#i think it's much much rawer

[the-crow-binary]

@ariawen Hi, as a games fan who started to get really interested into them after watching the first seasons of the original NFCV show, allow me to explain, once again. :) (it will be like a summary of this post, and this one, and many other posts that were not all made by me and that would take too much time for me to find. just know there is a lot and that summary is non-exhaustive)

The adaptations don't respect anything coming from the games. It doesn't have any of it's themes, the Belmont clan is treated like dirt, respectable characters have been turned into rude jerks (except Hector who was turned into a weak puppy with no agency :)), every female character has been turned into a #girlboss, multiple characters have been changed so much that they are basically OCs with game characters names (Carmilla, Isaac, Elisabeth/Erzsebet, Drolta, Olrox, Annette), Dracula who is the biggest antagonist of the CV games, the MAIN one, is killed in two seasons and the whole "cycle of revenge and resurrection" is thrown out the window. Dracula isn't even killed by Trevor, and let me tell you, Belmonts killing Dracula is a VERY big deal in the games and one of the MOST IMPORTANT parts of the lore. Instead it's Alucard killing him because they wanted to make Symphony of the Night way too early.

The Dracula VS Belmont clan duality is non-existent. Dracula has received one of the biggest downgrades of the adaptations (he is nothing but some kind of vampire king who can't even make his own court listen to him and is killed by a fucking wooden stick, when in the games, he is the Dark Lord, the most powerful evil being to exist, basically Satan, is obeyed and respected by all creatures of the Night, can turn into a giant demon, basically he is way more intimidating annd terrifying in the games, and at full power, he can only be killed by the Vampire Killer. And talking about the VK...)

The ancestral whip of the Belmont Clan is not that special in the shows, when it's the most powerful weapon to exist in the games (and is infused with the soul of the ex-betrothed of the Belmont clan's founder). The Morning star, wich in game was an enhancement of the VK, is now another, more powerful weapon... that disappeared in Nocturne. They are not even coherent with their own lore.

And even the writing of the shows themselves are not great. It's rushed, the LGBT representation is straight up insulting (bisexuality shown through a rape scene? a relationship so rushed it's ridiculous and the only reason why people like it is because the characters in it are hot? a scene where one of them is probably mind controlled? really? the best LGBT relationship that is shown is between two lesbian vampires who barely have any screentime and no real importance to the plot.), bestiality jokes, Alucard pissing on screen, "fuck" and "shit" thrown every two seconds, OP Sypha, rape apologism, N!Isaac stealing the arc of Game!Hector and making it worse (he literally uses his religion, that he didn't have before, as an excuse to killing people. he keeps killing most of the people he meets then by the time he reaches Hector in the end we are supposed to believe he is a changed man). Wich is a good summary of the shows tbh: It does not take much from the games, but what it does, it destroys. Nocturne is even worse in term of writing. Lots of boring moments, laughable choices such as making a super dramatic scene in the beginning of the season where Maria burries one of her bird and everyone cries with Edouard singing and it's literally so stupid (we don't know her yet, nor her birds, no one cares). The show happening during the French Revolution this far is at best, useless, at worse, insulting. Using foreign cultures for diversity points without any care put into it.

The themes of the games: Generational trauma, cycle of hatred and revenge, fated to fight for eternity, coping/struggling with fate(you can't fight it. if you try, it's only going to make things worse.), "fate is horrible but necessary", coping with death, eternal fight of good VS evil, family tragedies, believing in the best in people because that's all you have, fall from grace, redemption (from past sins), (gaining) agency, freedom/independence, humanity, self-affirmation...

The themes of the shows: CHURCH BAD, fake deepness (the games did better), trying to pretend it has the "struggling with fate" thing with N!Richter when it was already ruined by N!Trevor, "family member died", coping with death but ruined (Dracula being depicted as deserving of an happy ending and don't receiving any consequences after he tried to kill every human, when in the games, he was tragic, yes, but it was clear he was in the wrong) or boring, woman on man rape okay because she hot and he got hard haha, slavery bad, Belmonts stupid, swear words funny...

And to top it all off, the thing that irritates us the most, is not just that the shows basically destroy the games with no respect whatsoever. It's not just the fact that it became super popular and now NFCV is what comes into the mind of most people when we say "Castlevania". It's not just that the people liked them, or that they decided that Castlevania was a good game to be political with. No.

The worst is that people feel the need to shit on the games in order to praise their shows.

Trust me that game fans would be more than happy to ignore the shows and just consider them as their own alternate universe if they could. It's the shows fans that won't allow us to. Because they can't tag their shit right. Because they can't just see the show and not compare it to the games they know nothing about. Because they can't comprehend that liking a show doesn't mean the show is good. Because they can't, or refuse to see the very obvious problems their beloved shows have, even as it's own show. And it's not just individuals on the internet, but reporters as well. It's really, horribly irritating, when we come across an article that praise NFCV for being SO GOOD and SO SUPERIOR TO THE GAMES. And it's even more infuriating when they praise the show for some things that THE GAMES DID BETTER.

The games had a core, things that gave it it's identity, things that made "Castlevania" Castlevania. And the "adaptations" butchered it. Of course we're going to be mad about it, and the fact it became more popular. We're not anti-adaptation, we're anti-BAD adaptation that does not do justice to our games. Especially when said adaptation becomes more popular and considered "better".

I see that already some viewers of nocturne think Richter's an asshole. This is just one of many examples of the show changing a character's personality traits.

In the games, Richter is a very nice man! He has a strong sense of justice, and is compassionate about others. He's not an asshole like nocturne leads you to believe.

Also, his family legacy plays a much bigger role in the games. It would eventually lead to his fall from grace. But that's another story for another time.

[tswift]

I'm honestly so tired of reading takes on how "Midnights" is undeserving of awards and not a good album. It's actually a very impressive concept album that is moody, playful and nostalgic. If you look back at the 20 (now 22) tracks on it, it very much reflects Taylor's thesis statement. It ponders adolescence, insecurities and fears, lost loves, adventure and revenge.

These are things that keep most of us up at night, whether it's hyping yourself up (Bejeweled), tearing yourself down (Anti-Hero), reflecting on how far you've come and what you've learned in the process (You're on Your Own, Kid), grappling with grief and trauma (Bigger Than the Whole Sky, Would've Could've Should've), reveling in your enemy's demise (Karma, Vigilante Shit), thinking about lost love (Maroon, Hits Different, Midnight Rain) or simply trying to delude and reassure yourself of something (Lavender Haze, Labyrinth).

The fact of the matter is, Karma, a song that many have mocked over its "cringe and immature" lyrics, is an impressively written and constructed pop song. Being a good lyricist doesn't always mean "ohhhhh this is poetry, this is angsty." What's impressive is someone who can do both.

"Midnights" truly does it all. There's depth, there's poetry, there's tongue-and-cheek whimsy. But it's a pop album. A pop album can't possibly have the same amount of depth, right?

What makes "Midnights" so different from her past pop efforts is that you can really see the growth in it. You can hear what she learned from making folklore and evermore not only in the production, but also in the lyrics. The lyrics are sharper, rawer and more honest. That is not to say Taylor did not achieve this in her past pop albums, she's simply honed her craft. And that's what you should want an artist to do.

It does not have to be your favorite album. Maybe you just don't vibe with it. But that doesn't mean it isn't impressive. You don't have to belittle something simply because you don't like it as much.

I don't think "Midnights" will win AOTY. But I do think it deserves to be in the category, especially in a year that is not particularly competitive. I can't wait for Swifties to start appreciating it. I give it a year or two, then y'all will change your tune.

[li-x1nyu]

after you had a fight with him, he looks for you during his concert

6reeze xiao x gn!reader

modern/celebrity au, angst, fluff, not proofread

a/n: i am struggling to write please take my feeble offering

the flashing lights on the stage aren't half as bright as the way your eyes light up when he comes home, or when you see he made breakfast for you.

xiao hasn't seen you in too long.

"please be here." he hates the pounding in chest, where under normal circumstances he would be filled with pride.

usually you stay over, but two nights ago, two nights before the start of his 6reeze tour, you and xiao had a large argument about how he wasn't taking care of himself because of his job.

he lashed out at you, and he thinks you hate him for it, but he hates himself even more.

he didn't get half the sleep he needed for his big day. you just weren't there.

not one face in the crowd below is yours. he has never felt so anxious.

xiao hopes nobody notices how he sings with more desperation in his voice, the notes scratching in his throat.

halfway through the chorus, he finally spots you.

you, beautiful you with your arms crossed, not singing or dancing. your friends scream their heads off beside you but you just watch.

the words to the song he wrote for you are a lot rawer than intended. tears begin to flood his vision.

xiao spots aether on the guitar in the corner of his eye before it starts getting blurry. he blinks in time to see the guitarist mouth a 'you okay?' in a break of the song.

xiao doesn't feel okay.

he doesn't feel okay when the concert ends, and the audience is leaving, and you're leaving with them.

xiao doesn't feel very okay, but he drops whatever he was even holding to bolt out after you.

"yn! yn, wait."

you give in. it's hard not to. "yes?"

he stops to catch his breath when you turn around. xiao doesn't even know what to say, where to start.

"look, i-" he stops to think carefully. "i don't mean what i said, okay? i mean- the wrong words came out, i- i didn't-"

"wow," you say, feigning impressment. "for how much you love songwriting, that was real poetic. is it because this time it's not for a crowd? because it's just for intrusive, overbearing me?"

his heart cracks. "yn," xiao pleads.

you give him a look. you want to hug him and say it's okay, but you don't. you don't deserve to let it slide so easily, at least not without an apology.

and xiao knows it too.

"i'm sorry. i didn't mean to call you intrusive, or- or overbearing. you were just looking out for me, you always do. and i was stressed and i- and i lost my shit and i shouldn't have and-" he talks faster and faster, a sign he's getting nervous.

"and i love you and i'm so sorry, so- so please don't leave me."

you rock back and forth on your feet, staring at the ground.

finally, you break the silence. "your performance was incredible. i liked the last song."

a breath escapes from xiao. "i wrote it for you," he mumbles. "actually, i- almost the whole setlist was for you, so..."

"it really hurt, you know," you say softly. "this wasn't the first time."

"i know," he whispers. "it won't happen again, really."

"okay. apology accepted."

"...but not forgiven?"

"well, walk me home first."

and xiao does, his pinkie finger intertwined with yours. you hum his last track on the way home.

[rosettyller]

some analysis of this scene from 2x02, because i am going absolutely insane over it:

first up: it's 2 500 BCE. They've known each other for around 1500 years at this point, but they haven't been meeting up very often; it's implied at this point, that they've only met at the Garden, and the Flood, and now here (as well as in Heaven, but there's varying interpretations about how much they each remember of Heaven).

(worth noting that these meetings are all bible-related meetings)

So, they don't know each other very well at all. This is why Aziraphale approaches Crowley so cautiously (apart from the fact that he thinks Crowley's going around murdering goats and soon kids). He doesn't know what happened to Crowley when he Fell, how he changed when he fell in with Lucifer, how God's rejection has warped Crowley's perspective or changed his morals (their meeting at the Flood seemed quite short, not enough time to get a definite picture.)

Aziraphale is still seeing Crowley as demonic, although there's already that thread of doubt - can you really see him trying to talk Hastur or Ligur out of this the way he does Crowley?

Aziraphale clings to the memory of Angel Crowley - Crowley gets quite defensive.

Here, Crowley reinforces that he's changed - personally I don't believe that he did fight in the War, but his views of God's Plan definitely got more extreme than "thats terrible god should get a suggestion box".

But, I also believe that here, Crowley is reinforcing that he is no longer an angel, and therefore no longer has to play by angel rules. He can do what he wants. He's a demon, it's in his job description.

And of course, that he is a demon, and he is Evil, and of course he would kill goats.

