#daniel:// threads

[despiterage]

@ruinaa | josephine said "some people find that strange."

Spirit and Daniel are reciprocating.

Hosting dinner and drinks in their penthouse apartment like its their turn on some sort of set, rotating schedule, and like they are the prototypical suburban couple with totally normal friends. Daniel had cooked a splendid spread, and the five of them had all sat around and made nice while they enjoyed it alongside the dessert and wines their guests had brought along.

He gets on fairly well with Shilah, he thinks. There's an art piece on the wall of the dining room they'd used that he'd bought from him, and a few more statement pieces in the entryway and kitchen that they spend some time discussing quietly, away from the others. They share enough in common, he thinks, that he'd almost prefer to spend the evening entertaining him than go back to the other two, and perhaps even Spirit.

She's not exactly a cultural or historical connoisseur, you know. Her remarks about any given piece are largely limited to her personal aesthetic tastes, and if he's lucky, an odd bit of trivia that's semi-related to an especially well-known artist that she'd picked up at some point or another. So, certainly, Shilah is a breath of fresh air; he actually wants him to like him.

Roman, he isn't sure about. Something about him-- It's harder to get a read on him than he'd anticipated. Every now and then, he thinks he gets a glimpse of who he really is.

Both of them, however, are eclipsed by Josephine's presence. Throughout the entire evening, he feels when her eyes linger on him just that little bit too long, but also when they direct themselves elsewhere--anywhere else--so very consciously. Her gaze has a heaviness to it, but a heat as well.

It's at one of these times that she's looking away, with the third bottle of wine flowing, that Daniel steps close to her side and stares at the modestly framed photograph of himself and the majority of the circus troupe. She's staring at it, and for once, he can't tell if she's only doing so to avoid his own gaze or not.

"Blackwell's Bizarre is something of a pet project of mine. Have you had the pleasure of attending?" he asks her curiously, swirling the red in his freshly poured glass to open it up. "Your children might find it especially entertaining. Educational, even."

Susanna had mentioned in one of her security briefs that someone fitting Josephine's description had lingered long after a show, once. Rhett took care of it, she'd penned at the end of the short entry, and it had been inconsequential enough that Daniel had never questioned the ringleader. He might now, though, if he can get a photograph of her to show him.

"Some people find that strange," she tells him, and he feels it before he sees her eyes swivel back in his direction. "An all mutant circus."

He thinks of Spirit's description of a night a good while before he'd met her. Thinks of ash and nothingness where flesh and bone once stood as a very real threat; of the smell she'd described while squirming in her seat, clearly uncomfortable as she retold the ordeal. Thinks of what all of that must've felt like to her victim.

"I'm a big fan of strange," he tells her, his dark eyes boring right back into hers above the rim of his long stemmed glass. "I think you might be, too, actually."

[amid-fandoms]

phantasy land ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆

[despiterage]

One of his thumbs smooths over the moisture on her cheek, and though its impossible to tell from sight and feel alone, he knows from the redness of her eyes that a good deal of it, if not all of it, is from her tears. He could kiss her cheek and taste the salt of them on his lips, should he want more confirmation.

This thought shouldn't make him smile. He does; but he makes it gentle and soft. Maybe even a little regretful, if you squint.

"We--" he clearly means you; means Spirit, you silly little girl without an ounce of sense in your silly little head, "--must learn to be clearer when we speak, no? So that we don't hurt each other with miscommunications like this."

The hand not on her face, not holding her jaw in the same intimate, commanding position as always, slides up and down the luxury towel covering her back in a comforting motion. And he does, finally, kiss her cheek.

Though, if that very specific headache that often follows a good crying session follows this, could you really prove Daniel's involvement one way or another?

"I hate you leave you. You know this." He pulls her closer, more fully against him, and he moves his hand from her face and into her hair to persuade her to lay her cheek against his chest. "But I have things to attend to."

He makes it sounds like he has a few errands to run. Pick up the dry cleaning, stop at the post office, torture some guy, fill the car with gas, get ingredients for Vincent's favorite breakfast.

