#Im stronger than my impulses (lying)

[fishcop]

I feel like all the JRWI fans are (unsurprisingly imo /lh) turning into SOW fans and I know absolutely nothing about it outside of Grizzly being in it alongside a bunch of other VTubers. So please oh wise Fishcop, inform me on what it’s about because I kind of want to check it out

FUEBDIENSO YEAH

I think it’s one of the many ways to cope with the jrwi hiatus /lh

AND YES >:D THANK YOU FOR TURNING TO THE GREAT WISE FISHCOP IN YOUR POSSIBLE SOW JOURNEY

shadows over welde is a dnd campaign run by alpha aniki on twitch (all the vods are on yt tho :D)

to be honest I didn’t know any of the vtubers either lmao, I came cause of peer pressure and grizzlyplays content but most of them are voice actors and the rp is top tier

Pretty standard dnd! Think like taverns and gods but it’s got this really cool dark fantasy ish (help I can’t describe things) gothic? Almost tone to it that I adore. The story centers around various gods and faiths, lotttta drow. You’ve got a bunch of very very different characters invited for the most fun event of all: a funeral :D

It’s got kind of a slow tempo to it (the episodes are pretty long lmao) but I love the characters and the world building is so so sick (Shoutout to zephrael and sunder)

anyways yeah you should totally give it a try! Check it out it’s on alpha aniki’s yt and if you do uh. Come back here so I can go insane about it :D

[inumkii]

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ reunion - kazuha x reader

"kazuha fled inazuma after the vision hunt decree, regretfully leaving you in his wake."

wc: 800

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ a/n: not really proofread because i didn't want it to sit in my drafts any longer. also im lowk extending the vision hunt degree's canon timeline to a few more years

kaedehara kazuha was the type of boy to sneak through your window at night when you were children just to stay up and talk to you. 

initially, it was because you both were young and couldn’t extend your playdates past your respective bedtimes. but as you grew older, your traditional fathers grew weary of the implications of you two being seen together in the late hours of the night. but nevertheless, he snuck up without fail each night just to lay on your bedroom floor and talk for hours on end until you fell asleep and he returned home.

you thought about those nights endlessly.

time wasn’t kind to the two of you, separating your paths further each passing day. kazuha fled inazuma after the vision hunt decree, regretfully leaving you in his wake.

years had passed and you had eventually heard the town gossip that he had returned to stop the shogun’s very own strike. the very mention of his name caused a pit in the center of your chest to bubble up.

but when you set off to find him in the city, you had learned he already left with a fleet called the crux. you hadn’t recognized the name and it made you loathe how unfamiliar he was becoming to you- coming and going without saying a word. you arrived home disheartened, failing to notice the maple leaf pinned beneath the window from the night before.

weeks passed with you attempting to move on from the stewing image of the man in your head. the nights spent with hushed whispers and conversations about the future felt fewer than the time you forcibly spent without him.

it was yet another night of you lying down in the silence of your own home. fatigue weighed down on your body, yet you couldn’t help yourself from imagining kazuha on the floor beneath your bed, listening to the stories of your day. you turned in your sheets to push the thought out of your head so you could fall asleep with peace of mind.

your attempted slumber was foregone when you heard a gentle rapping at your window. your eyes fluttered open to see the silhouette of someone's figure on the other side.

either your state of drowsiness or innate sense of trust in the depths of your heart caused you to be less alarmed by the sudden intrusion. 

he came back for you.

your body acted on impulse as you lept out of your covers to lift up the window separating your reunion. 

the second the cool air broke into your room, you heard his laugh follow suit.

“it would be uncouth of me to sneak in as i had been prior.” he said with a calm smile. it was the expression he wore best, though you hadn’t noticed the undertone of pure elation hidden behind the twinkle of his eye.

there kazuha stood, the boy you grew up with, in essence. albeit, he wore a few more scars and there was a stronger air of wisdom in his posture, but overall he was the same man you grew up adoring. 

he held onto a delicate flower as he gazed at you.

“i deeply regret not seeing you sooner. trust me, if i could have-” his apology was cut short by you leaning over to embrace him. it took a second to process, but soon his arms were tangling themselves with yours. neither of you minded the wall separating you two, as it hadn’t altered the gratification of his homecoming.

he briefly broke away from the hug to bring the flower back to your attention, hand reaching up to tuck it softly behind you ear, then pausing to admire the slight before him.

“it’s a glaze lily. native to liyue; they always reminded me of you. though this is a feeble attempt at reconciling the fact that i wasn’t allowed to see you last, i hope you accept it.”

prickles of tears threatened to form in your eyes as you wordlessly invited him in. as he skillfully maneuvered himself through your window, he let you into another embrace as he was allowed to fully connect the hug.

“kazuha,” you murmured into his shoulder. his grasp softened the second he heard his name grace your lips, “i understood, i knew one day we would reunite.”

“i thought of you everytime the moon reached its peak onboard the crux. not one night passed by without wishing i could have had a proper goodbye.” he reassured, not wanting to pull away just yet.

“i did too. truth be told, i was even thinking of our memories moments before your arrival.” you leaned back to look into his vermillion eyes. “i missed you.”

“i did too, dearly.” kazuha lowered his lips onto your forehead, sealing his sentiment in such a simple kiss, yet you soaked it in. “i’m here now.”

despite the many nights spent on your bedroom floor as a child, you quite enjoyed the unfamiliar sensation of his body pressed against yours as you drifted off into sleep. whispers of his journey danced in your mind as your consciousness faded. kaedehara kazuha would always find his way back to you.

[narzissenkreuz-ordo]

i guess i need some. advice? encouragement? about some stuff thats been happening recently so suicide/violence cw under the cut

i won't go into detail but i had. a very huge emotional/physical/mental breakdown today. where i was just. basically screaming and howling about how suicidal ive been lately. I haven't said anything out loud/via text on the internet abt it because i know saying i want to kms so often is bad for my own well being and ultimately makes other uncomfortable as well

so yeah i've just been. holding all that in. i knew the thoughts were coming in and out the past few months but was just shrugging it off as just being stressed abt the nightmare year i had. but i really was just. lying to myself and others because i didnt want to worry anyone/didn't want to admit how horrible i was doing after a couple years of good progress. but as it stands things are heading into a really bad direction for me rn. its not normal to go to sleep suicidal and immediately be suicidal upon waking up.

I don't really know what i can really do harm reduction wise. i'm unable to have regular visits with a psychiatrist/therapist bc of availability issues + i tend to just. lie. because its easier to say im fine than it is to advocate for myself and get actual help. and even then medication will not save me and coping skills can only go so far if im so deep in it im unable to take care of myself/feed myself/clean myself/eat/etc so none of it is effective enough in the moment. i know it CAN be effective and some of the skills ive learned can help during situational issues but this is really deep rooted improperly treated mental illness and i need a stronger foundation to be able to use any of the skills

i use a means of self isolation to punish myself, because i'm so upset with myself for not being able to pick myself up on my own. people can say im not a burden over and over but theres always gonna be a catch in the end. i freak out because what if this is one of my last meltdowns before they decide enoughs enough and i just get abandoned. again.

I feel like maybe being so Online is making things worse?? but i don't know??? my concentration is completely gone even when trying to use dnd/closing discord completely and im just constantly refreshing social media every 10 seconds and just stew in the bad feelings.

I don't know if just. leaving the internet cold turkey for a bit would do more harm than good.....i dont want to be alone and caught up in my thoughts. but i have a hard time doing things in 'moderation' and don't know how to even begin to roll back my internet/screen time usage

fandom is fun and great. but i dont think i should be using video games as pure escapism or playing them 24/7. im already getting bored and unenthusiastic about the things i like because its ALL i do.... I want to have at least SOME time away from screens. i hate having the impulse the check social media or refresh even 30 seconds (im even doing it NOW) but i just dont know where to begin in cultivating non-screentime hobbies and have the ability to focus on things more long term without having than doing 1000 things all at once to keep myself busy. i play video games muted most of the time, have a yt video playing, sometimes i'll stop mid video game and pull out my ipad while still having the games open, and im always on discord

there's books i still want to read, i eventually want to pick up sewing again. im considering getting a craft set for making those beaded bracelets (my brother gets them from concerts all the time and thinks it would be fun to make them too) but that all requires money

and i just. idk where im going with this rn but. any advice or suggestions or just. words of encouragement would be. really nice rn

[waatermelon-sugaar]

The Rules of Sabacc

Pairing = Poe x gn!reader

Words = 1.2k

Summary = You and Poe fight kiss over a game of Sabacc

Warnings = Insinuation of sex, gambling

A/N = Prompt no.39 requested by @poedameronloverx​ as part of my 300 follower celebration, thanks so much, hope you like it! Prompt was “Just kiss already, we all know the world wants you two together!” w/ Poe  and bolded in text

I read the rules for sabacc multiple times so i could try and describe it but im sorry i do not understand this game - as far as I understand it’s a bit like Blackjack? Just to 23? And make in space?

Posted to AO3

Masterlist 

***

Sometimes Poe really got on your nerves.

Like now. Why did he really feel the need to challenge this? You’d put your cards down in a flourish, to the combined groans of Rose and Finn, while Rey had sat this round out, having lost all her chips in the last round.

Finn had put his cards down first, causing you all to stare at him. “Minus?” You didn’t mean to make Finn feel bad, but- “How do you get a minus score in this game?”

“Finn that’s basically impossible.” Rey’s poking through Finn’s cards, trying to understand how he got to that point. Finn just gives her the finger and you all laugh. Rey’s not exactly in a position to criticise, bombing out the second and third rounds and losing all her chips, having got too cocky after the first round.  

Rose is next, with a perfectly reasonable score of 16, Poe had 22, and you’d waited to put your cards down last with an unnecessary flourish and a huge grin. “Read ‘em and weep, Dameron,” you flashed a grin at him. “23, bang on.”

There had already been debates (read: arguments) springing up during the previous rounds, but now you and Poe were drawing with 2 wins each, and this one was to be the decider.

The 5 of you had planned to play sabacc after Poe had made the bold declaration that “he was the best at sabacc.” That had inevitably sparked protests, with you and Rey arguing that no-one could claim to be the best; it was a game of luck and skill - impossible to predict.

But of course Poe couldn’t just take your word for it, instead leaning forward to- “Stop poking your grubby fingers at my cards!”

“I’m just double-checking!” He protests, still checking, and mentally counting, you could see it behind his eyes. “I’m not saying you did it on purpose, but everyone can miscount!”

In retaliation, you move towards him, hand threading through his curls, ruffling it up, one advantage to knowing all his weak spots. Normally your hand is in his hair brings him comfort and he’ll lean towards you, keen for more, but not today.

Immediately, his upper body is recoiling, leaning closer to Finn to get away from you, even as you follow him, like the two of you are tied together. Sometimes you spend enough time together that it feels like you are.

And Poe’s mock-horrified gasp is kind of adorable, even if he is far too protective of his hair.

