of the Phantom and Christine in the boat. Both Phantom displayed amazing vocals here, they both have grand voices.

A bigger surprise was the managers, despairing over being ruined. André looks around, throws his lantern into the “pit” which is causing a large fire – I assume this is why we see a ruin of an opera in the Auction scene - and they run off. It’s yet another instance of “Yes, I like the creativity, but does it make sense?”. Since the opera and chandelier seems fairly closely based on the Palais Garnier, and that opera NEVER BURNED it feels like different Phantom universes colliding (I.E. a dash of the 2004 movie with its Opera Populaire meets the Prince/Bjørnson version and the Palais Garnier).

FINAL LAIR And now for the grand finale. A nice twist in this version is that yes – Christine wears her Aminta costume during the Final Lair, like many other non-replica versions – but the Phantom do offer her a wedding dress, veil and bouquet. He also puts the veil on her.

Raoul comes crawling in from the right side – I am not sure if it’s meant to indicate swimming or him sneaking up on them. But he is quickly noticed by the Phantom. He takes a chokehold on Christine to keep Raoul away. A slight inheritance from Ramin, I assume, as he was the king of choking in the UK. With Gerónimo Rauch I didn’t care all too much for it (never did with Ramin either). With Manu Pilas he acted as he suddenly got aware of what he was doing and quickly let her go, almost apologizing, looking embarrassed, even devastated. This made more sense to me, that it was not a cautious choice.

(Final Lair photo from Trieste. Note that some changes was done for Madrid. Most noticeable that Raoul is no longer shirtless, but he's barefoot. He's also hanging way above ground)

So to the part I did not overly care for – the magical lasso. In this version the magical lasso is somehow… connected to the Phantom’s bed and Raoul is raised into the air by one of the poles of the bed. I understand how this is a practical solution, as it makes it possible to lift the actor from the floor. Whereas it did look realistic it also felt a bit strange he would hang from the bed. Guido Balzaretti did however act it well, and it looked frightfully real when his naked feet slowly stopped moving.

And dudes and dudettes – I am happy to say Raoul is no longer shirtless in the Final Lair. Thank you, good actor or director or head of costumes. A bare-chested guy being strangled by/with a bed was too much for me, at least when he is technically not the one in focus.

This is the second place I would have liked more temper, more rage from Talía del Val (first being 2nd Managers). She seemed too mild and too accepting on what’s going on. Judith Tobella was more feisty, even if she too could have turned it up a notch. This especially went for when Raoul got strangled up, it didn’t feel like much of a fight at all. Christine steps on to the bed and tries to loosen the noose once, without success, but that’s it. Fight for your man, Christine!

Another aspect which made me wonder is that it almost looks like Raoul has died long before Christine decides to kiss the Phantom. I would have liked to see her enraged, or even more scared, or… something. But the kiss itself – another scene sticking very close to the original – was beautifully done. With the Phantom letting Raoul go he was just lowered to the floor. Props to Balzaretti for A+ acting here, having to been helped into the Phantom’s boat. Christine and Raoul then sails away, the Phantom sings to the monkey musical box, and Christine returns, being viewable behind the bed.

With Rauch he seems to notice it quite late, and looks very happy about her return, almost crying “I love you”. With Pilas he did a detail that totally made me think Tomas Kofod: he straightened his hair, started buttoning his waistcoat, making himself presentable… only to find Christine has left the ring on the table next to the bed and is nowhere to be seen. So sad a sight.

Speaking of which, the Phantom’s deformity looked great in the auditorium, with balding grey hair and a visible deformed side. He looked much older and much more worn down by life than several other non-replica productions I’ve seen, and I’m here for it. This is a man letting go in all possible ways.

And now for the grand grand grand finale… While the opera is presumably burning a whole bunch of people is entering the Phantom’s lair. First one is Madame Giry. She sees the Phantom as he is about to lie down on his bed, and she rapidly signs for him to hide. He hides under the bedsheet, the contours of his body highly visible. It looks like a curled up corpse, quite eerie. Then Meg enters, and the mob with torches. Meg notice the figure on the bed, screams, and as the mob rips of the bedsheet the Phantom is gone – only his mask is left. The Girys holds up the mask together, with an inquisitive look on their faces. Cue: applause.

A SORT OF CONCLUSION This is a playful, intelligent and a bit overpowering version of POTO. I enjoyed it a lot for its clear Phantom look and feel, for its at times super beautiful sets, for a stellar cast, and for many clever and original ideas. It’s a production which is thoroughly original at times, more traditional in other moments. But I think it would benefit from trusting the source material more. Not everything needs to be a trick, an effect, a surprise. Sometimes the leads can carry the scene by mere acting and that is more than enough. The rooftop scene is a nice example of that, while the Mausoleum scene feels like an example of the opposite. But that said: Overall this is a welcome addition to the Phantom universe!

(Curtain call photo showing Martina Brisa as Meg, Judith Tobella as Christine and Manu Pilas as the Phantom)

Highlights: The overall set design, Think of Me (both vocals and visuals), the Meg and Christine love, three equally strong and enjoyable leads, the Phantom’s lair (again both vocals and visuals), the rooftop scene, Red Death’s disappearance, the backstage tale of Mme Giry, the mystery that was Reyer, the cast, the mood.

Meeeeh: The Overture slow-motion sequence, Carlotta as she appears as an opera singer, the rushed feeling throughout, the cramped Manager’s office, the red lining of the Phantom’s cloak, the chandelier crash, sending the cast into the auditorium during Masquerade, the confetti, the Sitzproble slow-motion sequence, Christine’s lack of proper anger.

Hard no: Tarzan-Phantom in Il Muto, winged and flying Phantom in the Mausoleum scene, the Phantom’s sombrero in Don Juan.

#phantom of the opera #fantasma de la opera #poto spain #poto italy #poto monte carlo #geronimo rauch #manu pilas #talia del val #judith tobella #guido balzaretti #marta pineda #omar calicchio #enrique r del portal #silvia luchetti #laura martin #marina brisa #francisco ortiz

72 notes · View notes

cuffmeinblack · 4 months

Text

Overture

Ominis Gaunt x f!reader drabble

Tags: public fingering

A/n: Whilst I wait for a full length literary masterpiece by @anto-pops, I wrote this drabble in worship of Ominis' hands, inspired by @xantineverdoer. I'll add it to my drabbles for his voice and beauty marks, I guess.

Ominis was clothed from neck to toe, his smart three-piece suit tailored to perfection. Even his extremities were wrapped in cloth so divine that the threads glided effortlessly across your skin, seemingly perusing every peak and trough of the goosebumped flesh as he made his agonisingly slow ascent. You should have been paying attention to the opera in front of you, but instead your seclusion in the dressing circle's private box had invited Ominis' attention to wander, pulling yours along with it. The gentle and solemn warbling from the stage was just background noise to the real performance taking place beneath your skirts.

He didn't merely glide his hand straight up your body, Ominis enjoyed taking his time—this was his overture, a promise of things to come. His limbs flexed, fingertips pressed and kneaded, contorted around the curve of your thigh. You licked your lips wantonly at the sight. Another inch and you might get a sliver of relief from this delectable torture. The urge to shuffle down into the velvet seat to meet those fingers was overwhelming, but you knew that Ominis would never allow it. This bodily worship was on his terms, and how could you refuse when he offered the very pinnacle of your desires? He was no fool; from the beginning of your courtship it had been obvious how enamoured you were with his hands; those dexterous digits of beauty-marked porcelain stoked in you a fierce flame of lust that was hard to hide and utterly shameful.

Yet he didn't shy away from the hitches in your breath when he pulled on his dress gloves of pure white cotton that evening, only wore a knowing smirk as he ran a knuckle down your cheek. The result had been a gentle whimper that fell from your lips from the mere suggestion. Perhaps later he'd deign to remove his gloves, feel the heat of your skin and appreciate the product of his teasing. For now, his face remained impassive, a show for any curious members of the audience who might wonder what type of person occupied the lavish seats. Your own face was harder to compose, eyes darting to watch the gentle squeeze of his fingers, the press of his palm as it finally, mercifully met your aching heat. The cotton enrobing him was saturated by your arousal with only a delicate touch, the pressure sending ripples through your abdomen.

Ominis' façade cracked then, a self-satisfied smile crossing his lips. Finally, his head turned, though your eyes were fixed on his fingers now languidly drawing circles between your legs. Every precise and practiced stroke, every swirl of those delicate digits wrote a sensual tale of delectation into your skin. His other hand had come to rest gently on your neck after banishing your hair with a swift brush, your pulse quickening to greet his palm. You leaned into him, relishing the pressure, the quiet scratch of fabric meeting skin. Still you watched him coaxing forth your release as he leaned closer to your ear, hot breath against your neck, unable to look away for one second.

"I believe my gloves are quite ruined. Would you like me to take them off?"

#ominis gaunt #ominis gaunt drabble

142 notes · View notes

kentopedia · 1 year

Text

cold heart & hands

FEATURING. chrollo lucilfer x f!reader — wc: 2.9k

SUMMARY: as your contract with the phantom troupe comes to an end, so does your relationship with chrollo.

CONTENTS: tbh idk, breakup (?), asking to join the phantom troupe, takes place during the yorknew city arc-ish, reader works w/ the mafia, no warnings really! me exposing myself as an unfortunate chrollo fan

Your hands curled into fists against the cold wood paneling of the table, the candle burning a tall and bright flame beside you. Though the city was quiet below you, you felt as if you could still hear the melody of an overture, ringing out along the streets with the warning of a heartless army.

You’d known this day had been coming for a while. It was always meant to end this way, yet as the sun dipped below the horizon of that evening, every ache that had begun gradually shocked back into you, sending your body into an overdrive of pain.

The door opened as you leaned your head back against the chair, staring out the hotel room at the lights that glittered from the skyscrapers, the headlights flashing at braking cars. Darkness never fell completely in Yorknew City, not when the entire landscape was lit up like a fiery beacon.

“You shouldn’t leave your door open like that.” It shut with a quiet click. His voice was soft, his footsteps quiet against the carpet. “A criminal might sneak in when you’re least suspecting it.”

Despite yourself, you cracked a solemn smile, keeping your gaze away from his approaching figure. It would’ve been no use to lock the door. He had a key, anyways, and there was no one else you were particularly concerned about keeping out.

“I’m not worried about criminals,” you said, closing your eyes as his hand deftly traced the soft skin of your shoulders, the fingertips barely dancing against your skin. “I’m certain there’s no one worse than you Chrollo, and I’ve already granted you free rein of my bedroom.”