(more under the cut, because I just can't stop talking)

This shot is very yellow. Crowley's hair being the season 1 orange rather than red, the yellow walls, all accentuate the colour of Crowley's eyes, highlighting the physical reminder of Crowley's demonic nature.

I couldn't be bothered to gif it, but here, Crowley leans forward into Aziraphale's face. There are two reasons for this:

Get his yellow Demon Eyes right in Aziraphale face, just to hammer home his point.

It's an aggressive action, moving into someone's personal space like that. Saying, I could hurt you, I'm violent and aggressive and dangerous, I killed those goats, the kids are next.

The way the light hits Crowley's eyes in the above shot and the below shot also make them a very bright yellow. (Edit: I think someone pointed out that Crowley is making his eyes glow, but the overall yellowness of the scene serves to highlight this)

Clever wording on Crowley's part, because as we will find out, he faked the destruction of the goats to keep them safe, while making himself sound very evil.

You'll notice the repetition of "blameless"; this makes him seem even more evil, hurting the innocent, but also gives deeper insight into one of Crowley's biggest issues: hurting the innocent. What have they done to deserve this? Nothing.

This ties in quite nicely with what we have seen before of Crowley and free will; he gives people the option to sin. It's their actions that decide whether they end up in Heaven or Hell; they get what they deserve for their actions. He just makes it easier to choose Hell. (see: phone lines being down making people crankier and encouraging them to be horrible to each other, but it still being their choice, setting the holy water bucket above the door, so it's Ligur's choice to come in after Crowley that gets him killed.)

Note also the use of "long":

Aziraphale says to "tell me you want to do this". "Long" has rather stronger connotations than "want", but also rawer, more fundamental. Crowley is reminding Aziraphale that he is a demon, and that he has the traits of a demon, this is what he is now. He longs for violence, for destruction.

Aziraphale looks quite sad here. If you watch the video I linked, his previous conviction that Crowley doesn't want to do it is very strong. He fully believes in Crowley, that all he needs to do is reframe not killing the kids as within the rules of Hell, the way Crowley so often comes to do for Aziraphale ("Then you can't be certain that thwarting me isn't part of the divine plan too. I mean, you're supposed to thwart the wiles of the Evil One at every turn, aren't you?" "If you put it that way, Heaven couldn't actually mind me thwarting you.").

Aziraphale believed Crowley was still good, that the angel he remembered was still in there. But Crowley rejects it - and it hurts. Crowley has become what a demon should be.

Crowley looks quite sorrowful here, too: he already cares for Aziraphale (he fell in love at the Garden), and it hurts to decieve him, to disappoint him, to hurt him.

I would argue that here, Crowley is scared.

He's in shadow, which dims the yellows; his undemonic nature is about to be revealed.

And that is not safe, because Hell does not send rude notes. And here, Crowley is not doing just any temptation, but trying to help Satan win a bet (supposedly). And out of every demon in Hell, Satan is the one you want to piss off the least.

But here, Crowley is scared because Aziraphale could reveal him - because Aziraphale is on God's side, and because it is revealed that Crowley is not nearly as demonic as he makes himself out to be. He's vulnerable. Aziraphale could scorn him, hurt him. But instead:

Aziraphale is incredibly smug. "I knew I was right", he says. "I knew you were still good".

And here is another issue: Aziraphale conflates God/Heaven/angels with good, and demons/Hell with bad.

And Crowley does not see Heaven as good. He doesn't want Aziraphale to see his angelic core past the demonic exterior. He's on his own side.

This, for Aziraphale, confirms that "the angel you knew is not me", is not correct.

And I think, out of the three minisodes, it's this one that does the most for fleshing out Aziraphale and Crowley's frames of mind this series, and why they choose what they choose in ep6.

Aziraphale has been proven right about Crowley's angelic nature, and that he wants to do good, but can't, for fear of Hell's retribution.

And Crowley does not see Heaven as good. He recognises that being an angel again will not allow him the freedom to do good. (as Aziraphale had to try and talk a demon into helping him save the kids from God.)

[mcuamerica]

Stranded | Alt Ending

Pairing: Eris x Reader

Summary: A certain male visits you at your cabin. Requested by @sidthedollface2 here.

Warnings: 18+ only, rejected mating bond, let me know if anything was forgotten...

Disclaimer: I do not own SJM’s characters, only the ones I create for the purpose of this story. This is a work of fiction. I do not give permission to repost my work on any other platform or medium. Please be respectful.

Dividers from @saradika

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four (other ending)

Eris stood on the other side of your door, eyes filled with sorrow. You wrapped your arms around his neck, tears filling your eyes.

"Don't say it." You whispered.

Eris stayed silent for a few moments before wrapping his arms tighter around your waist. "He didn't send a letter. Not yet." He whispered. "But I hoped to get here before him." Eris said, pulling ever so slightly away.

You looked at him with confusion, your bottom lip quivering. "Is he here?" You whispered, knowing Eris would be able to detect if Azriel was in Autumn or not. Even at the border.

"I hope not." He whispered, bringing a hand to cup your cheek.

"What- What do you mean?" You asked.

"I don't want Azriel to come. I don't want him to claim you as his mate again, grovel for forgiveness. I want you to be happy. And you can't be happy with him." Eris said, cupping both of your cheeks. "But you can be happy with me. Here, in this cabin. Or in the Forest House. Or anywhere you want. But I certainly don't want you far away in the Night Court, trying to love a male who has done nothing but hurt you time and time again."

You searched Eris's eyes. All of the sudden, the stolen glaces throughout all the years made sense. How Eris was always so cryptic when you asked why he was helping you. You remembered one particular night when you were drunk on faerie wine with him...

You giggled rolling over on the blanket to face him. Eris was staring at you with glazed eyes, a lopsided grin spread on his lips. "What?" You asked, setting your glass on the hardwood floor, causing your wine to splash onto the planks. You let out a giggle and a whispered 'whoops' before looking back at Eris. "What?" You persisted, reaching your hand up to poke his cheek. He had stayed with you for three days now, allowed out of the Mountain for the week while Amarantha planned something 'special'. He had grown a stubble, opting to not shave while here with you since one time you mentioned you liked males with beards.

He caught your finger, intertwining your fingers with his. You felt your breath hitch, the moment more intimate than you two normally were. "I think I'm in love with you." He whispered quietly.

Your eyes widened. Then, in your drunken stupor, you burst out laughing. "You're so drunk." You said, your fit of giggles continuing as you rolled onto your back and held your stomach. Eris didn't say anything after that, only admired as you giggled until a new thought formed in your head and you shot up. "We should garden!"

"You were serious." You whispered to him, searching his eyes for any contempt or ill intentions.

Eris nodded, almost as if he knew where your mind went.

"Eris... You love me?" You asked, new tears brimming your eyes. Not in sadness, but in something much deeper, much rawer. In relief. The male standing before you had taken care of you, protected you, defended you, for 50 years. And he loved you.

"I don't just love you, (Y/N)," He whispered, his thumb coming up to wipe the tears that started to fall. "I am in love with you. And I have been for a very long time." He said.

"All these years.. this whole time?" You asked, your voice wavering.

"Not this whole time, but pretty quickly after your wings were healed..." He trailed off and smiled at you. "Please don't go back to him... please.. stay here with me." He asked, eyes full of yearning.

"Eris..." You whispered, this time taking his cheeks in your hands. "I'm in love with you too... I don't think I realized it until now. But... these feelings that I have for you. It's love. And I can't push them away for a male that doesn't love me like I love you." You whispered.

Eris leaned his forehead against yours, closing his eyes as a few tears fell down his cheeks. As they landed on the top of your thumbs, you leaned up more, brushing your lips against his. "Kiss me, Eris." You whispered.

He didn't hesitate from that, his lips capturing yours in a passionate but slow motion. One hand trailed to your neck and the other trailed to your waist, pulling you close to him.

When you finally pulled back to gasp for breath, his expression showed only adoration. "You're going to reject the bond?" He asked quietly. If you didn't know better, you'd say there was a hint of worry in his tone.

"For you, Eris Vanserra, I would reject a thousand mating bonds. As long as I could be with you."

A/N: Ahhh, the moment you were all hoping for has arrived!! Honestly, do I mark this as Part Four and the other as the alt ending cause this is such a better conclusion imo...

Tagging: @feiwelinchen@circe143@sidthedollface2@crazylokonugget@i-am-infinite@thestartitaness @buttermilktea11 @tele86 @yearninglustfully @bunnyredgirl @romantasyreader28@rcarbo1@ren-ni@scoliobean @adalia-jaycee @lipstickmarks @mbclr @impossibelle @nyenye @alittlelostalittlefound-blog @coconut-dreamz @hauntedpiratenacho @esposadomd @anyzandy @lilah-asteria @paleidiot @tothestarsandwhateverend @dumblani

[python-nebula]

this might be an unpopular opinion, and i might get yelled at in the replies, but honestly? i prefer the live versions for most of the NPMD soundtrack

like they've just got a much rawer sound live, yk? and the studio versions sound more polished. the characters have messy emotions, so it makes sense and even works well for them to have voice cracks and miss some of their notes and stuff like that

I feel like the studio versions for TGWDLM and BF are better than their respective live versions, but thats because for the former, the characters are supposed to sound 'flawless' bc they're literally musical zombies, and for the latter it makes sense that they sound better in the studio versions bc ofc they were sick for the live versions

This isn't me having a go at people who like the studio version at all, I just find them a little jarring (for reasons stated above)

EDIT: I forgot to add, I also prefer the lyrics in the live versions (bc some of the lyrics are different in the studio version) for example I VASTLY prefer ‘who will pray for me’ to ‘will you pray for me’ because personally I think it makes Richie’s situation feel more hopeless because he KNOWS that nobody would

[giddlygoat]

as much as i want to see fiddleford recover and enter his much-deserved era of good mental and physical health, i also want to see the effects of his head trauma follow him forever. it’s important to me that while he heal and find a level of normalcy and peace, he never return to his old self.

kind of a side bar, but it’s relevant so: i also think there’s something to be said about old man mcgucket’s confidence. boldness? idk how to describe it. i wouldn’t say his paranoid tendencies have vanished, but for the most part he’s. breezier. part of it is the brain damage, and maybe part of it is genuine self-evolution in the right direction. but i think the obsessive mind-wiping just… broke that part of his brain. it’s like he’s no longer affected by fear in the same way. and i hope we see strong traces of that damage until the day he dies.

it’s important to me that fiddleford heal and emerge into self-awareness once more. it’s important to me that ford still look at him as very much the same person, despite all of the damage. but he’s also changed severely and irreversibly. i think of old man mcgucket as a much rawer version of fiddleford in that he holds less reservations and has no filter. he’s healing but he’s also broken, and those scars will forever be visible. and that’s important to me because it also changes ford and fiddleford’s dynamic a lot.

ok one last sidebar, then i’m done. when i say it changes their dynamic i mean it in the way that because fiddleford now wears his heart on his sleeve and ford himself is a bit wiser about relationships, there is less self-sabotaging going on between them. romance or friendship wise. and if nothing else, they both feel they’re getting too old for biting their tongues, so i imagine the discussions of certain difficult topics comes a bit easier now.

like, given that they’ve both made many catastrophically terrible decisions over their lives, they have a better perspective on life in general and have had time to reorient their previously fucked priorities. ford lives with a lot of shame for how he treated stan, dealing with the devil, and bringing about the end times. fiddleford lives with a lot of shame for how he treated emma-may and tate, starting a cult that ruined lives [especially his own], and not to mention the multiple death robot incidents. even though they both had good intentions or else thought their actions were justified at the time [mostly], it all collapsed on their heads because these actions were ridiculously stupid.

i think all of this is part of why the rekindling of their friendship happened so easily. fiddleford is eager to forgive ford and embrace him because he’s learned first-hand what grief and paranoia can drive a person to do, and so he feels the best thing he can do is accept his old friend back into his life, no questions asked. maybe ford will forever think he doesn’t deserve it, but he learns to accept mcgucket’s kindness and tries to learn from it. they’re both healing even if it’ll never be Backupsmore again. it’s still them, despite it all.

