#// that and the whole 'i was never meant to exist

[peachesofteal]

MELOS (PART TWO)

main masterlist / Azriel's masterlist

Part One 5k words - AO3 Tags: 18+ mdni. Blood, feelings of fear and panic. Reader POV. Trauma. Protective Azriel. Canon-compliant, post ACOSF and HOFAS. "I would spend a lifetime earning your forgiveness"

The fly amanita has been eluding you.

It’s speckled red cap is usually so easy to spot, but you’ve been trudging through the woods all day, turning over logs and peering around tree trunks to no avail. You’re getting closer and closer to the break in the forest, the one bordering a large meadow rich with wildflowers, the one you hardly venture to unless you’re truly desperate for something specific.

You’re seriously considering it when something dusky red catches your attention from the corner of your eye, and you breathe a sigh of relief as you spot the healthy patch of fungi. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” you sink to your knees, digging down to the roots. The soil is wet, freshly damp from a recent rainstorm, and it sticks to your fingertips. “Such a pain in-“

Magic scrapes at your skin. Long gruesome fingers of something unseen try to clutch at you, drag you away, and your power surges to meet it, beating it back to the gloom it calls home. You shudder. The magic from your mother's blood, the gifts the Middle grants you, are enough to keep you safe, protect you from most things in this place, the ones nefarious and full of malice, but that does not mean they do not try. 

You exhale, breathing freely in the crisp winter breeze whispering through the trees, rustling the deadfall into small vortexes that spin across the wood, twisting upward in a delicate dance of changing seasons. You lift your face to the sun just as the wind turns dark, smoky grey, and then explodes in a burst of ink, onyx spilling around the mushrooms, wisps snaking through the stems towards your knees.

You swat them away.

Azriel.

You grit your teeth. Don't think about him, don't think about him, don't think- 

A shadow brushes against you like a feather, and you hiss. 

Azriel.

The male who tortured you. Used you. Gained your trust to hurt you. Suffocated you until you thought you were going to die, until spots appeared in your vision and your heart slowed. The male that hurt you, in more ways than one. 

Fooled into falling for a ruse, you believed it meant something every time your heart thundered when he was near, how your magic crooned for him, tried to reach for him, touch him. The pain you saw in him, over and over again, a mirror to your own, led you to believe in a fairy tale that never existed, a stupid notion about two halves of a whole, only for it to crumble and reveal manipulation and lies.

And after it all, whatever he gleaned from you he must have determined to be inconsequential, since no one has shown up at your door to haul you away for execution. No one came to imprison you, or banish you, or torture you, again. No one came to take you away from your home, your life, like you were expecting.

He did it for nothing.

The shadows are an ever-present reminder.

Ever. Present.

They collect in the corners at work, they trail along the ground as you run your errands, go to dinner, visit your only friend in the city.

Thankfully, they seem to stay out of your house, though in the middle of the night, it’s not so easy to tell.

You shoot them a glare. “Run back to your master and leave me alone, for the hundredth time.” You have no concept of a Shadowsinger’s magic, or an Illyrian’s, no idea if the shadows see, or hear, or speak. Their presence frustrates you, and his hoarse attempt at an apology that night still haunts you. Why does he not just come to speak with you? Explain himself? Justify his actions?

It’s been weeks, and still nothing. Silence from the Spymaster. Your rage that was once all consuming is starting to cool, leaving a mess of confusion and pain in its place. 

You need to let it go, you must, but the music persists, faintly there in the back of your mind, a melody you can’t forget.

It’s a double-edged sword, one that slices and stings. You see him in your nightmares, and your dreams. In the dark, you hear his voice, cold and calculating, pacing around you in a suffocating circle, and in the sun, you see him in the Middle, ablaze in a mist of brilliant blue, brushing his lips against yours.

You’ve grown familiar with how a room changes when one of the Wraith sisters arrive. Shadow rolls in like a fog, dissipating as they materialize, grey gossamer turning to smoky quartz, taking shape as a beautiful female, her eyes iridescent like black pearls. 

Rarely, do the twins ever come together. 

Today is the exception. 

Cerridwen gives you a half smile, gaze lingering on your clothes. “If I made you a new frock, would you throw this one out? It’s nearly in tatters.” You huff.

“This is my work frock; it’s supposed to be a bit messy.”

“It’s not messy, it’s falling apart.” She raises an eyebrow, and Nuala places a slender hand on the stack of brown paper wrapped packages on the table.

“How are you?” The question is loaded, expectant, and they watch you, analyzing every second of whatever is showing on your face.

“I’m fine.” Are you? The lie is so painfully obvious, and they exchange a look. 

“Azriel,” Nuala begins cautiously, “has asked if you would be open to seeing him.” You freeze.

“I..”

“In a public place of your choosing, in the city.” The very idea tips you off balance, blindsides you. Could you do it? See him? 

“With a third party, if you would like.” Cerridwen adds. Maybe this is your chance at closure, an opportunity to put it to rest. “Take some time to decide, and we’ll-“

“No, no. I’ll do it.” You scramble to think of a place where you’ll feel safe, somewhere you’ll be among many, and not few. “Is… Rose and Thorn okay? It’s in the Palace of Thread and Jewels.” They nod.

“Of course. And a third party?” You shake your head. Something in your soul assures you no chaperone is needed, and you allow it to guide you. “Very well.” Nuala waves her hand, wisps of storm clouds floating around her fingers-

And then Wraith sisters are gone.

He’s there before you.

Seated at a table outside, elegant and sculpted, an exquisite, eldritch beauty accentuated by strong, chiseled lines. His skin glows golden brown in the warm bath of the sun, flecks of caramel and green, honey and oak painted together like a priceless landscape in his irises. His wings are tucked in a tight formation at his back, but even in restraint, they shudder, their membranes more unique than a snowflake, more delicate than a spider’s web.

He’s almost too stunning to look at. The beauty of a god. A prince of shadow, shining in winter’s glow.

Suddenly, you’re very self-conscious, fighting the urge to pick at the frayed threads of your dress, too aware of how faded its once emerald green is, how fast your heart is beating, anxiety and pin pricks of fear cascading up your spine, coupled with an undeniable longing that shakes you to your core.

An ocean tide too strong drags your eyes to his, holding you captive in its current, the two of you suspended, floating, woven together in a melody, same song you’ve been hearing, feeling, all this time, elusive, empyreal notes harmonizing across your soul, your magic. The heat of the patio, magic humming in the air producing the equivalent of a warm spring day, urges you out of the cold and towards the table, meeting him where he stands, so tall he towers over you. 

“Hello.” Your stomach flips. This is suddenly harder than you imagined, and you’re being torn in two, afraid and yearning, two sides of a coin. His eyes gentle, and he moves back a fraction, giving you space. You manage to clear your throat.

“Hi.” You can’t look away, and finally, after a second turned eternity, he motions to the chair.

“Would you like to sit?”

“Sure.” The words are stiff, like your back, and you hold yourself rigid, hands clasped together in your lap.