It was hard to remain focused on your objective of letting him go, to not lose sight of the hardened chain that was supposed to be wrapped around your heart, a weak attempt at keeping him out.

Could you really be blamed for your misgivings when he had been so charming? When every word was a greater attempt at growing closer to you or revealing your nature?

Perhaps you’d been doomed from the start. He made it easy to open up to him, something that had always been so difficult in the past. He made himself easy to trust. A man like that had no trouble making a dangerous name for himself.

“Is something the matter?” he asked, attempting to refocus your attention, to open your eyes and guide them to him. His hands were cold, fighting off the heat that came with the tail-end of summer. “You seem upset.”

You considered a lie, though Chrollo would wean the truth from you eventually. Just the hint of a smile was enough for you to carve another little piece of you and hand it right over to him. “The auction’s over.”

Chrollo exhaled, amusement wrought in the breathy laugh. “That it is.” He hummed, and you were certain there was nothing on his face but contentment. “I thought you’d be relieved. If I remember, you seemed rather nervous that I hired you to begin with.”

You remembered just the same. Although you were well-versed in the dealings of the underworld, being hired by the Phantom Troupe was on a different level. You’d get no protection from them nor the other Mafia families if your double agency had been discovered. It would have been easy for you to be used you as a scapegoat, and yet—

“Of course I’m relieved.” Your shoulders relaxed, slumping over. “You’ll be leaving soon. I won’t have to put up with you any longer.”

He stood behind you, draping an arm over your shoulder from where you sat. You loosely gripped his hand, the cool flesh tender against your palm. You stared at the back of it, the purpled veins that protruded under his pale skin, the tendons flexing with the subtlest of movements.

“You won’t.” He agreed, his thumb grazing your collarbone, the opposite hand brushing the back of your neck. You lost yourself under his touch, and even these few movements were enough to unravel you, leaving you in an assortment of emotions you despised yourself for. “So, why do you sound so sad?”

There was no reason to hide from him any longer, not when you’d already shared the most vulnerable parts of yourself. Not when he had you in the palm of his hand, could ruin the rest of your meaningless existence if he wanted to.

You closed your eyes, leaning into him. The back of your head rested against his taut abdomen, feeling the long, steady breaths he took. “You’re smarter than that, Chrollo. Don’t make me spell it out for you.”

Chrollo was silent. Even the slow movements of his heartbeat were just a faint noise in the chaos that resided forevermore in Yorknew City. He’d left his mark on it, a trail of blood, and gave it over to the rest of the world to pick up the pieces.

You were a fool to pretend that he could be anything to you other than the leader of the Spiders, and you’d die the same fool, wondering if things could’ve been different.

Chrollo was the one to finally break the quiet as you waited for him, hoping that he’d change his mind, that his hand was meant to be the one that was always yours to hold.

“You’ll miss me, then?” he finally said, and the air he released curled around you, something caught between warm and mocking. “Our time together was special to you.”

His words always left his lips in such a low, steady hum, as if reciting a monologue from a lesser-known Shakespearean play, one he deemed only himself capable of performing correctly. You, on the other hand, had never been fit for the stage, and any lies you told him were never done convincingly.

“What if it was?” Finally, you stood, and his touch fell away from you, inch by inch as you peeled yourself away from him with struggling magnetism. If the cold air was going to freeze between you, you didn’t want it to be with a part of you attached to him below layers of ice, inescapable. “Would you laugh at me for being so weak?”

“No.”

He surprised you with the response, the sincerity that resided under the black waves of nothingness in his endless eyes. Stories you’d never know, were too scared to know, had their place alongside his sincerity, reminding you just how serious he was.

“Said with such conviction.” You traced his porcelain jaw, the skin still so soft after growing up in nothing but garbage, rotting in a wasteland with everything else the world didn’t want. Chrollo didn’t smile, but something in his face softened, infinitesimally, a twitch of two faint lines you just might have been delusional enough to notice.

“Did you expect anything less?”

“No.” Your hand fell away, but you couldn’t bring yourself to step away from him, caught in his orbit, wishing you could revolve around him like a moon. “At least you can spare me some humiliation when I ask you to tell me that you felt something for me.” You swallowed, doing your best not to withdraw under his intimidating presence. “A lie will do. It doesn’t even have to be a good one.”

Chrollo blinked, your words churning in his mind for a fleeting moment before he took another step close to you. Everything about him, from the harsh set to his face to the aura that was always so devastatingly gloomy, softened marginally. Cool fingertips were on your cheeks, pressing into the skin with practiced care, an action you’d become so familiar with.

“It wouldn’t be a lie.” It was nothing more than a whisper, kept safe in the pocket between your mouths, away from wandering eyes and ears. “I do care for you. More than I wish, anyway.”

Your laugh was senseless and feverish, allowing some kind of illusions take a hold of you. It seemed impossible for you to separate Chrollo’s truths from everything else about him, and even though you had little trust in his words, your body relaxed into his hold. The warm breath across the bridge of your nose was worth the same as a day spent in the sun, and though you’d never been a weak person, your resistance lost all meaning when it came to Chrollo Lucilfer.

You seized his wrists with some sort of desperation, holding him close to you, afraid he’d disappear like a shadow if you were to release him.

“If that’s true, then take me with you, Chrollo.” There was a plea on the edge of your lips, and you were disgusted by the despondency in ever syllable. “There’s an opening in the Phantom Troupe, isn’t there? I can join if you just appoint me—”

Chrollo’s face changed, then, but it wasn’t to an expression of humiliation. At least, he still managed to spare you from feeling any shame.

Instead, there was nothing left in his expression, a book erased of every word within it. He was no longer so gentle and indulgent, letting you see whatever you wanted to. “I won’t.”

That was all he had to say on the matter, slowly pulling your hands away from him, one finger at a time. Your skin grew icy, and while you’d expected the swift rejection, you hadn’t expected it to hurt so badly. There had been ample time to prepare, though you felt as if you were sinking, flailing in a vast pool of water, watching your only tether to shore turn his back on you.

“Why not?”

The question was futile; you already knew the answer.

He laughed quietly, and the sound was a sharp grate to the drum of your ear, even as he kissed the palm of your hand. “I don’t doubt your abilities if that’s what you believe. It’s not a matter of what I want.”

You were silent.

“I’ve considered a multitude of things. You’re better off without us. Without me.” There was another slight change in his appearance, and you wondered if he’d ever let himself feel the breadth of his emotions, the ones that brimmed somewhere under a layer of insurmountable anguish. “Let me do one good thing in my life. Just this one thing, and maybe I’ll receive less retribution in Hell.”

It’d been months. Just that long, and already, you felt sick with the thought of saying goodbye.

“When are you leaving?” you finally asked, letting your hands drop to his chest. The white button-up was a tattered mess beneath your hand. Somehow, you’d only just noticed. He’d come straight to you, after all of the chaos.

Chrollo heaved a breath, the light in his eyes flickering hesitantly. It was the first sign of disappointment you’d seen in him all evening, the only sign that he’d felt the same that you did at all.

“Before sunrise. It’s best to be discreet, especially when you’re supposed to be dead.” Then, as if regretted his own judgment, he tugged you to him, two arms around your back in the gentlest of embraces, the kind he’d only just learned how to share. “If they find you have any connection to us, they’ll kill you. You know that don’t you?”

Your sigh was one of marred confusion, and you buried the little noise into his shoulder. The scent of expensive cologne, one he’d surely stolen, had slowly faded away, sitting just on the edge of his skin. There was the subtle hint of mint there too, and an aged alcohol you couldn’t identify. How quickly his arms had become a comfort to you.

“Of course I do,” you said sourly. Of course you knew. That had been your entire fear in dealing with the Troupe. “I don’t understand you, Chrollo. If you’re so worried about my safety, then take me with you.”

His fingers were on the back of your neck, grazing the sensitive skin like a finely tuned instrument. The air slowly left his lungs, chest rising and falling at a speed that seemed much too hesitant to be human. “I considered it,” he admitted, and that, at least, provided you some relief. It allowed you to retain some dignity, that perhaps, you hadn’t been led astray after all. You’d never stop doubting Chrollo’s intentions with you, but you were too enraptured in him to give a damn. “The risks are much too high. You can handle yourself against the Mafia. I have no desire for you to suffer through our endeavors, even if it means I have to let you go.”

You closed your eyes, steadying yourself. What would he be saving you from, when this was already one of the greatest pains you’d felt? “Chrollo,” the name bled through your mouth, something akin to a mournful prayer to a god that had never answered. “I don’t care about that. Not anymore. Please. Take me with you.”

He smiled against your forehead, melancholy but proud, never one to be seen faltering. “I’m sorry. I am.” He kissed your forehead, and it felt too final. When you closed your eyes, a single tear gathered on the edge of your lashes. Chrollo was not an easy man to subdue, and even your despair was hollow upon his strained indifference. “It’s better this way.”

He took another step back, but you held onto him, etching the feeling of his skin on your own to memory. That if one day, you were to come face to face with him once more, you’d know his features as they once were, and you’d be able to point out every little way that they’d changed with time.

“You’re a selfish man. You should be selfish enough to want me to stay.”

“I’m selfish enough to keep you alive. Even if that means I keep a watchful eye on you from a distance.” He cupped your chin, thumb grazing the concaved space under your lips. “If you need me, I’ll be there. I can promise you that, at the very least.”

“Would you send your Spiders to watch over me instead?” you asked bitterly, your back straight as you stared at him with a strength that was slowly caving in. “Have Shalnark place a needle in my mind, so you can watch over every action? Sentence any man who dared to look me in the eye to a life of torment, punishment for his vile sins committed out of lustful greed?”

Chrollo’s lips curled, and you could see, in that moment, why he was so feared. “I admit, I am not above such things.” He looked past you, staring at the painting on the other wall, one that you would never understand to its completion. “But no. I won’t if you don’t want me to. You can come to me of your own free will if that’s what you desire.”

Perhaps you were sick enough to think that was any form of romance. Maybe you wouldn’t have minded being strung on a thread if it meant Chrollo would come back without a second thought.

Finally, he sighed, and it was obvious that even the most powerful of men could become fatigued. You could see the signs of exhuastion start to weigh on him. “Come on to bed, my darling. I don’t want our last night together to end in an argument.”

He held your hand loosely, guiding you back to the middle of the room, onto the mattress you’d shared for an unreasonable number of days. You fell, pliant, your skeleton turning to rubber under your skin.