[theladyismyshepard]

It Ain't Easy Being Green

(How you respond to jealousy)

Shadowheart –

Something awful and uncomfortable gnawed at your gut as you stared up into the endless sea of stars hanging above. Your brow was so creased that you could nearly see your own browline from your peripheral. Your teeth were clenched as you scowled at nothing but your own thoughts. You were being childish, you knew this, and yet you couldn’t bring yourself to correct your mood– not when shared laughter out of your line of sight soured your tongue and churned your stomach. You would not think to ruin the merriment by turning into a fuming jackass or becoming physically ill at how close Shadowheart and Karlach were becoming – and fast.

It was hard to believe that your little group of oddities had only been traveling together for not even a full week. Sharing a common trauma bonded people quicker than usual circumstances, and emotions were rawer, prompting people to either shut off completely or open up. Shadowheart was a closed book, one that came with a lock and key, and while the tadpole in your head had been at the forefront of your mind, you also managed to find enough headspace to reserve entirely for the cleric and what might bring a smile to her face. And if you’ve taken to walking a little closer to Shadowheart during your travels? Well, you try to convince yourself that that was no one’s business but your own, but the arch of Shadowheart’s brow and shrug still had you blushing.

Back at the grove, there had been a gaggle of refugee children swarmed just past the merchant, Arron. They had been equipped with wooden swords and placed before training dummies and told to learn how to fight for their lives. It was a heart-wrenching sight, seeing their trembling frowns and unsure footing, and knowing that there was little chance of their survival out on the road to Baldur’s Gate. You were proving fruitless with Kahga, still needing to follow up on a lead, but you would make damn sure to not leave the tieflings with nothing.

You told Shadowheart, Gale, and Lae’zel to disperse for the time being before turning back to the group of kids and even young adults, clapping your hands once to get their attention. For the next few hours, you showed them common techniques and basic footwork, taking the time to charge a dummy with a cleaving attack and demanding the group mirror it, correcting here and there. By the time the sun was beginning to dip to the treelines, your muscles were achy and sweat had dampened your brow. The tieflings were beaming up at you, weapons raised high above their heads as they screamed their accomplishment to the Heavens. They encircled you and were jumping up and down, they were urging you to follow along, and after a moment of consideration, you shrugged and started whooping and jumping in place, smiling at their resulting laughter and excitement.

Your eye just so happened to catch the eye of Shadowheart and you immediately froze. She was wearing an amused smile and her eyes were bright as you regained your composure enough to give a departing word of encouragement before wandering over to her.

“No need to stop on my account, by all means, do continue,” said Shadowheart, her voice thick with amusement and her eyes shining.

“Relishing too long in a victory can be dangerous, you know,”

“Whatever would you be in danger of, pray tell,”

“Of making an ass of yourself,” You muttered, still fighting back the heat scorching your face, and her laughter did nothing to help, nor the glittering of her eyes.

“I found it… rather cute,” hummed Shadowheart, her eyes looking you up and down before she shrugged and turned on her heel, leaving you a floundering mess.

Then you found Karlach. You were the first one to step between Wyll’s blade and Karlach (even though there was no need to, the poor, misguided man immediately acknowledged he was wrong), knowing that the group needed Karlach just as much as she needed the group. She had a sunny personality, spoke her mind, and had a body that even had your eyes subconsciously glancing up and down. She was funny, every word spoke with humor that pulled a laugh out of even Lae’zel, and best of all, she appreciated wine as much as the next weary traveler.

Which was where you found yourself now, sulking on your bedroll alone in your space by your tent. You had pulled your roll out just enough to see the stars. There was wild giggling  and cackling laughter as Shadowheart and Karlach shared their spoils of pillaging the blighted town. The two agreed to split whatever wine they had managed to find, and you could hear them standing by their word. Shadowheart had refused to share with the rest of the party, and it made your skin crawl that the only one she allowed in was Karlach.

It wasn’t that you hated Karlach, far from it… It just gave you a headache that it wasn’t your shoulders that Shadowheart wanted to be thrown over. You had never heard Shadowheart speak so highly of you as she had about Karlach. You could barely get more than a couple sentences at a time from Shadowheart, and here Karlach was, pulling laugh after laugh from the woman you were crushing on. And there you were, pouting like a child… Such a contrast from this “hero” role that you keep insisting on filling. What was wrong wi-

“Hey soldier,” boomed a voice that startled you from your reverie, and you found Karlach’s wide smile obscuring your view of the stars, “I knew you weren’t asleep yet! Shadowheart was so worried that you were, but I said to myself, I said, “Karlach, Tav looks too tense to be asleep,” and here you are, wide awake! I knew it.”

“Er…” You trailed off as Shadowheart approached your bedroll just as Karlach did, and she was holding something behind her back.

“Tav…” Shadowheart cleared her throat, her cheeks pink and you were convinced it was from the wine she was consuming. “I was wondering-”

“Welp!” announced Karlach, her arms stretching above her head, her spine arching, and her eyes were closed as she relished in the stretch so she missed the mild glare from Shadowheart. “I’m gonna head to bed now,”

Your eyes were darting back and forth from Shadowheart to Karlach, unsure of what was going on, and the earlier bitterness on the back of your tongue had now vanished, leaving a blazing hope that you weren’t as cast aside as you initially feared. Shadowheart sighed, staring off at nothing while shaking her head before her eyes cut back to meet yours. She offered you a smile before she brought her arms out from behind her back and your attention cut to the wine bottle in one hand and two glasses in the other.

“You’ve been working so hard to help people… to keep hope alive even when the rest of us couldn’t be bothered with it… I think you deserve a drink more than anyone else.”

Your heart fluttered so violently that you were afraid it would either combust or break free from the hold of your rib cage. The toe of her shoe was nervously shuffling the dirt at her feet, a foot from your head, and she looked so beautiful cast in shadows. Her mysterious edge drew you in from the get-go and her obvious reluctance to reveal anything about herself did little to deter you. There was still much to be learned about Shadowheart, her desires, her goals, there were still looks that would flicker across her eyes that you had to familiarize, but in that moment, underneath the stars that reflected off the glasses in her hand, you were more than happy to take it one step at a time.

Lae'zel –

Resignation tasted of ash in your mouth as the final battle with the Netherbrain came to a resonating end as the thrall of its influence silenced once and for all. You felt the initial rush of victory, your emotion too much to contain within your body and without thinking, you pulled Lae’zel into a bruising kiss to seal your success. One hand was still clutching her silver sword, refusing to let it fall to the ground, but the other reached up to tangle her fingers in your hair, keeping you close.

You wanted to live in that moment forever, to capture the contentment and relief you felt and never let it go because you knew deep down that life would continue and it would bring with it new trials that would scar. It wasn’t long before the moment passed and you were spiraling in your own head, filled with thoughts of a future you were almost uncertain you would get to have and whether or not Lae’zel planned on fitting herself into it.

From the moment you met the githyanki, her goals were straightforward: she would do anything and everything she could to purify herself of the parasite and get back to her people to fight another battle across the stars. You’ll always remember the feel of her sharp blade pointed threateningly against the column of your throat when she spotted you first upon the nautiloid, and even more so the flicker of her life across your mind once you two learned of the connection that came with the tadpole. She was born a fighter and your stomach churned when thinking of the tribulations that not only she, but her people had to grow up through.

Lae’zel wore her childhood with pride, and would scold you anytime she felt your sorrow or concern for it. If she was given the chance to do it all again she would, so your pity wasn’t wanted. No matter how many times you tried to convince her it wasn’t pity, it was compassion, she wouldn’t hear of it. Lae’zel was as stubborn as she was strong, and the more you traveled with her, you found that rather than animosity growing between the two of you, you grew comfortable with her presence by your side. You were assured victory of any battle commenced because you knew you had Lae’zel in your party.

What surprised you was the sudden pit in your stomach when the secrecy and distrust shrouding Kith’rak Voss was unraveled and Lae’zel was soon hanging onto his every word in planning to free Orpheus, the Prince of the Comet who would help free their people from Vlaakith’s rule. There were stars in her eyes upon so many promises made, and you practically saw the rift forming between you two rather than just felt it. There was a permanent lump in your throat that you refused to let show as you fought your way down the bloody path that led to Orpheus’ freedom.

Lae’zel earned the ultimate victory and the greatest satisfaction, and her people deserved to have the veil lifted from their eyes. You two were from different worlds, you could not fully comprehend the struggles of her life just as she could not fully comprehend the disturbances of yours… but that mattered not you. Not when there were so many similarities to counter that argument with, like the glaring observation that she was a living being with hopes and dreams just as you were. And you couldn’t fault her hopes and dreams leading her across the universe and back to her own life.

That didn’t stop your frown from scrunching your face when Lae’zel broke the celebratory kiss to turn back to Orpheus with a look of complete adoration that you yourself would’ve reserved just for her. Childish, you’re acting like a fucking baby! No amount of pep talks would fight the jealousy back and your fisted knuckles couldn’t strain any whiter even if the bone were to rip out itself. Your chest was burning because you knew that in the end, Lae’zel would always choose the githyanki over you, and you could never bring yourself to ask her to reconsider. Especially since she had fought with all her might to save your world with you… Why couldn’t you do the same for her?

“My people are leaving… And I must go with them,” said Orpheus, his neck craned up towards the sky as he watched swarm after swarm of red dragons soar across the sky, casting shadows beneath, before screeching forth purple portals that they traversed and disappeared through, “Come, Lae’zel. We will free the githyanki and dismantle the empire. Let them be imprisoned no longer!”

“Your duty is to your people, Lae’zel. Go with Orpheus, and lead them to freedom,” You could hear it was your own voice, but your tongue felt numb and lackluster in your mouth, and she was suddenly looking at you with a new fire in her eye.

“It will be done. I will never be free while my people are still bound by Vlaakith’s chains.”

You couldn’t help the rush of offense you felt at being easily cast aside when she turned back to Orpheus and watched on in fascination as his two dragons, Quulos and Quuthos, responded to his call. Orpheus didn’t hesitate to mount Quulos, his hands grabbing the reins before watching Lae’zel expectantly. She approached Quuthos and hesitated as she turned back to look at you, and you knew instantly that that moment had the potential to be the very last if you were foolish enough to let it.

“You called me Mla’ghir…” You called, taking a few steps forward to ensure she could hear you and wouldn’t leave you behind. “Your people aren’t liberated yet… Allow me to follow and continue aiding you… please,”

Orpheus proved impressed by your bold request, but you were more interested with Lae’zel’s reaction. She wasn’t able to conceal her gasp at your words, and she made no move to hide the tears swelling in her eyes. Her mouth was trying in vain to find something to say, but she was always more of a woman of action, and what better way of expressing herself than by grabbing ahold of the front plating of your armor, and bringing you back into a searing kiss that refused to end, even when Orpheus gave a polite cough.

“Let us ride… together into eternity,”

Minthara –

Your teeth clenched tightly as you battled against your agitation. Your eye twitched as you felt your rationality slipping. You repeatedly told yourself that your anger was justified and that you were in no way envious of the brazen display on the other side of camp.

Wyll, whose tent was adjacent to Mizora’s, had a dumbfounded look on his face as your eyes met before he pointed questioningly at himself. You rolled your eyes and shook your head no, in fact, you were staring at his left where Minthara was seated comfortably next to Mizora. There were nothing but devious looks shared between the two as they whispered amongst themselves. The sly smirks did nothing to ease your mood, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d say they were leaning closer together now than when Minthara had first ventured over to the devil’s tent.

