#showed how much she loved him even when he broke

[entitled-fangirl]

Another Stark.

Cregan Stark x wife!reader

Summary: Cregan's wife had always been able to see things that were unexplainable. for better or for worse. Definitely for worse.

Warnings: this is spoooooky, talking to ghosts, cursing, hypothermia, drowning, etc

A/n: based on an ask!

Masterlist

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"Feeling alright?" Cregan's voice broke the silence.

She was in her own little world like she often was. She was an odd one, often staring at dark corners or even occasionally conversing with nothing. It was like a trance, one she couldn't snap out of alone.

"Love?" He tried again, dragging a hand up her spine and rubbing at the back of her head.

She snapped out of it in a small fright. 

"There you are," he smiled. His fingers massaged lightly. "Off in your dream world, hm?" At her hum of agreement, he got comfortable next to her on the cold floor. "Are you feeling alright?" He repeated. "Are they being kind?"

'They' were the spirits she often spoke to in these dark corners. Cregan had a small doubt the first time she spoke about it, worrying for her mind. But after she had told him something they had told her that she shouldn't have known, he realized just how much she could see.

And occasionally, the spirits were unkind. They didn't have the ability to do anything, rather, hurt her mentally.

So, asking if they were being kind was a fair question.

"Hm, I think so," she answered.

"You think so?" He could listen to her talk forever.

"I think so."

"Tell me more. Please. Tell me about any of it. I want to hear you."

She looked back to the shadows, almost getting lost in a trance. "He wants me to go with him."

"Hm?" He tried to ignore the way panic moved up his spine. "Go where? Who does?"

"He does," she said, gesturing to the corner. "He wants me to go."

"Love, where?" He said, sitting forward with more concern. "They've never asked you to go anywhere before." He peered over to the dark area as if expecting to see something himself. He never does in these situations.

"He doesn't like when you stare."

A breath left Cregan's lips, a physical show of his walls wearing down. This had to be the most frightened he'd been for these situations.

Often times, there were easy ways to ease her mind. Like a few nights ago-

"Cregan," she softly whispered, pushing on his shoulder to wake him. "Cregan."

He woke with a start, jumping slightly at her nervous breath. "What is it?"

"Tell her to go away."

He was used to odd things like that. He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her into his chest and lifting his head, vaguely yelling at something to 'fuck off.'

She slept peacefully after that.

"He doesn't like when I stare?" He drew out each word, wanting to catch her meaning.

"He doesn't like you."

Fuck, he breathed. "Who is it?"

"He looks like you. He said his name is… Bennard."

"My love," he redirects sternly. "Listen to me carefully." He takes her hands in his, speaking when her eyes finally find his. "You must stop talking to him. I want you to ignore him."

"But he looks so much like you-"

"-I know," he cooed, "I know. It's natural for him to look alike. He is my uncle. But Bennard is dangerous."

"The uncle who usurped you?"

"Exactly."

She was entirely correct in her description of Bennard. His father, Rickon, had always commented how alike the two looked. They were northerners through and through.

"He's so angry-"

"-Naturally, love. He tried to take the North from me and I had him imprisoned." He waited a moment before coming up with an idea. "Let us retire, hm? You must be exhausted."

"The sun is still out."

"Not for much longer. C'mere."

The two left his solar, not before Cregan could look back one more time with the most defying glare he could muster. As if his uncle would be able to see the absolute hatred in his eyes for daring to speak to his wife. "You'll forget about him in the morning, my sweet wife. I'm sure of that."

…

But the morning was not so quick to come.

Cregan grumbled, slightly woken from sleep as he blindly reached out to pull his wife closer.

But the bed was empty.

There was still warmth to the furs and linens she'd just been on. She hadn't been gone long.

He sat up with a slightly concerned groan, brushing away his hair and rubbing out the sleep from his eyes.

She was nowhere to be found.

So he stood, throwing on an acceptable tunic to be out in the halls of Winterfell. And when he found the nearest guard, he inquired about her.

"She was seen leaving the castle last I saw, my Lord."

Oh fuck. Cregan's worst nightmares were coming to fruition. "In a trance?" He didn't want to ask but he knew he had to.

The guard nodded.

That means she wasn't properly dressed for the cold weather that laid outside the doors. He'd last seen her in her favorite shift he'd pulled from the bureau.

That was nothing near warm enough for her out there. The sun still had an hour or two until it would rise. He needed to hurry.

He stomped back into his chambers, moving as fast as he could to dress. Boots half laced. Cloak more on one shoulder than the other. Hair askew. He didn't care. He circled back around to grab her cloak.

He barely got his gloves from a servant before he'd ran out to the stables.

…

He rode throughout the Godswood, his head on a swivel as he yelled out for her.

He luckily had a bit of a trail of her bare feet in the snow. It was his last resort to getting her back. 

She only ever snapped from her trances when someone else brought her back. It made him all the more determined.

After a while, he realized where she was being led.

The pond.

…

"Y/N!" He screamed as he dismounted his horse.

She was entirely entranced, standing on the edge of the frozen pond.

He approached carefully, like trying to near a frightened animal. He took slow, slow, steps, the snow crunching under his boots. 

Her feet were completely bare, the skin red. No doubt she has hypothermia. "Love," he breathed, stepping a bit closer. There was only a few feet between them now. Surely, he could grab her if he was quick enough.

But she took a step out onto the lake.

"No, no, no," he cursed, stepping to the last bit of dirt he could before reaching the lake. He stretched out, trying to grab her arm before she got too far, but he was inches off. He took the smallest step onto the ice, which made cracking sounds under his boot. The ice was rather thin at the edge. He looked out to the center, seeing that it was far from being frozen over. 

She was sure to fall through at any minute.

"Wait," he tried again. "Love, wait." It hurt him physically to watch her inch closer to her death. 

He had only a few choices. Risk both their lives by rushing onto the lake and grabbing her. Or wait for her to die on her own.

And he wouldn't let that happen.

Especially when she began to journey further.

He'd had enough, stepping out onto the ice. The sound of cracking ice hardly deterred him from getting a few steps out. 

But the ice caved through. His leg fell in, the ice cold water seeping through his pant leg. He caught himself from fully falling in, sitting in concern that more ice was sure to break after it.

When he decided to try again, he got up onto his knees and slowly stood. The ice cracked again, traveling down the pond towards her. Under her feet.

The slight shift in weight snapped her out of her trance. Like waking from a nightmare, she looked around. Her legs shook with realization. She took a step back to turn around but her legs gave out. She fell onto her knees and the cold began to make her numb. "Cregan?" She cried.

He held out a hand to attempt to reassure her. Though, it needed just as much reassurance himself. "Stay there. Just stay for a moment." His eyes were glued to the winding split in the ice that could continue at any moment. "I need to think."

"I didn't mean to," she began to sob, her body shivering. "I didn't… he told me to. I thought…"

"Calm yourself. Don't go into hysterics," he firmly commanded. His head tilted as he tried to ignore the stinging of the soaked fabric against his leg. "My uncle?"

She sniffed. "I thought it was you. You look so alike."

If Bennard Stark was still alive, Cregan would skin him. "I understand." He groaned. "Here's what I want you to do. You're going to stand. And you're going to walk to me."

"No-"

"-You're going to walk to me," he said even firmer. "Can you do that?"

She choked through another sob and nodded. Everything was numb and standing would be difficult. But she was determined to get to Cregan. She managed to stand on shaky legs, though stepping would be another problem. Her head perked up to the center of the pond like her name had been called.

"No," he broke though. "Ignore it. Only listen to me."

She was already on the edge of being whisked away again, her voice getting dreamy, "But he said-"

"-I don't care what he said."

It was a tone Cregan so rarely used that when in play, it caught the attention of everyone around him.

Which snapped her back to. "Sorry," she slurred.

He shook his head, holding a shaky hand out. "Just come here. I need to get you warm."

She managed a few steps, shaky as hell, but she'd done it. The cracking sound under her kept the panic in Cregan but the slow closure of the space between them began to soothe it. 

"Almost," he smiled forcibly to keep her calm. "Almost there. Good."

But one step caused a shift in the frozen lake.