“Will you ever reconsider?” your head hit the pillow, and you realized just how tired you also were, the past few days spent with eyes open wide, an indescribable anxiety nesting deep in your consciousness.

He didn’t respond.

“Chrollo?”

When you repeated his name, his lips squeezed together, and finally, he nodded, relenting a simple statement to you, one you to knew to be a lie. Though, it was enough, for now. Enough to get you through the next day, the next week, the next few years until you’d moved on from the man you never should’ve loved in the first place.

Chrollo brushed the dark hair away from his face, the tattoo a contrast to his pale skin, on his forehead in full display. “I’ll come back for you, when I believe your ready.”

Those were the kindest words he could’ve given you, and you surrendered, giving yourself to him once again. Nothing seemed to matter anymore. Not your future, not your past. Your soul had already been sold to the devil, and they’d never been merciful creatures. Perhaps, that had been Chrollo’s goal all along.

“I don’t believe you.”

He smiled, and, for the first time that evening, offered you a kiss. His lips were icy, but they tasted sweet, and you melted into everything that he had left to give you.

“Then don’t,” he said, holding his forehead to your own, the two of you curled into some misshapen heart on the blanket. “I mean it all the same.”

You obliged, swallowing back every single tear you had left to cry. It wasn’t right to shed tears for a man who had committed such terrible acts before handling you with any sort of gentleness.

Chrollo stayed until sunrise, just as he said. There was no way of knowing when he slipped away, vanishing into the crisp dawn, following moving with the moon. When you woke in the morning, it was to a cold room, and a spare key left on the nightstand.

idk what this is but i just finished rewatching yorknew so chrollo has been on my mind so much the past couple weeks :,(

#chrollo lucilfer #chrollo x y/n #hunter x hunter #chrollo lucilfer x reader #phantom troupe #hxh #hxh x reader #chrollo #chrollo lucifer x reader #chrollo lucifer imagines #hxh x y/n #kuroro lucilfer #chrollo x you #hxh 2011 #hxh 1999 #xoxo rylie 💌 ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

221 notes · View notes

solradguy · 4 months

Note

Hola! Odd question, but was Frederick a muscular guy? In Overture he doesn’t seem that muscular, maybe more just generally wider than Asuka. However, in Strive he’s super bulky (in the flashback)! Do you think that’s an indication of his reality, or do you think they just reskinned Sol Badguy to save on time? In your official Sol Badguy fan opinion, that is.

It's really weirdly inconsistent but I'm inclined to believe he was supposed to be pretty scrawny before he got infected with the Flame of Corruption.

Throughout Begin he makes several comments about how wimpy he was and kinda freaks out a bit over how strong/muscular the Gear cells are slowly making him. He's pretty noodley in the illustrations in that book too, with the cover and the Frederick/Viidia character introduction page having an interesting comparison to how beefy the Gear cells end up making him:

The inconsistencies are pretty bad through Overture and Xrd/Strive though. ISOTOPE & ISOLATION from the GG2Overture Material Collection describes his physique like this (my translation):

Frederick was a tall man with a toned physique more like an athlete than a researcher.

But then the accompanying illustration very clearly shows him as not being very toned at all? Maybe it's because Daisuke didn't write that story and the author was describing post-FoC Sol instead of Frederick Normalguy? Kazuya Negishi wrote Begin and stayed closer to Daisuke's illustrations, though it sort of sounds like the communication/budget was better for Begin than it was for the GG2OMC stories.

Xrd's flashbacks depict him about the same as the GG2OMC and Begin illustrations (pretty sure these flashback illustrations weren't done by Daisuke):

But his 3D model in the Strive flashback stuff is just Sol in a labcoat lol

So it seems to be that when Daisuke's the one drawing him, he's thin; but when he's in someone else's hands they just kinda do whatever. I think his flashback 3D model is beefy because Strive's development went through remote work covid hell and it was just easier slapping a labcoat on Sol than it was making an entirely new body model for like ~10 minutes of scenes haha He's very probably supposed to be thin or at least have an average-ish human man build pre-Gear cells.

#asks #long post

44 notes · View notes

autumnwhistles · 7 months

Text

Middle Of Nowhere — Full Lyrics

As promised, here are the first lyrics to the first song in my Last Life Musical concept album (“Middle Of Nowhere”) a few hours before its release!

The song is split into two parts – the overture (which isn't strictly an overture since there's also singing, but still is a mainly instrumental section meant to introduce future themes), which isn't heavily plot relevant but does talk a little about what happened in the 'world' preceding this one (aka 3rd Life); and the main song, which introduces us to the Last Life world through the eyes of the chorus, who are Watchers narrating the events (as I'm basing it on Martyn's canon).

Normal text is for chorus, bold is for players, and italics are for lyrics happening at the same time as each other:

-Overture- Ludo ludete,* Ludo ludete, Ludo ludete! [Intrumental] Oh, gone, the kingdom fallen on the mountain Bare, the sands, their cacti alone Flowers razed and castles left abandoned Now we stage another show! So build up the frozen north! A south that shall fall to flames – Renew and repeat the game! [Instrumental] -Middle of Nowhere- There is an old, old tale to be told, Of green like the spruce, of crimson and gold. Of crystals and curses, lives swapped and sold, Stories we’ll now behold. There is an old, old song to be sung/Look to the frozen north! Of victors that lost and victims that won/Look to the south in flames! Bonds forged in fire lie shattered and dull/Look to the fallen fort! All cast aside for one/Come on and play the game There is a land, in the middle of nowhere. It was too long ago there, Since last stories arose. So the tale is told, of the middle of nowhere: Watch and witness the show there, As our appetite grows! There is an old, old world to be moulded, Flames to be doused and craters unfolded Forests to spread, dark shadows to sprawl-/ Look to the names! Herald the cue! Red leaves to mark the colours of the first to fall/Rise, rise anew! There is a call, and flocking, they come, Like moths to a flame or clouds to the sun! Ships to a whirlpool yet struggling still- Look to the trees! Look to the hills! Look to them, all the same/Look to the peaks, Helpless to play their game/Good for defence, style’s just pretence/Gather the sand, gather all the cane you can! And look there, could be a home, let's form a plan!/Ahhh Six, five, four, three, two, one! Look to their land, in the middle of nowhere!/There is an old, old right to be fought for: lives to be lived, and not lived for naught – Through the wants and the woe there/To laugh, be alive, defend our pride, Herald what must be done/To cause chaos, to protect, to attack! Best all in this land, in the middle of nowhere/Strike one! Strike two! You're done! You're through! Take your friends for your foes there/No time for mercy Till a champion has won/when the only thing that you can do is- Four for the traitor, four for the pawn, Six for the swindler selling the dawn; Five for the wolf and three for the mole, Two for the witness outstepping his role. Four, the enigma and expert alike, Three, the beholder, avoiding the strike; Two for the martyr, six for the moon, Two for the fierce-hearted cynic, untombed! [Instrumental] Three for the hero, four for the dame/There is an old tale, now soon to come, Six for the self-dubbed master of games/The stage has been set, the bell has been rung, let curtains soon rise, let lights dim as one! Two, for the king with no subjects to call/The audience trembles, anxious to know what joys and disasters they shall be shown in- Two, the canary, destined to fall.../-all, when the curtains fall... Caught in this land, in the middle of nowhere. Will it still end in woe there? Will it all come undone?/Did you hear that sound?** So many feelings so grand can arise from the middle of nowhere!/Did you hear that voice?** But – let our stars lead the show there, Heeding: our will be done!

(all lyrics and music by me)

*(hopefully) "play the game" in Latin (imperative for multiple people) **the player who sings this is Martyn – but listener Martyn is NOT canon, I am going by his lore. It's a setup to the fact that the voices speak to him (they're probably letting him hear some to mess with him), and also a way to move the musical to his perspective for the next song.

#i am still working on it but i'm very nearly finished #so i feel confident it'll be out today #trafficblr #last life smp #3rd life smp #since this references it #watchers life series

55 notes · View notes

arashi-no-saxlphone · 14 days

Note

whats your opinion on asuka r kreutz

Buddy. Oh man. Either you know me and went on anon to enable me (in which case, thank you) or you're newer here and haven't seen me cry about Guilty Gear's saddest wettest cat yet.

I fucking adore Asuka R Kreutz. I think he's one of the most tragic and complex characters in Guilty Gear. I was gonna put "Well-written" too buuuut... it's hard to track down clear answers for some of the stuff that covers his time with Freddy and Aria as scientists and so I generally extrapolate what feasibly happened to the best of my ability based on what we have. (I am by no means a full-on expert, but I know enough to tell you this man does not deserve all the flack he gets).

In general, I find Asuka to be an immensely tragic and complicated man who at his core, just didn't want things to change and didn't want to lose his only and most dear friends in the whole world. Every single thing he has ever done was fueled by one of two things - his curiosity (which you can consider a flaw, as it often by his own account causes him to neglect right and wrong) or his deep love for Frederick and Aria (I find this to be his driving force for most of his actions in the story of Guilty Gear, right up until shit becomes so absolutely fucked that he has to spend most of his time trying to fix everything that goes wrong and banking on Sol to come through for him as a warrior). Asuka is the embodiment of the phrase "The road to hell is paved with good intentions" and that's probably why in lore he's labelled as "The Devil" in addition to "The Gearmaker."

When Aria gets sick, he suggests putting her in cryosleep until they can cure her disease. She refuses because she doesn't want to miss out on her time with Frederick. "Ok," he says, "well I can do something about that so please agree." And she agrees. And Asuka makes Sol a Gear and fucking immortal without telling him. Then all that crazy bullshit that kickstarts the crusades happens and Sol has to kill Aria because Asuka made her into Justice. This part is fucked up. It's a major fuckup on Asuka's part. In a drama CD, it's highlighted how important Aria's humanity and personhood is to her, and Asuka takes that away when he turns her into Justice. "What's the justification then?"

When Asuka found out that the government was going use their research to create gears as weapons and use them for war, he did EVERYTHING he could to try and stop that. Asuka isn't stupid - he's smart. He's a scientific genius. He could've easily taken the sleeping Frederick and Aria and fucked off, but he wanted to right a wrong. And it just... didn't work. He turned Aria into Justice, and though I think he probably intended to turn her back (after all, we see him demonstrate the ability to undo what he did to Sol at the end of strive) he never got the chance. Because the Universal Will overloads her and Justice just starts the Crusades.

In Overture's story, Asuka makes it clear to Sol that he needs him to be a warrior in order to be prepared for more horrors to come. Asuka realizes after the crusades that he can't fix it alone - everything he's done to solve a problem has so far ended up with him making things worse. Sol hates him. He knows Sol hates him. You know what's fucked up though?