You let out a huff, aware he is overreacting for the sake of your friends, and you suddenly notice Rey with a look in her eyes. A look that says she knows far more than you think she has any right to.

So you add a bit of bite when you speak, leaning over to where Poe’s cards are lying. “Oh grow up Poe. Your hair will survive … and more importantly my cards beat yours!” You spread his cards out in order to see them better, quickly adding up his points. “Look! Count your Flasks, and then if you add Balance, which is minus 11, you’ve got 22, and I’ve got 23 because the Ace is 0 - you know I’m right!”

Poe draws himself up, squaring up to you, your faces coming dangerously close considering you’re in public. You want to quirk your eyebrow at him, ask him what he thinks he’s doing, because all your friends are right there, and they don’t know you're dating yet, the two of you preferring to keep your relationship under wraps until you’d both figured out what you wanted for your futures.

But you don’t, because your friends are right there, and Rey is starting to smirk in your periphery, and you suddenly think that the two of you might not be as good at hiding your relationship as you think you are.

You allow yourself a second, while you remember how you and Poe had even ended up together, wandering the halls after a particularly dangerous mission, neither of you ready to say goodbye, wanting reassurance that there was someone out there who was also alive, who knew what you’d both gone through.

Before you knew it, you’d been wandering around empty hallways holding hands for hours.

And then you were standing in front of your room, and Poe didn't want to go, not letting go of you, and you didn’t want him too, but both of you feeling the pressure of expectation now he was at your door.

So instead of sending him away, which you probably should have done, you’d invited him in, and you’d cuddled all night long, finding the steady reassurance of another person more grounding than anything else.

And when you’d woken in the morning, limbs tangled and eyes heavy, you’d kissed, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Ever since, it had been almost impossible to quash Poe’s enthusiasm. It had been his idea to keep it a secret for the first few months, out of worry what everyone else would think, and not wanting other people’s expectations to affect how the two of you behaved.

It was precious and delicate, this thing the two of you were nurturing, and neither of you wanted it to break. Just let it grow a little, grow a little stronger, a little better, a little tougher, before you introduced it to this hard, cruel galaxy.

However, despite Poe’s idea for secrecy, he was insatiable, hand sneaking around your back when he thought he could get away with it, pulling you to one side after a brief so he could sneak a kiss, and once, comming you to come to his x-wing ‘for an emergency’, only for you to get there and find out he wanted to tell you about his biggest fantasy.

You’d do it again.

You're broken out of your memories by Rose. “Just kiss already, we all know the world wants you two together!”

You turn your head, confused and a little worried she’d managed to figure it out. You manage to get out half a word, a strangled, “What-?”

But then Poe’s hand is on your chin, guiding you back to face him, soft and light enough that you could turn away if you wanted to. You don’t resist, your head turning back to him, and watching as his eyes close in clear invitation.

You take half a beat, aware that your friends are watching in anticipation, but also Poe’s eyelashes are so long, resting on his cheeks like that, and maybe he’s right to be vain about his hair, he’s so cute-

And then you’re leaning in, your impulse control vanishing, and all you can think is that you’ll give the others a show and a half.

You do, because automatically, Poe’s hands are on your waist, yours in his hair, moaning, and tugging each other closer. Dimly, you’re aware that your friends are simultaneously both aghast and cheering, but you only pull away when Poe tries to slip you the tongue.

That man has less self control than you do. But you don't need to give your friends that much of a show.

You’re looking at him for a second, your faces still too close to each other, and suddenly you really, really want to kiss him again. You close your eyes and lean towards him again, when Finn puts his hand on your shoulder, clearing his throat, and pulling you away.

“Well,” Rey looks far too pleased with herself, and you suddenly register that she’s slipping credits she didn’t previously have into her pocket, while Rose’s stash looks significantly smaller. “I’m glad you two have got that out of the way.”

***

Thanks for reading! Reblogs and comments mean the world to me 🥰🥰🥰

Tags: @fantasticcopeaglepasta​

[shini--chan]

Hellooo!! Im super glad a hetalia blog exists in 2020💞💞💞💞💞. May i request 2p america and canada having a s/o that like a mythical figure of some sort? Could be a demigod or anything really but they are physically stronger than them and there is no way to control his s/os form since they exist in forms beyond the description/mental capacity a human can handle. Like if they want to be at the beach the *poof* they transported away and not even chains can stop em🧜‍♀️

This is an ask that I certainly didn’t expect landing in my inbox. Jep, active hetalia blogs in 2020 are a rarity, however, I think with a new season and new manga issues on the horizon, that a hetalia renaissance is coming.

Yandere Hetalia

2p America

Now, Allen isn’t the sort of man that takes it well when things don’t go his way. In all his fantasies and hopeless whims, he has created a world where everything goes according to his master plan. He’d like the actual world to be dictated by this. Alas (or rather, thank goodness), reality is different. That means when you would show your powers and successfully escape from him, there would either be a nervous breakdown or a temper tantrum.

The food tray fell to the floor in a loud clatter, causing ceramic to shatter, sauce to platter over the grey floor and a few peas to zip under a cupboard. Allen’s jaw went slack, granting him one of the most idiotic expression in the history of the human race ever since the English managed to sink the Spanish Armanda.

In the middle of the room, where you were supposed to be tied up on a cushy chair, all delightfully arranged for his eyes to feast on, was just a chair with a tidy heap of rope lying next to it. You where no where to be found – not a drop of blood, not a single strand of hair, not a single footprint in the thick layer of dust that covered most of the room.

Without wasting much energy on trivial things such as complex thought, he lunged forward and grappled with the binds as if they could deliver some answers. They didn’t; they just posed more questions.

The course hemp ropes were still completely undamaged, the sailor knots untampered and still immaculate. Now that Allen had the chance, he granted the setting a closer look. The only footprints in the dust and dirt were those of his large feet. The frustration the situation concocted made something in his mind short circuit.

Quickly, Allen raced back to his dingy little kitchen, cursing under his breath all the way there. Some sort of impulse drew him to the one window – maybe it was fate, maybe it was his gut instinct that told him to do so – only to spot you on the street five stories down, staring to the window expectantly.

Hurriedly, he fumbled with the latches, spitting vitriol when he couldn’t get it open fast enough.

He wanted to shout at you, yell that you should move your sorry ass up at once, that he deserved an explanation. Yet, you beat him to it. With a flamboyant gesture, you waved up at him, doing your best to highlight your astounding clean appearance and then shouted up at him:

“Adios, sucker!”

The scream of “(Y/n), you fucking bitch”, that followed could have woken up the dead.

He would never manage to fully calm himself down from the stunt you pulled and in his anger he wouldn’t properly register that you demonstrated your powers to him. Allen would constantly write the strange circumstances surrounding your escape as some form of trickery, or that you had outside help, or… That list goes on and on, just never lands my magic for being the key.

It would be through detours that it would the idea of you having supernatural powers would start to encroach on him. Being the street smarts person, he’d do his best to predict your next move based on his social experience and go ahead to interrogate the people that once belonged to your close circle. First, he would observe them to see if they were hiding you and if not, then he’d disguise himself as an authority person or as a family member of yours and ask some question. Thanks to that, he would piece together that you are out of the ordinary.

2p Canada

Like his brother, he would be pretty pissed that you would somehow always manage to escape his clutches. Unlike his brother, Mark’s anger would be of the ice-cold variant, helping him focus rather than hindering him in his endeavour to capture you and capture your heart.

He is a hunter and would opt to observe you like he would a deer before he would dispatch it. Through that, he would discover your demigod status. Although, he wouldn’t believe his eyes the first time he would witness your powers in action. It would cause him go ahead and put you on heavy surveillance, and maybe for him to also go and see a psychologist to ensure that he isn’t schizophrenic.

Once he’d be sure that what he saw, he’d go on to investigate, because he’d yearn to much for you to simply let you go because you’d have some trump cards that would give you the high ground. As the rules of the divine dictate, there are certain laws that you have to abide to, specific lines that you can’t cross, weaknesses that ensure that you’re not invulnerable. And Mark would set out to identify them all.

This would be one of the rare cases where he would bury himself in books, and once he would suffer from a headache induced by the vagueness of the texts and the craggy language, he’d even dare to ask Oliver for help. Whether it would be silver that would make you weak, certain chants that could summon you or a geas that would represent an idiosyncratic tripping line, he would somehow find out and incorporate it in his plan to capture you and ensure that you’d forever be his.

(For clarification: A geas is taboo that an individual of divine linage is bound by. Breaking this taboo means that said person becomes mortal, vulnerable and only has a short time to live before the reaper comes to spirit them away. The worst part about it, is that the geas usual forbids something really minor or trivial, like that you may never eat chicken or else you die.)  

[g00by3]

i am genuinely such a bad person. down to my absolute core, i am absolutely awful. im so toxic and manipulative and always searching for attention. i need other ppls validation to feel good abt myself, otherwise i feel like nothing but a fraud. thats why i overshare so much, i need ppl to validate that what i went thru was bad otherwise what happened was nothing. im convinced im lying abt everything, i dont know whats real or not anymore. i could just be typing this into the void and just be tricking myself into thinking ppl care. any one of my countless attempts couldve worked, n i wouldnt necessarily know. anything i did before my death didnt matter, and whatever im doing now after my death doesnt matter either. i hold no meaning in life at this point. im just good to be hurt and hurt others. i do my best not to turn into any of the abusers, but deep down ik im just as rotten as them. i say things w/o thinking and w no second thought, i hurt others. i tell myself what im doing is bad n do everything in my power to change but it never lasts.

i keep filling my life w relationships (platonic, romantic/sexual, stronger familial bonds) and self-harm thru any number of means just to not feel as empty. but i still always feel empty. i make pathetic attempts at relapses and addictions and its the only time i feel alright abt myself. the only time i dont hate myself is when im hurting myself. i force myself into bad situations bc ik its what would make someone else happy, and act so impulsively. im constantly on the brink of cutting off all relationships and isolating myself from ppl i consider loved ones. ik it would be better for everyone but then who would give me that validation i so terribly need? i mute messages and chats bc i know ill snap at ppl one of these times. im constantly getting annoyed and irritated at other ppl showing me that they care for me or checking on me or claiming to love me. i dont know if any of these ppl mean anything to me honestly. i dont know if im actually capable of caring for another person and loving them unconditionally. someone says one thing that i cant process healthily, and suddenly im on edge around them and feel like i cant trust them. everyone is lying to me. they cant possibly care for me, im too bad of a person.

i deserve to hurt. i deserve all the pain ive received, i deserve even more. i wish it could just be an endless cycle of abuse so that way i actually have a meaning and a purpose. im nothing but a sick child right now, but ppl just love to hurt sick children like me. i have no value to myself, but maybe if im able to please someone else i wont hate myself so much. just maybe. i dont know what its like to love myself. there are times ill love one or two things abt myself but in the end, theres more things i despise than like even the slightest. im nothing but bitter and broken, i shouldnt hurt ppl like i do but all ive known is that hurting makes ppl feel valuable. is that how i show my love?

i cant get myself to care when ik i should. im either way too empathetic or show no empathy at all. as soon as someone else is struggling, i have to do everything i can to help. otherwise, whats the point? if i cant help others, why do i exist? but once their venting gets too repetitive or they dont listen to anything i say, i snap. i say things i shouldnt say to a struggling person. then i go and vent abt the same exhausting things, day in and day out, and always expect them to help me. i struggle and blame it on everyone but myself. im a god, and can do no wrong. i cant get better as long as someone else i love is struggling. i cant possibly be the "okay" one, i dont know what thats like. i dont know what being "okay" is like. i have to be the worst one, have the worst struggles and receive the most sympathy. ik its bad but i cant change it, no matter how hard ive tried.

ive done everything i can to get help. ive tried everything and nothing works. the only time i felt "alright" was during the times i was being hurt bc at least then i was pleasuring someone, making someone feel good. theres no hope anymore, im done trying. why do i even bother? i might as well give in, do every bad thing, cut everyone off, ruin any relationships i have, and damage myself even further. in the end it doesnt matter. ill die tragically at a young age (assuming i havent already died) due to myself but at least then it will be over. beyond my death it doesnt matter. i give up. once ppl know abt the things ill be doing, theyll leave me too. then i have freedom to hurt. hurt hurt hurt hurt hurt. hurting is all ik n i might as well reclaim it and do everything to myself. then ill have all the power. ill be the powerful one, not any of them. ill be god.

whats wrong w me?