"And I know you didn't enjoy participating last time."

FOR A SECOND! SHE WANTS TO REPEAT, COMPELLED TO DRAMA AND HYSTERICS BECAUSE HE WON'T GIVE HER THE REASSURANCE, THE STURDINESS, THE WARMTH THAT SHE SO CRAVES. She wants to claw at her chest until she exposes her ribcage and the heart it protects, wants to bare herself to him entirely—as being naked, in only a luxurious bath towel, while shivering in his bathroom isn't enough for him.

Her hair clings to her face in skinny strands, makes her look even more strung-out the way it accentuates her cheekbones, the circles under her eyes.

She waits for a bigger fight. Now that he's looking at her, she half-anticipates a searing dose. That must be why he's facing her in the first place. It must be what she deserves. At least it's not solitude, a cavernous penthouse for her and her alone.

Instead—

Tesorina.

She looks up, not having realized her gaze had fallen to his slipper-clad feet. (Sometimes, facing Daniel Romano head on is too difficult.)

Come here.

Still shuddering, she takes the steps necessary to close the distance between them. Water droplets drip in her wake, and she's very conscious of not slipping on her way to Daniel.

"That's—good. That's good. I'm glad." After she steadies her breathing: "Does that mean you'll stay?"

They're nearly chest-to-chest, but who is she to touch him?

[metamorphesque]

“But when the strong were too weak to hurt the weak, the weak had to be strong enough to leave.” (phantom thread, dir. paul thomas anderson (source) / the unbearable lightness of being, milan kundera)

[saintundying]

Interview with the Vampire (2022) / Phantom Thread (2017)

[operakings]

armand was daniel's single oracle, his merciless and all-loving demonic god

[kieselguhrkid]

And I can stand endlessly. No one can stand as long as I can.

[elssbethtascioni]

FILMS WATCHED IN 2024 Phantom Thread (2017) dir. Paul Thomas Anderson

[snoopyaday]

I am older and I see things differently, and I finally understand you.

Phantom Thread (2017) dir. Paul Thomas Anderson

[filmreveries]

“I have given him what he desires most in return… Every piece of me.”

Phantom Thread (2017) dir. Paul Thomas Anderson

[wulfhalls]

Sometimes I jump ahead in our life together, and I see a time near the end. I can predict the future, and everything is settled. And all our lovers and children and friends come back and are welcome. And we have large gatherings where everyone’s laughing and playing games. I am older and I see things differently, and I finally understand you. And I take care of your dresses, keeping them from dust and ghosts and time.

Phantom Thread (2017) dir. Paul Thomas Anderson

[despiterage]

oh no! @suffcring loosed the 'juice!

Daniel sits. There's a farting sound. Stand. Sit again. Farting sound. Not dry, nor the oomph of air being pressed out of a plush seat, but wet and noxious and clearly the work of a mouth with a hateful tongue. Alas, upon inspection, there is no mouth with tongue in immediate vicinity nor camera with microphone and speaker. It isn't coming from his phone. Still. Every time he sits in his office chair. Fart.

The usual suspects, in the order of most to least likely to attempt something even remotely this stupid, are as follows: Evan Alba, Rhett Wiseman, and Dallas Burley. None of them, however, have ever had the balls to fuck around in Daniel Romano's private office. And as much as he wants someone to pin this on--and to appropriately punish--he just can't find the evidence.

He's not quite throwing things around, but he's being incredibly thorough in his search for a noisebox, a phone, camera, anything! Orderly stacks of books and business expenses get dropped to the floor. His chair gets flipped over and examined. He pulls out every desk drawer and moves the black, tempered glass chair mat aside to run his hand along the carpet it usually covers.

None of those idiots that work for him would be capable of hiding something so completely: Daniel has to come to terms with that fact that there's nothing there.

Angrily, he shoves the mat back into place. Roughly, he rights his chair. Seething, he drops back into the chair and tries to tune out the sound as he logs into his computer to work.