He wants Sol to hate him. He feels like he deserves it.

I feel the need to point out that the crusades last over a century - Sol is immortal because of the gear cells and flame of corruption, but Asuka was just a normal guy - why/how is he here? Asuka created a synthetic body for himself that would not age, and transferred his consciousness into it so that he would not change. So that no matter what, Sol would recognize him. Knowing Sol wouldn't forgive him, knowing that he would always be able to find him, he didn't care - he never ever wanted to lose Sol.

Asuka clearly cares about people. He realizes the consequences of his actions, and he's clearly capable of feeling guilt over them. Look at what he does while working with I-No and Raven: He builds the Jack-O unit in the hopes that he can bring Aria back. He builds the Happy Chaos unit in the hope that he can help I-No regain her full self without going insane. He's Raven's only friend, a man who has been cast aside countless times and used for his powers. Those aren't the actions of a selfish or wholly callous man. If he was callous, he wouldn't try so hard to make SURE he could never escape Sol's anger by making himself permanently recognizable.

"Well maybe he just selfishly didn't want to let go of Sol." This is a legitimately fair point. However, let's recall what happens in the strive story: Asuka offers Frederick a choice between letting him remove the gear cells and flame of corruption from him, or letting Sol kill him.

I need you to look me in the eyes when I tell you I can't handle this part. I can't. Well over a century of fuckups and shit going wrong while Asuka desperately tries to make a million things right that weren't even entirely his fault to begin with - he didn't want to make Gears as weapons, hell he didn't even want to be a scientist! He laments about not having any control over his life and certain decisions. In all of that though, he fucking loves his friends Frederick and Aria. Now one of them's dead because of him, and the other one hates him, and after over 100 years of planning and thinking and work-

Asuka R Kruetz has no idea how to look Frederick Bulsara in the eye and tell him he's sorry. He only knows how to fix it, and also how to offer Sol a chance to feel better about it - I think he truly believes that after everything, if Sol killing him will make Sol feel better, that that's what he should let happen. I'm so fucking ill. Asuka thinks the fucking WORLD of Frederick - listen to this bit of his Strive theme, "The Gravity:"

"As the universe turned black / did the sun ever defy fate? / beyond it all do you recognize me?"

In case you aren't familiar with how Sol Badguy got his name, the government gave him the codename "Badguy" while he was running around wrecking gear compounds. "Sol" is a name given to him by Slayer, because he "shone brightly like the sun."

Now look at that snippet from Asuka's theme again - that line about the sun defying fate? That's about Sol. That's about how much he loves and values Sol, someones he repsect and looks up to, and the only person he had left to count on to fix the world that he feels like he fucked up.

As we know, Sol chooses to let Asuka just un-gear him, but after that Asuka just... leaves. He goes to the moon with the tome of origin to protect it from falling into the wrong hands. Do you know how fucking badly it fucks me up, that after everything, Asuka just ends up alone? He spent over a century trying to fix the world, nothing he did worked, and when it finally did everything was different. Everything. Aria is gone, Frederick is happier but not in his life anymore, and Asuka is alone. Everything he ever did started with his love for Frederick and Aria, and at the end of it all he's alone. And he feels guilty.

His Strive arcade Story rips me to fucking pieces - Asuka clones himself and when he does, the clone Asuka R # mentions specifically that Asuka made him "Chattier." He mentions that Asuka "Doesn't like himself." I read that as Asuka making an idealized version of himself - a self that wouldn't fuck up, a self that wouldn't be hated, but also

A self that would carry on his work.

This is where it gets heavy, but I personally believe Asuka intended to kill himself initially. He has no idea how to say sorry to Frederick, no idea how to atone, and no idea how to exist in a world that so far, he feels he has only ever fucked up in. Another snippet from his theme: "does existence have meaning? / the reality or the truth, the reality of the truth / what fact should we accept? / The reality or the truth? reality" He's trying to figure out if he can still live, if even if he wants to live, does he even deserve to? Have the right to? How can he atone?

The clone states, though it dances around it, that it's worried for Asuka - worried that he's hoping he'll lose the fight, hoping he'll die. But two of the possible outcomes (as strive arcade mode dialogue tends vary based on performance) are listed below:

In both of these conversations, the clone cites a desire to exist - which to the clone, since it is also Asuka in way, means that the original Asuka wants to exist too - and therefore that he can, and is trying to figure out how to.

I think Asuka, like a lot of Gear characters, is about trying to find a place in the world - even if the whole world feels like it's not built for you. All Asuka has ever done is tried - and failed. But he's still here. He DID manage to unfuck everything, and he did it because he DID still have Sol. Another bit of insight his clone dumps on him:

that bit there: "I know you can't affirm yourself. But at least tell me you’ll keep walking. Even if you lose your way. As long as one person out there cares about you… It’s worth it just to try to keep them happy." This is a common theme in Gear: relationships, both romantic and platonic, saving people; connections to others giving people a reason to go on or to see a new perspective that makes life worth living. Jack-O found Sol, who treated her like her own person and made her realize she was more than just a replacement for Aria. Dizzy found Ky and vice versa, changing Ky's perspective on Gears and having Dizzy realize she could be happy even in a world that treated her like a monster. Here on the moon, creating Asuka R# to talk to, Asuka is trying his very best to see and understand the world through Frederick's eyes - a world that Frederick saw as worth fighting for:

Asuka is a character who hasn't found his way yet, but all that matters is that he keeps looking.

Uh so to answer your question, I love Asuka R Kreutz - maybe you can tell by the fact that I dumped an absolute trainwreck mess on you after one small ask. Sorry! I apologize about this being a little all over the place and not having as much cohesion as I would've liked but this character is very dense and complicated and I did this kinda quickly so I had to sort through a bunch of weird feelings as I typed - I hope you found at least some of it interesting.

Thank you for the ask!

Ah, and a big fat huuuuuuuuge thank you to the stellar and amazing new Gear wiki, which is where I pulled those screenshots of his arcade mode script from! It's really a wonder how fast the wiki was put together and just what a fantastic resource it is for stuff like this; it saved me having to watch a video or, god forbid, try and do Asuka's arcade mode myself. Below is a link to the wiki page I pulled Asuka's stuff from - please check it out cause I didn't even come close to covering the full depth of what's talked about in his Arcade mode story and also because the wiki is glorious and deserves love:

22 notes · View notes

marypsue · 6 months

Text

@mickeymagpie said: i thought you were making star and david 1880s murder siblings and mike the novelist they draw in

Since you mention it...

...

“Estelle,” Michael says, as he swirls the captivating, mysterious Englishwoman around the dancefloor. “Seems old-fashioned, for someone as young and as pretty as you are.”

Estelle, Lady Sharpe – is she due the title? If her father was a baronet? Michael’s not certain, but he’ll need to find out, if he intends to keep courting her – blushes a little at the compliment, turning her dark, liquid eyes from Michael’s face. But only for long enough to be appropriately modest before she catches his gaze again, looking up through dark lashes in a way that makes Michael catch his breath. “My brother calls me Star.”

The reminder makes Michael look up, scan the crowds around them for the baronet’s menacing presence, a smudge of dusty black against all the glitter and light of the McMichaels’ ball. There’s no doubt in Michael’s mind that Lord Sharpe is the only reason why his sister has not yet married.

“Star,” he says, deliberately, turning back to the woman in his arms. Focusing on the burning points where their bodies meet, the lit candle held precariously between their clasped hands. Testing the shape, the colour of the word on his tongue. Savouring its taste. “Yes, that suits you far better. Star.”

The way Star smiles up at him makes Michael feel a little dizzy, a little drunk. It’s a slow, languorous smile, her eyes catching the candlelight and sparkling with the light of a thousand of her namesake as they whirl through the dance so fast and smoothly that the flame they hold together barely even flickers.

So fast, so smoothly, that it almost feels like flying.

…

“Read it. You’ll thank us.”

Samuel looks down at the pamphlet the bookseller’s pushed into his chest, and then back up at the bookseller’s face. “You seem to have mistaken me for someone with an interest in penny dreadfuls.”

“Oh, you’ll find plenty to interest you in this one.”

Sam barely manages to suffocate a long-suffering sigh. He’s already regretting volunteering to run this errand for his grandfather. The trip into town, the temporary escape from the confines of the grounds, was certainly not worth this hassle. Nor, in his estimation, is the copy of the literary journal that his grandfather receives monthly. The old man never reads any of the books reviewed or discussed, anyway. Believes that reading the journal removes the necessity.

“You are the second Emerson son, aren’t you?” the bookseller continues, looking Sam up and down. It’s an insolent look, judgmental, especially coming from such a petty tradesman. Especially one who can’t be much older than Sam himself. Especially one with the dubious blessing of such a countenance. To say nothing of his attire.

It’s true that Sam’s family have had…difficulties, since the unexpected departure of his father for Italy without them. And that his mother’s faced some censure lately, been denied invitations, for entertaining Maxwell McMichael’s attentions while still legally a married woman. But still. Sam’s grandfather may never have been a true baron of industry, but he’s still well known and respected in Buffalo, if quickly gaining a reputation as something of…an eccentric. A reputation that Sam, unfortunately, can’t entirely deny he’s earned.

People will of course form their own thoughts, their own opinions, of his family. But they might at least make overtures toward refraining from so clearly revealing them to Sam’s face. Especially when asking for his custom in the same breath.

So, since the bookseller doesn’t bother trying to conceal his judgment, Sam doesn’t bother trying to conceal his irritation. “What is it to you if I am?”

“Your brother married that Englishwoman? The one who was here with her brother the Lord So-and-so for the last season?” The other man arranging stock on the bookshop’s cramped shelves answers Sam’s question with a question. He nods in the direction of the pamphlet his associate had pressed on Sam. “You want to read that.”

“I don’t think much of your sales tactics,” Sam says, looking down at the cover of the pamphlet. Varney the Vampire. Sensationalist, fantastical claptrap, just as he’d believed. He can’t imagine what possible bearing it might have on Michael, his new bride, and the Lord Sharpe. Or, if it did, what purpose it could possibly serve to have Sam, living an ocean and a continent away from his in-laws’ beloved Allerdale Hall, read the thing.

“For you,” the first bookseller says, “free of charge.”

Sam casts him a sharp look. “And the catch?”

“Your grandfather’s been a good and loyal customer of ours,” the second bookseller offers. “Take it for his sake.”

“Or for your poor lady mother’s,” the first bookseller agrees.