Cregan panicked, determined to get her to him before they were bound to plunge into the icy water. He stepped forward with a clunky boot, which finally broke it though. 

She fell in.

He was frozen for a moment, utterly lost as he watched the ripples in the water fade.

She was gone.

Oh fuck. She was gone.

He dropped down by the place she fell. His arm reached in blindly, trying desperately to grab her. Any part. To feel her beneath his palm. "What have I done?" He whispered to himself. "What h- What have I done?"

Preparing to fully go in himself, his hand finally grasped her. He pulled immediately.

She came to the surface, her body in completely shock.

He pulled her out, holding her to his chest desperately and pushing away from the broken ice with his feet until he deemed it safe enough.

He held her in his lap, panting hot breaths against her neck in relief that he'd found her. The water began to slowly seep through his own clothing but he didn't care. He was desperate to warm her, even if that meant sacrificing some of his own warmth.

Her lips were an odd shade of grey, her skin faded from its usual lively tones. It sickened him.

He rocked her slightly, muttering under his breath small praises that she was still with him. That she was still breathing.

…

"I thank you for your work," Cregan smiled at the septon.

He hated The Seven. Didn't believe a word of the teachings. The Old Gods were the only gods as far as he knew.

But maybe their priests had an ability that he didn't. Like cleansing castles. They surely seemed to think so.

He wouldn't truly know until his wife woke.

But the septon had promised to expel all demons, ghosts, and anything alike from the grounds of Winterfell.

Who was he to deny an offer like that?

Anything to get his uncle as far away as possible.

"Of course," the septon nodded. "It's an honor to be trusted by a Stark. The Seven smile on you."

They fucking better, he thought. "How kind."

"Even now, Cregan Stark, they've chosen to bless you."

He was getting pretty done with other worldly things for a while. "That's nice. Someone, please walk him to his room."

"I mean it," he continued, even as a servant politely steered him away to the guest quarters. "All seven regard you highly."

He walked away, physically shaking his head to push the nonsense from his mind. That septon was so adamant about it. It planted a seed of doubt in the northerners mind. Bless him? What does that m-

"Milord. Lady Stark is awake."

Cregan's jaw went a little slack. Blessed, indeed. "T-Thank you. I'll go there now."

…

"Feel alright?" He asked even now, days later. It felt like a mantra at this point. 

"I told you, 'm fine," she sighed, curled up in the furs with a bowl of soup in her lap.

"I know you have. Can't help but worry. You can't blame me, can you, pretty girl? Hm?" His hand smoothed over the curls in her hair from the pillow. He could stare at her all day like this. Comfortable, clean, content, alive.

"He just looked so much like you," she remarked, still not over the scare from days before. "Like you, but older."

His hand moved down to cup her cheek, rubbing the skin affectionately. "I'd rather you wait for me to age then try to join that one so soon."

It was his soft attempt at lightening the tension. And it worked.

Her lips quirked up. "Maybe."

"Maybe? What if I said I kicked him out? Banished him forever?"

She was growing more amused now. "I'd say you're a liar."

He leaned in, laying the softest of kisses to her lips. "Then I tell such truthful lies, my love. For I've banished all that ails you. Perhaps I'll banish the snow next."

She never did see Bennard Stark again in Winterfell. Or anything else for the matter. The dark shadows were just that. Dark shadows. Nothing more.

And if she willed it, Cregan would scare the darkness off next.

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[skzdelf]

Now That We Dont Talk | Hwang Hyunjin

⭑ PAIRING: Hwang Hyujin x fem!reader

⭑ CONTENT: angst; ex-boyfriend!hyunjin uni au (based in taylor swift lyrics from the song “now that we don’t talk”)

⭑ SYNOPSIS: After a sudden breakup, university life goes on, but Hyunjin and you start to realize that distancing yourselves doesn’t always mean letting go of your feelings.

⭑ WORDCOUNT: 1,1k (1145)

I had to let him go, to move on with my life even if it hurt, even if it was hard to let go after everything we’d been through together.

After all, we don’t talk anymore.

But going on as if nothing had happened was difficult, especially with our friend groups being so interconnected. Anywhere I went, I ran the risk of seeing him, and it would be impossible not to remember everything.

The night before, there had been a party at the frat house—a party I chose not to attend. To my friends, I didn’t go because I had a headache, but the truth was I was scared of running into him, of facing him and not knowing how to react.

I heard from everybody the next day that Hyunjin had gone to the party. People parted as he walked by, as if he were splitting the Red Sea.

Had he been anxious to see if I’d show up?

Did he wonder why I wasn’t there?

Did he worry about me on his way home?

I guess those are questions I’ll never know the answers to—because we don’t talk anymore.

They said your hair was longer, shinier, and wavier than ever. You presented a whole new, radiant image of yourself. From the outside, it seemed like you were moving on, as if nothing had happened.

I was so glad I didn’t see you.

I miss everything about you. I miss our old routines, I miss the old you, our sweet nicknames, and our late-night outings. You didn’t have to change.

But I have no way of telling you any of that—nothing would come out of my mouth. I’d just stand there, speechless, like a statue about to crumble. But it doesn’t matter, because we don’t talk anymore.

The day we broke up, I called my mom. She said it was for the best. My tears wouldn’t stop falling; I didn’t want to let you go.

But I kept giving you more of myself, and it felt like you wanted me less. I don’t know if my feelings started to overwhelm you, but I no longer felt reciprocated, loved.

Everything reminds me of you—every song, every hallway in the university where we walked hand in hand. Every corner seemed to hold a piece of the story we once were.

I was walking, staring at the floor of the deserted university hallways, lost in thoughts of what we could have been, when I bumped into someone heading the opposite way.

To keep me from falling, the other person grabbed my arm, pulling me close to their warm, comforting chest.

“S-sorry, I wasn’t looking…” The words hung in the air as I looked up to see my “savior.”

It was true, everything they said about you—you looked so handsome. Your hair now brushed your shoulders, your features were serious, but you were glowing like never before. In front of me stood a Hyunjin I hadn’t seen look this dazzling since our first months together.

“Don’t worry, Y/N. Are you alright?” he responded, his dark eyes locked onto mine. How could he hold my gaze after everything?

If I kept looking at him, if he kept touching me, I might melt right there in the hallway, so I pulled away from his grip, fixing my gaze on the lockers to my right.

“Yeah, thanks,” I replied shortly, dryly—a response I’d never imagined giving him, not when we were friends, let alone when we were together.

But no matter how much he wanted it, I couldn’t be his friend, and now I was paying the price for what I’d lost, despite holding onto it with all I had.

The many wounds on my heart wouldn’t let me be his friend.

“Please, look at me,” he said in a choked tone, releasing a sigh, almost like a lament, as if he regretted everything that had happened to bring us to this moment.

Would you tell your friends you were begging me just to look at you?

I looked him over from head to toe. On his finger, he still wore the rose-shaped ring I’d once given him.

Looking at his face again, his new look, new piercings in his ears—still as attractive as ever, but farther away than ever.

I couldn’t pretend this was platonic anymore because we were simply over—there was nothing left.

“I don’t like us being like this. I really wish we could be friends,” he said, giving me a closed-lip smile that I couldn’t return.

I couldn’t be his friend because friends aren’t supposed to have feelings for each other. Friends wouldn’t want to be near you all the time, to tell you how happy their heart feels just when you smile at them, touch them.

Tears of sadness welled in my eyes, and I blinked rapidly to try to make them disappear as quickly as possible. I didn’t want him to see me like this after only two weeks of being apart.

“I-I have to go, Hyunjin. I’m s-sorry.” I fled from that hallway, with his voice echoing my name in every corner, asking me to stop.

I had to remind myself of the way you drifted away until I left, until my heart couldn’t take your cold attitude anymore, until there was nothing left to break.

And it infuriated me to still love you after you tore me apart until I was ashes you then wanted to mold into a friendship.

I can’t be your friend, I won’t be your friend. I’m paying the price of losing you, of losing my heart, and how hard it is to stay standing now that you’re not by my side, now that we don’t talk.

It’s true that I no longer need to pretend to like the things you used to enjoy. But I have to admit, acid rock is a part of me now because of you.