[haveyouseenthismovie-poll]

[despiterage]

In anticipation of what's to come, Daniel's breath hitches a little as his lower legs come into contact with the bed he'd only just left a few moments ago. And he thinks--instead of his tiny, frail slip of a wife--of falling into the pillows and linens with a warhardened mercenary. What a contrast! What a change it will be from what he's grown so used to. That alone is tremendously exciting.

The last time King Daniel Romano had taken orders from anyone, he'd been a much younger man with the less impressive title of prince. And one might not think he'd be in any hurry to give up his authority, nor to acquiesce to the commend. But it's something he wants to do anyway. And beside, Harris' voice had sounded so good in its delivery.

He undoes the ties and decorative fasteners of his top, distracted by watching Harris' practiced hands remove layer after layer of metal and leather. And he is delighted, of course, when Harris has to stop mid-removal to crush their lips back together.

Bare chested now, he's glad for the chestplate's removal as he leans forward into the kiss and willingly accepts covetous, rough hands on his face and exposed body. Of course Harris wants the king. Everyone wants the king. And this is his favorite show of fealty; something so personal and intimate is much more rewarding--and immediately so, as well--than a dropped knee and pretty words in the throne room.

"Harris," Daniel murmurs breathlessly, angling his head to the side to break free long enough to speak; to catch his breath. And if it bares his throat for kisses, that's totally a coincidence. "I need you."

One of his hands slips down Harris' broad back, marveling at the planes and curvature of the muscle he finds in its travel; awestruck at how different it all feels in comparison to the queen's waifish proportions. (And also to many of his past lovers', but that's another story entirely.)

Not that he minds her figure, of course. She's beautiful in her own right, and oh so submissive to his will; her inexperience had made her so easy to influence. And he quite enjoys the way it feels to be in Harris' position; to be that much more physically imposing, more intrinsically dominating than Spirit is.

Is this what she feels? No, no, he hasn't given up quite that much power. Not yet. It's foolish to compare this to that, wheat to barely.

His second hand begins to slide downward, quickly catching up with the first as they continue their southern trajectory until they come to the slope of twin hills. Which, of course, his greedy hands simply have to squeeze. Hard.

"What are you going to do about that, soldier?" he queries, just before he leans his head back in for another deep kiss and a sharp bite to Harris' lower lip.

IS THE KING ABOUT TO FUCK THAT SNAKE?

Daniel is being so fucking weird that it almost detracts from how good he looks right now. But Harris is a simple man, and those are very elegant bedclothes the king has on, and his hair looks cute when Daniel's only recently been taken out of bed.

He almost considers getting on his knees. But he really, really doesn't like how Daniel is choking that poor little snake statue—it seems like he's feeling violent, powerful. (Maybe he's just getting out some aggression out now. Maybe he knows he's not gonna get that aggression out by dominating Harris Harris.)

"Can you, now."

There is a man's severed hand decaying in Daniel's desk drawer, a woman hopelessly devoted to Daniel who is currently worrying about her husband while she's been dragged off to spend the night in the servant's quarters. Harris half-thinks of these things, but those half-thoughts are fleeting, of little consequence.

He meets Daniel's kiss eagerly, hungrily. Both of his hands go to cup Daniel's cheeks—clean-shaven, while Harris's stubble scratches Daniel's face. His grip is tight, indicating Harris's possessive nature in a way he's not always able to articulate with words alone.

Daniel pulls Harris close, so it's easy to push in return. He walks Daniel back until his calves hit the edge of his royal bed frame.

"Take off your clothes." He busies himself with his chestplate, his sturdy leather gloves.

But not kissing Daniel once they've started, on a night like this, is difficult. He goes in again, just as needy for contact as before.

[theinsatiables]

Phantom Thread (2017) : Paul Thomas Anderson

[saintundying]

daniel chasing armand is a fun concept but i think armand needs to chase daniel and lestat around on that world tour, groveling and begging for a crumb of attention way more