“Thank you for coming, I… I know this was a lot to ask.” You nod, unable to make your mouth move. “Are you well?”

“Yes.” You’ll need more than one syllable answers to get through this, and you fight against the vice squeezing in around you, trying shake loose the battle raging in your blood. There's a need to protect yourself, fortify yourself... and another, one humming a song of wonder, of desire, a song you don't know the words to. He takes a deep breath.

“There’s nothing I can say to excuse what I did, and I know you have no reason to trust me, but I-“

"What you did? You tortured me, you terrorized me. You made me feel like I was dying. and I... why did you… why did you waste your time tricking me into thinking you were… we were… it was all fake.” Your voice breaks, and his eyes flash with despair. “You tricked me into trusting you, letting you get… close,” you study the tabletop, fingertips tracing loops in the woodgrain, trying to maintain your control. You can’t let him see how badly it hurts; how awful it is to know whatever you thought was happening between the two of you wasn’t real, how he's shattered your own trust in yourself. How could you not see the deceit? How could have fallen for such a blatant deception? How could you allow yourself to be hurt like that? These are the questions keeping you from sleep as they toss about in your mind, scolding you, chastising you for allowing yourself to be so weak. Stupid. “Why waste all that time if you were just going to do it? The act itself was... it was terrible but the manipulation, the lie that came with it, feels worse somehow.” Your cheeks heat with shame, mortified at the tears now blurring your vision, and his hand twitches, almost jerks towards yours before sliding away.

“There are no words in any language, anywhere, to tell you how sorry I am. I would spend a lifetime earning your forgiveness, if you’d let me.” Everything you want to fight back with, the words you wish to bury him with, die on your tongue as you stare at him with wide eyes. “I don’t deserve to see you or ask for a moment of your time. I don’t even deserve this chance you’ve given me today but… nothing was a trick, it was not fake. I was a fool.” You know you should say something, but still nothing comes, and there’s a rising uneasiness emanating from his, shadows shivering around him in a halo. “I would ask you to strike a bargain with me.” What?

“A bargain?” He nods solemnly, face set with resolve, foreign limerence weighed down by sorrow reflecting in his gaze.

“Allow me to spend some time with you, to show you how sorry I am, to prove how real it was, and in return, I will owe you a debt.” You fight to keep your face blank, smothering an outward ripple of shock. Maybe he’s gone insane.

“You… the Spymaster of the Night Court… would owe me a debt.” You chew on it, toss it around between your cheeks, try to digest the enormity of it. A debt could be anything, it’s a favor, a wish, a request that must be granted, no matter what it is. You could ask that he drink a vial of poison, and he’d have to do it. Could ask him to leave Pyrthian, and he’d have no choice. Most importantly, you could ask him to leave you alone. Forever. “And if I asked you to never speak to me again?” He winces.

“That would be your right.” This is a bad idea. Your magic trills, vibrating with a strange yearning, again guiding you away from the rational choice and into an agreement.

“I will see you once a week for a month, and in return, you will owe me a debt,” you extend your hand, “and swear not to harm me.” You add hastily, expecting him to refuse, or attempt to change the terms, but he meets you with zero hesitation.

The magic hits you like a gale force wind, wild and too strong, planting itself in your skin to push ink to the surface.

A tree.

The roots sprawl around your wrist, twisting upward into a trunk and then outward into branches, spreading wide until they’re nearly touching on the inside of your forearm. He snags a finger under the cuff of his shirt to reveal the tattoo’s twin, the concrete vow between the two of you plain as day.

What did you just do? 

You’re taking advantage of the first meeting. Having a second with you, a powerful, formidable second, gives you an opportunity to trek into a more dangerous, more unstable part of the Middle in search of a rare mineral.

You’re also using it as punishment, irritated with the small twinge of guilt growing in your side. He strides along at your side silently, shadows skittering ahead across the forest floor, disappearing and reappearing at will, as if they’re scouting and reporting.

“Will you tell me where we’re going?” He finally asks, cocking his head to the side as you stop for a moment to catch your breath. He’s not winded at all, of course, and you’re starting to regret this choice, while also trying to avoid staring at him. Every time he moves into your line of sight, your palms sweat and you remember how his laugh sounded on the steps of your house, how he earnest he was when asking you questions. You remember the kiss, and the way his mouth felt upon yours. You remember it all, and butterflies take flight in your belly. 

But being alone with him in a dangerous place such as this, is also a stark reminder. A reminder of the last time you were alone with the Spymaster, truly alone, and how it ended. 

“There’s a cave a bit from here where a very rare crystal grows. Its mineral compound is a key piece to a specific elixir.” His lips twitch into a small, barely there smile, reading between the lines.

“You’ve brought me along for back up.” You smirk.

“You didn’t say what spending time together had to entail.” You shift your backpack. “It's just past this bog up ahead.” He stops short, eyes sharp, tensing.

“A bog?”

“Yes. You know… like a swamp?”

“Of Oorid?” You blink.

“You know the Bog of Oorid?”

“I’ve been there.” Now it’s your turn to scrutinize him. Could you have underestimated this male, again? 

“Why?” You shiver. You’ve visited the Bog before, twice, and left each time with a new scar, a new nightmare.

“We were looking for something.” We? Questions brew in the back of your mind, so many of them they’re hard to contain, but you’d hate to appear too interested in him and his adventures.

“Did you find it?”  He nods and says nothing. Fine then. “It’s not the Bog of Oorid, just a boring swamp. C’mon.”

You withhold a key piece of information regarding the swamp.

It’s quite hateful, if you’re honest, and a small part of you weeps at your own vindictiveness, but the vengeful side feels too smug, too satisfied.

“It’s this way.” You take the lead, stepping into the ankle-deep muck. “Sorry, you’ll have to get a bit dirty.” The trees here are warped, bent to the undertow of the swamp, stripped of their life, yet still thriving, flourishing in the inert, foul water. Wicked, and greedy, they creak and coo, relishing each cursed step Azriel takes. Your magic crests, drawing up through the Middle, and you smile to yourself as the mud reaches mid-calf. Right about now-

He hisses.

“Are you alright?” You call innocently over your shoulder, now paces away, reveling in the sound of him fighting against the sludge's hold. When he doesn’t answer, your heart quickens, and you turn.

He’s shaking his head, wings flared at his back, muscles flexing beneath his leathers, trying to work himself free, and you bite your tongue to keep from telling him it won't work.

The swamp is a collector, a keeper of things, admirer of the rare and unusual. You’re sure it’s never ensnared an Illyrian before.

“Careful,” you sing, “struggling makes it worse.” He’s knee deep but surprises you when he breaks a leg free and takes another step, cobalt blue siphons beginning to gleam, shining into the dark green stagnant water and pockets of mire. Interesting.

“Clever little witch.” He's amused, reverent, and you're irritated by his reaction. “How does it not trap you?” Keening echoes through your soul, frantic and tortured. It’s reaching for something, crying for something, steeped in a distress you don’t understand. An incessant tugging, the faint sound of a melody. A chiming of bells, ringing, and ringing, and ringing. You steady yourself with a deep breath.