“You have some gall, to speak of my mother. Be grateful I don’t speak of yours.” Sam glances over to the woman slouched insensate on the shoulder of the man who must be her husband, a hookah pipe forgotten between them. “Although I’m certain there’s no need for me to add my voice to the chorus.”

The first bookseller holds out a hand to stop the second from advancing on Sam. He ignores the insult as though Sam hadn’t spoken, lowering his voice instead like a sepulchral warning. The boyishness of that voice mostly ruins the effect. “She’ll thank us, in the end. When your brother and his bride return from their European tour. You all will.”

Sam looks down again at the cheap woodcut illustration gracing the cover of the pamphlet. The skeletal form of a man, face distorted in a grotesque snarl, crouches bestially over a slender swooning lady. It’s nearly comical in its exaggeration.

Sam can’t quite account for the little chill that shivers through him.

“Oh, I’m quite certain my family will thank you,” he agrees, slowly. “For my grandfather’s literary journal. It has come in, has it not?”

The second bookseller makes a face as though he’d love to tell Sam off. But he retreats behind the counter and emerges with the desired journal.

When Sam leafs through it, in the carriage headed for home, careful not to dog-ear the cover in the way his grandfather hates, he’s unsurprised to find the vampire pamphlet with its grotesque cover slipped between the pages.

…

Not for the first time, Michael dreams of David.

The dream – though in truth, it might be better called a nightmare – is much like the others. Michael wakes, in dread, in fevered anticipation, his sweat chilled and tacky against his back beneath his nightshirt, the room black as pitch and freezing cold around him, the chimneys of this thrice-accursed hulk of a collapsing manor-house all wailing out their lost-soul song. He reaches for Star, for where she should be warm in the bed beside him. But the sheets are empty and cold.

And as his eyes adjust, as though coalescing from the shadows, he sees the baronet watching him, from the foot of the bed.

No words are ever exchanged between them. This vision of David has never once answered any of Michael’s entreaties, or, indeed, his screams. The most he’s done to acknowledge a word Michael’s said in any of these dreams is that low, self-satisfied chuckle at the few times Michael’s been naïve enough to try to utter threats.

No matter what Michael says, no matter what he does, the dream always ends the same way. Gloved hands pinning him effortlessly back against the bed. A solid, cold weight on his chest, crushing the air from his lungs. Clammy breath close against the sensitive skin of his exposed neck, raising the fine hairs below his nape and all along his arms, sending delirious thrills of quivering terror through every inch of his body.

Sharp teeth slicing effortlessly through his flesh.

When Michael wakes, heart pounding, a shout dying on his lips unheard, the fire in the grate is low, its ruddy embers casting the vast room in a hellish light. Shadows cluster thickly and in strange configurations around the little island of precarious safety formed by the bed.

Perhaps it’s only Michael’s imagination, or the caprices of the embers, that makes those shadows writhe like living things wracked in agonies of torment.

Michael pushes the coverlet back, shaking his head to try to clear it. The fog of sleep still lies heavily upon him, his heart still rabbit-quick in his chest. It had seemed such a good idea, at the time, to humour his new wife’s desire to share her ancestral home with him before she would be forced to part from it for a new continent. Now, though, he regrets ever setting foot within these moldering walls. The sooner they continue on to Paris, the sooner they continue their honeymoon tour, the better.

Preferably without Michael’s new brother-in-law haunting their every step.

Star lies peacefully slumbering with her chestnut curls spilled out across the pillow beside Michael. He reaches out a hand to clasp the ivory skin of her bare shoulder, reassure himself of its warmth and solidity.

But stops himself.

There are spots of something dark flecking the back of his hand. And his palm. And the snow-white cover of his pillow.

Star stirs, as Michael stares. “Mm. Michael? Are you all right?”

Michael doesn’t know.

He coughs, once, into his hand, and tastes blood, bright and metallic at the back of his throat.

#the lost boys #the lost boys 1987 #crimson peak #this is mary's fic tag

33 notes · View notes

homomenhommes · 20 days

Text

THIS DAY IN GAY HISTORY

based on: The White Crane Institute's 'Gay Wisdom', Gay Birthdays, Gay For Today, Famous GLBT, glbt-Gay Encylopedia, Today in Gay History, Wikipedia, and more … April 5

1837 – Algernon Charles Swinburne (d.1909); A Victorian era English poet, his poetry was highly controversial in its day, much of it containing recurring themes of sadomasochism, death-wish, Lesbianism and irreligion.

Swinburne had a striking appearance; he was very short and thin, with a huge head and large quantities of flame-red hair. He had a nervous temperament, could behave erratically, and was subject to tremors.

He had a lively interest in flagellation—a taste probably acquired at Eton, and he shared his sexual interests with, among others, Lord Houghton, who had amassed a large library of erotica.

For his own entertainment, Swinburne composed flagellation sketches, farcical novels, and reviews of nonexistent French poets. He tried to publish some of these works, but primarily he circulated them among his friends—who included Dante Gabriel Rossetti, his brother William Rossetti, and Edward Burne-Jones.

His Poems and Ballads scandalized Victorian critical and moral opinion and was withdrawn from circulation by its publisher. The volume included "Dolores," which glorified masochism, "Hermaphroditus," which exhibited Swinburne's lasting interest in bisexuality, and "Anactoria," which glorified lesbianism in an address of Sappho to her lover.

His friendships with George Powell and Simeon Solomon encouraged his interest in same-sex sexuality, though he was at times ambivalent about what he called Solomon's "Platonism." But we do know that he and gay painter Simeon Solomon used to chase each other naked through the poet Rossetti's house

By the late 1860s, Swinburne had become addicted to alcohol, and it quickly undermined his health. His alcoholic sprees also began to lose him friends.

In 1879, Theodore Watts (later Watts-Dunton), a solicitor and minor writer, established Swinburne in his house in Putney outside London. Watts tactfully weaned Swinburne from alcohol and from those of his friends who had encouraged him to drink. Though the household treatment at Putney might be thought stifling, Watts undoubtedly saved Swinburne's life. Swinburne continued to write until his death thirty years later.

1900 – Spencer Tracy (d.1967) was an American actor. Respected for his natural style and versatility, Tracy was one of the major stars of Hollywood's Golden Age. In a screen career that spanned 37 years, he was nominated for nine Academy Awards for Best Actor and won two, sharing the record for nominations in this category with Laurence Olivier. Like Olivier, Tracy was reportedly bisexual.

Spencer Tracy was a midwesterner from a lace-curtain Irish-American background who developed a taste for acting at school, and after a First World War spell in the US Navy, a year at drama school, and various odd jobs, he spent eight years developing his craft on Broadway. A fellow Irishman, John Ford, spotted him playing a condemned murderer on Broadway in 1930 and brought him to Hollywood to play another convict in Up the River. Twenty-eight years later he gave one of his last great performances in Ford's The Last Hurrah.

Though a confident professional, he was a difficult, guilt-ridden man, alcoholic and bisexual, the two sides of his personality perhaps expressed in the 1941 Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde.

Ex-rent boy, Scotty Bowers, in his book Full Service, tells of how he and a very drunk Tracy ended up naked in bed together, and how he had suggested to Tracy that

we should try to get some sleep, but he wasn't ready for that. Instead, he lay his head down at my groin, took hold of my penis and began nibbling on my foreskin. This was the last guy on earth that I expected an overture like that from, but I was more than happy to oblige him and despite his inebriated state we had an hour or so of pretty good sex.

The next morning there wasn't even the slightest hint of how drunk he'd been, that he'd pissed in the corner of the bedroom, or that we'd had sex together. He didn't say a word about it. It was as though none of it ever happened.

That was the first of many sexual encounters I had with Spence. Sometimes I would go to his place at five in the afternoon and sit around the kitchen table with him until two in the morning as he drank himself into a stupor. Then he would be ready for a little sex. Despite everything, he was a damn good lover. The great Spencer Tracy was another bisexual man, a fact totally concealed by the studio publicity department.

Tracy found his greatest professional success and most profound personal experience in his partnership on and off screen with Katharine Hepburn. She was the Ivy League-educated, upper-middle-class liberated sophisticate to his self-made, aggressively male rough diamond, and they sparred together in nine films, beginning with Woman of the Year (1942).

1929 – Joe Meek (d.1967), born Robert George Meek in Newent, Gloucestershire, was a pioneering English record producer and songwriter acknowledged as one of the world's first and most imaginative independent producers . His most famous work was The Tornados' hit Telstar (1962), which became the first record by a British group to hit #1 in the US Hot 100.

A stint in the Royal Air Force as a radar operator, spurred a life-long interest in electronics and outer space. From 1953 he worked for the Midlands Electricity Board. He used the resources of his company to develop his interest in electronics and music production, including acquiring a disc-cutter and producing his first record. He left the electricity board to work as a sound engineer at Radio Luxembourg.

Despite not being able to play a musical instrument or write notation, Meek displayed a remarkable facility for producing successful commercial recordings. To compose, he was dependent on musicians, who would transcribe his singing (or recordings of it). He worked on 245 singles, of which 45 were major hits (top fifty or better).

He pioneered studio tools such as artificial multi-tracking on one- and two-track machines, close miking, direct input of bass guitars, the compressor, and effects like echo and reverb, as well as sampling. At a time when studio engineers were assiduously trying to maintain clarity and fidelity, Meek was producing everything on the three floors of his 'home' studio and was never afraid to distort or manipulate the sound if it created the effect he was seeking. For John Leyton's hit song Johnny Remember Me he placed the violins on the stairs, the drummer almost in the bathroom, and the brass section on a different floor entirely.

Although he turned down opportunities to work with David Bowie, The Beatles and Rod Stewart, Meek did work with a host of other artists including Gene Vincent, Billy Fury, Petula Clark, Shirley Bassey, Tommy Steele and many more.

Meek was obsessed with the occult and the idea of 'the other side'. He would set up tape machines in graveyards in a vain attempt to record voices from beyond the grave. In particular, he had an obsession with Buddy Holly and other dead rock and roll musicians.

His efforts were often hindered by his paranoia (Meek was convinced that Decca Records would put hidden microphones behind his wallpaper in order to steal his ideas), drug use and attacks of rage or depression. His then-illegal homosexuality put him under further pressure; he had been charged with 'importuning for immoral purposes' in 1963 and was consequently subjected to blackmail.

In January of 1967, police in Tattingstone, Suffolk, discovered a suitcase containing the mutilated body of Bernard Oliver, an alleged rent boy who had previously associated with Meek. According to some accounts, Joe became concerned that he would be involved in the investigation when the London police stated that they would be interviewing all known homosexuals in the city.