I know I’ll become the strong girl you once knew again—a girl with a heart full of love to give, a girl who never expected such indifference from someone who once promised to give her the moon.

I guess maybe I’m better off now that we don’t talk.

The only path to regain my dignity became a mystery, wrapped up like you were when you pursued me.

When you chased me out of love, and when you chased me today in the deserted hallway, begging for friendship because you still wanted me in your life somehow.

It’s a mystery to me what Hyunjin felt or wanted from me after I left, because I could no longer read him like before. But I guess things have to be this way, now that we don’t talk.

Nowadays that I ignore your presence around me, now that I’ve blocked your number, now that at least I can look you in the eyes.

A/N: dividers are not mine!!

[dross-the-fish]

Love Never Dies- Thoughts and Reactions

This might end up being split into multiple parts but I am not finished talking about Love Never Dies. I did give it a rewatch to refresh myself and...oof. This play needs to be taken out back and shot because that is what it did to every single character in it. NO ONE looks good. Not even Christine. Let's start there. Let's talk about what this show does with Christine because we have completely reduced this character to nothing but her voice. What does Erik miss about Christine after ten years of pining? Her voice. He just wants her to sing for him one more time. The only thing he ever really mentions about Christine is her voice. Though I can't really fault him because if we're being serious about Christine's character...

What does she have outside of her voice? Nothing. Somehow LND Christine has even less personality than she did in the OG musical. She is a cardboard angel that other people pine over, try to control, or envy. She has almost no agency. I said before, I suspect that Andrew Lloyd Webber hates women and Christine does not come out of that unscathed. She spends pretty much all of the musical being bullied by Raoul, mothering Gustave, or being threatened by Erik when he and she aren't reminiscing about that one time they banged 10 years ago. Seriously what even the fuck was "Beneath a Moonless Sky?" For a song about how two characters couldn't resist each other neither of them seem particularly filled with desire. Christine is recoiling in horror and disbelief and Erik looks like a 15 year old who thinks sniffing his crush's hair is peak sensuality.

Mmmm....sexy. But whatever. Christine says at the end of the song she woke up to swear her love and was ready to dump Raoul but Erik had skedaddled so she ran back to Raoul. You read that right. Christine was going to pick Erik after they banged it out and he left and that is the only reason Christine is with Raoul. Seriously Andy? You're going to make her regret picking Raoul over Erik when she didn't even actually DO that? Erik made the choice for her?

*internal screaming* Erik, seriously, how are you going to be upset that she's moved on with Raoul if YOU left HER? Do you really think you have the right to coerce her to sing for you one more time when you were the one who broke it off? The hell is wrong with you? Of course when Christine resists he immediately goes to threatening her child.

When I say Erik is the WORST I mean it. He is reprehensible in this.

But this is about Christine. We'll get to Erik later. LND Erik deserves his own post.

There's honestly not much more to write about Christine. She spends a lot of time cowering from or trying to appease Raoul. She worries about her son and her death is honestly so unwarranted. When I say ALW's work has an undercurrent of meanspiritedness I mean shit like this. Christine hasn't really done anything wrong. I guess she cheated on Raoul 10 years ago? But well she was going to leave him and only stayed because her first option bailed on her? She didn't do anything to Meg. She's been living 10 years in an abusive marriage and her crazy ex who kidnapped her came back to threaten her kid and coerce her to sing his music one more time. Then she just...gets shot. She dies. It adds nothing to the story that she dies. It doesn't feel earned or justified in anyway. It just feels miserable for misery's sake. It's almost unceremonious the way they ax her off because it's not even intentional. Meg misfires the gun because Erik fucks up in trying to talk her down. Christine's death isn't even about Christine herself. It's about Meg and Erik. It's such a useless and stupid death to give this character. How old even is she? Supposedly she's around 18-20 in the original musical (we're ignoring the 2004 movie that puts her at 16) and this is 10 years later? She's barely 30 but she ends up a casualty to everyone else's vanity, jealousy, and selfishness. I feel like we're supposed to find it tragic but it doesn't hit. It's a meaningless and undignified end to a character that was given no agency over her own life or her death.

[kawoala]

Hi Meeya !!! Congrats on 900 followers <3

I’d love to get the hq mattsun burger !!! with a party side and a best friends to lovers drink <3

Thank you !!! For delivery infos i am available via phone :)

SLEEPOVER; matsukawa issei. burger—haikyuu. drink—best friends to lovers.

contents mattsun smokes. drugs & alcohol. college au. yukie shirofuku, oikawa tooru, hanamaki takahiro mentioned . reader is not fw heavy with the party.

authors notes this is more like. friend of a friends to lovers, so uhh sorry! i cant stick to prompts for the life of me apparently. also the ending kind of sucks, but i was trying to get this out today so……

if you’re going to be honest, this sucks. your head is pounding, your whole body is covered in a sheen of sweat, and there are far too many people around you. now, you love your friends, but that doesn’t mean you have to enjoy the things you do for them.

case in point: coming up with and hosting yukie’s 21st birthday bash. in theory, a nice gesture. in practice, a fucking nightmare.

you’ve heard probably three different crashes of glass—things that you’ll have to replace, of course, you know for a fact that your bathroom door is broken—because you watched three boys carry it out the front door as they held it above their heads, and there’s a pair of sneakers hanging off the ceiling fan. 

you want everyone gone. but. yukie is having fun. she’s smiling and laughing and drunk off her ass and she’s enjoying herself. she’s surrounded by all of her favorite people and you can’t want everyone gone because yukie is having fun.

you’re zoning off at the table covered in beer bottles and small, empty bags when you distantly hear someone call your name. you look up, glancing around until someone catches your eye. it’s yukie, smiling widely at you.

“can you,” hiccup, “go get more drinks? they’re,” giggle, “uh, down in the basement. thanks, y/n-ie.”

you want to roll your eyes, but instead you smile and nod. you stand up quickly and maneuver your way through the crowd of people. the basement door is supposed to be locked, but of course it’s cracked open when you get to it. ynis time, you do roll your eyes as you make your way down the stairs, shutting the door behind you.

almost immediately, a shiver runs down your spine. it’s colder down here than it is upstairs—but that could be from the lack of body heat coming off of everyone.

you get to the bottom of the stairs, where the fridge sits, but just before you reach for the handle, you stop. the back of a messy head of hair sitting on your couch, facing the TV. he brings a hand to his mouth and a cloud of smoke follows. you blink a couple times, in complete disbelief.

how are you supposed to react to this? he broke into your basement to sit down here by himself and smoke? you look around and notice that everything looks good, like nothing has been touched except for the couch. he didn’t steal anything? or, he hasn’t yet.

“dude,” your voice cracks embarrassingly as you try to speak. you clear your throat, hand flying to rub at the skin there. “i locked the door for a reason. also, how many times have i told you not to smoke down here?”

his hand, preparing to bring the cigarette to his mouth once again, freezes halfway to its intended destination.

he turns around, hooded eyes locking with yours, and lets out a laugh. “y/n, there are much worse things going on in this house right now.”

you glance back up the stairs, a furrow forming in your brows. he’s right; you know it and he knows it, but you press your lips together and stick your chin up. “this is a basement, loser no windows? the smoke is going to stick to—” you cut yourself off with a shake of your head, taking a step towards him. “wait, how did you even get down here? the door was locked.”

he grins at that. before he speaks, he makes a show out of putting the cigarette out on his wallet, careful not to get ashes anywhere. “sorry for smoking. i picked the lock.”

he takes a few steps, making his way around the couch so that now you two have nothing in between you two, and you narrow your eyes suspiciously.

“you picked the lock?” you ask as you cross your arms over your chest. when he nods, you narrow your eyes further. after a few seconds of staring at each other, you click your tongue. “i don’t believe you.”

he blinks. once. twice. three times. “the door wasn’t busted, was it?” you shake your head and he shrugs. “because i picked the lock. it’s not broken; just very easy to pick.”

you think about it for a minute, but eventually roll your eyes and sigh. “okay, yeah, whatever. you’re cool and you know how to pick a lock.” you walk towards the couch, brushing his shoulder, then flop down on one of the couches. “that party is fucking killing me.”

he snickers and spins on his heel, sitting down beside you. “tell me about it,” he mumbles. “oikawa and maki ditched me for beer pong and the only other people i know were yukie and, well, you. but you guys were busy taking shots, or something.” he shrugs.

you out your head in your hands, slightly rubbing at your temples. this headache is getting worse. “i’m gonna need, like, four pints of nyquil to help me sleep tonight.” you pause, then groan. “oh my god, she’s gonna be so hungover tomorrow.”

again, he snickers.