“I ask it not to. My magic comes from the Middle, like my mother’s. It makes things... more amenable to me.” You make it sound far worse than it is to spook him, but he only watches you with interest, keen eyes dissecting you from the inside out.

“And will you ask it to release me?” 

“Maybe.” You shrug. He sinks farther, now trapped to his mid-thigh, and your pulse races. You had planned to leave him here, trap him here until you came back, but your magic is clawing at you, heart trying to beat out of your chest, fear and panic colliding with an instinct buried so deep, it can’t be cut out or ignored, an instinct trying to push you into his arms, pleading with you to help him. It hurts, trying to fight it is like trying to swim against a current, your muscles screaming at the struggle, your power thrashing in your veins. The music is no longer a delicate, enchanting thing but a symphony flowing into a fortissimo, brass and strings and keys digging into your soul.

It's too much, your heart pounds in your ears, magic shredding your restraint.

It's too much, and you long to go to him. 

Release him, you command the swamp, and it tightens its embrace, a lover clinging to another, refusing to relent.

Is this not for me?  

No. He is mine. Release him. Now. You press onward, urging the swamp to relax, it’s reluctant acquiesce bringing you a relief so strong you have to hold yourself steady. It recedes, and the two of you stand face to face, chests heaving. You don’t understand what’s happening to you, what this war that rages in your magic, your heart, your entire being means.

He closes his eyes, the shadows receding, disappearing entirely as he takes a long, measured breath, his hand pressing against his ribs, still deep in the dredge of the fen. 

"Are you alr-" 

“Is there anything else I should be aware of, before we continue?” He cuts you off, the heat radiating from his body coming in waves, and you push against the pull.

“No.” You croak. He inclines his head.

“Very well. Lead the way.”

“Why don’t you winnow here?” You're seated on a rock outside the mouth of the cave. The trek itself is the most dangerous part of this task, and the crystal retrieval was uneventful. Boring, even, as you walked side by side with Azriel in silence, contemplating the unexpected amount of remorse over the swamp settling in your stomach like lead.

“I don’t winnow to most places in the Middle if I can help it.”

“No?”

“You never what will be waiting for you, or what you will discover, when you arrive.” You take a bite of your apple and sneak a glance at him. “You’re not angry. About the swamp.”

“No.” He’s preternaturally still, but rife with intensity, alight with an ache you can’t describe.

“Why?”

“I deserve far worse from you.” You say nothing, because what can you say? It’s true.

But if it’s true, why does it feel so awful? 

You stand abruptly, eager to separate yourself from this situation, this confusion and confliction. “I should get these back.” Winnowing from the Middle, at least, is a perfectly safe option, and you’re eager for the escape now.

“Next week?” Your head is pounding, limbs twitching like your body has a will of its own, and suddenly you’re drained, magic and will quickly depleting. He steps closer, brows knitted together in concern. “Are you okay?” No. 

“Y-yeah. I’m going to… I’m going to go.” He frowns.

“You look ill.”

“I’m just tired. The swamp takes it out of me.” You lie weakly with a halfhearted smile that lacks conviction, and before you can do something stupid like reach for him, you draw on your power, giving him one last look. “Next week.”

You’re at the Palace of Bone and Salt when it happens.

The market is packed to the brim, overflowing, most caught up in the approach of Winter Solstice. It’s still weeks out, but all are always eager to celebrate the city’s favorite holiday. Boughs of holly and evergreen, ribbons of red and green decorate the square, twinkling fae lights nestled high and low. You’re looking for bone marrow, but can’t help loitering by the chocolatier’s stall, his perfectly crafted confections artfully arranged in pyramids stretching far past your head. He catches your eye with a smile. “Would you like to try anything?”

“Oh, no, but thank you. They always look so lovely.” He pulls a pink chocolate swirl from the collection that’s caught your eye and holds it out to you.

“On the house then, for Solstice.”

“Thanks so-“ Your gratitude is stolen by a groan, one rattling upward from beneath your feet, the entire market rumbling so violently the stalls creak, their goods tipping to the side.

A quake. 

They’re rare, but not unheard of. The mountains breathe, stretching and straining, the plates they’re built upon occasionally shifting and realigning, all of it causing Velaris’ foundation to shake. These things you know, but you’ve never experienced it firsthand, and you didn’t expect such… force.

The shopkeeper dives beneath his counter, others running in every direction through the market, panic and fear permeating the air. They’re looking for cover, afraid the second and third story buildings may come crashing down on their heads, while others try to outrun it, sprinting away as fast as they can manage.

It’s pandemonium. Everyone is being tossed around, marble and wood falling and rolling, and you’re frozen, rapidly trying to weigh the options, decide what to do when something catches your eye.

A child.

She’s standing in the middle of an aisle, screaming for her mum, and without hesitation, you snag her around the waist to tuck her into your chest, covering the back of her head as you curl into a ball and huddle beneath the counter of the first stall you see.

That’s where you stay, for the next ten minutes. Curved over this little girl who can’t be more than two, holding onto her as tight as you can to quell her screaming, trying to calm her. Things fall on you, something scrapes the side of your face, and it stings, but you don’t let go. You can’t.

You’re somewhere else in your mind. In the Middle as a child, running as fast as you can to the boundary, trying to get to safety as your mother howls. Claws scratch down your back, blackened, putrid magic tries to drag in the bowels of the forest, all while horrid shrieking and crying fills your head. The boundary is too far, and you fold yourself into a hollow, a damp, muddy nest inside the base of a tree where you hold your breath and sit really still, just like you were taught.

The quake ricochets around you, but the screeching in your ears is not from this time, this moment. It’s from then, you and this small child in your arms now the same, scared, alone, and crying for your mothers.

Even once the rumbling stops, you don’t move. Too afraid it will start again and you’ll be caught in the open, you wait. The sticky, festering sap of the memory clings to your synapses, refusing to let you go, embedding itself beneath your skull like it needs to live there, as if you could ever forget. There are moans from the injured, confusion and worry from those who took shelter, but multiple voices rise over the din of everyone else, giving instructions, looking for the wounded and those who need help immediately.

“- was right here, but she let go of my hand… there were too many-“ a frantic female’s voice echoes over through the market, and her terror is met by a kind, reassuring voice.

“We’ll find her.” The girl in your arms makes no attempt to free herself, still shivering in your hold, clinging to you with all her might, and you stay rooted to your spot.

There’s a brush of magic against your mind, a gentle caress that probes the dense sedge wall, and you push it away, opening your eyes to see a beautiful female crouched in front of you. “Hello.” The High Lady. The little girl finally moves, wriggling against you.

“Mara!” Her mother calls, rushing over and scooping her into her arms, sobbing. She looks her daughter over and then holds her tight before trying to approach you. “Thank you, thank you,” she’s reaching for your hand, trying to squeeze it in a manner of gratitude, of love, but you can’t move, still grappling with the noise ringing in your head. There’s more conversation, more of the High Lady’s voice, patient and gentle, and another’s, deeper, heavier.