[tinyarmyofqueerfolkwrites]

Okay, wasn’t gonna post anything about this but I apparently need to clear some shit up about what happened between me and @achele-gleerph over at What If.

Back, September/October of 2019, there was a giant falling out between me and Sunny. I’d gotten to a point where I saw problems with how things were being handled and how I, as a human being, was being treated. So, I chose to leave the rp.

Now, I went out in a giant rage. I took people with me, who were liable to leave anyway, but I also tried to take other people with me too. None of those people came with and for that I am grateful, because what I had done, was wrong. This is something I’ve since apologized to Sunny for, because how I acted was terrible.

A lot went on within the rp shortly after I left. I remember getting bits and pieces of it through other people, but a lot of it seemed to be Sunny warning people about me and shit like that. I don’t remember, but I do think some of it was valid for how I had acted.

Apparently some of you people think I was kicked out. I wasn’t. I left of my own accord. Yes, I was treated poorly by Sunny, it was a bad time in my life and I didn’t have boundaries which Sunny, possibly unknowingly, took advantage of. The way I left What If, was me lashing out and establishing boundaries in the only way I knew how, which involved anger and distance.

Flashforward to sometime in 2020. I sent an apology to Sunny after impulsively checking the What If main. The apology she’d posted rang true for me in ways I needed it to, and in turn I made my own apology. I’d been so focused on the wrong she had done me that I never stopped to consider how my own actions did harm.

After a while of reconnecting, I was told I would be welcomed at What If, should I so choose to apply. Thus, I am now back at What If. I have stronger boundaries and am firm in them. Though, I don’t particularly feel I need them in the way I once did. Sunny has changed, whether anyone wants to believe it or not. She’s not the same person who I once described as using me as an emotional punching bag. Which, in retrospect, was something my own lack of boundaries allowed to happen and is not 100% on her.

This version of What If is, as far as I know, the only rp I’ve ever been in with Sunny, so I cannot speak for prior experiences had by others in other rps with her, but I can’t say I’m inclined to believe the stories being told now, at least the few I’ve seen. I do know of a once admin of rps within the community who held multiple characters under multiple aliases, but it wasn’t Sunny, and I don’t believe they were an admin at any rp with Sunny but I do know they were at Hazel Run and may have even been at the original What If. This person is someone I know irl and is no longer in the community, as far as I’m aware, but either way I won’t be naming them.

I don’t understand this crusade against people, using old stories that sound as fabricated as the worlds we write in. If you’re so against letting people change that you convict them of crimes you only think they committed, then I recommend you go back through your own history and start cancelling yourself. I am not who I was in 2019, but I especially am not the same person I was in 2011 or 2014. Neither is Sunny. Neither are you. If you’re so against what is left of this community, then leave. No one wants your anger and your hate. You’re no better than these people you are trying to shame and hate and control. So just go. I’m tired of this childlike behavior ruining what is left of this community. 

And if you’re someone from the outside, who has never once stepped foot inside the grpc, then you really need to fuck off, because all you’re doing is sparking fires to watch them burn. You don’t care about the community or it’s members, you just want to see people get angry. And you’re the worst type of people.

If you have any questions, feel free to come into my ask. Anything sent via IM will be posted to my dash, I refuse to discuss this in private. I’m turning anon off, because I want this open, I want anyone choosing to come at me, for any reason, to be seen. No room for lying and saying I said or did anything that I didn’t. Any hate I do receive will be blocked, no questions, no comments, just blocked.

[wygolvillage]

been thinking about how i would make a remake/reimagining of simons quest. long post ahead. might be a little stupid since im no game designer or writer or anything lol

random gameplay stuff

it would be metroidvania style, but not all in the castle. imagine it like ooe but the map is interconnected.

i would keep the day/night cycle but it would be less obnoxious of course... probably there would be a little clock on the HUD showing what time it is and how close you are to nightfall. villagers would go inside during the night, but you can still enter churches. churches are your most reliable healing method since save rooms would be pretty sparse in the rest of the world map, and saving at the churches also allows you to skip straight to morning or nightfall if you so desire. being stuck in the middle of the woods during night can be disastrous if the player is ill-prepared since monsters grow stronger then.

there would still be puzzles to figure out and complete, and it would still be a bit cryptic (not to the degree of the original of course), but there is a supporting character i would put in who you can ask for hints at any time, and hers are a lot more straightforward (more on her later). important items are gained through quests rather than bought with hearts, but drop rates would be VERY forgiving since it’s required. like, a villager promises to give you the red crystal if you can get him some fish meat from a merman, which would have about a 40% drop rate... i kind of wanted to preserve the sense of fighting monsters to forage for materials the original has without making the game a total grindfest :P

additionally, materials dropped from monsters can be used to craft food items after simon teams up with the aforementioned supporting character. like i said before, save rooms wouldn’t be super common so it would be implemented as a way to heal yourself when you’re away from town.

the bosses would be decently difficult to compensate with there being very few of them- a true challenge, but they can be beaten with both playable characters if the player is skilled enough

the plot would be expanded upon as well so lemme give a little summary

it begins in simons house where he wakes up having trouble breathing. he’s been struggling with some physical illness ever since battling dracula years prior, especially a nasty bite on his arm he sustained during the fight, and that arm has been turning a pretty nasty shade of grey, like its wasting away. he goes outside to a graveyard near a local church to try and get some fresh air, but it is largely unhelpful. suddenly, he spots an old woman standing at one of the graves. he looks over at him and says mysteriously “ah... must be a horrible night for a curse.” simon is like “what do you mean?!” the old woman tells him to “resurrect him and destroy what remains, or nothing will remain of you”. she then disappears into thin air, implying she’s a ghost or something equally spooky. simon is like “destroy what remains... dracula’s remains?!”

the game starts properly in the graveyard and surrounding forest as simon heads in a fairly straight path towards the town of jova, where he meets a woman a few years younger than him named agnes. agnes’ parents were killed by dracula’s forces when he was resurrected back then, and she admires simon greatly for defeating the dark lord (shes also implied to be a descendant of grant danasty!). she decides to accompany him on his quest after hearing about his curse. he asks the head priest of the town if he knows about dracula’s remains, and the priest tells him that he heard of some of dracula’s followers placing some of dracula’s body parts in their strongholds to worship, and points him to the direction of the first stronghold and hands him a stake. he also warns them that bringing all of his remains together can resurrect the dark lord and it holds a remarkable corrupting power.

simon and agnes then become a character swapping duo (just like portrait of ruin hehehe). agnes is low on defense but can deal plenty of damage at a close range, and her signature weapon is the golden knife. she’s fast as well, whereas simon is more of a slow, defensive character who is best at keeping distance between himself and the enemy. agnes is smart, but impulsive and stubborn, and doesn’t like being told that she’s wrong. simon is a stoic but kind individual who tends to keep to himself. their personalities occasionally cause conflict between them during the adventure, but they eventually grow to become really good friends.

eventually they reach berkeley mansion, the first of the strongholds, and its aesthetic is very much “dark evil church”. there are the usual skeletons and bats and stuff, but some of the dracula followers are regular enemies as well. the first boss is a human who has dedicated his life to following dracula (specifically to contrast against the priest dude who gave simon the stake and directions) who uses magic attacks and stuff. beating him earns simon dracula’s rib, which functions suprisingly well as a shield (which becomes important later).

the adventure continues on like this, going from town to mansion to town, with simons curse becoming more and more hindering to him (from a story perspective not a gameplay one. simon wont become worse to play as because that would be lame as hell). they go to the other mansions, with the bosses being carmilla (guarding the nail of vlad, in a mansion thats very much a vampires lair), olrox (guarding the eyeball, in a massive dining hall themed mansion) death (guarding vlads ring in a Spooky Clockwork Skeleton Mansion with slogras and gaibons and all the usual death stuff), and in the final mansion... there is no boss. just as simon is about to grab the heart, agnes stops him.

Agnes: You told me you were going to destroy the remains, weren’t you?

Simon: Of... Of course, Agnes. Why do you ask?

Agnes: Why haven’t you?

Simon: ...

Agnes: We have almost all of them. You remember what the priest said, right? That bringing them together can resurrect Dracula.

Simon: Well... I haven’t exactly been truthful, Agnes. The old woman who sent me on this quest didn’t tell me just to destroy his remains...

Agnes: So you’ve been intending to resurrect the Dark Lord this whole time? For your own selfish gain?

Simon: This curse will kill me if I don’t.

Agnes: ...So it’s true, then. You’re willing to risk the lives of thousands just to save your own skin. Lives like my parents’... Lives like mine.

Simon: I...

Agnes: There’s no need to explain yourself, oh great hero, Simon Belmont. (Scoffs) If you care more for yourself than anyone else, strike me down now!

surprise! simon has to fight against his best friend! tbh i would be pissed at him too lmao. and it’s a tough fight, as agnes can deal a ton of damage and is hard to dodge. killing her like any other boss will give you the bad ending, where simon realizes she was right and lets himself succumb to the curse out of guilt for her death. the way to the good ending is to use dracula’s rib as a shield (i told you it would be important!) or dodge/survive her attacks until she tires out (the shield is the best method though), and realizes simon doesn’t want to hurt her. they have a touching emotional moment and simon assures her that he beat dracula before and can do it again, but he will need her help. agnes nods, and they head to the ruins of dracula’s old castle, which is totally empty. there’s no music, while the rest of the game has been filled with catchy tunes, here there’s only ambient noise.

they reach the throne room and place drac’s remains on a pedestal, where they begin to glow with dark energy. blood is dripping down the walls and stuff, and the count is returning to the mortal plane as thunder booms in the background. simon begins to doubt himself. if he loses now, the world will be plunged into darkness, and it will all be his fault. but... agnes has his back, despite everything. they fight dracula together, and though it’s tough with simon’s weakened body, they eventually prevail, as simon drives the stake into his heart, the curse finally lifted.

the game ends with agnes and simon returning to jova. agnes admits that she’s still upset with simon for lying to her, but she would be even more upset if he died slowly because of her. simon sighs, stating that there was no easy solution to the situation they were in, and asks for forgiveness for breaking her trust and risking so much for his own desires. agnes says maybe one day she will forgive him completely, and she still considers him a friend, but she needs some time to herself. simon nods, and they go their separate ways.