“so not funny.”

“it’s a little funny.” he knocks his shoulder against yours. “headache?”

“mhm.”

“i have advil in my car, if you want some.”

you shake your head, sighing. “i have some upstairs, it’s fine.” you look over at him and give him a half-smile. “i’m not really sure i’m gonna go back up there though.”

“me either.” he smiles. “maybe we should have a sleepover down here. beer in the fridge, right?” when you nod, he stands and makes it to the fridge in fewer strides than you would have expected. he grabs two beers and looks at you, wriggling his brows. “we can even play some girly game like truth or dare.”

you laugh quietly, but take the beer he offers. “you’re dumb.”

“yeah,” he sighs out, sitting down once again. “sometimes.”

“truth or dare?” you ask, cracking open the can and giving him a coy smile.

he pretends to think for a second, humming, then says, “truth.”

you hum too, actually thinking. “who do you like more: oikawa or maki?”

“definitely maki. truth or dare?”

“dare.”

“i dare you to have a sleepover with me tonight in your basement.”

the laughs that leaves your mouth is involuntary. you cover your mouth with a hand, shaking your head. “matsukawa issei, if you wanted me to hangout with you, all you had to do was ask.”

he laughs, watching you closely. “wanna hangout?” his smile is a cross between hope and cockiness.

and of course, you nod. who can really resist mattsun when he smiles at them like that?

[milliesfishes]

౨ৎ꣑ৎI Wish You Were My Last Words౨ৎ꣑ৎ

[fem reader] contains: angst pairing: fem reader x billy the kid summary: snapshots of you and billy author’s note: angst hours <3 thank you so much for 800!! and thank you to my darling @phantomamour for proofing <3 Pinterest Board Spotify Playlist

Your hair was spread out like the creeping branches of a tree over the pillow, covering the curve of your neck in fingers. On your shoulder, Billy could count each embedded line in your skin, constellations he named in his head without any real words. With one palm flat on the clean white of the sheet, your other hand was curled into itself, tucked into the center of your chest as if it were holding a secret.

He knew he could touch you, but it didn't feel possible. Somewhere deep inside himself, Billy knew he wasn't supposed to. It wasn't that you wouldn't want him to, just that he wasn't worthy. Often, he felt that way about being in this house, the mere ornate air of it enough to feed his family for months. You were the only thing in it he knew, and even then, it wasn't enough. Mysteries folded beneath your waves, peeked out briefly in each line on your back, every flicker on your face.

"I can feel you looking at me," you mumbled, shifting to lie on your back. The corners of Billy's lips turned up, and he let his arm stretch out under you.

"C'mere," he muttered, watching your eyes catch on surprise for half a moment before you complied, settling your head on his chest and closing your eyes when his palm found the side of your head, thumb following the line of your hair slowly. It didn't matter how many times you met like this. Every time he wanted to touch you, you reacted this way. Feeling hazy in a sacred sort of way, Billy's words flowed from his mouth like water from a creek. "When does everyone come back?"

"Hours," was your simple response. He pressed his mouth to your head.

He collected these moments like his little brother collected stones every time they went to the river. Joe would lay them out in the sunshine on the grass, each pebble of water clinging to the surface as it was collected into thin air. Billy did the same every night with the memories containing you, watching them dry until he plunged them back into the water of his subconscious.

This one would shine through. Even as he tried to stay here with you in mind, body, and spirit he couldn't help but think it. Your cheek was smooth on his bare chest, the covers sloping down over your back until they submerged the bottom half of you. He felt as though he could sculpt you from memory. The sun caught on your hair as it crept through cracks in your curtains, showing him little bits of gold on you that he could see without.

"Ma thinks I've got a girl," he mused, casting his gaze down when you shifted your head on him. Your eyes were still closed, and he made a game of counting each eyelash.

"Do you?" He tapped his thumb on your temple playfully, hooking his arm under yours and pulling you up so he could bury his nose in your hair. You smiled into his neck. "I'm sure she's lovely."

"You know you're as good as my girl." Billy was muffled, his lips still on your head. He pulled back, smoothing where he'd kissed with a careful hand.

"But I'm not." You said it so matter-of-factly that it caused a strike of guilt in his chest, tallied alongside the others. Knowing well that you didn't mean to make him feel that way, he wasn't sure why it always hit him. The terms of this had always been the same, and you didn't seem to have an issue with it. He was the problem.

There was a pause, a pocket of utter silence that could have defined reality, changed his mind about everything. You were draped over him and he could feel your heartbeat, and for a second, he let himself know that his own was for you, your life and your soul. Then you broke it, wrapping your fingers around one of his own and holding it. "Would I ever be?"

Billy let the question linger, testing it out in his head. Down the road, if he'd made something of himself, if his income was consistent. If he could walk into a place like where you lived and feel welcome, not like an intruder. "Maybe." He couldn't bear to tell you no.

"Your maybe is better than anyone else's always," you murmured dreamily. Billy was drunk off your scent, your voice, your being. He kissed your forehead, relishing in your giggle. "Scratchy."

"I know, I know," he smiled, leaning his cheek on the top of your head, already trying to work time to shave into his plans for the next day.

"When do you think you'll get tired of me?" Another matter-of-fact question. You gathered answers to such queries the same way one might wildflowers. He watched you let go of his thumb.

Billy put his hand on top of yours, burying the pads of each finger between your crevices so he was holding it fully. He inhaled you once more, letting it guide each word from his mouth. "When I'm dead. But not even then. I'll miss you too much."

His arm was firm under your hand, which was hanging limply over the crook of his elbow. At this point in time, you had given up trying to look interested, or even content. Whenever he smiled at you, it was a task to suppress the urge to grimace.

Maybe it was his eyes. To you, they were void of all emotion, any of the ones you knew anyways. His lips moved without purpose, and he dressed like he was hiding something. You had learned his name, let it bounce around in your head trying to find a place to fit, and ultimately disposed of it. This man was identified by sounds, feelings, questions. He didn't have any of the charm necessary to obtain a woman by himself, only proven further by the sole reason you were being seen with him.

It was a good deal, you supposed. Your father got rid of you and got a connection to what was considered a good family. The man next to you never needed to learn how to court. And every woman in the world was now safe from being his. It worked for everybody except you, but that was something you'd given up on.

The acceptance was dreary. It felt like a winter night, when the sun isn't out long enough to make anyone happy, and when people try to fill the void of time with false cheer that doesn't do a thing to make up for it. Disappointment. That was a good word.

The man was talking again, and you turned your head to the side, looking for a distraction. Horses at the hitching post were still save for their flicking tails, and there was a group of men slouching in formation outside the bar, a cloud of cigar smoke and low voices. Your eyes caught on one- he was already looking at you. The sky was darkening, but if it wasn't you would see his eyes there.

Billy hadn't changed since you'd stopped seeing him, but absence made you feel as though he had. But you knew if you went back to him in the same way, every part of him would be familiar, every line consistent under your hands.

"You shouldn't be seeing us both," he'd said, folding his arms and leaning against your porch railing. You could still see his eyes under the shade of his hat. "I won't come by anymore."

You'd been silent, not understanding the feeling that had you stricken. He had seemed to be waiting for you to say something, but all the beginnings of your feelings had boiled down to quiet. "If that's what you want."

He'd still watched you, refusing to tear his eyes from your face. Something in you flicked your heart, telling you to hold on tight to him, to tell him you didn't want him to leave. You could tell him right now about your father's arrangement, about how you didn't want this in any way. His arms could be open to you. You could knock off his hat and kiss him.

Every 'could have' accompanied your thoughts as you looked at him now. And he clearly wasn't going to look away. As the man led you through the doorway of the bar, you forced yourself to look forward. Billy wasn't yours. You weren't sure if anything was.

