#acid eyes and people ignoring lyrics anon

[jlf23tumble]

The groupthink and insular nature of larries (you can’t sit with us unless you believe/espouse what we believe) def keeps people a reachin’ EVEN HARDER. And this all or nothing attitude leads to “unlarrying” which somehow means those people just buy into a whole other narrative (so did they really need “deprogramming” or just another doctrine to follow blindly? Rip to that girl who wrote about how she couldn’t believe she used to think Carolina was about drugs when Harry is so pure after she listened to HS3 lmaoooo).

Bottom line is all sides of HL’s fandom puts them in boxes and just ignore pieces of evidence that don’t fit with their narrative (hets ignoring H’s queer coding, larries ignoring all of AOTV post-2015, etc). Multiple things can be true at once - Louis can enjoy indulging in alcohol and weed and be happy and successful (he doesn’t need you to save him); Harry can make out with models and playfully react to signs about pussy and still be sleeping with dudes (plenty of queer men, even those who self-identify as gay, have been intimate with women); HL can have been in a relationship and aren’t anymore (or at least not in the “married” sense). This is all way more fun when you allow for people to be people and not unchanging posters on your wall. Ultimately i don’t care what you believe as long as you acknowledge we’re all clowns here in the dumbass circus.

Couldn't have said it better myself!

[omegalomania]

i fucking love hearing suitehearts au stuff, and au stuff in general... so like tea i wanna hear the fun stuff

LMAO well then anon i will do my best to deliver. idk if i’d call it an au exactly? i visualize the characters of the suitehearts as their own thing independent of the people portraying them, but i won’t bicker over people reading it how they like!

opens up my bigass disorganized Fucking Document of suitehearts lore i have frankly mostly invented

SO the thing about the suitehearts is that i view the world they occupy as kind of...an exaggeration of reality. it is not literal reality. in part cause we get this handy shot in the video

which implies to me that people can actually cross into this world via portals from “normal land” i.e. reality as we know it. normal landers are humans, ordinary people, and they can cross into the reality of...the suitehearts. i call it Hollywood Hills because like, thats definitely what it’s emulating, but it’s not the literal Hollywood Hills. 

so the way i read it is this: when the Hollywood-centric entertainment industry got big in Normal Land, an extant mirror world entailing all of Hollywood's greatest sins and triumphs formed as well. the Hollywood Hills we see in the video are like a funhouse mirror. they’re exaggerated, hyperbolic reflections of all that the industry there represents. it’s hard to say which is the more “real” version of reality. do things happen “first” in Normal Land and see themselves reflected in the Hollywood Hills here? vice versa? do the events in one version of reality trigger similar events in another? or are they just echoes of the same song?

the answer to that is who goddamn knows.

putting the rest of this under a cut cause....goddamn this got FUCKIN LONG.

the point is that the Hollywood Hills we see in the video and the reality the suitehearts occupy is....bizarre. it’s full of grotesque exaggerations. and at the center of it all of it are the Suitehearts, and the Suitehearts are....i’m not sure how to describe them other than i guess maybe avatars? conductors? in the context of this world. each of them represent and have mastery over an “element” or aspect that’s intrinsic to the entertainment industry. that’s what i really zeroed in on here when i started building this whole thing, mostly cause a) that’s what the america’s suitehearts song/video focuses on so Obviously yeah i’d go that route and b) those themes resonate very nicely with the rest of the folie a deux album which is nice.

anyway! the suitehearts.

mr. sandman is the suiteheart of dreams. this one is a given, since he’s named after the sandman, which is a folklore creature that puts people to sleep and gives people dreams. in the context of this universe, he presides over dreams and by extension sleep in general. he can’t create dreams (because dreams come from the SELF this is very important) but he can alter them and manipulate them. dreams are an important thing to have when you’re in any kind of massive industry, but in this case i don’t mean dreams in the abstract like motivation. i mean more dreams in terms of inspiration, and the seeds of your subconscious in dreams that can be harnessed into facilitating creation. sandman exists kind of partially out of the reality of the Hills; he can’t actually sleep or dream on his own, so he more or less slips in and out of people’s sleeping subconscious...es. so the “physics” of the Hills apply a little less to him. he can float slightly, he’s got this shadowy/smoky aura that never dissipates, and he’s always shrouded in darkness.