“-shock, maybe?”

“-go get him,”

“Cassian-“ The second voice is enough to startle you back to yourself somewhat, and you carefully stretch your limbs, crawling out from under the counter and away from them, standing up on your own two feet. The High Lady holds her hand out as if you steady you. “Easy. You’re hurt.” Hurt? You instinctively touch your face, fingers coming back stained crimson. You need to get out of here, need to get as far away from all of this as you can. You’re still trying to right yourself, convince yourself you’re here, not there.

“Maybe you should sit down.” The other one, the big Illyrian who you met in this very place months ago, watches you with concern. You’re shaking, lungs expanding, searching for as much air as they can find, warm trickle of blood falling over your lips and down your chin. Pain registers slowly, no longer isolated to your face, but in your side too, and when you press your hand to your ribs, wet fabric squishes beneath it. More blood.

“Let's get you to a healer,” the High Lady tries, motioning to your head, your side, and when you don’t respond, she frowns, glancing at her companion. The wailing is finally quieting to a point where you can properly think, but words still won’t come, and she’s about to say something else when shadows swirl around the three of you, and Azriel drops from the sky.

Azriel. Your heart sings his name, and the double-edged sword cuts to the quick, opening you up to a strange spark in your chest.

He looks… awful. Insane, even. Wide eyes find you, his wings stretched into a defensive position, shadows spread around him in a dark cloud, and his fear is so palpable you swear you can feel it. All you can do is stare at him as he frantically takes you in, focus never wavering, even as he speaks to those at your side. “What happened?”

“We found her under here,” Cassian points to your hiding spot, “protecting a little girl. We think she’s in shock.”

“She needs a healer.” He grits, hands flexing and relaxing from flat palm into fist, repeatedly.

“We know.” The High Lady angles her body between you and the Shadowsinger. “Az,” her voice is serious, with an undercurrent of authority, “maybe you should back-“

“You need a healer.” He ignores her, and you shake your head. You need to get out of here, to get somewhere safe where you can try to rip out the rot of these memories still nipping at your heels. 

“I need to go. Home, I need to go… home.” I need to go home? That’s the best you can come up with? Cassian snorts, and Azriel says your name, an edge of dominance cutting through the haze of your mind. The blood loss is making you woozy, and the ground is unsteady, continent turning over as you start to feel sluggish. Your vision grows blurry, and then there’s a hand on your cheek.

“Look at me, it's okay.” Azriel murmurs, and you try. You do. There’s something about his touch, the texture of his hands that soothes you, comforts you, but the world is falling away, and darkness is taking you, tugging you into the lull of sleep.

You curl your fingers into his shirt, a last-ditch effort at staying upright, at staying awake, looking up into a never-ending swirl of hazel, green moss and bright umber drenched in panic.

They’re the last thing you see before everything goes black and you slip under.

[nanathott]

just saw someone say they can’t see maki being pregnant/being a mother and let’s talk about that

i think this is very similar to when people tell someone they “can’t see them dating anyone” thus basically telling them they think they’re unlovable or incapable of loving

maki is portrayed as a very strong character, she always has her walls up and is constantly looking over her shoulder. her guard is never down and she forces herself never to show weakness even in the face of her abusers OR incredibly formidable opponents like sukuna. maki is also rarely portrayed as feminine, (except around yuta where she is able to act like a normal girl, blushing, being treated like a doll, etc) but she is. she is a woman and that is a very important part of her character that is literally her #1 hurdle. she gets held back because she’s a woman. she gets looked down on because she’s a woman. BUT SHE IS a woman. i’m not saying being pregnant is feminine, because women aren’t the only people capable of pregnancy, but i think that’s how op meant it. they’re saying she’s too hard to be pregnant, not soft or nurturing enough when all she has been fighting for her whole life is to get to the top so he and other like her can have a fucking break and exist as they are without gender playing a role in how they’re treated

IF maki really is the mother of yutas kids, i think that’s such an important development. she deserves to be able to be nurturing and soft and feel safe while doing it, she deserves for people to see her like that while also awknowleding how strong she is because she’s worked her ass off getting to that position!! i can absolutely see her as a mother and passing her knowledge and strength onto her kids while also being feminine and loving like a mother is

so i think to say u cant see her being a mother is a bit demeaning and in a way is saying you dont see her as anything but the hard exterior she is forced to portray herself as and maybe even thinking its wrong for her to be anything else but that, when we literally see glimpses of maki being and wanting to be just a girl!!! she doesnt have to be just strong all the time!! let her be feminine too!!! being strong doesn’t mean she’s not also feminine!!! that’s literally her whole character!!!!

if you’ve made it this far ty for listening, i love maki dearly

[utilitycaster]

feel free to ignore if you feel like it's too theoretical/parasocial/etc. but: I see how the campaign as a whole is off because of how lack of prep influenced the cast to create somewhat unfit characters, but as someone who got immensely annoyed by this episode, I'm wondering why has that throughline carried out for so long. why haven't the cast decided to start playing their characters in a way that leads to a more cohesive and satisfying story? is the hesitation and bizzare opinions on gods a very dedicated RP choice or do you think the players themselves are also at a loss? I'm honestly very confused about that, given how driven and decisive they played VM and M9 during their oneshots. I don't want to feel like I'm singling anyone out to hate but e.g. the way taliesin plays caduceus vs ashton is particularly puzzling to me.

Hey anon,

This is all highly speculative (as, to be fair, was the original idea the cast was given very little information, and that turned out to be right) but I think it's the far-reaching consequences of that initial lack of prep combined with the fact that it's been a very central-plot focused campaign that failed to allow the characters to develop into more decisive people. It also, I think, centers the Ruidusborn such that I suspect a lot of the rest of the table is taking their lead.

The Mighty Nein, we know, involved a lot of prep with Matt specifically offering feedback and vetoing certain aspects. Every character came in with pretty clear goals, and because it was a character-driven campaign we got to see those goals change as they learned more: Caleb and Fjord notably abandon their original goals in favor of new ones. Veth and Caduceus achieve theirs; Jester as well, and she develops new ones as she becomes less sheltered. Beau and Yasha's exact goals were much more nebulous, but they have the opportunity to confront their pasts at length and find new purpose and peace throughout the narrative. I don't think it's productive to rehash everything every time but: lack of pre-existing long-term relationships and more work on the short-term friendships that existed, the fact that Beau and usually Molly due to Yasha's absences (and later Caduceus) were free agents who didn't know anyone prior to their meeting, and the fact that the party had like 2 gold to their name and had to double up in odd configurations plus their willingness to engage in conflicts led to a fairly quick and deep bond, which also influenced their goals and dynamics.