Hours later, you were still in the dimly lit room, numbed by every word the man chose to speak. His hand was weighty at your side, but not in any comforting way. You pushed it off and he took no notice.

Wandering, you observed the others in this space, your head almost spinning. There were too many sounds, too many faces. You were about to crumble into a ball like a dropped handkerchief, uncaring if anyone stepped on you or retrieved you from there.

That was the truth of it. You were alone here like a dying star, too exhausted to care if anyone could see the light burning out.

"Hey." Hands under your arms, pulling you up as you began to fall. You hid your face in a shoulder, closing your eyes and wishing to go far, far away from here. "He's gone. Come sit with me for a minute."

"He's gone," you repeated, hating the relief you felt.

"Saw him walk out with someone else's girl," Billy was saying, walking you over to a table and pulling out two chairs, one at a time so he could still hold onto you. It was unclear when you'd figured out it was him, but you were too hazy to care. When he sat down, you ignored the other chair and fell into his lap, drawing in a deep breath.

Billy let you slump against him for a moment before his big hands found your waist, lifting you to sit where he'd originally intended. You tilted your head against the back of the chair, looking at him through heavy eyes. "Another girl."

"I'm sorry." He sounded sincere.

You straightened, shaking your head. "I don't care what he does. I don't care."

He made no comment. Your eyes found his hand on the table, resting beside an opened bottle. Reaching over, you swiped it, taking a drink and setting it back down with a thunk, all with the weight of his stare on your shoulders. The alcohol sent a spark through you, and you crossed your ankles, meeting his eyes again. "You're here alone." It wasn't a question.

Billy lifted his chin, staring at you. "Maybe."

You swallowed. "You haven't found a girl to go home with."

"No."

"Do you want one?"

"No." A rush of disappointment washed over you, and you weren't sure why. Already, you'd spoken more to him than anyone in weeks. Maybe you'd expected it to be strange with him, but it was like finding normality again. The first taste of it since the man.

"I'm sorry about your ma." It slipped out in a whisper. "And Joe." Billy seemed to soften, and you used the opening, resting your hand over his and squeezing. "I'm sorry." The last part was more and you both knew it.

Time froze. It was just you and him, knees nearly touching, watching each other, waiting for the other to say something important. Your heart spun a veil around you both, and his eyes were drawing you closer, beckoning for you to sink into him again, to drown this time.

He exhaled through his nose, turning his palm around under your hand and clasping your fingers together. "I'll take you home, sweetheart." The veil tore. You knew nobody could have heard it except you.

Billy didn't let go of your hand, his touch as he helped you onto his horse gentle. He'd always treated you that way, as if you were delicate, as though he could break you. Nothing had changed.

It was how you knew he didn't know that he was only handling the pieces of you now.

When it started again, it felt like a dream. He would return to his lodgings with your scent on his clothes, the ghost of your kiss on his neck, his chest, his mouth. Leaving for a little while had done nothing to discourage what had been planted the first time he'd ever seen you.

It hadn't been by choice. He'd have stayed and watched you at every stage from afar, picked you up every time your accompaniment knocked you down and never expecting anything in return. In his heart he knew he could have done it forever.

A desperate attempt at robbery had changed it all. Remembering it was a blur, and some days he wasn't even sure what had happened. He'd stumbled from town to town, drunk off memories and the idea of you. Months had slipped through his fingers in the blink of an eye, and he tried to cleanse himself of all he'd left behind.

But you were tightly stitched into his essence. And so he'd found himself back, in a place he'd never thought he'd return.

The haze of how it happened again was the furthest thing from his mind right now. Upon recollection, he could recall searching, scheming, knocking on the door of the house he knew was yours now and hoping nobody would answer. It was a phantom in his mind, whispering for him to keep his feet planted, to wait no matter how long it took so he could at least see you again.

When the door swung open and you were on the other side, he nearly lost his breath. Billy could have died happy knowing he'd seen you one more time.

He'd entered. Spoken to you. Then done more than speaking.

His thoughts protested. They pointed out the wedding ring on your finger, reminded him where he was kissing you.

But your hands were so soft, and you were whispering how much you'd missed him, how you needed him. Before he knew it, he was saying those very same things, knowing he meant them.

It was the missing piece to his existing, the purpose, the reason, the only thing he cared about in the world. That you wanted him, and he wanted you back. Billy didn't say anything about your husband, and neither did you. He fell into a state of pretending whenever he met you from then on. He imagined he was your love, that he'd bought you this house and he was taking care of you. He imagined you were his, because he was yours so completely.

He'd wait until your husband left each night you sent a message and then circle to find you again. You would be waiting, as lovely in darkness as in light, and he'd raw you in for a kiss, let it bleed into more.

Here he was again in the thick of you, wanting you as his girl and cursing himself from before. How foolish he had been.

Now you were stretched out, bare and beautiful and borrowed, between his legs, breathing soft. His arm laid across your middle, legs bent to cradle you in. Your hand came up to hold his wrist, and he smiled, stroking his finger over the underside of your breast.

There were a million things neither of you would say. You wouldn't ask him where he's been all this time or why he left. He wouldn't ask you about why you were so pale now, so thin. He wouldn't do anything but drink in the time he was allowed.

Despite it all, when he looked down, nuzzling his nose into your hair and about to say something along the lines of how beautiful you were, he froze when he saw the purpling mark on your side, just barely out of sight.

Had it been daytime, he would have caught it right away. Had it been daytime he would have been brave enough to ask you about it. These moments were so scarce, so hurried. His eyes were shut when he'd kissed down your stomach earlier, in a rush to get where he knew you needed attention.

A question of it parted his lips. He was so close to asking, so close to knowing. You sighed softly, squeezing his wrist and reaching your other hand up behind you to touch his face. Billy turned his head to kiss your palm, catching your hand with his fingers. He brought them down to rest on your stomach, never once letting go.

He wouldn't muddy this time with talk of the one who'd caused the mark. Even without you telling, he knew. Besides, no good would come of knowing. Only enhancement of his hatred for someone he didn't know. And he'd dredge up this precious moment with the angel in his arms asking about the life he knew you wanted to escape. Why else would you be here with him now?

The protector in him flared. He tried to stop himself, begged with himself not to ruin this. "What if you came with me?"

You shifted against his chest. "Hm?"

He couldn't stop himself. "What if we left together?" Letting go of your hand, Billy moved to cover your bruise with his palm. "I'll have to leave sometime. Folks are still after my head for what happened last year."

Quiet. He wished he could dive into your head, pry every one of your thoughts out to cup in his hands and keep safe. The mystery of you was part of why he loved you. You were a question, but he still knew you, knew you better than anything in the world. But now he was through with not having you.

"I can't," you said quietly, thumb tracing a circle on his wrist. "My husband-"

"Fuck 'em all," he whispered, shaking his head and kissing your hair. "It's you and me. It always should've been you and me."

"You didn't want me." He felt his heart begin to chip. You curled into yourself a little as you said, "And I didn't blame you."

"Hey." Billy sat up straighter, and you got off his chest to face him, crossing your arms to hold your shoulders so your breasts were covered. "I've never been good enough for you. It was the only thing stopping me. It wasn't right of me, sweetheart. I know that now."

Your eyes were heavy. "I've been broken, Billy. I think I always was. And you were so gentle with me all the time. I would have been anything with you that you wanted."

"Baby," he whispered.

"You need to leave," you said softly, looking down, your hands still on your shoulders. "Maybe this was a mistake. I'm sorry for everything."

"No, no." Billy reached out, cupping your face in both his hands. You looked up at him, and he made a wish for every mark of pain and strife in your eyes to be erased. "You need to leave with me. We'll go far away, angel. He'll never find us. Nobody will." You sniffled, leaning forward into his arms, and he held the back of your head, hiding his nose in your hair and trying to breathe you in again. You weighed nothing in his arms, his heart bearing the brunt of it.

Turning your head, you pressed a kiss to his chest. Billy shook his head, arms tightening around you. I love you, he said over and over again with every bit of him.

"You always knew how to find me, Billy," you breathed. He didn't let go. "I'll be here if you need me again."