horseshoe crab is the suiteheart of luck. another given, since the video title card calls him the “luckiest man alive.” he can alter anyone’s luck, make them extremely lucky or extremely unlucky. he is also himself preternaturally lucky to a really really horrible extent. he can’t turn it off, so there are like...no stakes in his life. he has no regard for personal safety because he’s so absurdly lucky that he never has to worry about it. concepts like hope are just obsolete to him. he knows the outcome to everything that happens to him before it happens because he’s always going to come out fine on the other side. this results in this intense nihilism and apathy and difficulty in giving a fuck cause like...it’s all gonna be fine man. why bother worrying about literally anything?? he’s been known to describe his luck as being able to see this perpetual set of rolling dice in his head. the dice always keep rolling, so he knows his luck will always hold. he...doesn’t know what happens when they stop. they never have. it doesn’t really bother him though. it’s hard for anything to bother him.

donnie the catcher is the suiteheart of attention. i wasn’t sure about what he would represent since “catcher” plus donnie’s title card just kind of hinted at something related to sports, which isn’t reaaaally an intrinsic part to the entertainment industry. but the “america’s suitehearts” song makes a very explicit parallel between sports and paparazzi/media attention in the lyric “down, set, one, hut, hut, hike / media blitz” - which is especially clever since “blitz” is an actual football play. plus “catcher” can have a lot of meanings, such as to “catch” someone’s attention. and this is VERY important if u wanna make it in any big industry like the entertainment one! so donnie has the ability to alter how much he or others are noticed. he can make himself so forgettable and imperceptible that he might as well be invisible, or someone so eye-catching that they’re wholly impossible to ignore, and so on. there are limits here that will depend on context, like it’d be difficult to make someone performing on stage nearly imperceptible mid-performance, but it’s very easy to make someone disappear into a crowd if they want. he indulges in this very often in fact. any time donnie is confronted with a situation he doesn’t want to be in he can more or less just disappear from most people’s perception and not deal with it :T donnie also has the uncanny ability to notice things most people wouldn’t, which comes w the territory of being what he is.

dr. benzedrine is the suiteheart of euphoria. again i wasn’t super sure what to do with him until i did some research into the “benzedrine” drug and that was super fascinating. point is that benzedrine is a trade name for a pharmaceutical that among other things is very energizing and can induce euphoria. and euphoria is of course pretty essential to anyone chasing their hollywood dreams, PLUS it’s very topical for anyone who ends up chasing a chemical high in any industry, given how rampant substance abuse can get in that context. benzedrine is in theory capable of controlling and altering the levels of happiness in himself and others. in theory i say, because benzedrine is very much Unique and Not In A Good Way as i’ve mentioned before, and one of the consequences of this is that he can’t moderate his own happiness levels. he can experience it organically or not at all but he can’t induce it in himself - only in others. benzedrine more or less defaults to being kind of cranky and is seldom very genuinely happy, though he has been known to whip out a downright terrifying, completely insincere, and very, very wide smile if he’s really pissed off. he’s also got that giant, grinning shadow that literally always follows him and he. really doesn’t know what is up with it. and he doesn’t like that he doesn’t know what’s up with it cause it’s obviously linked to him in a very demonstrable way. and it’s creepy as all shit and he kind of hates it and so do the others.

the “job” of the suitehearts is basically to give what visiting Normal Landers require from them. if someone wants attention, luck, euphoria, dreams - the suitehearts give it to them. and it costs a little something of course, just a little portion of their mortal souls, but the Normal Landers are willing, for the most part. not all of them are - some wander in by accident - but inevitably they succumb to the kaleidoscopic lure of this technicolor world and the temptation of perpetual luck without compromise, bliss without fear of a comedown, dreams that will forever inspire you, all the attention they could possibly want. and maybe it helps them get big in Normal Land. but more likely and most frequently, it just brings them back and back and back for more and more and more until eventually they’re mere hollow caricatures of who they were. and at that point, they sink into the acid green moat and the Hills claim them for good.