The part that made you sick to your stomach was that you could understand just how the two could get closer than the rest of the party. Minthara possessed a thirst for power; Not just over the world, but over you as well. Her wicked laughter never failed to echo behind the misery of the unfortunate souls who had crossed your path, and after a while, you stopped chastising her for it. You wouldn’t admit to her or yourself that it was because her evil chuckle started sending shivers down your spine.

Minthara originally wasn’t too keen on joining your party after you stormed the inner walls of the Goblin Camp, slaughtering Priestess Gut and Dror Ragzlin. You could still feel the cold steel of her blade piercing through your armor before tearing through the flesh of your shoulder even as you gazed upon her now. Minthara proved to be a powerful adversary against your already battle-worn frame, but you could still remember the way she stumbled before her body crashed to the ground. Her chest continued to rise and fall as her lungs forced the air in and out, and you could end it right there… You should…

But you saw something more than desperation shining in her eyes. You saw the fresh tears of fright as she knew deep down that she failed. Deep down she was afraid that if it weren’t to be your blade that cut her down, it would be the one ruling the entire show. Her bottom lip trembled even as she barked orders and cleaved her weapon through the air. Minthara was lashing out like a caged animal, her imposing composure long slipped away, and once Karlach had given the final concussive blow to her head with a warhammer, her wide, frantic eyes finally rolled back.

Even Gale had his magic crackling at his fingertips, ready to give the killing blow if need be, but you placated the party. As you spared her one last look, you couldn’t help but to ponder that she looked a lot smaller and frailer than before. You cursed your heart for constricting at the sight, and ignored the nagging feeling eating away at you with every step you took. She was surrounded by dead comrades, and Astarion looted her weapons and anything of use… Minthara had nothing left and you suspected she had more to fear than just you.

You always felt a rush when you were proven right, and you certainly felt a rush of something when you passed through the Absolute’s Door of Moonrise Towers and stumbled upon the scene of Minthara conscious and swallowed up in oversized clothing that you knew (with a twinge to your heart) she had to scavenge around for. Your eyes cut to Astarion’s body, which was draped in her former armor and you weren’t entirely sure if their relationship would be immediately soured, or soundly built on a foundation of mutual respect. She also wore a look of pure humiliation even as she fought to defend herself, and then Ketheric’s mouth pulled back into a smile so deformed that it could have doubled as a snarl as he gave Z’rell the order to be creative with the Nightwarden’s death.

You knew she had someone higher to answer to… What you weren’t aware of was that it was Ketheric Thorm, in all his cruelness. You felt the varying looks of your party as you made your presence known to the Chosen. You felt the need to speak of her absolute loyalty and how she never swayed, just as you felt the need to descend the stairs to the dungeons below and fight the guards for her freedom. There was a deep appreciation she held for you once the artefact connected her mind with yours and the rest of the party’s, and you felt it just as if it were your own warmth spreading through your chest.

You even found yourself grinning when Minthara then moved to tangle her fingers into the base of Astarion’s ivory locks before tugging his head until his face was mere inches from her own. She had demanded her armor back and the trek back to camp was an interesting one consisting of an also newly-recruited Halsin’s confused glances at Astarion, who was striding confidently in all his half-nudeness. You were soon noticing that when you saved someone’s life, they felt the urge to join your party, and you weren’t complaining when your company looked as great as they did, and even proved useful.

Just because you saved her life didn’t mean her snarky attitude was suddenly displaced and her enjoyment of malicious proclivities was tamed, and for some reason unknown to even you, you found that you wouldn’t have it any other way. She disapproved of your helpful habit of sticking your nose into others’ business and solving their problems for them, but she wouldn’t have you any other way… or so you liked to think.

As your eyes continued to burn holes into Mizora, you didn’t even have enough time to glance away and play cool before Minthara’s eyes cut over to you, her brow arching and her smirk slow-building. You flushed and stared down at your feet, your self-criticism roaring displeasure into your brain. You could practically taste your own bitterness and it wasn’t good at all. You heard of the… nefarious offerings that Mizora had to offer those she deemed worthy of her sexual prowess, and who else would be worthy than the Nightwarden?

“Something the matter, darling?” said Minthara, suddenly standing before you, her smirk very audible, and it only widened into a grin when your neck snapped at attention. “You’ve been watching me for some time now,”

“I was looking at Mizora,” You insisted before grimacing, and her resulting chuckle warmed your face yet again. “I mean-”

“Ah, ah, I’ve caught you, little bird… You were jealous,” Minthara drawled, almost predatorily, and she was soon backing you into your tent, each step slow and methodical. “You looked about ready to claim me.”

“I-”

“Take me then,” commanded Minthara, and when your brain short-circuited, she grabbed your arms and wound them around her shoulders, “If you are bold enough to make me yours, you better be ready for when I make you mine,”

She punctuated the suggestive remark with a nip to the flesh where your neck and shoulder meet, and before your eyes fluttered shut, you caught sight of Mizora grinning wickedly as she watched on.

Gale –

You would never forget the moment Gale opened your mind to the weave and helped you embrace the charged magical aura. It was after saving the Druid camp, and you couldn’t ignore the gleam of approval clear in his eye. The entire camp along with the grove celebrated their victory that night when you approached Gale. Many attempted to stop and talk to you, but at the moment, you only had eyes for the wizard and the way he was smiling softly.

Before that night, you never even thought yourself capable of wielding magic, but he was a great teacher. Gale knew exactly how to set a mood, and you imagined yourself leaning into him and savoring the moment, enjoying the tension of just almost grazing lips before he gently pushed forward and pressed your lips together in a sweet kiss. He pulled back, almost startled himself, and became quite bashful the rest of the evening.

As your affection grew for him, your concern and worry for his condition deepened. You scoured the lands, looting where you could, and accepted all rewards for your assistance in hopes of finding more magical artefacts to help ease the chronic agony that threatened to nearly tear him apart from the inside. With time, it wasn’t enough to satiate the deeply rooted hunger, and Gale realized he wasn’t responding to the magical essence as he once was.

Your sweet Gale, he forced a smile all throughout the pain, even when it tightened the skin around his eyes and mouth with the strain. He had previously shared his fearful insecurity that he was a burden weighed heavily upon you and the group when it came to his addiction to magical artefacts. Even though you tried your best to soothe Gale and reassure him that you seek out the artefacts because you want to help him, that you refused to let him succumb to his chronic pain alone, you could see that he couldn’t bring himself to fully believe in your words. Even the glazed look of satisfaction in his eye after your night of lovemaking wasn’t enough to conceal the insecurity.

Everything came to a halt when the old man Elminster appeared before Gale with a message from Mystra, practically demanding he detonate the malevolent magical orb in his chest in a suicidal act against the Absolute. The goddess suggested it was a means of atonement for what he had done. You argued vehemently on his behalf, and you couldn’t help but to notice that he wasn’t fighting at all. He accepted her word immediately and you couldn’t help but to falter. He wouldn’t look you in the eye at first, but you knew he was processing all of the options before him.

Elminster came with his threatening message, but he also came with a merciful gift. He produced an enchantment on Gale to help ease the task– one that stabilized the orb within his chest, negating the need to consume more magical items. Gale’s shoulders had never looked so light as when he felt the incessant hunger pulling at him finally curbed. He could have dropped to his knees in relief, and you briefly wondered which god he would thank if he did. Would it be Mystra?

The petulant thought burst forth before you could really register it, and you felt selfish for thinking of yourself in a moment that Gale was waiting so long for. For so long, the wizard braced himself with a forced smile for your sake, and now, it was you who was grinning and bearing it for the sake of Gale’s health. You supported him through his mission of searching for The Annals of Karus and all the secrets it contained, and you stood by his side when Elminster appeared yet again with another message from Mystra.

Gale was a storm-wracked boat that was crashing against the rocky face of turmoil upon his former goddess’ request to meet her at her shrine. You were thoughtful enough to assume his inner struggle didn’t consist entirely of previous feelings and devotions to Mystra– His very soul was always a step away from being in question, and his life was a very complex puzzle that you kept at, even when it puzzled you, and you couldn’t act as though you could fully relate.

However, as Gale’s lover, you couldn’t help the small part of you that was fearful that he would slip back into his old mindset. You were afraid that he would happily kill himself just because Mystra asked it of him, leaving you behind to mourn his loss as his soul rested easily with her. With each time he looked to you, your smile grew more and more strained as you bit your tongue. Every time her name left his lips, your smile would twitch into a near-grimace before smoothing away entirely. Everything you did was slowly shifting in the direction of his sake… Everything he did seemed to be in the name of Mystra these days, and it weighed heavily on your chest.

Everything seemed one step away from breaking once the Netherbrain was weakened to the point of desperate bargaining. It spoke of even the most unspeakable of power it could grant using the Crown of Karus, and you could feel the call reaching home in the wizard beside you. Gale’s face was always expressive and you soon caught on to what he was thinking or feeling by a certain look that so much as flickered across his features. He turned to you imploringly, already seeking an answer before the question even formed in his mouth.

“This is our chance… Mystra-”

“Forget Mystra!” Even you were surprised by your outburst, but you’d be damned if you didn’t take the opportunity for what it was, “You don’t need to appease her, not anymore, my love,”

“I’m not-”

“I feel like I’m slowly losing you to her, like you’re wanting to go back to what you used to have once you give her the crown.” You admitted, and Gale instantly took you into his arms, holding you tight enough to leave no room for doubt between the two of you.

“Don’t worry about it, soldier, we got it from here, yeah?” called Karlach, waving her arm above her head dramatically even though she knew neither of your attention was on her.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…” He choked, his shame bleeding through your connection one last time. “I would never trade your love for what once was… She cursed me to die a horrific death and to bring with those around me. She hated me with a passion, and after what felt like an eternity of isolation, I felt as though I could slip away and let go at any moment… But in my time of basking in your love and adoration, I’ve come to realize it feels purer than even Mystra’s.”

You opened your mouth to cut in, to say something, but Gale was quick to beat you to the punch, silencing everything but a gasp with a promising kiss. It was one of apology, to make up for the insecurity he had put you through, but it was also a kiss that banished any doubt from your mind, and with one last quiver through your connection before the Netherbrain fell, you felt a sense of mutual peace and trust between the two of you.

[je-lurk]

I'd love it if you elaborated on how Agatha's hair reflects her state of mind! I'm obsessed with that kind of character analysis and I have a vague idea how I think they're connected but I'd love to hear your thoughts! If you want to of course. : )

Hi! It took me a hot second, but since I hadn’t finished yesterday I thought I could add ep 4. Here are my ideas, hairstyle by hairstyle.

The beginning of the reflection comes from the idea that loose hair in ancient Rome or Greece represented madness (can’t actually find sources on this so take the historical accuracy with a grain of salt) and, in a lesser extent, grief.

In episode 1, we see mostly Detective Agnes. Detective Agnes wears her hair in a low, untidy ponytail. This is the easiest way to gather one’s hair to free up the face. It’s not even done properly. Obviously this echoes how this Agnes is neglecting herself, mostly through self-destructive behaviors. Still, her hair is collected, as is her mind. The situation makes sense for her.

Until it doesn’t, and Agatha frees herself of the past iterations of Agnes. It might be worth to note that all of these have at least stylized hairstyles. This is, to me, Wanda’s influence: the Agneses (as well as every other character in Westview) were not allowed to lose their mind. Detective Agnes, bearing alone the full brunt of Wanda’s power, even less.

Once rid of all her layers, Agatha is naked (rebirth) and her hair is loose (madness).

"Madness" in this case as in disorientation. Agatha’s brain is barely catching up with what’s happened and needs answers. She’s constantly off balance, mostly emotionally.

She spends most of episode 2 with loose braids, done on the fly but still slightly researched. She’s scrambling for control: control of her appearance, control of others, control of her mind.

With Lilia she actively changes her appearance, gathering her braids in a somewhat tight bun, secured with a stick. She attempts to look both different and more pulled together than she really is. This, as we all know, did not work.