Vox Machina were initially very generally sketched out characters, but after they began doing more there was a similar effort put into to backstories, and I think going back after they'd already played a bit meant they knew more about who they wanted these characters to be. The pre-stream plot, as we can tell from the origins comics, was also heavily backstory focused; the Briarwoods arc is when most people feel the streamed campaign really takes off.

We have seen the backstories of the characters of Bells Hells, but a lot of them are deeply tied into a long-running main plot that doesn't really allow for the same development over time. Like, Percy, for example, actually does his "plot" about quarter of the way into the campaign; but this kickstarts his development. Fjord is rather similar; he learns the source of his powers quite early on, but grapples with them until the halfway point and then the rest of the campaign is him embracing something new. To compare, I suspect Laura envisoned Imogen's story as being not dissimilar in the sense of "learn what my powers come from, find a way to better control or perhaps get rid of them" and so upon finding out this is the lynchpin of the entire plot, Imogen never has that post-resolution time to cook, essentially. Even for those who had slightly more rewarding plot beats they kind of felt like "let's address this problem so we can get back to the moon stuff" (Chetney, Laudna) and in some cases, I think it felt to the players, rightly or wrongly, like those plots were actively rushed to the point that they couldn't explore them (I suspect this happened for Ashton during the solstice split). There's been a hurry-up-and-wait sense of urgency over the whole campaign because it's a plot that was introduced very early and has never let up. There's been no "what do we do" type breaks and I'd be shocked if there are. We've sort of run out of plot because we've speed run everything that would have been a plot in a different campaign.

So I think the players don't know how to evolve their characters because there's been no in-world impetus to evolve, really. Now, as someone who prefers to play people who are already decisive, the fact that most of the cast went for kind of indecisive/impulsive types isn't my bag, but that is valid; but it means no one's really had the chance to organically move from that.

I also think that the fact that there's one big plot that really centers the ruidusborn is another factor. Even if Orym, for example, were the type to shut down the party, what is one person who can't reasonably stop two spellcasters from going into the Hallowed Cage going to do? I think this post makes a good point; I think putting the pressure very heavily on two players who (very understandably! for a number of reasons!) are among the most averse to making a hard and potentially alienating or unpopular choice has sort of prevented anyone else from taking a wild swing. The other campaigns had a much more even distribution of who could make decisions within the party, and I think that reflects that. I also think this is uniquely an issue for longform campaigns; I haven't seen this hesitancy from Laura nor Ashley in Candela, Downfall, nor in the various Daggerheart one-shots and miniseries, since you have to swing big there.

I do want to cover one point specifically, which is that I actually find Ashton to be one of the better played characters. I disagree with them, to be sure, but like, Caduceus is a character who can be arrogant in his fairly limited worldview, but who is also consistently very empathetic and kind. Ashton has that arrogance, but without those priorities. Caduceus isn't really invested in hurting those who hurt him; he's interested in stopping those who would hurt his home, family, or friends, and if that requires hurting them he's okay with that. Ashton really does want to beat up those they deem responsible for their own pain, justified or not. I think taking the shard was a great move and stand by that [though, admittedly, it and the bit about Predathos needing a vessel just now have me like. the consequences have been conveyed in a crystal clear manner to ME and somehow the cast is not getting Matt flat-out saying in game THIS IS WHAT WILL HAPPEN, so idk what's up with THAT.] and my issues stem specifically from his decision to claim to speak for the weak and then immediately accept the titans saying that a remade world in which only the strong survive is fine. Like, I don't think there is a problem in how Caduceus is played vs. Ashton, in that I think they are both internally consistent as characters; I think it's just. Caduceus is someone who tries to make decisions that minimize broad harm to that which he deems good, and Ashton is often, by their own admission (episode 78), selfish and conceited. Like, Taliesin is just. Playing someone who is often not a great person this time. And that's a valid choice. But I think it's in a narrative that didn't really permit enough time and space for characters to change meaningfully so Ashton is a bit stuck there whereas, while Caduceus didn't have nearly as much of a gap between who he already was and the hero he needed to be, he had far, far more room to grow.

[shiraoyagi]

just to give my 2 cents (not that it particularly matters), but i honestly disagree with this because it requires a hierarchical view of relationships which i don't think applies well to vbs (and is frankly, amatonormative, but that's a whole other tangent i won't go on here)

they do all care about each other equally. they just care about their partners in a different way from their teammates. the relationships are different, but one is not more significant than the other; especially when we get into specifics.

(event spoilers below, i labeled them in the tags)

for example, you made the statement that only an's singing will make kohane's heart pound, but this is not true. in fact, during kohane5, we are treated to this scene:

(tls by lozy bug, this is from chapter 6 of over rad squad)

there's also the fact that in main story, kohane showed incredible amounts of concern for akito and touya and did everything she could to help them even when she was under the impression that they sabotaged her and an. there's also akito supporting an in various events, the fact that in akito3, she was the one to give him the dream of "surpassing rad weekend" rather than just "i want to put on a good event like that", and the implication he wanted to team up with her during vbs main story. there's also touya seeing himself in kohane in main story and touya1, and her hard work trying to compose in touya3 giving him the boost he needed to continue composing. there's akito going from making jabs at kohane early on to wholeheartedly supporting her in kohane3; when an barely could— and he noticed that in resonant town and was still there to support her through her insecurities. there's even an4, where akito made it blatantly clear he trusted an to keep singing with them— where it was made clear that all of vbs trusted an to keep fighting, no matter what. there's kohane4, where touya was pulling the rest of them along in spite of all the backlash they faced. there's an5, where both akito and touya did everything they could to help her with her feelings towards kohane; and especially touya, who couldn't bear to see an repeat the same mistakes he did in main story— not just because their team relies on it, but because he undeniably cares about her.

this doesn't even account for earlier events, like akito1, where everyone was concerned for akito (not just touya), and i failed to mention that kohane's main conflict in kohane3 is the fact that she doesn't want to hurt akito by messing up a solo at crawl green, the livehouse he has trauma at (and even if she never learned the specifics, she clearly can empathize with it, especially with what happened to her in main story). i can list a lot more examples (like touya's an2 card story revealing that he has been worried about an this whole time up until an5, but akito wouldn't tell him anything because an was only comfortable coming to him and not touya or things like akito fes, an fes, mixed events, and other card stories) but we'd be here forever.

vbs does have two duos, yes. their partnerships are very important to their lore, and i don't think they should be undermined (and frankly i hate when people do that).

HOWEVER, i also don't think it's fair to treat the friendships they've made with their teammates as something "less important" to these characters just because the partners tend to be more openly affectionate with each other. all of them would be miserable if they weren't a team and were just still duos, if you think about it rationally. kohane would have no one to challenge her as an equal, an wouldn't have anyone to comfort her and then push her into talking with kohane, while akito and touya would likely be permanently broken up without the interference of a sekai (which only exists BECAUSE vbs are meant to be a team; that's their true feelings), and none of them would surpass rad weekend; because they'd never get the growth that they needed from each other.

anyways please don't take my argument personally, i just wanted to add my own thoughts, so i'm sorry in advance if this makes you uncomfortable

Each time someone claims that *insert VBS character* cares about their team the same as their partner, I explode. Yes, they are not *just* two duos, they're a team, but they're still two duos. Akito will care more about Toya than both Kohane and An. Only An's singing will make Kohane's heart pound. Toya won't sing without Akito. Only Kohane will be able to make An feel such strong feelings of both adoration and inferiority.