On February 3, 1967, the eighth anniversary of Buddy Holly's death, Meek killed his landlady Violet Shenton and then himself with a single-barrelled shotgun that he had confiscated from his protegé, former Tornados bassist and solo star Heinz Burt at his Holloway Road home/studio. Meek had kept it under his bed, along with the shells. As the gun had been registered to Burt, he was questioned intensively by police, before being eliminated from their enquiries.

1936 – Pierre Hahn (d.1981) was one of the earliest gay militants in contemporary France and an amateur historian who received the first doctorate given in France for work in the history of homosexuality.

Pierre Hahn was nineteen when he contacted André Baudry, the former seminarian who had just begun publishing Arcadie, a monthly "homophile" review and would soon found an association with the same name. Invited to participate, Hahn wrote numerous articles (under the pseudonym André Clair) on a wide variety of subjects of interest to the homosexual readership, while simultaneously embarking on a career in journalism.

Under pressure from his father, however, Hahn briefly entered a psychiatric hospital at the age of twenty in a vain attempt to "cure" his homosexuality. The experience left him with a life-long distrust of the medical profession because of the way it had been treating homosexuals since the nineteenth century.

By the mid-1960s Hahn was evolving beyond Baudry's position that homosexuals should show themselves "respectable" and "dignified" in order to win the tolerance of society. Hahn later explained that he had begun a serious relationship with another man and "like all people who are in love, I wanted to shout it from the rooftops; I also wanted to rehabilitate something [homosexuality] that was held in contempt or treated with condescension." In a public talk at Arcadie, he compared the discrimination against homosexuals to racial discrimination, a point of view that shocked some of his more conservative listeners.

Guy Hocquenghem (a leading gay militant of the 1970s, but at the time a 21-year-old Trotskyite who carefully hid his own homosexuality from his homophobic "comrades" on the political left) later recalled Hahn's appearance at one meeting in 1967: "He came into the damp cellar and for an hour spoke to us about homosexual liberation. It was the first time I had ever seen a homosexual militant. And for a good reason, because at the time he was the only one in Paris."

In late 1970, there emerged a small radical group of Arcadie members that undertook a number of commando actions, most notably the disruption of an anti-abortion meeting in Paris on March 5, 1971, in which Hahn participated.

Five days later, the same group sabotaged a live radio broadcast on the theme "Homosexuality, This Painful Problem." They stormed the stage. Hahn, who was taking part in the program as an invited journalist and (presumably heterosexual) "expert" on homosexuality, had arranged their presence

That evening the they founded the Homosexual Front for Revolutionary Action (Front Homosexuel d'Action Révolutionnaire, or FHAR). Radical gay liberation had come to France.

After FHAR's collapse in early 1974, Hahn remained active in the gay movement. He had also begun research into the gay past. One former gay militant, Alain Huet, remembers Hahn as "a living homosexual encyclopedia".

In 1979 Hahn published Nos Ancêtres les Pervers (Our Ancestors The Perverts), in which he tried to demonstrate how, by repressing same-sex activity in eighteenth- and nineteenth-century Paris, policemen and doctors had produced the modern homosexual as a distinct category of man.

In late 1980, a board of examiners at the University of Paris-VIII (Vincennes) awarded Hahn a doctorate in philosophy for his work on "the birth of homosexuality," earning the degree on the basis of the work that he had already published in the form of books and articles.

By then Hahn had taken to drinking heavily. Without a steady job, he found it difficult to make a living and was deeply in debt. He was also infatuated with a young Moroccan, who took Hahn's money and gave little in return.

Hahn committed suicide on February 19, 1981. Gay militants had to take up a collection to pay for the burial. The card on one of the two wreaths at the funeral was an implicit acknowledgment of his historical role in launching gay liberation in France: "To Pierre Hahn, from his friends in the French and foreign homosexual movements."

1939 – Massachusetts requires notice to police whenever someone convicted of sodomy is released from prison.

1982 – Thomas Hitzlsperger is a German director of football and a former footballer who played as a midfielder. Since February 2019, he has been the head of sport of VfB Stuttgart.

Hitzlsperger began to play football at Forstinning, and later he joined the youth team of Bayern Munich, and in 2000 he moved to Aston Villa.

Hitzlsperger, who got engaged to his high school sweetheart, broke up with her shortly before the scheduled wedding ceremony six years ago. He was no longer certain of his sexual orientation. In an interview, he stated, "I finally figured out that I desired to be with a man."

The former world champion, who performed in the 2006 Global Cup and the 2008 European Championship, continues that he no longer had to lie about his sexuality and that teammates sooner or later stopped asking about his lack of a girlfriend. "However, the crucial aspect for me is to show that being a homosexual soccer participant is something that is normal. The perceived contradiction between playing football, a man's recreation, and being gay is nonsense. I don't think anyone has ever walked away from a game with me wondering if there's something wrong or 'too smooth' with my game," he said.

In January 2022, Hitzlsperger told ARD, that a "collective coming out" of gay footballers could be a solution to their problems of hiding their sexuality. Hitzlsperger took the example of 125 Catholic priests in Germany who decided to come out at once.

1991 – Phillip Picardi is an American journalist and editor. He is the former editor-in-chief of Out. His career in journalism began at Teen Vogue. He also worked for Refinery29 and Allure.

Picardi grew up in Boston to a Catholic family. Picardi attended Central Catholic High School, where in 2008 he was one of the founders of a now-annual student fundraiser called Catwalk4Cancer; the 2017 event raised more than $250,000. After graduating from high school, Picardi attended college at New York University.

Picardi started his publishing career as an intern at Teen Vogue. He then served as online beauty editor at Teen Vogue before becoming senior beauty editor at Refinery29 in September 2014. At Refinery29 he worked for Mikki Halpin, whose influence as well as Picardi's personal experiences led to a growing interest in political engagement alongside his work on beauty.

Speaking to The Guardian, he said his experience growing up gay in a Catholic family meant "I can certainly relate to what it feels like to be underrepresented or even marginalized. I took sex ed classes and there was no mention of homosexuality. Or I would sit in religion class and be told my life was a sin." Since June 2020, Picard has hosted a podcast about this subject called Unholier Than Thou, part of the Crooked Media podcast network.

In March 2017, his role at Condé Nast expanded to become as digital editorial director for Them, the LGBT magazine as well as Teen Vogue. Under Picardi's leadership, Them has also seen a significant rise in web traffic: April 2017 had a 53% increase over the prior year (6.9 million over 4.5 million in April 2016). He left the magazine and Condé Nast in August 2018.

In August 2018, Pride Media Inc. announced Picardi as the new editor-in-chief of Out. Picardi was let go from Out in December 2019, describing it as “the most complex chapter of my career so far”.

18 notes · View notes

haveyoulistenedtothisalbum-poll · 4 months

Text

Tracklist:

Overture • Theatre • Make A Move • Get Well • The Grey • Off With Her Head • Fight • Up In Flames • Iodine • Only A Memory • Pieces

Spotify ♪ YouTube

#hyltta-polls #polls #artist: icon for hire #language: english #decade: 2010s #Alternative Rock #Pop Punk #Electronicore #Easycore

34 notes · View notes

lightdancer1 · 6 months

Text

One of the big reasons I think that it's always a bit of a bad thing to forget the Endless really aren't human:

Is because, and I admit here that this is from the POV of someone who does most, if not quite all, of my fanfics from a Death-centric perspective flip both because Gaiman did Dream well and like prequel Anakin there is only so much man pain and mangst I can take before wanting to reach through the screen and strangle the son of a bitch. Disliking Dream as a wangsty jackass who is the architect of almost all of his own problems does not mean being blind to how dysfunctional the Endless as a whole are.

Yet at the end of the day Dream is not your pantsfeels, he's the in-universe true architect of fear and maker of all nightmares, the guy who casually sends a woman to Hell because she told him no. He is inhuman and fickle and dangerous for any mortals that cross his path.......and as a being of story he is also bound by story-logic to pursue the path that makes the better story at the expense of multiple logical and even emotional reactions.

And in terms of this Dream is not really so different to the rest of the family. Even Destruction, when he walks off, very much remains an Endless and is still Destruction. He doesn't become human, he doesn't give up his powers and he goes into a long rambling set of justifications on that and believing simultaneously that the Endless interfere too much in human affairs and turns his group of friends into a minefield to ensure he stays hidden. Destruction, in short, is a flaming hypocrite at best and should not be taken as the reliable one true truth. None of the Seven Endless are that.

So what does all this have to do with Death? Simple. She will outlive the universe and Death of the Endless will be a title and a moment in time. Unlike any of the others she did outright completely quit and walked out and where Dream's captivity and Destruction's hippie moment didn't cause immediate unraveling of reality as opposed to the realm Death did. She is unlike the other six in ways that would and do contribute to why there's so much talking past each other.

The other six, even Destruction, all see their natures as intertwined with their functions, spheres, and all that go with them. Every hundred years for a day Death gives up all that power and becomes fully, truly mortal. She takes the step none of the others can bring themselves to do, and in spite of being the one that outlives the universe, she has died the most of all her kin and the DCU being what it is probably more than a few of those deaths were not pleasant ones. And this is without the equally logical assumption based on Overture that we only see the Earth mortal day, that there were and are such days on all worlds, in all forms of life.

And as I've brought this up before, too, Death's little apartment is not her realm. The realm is only glimpsed partially once, in her second miniseries and it looks every bit as dark as a realm called 'sunless lands' would. With the exception of Destruction all the other realms are seen in detail and not just a partial glimpse. Death has that detachment from that realm, which is as much a part of her as she of it.

In short, unlike the rest of her siblings I think Death is if anything in the comics the least truly focused on duty and much as I consider the 'none of them came for me' to be a good example of Dream's self-serving hypocrisy as he'd hate and scorn and react violently to anyone that actually did and Gaiman is repeatedly on record as noting that, I see the 'our purpose is our function' line as a bit of self-serving hypocrisy in the interest of cheering up her brother. Death couldn't and doesn't take dealing with her function or being an Endless well. She walked out, she keeps trying to turn herself mortal, she will one day continue to exist but no longer be an Endless.

Thus in the end, there is a great irony here. Dream is too rigidly bound by duty to ever truly entertain the idea that he could leave and figure out how to do so short of dying. Death is too frantically eager to discard her Endless status to figure out why anyone would, given the choice, choose to remain one even if it hurts them.