[lura-valentine]

Dabi and Hawks as fathers. How do you imagine the two of them when you think about the different ages? Baby, child and young adult.

Chaos!

They would be absolute chaotic fathers who would drive their partners, like Rain (my OC) crazy with their behavior. They would do a lot, and I mean a LOT, of stupid things with the child.

Both of them separately would be manageable, but if you had a DabiHawks situation, it would definitely be a jackpot in the chaos lottery. Rain would then literally have two adult children at her side, who would constantly provoke each other and raise the child (in this case Kaji) in the craziest way.

➡️ To Rain's priofil

➡️ To Kaji's profil

Kaji in the baby phase

Dabi

Changing diapers, what is that? Dabi grabs the little one by his diaper and holds him at eye level like a packet of chips. "Rain, I think he's leaking. Do we still have the guarantee certificate for the boy?"

Lullabies? No! Instead of sweet lullabies, Dabi plays dark rock ballads from his smartphone or gives baby Kaji dry advice like: "Sleeping is overrated. Get used to it."

Warmth and security? Absolutely YES. Even if Dabi doesn't admit it, he loves lying on the couch while the little one sleeps on his chest. "You're a damn chilblain, no wonder you can only sleep peacefully with me."

Proud father? When Kaji first uses his Quirk (maybe spitting out a mini Frostflame), Dabi would annoy Rain with a grinning, "See? Mine!"

Hawks (foster father)

Play until you drop? Hawks has a lot of energy, so he could play with Kaji for hours without getting tired. But if Kaji screams - then there is a frantic panic reaction: "Rain! I think I broke him!"

Flying lessons at a baby age? As soon as Kaji shows the first signs of wings, Hawks would throw him into the air - just a little bit. Rain panics when she sees this, but Hawks remains completely calm: "Everything is under control! Birds fall out of nests and survive."

What is a cradle? Hawks likes to use his feathers to rock Kaji to sleep. "My feathers are much better than a stupid baby bed, aren't they, my little one?"

Multitasking level: God: With one hand he feeds Kaji while typing messages with the other and changing diapers with his feathers at the same time. Rain watches him in horror: "You can't do EVERYTHING with your feathers, Keigo!" - "Why not? It's efficient!"

DabiHawks

Feathers VS Shopping Bag – Rain comes into the room and sees Kaji either safely wrapped in Hawks' feathers or being held like carry-on luggage by Dabi.

Changing diapers? No thanks. Hawks passes the job on to Dabi, "Hey, flamethrower, you're good with heat, right?", and Dabi counters with, "You do it, bird brain. You have sensitive feathers." Rain ends up doing it himself.

First flying lesson? Double trauma for Rain. Hawks and Dabi argue about how Kaji should learn to fly. Hawks wants to do it gently with feather support, while Dabi just lets him go: "Either he flies or learns how to fall." Rain? She's about to set them both on fire. He's still a damn BABY!

Kaji: Toddler Phase

Dabi

Dabi constantly gives Kaji mean but loving nicknames like Frosty, Bluewing, or Ice Block. The more Kaji gets upset about it, the more fun Dabi has.

Dabi teaches Kaji all sorts of nonsense, like how to steal food or put on a super serious look to unsettle people.

Dabi secretly likes to praise Kaji, but he rarely does so openly. Instead, he gives high-fives and pats on the back.

Has silly competitions with Kaji, like who can eat faster or who can stare at Rain longer without blinking, which always makes her freak out.

Hawks (foster father)

Hawks playfully teaches Kaji to control his powers by playing "catching with feathers" or having small dogfights. “If you hit me with your ice flame, you’ll get an extra dessert!”

Cool upbringing, but with control. Hawks gives Kaji a lot of freedom, but in reality he keeps a discreet eye on everything. If Kaji runs too far away, a feather comes out of nowhere and picks him up to bring him back like a drone. "Did you want to run away? No, little one, not today."

Flying duels in the living room. As soon as Kaji can use his wings, there's no stopping him. Hawks would fly with him through the apartment, knocking over furniture, while Rain yells in the background: "Keigo, this is NOT a race track!"

Super laid back dad. Hawks would never get too worked up about small problems. When Kaji falls, instead of drama there is a "Phew, crazy flight! But next time you'll land better."

DabiHawks

Double chaos, zero control. Dabi is the father who teaches Kaji how to get up to mischief while Hawks teaches him how not to get caught. Rain realizes far too late that her son is being raised by two of the biggest tricksters she knows.

Food problems. Hawks wants Kaji to eat healthy. Dabi? Just give him what he eats. Hawks: “Eat your vegetables, Kaji.” Dabi: “Here, eat a bag of chips. Vegetables are overrated.” Rain comes in: “WHAT ARE YOU TWO DOING?”

Training - serious VS play. Hawks does exercises that are actually just games, while Dabi tests Kaji in real combat situations. Hawks: "Dodge my feathers, Kaji!" Dabi: "Catch that fireball. Oh yeah, it hurts."

Resistance to Rain: If Rain makes a serious parenting decision, Hawks and Dabi disappear out the door with Kaji. “Ehh, we have to go out for a moment, no, little one?”

Kaji: Teenager Phase

Dabi

The rebel gene comes through - Kaji has Dabi's stubbornness and Rain's strategic cleverness - a bad combination for a teenager. While Rain can't stop preaching, Dabi celebrates when Kaji causes trouble.

Dabi never gives good advice directly, but instead packages it in mockery: "Oh, you're tired? Yes, life is hard when you cry so much."

If Kaji gets into serious trouble, Dabi is the first to arrive. Anyone who gets too close to Kaji will receive a very unhealthy burst of flames.

Is incredibly proud, but rarely shows it openly. Instead, he says things like: "Not bad, kid. Maybe you are my son after all."

Hawks (foster father)

Hawks would tease Kaji, but always with a hint of wisdom. "Oh, you want to be a tough guy? Cool. But tough guys also think before they rush into stupid situations."

If Kaji wants to keep secrets from him, forget it. Hawks knows everything. "Oh, you were out with someone? Don't worry, I know your friends' entire family history.

​​When Kaji is really down, Hawks gets serious. No sarcasm, no games. Just an honest "Hey, I know how it feels to think you're on your own. But you're not."

Hawks would never openly admit that he is worried, but he is constantly near Kaji without him noticing. And if someone threatens Kaji – Hawks is there in a flash.

DabiHawks

Dabi as bad influence, Hawks as damage control – Dabi: "Okay, so if you want to intimidate someone, all you have to do is look threatening and speak slowly." Hawks: "Or you can just use charm and get what you want without people being afraid of you." Kaji? Uses both – and Rain just wants to get away.

Training is a declaration of war - Hawks relies on speed, Dabi on raw power, so Kaji is constantly caught in the crossfire of both. Dabi: "Attack me with full force." Hawks: "Just kick him between the legs."Rain: “I SWEAR YOU TWO WILL BREAK HIM!”

School problems? Nope.Thanks to Hawks, Kaji always knows how to talk his way out of trouble. Thanks to Dabi, he is not afraid to talk his way out of trouble if necessary. Teacher: "Kaji, have you done your homework?" Kaji (grins): "Did you like doing homework when you were a student?" Hawks in the background: "Oh, I'm so proud." Dabi: "He wasn't aggressive enough, but it's OK."

My moral supporters

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mention accounts that my works ❤️ and 🔄. If someone no longer wishes to be mentioned, please write it.

[secretlittlerandezvous]

Made with Love - Mason McTavish

Summary: Y/n makes a custom jacket to wear to Mason’s games.

Words: 462

Y/n had always been a fan of making things by hand, whether it was a piece of jewelry or attempting to knit a blanket. This time, she wanted to do something special for Mason. The idea struck her one evening while watching him play on TV when he was gone. She wanted to wear something to show her support for him, something unique to make it obvious she was his girlfriend, so she decided to make a custom jacket that would stand out in the crowd.

Over the next few weeks, she worked on it in her spare time, hiding it from Mason. She chose a black denim jacket with a soft, distressed look. She hand painted his number, 23, on the back in bold, fiery orange. On the front, she stitched his last name and embroidered a small heart next to it, and added the team's logo on the sleeve. At random spots on the jacket she used iron on patches of cute little ducks.