They can care about their teammates but value their partner more.

[moki-dokie]

there's been a bit of a Hot Topic going around bsky (and twt too i guess) about why my age group (particularly in the US) doesn't cook at home much anymore

and there's been a whole lot of takes ranging from dogshit to good and intelligent to total confusion from folks in other countries. neat stuff right. decided to throw my 2 cents in from my own perspective as part of the demographic.

the tldr of it being: there are *several* factors that make it not worth it nor cost efficient anymore where it once was. obviously that isn't gonna be the case for everyone, but it is the case for an overwhelming majority, me included. and this isn't even including, you know, a whole population of disabled people who are physically unable to cook for themselves but I sort of figured that was a given. but maybe not, considering...

then this absolute genius comes in

thank you buddy for having no reading comprehension and missing quite literally every single point i made that it isn't strictly about the dollar amount of the meal itself. like. okay??? good for you i guess.

sure, there will be some meals where that is very true. I could make a bigass pot of ham and beans that'll last me a whole week for about $10. hence why i added there will always be some meals cheaper to make at home. but that completely disregards every. other. point.

it is not, and has never been, about the direct cost of the meal itself. that's just one of a handful of reasons that factor into the whole conversation. there are going to be times that eating out will be more expensive price-wise, but when it checks off like 5 different boxes i couldn't fulfill myself for whatever reason, that price balances out. and we really are in an age where we're having to negotiate the worth of every action we take and every minute we spend on something. i don't know why thats such a hard concept for people to grasp.

legit nobody is arguing it *should* be this way. it shouldn't. we all recognize this. in the ideal world it would be both worth it and affordable to make every meal at home and leave eating out for special occasions, as was the case when i was growing up. and i totally get it that our parents, many of whom raised us by their lonesome, managed to do it fine so in theory we should be able to as well. sometimes, yeah, it really is a matter of sucking it up and doing it no matter how exhausted you might be. that's true for all facets of life tbh. but it shouldn't be that way all the time every time.

and, i don't know about the rest of you, but for us? it really was a whole fucking To Do to clip coupons and plan Shopping Day. I'd spend a couple hours clipping from a few different newspapers and the mail fliers we collected. then we organized them by store. then mom would plan out which stores we would go to for which items,the route we'd take since sometimes it meant going outside of town, the timeframe for everything since it was typically an all-day event. like, a whole day of planning and a whole day of executing JUST to grocery shop, and that was back in the 90s/00s. Inconvenient, yes, but still actually worth the trouble. couponing saved SO much money back then, especially if you knew the stores that would double them. coupons like those don't exist anymore. period. now the ones that do are like, pennies off or bogo deals and otherwise it's app this and app that for any sort of savings - which even then might only be like a meager 10% off the purchase. in no way is it worth my time and effort today to do the same thing we did when i was young.

anyway. so yeah. for a hell of a lot of us, sometimes going out to eat or ordering in is in fact the most worthwhile way, and sometimes even the most cost efficient way, to feed ourselves anymore.

[talks-to-guns]

I could talk so much about this promotional video. And how it lied about season 2

Jinx is being depicted as going to storm Piltover. This never happens. Jinx never actively goes to war with Piltover.

(In fact, she's made to forgive Piltover and apologise to Caitlyn that she killed her mom. Which Jinx would NEVER do. She DESPISED Caitlyn and her mother was on the council which has oppressed Zaun for the entirety of Jinx's life.)

This false imagery of Jinx going to war also matches the intro scene where she's waving the flag and becoming a symbol/leading a revolution. It promises a plot line that was completely unexplored as Jinx never actually led any sort of rebellion, and in fact hid away with Isha instead. (Not to mention that the Zaunite rebellion went nowhere and got dropped after act 2)

I would even go as far as to say that Isha was created to completely erase Silco and the impact of his death. To make it so that Jinx wouldn't become a revolutionary as a reaction to his death, despite the fact that she shoots at the Council as one of her first acts after his passing.

Even as Powder she wanted to fight back against Piltover and Jinx HATED enforcers. She killed them without a second thought, even humming songs as she casually killed them. She was raised by Silco, who wanted an independent Zaun. It would make sense for her to storm Piltover with Fishbones, as depicted here. But she doesn't. Because she decides that "Jinx is dead" and that she's going to hide out with Isha.

Then there's the Vi shadow. There's SO MUCH that could be said.

1, that Vi is now in her sisters shadow. This is sliiightly touched upon when Vi sees that Jinx is being painted on a mural with Vander - Jinx is Vander's successor, whereas it was supposed to be Vi. But even this symbolism is strange. Why would Jinx be depicted this way? Vander was never a revolutionary, he maintained the status quo, so she isn't his successor.

(The reason is that the writers were trying to erase Jinx and Silco's dynamic so they focused on Jinx and Vander being father and daughter which was. A really strange choice imo. Especially as it turned Warwick from a monster due to his transformation to a lucid dog that they were trying to save for a whole act. And then some. Only for him to die twice. Which wasted screentime in a show that already had a problem with pacing)

2, that Vi actually doesn't like Piltover either and that she ALSO wants to rebel, seeing as she's being depicted as a rebel's shadow. Which would fit her character a lot better than her joining the enforcers with barely any resistance or insight into her thoughts after the initial "No Cait I can't".

It would also remove her passiveness when Caitlyn was gassing Zaun. Vi had NOTHING to say? SERIOUSLY? The woman who, in season one, said "You enforcers are all the same, just asshole criminals in fancy uniforms"? She has barely any thoughts about Caitlyn's cruelty? Vi's character was completely brutalised this season and it's so sad to see. I knew Vi was going to become an enforcer, I know that that's her title in the game, but like THIS? It doesn't fit how Arcane set up Vi's character!

Not to mention that Vi was sad that the council got hit with a missile. That she said she would hunt Jinx down for what she did. Vi never had any attachments to the council. Shes been oppressed by the council her whole life. She SHOULDN'T be sad about what happened. Sure, she could sympathise that Caitlyn lost a parent, but she shouldn't be so broken up that the council was bombed.

Vi's character was so cheapened and flat this season. Her arc was non existent.

And Jinx? Jinx was completely ooc from what we saw in s1 and especially after the finale of that season.

For a show that was meant to be about the two sisters... the writers really fumbled both of them.

And it's so horribly disappointing

[sugirashi]

I’ve seen a distinct lack of nuance when it comes to discussions about Silent Hill 2, more specifically in regard to James as a character. It’s very easy to oversimplify his motivations/actions, when looking at it through a lens of bad actions = bad person. While there’s no justification for him murdering Mary, people often mischaracterize her death being the cause of James hating her.