#death of the endless #sandman meta #endless family dysfunction #endless family hypocrisies #Dream's besetting hypocrisy is to be a king who exercises power without anything to moderate it #Destruction's hypocrisy is to proclaim the merit of not meddling in mortal life and then to have his friends killed to keep himself hidden #Death's hypocrisy in the show is to proclaim functions are purposes even when she abandons hers for 24 hours every single day #in the comics her hypocrisy is to expect her siblings to be open about themselves while she doesn't even bother to share very basic things #consider that in the comics her mortal day is well known enough that Mad Hettie knows #and all Dream has is a whisper of an enigma within a riddle within a dream #death tells dream to talk about his problems and he doesn't even know one of the most fundamental truths about his sister #and she doesn't tell him either

30 notes · View notes

acespaceacepilot · 6 months

Text

i'd bleed for anything if it held me the right way 🩸🗡️💥 a wyll/astarion playlist on spotify

(song list + lyrics that made me chose them below the cut)

man or a monster (feat. zayde wølf) - sam tinnesz

it's so hard to tell which side you're on / one day is hell, the next day is the dawn / the lines are blurred, you keep rubbing your eyes / the tables turn, now it's time to survive

eat your young - hozier

i'm starving, darling / let me put my lips to something / let me wrap my teeth around the world / start carving, darling

until it doesn’t hurt - mother mother

i wanna fight, i wanna bite / i wanna swallow all the light / but i'ma stay right here / i'ma stay inside / i'ma just sit tight for another night / if i can't make it right / then i won't make it worse / i'ma just sit tight until it doesn't hurt

biting down - lorde

skip a hit, don't make a sound / (it feels better biting down) / breathed so deep i thought i'd drown / (it feels better biting down) / listen to the beats resound / (it feels better biting down)

furthest star - dirt poor robins

behold the day she found me here / so near the end of love's career / i feared every flower that appeared / had been uprooted by my peers / but then my autumn prayers were heard / just before the frost emerged / and i'll have my just deserts / when, once again, i'm next to her

flesh and bone - black math

break the truth inside of me / climbed down to hell on the devil's tree / i clutched a branch of soot and flame / the thought that rose, to scorch my feet

de selby (part 2) - hozier

what you're given, what you live in / darlin', it finds a way to live in you / and your heart, love, has such darkness / i feel it in the corners of the room

my body is a cage - arcade fire

my body is a cage / that keeps me from dancing with the one i love / but my mind holds the key / you're standing next to me / my mind holds the key / i'm living in an age / that calls darkness light / though my language is dead / still the shapes fill my head

gilded lily - slowed + reverb - cults

now it's been long enough to talk about it / i've started not to doubt it, just wrap my head around it / i remember when you told me it's an everyday decision / but with my double vision, how was i supposed to see the way? / haven't i given enough, given enough? (x4) / always the fool with the slowest heart

dispense with sentiment - we are scientists

i've been turning this over in my head / but i've been trying not to pick it apart / it's an overture to something, i guess / but i'll be goddamned if i can say to what / it's like i'm winding up to speak / for the first time in weeks / i'm trying to make sense / can we start again / and drop our defenses? / it might just be best / if we start dispensing with sentiment

graveyard whistling - nothing but thieves

all that afterlife / i don't hold with it / all your gods are false / just get used to it / let's go out tonight / kill some stubborn myths / set those ghosts alight, get into it. // ok, i admit / i'm not innocent / i did everything and i would again

crying wolf - julien baker

'cause i'm not crying wolf / i'm out here / looking for them / in the morning when i wake up / naked in their den / i'll swear off all the things i thought / that got me here / in the evening / i'll come back again

blood bank - bon iver

that secret that we know / that we don't know how to tell / i'm in love with your honor / i'm in love with your cheeks / what's that noise up the stairs babe? / is that christmas morning creaks?

bite the hand - boygenius

who do you think you are? / who do you think i am? / what do you wanna say? / what do you think will change? / maybe i'm afraid of you (x2) / i'll bite the hand that feeds me (x2) / bite the hand (x2) / bite the hand that needs me (x2)

metaphor - the crane wives

don't look too hard 'cause you won't like the scars he left in me / i've gotten good at making up metaphors / i've gotten good at stretching the truth out of shape / and all these words are sweet and meaningless / you can't trust a single thing i say

various storms & saints - florence + the machine

i'm in the throes of it / somewhere in the belly of the beast / but you took your toll on me / so i gave myself over willingly / oh, you got a hold on me / i don't know how i don't just stand outside and scream / i am teaching myself how to be free

savior complex - phoebe bridgers

baby, you're a vampire / you want blood and i promised / i'm a bad liar / with a savior complex / all the skeletons you hide / show me yours, and i'll show you mine

see the day - the altogether

the sleeping slip has begun to fray / i never thought i'd see the day / the pious hunter stops stalking prey / i never thought i'd see the day

myth - beach house

if you built yourself a myth / you'd know just what to give / what comes after this / momentary bliss? / the consequence / of what you do to me / help me to name it

posthumous forgiveness - tame impala

ever since i was a small boy / no one else compared to you, no way / i always thought heroes stayed close / whenever troubled times arose / i didn't know, ain't always how it goes / every single word you told me / i believed without a question, always / to save all of us / you told us both to trust / but now i know you only saved yourself

slowing down - the backseat lovers

whisper in my ear / that you need me / but if you saw it clearly / would you leave me? / i'm honest to you / but i'm lying to myself / and i don't wanna hear it / it has something to do / with the balance of my blood / and when i'll have to spill it

only - ry x

coming from the cold / buried under heat / lay you on the floor / i was only falling in love / cut me like a rose / turn me like a beast / hold you to the floor / i was only falling in love

daylight - david kushner

tellin' myself it's the last time / can you spare any mercy that you might find / if i'm down on my knees again? / deep down, way down, lord, i try / try to follow your light, but it's night time / please, don't leave me in the end

touch - sleeping at last

i know, i know the sirens sound / just before the walls come down / pain's a well-intentioned weatherman / predicting god as best he can / but god, i wanna feel again

will anybody ever love me? - sufjan stevens

will anybody ever love me? / for good reasons / without grievance, not for sport / will anybody ever love me? / in every season / pledge allegiance to my heart / pledge allegiance to my burning heart

holy lover - keaton henson

i think i love you / baby, please, don't be afraid of me / i think i love you / and oh, holy lover / i'll be the colors i can't see / and i will try harder / avail my father, live every need / and i've been so lonely / oh, please, just hold me so i can sleep

true love will find you in the end - someone, benjamin longman

but how can it recognize you / if you don't step out into the light, the light / don't be sad i know you will / don't give up until / true love will find you in the end

the moon doesn’t mind - lord huron

the sky doesn't care what my poor heart wants / and the desert can't hear my cries / the moon doesn't mind that i'm left all alone / and she's gone, gone

my love mine all mine - mitski

'cause my love is mine, all mine / i love, my, my, mine / nothing in the world belongs to me / but my love, mine, all mine

to build a home - the cinematic orchestra, patrick watson

this is a place where i don't feel alone / this is a place where i feel at home / 'cause, i built a home / for you / for me / until it disappeared / from me / from you

#wyllstarion #bloodpact #bg3 #my 8tracks #(a tag from a bygone era lmaoooo it’s just where all the playlists i made are now)#repeated themes on this playlist: light/darkness and blood/vampire/biting #oh also being a monster/monstrous #also in my mind this playlist goes from act 1 to act 2 and then act 3

35 notes · View notes

celestiall0tus · 6 months

Text

Miraculous Paradise - Chapter 1 - Overture

“It’s almost time,” Emilie cheered.

Emilie finished the breakfast preparations as her husband, Gabriel, met her in the dining room.

“Quite a lot of food for just the three of us and Amelie,” Gabriel remarked.

“Oh! Right! Colt and Felix are coming with her. They’re going to celebrate Adrien’s seventeenth birthday.”

Gabriel groaned. “Does Colt have to come? Felix is one thing, but Colt?”

“Hush. I want the family together. After all, we… we don’t-.”

Emilie trailed off as the words caught in her throat. Her eyes misted at the thought of Adrien not surviving another year.

Gabriel grabbed Emilie and pulled her into a hug. “It’s ok, you’ll see. He’s ok still. We won’t lose him anytime soon.”

“What if we do? I can’t bear the thought.”

“He’s our miracle. I believe he’ll be with us for years to come. You’ll see.”

Emilie offered a weak smile and hugged Gabriel. “Right. We won’t lose him. He’s our precious little miracle.”

“And it’s his birthday,” Gabriel reminded.

“Oh, right! We have to go wake him. Get him ready. Amelie will be here soon.”

Gabriel nodded. He took Emilie’s hand, and they headed up to Adrien’s room. They crept inside and drew back the curtains to let in the winter’s morning sunlight. He led her over to Adrien’s bedside. She looked at Adrien as pain and fear gripped her heart. Seeing Adrien’s thin, sickly body always stoked the flames of her fear. Her mind raced with the dread of losing Adrien and her heart shattering.

Gabriel turned to Emilie and squeezed her hand. Emilie gave a weak smile, then took a deep breath and grinned.

“Happy birthday!” Emilie and Gabriel cheered.

Adrien cracked his eyes open and gave his parents a weak smile. “Morning, Mom and Dad.”

“Oh, look at you. My little boy is growing up so fast. Seems only yesterday you were stumbling around and playing with the girls,” Emilie reminisced.

Adrien chuckled as he attempted to adjust himself. Gabriel moved and helped Adrien sit up.

“How are you feeling?” Gabriel asked.

“Alright. Nothing just yet,” Adrien answered.

“Good. Just relax. You’ll need your energy for the party your mother has planned,” Gabriel teased.

Emilie snorted and poked Gabriel. “Oh, don’t you put this all on me. I only invited my sister and her family as well as the girls, but you extended it to your friends.

Adrien’s face lit up. “Uncle Colt and Felix will be coming today?”

Emilie nodded. “I even convinced Nathalie to come too. She’ll be here after she’s done managing your father’s business for the day.”

Adrien beamed. “Nathalie? I haven’t seen her in a long time.”

“You would if your father didn’t keep her so busy,” Emilie teased.

Gabriel smirked. “Someone needs to keep me in line when you’re not around.”

“And thank goodness for that too. I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

Gabriel feigned offense, making Adrien laugh.

“Now, enough of all that. Are you ready for breakfast, Adrien?” Emilie asked.

Adrien nodded. Gabriel and Emilie assisted him in getting changed and downstairs to the dining hall. They reached the main foyer when the doors swung open. Amelie strutted in with Colt and Felix behind her.