The jacket was finally finished the night before his next game, and Y/n couldn’t wait to wear it. She knew Mason would be surprised when he saw it, and the thought of him noticing the effort she’d put in made her excited.

When she arrived at the rink the next day, wearing the jacket proudly, Mason’s eyes instantly locked onto her as she walked into the arena. His face broke into a grin, and he immediately waved at her to come over.

“Babe, what is that?” he asked, his voice filled with excitement as he went over the details of the jacket.

Y/n laughed, a little shy but glowing with pride. “I made it myself,” she said proudly. “Thought I’d wear it to show my support.”

Mason walked up to her, gently running his fingers over the fabric, clearly impressed by the design. “It’s amazing, Y/n. You just keep on amazing me.” He chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. “It’s perfect. You’re incredible.”

Y/n smiled as the happiness filled her body. “I wanted to make something that felt like me but also screamed ‘Mason McTavish’s girl,” she chuckled.

Mason pulled her into a hug, lifting her up a little off the ground as he pressed a kiss to her cheek. “I love it. Seriously, you’re always going above and beyond for me. I’m so lucky.”

“I just want you to know I’m always supporting you, in my own way,” Y/n said softly, looking up at him. “I’m always right there with you.”

“You have no idea how much that means to me,” Mason whispered, his hand resting on her waist. He looked at the jacket again, shaking his head in awe. “I’m gonna win this one for you. I’ve got the best fan cheering me on.”

[mimzywhimsy]

The Bowens Problem: Breakups, Feuds, and Narrative Tension

Think about your favorite wrestling feuds in AEW. I'll name a few of my own from recent memory; MJF vs. CM Punk, Swerve vs. Hangman, Mariah May vs. Toni Storm, and Daniel Garcia vs. Jack Perry. I also like whatever the fuck The Elite have had going on, but that's a whole separate post.

What makes these feuds great? Three things come to mind: Pacing, History, and Character Work.

I'll start with the easiest: pacing. Groundwork needs to be laid. Foreshadowing. Length of time, to really establish the relationship. Rushing a feud is like jacking off to relieve sexual frustration; it might get the job done in the end, but is it really satisfying? Would MJF vs. Punk be as good if we didn't have them blatantly ignoring each other for weeks before meeting face to face on the mic? Would Mariah May's betrayal be as gutwrenching if we didn't follow her efforts to gain Timeless Toni's trust?

The Acclaimed's breakup feud is good when it comes to pacing. Max Caster has been calling himself the Best Wrestler Alive on TV for many months now, and we've seen how his attitude change has slowly worn down on Anthony Bowens' last nerve. How The Acclaimed just aren't winning matches when it counts anymore; something's been off. They've been more and more out of sync in the ring, and Max has only gotten more abrasive and egotistical. Their breakup was hardly a surprise, for this reason.

Next, history. All the feuds I've listed above have this, to one extent or another. MJF's history as a rabid fan of Punk's as a kid. That autograph signing picture. Mariah May following in Toni Storm's footsteps, career-wise. Jack Perry's history as a fan-favorite babyface and his subsequent fall from grace intersects neatly with Daniel Garcia rise from tough midcard heel to beloved, dancing face.

The Acclaimed also have plenty of history: we've been along for the entire ride, witnessing it. Their rise from an obscure Dark tag team to one of the most popular and well-known acts. They fought their battles together, even when the going got tough. Suspensions and ill-times injuries couldn't break them up. They had fire in their eyes and a clear-set goal to be Tag Team champions, and they achieved far beyond our wildest dreams.

So, what's my problem? This feud practically writes itself, right? The breakup of a beloved tag team is a classic trope. Max and Anthony have always portrayed themselves as a Heel-and-Babyface duo who balance each other out, so their roles for this story seem well defined.

....But is that really the best way to go about it?

Enter the third element: character work. Specifically, I want to talk about tensions.

If Max is a clear-cut heel and Anthony is an obvious face, it makes sense- but it's also boring. In other good feuds, even if there is clearly a "good guy" to root for, nothing is ever black and white. Think of MJF's inner vulnerability, and Punk's underlying cruelty towards him. Mariah May's love for Toni that she tries so hard to deny. Daniel Garcia's inherent violent nature that he has to fight against to literally not kill Jack Perry. Swerve is dangerous, and he broke into Hangman's house, but then Hangman burned his childhood home down.

Do not boo me- do NOT boo me for being right, when I say that out of the two, Max Caster has been doing much better character work. It's in his music, his indie work, and (more recently) his work on AEW.

He's especially good at creating tension by showing the warring dichotomy within himself. He has a huge ego, but only to cope with his poor self esteem. He's a sleazeball player who wants love and is afraid of ending up all alone. He never shuts the fuck up, but who is he if he's silent? Sure, he's embarrassing himself in the ring- but is he more delusional than any other wrestler that refuses to give up in the face of hardship? Stubbornly sticking to an idea arguably led to The Acclaimed winning championships. Hell, he refused to stop scissoring his partner, and look what that led to!

Max Caster is an AEW locker room veteran who clearly loves to big league and bully his lessers. He's super awkward and doesn't seem to have many friends. He thinks he's better than everyone else. He's his own worst enemy and harshest critic. He's rich, and pretty, and powerful, and successful. He's the loneliest and saddest guy in the world.

He's a multidimensional, fleshed-out character.

Anthony Bowens is....a good guy? I struggle to figure out anything about him besides for the fact that he's a Great Athlete and Nice Guy who is good at a lot of other things like modelling and baseball. He does and says all the right things. He speaks at colleges and attends charity events. He lives in a cute West Hollywood apartment with a cute husband. He's openly gay and proud of it, but isn't in your face about it like those other more annoying gays! He's not The Gay Wrestler, he's just a wrestler...who is gay....and nice...and talented.

Do you see my problem, here? Anthony Bowens does not bring any tension to the narrative.

He's flatter than Charlotte Flair's pancake ass. He's so focused on being picture perfect that he fails to provide any substance for me to sink my teeth into.

But the thing is, he easily could! He checks all the right boxes and says all the right things- but isn't that just the slightest bit calculating and manipulative? If the image he broadcasts to the world is so perfect, then doesn't that imply that it might be fake? He wants to keep doing the Scissor Me Daddy shtick despite it getting stale, why? The money? The merch sales? Would a good guy with nothing but good intentions cynically do a segment with the Costco Guys and fucking Jericho?

No hate, I'm not trying to smear Bowens' name here! We're in the middle of the feud, so maybe he'll surprise me. I think that Caster's appeal in part comes down to how willing he is to be vulnerable and messy. It might benefit Bowens to do a little of the same.

[xechu]

From Worst to Hell (Pt. 1)

cw: suggestive themes, 18+ mdni, please read my blog rules before interacting, sexual themes, swearing, use of weed and implied driving under the influence (drive responsibly).

wc: 1.9K

a/n: this is part of my au 'Cross My Heart' - check out the master list here! I had so much fun writing this. Thank you for reading. x

If the dictionary had the word 'world's-biggest-clown' in it, accompanied with a reference picture, Sukuna had no doubt that it would be his own face plastered on it. Because why in god's name was he laying beside Yorozu in this very moment? Naked bodies and limbs entangled, thick, heady musk lingering in the air, and high out of his goddamn mind.

What he really should have been doing—or should have already done—was grovel at your feet, begging for forgiveness, and giving you the best fuck to show you how sorry he was, and how much he still loves you. He should have done something—anything—when he found his belongings packed up in a box three weeks ago. But, no, it was always his pride and ego—always his insecurities that got in the way, that kept him from admitting he was wrong, that stopped him from apologizing. Sukuna had always known that he was his own worst enemy.

For someone as much of a screwup as he was, the universe had still managed to serve him all the good things in life on a silver platter: a good brother, an understanding sister-in-law, a cute nephew who he practically treats as his own son, a successful business, and you—the woman of his dreams. And yet, he managed to completely fumble it.

As he laid there in self-loathing, a phone call suddenly jolts him to his senses, and when he sees your name on the caller ID, he springs up the bed. He answers, heart racing in anticipation, and then to his shock, you were a sobbing incoherent mess on the other end. The sound of your distress immediately sobered him up.