I’m in no way saying people can’t dislike James, but a lot of the hate I’ve seen reflect misunderstanding his character and really the entire game as a whole. More specifically Ive seen the argument that he was motivated by sexual repression, and since Mary he was sick he hated that he lost that intimacy. But that in itself ignores the core theme of his guilt and how ultimately he didn’t hate Mary, if James killed without remorse then nothing would be drawing him to Silent Hill. He’s facing his guilt, that’s the whole reason characters like Pyramid Head exist in the first place. That same mischaracterization also ignores the significance of different endings and what each of them reflect on James. If he truly hated Mary, he wouldn’t have gone to Silent Hill, especially when considering that he originally went there to kill himself, and how he does in the “In Water” ending.

A scene that’s been used to “support” the idea that James hated her was when he states that he did hate her. But, that scene itself is surrounded by context which shows that while he may have began to hate aspects of Mary (I.e her sickness, and also the abusive tendencies she had during that time), he didn’t truly feel that way. Even Mary herself asks “Then why do you look so sad?” because it wouldn’t make any sense to have James go to Silent Hill if he didn’t care about Mary in the first place. I just find it a bit irritating that people who insist James hated Mary are the same people who think others have misunderstood the game if they like James.

Media literacy has reached an all time low, It’s a shame that a character like James is oversimplified in conversations regarding his morality, because I think it shows that people are willing to accept that a person is just bad because of wrongful action without considering how context may change the discussion.

I think if a person is really stuck in the belief that James never cared for Mary, they experienced Silent Hill with their eyes closed. Because story wise that doesn’t make sense for anything that happens, and does a disservice to the game and how it’s meant to be layered and doesn’t just draw on a single meaning.

[pompomchihuahua]

So, I've seen a Twitter thread making the rounds about Yuichirou being in the right for not trusting Amane which you can read here. Overall, I think it nicely covered why Yuichirou was so "mean" to her: a strange woman shows up at their home trying to recruit two vulnerable 11-year-old boys who just lost their parents. She starts talking about demons and them being descended from swordsmen and being able to save people and in Muichirou's hopeful little heart it strikes a chord.

But Yuichirou says that he's certain she's just going to use them, that she's plotting something, which, from a story telling perspective, is an interesting seed to plant in the viewers mind.

What I mainly want to focus on in this thread is Kagaya Ubuyashiki, as he is the one who ultimately sends Amane to recruit the Tokitou twins (though, yes, she is complicit in the recruitment of child soldiers. The average age of soldiers in 1912 Japan was 17-20 not 11).

Putting aside that he ends up recruiting Muichirou anyway after he's made almost impossibly more vulnerable (just lost his last remaining family, critically injured, just lost his memories and also, once again, an 11 year old CHILD being coerced by an adult into fighting mythical monsters) Kagaya has a way of appearing to the Hashira at their most vulnerable moments to recruit them (aside from Rengoku who was basically born and raised into the role which is a whole other can of worms).

Another thing I'd like to point out is the cruelty and impracticality of final selection, something that is exemplified perfectly with Sabito. How many slayers with the potential to do something great's lives were wasted in final selection? Considering the sheer amount that goes in and how few come out and the lack of any kind of age limit, I'm going to guess quite a few. Why exactly is the system set up like this?

They essentially set up a demon buffet featuring children as the main course. Did they know about the demon growing out of control on the final selection grounds? Most likely, and if not that's highly irresponsible to not at least monitor your supposed testing grounds.

Why not have them fight against other, higher-level slayers? If they fail the test, they'd be sent back into training or dismissed entirely instead of just... killed. And Ubuyashiki seems fine with this! And I'm truly curious- he mentions memorizing the names of every slayer that dies in the line of duty, but does that include the dozens of people that don't even get to become official slayers because they die in the very baffling final selection meat grinder?

I'm getting off track.

What I mean is that Ubuyashiki is shown to have questionable moral decision-making when it comes to the pursuit of defeating Muzan: it seems his goal is to kill Muzan at all costs.

Later, Muzan says this: "That schemer! Like a viper, his rage and hatred toward me... was coiling inside his pitch-black heart!"

As the viewer we're, of course, meant to take this with a grain of salt. We know Ubuyashiki didn't have a "pitch-black heart," but I think there's a grain of truth to be found in Ubuyashiki harboring rage and hatred toward Muzan.

We know the reason the Ubuyashiki clan started to hunt Muzan in the first place was to save themselves from the curse (and along the way I think they genuinely believed it was for the greater good as well).

But I think it sets Ubuyashiki up as the perfect morally ambiguous foil to Muzan. Yes, he is supposed to represent humanity, but what is more human than the endless moral struggle between the greater good and what's right for the individual? Ubuyashiki points out that in the thousands of years of Muzan's existence, the corps has never been wiped out but this is because the corps inherently preys on those who are at their most vulnerable. It is built on the back of tragedy.

Everything down to even just their life span is meant to be equal but opposite from Muzan's immortality to the Ubuyashiki's ephemeral life spans. Even their clothing choice, with Muzan picking darker colors and Ubuyashiki clad in white. Muzan is beautiful and unmarred while Kagaya is consumed by the curse of their bloodline yet their appearance is described as "twin-like" in the Kimetsu extras. Yet they are also equal, once again returning to their supposedly identical features, they both have a tendency to appear to those that serve them at their most vulnerable.

This is not a "Kagaya is evil" post at the end of the day. This is a "Kagaya is not a morally pure character and that's a good thing" post. And, I think, had the author had more time, they would have explored this fully. We all know the ending was a tad bit rushed due to the author having a family emergency and I will never blame them for that, but just looking at the story they built even on that time crunch I can only imagine they narrative they could have built given unlimited time.

I feel like they could have explored Kagaya's character more which they set up as being Muzan's equal but opposite: equally scheming but thankfully on humanity's side. He had empathy for the children, yes, but he still, at the end of the day, used people at their most vulnerable to do what he couldn't on his own.

And I didn't even get to START on the implications of his magical "voice" and foresight powers, but this post is already so long that I'm gonna end it here.

TLDR: Ubuyashiki is so much more complex than your stock "Greater good" character. He's Muzan's equal but opposite force, conniving but empathetic, morally ambiguous. Had the author had more time, I feel this would have been explored in more depth.

[mtheonott]

 Winter emptiness.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

⌗ angst, comf, winter, au

word count: 812

note: :р

Fatigue. Regret about life. Unpleasant feeling of your own body. The unbearable burden of existence. Or the void. You didn't know what you were feeling at the moment.

There were no more tears streaming from eyes, and time didn't feel like it was moving at all. The cold wind helped not to completely lose yourself in this moment. 

A hand rested on the railing next to you, but you didn't even turn around because you knew who he was. Theo. This is the first time a guy who is always frowning and distant has ever looked at you with anything other than annoyance. 

You never got along with him: the eternal barbs, jokes, quarrels and meaningless conversations about who is better. But at that moment, it was as if you both felt that this place wasn't meant for childishness.