do the suitehearts like that they do this? well...they have varying opinions. sandman fucking loathes it. horseshoe doesn’t really care because it’s hard for him to care about anything. donnie finds it unsettling. benzedrine thinks it’s very irritating because he’d rather be getting important studies and work done since he’s the most dedicated to learning everything he can about the world they’re in. but the crux of the matter is that they don’t really have a choice in it. that’s what they’re there to do. they facilitate the trade of souls in exchange for the boons and benefits they boast. they can no sooner stop being a part of this than they could remember anything outside of their lives in the Hollywood Hills.

which they can’t, by the way. they have no memories of anyone or anything outside of their existence in the Hills. they’re not human, but what are they? were they human once? did they ever have actual names? how long have they been here? does time even pass normally in the Hills? they can’t leave the Hills after all; the portals to Normal Land simply refuse to allow them through, and the boundaries of the Hills are impossible for them to surpass.

these are their roles. (who decided those roles?) so they play their parts. (don’t think about it.) they do as they’re meant to. (how do they know to do that? no one ever told them.) this just their lot in life. (are they even alive?)

and what happens when some of them start to get the feeling that there’s something important that they’re forgetting?

[the-darklings]

DUDE your tags on the hozier jackie and wilson song post GOSH. WHAT HAVE U DONE? the level of involvement i have developed towards those two is absurd at this point thanks for that

—reasons wretched and divine;

pairing: santino x reader (vipress) [you win this one team santino]

wc: 2.2k+

an: so anon is referring to this post and the tags on it. I originally wanted to hold off writing this cause while it is a canon event for COA, it takes place directly during Chicago, and obviously since no one has any clue wtf happened there I worried it might be premature to write this but you know what?? I’m miserable and wanted to write something cute so here we go. Enjoy dear anon! And to the other anon who said there are no fics for him…I hope this can sate your thirst lol.

Lake Michigan is a sprawling, large ravine of water that reflects the setting sun as you stare at it through the hotel window.

In the far west, dark clouds are already gathering and you know that there is substantial snowfall in the forecast. Ares had made a comment earlier about how navigating Santino’s security is going to be a nightmare for the next few days.

Curling tighter in your seat, you lean your cheek against your folded arms, debating a nap before dinner. You managed maybe two hours of sleep last night and your head feels exceptionally heavy. You hate the fact that awake or asleep you never seem to find peace anymore.

The earlier silence filling the room has been suffocating though, so you have opted to turn on the radio to dispel it. The random station continues playing an unfamiliar song and your eyes flutter closed for a second.

The door to your room suddenly opens behind you, and your fingers wrap around a blade; a cold, comforting weight in your hand.

Sucking in a sharp breath, you turn, readying your muscles for a fight.

But your fear is unfound when you spot Santino strolling into the room, his phone pressed to his ear and expression pinched with annoyance. His lips, too, are pulled into a faint sneer as he listens to whatever is being said impatiently.

“I do not need it tomorrow,” he remarks in biting, cold French before spotting you and giving you a brief smile as he turns his attention back to the conversation. “I do not need it later. I need it now. So I suggest you start doing your job before I find someone who can.”

He hangs up without waiting for an answer and grumbles under his breath. “People. Tell me, cara mia, is everyone that’s not us is this stupid and incompetent?”

“Probably,” you drawl, sheathing your blade and turn your attention back towards the large window. “You’re also kind of an asshole.”

Santino scoffs with a snarky grin as he comes to a stop beside you, his expression easing. His eyes take you in—pathetic and miserable, with your limbs folded around you like a shell—and his smile dies a little. There is something about that intense regard of his that makes you almost brittle. It’s as bad as Winston, except Santino doesn’t look grim with understanding. Santino dresses up his rage with a calm softness that brims with that familiar, cold promise of retribution.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, though it sounds more demanding due to subtle anger lacing the words and deepening his accent. “Still unwell?”

“I’m fine,” you shoot back dully, not looking at him, but that glimmer of curiosity still forces your tongue. “I didn’t know you could speak French so well.”

It’s a statement more than a question, but just as expected Santino sits down beside you in the other spare chair. Unlike you, however, his eyes focus on you oppose to the stunning scenery outside the window.

“I am a Camorra heir,” he reminds you but there is nothing patronising to be found in his smooth baritone. “My father made sure that Gianna and I had tutoring in all the main spoken languages from around the world. We started young.”