Then she ends the episode with a classic updo, with hair piled on her head and framed with two strands, obviously elaborate. The very little time she had she used to prepare herself, both physically and mentally. Every last hair is secured (except for the two strands, we’re aiming for class, mystique and confidence, not stuck-up-bitch-efficiency) and every thought is in place. The plan is made. And the strands can act as a curtain. She’s never really without those hair that can get in her face (except when under Wanda’s control because she doesn’t have the wherewithal to do anything, much less hide and scheme).

Episode 3 sees Agatha with the same updo, although it changes once they enter the first trial.

Her hair is — I struggle to find another word for it — schooled. It is still "loose", but the kind of loose that is held together by cans of hairspray, with studied waves. Girl is holding together with dreams and a prayer. She looks like she is holding together at least. There is still this idea of vulnerability. She’ll be more understanding, more in touch with the others. Less good at deception. More vulnerable, more protective, towards her son (whose loss is, if not still raw, rawer because of Wanda), towards Teen. The front bang, if we can call it like that, is always between the ear and the eye. Again, a curtain. Curtain that she completely pushes back during her hallucination.

It is interesting to me how the hallucination only happens as she is plucking a hair. With all the hairspray it’s staying mid-air. This, with the hair carelessly pushed back, is the more disheveled we’ve seen her in this episode (yet). This is also the most open, emotional and raw we see her in the episode. Even when Teen said he would drink the wine in her stead was she more reserved.

She ends the episode in the updo of the beginning, though 3/4 ruined by the water (lot of stress in the preceding sequence, plan barely holding on). And then Sharon dies. There is something to the ruination of the most elegant and researched updo she did by herself. It recalls again the themes of mental vulnerability, loss of footing, loss of confidence, etc.

There is a little time between the end of episode 3 and the beginning of episode 4. They all dried, and Agatha took her hair down (it’s less ridiculous like this. It’s a conscious choice of appearance, too, she could have easily put her hair up with literally anything). I think it’s because she has really registered Sharon’s death (I’m calling bluff, though. First, because I love her, and second, because she looks too dead for having been dead this short). Even if she doesn’t want to show it, she cares about her and about her death. If she didn’t, she would have no issue assuming the responsibility. It’s not the first time she’s killed. But she shifts the blame elsewhere.

Then there’s Rio, and Agatha is feeling too much at the same time.

Second trial, loose hair, secured with a headband. I love how, as soon as Rio is involved, Agatha always has a loose component to her hairstyle (not counting episode 1 because she was Agnes). In this trial, Agatha is (mostly, we don’t forget Exposition Boy in this house, but hey, that’s what the loose part is for) pulled together: she plots, takes swings, and leadership, and support Alice. They finish the trial so much quicker and with minimal loss.

They get out, where Agatha immediately gets back her loose hair "style" and her emotions. She doesn’t even care to look too attached to Teen. She cries. I believe we’ve only seen her cry once before, in the hallucination. She gets careless, opens herself too much, begins to believe again (in Teen, in Rio) and only gets back a punch in the jaw ("What really happened to your son?") and in the plexus ("That boy isn’t yours". Come on Rio, she knows she’s entertaining delusions, leave her alone).

Tl;dr: It all boils down to hairstyle = control

Loose hair could represent a loss of control over her mental and emotional states, over others, and over her environment.

Styled hair/hair done could show her confidence (and/or the confidence she wants people to think she has), mental acuity, and general capability to think, plan, and plot (whether for her own benefit or that of her coven). In other words, her ability to control the situation.

[bellbery]

— Beneath the surface (Shuro x f!Reader)

Summary: Shuro wrestles with the painful memories of a lost love, Falin, whose death has left a wound he struggles to heal. As the group faces the perils of a dungeon, Shuro’s unresolved feelings clash with the present danger, straining his relationship with his current partner, who fears she will never be enough to fill the void Falin left behind. Just when emotions reach a breaking point, the sudden appearance of Falin’s ghostly figure— part human, part griffin— throws everything into chaos. Her presence feels both like a cruel illusion and a haunting reality, while harpies swoop down, forcing everyone into a desperate battle for survival. Amidst the chaos, past traumas, lingering love, and the fight for life collide, leaving the lovers teetering between heartbreak and danger.

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: Just Angsty :p might hurt you idk😭

🖋️ Author’s Note: Hello! I’m new to writing fictions, but since I kept rewatching the show I couldn’t help but think of an angsty story since Shuro did came back to the Dungeon to find Falin but- I HOPE ITS GOOD THIS IS SOOO LONG I GOT TOO MUCH INTO IT, and I’m thinking of Part 2 maybe if some yall would be interested :)) just comment if you want to e part of the tag list of this i series— enjoy reding!

After Laios confessed the harrowing ordeal his party had endured, Shuro stood frozen, his expression twisted with a mix of rage and disbelief. His Tachi blade hovered dangerously close to Laios’s neck, the tension thick in the air.

“Wow, how shameful. There’s nothing more despicable in this world than black magic,” Kabru remarked, his voice calm yet cutting. He directed a pointed gaze at Shuro, who was visibly trembling with frustration. “Was this person worth going to such lengths to revive?” Kabru’s words struck a nerve, causing Shuro’s grip on the blade to tighten. I stood nearby, feeling a chill creep through my veins. The conversation was like a storm brewing, and the weight in my chest grew unbearable. Kabru continued, his tone sharp, “It’s no wonder Shuro’s this angry about it. The dangers of bringing someone back to life using such a method outweigh the benefits.” His eyes flicked to me briefly, but I could tell his focus was on Shuro, watching him wrestle with emotions he barely contained. “For her sake, it would’ve been better if he had just let her—” “Enough!” Shuro’s voice cut through Kabru’s words like a blade, his tone desperate. He lowered his head, forcing himself to sheathe his Tachi, but I could see his hands shaking. He refused to meet my eyes, as if afraid that I might see the truth buried beneath the anger— something rawer, something that had always been there between us. “I get what you’re trying to say, but please don’t continue,” Shuro muttered, his voice breaking at the end, and my heart clenched in response. It hurt to see him like this, torn between his duty and the lingering shadow of his past. It hurt even more to know that a part of him had never really let go of her, not even after all this time, after all we had shared.

I intervened to break the suffocating tension, my voice trembling slightly as I spoke, “Let’s have a meal first. Senshi and I prepared something to help restore your strength.” I offered a reassuring smile, though it felt strained against the weight of despair looming over us. Shuro’s eyes flicked to me for just a moment, and in that instant, I saw a flicker of something perhaps gratitude, or maybe just the pain of being pulled in two directions. But the moment passed quickly, and he looked away again, returning to his internal struggle. “Food won’t change what happened,” he said quietly, the anger ebbing from his voice, replaced by a deep, aching sorrow that tugged at my heart. “It won’t erase the past,” I replied softly, “but we need to eat to stay strong for what’s ahead.” My voice wavered, and I felt the tears prickling at the corners of my eyes. The thought of him still haunted by her, the one who had claimed his heart long before I had ever entered the picture, twisted like a dagger in my chest. “Do you think I can just forget?” Shuro snapped suddenly, his frustration boiling over again. “Do you think a meal can fix what’s broken?” The accusation hung in the air, heavy with unspoken pain. “No, but we have to keep moving,” I replied, struggling to keep my voice steady. “We can’t let the past consume us. Not when we have each other.”

His gaze finally met mine, and for a fleeting moment, I hoped to see understanding, but all I found was an abyss of confusion and unresolved feelings. The silence stretched between us, a chasm filled with unsaid words and unhealed wounds. It felt like the distance between us had grown insurmountable, and I didn’t know how to bridge that gap. “Please, let’s just eat,” I urged, my voice barely above a whisper. “For Falin. For all of us.” I could feel the tears threatening to spill, the weight of my own insecurities clawing at my heart. Shuro hesitated, and in that hesitation, I saw the battle raging within him. It was a struggle between duty, love, and the suffocating weight of his past— a battle that felt all too familiar. Finally, he nodded, though it felt like a hollow victory. As we gathered for the meal, the atmosphere was thick with unspoken tension. The food was spread before us, a distraction from the heartache that lingered in the air. But even as we began to eat, I could feel the unrelenting truth between us: he would always carry the memory of her, and I would always be the one left to wonder if I could ever truly fill that void.

“Maizuru.” I stood up, trying to shake off the heaviness that had settled over us. “I will camp around a bit with Asebi to check for danger.” “But Young Master won’t agree—” Maizuru’s voice was hesitant, concern etched on her face. “I want to be alone,” I insisted, cutting her off. The words came out sharper than intended, but I needed space to breathe, to process the chaos swirling inside me. I could feel Shuro’s eyes on me, a weight of unspoken questions and unhealed wounds hanging in the air between us.

As I stepped away from the fire, I felt the chill of the dungeon creeping in, but it was nothing compared to the chill in my heart. Each step away from the group felt like a retreat into the darkness that had enveloped our lives since Falin’s death. I had been trying so hard to support Shuro, to be there for him as he wrestled with his feelings, but it was becoming too much. Asebi, my loyal companion, trotted beside me, sensing my distress. “You okay?” she asked, her voice low and gentle. “I’m fine,” I replied, though the tremor in my voice betrayed me. “I just need some time to think.” As we walked, I could still hear the muted sounds of the others eating, the occasional laughter from Senshi, who always tried to lighten the mood. But their joy felt like a distant echo, a world apart from the turmoil in my chest. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was fighting a losing battle against Shuro’s past.

We found a secluded spot, shielded from the flickering firelight, and I sat down heavily on a rock, feeling the cool surface against my skin. Asebi settled beside me, her presence comforting yet bittersweet. I took a deep breath, willing myself to gather my thoughts, to understand what I was feeling. “Why does it hurt so much?” I whispered, more to myself than to her. “Why can’t I just be enough for him?” Asebi nuzzled against my side, and I absentmindedly reached down to stroke her fur. “He’s still in love with her, isn’t he?” I asked, my voice breaking. “And I’m just… here.” There was a heavy silence, and I felt the tears begin to spill, hot and stinging. I wiped my face with my sleeve, anger mixing with the pain. It wasn’t fair. I had fought for this love, fought against the darkness surrounding us, but now it felt like I was fighting against a ghost.

What if I never measured up? What if I was just a replacement in his eyes?

“Y/N?” Shuro’s voice broke through my thoughts, deep and tentative, and my heart raced at the sound of it. I didn’t want to face him right now, didn’t want to unravel in front of him. But it was too late; he was already there, standing a few feet away, his silhouette framed by the dim light of the campfire behind him “Go back,” I said, my voice cold and unyielding, betraying none of the vulnerability that surged within me. “I just need some space.” “I can’t do that,” he replied, his tone steady but laced with something darker worry, perhaps, or an unwillingness to let me slip away. “We need to talk. You’re not alone in this.” “Not alone?” I scoffed, bitterness dripping from my words. “You may not be physically alone, but you are emotionally miles away. How can I compete with someone who’s already etched into your heart? Someone you were never able to let go of?” The silence that followed was deafening, stretching between us like an unbridgeable chasm. I could see the conflict in his eyes, the way he wanted to reach out, to comfort me, but hesitated, trapped by the weight of his past.

A sudden creature zoomed in, almost capturing me, and I instinctively ducked, narrowly avoiding its talons as it swept past. The air crackled with danger, and I felt adrenaline surge through my veins. I glanced up just in time to see the Harpy’s grotesque form swoop around, its wings outstretched and eyes locked onto me with predatory intent.