Nott took off his scarf and casually wrapped it around your neck to protect you from the winter weather. His gaze drifted to your cheeks, which were covered with fresh tears.

— What happened? — Theo asked indifferently as he scanned the night sky. 

The Christmas party was in full swing, but fate decided to block out too personal a moment from prying eyes, making you cry on the balcony. The December frost stung you face pleasantly, but it didn't matter. You were still staring blankly ahead, not even looking at the houses. Mouth opened involuntarily, as if to answer for its mistress. 

— Nott, what did your parents give you for Christmas?

The boy frowned, replaying the memories in his head. 

— Video games on the console. And what? — He answered without taking his eyes off your face.

— My parents didn't give me anything. Absolutely, — you shrugged, — For the first time in my entire life.

Theo chuckled. His amusement didn't even surprise you, because this is his typical behavior - making fun of other people's problems. 

— That's so touching, — he laughed a little more until he realized you were serious and rolled his eyes, — Oh, please don't tell me you were crying because Mom and Dad didn't give you anything.

You didn't react to his laughter in any way. Not up to it now. Sighing again, you decided to open your heart for the first time, hoping to get something in return.

— After Mom died, Dad started working twice as hard to provide for me and my younger sisters. Every day to see his torment was already unbearable. I couldn't even bring myself to remind him of a gift for me. Before, only my mom used to buy me presents, but now she's gone, — you finally looked down at your hands, — When I was little, I used to dream about my eighteenth birthday: lots of friends, a vacation with my parents, and the coolest gift from them. However, all I have now is a couple of friends. It's a shame, isn't it?

Nott stopped smiling as he looked at your face, completely drained and lifeless. He sighed languidly and released steam from his mouth, or rather condensed moisture, as the brunette mentioned earlier during another argument. 

— I'm sorry, but you can't feel sorry for yourself. The world is cruel, and believe me, I know it. But if you don't grow up and realize that the past won't come back, you'll spend the rest of your life in misery.

Theo looked like he was speaking from his own experience, which he clearly had. Your lashes fluttered slightly and you looked up at him. The woman's dry lips were slightly parted in small surprise. 

— You know you're a jerk, right?

— I know, I know perfectly well, but someone had to tell you the hard truth, — he shrugged, — You can live your whole life in misery and sadness, blaming the rest of the world. Or exist as a normal adult and find some semblance of happiness. Choose for yourself.

The guy took one last look at the night city and left the balcony, leaving you alone with his words. You watched him go. The words echoed in your mind, and heart began to pound again. When he left, you sighed and licked your dry lips. Standing up and wiping the tears from your cheeks, you promised yourself to look at the world with your head held high. He's right. You have to live happily without paying attention to the little things. This is just a stage that can be bypassed in no time, if you force yourself to stop. 

Soon, you came down to the party, smiling and laughing. Hips began to move again to the New Year's music, and mind cleared of problems. At this time, Theo was looking at you from the side, grinning and making a note for the future - take a second scarf with him. 

[dizzybizz]

some doodles

[jaskefer]

Obsessed with the idea of Extraordinary Things being a back and forth between Jaskier and Radovid, with Jaskier trying to draw him out in the first verse, and Radovid finally answering him in the second.

Cause like, with Radovid, Jaskier meets someone who he can't fully read properly. He knows there's something under the front of a drunken, bumbling prince, but he doesn't know him well enough yet to be certain as to what.

So, he tests the waters a bit. throws out a line to see if Radovid will take it—and he does. A little bit. But it's so interesting to me, because it doesn't just feel like Jaskier is trying to nail down Radovid's truth in this verse; it feels like he's injecting elements of his own mask into it, as well.

"Keep your words on ice, your gaze lights the fire. They say 'keep on playing nice,' but I have no desire. Why waste our words when lips were made for extraordinary things? It's not a want, it's a need, it is paying no heed to what others say to sing."

This is Jaskier's read of Radovid as he knows him so far: a man hiding more complex wants beneath the veneer of a drunken party boy. But it's also Jaskier admitting that he knows this about Radovid because he wears the exact same mask himself.

Much like how Jaskier and Ciri speak through Geralt and Yennefer in order to process their own feelings about them later in the season, Jaskier sings through himself in order to comprehend who Radovid is. Jaskier is using the performative persona he's crafted for himself in an attempt to coax Radovid out of his.

All of it leads into the main intention of this song: "The greatest songs are made up of unspoken words of love. Of them, I've had enough. with you, I am enough." I am tired of having to put up a front. I want to be understood. I think you understand me. Prove me right.

And Radovid sees what Jaskier is doing. He comments on Jaskier's ability to see people for who they are and not who they pretend to be. But there's still more he wants to understand. This still feels like a game, in a way.

It's only after Radovid sees the brutality of Dijkstra and Philippa up close, watches them orchestrate the assassination of the queen and threaten to incriminate him if he doesn't fall in line, that he then grasps the vulnerability in Jaskier's lyrics. Jaskier is also caught between multiple conflicting desires, that of his loyalty to Geralt/Yen/Ciri, and that of his work as the Sandpiper & how said work is backed by his continued commitment to Redanian Intelligence. That internal conflict and the desire to escape it is also highlighted in the song's first verse ("they say keep on playing nice, but i have no desire"). Only after all of this, when true fear begins to take over and the game stops being fun, does Radovid truly begin to truly understand Jaskier.

And so, he seeks him out. And he responds.

“Drop the sweet disguise, your heart’s beating too loud. The fairytales and little lies can’t drown out all the sound.” You were right. I do understand you. I know what you really want, because we're the same. You can’t hide it behind a façade of a song and a story and a persona.

“Take this heart and break this heart for extraordinary things.” I don't know what will become of this, or us. I still don't fully know if we can trust each other. But no one has ever seen me in the way that you have.

It's not a want, it's a need. With you, I am enough.

[naomiknight-17]

Note to self

Never ever say anything about queer discourse on this site ever again

[discjude]

Yeah this is about right (as always my thoughts are in the tags so there's actually kei content there lmao)

[silverselfshippingchaos]

the yearning is strong tonight... girls..

[rhoselacksthorns]

call tgirl dommes without bottom dysphoria the tower of Bable the way their presence makes my speech incomprehensible and the way that when fully erected they can show me god

call tgirl dommes with bottom dysphoria the tower of Babel the way their presence makes my speech incomprehensible and the way that a pillar is to be removed by a most divine act because it should never have existed and it's removal shall bring great relief to a being who rightfully rules over me

call post-op tgirl dommes the tower of Babel the way their presence makes my speech incomprehensible and the way that religious folk insist they defy god whilst in reality their existence is testament to humanities ability to alter this unfair world to bring joy and peace to those who are part of it

[aalghul]

i think often about how teen titans ‘03 failed from start to finish to portray a team and relationships worth investing in. were we reading about a team or 3 characters the writers liked + a cast of extras they threw around as they liked all the while not even having the favoured characters interact with each other in a worthwhile way