“What if you don’t have an aptitude for languages?”

Santino smiles slightly when you glance at him, but it’s a cool, cutting thing. The look in his eyes even more so as he laces his fingers together, his elbows resting on his thighs. “Ah, my father did not particularly care for that, cara.”

You scoff, shaking your head a little. That isn’t exactly surprising to hear, especially in relation to a man like Giovanni. A man of strong, unforgiving features, deep voice and eyes so dark they make it difficult to even look at him. It makes you suppress a shiver just thinking about him.  

For a few minutes, you sit in almost comfortable silence and although you don’t consider Santino someone you can completely relax around, you find yourself grateful he is here. Better than being alone. Perhaps Winston had a point after all.

But you don’t need anyone, you remind yourself.

You don’t need another repeat of John.

John and his beautiful wife. John and his wonderful wedding. John and—

Something inside aches; a dull, violent throb of loneliness. Of pain.

Your fingers tremble violently before you hide them from sight, and feel Santino follow the motion with his eyes. Too slow.

After another few seconds of watching the almost gone sun, he rises to his feet with a deliberate sort of air around him. He turns to you, extending his hand in your direction, his eyes giving nothing away.

You stare at him blankly.

“The radio,” he speaks after a pause, one eyebrow quirking. “We should practice. We have to be—”

“Convincing, yes, you have said that maybe ten times already,” you interrupt with a roll of your eyes before glancing around the room and back to him. “I’m not going to dance with you, Santino.”

The man before you slides one of his hands in his trouser pocket, observing you with a tilt of his head, and keep his hand extended between you.

“Come now, cara mia,” he speaks, his voice laced with boredom and this time you do see the arrogant heir who gets everything he wants. “My arm is growing tired.”

Snorting, you rise to your feet stiffly, glaring. You know him well enough to know that he will not drop it. So you will give him what he wants, if only to get rid of him. So much for not being alone.  

You stand face to face for a second—with him simply gazing at you and you glaring back. He steps closer, one arm wrapping carefully around your waist while another gently takes a hold of your hand. Your body is a coiled mass of taut muscles while your jaw grinds painfully. His expression is both guarded and open all at once as he peers at you silently.

He’s warm.

It’s an odd thing to notice about a man who revels in violence. But till that moment you haven’t realised how cold your hands have gotten. He cradles your fingers in his larger ones, surprisingly gentle, and the warmth of his Camorra ring presses into your skin as you sway awkwardly from side to side.

“Clearly,” he starts teasingly, but more subdued than you’re used to seeing him. “We are both exceptionally gifted dancers.”

You don’t answer him. You’re not in the mood to joke around. You haven’t been in the mood for anything lately.

The radio continues playing another unfamiliar tune, and you let your mind focus on the lake outside your window again.

“Say something,” he whispers abruptly, strained, and you head snaps in his direction at the angry softness wrapping his words. His grip on you tightens briefly before loosening again. “Anything. Where is the fire that I adore so? Do not tell me that he robbed you of it so completely, cara mia.”

Your heartbeat spikes, and you stare at him coldly. “I am seconds away from walking away from this whole thing,” you inform him and your words are harsh even though you don’t so much as raise your voice. “You don’t talk about him. Ever.”

Santino’s jaw tenses at your words—at the acidic bite of them—but he doesn’t oppose you. Only looks at you. You wonder what it is exactly that he’s trying to unearth. You’re not sure there’s anything left to you anymore.

Though you continue swaying from side to side, the silence between you is chilly, heavy.

The song on the radio changes again and you blink, recognising the start of a familiar tune. Then comes the voice and despite your best intention to remain unaffected, you start swaying to the beat. Santino notices, his green eyes gleaming with understanding.

“This song…” he trails off, glancing towards the radio. “It is familiar to you, no?”

No other version of me I would rather be tonight and lord, she found me just in time.

You shake your head in immediate denial, but Santino’s eyebrows jump up playfully and he matches your rhythm, turning from side to side with more energy. His arm stays on the small of your back but now a small smile lingers across his lips.

I need to be youthfully felt ‘cause, God, I never felt young.