SO YEAH idk if this is even good but i hope u at least enjoyed reading it. maybe ill make designs for this version of simon, and for agnes too ofc :D

...yeah, not exactly the happiest ending, but i always found it kind of weird that simon was so willing to resurrect the count to save himself from the curse, so that’s the main conflict i decided to add to the story. its not the sort of conflict that can be easily resolved. theres no easy answer... agnes was right about simon risking other peoples lives being wrong, but she was also wrong to insist that he just give up and let the curse kill him instead. its Complicated idk... Castlevania II: Simon’s Trolley Problem

edit: actually i decided there would be two "true endings" after using the shield in the agnes fight. the one i described, and a second one where they decide against resurrecting dracula and simon lives out the short rest of his days with agnes until he dies of the curse. both endings are considered equally canon and valid

[missjanjie]

As I Lay Waiting | Goodedoll

this is a commission for @lepakonpaska and im super excited and think this came out quite well :D

Ship: Goodedoll (Gigi Goode x Nicky Doll) Word Count: 1.8k Rating: T

comission info

Nicky prided herself on being a good, supportive friend to Gigi. They had been friends since they met in their junior year of college, and have been inseparable ever since. She was there for her with every one of her passion projects, through every high and low, indulging her impulses or talking sense into her. And it was reciprocal, Gigi was a good friend, too. She was an amazing friend.

That, as far as Nicky was concerned, made the crush she had that much harder to bear. It was both a hindrance and a hope - a hindrance because she would always feel like she had something to hide, and that glimmer of hope that followed her around, saying maybe, just maybe there was a chance for them.

But that hopeful voice became awfully silent when Crystal came into the picture.

Crystal was Gigi’s type - she was funny, weird, unique, and as soon as Gigi set eyes on her, Nicky’s heart sank to the pit of her stomach. It was as if it were one of those scenes in a movie where the protagonist sees everything going wrong in slow-motion but they can’t do anything to stop it.

The worst part was that Crystal and Gigi were cute together. They had chemistry, and as much as Nicky wanted to cut her losses and move on with her life, it only made the longing she felt towards her best friend even stronger. Now she had an excuse as to why she couldn’t tell her the truth, though it didn’t make it hurt any less.

“I feel like my window of opportunity has closed. I had all this time to make a move and now someone else has swooped in,” Nicky lamented, making a swooping motion with her arm to illustrate her point.

“You make it sound like Crystal stole her from you,” Jaida told her. “The bitch ain’t psychic, she barely knows what’s going on in the present.”

Nicky groaned and lay back on her bed. “I know that, but it makes me feel better to blame her.”

“Of course it does. But that can’t be your solution.”

She rolled her eyes. “Then what is my solution? And please don’t say ‘talk to her’.”

Jaida shrugged. “I got nothing then, sis. Y’all have been friends for three years, you gotta find something.”

“Ah, putain,” Nicky muttered and rolled onto her stomach. It had really been three years of pining over Gigi - no wonder it was hurting so badly.

- Nicky had just finished her shower and changed into her pajamas when she heard a knock at the door. She furrowed her brows - she hadn’t ordered food and mail delivery usually stopped around eight at night. Regardless, she shrugged it off and opened the door. “Gigi?” she blinked in surprise, stepping to the side to let her in.

“Is now a bad time? Sorry, I know I usually call or text first,” Gigi said with a sheepish laugh as she went right into Nicky’s room and sat on the bed.

She frowned, following behind Gigi into her room. “It’s never a bad time for you, angel,” she assured and sat beside her. “Tell me what’s going on,” she prompted, placing her hand on the other girl’s knee.

“I…” Gigi swallowed thickly, “I think I need to break up with Crystal,” her face fell as she admitted that - it was the first time she had said it out loud, and her whole body seemed to deflate as she let herself drop backwards and lay on the bed.

Nicky suddenly became hyper-aware of every muscle in her face, needing to consciously contort each one to erase any sign of relief, god forbid the slightest glimmer of happiness. She pressed her lips together and swallowed before moving to sit cross-legged next to her on the bed. “You do? Why?”

Gigi kicked off her shoes before pushing herself up and sitting on the bed as well, her back against the mountain of pillows Nicky always had neatly arranged on her bed. She took the headband out of her hair, relieving a bit of the physical tension she felt, but not alleviating anything emotionally. “She doesn’t want to be in an exclusive relationship. And I mean, I don’t fault her for it, I know lots of people are non-monogamous. But me… I just don’t know if I can get on board with it,” she explained, her fingers tracing patterns into the duvet.

The conflict of interest for Nicky made it incredibly difficult for her to figure out how to handle this. She wanted to be the supportive friend she always had been for Gigi, but she would be lying if there wasn’t a big part of her that wanted to take the opportunity to get rid of a romantic rival. “You deserve to get what you want out of a relationship, so does Crystal. If you guys cannot see eye to eye on monogamy… I don’t know, maybe you need to think about if it’s worth sticking it out.”

“What if she changes her mind?”

Nicky shook her head and looked down. “Oh Gigi, you can’t change people just because you want a certain life with them,” it pained her to say even more than it pained Gigi to hear. This wasn’t the victory she had been hoping for - it didn’t feel like a victory at all. If anything, it felt like a twisted punishment. Gigi was in reach once again, only now it felt like she had to push her away to prioritize being a friend.

Gigi sighed sadly and rested her head on Nicky’s shoulder. “I guess you’re right. Thanks, Nicky, I knew you’d have the right thing to say.”

“Of course,” she said and gently wrapped her arms around her. “That’s what I’m here for.”

-

It had been a week since Gigi and Crystal broke up, and Nicky had finally gotten past the point of feeling guilty about it. She had spent hours upon hours talking to Jaida - or rather, Jaida put up with her for hours by reassuring her that it wasn’t her fault, that she didn’t intentionally sabotage the relationship.

More than that, Jaida had kept the offer open that Nicky could text her whenever she needed to, and Nicky had taken her up on that a handful of times, especially after hanging out with Gigi.

Being with Gigi had started to feel normal again. Nicky did her best to help Gigi both mourn her ended relationship and move on from it, all while keeping her own feelings bottled away. This wasn’t about her, it wasn’t about her crush. She just had to keep reminding herself to not make Gigi’s relationship about her own feelings.

So, barely ten minutes after Gigi had left her apartment, Nicky got her phone out to text Jaida.

“Gigi just left, and I swear this gets harder every day. I can’t fucking look at her without thinking about how badly I want her. Every time she speaks I’m just reminded of how crazy I am about her. C’est un fucking nightmare, Jaida! But it’s also not, you know? Because it still feels so good to be with her and I never want her to leave. Is this love?”

Nicky set her phone down and went to the kitchen to grab herself a bottle of rosé cider. Upon her return, she opened her phone to her messages and her eyes widened in horror.

Jaida and Gigi were the last two people she had texted, which would explain why when she had haphazardly gone to text Jaida about her romantic woes, the block of text was sent to Gigi herself.

Nicky tossed her phone across her bed in horror, knees curling up under her chin. Maybe if she didn’t touch her phone, nothing would happen. Maybe if she tried hard enough to will away the mistake, she would be able to look at her phone and see that no message had been sent at all.

Then she heard that familiar tri-tone. “Merde.” Nicky watched her phone carefully as she approached it, as if it would explode under her touch. With a deep breath, she picked it up and, of course, the text was from Gigi.

“I don’t think this was meant for me, huh?”

Nicky wanted to scream, and another text came in before she could reply.

“I’m coming back over.”

This time, she did scream, albeit into her pillow. At least she got it out of her system so by the time Gigi came back, she was no longer in the middle of a nervous breakdown. She froze when she heard a knock at the door, and had to force herself up out of bed, fighting with herself all the way over until she opened the door. “Gigi, I’m so sorry, I-”

Gigi cupped Nicky’s face with both hands and kissed her deeply, stepping inside and kicking the door closed behind her in one swift motion.

Nicky, on the other hand, nearly fell backwards with shock, grabbing onto Gigi for support when she nearly lost her balance. As confused as she was, she kissed back - she wasn’t about to pass that up regardless.

“How long have you felt this way? Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Gigi breathed out when she let Nicky go.

Nicky blinked, her mouth forgetting how to form words for a moment. “I… guess a few months after we became friends.”

Gigi laughed, grabbed Nicky by the shoulders, then leaned her head against her chest, still a bit out of breath all the while.

“Are you… okay?” Nicky wasn’t sure if she was supposed to hug her, have her lay down, or ask if she could smell toast.

“I just can’t fucking believe it,” Gigi explained when she finally pulled herself together. “Do you know how long I’ve had a crush on you?”

Nicky stared blankly. “Obviously not. What about Crystal?”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, I really liked her too,” she clarified. “The relationship I had with her was sincere, but if I knew that was how you felt… I don’t know, I probably wouldn’t have pursued her in the first place.”

“I need to sit down,” Nicky laughed dryly, moving to the couch and gesturing for Gigi to follow. “So, what does this mean for us?”

Gigi shrugged. “I mean… we’ve waited long enough, we could give a relationship a try. If you want to, that is.”

Nicky smiled, leaning over and pressing a chaste kiss against her lips. “Of course I want to,” she laughed. That was all she’d wanted from the beginning. Sure, she was kicking herself for waiting this long, all things considered. But she had Gigi now, and that was worth all the wait.

[omgkatsudonplease]

rainfall confessions

for @wangxianweek day 7 “promises”: a completely and utterly self-indulgent au set to jay chou’s rhythm of the rain. im so sorry. no i’m not

“Let’s make a wish, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says, looking up at the stars.

Beside him in this moonlit field, Lan Wangji hums in agreement. “What do you wish for?” he asks.

Wei Wuxian considers it, tucking himself closer to Lan Wangji with a small smile. “Forever,” he says, his fingers seeking out Lan Wangji’s and holding on tight. “Just think — the two of us, waking each day to one another. Spending the rest of our lives together.”

“Mm.” Lan Wangji’s expression is placid when Wei Wuxian looks over at him. There’s going to be mud and grass stains all over his designer coat, and there’s no doubt his stuck-up of an uncle is going to give him a verbal lashing for it. But the slight upturn of Lan Wangji’s lips makes this moment of rebelliousness all worth it.

Wei Wuxian sighs dreamily, squeezing his fingers. “Let’s make it happen, shall we?” he asks.