“Y/N!” Shuro shouted, his voice sharp with urgency as he moved to stand protectively in front of me. “Get back!” My heart raced as I scrambled to my feet, Asebi growling low beside me. The harpy circled back, screeching with a chilling sound that echoed through the darkness. Its claws glinted ominously in the dim light, and I could feel the fear tightening around my chest. “Stay close,” Shuro instructed, his hand instinctively reaching for his Tachi. But in the back of my mind, the unresolved tension between us hung like a storm cloud, waiting to burst. “Shuro, wait!” I called out, desperation creeping into my voice as the harpy dived again. “You can’t let your anger take over. We need to focus! But he was already moving, his blade drawn and poised. The conflict in his eyes was still there, shadowed by the rush of battle. With every flick of his wrist, I saw glimpses of the past the burden of his unresolved feelings, the lingering ghosts of what once was.

Suddenly, I saw another harpy swooping toward me, and in a moment of instinct, I shoved Shuro aside to avoid getting caught in its claws. “Warn the others!” I yelled as I narrowly dodged the second harpy, adrenaline coursing through my veins. “Y/N, no!” Shuro shouted, his voice filled with panic as he rushed to regain his footing, anger flaring once again. But I couldn't afford to think about his feelings right now; I had to survive. The sudden shift in the air as I was flung away sent my heart racing. My body collided roughly with the cold, uneven surface of a rooftop, knocking the breath from my lungs. But it wasn’t the pain that froze me in place it was what I saw next.

Just beyond the shadowed edge of the roof stood Falin.

Her figure was illuminated by the pale light of the moon, her skin glowing with an ethereal radiance. Her expression was just as I remembered—gentle, yet tinged with a sorrowful depth in her eyes. Half of her body had transformed into that of a griffin, red dragon scales glinting under the moonlight, a long tail sweeping behind her. My mind struggled to comprehend it. She was supposed to be gone, just a memory, a shadow that lingered in Shuro’s heart. Yet here she was, standing before me, as real as the frigid night air.

“Falin?” I whispered, my voice barely a breath, steeped in disbelief. My legs trembled beneath me, the ache in my chest growing tighter. This had to be a cruel trick, a mirage spun by the dungeon. But her presence felt real just as Shuro had described her, never fully forgotten, never truly at rest. Beside her, harpies cackled and screeched, their feathers ruffling as their sharp claws gleamed in the moonlight. They took flight, swooping toward the group below. Panic shot through me, snapping me back to the present danger. “Everyone, look out!” I shouted, my voice cutting through the night as I watched the creatures dive toward my friends.

As the harpies descended with terrifying speed and Falin’s haunting gaze locked onto Shuro, I felt the weight of unresolved pasts pressing down on us, signaling that our greatest challenges were yet to unfold. The story was far from over…

🖋️ Author’s Note: I HOPE YOU ENJOYED READING MY FIRST FIC, and please like, reblog and comment for feedbacks or any critique so i could improve better :> THANJ YOU SO MUCH

[exstasyplague]

UnPopular Jujutsu Kaisen Opinions (with arguments)

manga spoilers

☆ Yuji is the perfect MC

i've seen a lot of people trashing on him. some say gege writes him poorly and doesn't give him enough scenes, some say he's boring because he doesn't have any fancy cursed techniques. first of all, yuji has been aware of the jujutsu world for 6 months in manga; even less in anime. he doesn't have any OP cliche to him (looking at you Ichigo) and that makes him so much more enjoyable! when he loses he loses for good reasons and when he wins you can feel genuinely happy for him because you know he deserves it. he is a teenager and the shift in his mentalities embodies that perfectly; along with him we discover the cruelty and unfairness of the jujutsu world. at first, especially if you're a shonen watcher, you'd tend to believe he will shift to a high white knight borderline annoying mentality yet he doesn't, the jjk verse doesn't work like that. yuji is able to adapt. he has traits that you'd see in your real life friends: silliness, kindness, idiocy, love for jennifer lawrence etc but also traits that make him a perfect mc: empathy, resiliance, convinction, raw anger. + gege have him some of the HARDEST panels.

ㅡif it's just pain... Yuji Itadori won't ever stop

also. his last battle with mahito. hands down. best. panels.

mahito (another well structured villain) RUNNING for his life while yuji walks slowly behind him. if that doesn't show major improvement from the kid he was at the beginning idk what does. that's some MC shit right there man.

☆ Sukuna is not a fraud

the fraudkuna memes are funny. i admit. i'm sure mahoraga kisses him goodnight and tucks his blankey, however, sukuna is a fucking piece of shit, LOL (i mean it in the best way), my man literally became curse. people expect him to not use the weapons he has to his advantage as if he didn't want megumi from the beginning specifically for using his abilities. a good gun doesn't make you a military tier shooter. it's about the resources, it's about the experience, it's about the aim. "why doesn't he use his curse technique wah wah" — because he knows gojo is strong. unless he isn't absolutely sure he will strip him away from all his gimmicks, he has no reason to flaunt his true powers. sukuna wants to win. he wanted to kill gojo since the beginning of the series. i think the fight is balanced well, sukuna uses his resources and takes the consequences for being a tad too cautious. in the heian era when cursed energy had a purer, rawer output even domain expansions were simple in principles: you're in, i kill you. (line from the manga, btw) his CT is probably straightforward as well with a simple principle so having gojo use his infinity against it and figure out how to strip him naked would make him lose faster than todo called yuji his bestie.

☆ Gege doesn't hate women

because the unfortunate thing with nobara and yuki getting xd-d by kenjaku, a popular belief seems to be that gege is fond of trashing the women in his series. argument people have for that? "the only one in the spotlight is maki and she's female toji". first of all, if gege hated women he wouldn't write them as he does— each one of his lady characters is incredibly well structured and way beyond the love interest/ gotta be protected trope. mei mei, shoko, utahime, miwa and many others became non-existent, or what? even tengen is a woman. masashi kishimoto (the creator of naruto) is an author i'd say has 0 regards for women since the way most of his girl characters are built is literal dog shit. sakura is naruto's one sided love and a sasuke dickrider, hinata is a stalker that sharts when she sees naruto, karin is a sasuke dickrider, kurenai is asuma's chick and the only two women somewhat ok as a structure are tsunde and temari. (i am a big fan of the naruto series but i am spitting facts, also an avid sakura lover) plus there is a rumour that gege is a woman too and from the way sato sugu is written i'd agree anw

☆ Kenjaku is the best villain of the series

homie got railed by itadori's papi just for his plan, that's not even aizen level of plotting bro. he got drizzled in jizz and gave birth to yuji 💀

how good that d had to be for him to get impregnated....

ANYWAY jokes aside, he is very calculated and chill. he is not the strongest but his literal essence is to be a technique stealing leech and well, he's just that. with suguru, even in his villain arc you can empathize. sukuna is cool and straightforward: he wants to massacre people, kill gojo and then enjoy his life slashing random ass people who don't kneel is total submission.

kenjaku? bro, kenjaku has plans over plans and he executes all of them. even in geto's sexy body he still gets hated because there is genuinely nothing likeable about him. not because he's a poorly written character, he's written to be a piece of shit that makes you wanna break the screen when he gets a W and idk about y'all but even when he exorcised mahito i was like "aw hell nah bruh, get your hands off asap". may come as a shock, i know but we're like supposed to hate villains (not me being the biggest sukuna simp even in his crusty dusty OG form🤭) and well, nobody fucking roots for kenjaku. so gojo, go take your boyfriend's body or something fr.

☆ Yuta is.... mid

hear me out.

i don't hate him— not in the slightest. i hope he will actually have something going on with maki since apparently nobara is afk. i liked his entire rika situation but... bro.

yes, i will be going into the power system 😭I'M SORRY BUT like all he does is copy shit. wow. sure, he's a good copycat. i am not complaining about him being called so powerful and wtv but i don't find anything exciting about his battles and his personality is dead ass boring. do i get happy when he wins? yes. do i hope he'll come and save goatjo? yes. yes. yes. but people call him the real MC and all that shit... not even that— i... nothing in me likes him. my opinions are not absolute. his story is cool. i liked jjk 0 but the only thing that ruins his story is literally his lack of perosnality. and don't come at me for not grasping his depths or whatever. yuta is best fanfic y/n material because he can be turned into bashful stereotype really easily. "omg, best friend power, precious friends made me wanna live ❤️" very sweet HOWEVER very untouching for me. i only liked him when he made maki go all blushy because my girl deserves happiness.

☆ Toji actually cares about Megumi

is he the good father that would spoil his kid as a ray of sunshine?

no.

but he chose this. to forget about everything, to abandon his pride, to part himself away from the clan that rejected him and live his life on his own. megumi's mom made shit better for him and she died so his life became shit again. he thought that by entrusting megumi to the zenin clan he would actually be able to make something of himself since he had cursed energy.

also, people tend to forget just how conservative and judgemental the 3 big clans are, maki and mai have been shat on their whole life by the zenins, especially maki. toji went through the same shit if not worse. he wasn't always buff max version of himself, he wasn't born with anything. exactly because he gave up on all the things in his life he was able to reach that type of power and live with some purpose since he failed in everything else.

in the manga he has the option of coming back to life as long as he keeps killing sorcerers, which is his speciality, but he meets megumi, recognises him and kills himself in order to not hurt him. be fr. anciet sorcerers sold their booty holes to kenjaku to get a second chance at life.

ANYWAY. SADLY i can't post Toji memes since i reached my pic limits.

let me know what you think:) i may make a part 2. feel free to also ask for my opinions about anything in the verse, lol. if you wanna see my fics check my ao3, i promise i don't write in the same braindead way i type. <33

[rocketinthesky]

We’re not meant to be, but my heart refuses to listen

Max already found his soulmate, and is in a committed relationship with her. But why is his heart defying fate and pulling him back into George’s orbit?

- A Soulmate AU (GAX)

-fluff, slight angst, happy ending, canon divergent, rated Teen and up

Part II —> (Part I) (OR read on ao3)

Didn’t quite work out, though.

The information whirs around in Max’s mind like an incessant chant, George’s soft whisper still hot against his skin every time he remembers his words.

They’re on break for the summer, and Max doesn’t really get to see George. It would be easy, in theory, to text him if he’s free to hang out. Maybe for a game of paddle. Or lunch. Or a drink. But it’d be equally weird. They’re friendly, not exactly friends.

When race week comes back around, Max finds himself anticipating seeing George more than the actual race. Part of it has to do with the car devolving into a shitbox mid season. Max feels a little resigned. He has already locked in the championship. He doesn’t have the mental energy to expend towards a car that stopped performing.

His eyes immediately latch onto George when the man appears in his Mercedes polo, approaching the spot where he and a few other drivers are standing and idly chatting.

George meets his gaze, holds it. He grins, wide. All teeth, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. Nose slightly scrunched up in that cute way of his.

Max smiles, clapping him on the shoulder when he’s finally standing next to him. He gets swept up into a conversation with him—random small talk about whatever really comes to mind. His eyes continuously flicker down to his exposed wrist, the husk of a tree inked on his skin, delicate branches reaching out and bare. He absentmindedly scratches his own wrist.

“Planning to grab dinner at this Italian place later with Lando and Alex. Wanna join, mate?”

The invite takes Max a little by surprise, but the answer leaves him faster than he can even process it.

“Yes.”

George’s responding beam feels like the lifeblood running through Max’s veins.

Dinner goes well.

Contrary to expectations, he doesn't end up fourth-wheeling the three friends. Rather, George seems to be striking up conversation with him more than the other two, and Max can't find it in himself to complain.

They don't drink since they still have their third free practice session tomorrow, but Max still feels a slight staticky buzz under his skin at how close George is next to him, their sides touching. Max has to fight the urge to press closer still. He can't possibly be that greedy.

Max and George head back together, George offering to drive and saving Max the uber fee to the hotel. It helps that they're staying at the same hotel.

There's something about talking to George that makes it difficult to...stop. Max keeps wanting to prolong the conversation, wanting to hear George's voice, a lot rawer and deeper, a little slower and language less refined than when he's talking for the cameras. It's always engaging, interesting, sometimes a little ridiculous with the constant banter.