He starts humming and you shoot him a half-hearted glare. “What are you doing?”

His smile turns slyer, knowing, but his voice is ever-so innocent when he speaks. “Dancing, bella.”

The chorus kicks in, and Santino pushes you away from him before tugging you back with one smooth motion and you stifle a gasp, your grip on him tightening. He moves you in a more deliberate circle, singing under his breath. He butchers every single line, clearly having no idea what the lyrics even are while you continue glaring. But he just watches you, smug and shrewd, every time your eyes meet.

He steps back and raises your hands above your head. Rolling your eyes, you turn in a circle, your muscles loosening somewhat as he pulls you back into his embrace.

“Those are not the lyrics,” you grumble petulantly, shooting him a look but Santino only grins wider. “It’s not—”

He dips you with a chuckle and pulls you back up to him, ignoring your slap on his shoulder with another grin of amusement.

“Then you better sing it with me and correct me, cara,” he informs you, mock-serious, but his eyes glow with mirth, a playful teasing. He steps back, grabbing your other hand and tugs back and forth, creating little waves with your arms.

You both no doubt look ridiculous. Like two little kids dancing in a playground, clumsy and uncoordinated, as you try to create your own rhythm.

But—

There is a slow blooming lightness in your chest you can’t recall feeling for ages.

A reluctant smile tugs one corner of your mouth even if you try to smother it, and you know by his pleased expression that he’s spotted it nonetheless.

We tried the world; good God, it wasn’t for us.

“She’s gonna save me, call me baby,” you sing under your breath and he joins you—both of you most likely completely off-key and miles away from the tune—but you can’t help but chuckle when you note how seriously he’s taking this. “Run her hands through my hair. She’ll know me crazy, soothe me daily. Better yet, she wouldn’t care.”

Clearly picking up on the lyrics, Santino sings a bit louder—still off-key—as he leads you in an extravagant circle, your arms still swinging. He twirls you again, and you can’t help but chuckle as your terrible mix of voices soars while you turn from side to side. You’re a flurry of movement, both caught in the lively energy of the song as you tangle in each other.

“We’ll name our children Jackie and Wilson raise ‘em on rhythm and blues,” you finish off, breathless with laughter and lean into him for a second, a crooked grin splitting your face.

Santino drags his eyes over your features, seemingly caught off guard by what he’s seeing, and clears his throat slightly before smirking faintly.

“Who is this man?” he questions, both curious and somewhat out of breath, and you don’t miss the fact that his grip on your doesn’t loosen. “We should go see him.”

You can’t help but snort, and his expression creases with wonder when he notices your amusement. He’s smiling too though—as if your momentary joy is somehow important to share in.

“What?”

“Well, for one, I don’t think he’s on tour,” you point out and realise that you haven’t heard your voice this light and carefree in months, if not years. “And I’m sure an Italian mobster with a pack of guards is going to draw no attention whatsoever.”

Your sarcasm is clear and open, and his answering crooked grin makes him appear younger, less guarded. Less arrogant, too, and more…more human. Something you have never seen him show openly before—not like this.

“It could be just us and Ares,” he tells you calmly, but there is a flicker in his eyes that seems to make him hesitate for a split second before he continues on, “Or…just us.”

Something inside your withers at his words; retreating inwards, terrified and broken, and you pull away from him.

With every new inch of distance between you, Santino’s open expression draws closed again. Only the cool, haughty heir remains and for a loaded moment, neither of you speak. A step at most separates you but it might as well be miles. It has caught you off guard—this genuine moment of fun and freedom and laughter, but it’s time to come back to reality.

And the reality is that you are not here, in this city, for fun and games.

“We should focus on the job.” Forced and empty.

“Yes, of course, cara mia. It is for the best.” Stilted and formal.

His hands slip back inside his pockets and he regards you for another brief moment before moving past you.

You stand rooted in your spot, the distant sound of the radio filling the air.

Santino’s footsteps fade.

Outside, it begins to snow.

…

an: ofc I have to finish with a sprinkle of angst. hope you enjoyed this tho. I needed something sweet today. Dedicating it to my little bean who I had to say goodbye to today, and Team Santino who is cheering me up a lot these last few days with their wild messages. Love ya guys!