Lan Wangji squeezes back. “Mm,” he repeats, and turns to kiss Wei Wuxian’s cheek.

From a translation of Rainfall Confessions: Collected Poems by Lan Wangji:

on books

love is not in books, I know; I’ve read each one cover-to-cover, and there are still no words to describe the way you make me feel.

From the very beginning, Wei Wuxian had known he was out of Lan Wangji’s league. The man’s every move speaks of refined upbringing; every article of clothing speaks of money and prestige. Wei Wuxian’s just a kid waiting tables and manning the bar at his shijie’s restaurant to get by for grad school; he really doesn’t bring much to the table in comparison.

Lan Wangji still shows up during his shifts anyway, ordering him drinks once in a while yet never nursing anything stronger than an Arnold Palmer. He tips handsomely, too, and completely in cash, folded into napkins with little poems or drawings. The first napkin Wei Wuxian had returned to him had his number on the back. Lan Wangji had texted him an invitation to coffee shortly after.

With every meeting, Wei Wuxian cracks through more of the ice to find the heart within. Lan Wangji writes poems, plays piano, draws still lifes and landscapes. He’s the quiet second son of a media mogul family, chock-full of entertainers and influencers all around the world. He’s won awards for his art; his chapbooks are bestsellers.

Wei Wuxian has nothing to offer, but Lan Wangji takes what he gives anyway — his heart.

Tonight, however, Lan Wangji is already at the restaurant when Wei Wuxian enters. His austere grump of an uncle sits beside him. They’re not in Wei Wuxian’s section, but he tries to go over and bring them water anyway.

“Three,” says the uncle. “We are waiting on one more.”

Lan Wangji looks down at his napkin, refusing to meet Wei Wuxian’s eyes.

Wei Wuxian has just returned with the water when he sees why. A young woman has arrived, her coat draped over the chair beside her. She sits across from Lan Wangji, arrayed in pale pink.

Wei Wuxian’s hands tremble when he sets down the glasses, and then he immediately finds the section’s server and shoves her towards them for the rest of the night.

He’d known Lan Wangji was out of his league, but even after candlelit dinners, and stargazing out in the park, and all the other clandestine meetings they’d shared, it still stings a little to see proof of just how impossible their forever is.

Lan Wangji texts him an hour later. It was a business meeting, he says. It means nothing.

Wei Wuxian suspects he’s lying, but he sends a heart anyway.

From a translation of Rainfall Confessions: Collected Poems by Lan Wangji:

qixi

in this last rainstorm, I wished you were beside me, stranded like a maiden for whom the magpies could not fly.

The next meeting is repentance. Lan Wangji worships him the instant the doors to his bedroom closes, sinking to his knees in penitence before a deity. Somewhere far off in Wei Wuxian’s heart, a storm slowly gathers.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian murmurs, brushing his lips against Lan Wangji’s ears. “Please be honest with me: a business meeting?”

“Mm,” replies Lan Wangji, his voice steady, his fingers shaking as he unbuttons Wei Wuxian’s shirt.

“I suppose it’s not weird if your uncle is there. But it did seem a bit… I don’t know. I just know your uncle hates me.”

Lan Wangji’s lips pause just above Wei Wuxian’s collarbone. “She has a publishing empire. We are an entertainment company. The merger is logical.”

“Is a wedding logical, too?” wonders Wei Wuxian.

Lan Wangji kisses him silent. In spite of himself, Wei Wuxian swallows down his remaining misgivings. He flips their positions, fingers tangling themselves into his boyfriend’s hair. Lan Wangji arches into him, and the world falls away.

Hours later, as Lan Wangji sleeps silver and beautiful beside him, Wei Wuxian lies awake and traces the curve of his face. Perhaps this is the last time Lan Wangji’s dark hair will fan across his pillows. Perhaps this is the last time Wei Wuxian will be able to kiss those soft lips.

He commits Lan Wangji to memory with fingers and lips, and wishes he couldn’t see where this is going.

From a translation of Rainfall Confessions: Collected Poems by Lan Wangji:

in bed

you tap a rhythm against my skin that matches the pattern of the rain, the erratic breaths drawn from my lungs, and the frantic dancing of my heart.

Wei Wuxian first sees the ring in a windowsill.

It’s the stupidest impulse purchase he’s ever made. It’s a gamble on the possibility of forever, a hopeful investment in the business of love. Despite all his misgivings, all his fears, there’s still the possibility Lan Wangji is his forever.

The ring is a happy weight in his pockets from there on, a box of possibility waiting to be presented. He spends weeks trying to figure out the timing — it can’t be during work, as much as he’d love to slip it into one of Lan Wangji’s drinks. They’re both so busy it’s hard to find time after, and no place in the city feels like the right place to go.

Until he remembers the field where they had watched the stars, and he resolves to invite Lan Wangji there that night.

He’s just pulled out his mobile to text him when he sees a crowd gathered in the park. Curious, he joins them, pushed forward by the brisk pre-storm breeze. It stabs at him, but the bitterness isn’t half as acute as what he sees in the centre of the crowd.

For there stands Lan Wangji, staring down at a bouquet of roses offered to him by that woman in pastel pink. Amid the roses, there’s the faintest glint of a golden ring.

The ring in Wei Wuxian’s own pocket now sinks like his heart. Without a second thought, he turns and runs. “Wei Ying!” he hears from behind as he pushes back out of the crowd, the first hints of drizzle streaking across his vision. “Wei Ying — wait!”

But Wei Wuxian’s heartbeat is echoing too hard in his ears for him stop and listen now.

From a translation of Rainfall Confessions: Collected Poems by Lan Wangji:

for want of envy

dear reader, i lost you — the sheets are cold where you used to lie, the rain obscures you from my sight, and the heart within me is stretched for want of you.

dear reader, i was never taught how quickly someone can become your world and how quickly you can lose them.

“What’s your poison, handsome?” the young man behind the bar had teased, and in that fateful moment Lan Wangji’s world had tilted on the axis of his smile. Wei Wuxian was sunlight and warmth, a happy contrast against the spring rain thundering against the windowpane outside the store.

He’d remembered his manners just in time, choking out a request for water in between heartbeats. Wei Wuxian had remarked something about it being strange he’d sit at the bar to order water, but Lan Wangji wasn’t nearly stupid enough to confess it was him that drew him there.

As the second son, he’d never been expected to inherit the family business. Still, his every connection was scrutinised, every friend carefully vetted. Uncle Qiren’s adherence to tradition had protected him all his life, considering the scandals raised by his parents’ marriage, but the minute Wei Wuxian stepped into his life, Lan Wangji had never wanted to rebel so badly.

The instant Uncle Qiren noticed Wei Wuxian in his life, he’d pushed Luo Qingyang at him. The merger was transparent. But then, so was her distaste.

“I cannot accept this,” Lan Wangji tells her now, even after he takes the bouquet.

She looks almost relieved. “I know there is someone else,” she says. The crowd had vanished with the oncoming storm, but neither of them have moved from their spot. Lan Wangji opens his umbrella, hands it to her with the flowers and the ring.

“There is someone else for you, too,” he says.

“Good luck,” she replies. Lan Wangji nods, as the rain slowly seeps into his white suit.

Its rhythm is a metronome for the beating of his heart as he turns and races out of the park.

From a translation of Rainfall Confessions: Collected Poems by Lan Wangji:

promises

he promised me forever and a day, and all the years to come in lifetimes after. “with you beside me, come whatever may I’ll face it all in sadness and in laughter.”

Wei Wuxian lets his feet take them to the field where he’d first made his wish for forever. The rain blurs his vision; splashes mud across his shoes and clothes as he digs out the ring he’d bought, preparing to throw it down the bank towards the rushing river below.

“Wei Ying!” he hears. Then there’s the solid warmth of Lan Wangji’s body, the familiar scent of his sandalwood aftershave. He closes his eyes, letting Lan Wangji bring him close.

“What are you doing here?” he asks nonetheless, his voice as bitter as he feels. He’s tired of this uncertainty, tired of untruths. Lan Wangji cups his cheek.

“I told her no.”

The ring is warm in Wei Wuxian’s hand. “But I thought —” he begins, but Lan Wangji puts a finger to his lips.

“It has always been you,” he says. “Even when I did not know… I was writing for you.”

The rain clears, almost as if on cue. The faintest hint of the sun peeks out behind the clouds. Wei Wuxian’s eyes go wide, as Lan Wangji kneels in the muddied field at his feet.

“I have no ring to give just yet,” he says, “but I do have my promise.”

“I have a ring,” says Wei Wuxian, sinking down with him. Lan Wangji’s white suit is utterly ruined, and it’s the best thing he’s ever seen. “Forever, Lan Zhan. Please?” he asks, already leaning in.

“Yes,” breathes Lan Wangji, and meets him halfway.

From a translation of Rainfall Confessions: Collected Poems by Lan Wangji:

rainfall confessions

the frost has gathered forests on the sill; the rainstorm beats a rhythm in my heart; against the lake, a dragonfly’s wings are as fragile as this new-spun promise.

in every wound i dealt, you bled out love, until my hands ran crimson with your devotion. in every word, i heard your longing for forever, unenvious of the world around us.

hereafter only strengthens every promise, as we wake to one another every morn. run into my arms, out of the rain, and let the shelter of magpie wings protect us.

[traumatizeddfox]

I’m done blaming myself and I’m just indifferent to her. Tw, details of COCSA vent female / female abuse. Long, sorry.

She hasn’t and will never win no matter how deceitful, manipualtive, aliases or friends she uses/has.

I went through her abuse alone and fought the aftermath alone, she can’t HANDLE being alone for a fucking day. You can’t tell me that doesn’t mean I’m stronger and better than her. I’m so much better than her. I’m beautiful and she’s ugly, inside and out. She once made a comment about me being ugly once and my thought now was “she’s actually a solid 3/10, typically below average, rarely lying on the average line.” It’s true, not trying to talk shit because she abused me and I’m angry, I’m talking from my own biases POV of course, everyone’s opinion is different. More people I noticed complimented me growing up personality and looks more than her, looking at myself dressed up, make up on or off doesn’t matter, I look like a 8-10/10 most days, depending on how I dress up. Even when I don’t I’m beautiful. I’m kind. I’m giving.

She makes the comments/convos only ever about putting others down/ about others because bullies like that KNOW they’re insecure and envious of those they speak down on, then make up any belief to deny the reality of that. IM STRONG FOR FACING TRUTH DAY AFTER DAY AND BEING ABLE TO HANDLE IT INSTEAD OF RELYING ON WEAK DEFENSE MECHANISMS. How much of a weakling she is, yet look at me, I’m beautiful, kind, I’m glowing, and I know myself and what I want in life. She lies to herself. I’m a better narc than her. I play this life facing hard to swallow truths and bettering myself in therapy and she can’t without lying to everyone including her therapist.