Max can't help but lament reaching their hotel, signaling that they need to part ways for the night.

When Max reaches his room, he flops onto the bed with a groan. He can still feel the heat of George's palm seared onto his shoulder from when he said 'goodnight'. He turns over his wrist, stares at the rose inked on it. It looks wilted to Max, even though he knows that's physically impossible.

Just then his phone buzzes with a phone call. He sighs when he sees the name, feeling a bone-deep exhaustion settling within him. The guilt eats away at him as he picks up, and greets his girlfriend. The guilt isn't enough to force him to pretend to be happy. He'll just hope she thinks it's because of the race preparation.

He perks up a little, not so much with excitement, rather with his nerves setting alight at her hesitant yet unyielding words.

"We need to talk, Maxy. Not now, obviously. When you're...back. I'm sorry for springing this onto you right now. I just...sorry."

The call disconnects, not giving Max the time to either process her words or come up with any response.

Shit. Max thinks. Shit, shit, shit.

He fucked it up, didn't he?

Max, for all his oblivious demeanor, knows that those words, that tone, can only really mean one thing. What pains him—no, scares him—is that he feels a sickening sense of relief over it.

He wants to throw up.

Grabbing his phone, he opens up Instagram and instinctively finds himself opening up his messages with George. They haven’t sent any messages in weeks. Max doesn’t think they’ve ever had a proper conversation over text, even.

Max

what’s ur room no.

?

George

508

Max blinks a few times at his phone screen, unable to process reality. The reality of him impulsively asking George about his room number, the reality of George telling him without demanding any sort of explanation.

He gets out of bed embarrassingly quick, barely remembering to grab his room key-card before walking out, making his way towards George’s room.

George opens the door at the second knock. Max’s breath catches in his throat seeing him; George, shirtless, only donning a pair of boxers. He must’ve been ready for bed.

“Did i interrupt your sleep?” Max croaks out, feeling both apologetic and flustered. He tries very hard to keep his eyes focused on George’s face and not let them wander down. He notices George looking over him too, definitely noticing that Max is still wearing the same shirt and khaki shorts from their dinner prior. George, thankfully, doesn’t mention it.

“Nah, mate, you’re good.” George smiles. He back away from the door, opening it wider. “C’mon in, then.”

Max does, a tad dazed from everything that’s been happening. He hangs his head low even when he walks over to the sofa and plops down. The cushion shifts and he feels the air beside him become warmer as George situates himself right next to him.

“Everything alright, Max?”

“Yes,” Max replies, all too quick, mostly out of instinct.

Obviously George doesn’t buy it, but he doesn’t push it either. He claps Max’s shoulder and gives it a short squeeze. The fleeting touch is alarmingly grounding.

“Anything to drink?”

Max turns his head enough to flash George a wry grin. “Gin and tonic?”

George barks out a laugh. “Not until the race is over, buddy.”

Max grimaces, sighing in defeat. “Just…plain water then.”

As George walks to the mini-fridge, Max’s eyes follow him of their own accord and he’s rudely reminded of George’s…bareness. Jesus, did the boxers have to be so tight? Max swallows around the shameful lump in his throat, quickly ducking his head just as George turned around to head back to him. George's lack of self-awareness is starting to annoy Max just a little as he accepts the offered water bottle with a murmured thanks.

They stay like that, sitting in silence. George quietly scrolls his phone, still next to Max, the heat of his body emanating off him and sheathing Max in a warmth that has the numbness subsiding a little.

Max idly scratches at his soulmate mark on his wrist, ignoring the tenderness of the spot from his repeated abuse.

“Earth to Max,”

Max registers the palm waving right in front of his eyes with a jolt, blinking away the bleariness of his eyes. He raises his head to find George looking at him, a hint of worry leaking through the friendly smile he’s sporting.

“Huh?”

“I said, you’re welcome to crash here for the night. If you want.”

Max’s face is alight at the mere prospect of spending the night in George’s room, and it must show if the teasing glint in George’s eyes is anything to go by.

“Mate, why would i crash on your couch when i have my own bed just downstairs?”

George chuckles and shrugs. “You can take the bed.”

Max arches a questioning eyebrow. “Why would you take the couch when you have a perfectly comfortable bed to sleep in?”

George laughs loudly this time, nudging Max’s side as he does so. “I’m a gracious host, not a doormat. The bed is big enough for two grown men and then some.”

Max’s heart leaps to his throat. George Russell might just be the death of him.

“You’re serious?”

George shrugs noncommittally, as if he didn’t just offer his colleague and rival racer to sleep beside him in the same bed.

“Your call, Max.”

Max’s treacherous heart has already made its decision.

Max only hesitates for a moment, seeing George already settling under the covers on the left side of the bed, contemplating if taking his shirt and uncomfortable shorts would be too bold and strange. But he’s too exhausted to be hung up over it and decides fuck it before divesting himself of his shirt and shorts till he’s only left in his boxers, just like George. George would have no right to complain since he brought it upon himself, and of course he doesn’t look like he’s even thinking of complaining as he watches Max tentatively getting into bed.

The distance between them is a chasm, further widened as they both curl up on their sides and face each other. George’s chin is tucked under the sheets, mouth hidden beneath them, but from the crinkles at the corners of his eyes Max can tell he’s smiling.

Max suddenly feels like a kid again, having a sleepover with a friend. Sharing a bed, fighting the urge to giggle for absolutely no actual reason other than the lack of burden in their company.

George’s company lifts the weight off Max’s shoulders, just a little, and he finds himself fighting a grin, a little incredulous at this whole situation. It’s George who breaks first, shaking with suppressed laughter, before Max ends up giving in and joining.

It’s a strange sight; two grown men giggling like children, sleeping in the same bed, facing each other. The distance between them feels lesser now, though neither have shifted closer.

“Feels like I’m back to our karting years again.” George says.

He’s resting his head on his hand, wrist exposed. Max’s eyes are wired to look, mirth dimming the slightest bit as he sees that same inked tree for the umpteenth time.

“Yeah.” Max says, wistfully. “Feels a little silly.”

“Silly’s good, sometimes.” George says, quieter now.

Max’s eyes turn to look into his. Everything about George is infinitely softer under the yellowish dim glow of the lamp which is still on. Max’s fingers itch with the urge to rake through George’s bangs. They’ve gotten quite long, the curls almost reaching his brows.

“It is.” Max says, clenching his hands into fists under the sheets to stop himself before he can do such a thing.

“G’night, Max.” George says, twisting his body towards the nightstand to turn off the lamp.

“Night.” Max mutters, burying himself deeper into the comfort of the sheets, letting his eyes fall shut with the darkness now sheathing the room.

He has the best sleep he’s had in a long, long time.

Funny story, this will have one more part aha. Welp :pp i rly am just going with the flow. Let’s see where Gax take me! Originally i thought this would be angstier but as always i’m just not very good at that lol this was pretty fluffy. But wtv Gax deserves happiness! They deserve fluff!!!! Ty for reading and i hope you enjoyed hehe <33

[voxofthevoid]

There won't be another Mundane Unclekuna Wednesday because I've...somehow finished the fic: 7 chapters and ~52k, in less than a month. I think this fic did something to me.

I'll be starting the role reversal fem!goyuu next. Prepare for cunts and tits ✨

Anyway, since there's a gaping absence of porn in the excerpts I've posted for this fic so far, here's a little snippet from the threesome scene: riding, rimming, y'know the drill.

An extra warning for dismissive/trivializing talk of rape and for teeth where you probably shouldn't put teeth—each one of these characters is deranged, trust me.

“Stop that. I’m trying to enjoy the moment here.”

“You first,” Sukuna says, saccharine sweet and with too much teeth. “Stop being a desperate whore.”

Gojou smirks. “Green’s not your color.”

“How ’bout red?” Sukuna asks, holding up a fist.

“Later,” Gojou says. “Don’t be so pissy. You had your turn anyway.”

“Had my—” Incredulous eyes pan from Gojou to Yuuji, but whatever he finds on Yuuji’s face makes Sukuna throw his head back and cackle. It’s creepy enough that Yuuji might just have gone soft if his very hot, very big teacher wasn’t parked ass-first on it. The cackling peters out, but Sukuna’s still grinning like a saber-toothed cat when he says, eyes on Yuuji but the words for Gojou, “This brat didn’t tell you how I had my turn, did he?”

“That’s not my idea of dirty talk,” Gojou says drily. He shifts on Yuuji’s cock, making a tight little noise deep in his throat. “But sure, I’ll bite. Did he take advantage of you? Tie you up and rape your tight little ass?”

Sukuna’s grin grows dangerously fixed. “You’re so sure the answer’s no. Your innocent little student wouldn’t dare, would he?”

“Sukuna—”

“Who knows.” Gojou’s smiling down at Yuuji, the eyes above it dark with pleasure but still so sharp. “I’ve found even the sweetest souls to be capable of some choice atrocities. And you—you’re not all sugar, are you, sweetheart?”

“I…”

“I don’t care,” Gojou says, his smile twisting into a leer; his eyes don’t waver from Yuuji. “I might even hold him down for you next time.”

Yuuji’s hips buck, all of their own volition.

Gojou laughs, swaying gracefully with the motion. His insides are a wet vise around Yuuji. “You’d like that, huh? What about you, Sukuna? Think we could make you scream?”

“You,” Sukuna says slowly, all glee gone and something evaluative taking its place, “are clinically insane.”

Gojou shrugs, turning that motion into a little bounce on Yuuji’s cock, a deep groan spilling from him, and the only reason Yuuji doesn’t drown that out in something louder and rawer is that he doesn’t have the air to shout.

“It’s fine if he doesn’t play, Yuuji,” Gojou tells him, with a knife slash of a smile. “You can make me scream anytime, as loud as you want.”

Yuuji snaps without a sound, fucking up into Gojou, and this time, he doesn’t stop, doesn’t want to, and Gojou doesn’t make him, moving with every rough thrust even as his walls clench around Yuuji like they can’t stand him, and he’s loud too, unfettered noises pouring from his lips, wet and wanton and everything in between, and it bites into Yuuji’s gut, tearing out blood and lust, and he spirals into a helpless frenzy, bucking his hips faster and harder, forcing Gojou to break himself open on more and more of his cock, and he’s no less loud, panting around strangled sounds and mangled words—

A shadow falls on his face before a wall of muscle and musk blocks out the sight of Gojou riding him.

“Sukuna…?” Yuuji manages to gasp, his hips still moving to drive his cock deep into Gojou.

“You’re too fucking loud,” Sukuna snaps, kneeling with his thighs on either side of Yuuji’s head. “I’ve got a better use for your filthy mouth.”

Yuuji glares at the bits dangling between Sukuna’s legs. “I’ll bite it again, I swear—”

Sukuna sits on his face.

Yuuji chokes on the rest of his words, getting a lungful of dark musk.

“Again?” Gojou asks, briefly stilling on Yuuji’s cock. “And hey, that’s rude. I want to see Yuuji, not your tattooed ass.”

“Suffer,” Sukuna says with audible satisfaction, grinding his ass down like he’s trying to suffocate Yuuji with it. “Not like you’re missing much. This fucker looks like a squashed potato on a good—shit—”

Yuuji opens his mouth wider, scraping his teeth over Sukuna’s hole and the delicate skin around it. Sukuna reacts with another curse, sharper and shriller than before, and Yuuji digs his teeth in even harder, crushing the little flicker of hesitation the same way he did when it was Sukuna’s cock between his teeth.

“Brat,” Sukuna grits out, the harsh tone doing nothing to hide the telling thinness of his voice, “keep your fucking teeth to yourself before I—”

“Don’t listen to him, Yuuji,” Gojou says, rolling his hips lazily to fuck himself on an inch or two of cock, and it’s a lot, it’s— “Growing boys need to eat, and meat’s always better when you use your teeth.”