“Sister!” Amelie cheered.

“Darling!” Emilie called back.

Amelie ran up and embraced Emilie, then looked at Adrien.

“Look at you. Has it really been seventeen years already?” Amelie asked.

“I know. He’s growing up so fast, isn’t he?” Emilie added.

“Can we skip the fawning and get to breakfast?” Colt interrupted.

Amelie blinked, then smiled. “Colt, honey?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Gabriel and Emilie pursed their lips to hide their amusement while Adrien tilted his head in confusion. Felix cracked a smile and snickered. Colt sneered and slapped the back of Felix’s head. Felix snorted and flipped off Colt.

“Alright now, I think that’s enough of that,” Emilie interjected.

“Exactly. Can’t you behave for two seconds, Colt?” Amelie pressed.

“Yes, Father, can’t you?” Felix added.

“Watch your tone, boy,” Colt jeered at Felix.

Felix laughed. “Oh, Father, I’m not a boy any longer. Give it a few more years and you’ll be calling me ‘Sir,’ bowing to my every whim.”

Colt growled and pushed past them, heading towards the dining hall.

Felix smirked. He turned to Amelie, bowed, and offered an arm. “Shall we, Mom?”

Amelie took Felix’s arm. “So gentlemanly. At least you picked up traits some traits from me.”

“Only the best from you, Mom.”

Amelie giggled and looked back at Emilie, Gabriel, and Adrien. “What are we waiting for? Let’s go!”

Bridgette walked down the street with her arms full of groceries. She stifled a yawn as she headed back to her apartment. The city buzzed around her as everyone stirred and rushed off to work. The chatter of passing strangers coupled with their dismissive glances her way before they rushed past her. Something that used to annoy her so long ago now she had grown accustomed to.

Bridgette turned a corner as a man crashed into her. She staggered back, slipped on the ice, and fell. She clutched her groceries, careful not to lose them. She took inventory while the man berated her for not watching where she was going. Those that witnessed the events questioned their lying eyes, but ultimately put the blame at her feet. She ignored them despite the eyes that burned into her back and continued home.

Bridgette breathed a sigh of relief once she was on the floor of her apartment. She hadn’t run into any other accidents. She lamented on the crowd’s words. Something that didn’t sting like it used to, but still lingered. The doubt that they threw at her, the back and forths between others as they questioned her motives, and it all resulting in them never believing her. She snorted at the constant reminders as an ache formed.

The ache brought forth a part of Bridgette that resented her situation. It reminded her how she could have had a real life where she could achieve her dreams. Where she could have had a partner, perhaps her own family, and have a normal nine-to-five white collar job. She could prove she wasn’t a stain on the family’s name. Instead, she went the opposite direction in their eyes and doubled down.

Bridgette shook her head and fumbled her keys. She fought the ache as she unlocked the door and stumbled in. She caught herself as her eyes fell on Marinette. A different ache accompanied with warmth filled her heart seeing Marinette sitting near the door, napping while sitting. The large spectral fox beside her barked and bounced around, waking up Marinette. Marinette’s eyes blinked awake, squinting in the darkness. Marinette’s eyes widened as her face lit up with an enormous grin seeing Bridgette.

The terrible ache that plagued Bridgette ebbed away. She closed the door and knelt, hugging Marinette. She pressed her forehead against Marinette’s before she moved to turn on the small, dim lights.

“Sleep well, Mar Mar?” Bridgette asked.

Marinette nodded.

“Have any dreams?”

Marinette pressed her index finger against the side of her mouth. She tilted her head and looked up, then shook her head.

“A restful sleep, huh? That’s good.”

Marinette beamed.

“You hungry, Mar Mar?”

Marinette nodded.

Bridgette smiled. She moved to the kitchen, placed down her groceries, and grabbed a menu. The fox helped Marinette stand and guided her to the kitchen. A pang hit Bridgette’s heart seeing Marinette limp along with the exposed scars on Marinette’s legs. A sight she should be used to after all these years, but still got to her. Marinette tugged Bridgette’s sleeve, bringing her back. Bridgette gave a tired smile and handed Marinette the menu. Marinette looked it over while Bridgette put away the groceries. Marinette approached Bridgette while holding up the menu.

“What’d you decide this morning?”

Marinette pointed to dumplings, tea, and a chocolate donut.

Bridgette chuckled. “My, what an appetite this morning. Perfect for a growing girl.”

Marinette’s eyes sparkled. She nuzzled Bridgette before she headed to the living room with her fox behind her.

Bridgette waited until she heard the TV turn on then sighed. She grabbed the dumplings she had premade, silently thankful she had the extras. She prepared the meal while her body screamed at her to rest. She pushed through it until she finished putting together their plates. She placed them at the table and called Marinette over.

Bridgette waited while Marinette joined her with the fox trailing behind. They took their seats and ate. Bridgette stole glances while Marinette fought with the chopsticks. Marinette had managed a few bites before she gave up and used the basic cutlery. She smiled and gently touched Marinette’s arm, getting her attention.

“You’re getting better, Mar-Mar. Keep at it.”

Marinette beamed. She reached out and squeezed Bridgette’s hand. Bridgette stifled a wince at her weak grip. The strength Bridgette remembered long gone, but not the comfort. Bridgette returned the gesture before she stood.

“I’m going to get some sleep. Make sure to wake me when it’s lunchtime.”

Marinette nodded. The fox popped its head up and barked.

“And don’t you forget about lessons, Trixx.”

Trixx barked.

Bridgette smiled. She patted Trixx and kissed Marinette’s forehead, then retired to her room.

“It’s almost time! It’s almost time!” Emilie cheered.

Emilie ran around the house as she finished the preparations for dinner and the party. Adrien watched her scurry around with a slight smile on his face. Felix sat across from him, scrolling on his phone. Felix’s company wasn’t like Emilie or Amelie, but was welcome, even if it was just silence.

Even through the silence, Adrien raked his brain for a conversation topic. He recalled simple things he had heard his parents use to strike up a conversation, but they were typically mundane things like the weather, life, or business prospects. Would that be sufficient for Felix? Would it get Felix talking or would he just get basic answers? Was there any harm in trying?

“So, how’ve you been Felix?” Adrien asked.

“I’ve been as well as I can. Some days get a little crazy when I’m at Colt’s throat and he’s at mine.”

“What do you mean?”

“It should be no secret that we don’t exactly see eye-to-eye. We have vastly different ideas for the business and tend to clash. I do believe he hopes that I’ll just bend over backwards and take it like when I was younger. However, that won’t do any good for his successor to be a little bitch.”

“Successor? You’re going to take over Colt’s company?”

“Indeed. I’m sure he’s hating it since he’s still in charge and the man has a nasty need to control everything. So, as you can probably imagine, it causes a lot of problems between the two of us.”

“Do you want to take over his company?”

Felix paused. He looked up from his phone and stared straight ahead. “A strange question. I’ve always been expected to take over. Want wasn’t a luxury I was allowed. I suppose to a degree, yes, I do, but also, no, I don’t.”

“What would you do if you didn’t have to take over the company?”

Felix considered. He opened his mouth, then stopped when the doorbell sounded, and Emilie squealed. She rushed to the parlor. Excitement and hope flared in Adrien as he heard Chloe’s shrill voice. Felix winced at the noise.

“Great. There goes the relative quiet,” Felix complained.

“They’re not so bad,” Adrien said.

“Adrikins!” Chloe yelled.

Felix rolled his eyes. He put his hands up and left. Chloe bounced over and sat beside Adrien.

Chloe hugged Adrien. “Happy birthday!”

“Thanks, Chloe.”

Zoe, Chloe’s younger half-sister, shuffled into the room and plopped down on an adjacent couch. Kagami walked in after and sat across from Zoe where Felix had a moment ago.

“Happy birthday, Adrien. How are you feeling?” Kagami asked.

“I’m doing alright. I’m getting a little tired after the long day, but it’s one day a year, right?” Adrien answered.

“Are you sure? Perhaps you should rest,” Kagami remarked.

Adrien put his hands up. “No, no, really, I’m fine.”

Kagami hummed.

“Oh, don’t bring down the mood, Kagami. This is a happy day, and we need to celebrate!” Chloe cheered.

“Can you bring it down a notch, Chloe?” Zoe asked.

Chloe glared at Zoe. “Hush! No one asked you. Why don’t you go do literally anything else.”

“Like?” Zoe asked.

“I don’t know. Just go use your imagination like any other child.”

Zoe growled. She stood and walked behind Chloe, smacked the back of Chloe’s head, then ran. Chloe stood and screeched.

“Mommy! Zoe hit me!”

“Zoe, shut up!” Audrey yelled back.

“I’m Chloe!”

“Whatever! Just shut up!”

Chloe crossed her arms and sat down. She pouted as she looked around when she saw Kagami with a smirk on her face.

“What’s with that smirk, Tsurugi?” Chloe demanded.

“Can’t I just smile? I don’t get to very often,” Kagami remarked.

Chloe snorted and looked away. “Whatever. Anyway, Adrikins, you’re going to love what we got you. We made sure to spare no expense. Just like always.”

“More solid gold trash?” Kagami asked.

Chloe gasped. “You take that back right now!”

“Make me.”

“Adrikins, make her take it back.”

“Chloe, I-,” Adrien started.

Chloe stared up with puppy dog eyes.

Adrien grimaced and sighed. “Kagami, do you think-?”

“No.”

“Sorry, Chloe. But I liked the gifts you’ve gotten me before. Always.”

Chloe’s anger melted and she smiled. “See? I knew you’d like them.”

Kagami rolled her eyes and muttered about junk.

Chloe opened her mouth to speak, but stopped when she heard Emilie’s voice.

“Alright, girls! Dinner is ready!” Emilie called.

Chloe grinned while Kagami’s face returned to neutral. They both got up and helped Adrien up. He gave a weak smile as they each took an arm and escorted him. He kept pace until his body felt heavy and he was tripping on his own feet.

“Adrien? What’s wrong?” Kagami asked.

Adrien opened his mouth, but no words came out. A soft whine escaped him as his chest hurt. He swayed and fell into Kagami as his head swam. Chloe released him and ran, calling for Emilie. Chloe’s words were lost to him as all he heard as the palpitating of his own heart. Kagami lowered Adrien to the floor. He looked up at Kagami’s worried face as spots formed in his vision.

Adrien fought to keep consciousness when Emilie came into focus. She screamed his name that fell on his deaf ears. He shuddered as her cool tears dropped onto his burning face. She screamed again as his eyes rolled back and he passed out.

23 notes · View notes