I had more impulse control than her (I mean you can’t blame me for the times she antagonized me into physical fights). I am so much stronger and better than her. She sexually and emotionally abused me growing up since we were five. She sexually abused me on multiple occasions when we were five, then throughout our childhood and adolescence she continued sexually abusing me on 100s of occasions. I’m STRONG for being able to continue being my true self unlike her, to continue being vulnerable unlike her, to continue feeling the full range and intensity of my emotions unlike her. At least I can learn from mistakes and experience growth, she’s stuck, dead inside. I’m alive. I feel good. My complex protects me, hers doesn’t matter, she no longer is a victim or survivor of abuse, she will always be a perpetrator only. She isn’t an abuse victim. She’s a piece of shit. And so are my bullies. All can burn on their fucking beds in their houses. 🖕🏻 them.

She taught me what fingering was when we were little, I got new memories back w/ her and the therapy I’ve been doing the past few months!!!! She told me to finger her, I said “what’s that mean?” She pulled her pants down and said stick your finger in my hole and I stuck my pointer finger in the air and said this one? She said yeah, then I said what hole? She said “not my butthole, the one above it” and I couldn’t see anything so I remember being confused… and she guided my finger down and touched her vagina, I asked what to do and she helped push me inside her, then said take it out so I did, she told me NO take it out a LITTLE BIT then push it inside and out and in and when she showed me I understood but realized I felt really uncomfortable. She was uncomfortable with BEING CAUGHT, I was uncomfortable with BEING ABUSED. Her dad taught her these things.

She hated that I hated her growing up for abusing me. I was forced to hangout with her (and another abuser who was old) and all I wanted to do was avoid them both, and when they touched me, I raged and fucking harmed them back so goddamn hard until they stopped. I learned 5-teenage years to keep doing that so I did my whole relationship with her. I’m PD she’s PD, but she won’t admit it and only find manipulative ways and her friends to blame things on me.

Oh but she’s “uncomfortable in sexual situations nowadays” (😂) because of (self admitting to me) to (and talking to other victims) that she abused them but denies it because she wants to be seen as a good person and has to keep the image up, but wants the power and control so she’s conflicted and does both while staying in denial. She’s uncomfortable because she knows she’s wrong (and has admitted it before to me that she knows she’s an abuser and a rapist).

I don’t care about the blushing, the embarrassment, the group bullying, the fear, the fight or flight, the triggers and emotional flashbacks because of her; she can manipulate and persuade all she wants, act innocent or “🤓hi how r u haven’t seen u in awhile🥺🤔”. I will always side with myself, I’m stronger and more intelligent than that, I’m above that, I’m trauma informed. Im the greatest. Don’t stigmatize or demonize me. Reject me? I have myself, love myself. I know my worth. Im so brave for dealing with these symptoms, and you guys are too. All of us are on here for dealing with mental illness, personality disorders, and trauma injuries.

My brain is foggy rn because of certain symptoms acting up so I hope everything I write makes sense.

i’m so sorry sweets. let the angry out, it is healthy!

[8eht]

no like honestly i 100% agree with everyone you said pt 2. i agree w you about carats and i find myself having unpopular opinions pretty often too. i love the svt fandom but smtimes i still feel like ppl wanna jump down your throat if you dont agree. not having a favorite in a group is completely fine but we shouldnt start making ppl who do feel bad because its always been that way!! we literally grow up being taught to pick favorites like colors, animals, songs, etc.

i love carats too!! i enjoy being in this fandom and im glad that svt chose me (yeah. they chose me. it wasnt a choice i swear they sucked me in with a force stronger than the power of zeus lmao sjkfhaskf) to get me to involved with the fandom. 

and i really like the point you brought up. as a child you are constantly asked about favorites. so when i didnt have a favorite in something i felt… bad? so whether or not our impulse in choosing faves is a societal construct or human nature, it’s going to happen. for me i can’t help it. i constantly feel pressured to love everyone from every group equally, but i cant. i would be absolutely lying if i said that minghao wasnt the reason i love the band so much. obviously, i love all members. but i love the members of many groups while still having svt as my bias group. and its because of minghao. like the only reasons mx or ptg or twice or etc isnt my main group is because minghao isnt in those groups.

whether or not thats ‘wrong’ or not, its not going to change how i or others feel. because thats just how our brains work. i rly just feel like denying it is super shitty askjfhaskf

[daisybeewrites]

adding to this — why did Azula feel the need for this control?

obviously, yes, she is a perfectionist, and her extremism in her perfectionism is egged on by daddy dearest, but why the need to lie? Azula was never around earthbenders as powerful as Toph, and i’m 99.9% sure that the ‘i can tell youre lying’ thing was unique to the early earthbenders and badgermoles until Toph (taught by badgermoles). it would have taken Azula years to master this, probably even with prodigy bending.

to preface this, i’m going to go ahead and say it’s likely that Azula was abused beyond what we see in canon. Ozai wanted total control over her, he sharpened her into perfect blade to cut down his opponents with, which is traumatic in its own right, but stick with me.

Azula learned to control these impulses (via her probably unconscious lightning bending within her own body) out of necessity. Zuko said it best: Azula always lies. but why? Ozai loved and encouraged her bad behaviour, and no one was going to punish her, even as a child. she’s the Fire Princess. her own mother’s scolding and ineffective (thats a whole ‘nother post, tho) parenting led Azula to pretty be able to do whatever she damn pleases. lying is a good skill to have a weapon of war, but Azula was never anticipating being met with a human lie detector or having to operate as a spy.

so, and im gonna ask it again for emphasis, why the need to control this specific situation? well, i think there are two most likely explanations:

1. she learned by suppressing, mimicking, and practice out of necessity

as a child (and im talking 3-4 here), Azula most likely learned to mask any discomfort with what she saw around her (i.e. Ozai’s abuse) and lie, to say she enjoyed it because the person she looked up to most, Ozai, enjoyed it too. this was met with encouragement and praise, so she kept masking any negative feelings towards violence and the treatment of Zuko until it became perfectly normal. Azula didn’t remember a time when the cycle of see abuse, act fine with, be praised, see abuse wasn’t occurring in her daily life.

so, to keep myself from rambling too long, Azula internalized this cycle and eventually accepted that if others reacted positively to these horrible, terrifying instances then thats how she should feel, too, because shes a child. as she gets older, invited to war meetings, asked for her opinion (or when an opinion is expected of her), she starts to truly suppress any discomfort and begins to actually voice what she has been taught is the correct response to XYZ situation. it’s engrained in her.

hear me out; children aren’t born evil. they aren’t born lying and cheating and violent. the three top reasons someone becomes a pathological liar are underlying mental disorder(s), anxiety, and/or low self-esteem.

we know that Azula holds herself in high regard as the crown Fire Princess and "chosen one" by her father, but what i find interesting is that when Ozai’s manipulative "love" starts to feel like dismissal and betrayal, when her friends tell her that love is stronger than fear, and she’s alone in front of the mirror, her subconscious manifests a visual and auditory hallucination of her mother telling her "i love you". people with healthy self-esteem and a balanced childhood don’t usually have mental breakdowns where their want for love is so powerful it literally breaks them.

Azula lies a lot (just like Ozai) and is manipulative (cough), bringing us to my mimicking theory, but deeper than that, lying at a parhological level isn’t conscious. its possible that Azula has lied, manipulated and woven a web of denial, violence, and inner conflict running so deep that her lies are what she clings to justify Ozai’s and her actions. if she had grown up mirroring Ozai and his abuse, then her sense of justice and right/wrong is skewed as she sees anything with Ozai’s stamp of approval as "right". any thoughts, feelings, or instincts she had to the contrary would be dismissed and suppressed in favour of an outward attack on those around her — setting Zuko’s pants on fire, burning her firebending coach, taunting Zuko about Ozai killing him (especially this one), and taunting Zuko about their mother’s death.

any inner conflict, any thought against what she was taught was "right" resulted in Azula lying to herself (suppressing her emotions) as well as harming those around her (emotionally and physically). after so long lying like that, her base reaction was always lie, which outweighed any gut instinct beyond what was in front of her.

2. she learned so she could lie to Ozai, and eventually any lie felt like truth

so, the last section was really long, but this kinda builds on it so its super short. we know that Ozai was openly against his son, especially when Zuko said something contrary to Ozai or his teachings. Azula definitely would have picked that up, and developed the survival skill of lying to Ozai about any of her negative feelings surrounding his teachings.

thus, Azula is a good liar because 1. it was encouraged and 2. Ozai is a fear-mongering abusive d^!#

not sure if any of this makes sense but… i think that op had a really interesting point.

another one...

So I was re-watching Avatar again and I couldn’t stop thinking about how amazing Azula is at lying. Not necessarily just being clever, but what really got me was that even Toph can’t tell when she’s lying. There’s no character other than Azula who can lie well enough to trick Toph. 

Azula is ridiculously clever, we know that. But her being good at lying isn’t all about her being clever. In the Invasion episode Azula says he is a 400 foot tall purple platypus bear, which is an obvious lie, but Toph couldn’t tell by her body’s reaction. 

It wasn’t about her being clevre, it was about her body chemistry. So I think its reasonable to assume Azula is able to control things in her body like her heart rate or blood pressure, in order to make herself a convincing liar. And keep in mind, its not just that she’s ‘good at lying’. Throughout the series we never see anyone fool Toph as well as Azula. Toph is extremely sensitive to the slightest vibrations; if there were any giveaways, she would have spotted them. 

I have two theories for why Azula can control her body so efficiently. For starters, and the most obvious, Azula is a total badass. And is very diligent, and needs to be not only perfect, but in control. It could be reasonable to assume she’s just extremely powerful and a horrifyingly dedicated perfectionist, which is why we all love her already.

I do have another theory that I’ve been toying with; that maybe her lightning bending is a part of it. All movements in the body are controlled by electrical impulses, that would mean her breathing, heart rate, blood pressure, etc., everything that would give her away as a liar. While I don’t necessarily think its a true, active, assertive bending style, as there would have had to be more canon to support something like that, I think maybe it just adds to her control of it more. There are very few lightning benders, and Azula is the one see we use that subset the most avidly. Maybe she just has more of a feel for electricity, for that form of energy, and therefore can control it better in her own body. She can sense those slight changes, like Toph, and would be able overtime to try and learn to control it. 

Anyways, that’s pretty much it. Just trying to figure out how Azula is so cool, sexy, and powerful without fail. 

[mehlsbells]

My upbringing was starkly black and white, everything strictly categorised as sin and acceptable, allowed and not. The massive ‘sin: not allowed’ category swallowed everything in legalism and immutable consequences. I fell in love with noir partly because it has no such hangups.

I savoured noir’s evocative language and sexual undercurrent. I learned to believe exposing repressive authority and dirty deeds was valiant even if ultimately futile, and justice could be delivered even when corrupt systems stymied it. The hardboiled detective attracted me from every angle, and I dreamed of both being and fucking the daring mystery-solving, smoking, drinking, dame-bedding wiseass. The detective archetype is dangerously appealing; stalwart antiheroes holding to their personal code while all around them people sold their souls for a bottle of scotch, a land deed, a tempting woman or a hard man. Terribly tragic, and as such, terribly romantic.