“Shut up, you degenerate dog.”

[pop-punklouis]

OKAY so i have lots of thoughts but i think the main takeaway that really sat with me throughout the film and even after is that so much of this documentary was about feeling. when you strip back the content regardless of how one perceived the film, it’s obvious that AOTV was a cathartic release for louis. it’s something he has wanted to put out for a long time. and when you really look into his career arc throughout the band and into solo territory, so much of his thoughts and feelings and words had been minced or sanitized or completely overshadowed by others whether that’s through his image or the media etc. he’s never been able to sit down in a room and just freely speak openly about his inner struggles/outer struggles and it come from his own mouth without worry of someone taking his words out of context or cutting them up for a headline. there’s a sense of vulnerability that fills up a lot of space in the documentary. you hear it in his voice. you see it on his face. you feel it in his body language and how he crafts his words. being able to bring the audience into areas of his life where he felt the most insecure or afraid and lead them through it to where he ultimately feels “deserving” of what he has in a satisfying yet human way is something i believe was difficult for him to do, but he does it with so much grace and strength.

and i think working through this documentary and flipping through these pages in his life regardless of if it was a speed run at times or lingered for a bit longer, is cleansing for him. for the first time in his career this documentary gives him access to be able to take off the tape and just. feel. not only privately but publicly. he’s at a place where he wants to open up his chest to fans and anyone who wants to listen in a way that still protects his privacy and personal life (and still sets a narrative) but tells bits of his inner dialogue about his career and personal reflection in the way he ultimately wants to tell it. and even though we know louis humanity already, there is a deeper and rawer look at his humanity (especially in the first half of the film) that grows throughout the footage. in the absence of words you’re able to perceive how human he is. you’re able to strip away that louis tomlinson™️ vision (for better or for worse) that we all know, love, and have independently created and just see him become more and more human which is something that truly impacted me the more i observed him outside of the interviews. the candid moments. the quick shots. the personal venting. the adrenaline high after performing. the words spoken into the void after certain life circumstances occurred. how he carries himself and has grown into himself the past 10+ years. they’re all small details but it snowballs into so much feeling and catharsis from himself and the viewers watching. he should be so proud of what he is and who he is. he’s always been deserving but i’m so happy he now personally feels like he can say that and feel that out loud. just lovely

[seeminglyranch87]

Taylor & Travis Timeline

April 2024 - Part 2

April 19 - Taylor Swift's 11th Studio album is released; The Tortured Poets Department (x)

2am - The Tortured Poets Department: The Anthology. 15 more songs released!!! A double album!

8pm - Fortnight (feat. Post Malone) music video premiers on YouTube (x)

Taylor reads some of the poem in the epilogue on the album... (x)

Taylor shares video on YouTube shorts (x) and IG with some cute footage of Travis, Benji, Singapore & more

People give a summary of album themes in particular Taylor's fateful situationship with Matty Healy (x)

It becomes evident that Taylor has released the first songs about her relationship with Travis on The Tortured Poets Department (including The Anthology) Are there others?

The Alchemy (x)(x)

So High School

But Daddy I Love Him (final verse)

A source tells Entertainment Tonight (x)

[Travis Kelce] couldn't be more supportive and is pumped for Taylor. He knows how much this means to her and thinks she's extremely talented. Taylor and Travis admire each other's creative processes and work ethic. They cheer each other on, respect each other's opinions, and are open and communicative.

Uproxx reviews TTPD (x)

It’s a chronicle of a specific period of time, one that she needed to explore to be able to move on (having a “squirle”-loving goofball waiting for her at home helped). As she wrote on social media when the album came out, “This writer is of the firm belief that our tears become holy in the form of ink on a page. Once we have spoken our saddest story, we can be free of it.” She’s finally clean. The Tortured Poets Department isn’t the album people thought it would be. It’s rawer. It’s funnier. It’s more poetic and unapologetically dramatic. Most of all, it’s another classic from the preeminent songwriter of her generation.

April 20 - TTPD lyric videos released on Youtube with a sweet reference to Travis and Taylor in So High School (x) - note the letters TK & TS

April 23 - Chiefs quoting Taylor's lyrics from The Alchemy on IG (x)

Travis & Taylor snapped out for dinner at Mateo Ristorante, West Hollywood, California

Deuxmoi celebrity gossip receives blind suggesting Travis attended an appointment with jeweller Lorraine Schwartz.

April 24 - Donna Kelce reveals that Taylor & Travis joined Gigi Hadid and Bradley Cooper for a getaway in Carmel-by-the-Sea, California (x) dates not confirmed but presumed to be over the album release weekend.

A source tells ET (x) that Kelce is among Taylor's biggest champions. 

"Travis is so supportive of the entire album and loves that he is a part of Taylor's story. He is a Swiftie through and through, and is very proud of her."

Republic Records celebrates Taylor's achievements with TTPD (x)

Go to previous update -> April part 1

Go to next update -> April part 3

Return to the timeline

[fierrochase-falafel]

MDZS, CQL and the passage of time

MDZS novel and CQL spoilers ahead!

There's this thing where despite The Untamed / CQL having Wei Wuxian be dead for 16 years instead of 13, everything is meant to feel so much rawer and closer in time than the novel I feel. For a start, naturally having 30 episodes straight of flashback sequencing before depicting an immediate reconcilation between Wangxian really imprints those flashbacks much closer in your mind than Wei Wuxian's actual ressurrection, which happened in episode 1.

Furthermore, there are also these other flashbacks when Wei Wuxian sees something reminiscent of his past, different instrumentals played initially in the flashbacks coming back again to remind you of the themes those instrumentals represent. One of the most distinct examples I remember is in episode 2, when CQL Wei Wuxian sees a vision of Wen Qing introducing Dafan Mountain as the place where her branch of the Wen clan lives in CQL and then remembers the dancing fairy statue. This never happened in the novel- partially because, in CQL, Wei Wuxian was introduced to characters and locations / concepts WAY before he found out about them in the novel (eg.- YiCheng characters, Meng Yao, Dafan Mountain, demonic cultivation in the form of the Yin Iron). By entrenching these places and characters so far back into Wei Wuxian's past- all the way back to his Gusu days, in fact- they feel much more central in the overall plot and connected to the modern storylines involving rediscovering them. Wei Wuxian isn't being thrown into a new world at all, it's the same world with all the loose ends to be tied up. This does force him to remember the past more to deal with the present, and also links the show together in a way that would engage people who have come to watch a put-together story (this sort of strong cohesion I think is less required in novels than in a series because of the way the story needs to flow from 1 episode to the next to be coherent). In the novel, Wei Wuxian's own past storyline has a much slimmer connection to the current events- the obvious kicker being Jin Guangyao in CQL was the main reason Wei Wuxian was villainised and it all comes together in the end, but novel Jin Guangyao just accelerated the process of Wei Wuxian becoming the scapegoat and made this very clear. He didn't know Wei Wuxian would kill Jin Zixuan, he said; even though Jin Guangyao's not the most trustworthy character, how on earth could he have predicted that Wei Wuxian would lose control if he wasn't there to influence him like in CQL?

However, there are even more flashback scenes like the one in episode 35, where Wei Wuxian flashes back to Nie Huiasang being excited about fans and then compliments modern-day Nie Huiasang's fan. Scenes like these cannot be explained by the changed plot because Nie Huiasang and Wei Wuxian being friends at 15 in the Cloud Recesses is canon in all versions of MDZS. Personally, seeing this scene, the strongest effect I can garner from it is nostalgia for simpler times, for people he used to be close with. Memories are flooding CQL Wei Wuxian the minute he's alive again. Contrast this exact scene with MDZS, where Wei Wuxian zones out for a good while after Nie Huiasang leaves- no words of companionship or nostalgia or anything.

Novel Wei Wuxian rarely remembers any of his past life in detail unless he fully means to, actively giving himself reminiscing time, or in a life-or-death situation. The 3 flashback sequences in the novel begin:

when Wei Wuxian decides very specifically to muse over his past with Lan Wangji,

when Wei Wuxian gets stabbed and has to be taken away from Golden Carp Tower,

when everyone turns on him in the Burial Mounds with the same words and having the same intent they did at Nightless City (to harm him, to besiege him).

I think novel Wei Wuxian has spent 13 years in the afterlife getting used to wallowing over his memories, and then consequently repressing and ignoring memories from his past life because they were all associated with pain and bitterness and so much guilt (traumatic, even, but I can't say much from a perspective of trauma because I neither have trauma nor am qualified to know enough about it). Nobody cared for him anymore in his eyes, and he DID lose control, fully feeling himself lose control and accidentally cause the deaths of people he genuinely cared about. The worst-case scenario that he had to contend with actually happening and being, to some degree, his fault. With 13 years to exist as a ghost, I think he had so much time in which he would've had to contend with his choices and death that he fully removed himself from his old life as much as possible, leading to his modern-day gap in memories. You feel the effect of his years dealing with his emotions about this whole mess.

In contrast, CQL Wei Wuxian feels like he is experiencing everything raw when he comes back into the world, like he hasn't been practicing repression to the point of memory loss. Maybe he wasn't conscious during his years as dead? He's introduced with Mo Xuanyu calling to him in his brain during the sacrificial ritual, I think, and is getting told he IS Mo Xuanyu and he is...a tad confused. And then disappointed, but I mean given what Yiling Laozu Wei Wuxian had come to expect after the fiascos that ended his life, he probably wouldn't be too surprised or confused anyways. My theory is that CQL Wei Wuxian likely was unconscious when he was dead whereas MDZS Wei Wuxian was not.

This doesn't seem...important. However it does change who Wei Wuxian is and why he does the things that he does upon reincarnation. Novel Wei Wuxian taking every opportunity to drape himself over Lan Wangji with the purpose of pushing him away makes a lot of sense for a guy who's convinced the worst thing he could do to someone is get too close to/with them; he goes ahead with making a ruckus and trying to make Lan Wangji uncomfortable- without shame (because that's gotta erode away after being dead and reviled for 13 years) and without considering the possibility that Lan Wangji might want to help. Why would he consider that? He doesn't see himself worthy of help or believe anyone would help him, and he's internalised that for years on years.

CQL Wei Wuxian though, he faints on Dafan Mountain due to the weight of his memories- he's confronted with so much of the past so fast and his response is to faint. Barely any ruckus at all. When Lan Wangji finds out who he is, they have a calm conversation about it, where novel Wei Wuxian is like "oh frick he called me Wei Ying" and pretends nothing happened. CQL Wei Wuxian is a lot more open, and I think part of that is because he woke up from his death and was given the support he needed in his previous life within a couple of days. He didn't feel the years go by, have to deal with the consequences of the things he did alone (and in CQL 60% of them weren't even his own actions), so he didn't build himself the same kind of emotional fortress novel Wei Wuxian did.

CQL Wei Wuxian is jaded, true, but not the kind of jaded that comes with floating around in the afterlife for over a decade. It's easier for him to get back into this world and solve a little murder mystery together with Lan Wangji- they fall into step with each other perfectly- while novel Wei Wuxian is still getting his footing. Thus, CQL Wangxian's relationship doesn't evolve the way book Wangxian's do in Wei Wuxian's new life, and Wei Wuxian's reason to be back in this new life is far more about getting back that which he lost (Lan Wangji, a claim to justice) as opposed to gaining something else, something new and all the more important for it (a newfound relationship with Lan Wangji). Novel Wei Wuxian being so out of sync with the new world around him, in both memories and relationships, means that he has so much more room to grow in his present life as he can stop being haunted by the past. I'm not saying this is better than CQL, that's really up to what you like in your media, but this puts Wei Wuxian in a very different position in MDZS than in CQL, and also fundamentally changes their purposes and outlook on their new lives. Whether the focus of his character development takes place in the past or in the present. Whether it's about tying up the loose ends of the past, or chucking out the tapestry of the past to weave a new future.