Like a suspect in a smoky dive bar, what constitutes ‘loyalty’ in noir is hard to pin down, but while most supporting characters treat loyalty as a purchasable, expendable, flexible commodity, [anti]heroes Spade and Archer, Gittes and Dewitt, Mars and Hammer, et al. hold fiercely to their personal definitions thereof. These ideals often keep them from working with a partner, as they can’t find others who share their notions longer than a book’s opening chapters, a film’s first act. Sometimes, in a twisted blessing, their partner gets murdered before committing betrayal. (‘Committing betrayal.’ What a cruel grammatical construction.)

Fairly unique among their set, Charleses Nick and Nora manage loyalty and happiness to and with each other, but not only does their teasing openly relay insecurities in everyone outside their connubial circle, their origin story is shot through with loyalty conundrums. The crux of The Thin Man revolves around characters leveraging Nick’s allegiance to an old friend to make Nick and Nora investigate a suspicious death/disappearance, similar to the relationship between Marlowe and Terry Lennox in The Long Goodbye.

Marlowe: You didn’t have much choice, huh? So you used me. Lennox: Hell, that’s what friends are for.

Many noir tales examine murder, corruption, lost love, incest, power, grasping for companionship in sex and booze and partners. Few are so nakedly about friendship, loyalty, and the unique betrayal they set you up for as The Long Goodbye. As the game Lennox and Marlowe play in their first scene tells us, all Marlowe’s relationships are games of liar’s poker he’ll lose. The only question is: sooner, or later?

The film’s opening involves the great Philip Marlowe cajoling his hungry cat to eat first a concoction of cottage cheese and raw egg, then generic cat food. The two mewl, mumble and scratch in their understanding standoff. The film ends with Marlowe coolly justifying shooting his once-friend because Lennox indirectly killed the cat. Everything between is a meditation on loyalty.

As best exemplified in Nick and Nora Charles, noir understands relationships featuring fidelity and comfortable insults are the ones which really matter, so the snarky–sweet caring–codependent way Marlowe and hungry cat banter intentionally evokes true friendship. Altman called that opener important and Marlowe’s relation to his cat commentary on friendship: no matter how hectic his life, Marlowe is concerned the cat eats, whether the cops scare him, if he’s lost in LA’s mean streets.

Like most of his genre, Marlowe is destined to traverse the criminal underworld, continually learning the hard way he’s more loyal to friends, clients, even his constantly stoned neighbours, than they to him. He can’t bring himself to act on his cynicism until he’s burnt, and is a lost soul not because he’s dumb or drugged – he turns down even his neighbours’ hash brownie – but because he can’t find anywhere to put his trust.

Though they harass him and he blusters against their threats and handcuffs, Marlowe’s relationship with the cops is his most stable. He despises their work, they hate and stymie him, but at least he knows where he stands. Everywhere else is shifting sand and empty promises, golden and glittering by daylight, cold and dangerous at night. Under it all play morphing renditions of “The Long Goodbye,” refrains evolving and fading as quickly as relationships, adding atmosphere as Los Angeles underworld characters succour the detective and each other until betrayal becomes convenient.

As he searches for answers in mysteries and others, Marlow smokes to dull the pain – take a shot every time he strikes his match on a new surface, you’ll be drunk before the halfway point. Elliot Gould’s physicality superbly conveys Marlowe’s hurt and insecurity, shambling gait literalising existentially unsure footing.

Altman’s shots and Zsigmond’s cinematography also expose Marlowe’s mental state. The beautiful police station tracking shot puts us in Marlowe’s gumshoes, showing his strain as he attempts to sort through the mountain of information, theories, and grief he’s been buried under. The long dolly across the grounds of the clinic has a similar effect, moving first methodically, then more frenetically as Marlowe’s frustration builds. Exposition of addresses and phone numbers unroll with slow camera movements over long takes, revelling in the acting’s stillness, taking a less usual route than montages to make the viewer feel Marlowe’s tedium and loneliness.

The odyssey is wrapped in perfectly exposed beach scenes, daytime sands yellow-tinged and California to their core, nighttime painted deep blacks and grainy red with Eileen’s dress the only spot of yellow. Doubled imagery and symbols of duplicity abound, the most striking of which involve the beach. First we see Marlowe in the glare off Wades’s window, projected between quarrelling lovers as they snipe at each other. Later, in the same window, Eileen is shown two-faced as she and Marlowe talk while her husband charges suicidally into the inky sea.

The whole film is a gorgeous depiction of our ugliest impulses, and Altman is the perfect director for it. Through various lenses and genres, Altman’s work examines intimacy and pain which can be leveraged by only those closest to us. Noir’s peripheral characters are who many of Altman’s other films center: desperate, impotent men; disloyal lovers; marriages on the verge; frustrated humans performing drastic acts. The Long Goodbye digs into side stories many noirs don’t unless impacting the protagonist directly: Farewell, My Lovely is more concerned with Marlowe’s relationship to the women in his path than the women themselves; American Gigolo hardly contains a conversation Julian Kaye isn’t in; Evelyn’s relationships in Chinatown mostly evolve when Jake is around to observe, and he’s around almost every frame. Some of The Long Goodbye’s more virulent events or breakdowns happen while Marlowe is out of the picture, or listening to nothing but crashing waves.

Altman is interested in examining these stories for their own sake, and shows it by examining side characters with the reflections motif, too. Zsigmond uses Eileen’s windshield brilliantly to reflect her facade as Marlowe chases her through the streets. The stoned hippy neighbours are introduced surrounded by floor-to-ceiling windows, one dancing with herself in the mirrored glass. The gate-guard-slash-impression-artist is reflected in Harry’s shiny car sidepanels, a symbol of security who pretends to be many other people, then shows himself more trustworthy than people pretending to be someone they’re not.

The guard also displays The Long Goodbye’s wicked sense of humour, along with the horny lookout whose ogling of stoned half-naked neighbour women allows Marlowe to sneak away. There’s the slapstick of Harry swinging haplessly on the gate trying clamber over as he imagines a detective should. Marlowe plants a sloppy handprint on the interrogation cell two-way mirror, then paints his face with fingerprint ink, cops impotent to stop his clowning. The guard dog fetching her owner’s stick from the waves has a twisted hilarity to it.

Which brings us, as the film continually does, back to loyalty. Relationships with animals are throughout: besides his cat, Marlowe nervously banters with the guard dog and talks as cheerfully as a damned man can to strays lying in the road. Ultimately animals’ loyalty – even only to the hand that feeds and then betrays them, pictured perfectly with mounted ducks – is still stronger than that of everyone else in his life, and loyalty is important to him.

If only I’d recognised earlier how much my identifying with pulp heroes was due to my own sense of loyalty, deservedness of recipients be damned. “Their cynicism exactly stems from their compassion, [their] hardness is a scar tissue of a heart they can’t stop the world from breaking over and over.” I weirdly admired Marlowe hoping against hope, believing those he loves once, then again. You know what they say about fools.

Marlowe: Nobody cares but me. Lennox: Well that’s you, Marlowe. You’ll never learn, you’re a born loser.

The Long Goodbye is Chandler’s most personal work. “You writers have your own special way of describing, don’t you?” is the movie acknowledging this sure as Chandler’s book commented on his deep insecurities, ideals, and philosophies. (The film references the book many times, including the face-bandaged man as a nod to Book Terry’s extensive plastic surgery.) Roger Ebert said in his original review, “The private eye as a fiction device was essentially a way to open doors; the best novels of Chandler and the others are simply hooks for a cynical morality.” Like Inherent Vice, the criminal underworld is alluring backdrop and murder the smaller mystery behind the real question of whether the detective can uphold his personal code in a world where ‘a man is only as good as his word’ simply means most men are no good. The real question, the crux and heart of the matter, is Will they keep clinging to that code? Why do we keep falling for those who throw us over?

The thing about franchised noir detectives is, as characters or story properties, they can’t fundamentally change. They solve mysteries, their settings are updated from 50s to 70s to aughts to 2019, they jadedly swear they’ll never trust again, they may seem to learn their lesson. But in the end the stories reset. Sure as sunset and the next story, they get let down, used, double-crossed, stung, only to begin again when the next sultry shadow darkens their door. Once again they give their loyalties to a friend in need, a dame with legs up to there. Once again the dames and mates evaporate; or worse, explicitly sell our fallible hero upriver, relying on said hero’s tragically loyal personal code to prevent retaliation.

We’ve all had those dames and mates. We’ve all sworn to never love again, only to willingly set ourselves up for more heartbreak. People who mean what they say only so long as they feel like it. Family who love you so long as you’re meekly in line. Dames who say “I love you” in the night and “I’m leaving you” in the morning. Business partners who call you family until it’s more expedient not to be. Friends who say forever but mean for as long as you’re fun, and you’re no fun when you’re stumbling through a haze of pain or grief. Homme fatales who sell you out when a better offer comes in. Lovers who are loyal while you do exactly what they want.

In the first of two crucial scenes which start placidly before exploding into brutal violence, thug Marty gives a speech to/about his girlfriend Joanne. “Delicate and sweet . . . I love you. I do. . . . The single most important person in my life.” Ah, love, the highest form of loyalty.

Then he hits her across the face with a glass bottle.

Do we feel sorry for her? is the same question Tarantino asks in Once Upon A Time… In Hollywood when Brad Pitt’s Cliff smashes sadistic Sadie’s face with a can of dog food. The blow to Joanne’s face is lighter and unprovoked, but though her crimes are lighter, her madonna-like framing is window dressing. She blithely enjoys fruits of Marty’s torture, murder, and extortion, knowing her flippery is bought with blood money. (Her blow’s aftereffects are visually replicated by Jake’s bandages in Chinatown – directed by Polanski, who is depicted in Once Upon A Time, making these films a Möbius strip of themes, imagery, period, and settings.)

In different ways, Joanne and Sadie establish The Long Goodbye and Once Upon a Time‘s cruel worlds, where psychopaths and rich ruthless men get their way. Both center men with drinking and smoking habits, a dubious past, and a personal moral code. Marlowe and Cliff fight against the establishment, for themselves and their friends. Though they don’t believe in innocence, they want to believe people exist whose souls at least aren’t as dark as the rest of ours. Within their morality is loyalty; Cliff to Rick Dalton, Marlowe to Terry or at least the idea of him: “Terry Lenox was my friend you motherfucker . . . you don’t deserve to be alive you fuckin’ pig.” Rick and Terry don’t return the loyalty, yet Cliff and Marlowe can’t help themselves. It’s their code.

The Long Goodbye ending Ebert calls “off the wall” I see as wish fulfilment, same as Once’s. In the film Terry gets justice delivered by Marlowe, Bracket’s screenplay ‘fixing’ the book’s injustice. Altman revels in this playground where disloyalty equals death and real world consequences are momentarily suspended for a warped fairy tale ending.

The final shot is reminiscent of Holly Martins waiting on a tree-lined boulevard in The Third Man, another film featuring a man unendingly loyal to a death-faking friend who didn’t deserve such fidelity. The Long Goodbye’s last shot brings yellow in again, reminding us of Eileen’s dress, the faded sun on the beach, letters and pledges of friendship aged and brittled by time. Only here, Marlowe’s the one walking away, getting as happy an ending as one can hope for in noir.

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Lennox blindsided Marlowe, then called him a fool for expecting others to do what he would in keeping his word. Pulp detectives are thrown under the bus or off a cliff with the shrugged excuse along the lines of “I knew you were tough enough to survive” or “sorry, you were just collateral damage.” Given enough time, “I threw you under the bus to save myself” becomes “It was the best option for both of us” becomes “you survived and are better for learning this lesson, you should be thanking me!” This essay draws parallels to Marlowe and Veronica Mars’ getting run over because of their clinging to loyalty, “an anchor that binds.”

But every detective also has their breaking point, the point at which they say the rules have been violated enough to justify them taking matters into their own hands. 

Marlowe: I have two friends in the world. One is a cat. The other is a murderer.

Is loyalty its own reward? Chandler’s book seems to argue it is, but Marlowe shooting his once-friend in the film argues something else. Grown and free of the romanticised prism Younger Me viewed Marlowe through, do I believe Chandler’s ending or Brackett’s?

The teenager who first read Chandler’s book would choose idealism: be true to your code, give your loyalty, those who turn on you will get what they deserve while you can keep the moral high ground. Even with grim answers in front of me, maybe I’d make like Marlowe, clinging stubbornly to loyalty disavowed by its recipient, or keeping myself preoccupied searching for answers and other mysteries.

While I want to hold to those ideals still, what are movies for if not to show us what we really want, wish-fulfilling our basest instincts? Watching now, I can’t help but savour that moment Marlowe tosses his cigarette, reaches into his waistband, and coolly shoots the man who treated his loyalty as commodity.

For #Noirvember, I wrote about the concept of loyalty in noir in general, and "The Long Goodbye" in particular. My upbringing was starkly black and white, everything strictly categorised as sin and acceptable, allowed and not.

[breeeliss]

belated birthday present

@larvesta i know im a little late with this bc im a piece of shit but i appreciate you so much as a friend, an artist, and a content creator for this fandom that i had to whip up something for you really quick, even if it’s not much. i hope you had a wonderful birthday and thank you for being so beautiful and special :)

happy birthday olivia <3

words: 1864

“I want to marry you.”

She said it at 11:37pm, cheek pressed against the kitchen table, eyeliner smudged after a 14 hour work day, and voice slurred from the sleep she’d been without for close to three days. Alya had driven out to her office, coaxed her away from her designs, and laid her out on the back seat of her car, blanketing her with her jacket before driving back to their apartment. The dozen or so other times they’d done this, Alya would always brew her fresh tea over the stove -- with actual tea leaves, not store bought bags -- to help her sleep, only to find her snoring across the couch or at the kitchen table before it was even ready. 

Alya was ready to keep the tea warm for herself and carry Marinette back to their bedroom, but Marinette muttered tiredly from her seat at the kitchen table and made Alya stare into the pot of tea, afraid to look behind her. 

“...what was that babe?”

Marinette yawned in response and said nothing for a long minute, convincing Alya that it was just something silly mumbled from half-sleep, or something that Alya had misheard. But Marinette merely repeated what she’d said -- stronger this time, as if its repetition was enough to keep her awake past what her body demanded. “I want to marry you.”

Alya swallowed and picked a mug from the cabinet above her. “I don’t understand.”

“You know, weddings,” Marinette explained. “Both of us in white dresses. A room full of relatives we haven’t seen since we were in diapers. Chocolate cake. In a hall or a garden, because I know you don’t like churches. Everything purple and pink.”

There was trepidation making her chest feel tight, but Alya still had enough in her to laugh. “That’s pretty thought out. Not surprising, considering it’s you.”

“I think about it a lot,” Marinette admitted quietly, her nails scratching at one of the cracks in the wood table. “I was thinking about it today. I just wanted you to know.”

Alya poured the tea from the pot into a mug and turned around to see Marinette gazing at her -- eyes tired but focused. She pulled out the chair right next to Marinette and offered her the mug of tea, which Marinette refused. “Do you....” Alya cleared her throat, took a large gulp of tea, and winced when she burned her tongue. “Do you want to do this now?”

“No. I don’t know. Maybe.”

“That’s a clear answer.”

“I’m running on caffeine, fumes, and the grace of God, right now. I don’t have the energy to be eloquent.”

Alya knew that Marinette was picking up on her attempts to dodge a clear answer to her statement, but for some reason was deciding not to draw attention to that bit. Instead, she was staying quiet, watching the steam float up from the rim of Alya’s cup, and waiting for her to say something that wasn’t just a hurried attemptsat deflecting. Marinette overanalyzed where it didn’t matter and jumped on impulse where it did. It was only with Alya that she achieved a masterful balance of when to push and when to let the conversation go slack. It made Alya guiltily scramble for some pithy explanation, despite the fact that Marinette would likely let her go without giving one. 

“I didn’t expect you to ever say something like that,” Alya admitted. “At least not this soon.”

Marinette frowned and walked her fingers across the table until her hand was braced gently around Alya’s wrist. “It’s not that soon, is it?”

“We’ve only been dating for five months.”

“But we’ve known each other for five years.”

“We were friends for most of those five years.”

“So?”

Alya sighed out through her nose and bit on her thumb nail. “I’m trying to think of how to explain this...”

Marinette sucked on her bottom lip and started to pull her hand away. “You don’t have to say yes or no. I wasn’t expecting you to.”

She scrambled for Marinette’s hand before it slipped back into her lap, gripping around her four fingers and rubbing her thumb along her bony knuckles. “You deserve a yes or a no,” Alya told her. “And...it’s not like I’m debating between saying yes or saying no.”

“You look like you’re debating something.”

“I am. But it’s not what you think.”

Marinette pulled their intertwined hands closer and pressed a kiss to the nail of Alya’s thumb while she waited. Her eyes were slow to meet her own, but when they did Alya squeezed her hand back tighter. Marinette looked at Alya like there were diamonds in her lashes and words written in her eyes. She was always marveling at something, always trying to find something, and always being enchanted by everything she saw. That’s how Marinette had been looking at her since the day they met, and it was that look that always made Alya’s heart stutter and feel as though it was getting its fill of something too rich to be true. 

“Did I ever tell you when I knew I was in love with you?” Marinette shook her head. “It was like a switch. It happened right away, and it was like all these shadowy, blurred things sharpened all at the same time, and I just sat there in front of you feeling like I was seeing you for the first time. It was just short of a year after we met -- when I failed my history exam and stayed home to mope, and you crawled into my bed and held me for hours until you had to go home the next day. Right there in your arms. It hit me.”

“We’ve slept in the same bed plenty of times before that,” Marinette wondered. 

“I can’t explain it,” Alya shrugged. “I can just tell you when it appeared. Quick, sudden, and heavy.”

“Heavy?”

Alya snorted. “You know when you fall in love with enough straight girls, you start getting used to the fact that your feelings are always stronger, bigger, and more cumbersome than theirs? I thought the same with you for a really long time. And maybe that was my fault for not telling you the truth sooner, but it always just seemed like I had this huge, awkward thing to carry around that would always be two steps ahead of what you felt for me.”

“What are you saying?”

Alya laid her head down next to Marinette’s until their foreheads were almost touching. “I thought that for close to five years. So I guess...it’s an old habit that’s hard to break.”

Marinette’s other hand came up to brush away the hair from Alya’s temple. “You think I’m not serious...”

“No, it’s not that,” Alya promised. “I don’t think you’re lying or playing a game. I just get surprised when you say things like that. It still feels like I’m two steps ahead of you, so it doesn’t feel real. Like sometimes I’ll see you standing in the kitchen making us breakfast or I’ll wake up to you sleeping right next to me....and I can’t conceive of how I got here.”

Marinette licked her lips and ghosted the tips of her fingers along Alya’s hairline. “So when I say things like ‘marry me’....”

“I think this can’t possibly be real.”

Words were the sort of thing you needed the ability to say and the courage to mean. Otherwise they turned into muted secrets or empty placeholders. It was never a question of whether Marinette was sincere or whether Alya had the ability to say what she felt. It was always a question of whether Alya could bear being comfortable with one feeling more of less intensely than the other -- whether that sort of imbalance was natural or something Alya should continue to feel wary of. She wasn’t sure if all of that was vocalized in the little that Alya told Marinette, and she suddenly felt silly for having such a poor reaction. “Sorry,” she muttered. “I shouldn’t be doing this when you’re so tired.”

They stayed still for so long that Alya feared this was the awkward end to the conversation she wasn’t prepared for them to have. Marinette’s gaze hadn’t faltered at all during that time, and Alya wasn’t sure if that was due to exhaustion or due to some poor reaction to what Alya had shared. She got her answer when Marinette kissed her -- slow, lazy, and too quick for Alya to melt into and enjoy. 

“I hear you,” Marinette muttered against her lips. “And I respond to that by saying...I still want to marry you.”

Her lips were leaving small pecks on Alya’s eyelids, cheeks, nose, chin, and lips again. “New storefront has me strapped for cash, so I can’t afford a ring or dresses or a hall right now. But give me a couple of years when everything will be smoothed out, and when my savings will be more than just a long line of zeroes. I’ll want to marry you. I’m going to marry you.”

Alya laughed and felt one hand pulling loose the tight bun on the back of Marinette’s head. “I believe you,” she decided. And she did. Deep down, in her heart of hearts that was so hard to blindly listen to, she believed every word of it. 

“Listen,” Marinette explained. “I don’t know if I can fix the feeling that things are uneven between us aside from telling you that it doesn’t matter who felt what first or who feels one way and not the other. I just need you to know one thing. I love you down to my bones -- like you’re too much a part of me to just rip out. I can tell you it’s deep, it’s honest, it’s wonderful, and it keeps my head high and my heart bursting. If you believe anything I say, believe that.”

Alya let out a shaky sigh of relief and pressed a kiss to the middle of Marinette’s forehead. “I love you too,” she whispered. “Down to my bones. It’s the one thing I know how to do without thinking.”

Marinette grinned. “I know things like marriage and weddings are really far away, but I needed to tell you how I feel. And you don’t have to feel the same way right now. I’ll wait. Waiting with you would be a beautiful thing.”

“You won’t have to wait long,” Alya said, a promise and a desire already brewing that she knew wouldn’t need much to flourish. “I know you won’t.”

Marinette’s thumbs were brushing her cheekbones when they kissed again. “I get what you mean,” she said. “When you said that it feels like this isn’t real sometimes. I feel the same way. Like something this nice is just meant to slip through your fingers one day.”

Alya tightened her grip on Marinette’s hand -- tight enough to feel a steady, strong pulse beat in between their hands. “I’m not going anywhere,” she promised. “I couldn’t dream of it.”