"Shit, Y/N, what happened?"

"I'm—hic—I don't—I just—hic—wanna go home."

"Fucking Christ," Sukuna muttered, rubbing his face with his hand, "Are you hurt?"

"N-no—hic"

"Good," he lets out a breath of relief. "Can you send me your location?"

He glances at his phone as it buzzes, Y/N wants to share her location with you.

"Alright, sweetheart. I'm coming."

"What happened?" Yorozu's voice rasped, as she leaned in on Sukuna. Her breasts pressing up to his arm.

"I have to go," he shrugged her off as he climbed out of her bed.

"Why? I thought you broke up with her," she shot back, resentment lacing her voice.

"She broke up with me, and for a good reason. But I can't leave her like this." Sukuna clarified, as he zipped up his jeans and threw on his black t-shirt. The scar on his abdomen from the knife wound still tickled as his shirt grazes over it—a constant reminder of why and how things became the current shitshow it was.

"Are you coming back?"

"No," he said firmly, jaw tightening, "No more of this, Yor. This will be the last time."

"You're fucking joking, right?" Her tone was incredulous.

"I'm not. Whatever happened between us tonight, it won't happen again."

"What the hell, Ryo?" Yorozu hissed, "What do you take me for? Just some whore you could come for a good fuck and leave?"

"You and I both got what we wanted out of this. Enough is enough."

"Really? You'd drop me, and our years of friendship just for some other girl?"

"She's not just some other girl," he snapped, his eyes shooting her a warning glare. But to be honest, the fact that Yorozu even saw you in this light in the first place was entirely Sukuna's fault, and he knew it. He hated how he allowed his circle to view you as such, and it was because he never gave you the respect you deserved.

Yorozu rolled her eyes, as she stood up, "I know how much you loved her, but she just isn't good for you," she drew circles around Sukuna's arm, a last ditch effort to appeal to him.

"She can't appreciate the things you've done for her. And worst of all, she's trying to mold you into this person you're not! What are you, her personal fix-me-up project?"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"I'm saying that you've changed, Ryo. She's turning you into someone you're not."

"She was right about you," Sukuna lowly chuckled, as he shrugs away from Yorozu's touch, "I tried to vouch for you, give you the benefit of the doubt because of our history, but I should have cut you off a long time ago."

"I knew she was talking shit about me!" Yorozu's features darken, and her body trembled with anger, "What kind of bullshit has she been feeding you?"

"She hardly talks about you," he shrugged, impatience creeping into his voice, "Look, I have to go."

"You're a scum, Ryomen. You need to get your head out of your own ass."

"Tell me something I don't know," he scoffed, as he took his car keys and left the apartment.

Sukuna shoots you a text: I'll be here in 10. Don't talk to anyone, don't go anywhere.

---

You stood in front of the bar, arms crossed against the chill of the night. Your face was stained with dried tears and mascara streaks. You were a hopeless disaster, even then, 'hopeless disaster' was a gross understatement.

In your head, you knew you were far gone, but it seemed your body had a mind of its own, swaying slightly as you struggled to keep your balance. Why did you call him? You were doing so damn well, and you felt so good about being the one to end things this time, so why on earth were you crawling back to him like some pathetic, needy, little girl? When did you become so weak? This is why he thinks he could walk all over you.

As you mentally berated yourself, you contemplated on if you should just call an Uber home. But before you had time to change your mind, you see your ex-boyfriend's car pull up. Of course, it had to be his flashy one too: a black Lamborghini Urus.

"Hey," he murmured, quickly climbing out of his car and catching you before you lost balance.

"I wanna go home," you slurred, pushing him away and stumbling over your own heels.

"You can't even walk straight, what are you doing?" He let out an exasperated sigh, as he watched you struggle towards the car.

Before you could make an even bigger fool of yourself, he scooped you up, princess-style, and plopped you into the passenger seat. He didn't want to be taking you to the hospital tonight, though it would have been somewhat of an amusing twist of irony.

"Why were you drinking by yourself?" He asked, slipping into the driver’s seat and buckling your seatbelt. It was a stupid question, he knew why, but that’s how desperately he wanted to just talk to you again.

"B-because, you're a fucking dick." It was hard to take you seriously when you were a slurring mess.

"Right, and that's why you called me?" he quipped.

"I know, okay?!" You yelled, frustration overflowing, "Everyone's been telling me to just get over it, and that you're an asshole!"

"Are you sure they said that about me?"

"A thousand-hundred...ten-percent."

"Hm, okay."

Sukuna sat there, his arm resting on the steering wheel and his head leaning in his hand, listening to your slurred ramblings. Even with your mascara-stained face, why were you so beautiful?

"I'm so...pathetic. To love someone who never l-loved me!"

"That's not true," he scowled, "You know I lo—"

"There you go again!" You said in a mocking tone, "Telling me what is and isn't! You're just so clever, Ryo! And I'm just some helpless idiot!"

"I never thought you were an idiot," Sukuna muttered.

Despite the sheer chaos of the current situation, he couldn't help but feel a tinge of relief and happiness that you were here. The fact that you still thought to call him when you needed help filled him with an unexpected warmth. He was convinced that three weeks ago was the last time he'd ever see you.

"You can have the last laugh like you always do! Ha ha ha." You threw your arms up in exasperation, nearly smacking him in the face and garnering a small 'tch' from him. But he was willing to take in any form of abuse from you right now, after all, he deserved it.

"We're going home. I forget how much of a brat you are when you're drunk," he said, as he started the car.

"My home, I kicked you out," you giggled, seemingly a little too happy about that.

"Sure thing, sweetheart."

Almost immediately, an awkward silence filled the car. He glanced over at you, only to find you staring straight ahead, large globs of tears rolling down your cheeks. His eyebrows furrow in confusion, not sure what to make of your drunk erratic behavior.

"Y-you don’t get to call me that anymore!" You started bawling uncontrollably.

Sukuna pinched the bridge of his nose, it didn’t help that as of half an hour ago he was still high out of his mind, and in another woman's bed (which he was still mentally kicking himself over). Sighing, he decided it was better to stay quiet, flipping on the music in the car—the tunes of Arctic Monkeys quietly playing in the background.

Though you only lived about fifteen minutes away, it was going to be a long drive home.

---

Thankfully, the two of you had made it back safely to the underground parking lot of your apartment. It had taken every fiber of Sukuna's being to stay focused on the road, and resisting the urge to fill the silence with comments that could potentially throw you into a crying frenzy again.

He glanced over at you as he parks the car, somewhat bracing himself for another emotional outburst, but you seemed quietly distant, lost in your own thoughts. He ran his hand through his hair, a sinking feeling that tonight was going to be a long night. With a resigned sigh, he climbed out of his side of the car and walked over to your door, opening it for you.

"My feet hurt," you frowned, as you flung off your Kate red bottoms, "the shoes you bought me suck."

"Yeah, yeah, just tell me you want to get carried," he scooped you up effortlessly, while hooking your heels on his two fingers that were free, "and you're the one who wanted them, in case you forgot."

"They looked so nice on Zendaya," you murmured, as your head rested against his chest.

"Mhm." He had no clue who Zendaya was, he doesn't keep up with pop culture.

"Keys," he said, glancing down at you as you seemed to drift off to sleep, looking far too comfortable in his arms. Like you belonged there.

"In my bag," you mumbled.

"Grab it?"

"You're so annoying," you huffed, reaching into your purse and fishing out your keys. He tapped with his index finger, gesturing you to hook the keyring around it.

As Sukuna waited for the elevator, carrying you in his arms, he stared at the LED screen of the descending floor numbers. The numbers seemed to pull him into a trance, recalling unwanted memories—how he had hurt you, the brash and callous things he said just to be hurtful. Each digit felt like a ticking reminder of how he was so weak-willed, crawling into the arms of another woman just three weeks later. When suddenly—

"Ryo," you said his name with such unexpected clarity, it made his heart race. It felt as if all was forgiven, and he just woke up from a nightmare. The break-up wasn't real, the hospital wasn't real, sleeping with Yorozu wasn't real.

"Hm?" He tried to hide his anticipation.

"I need to throw up."

"Oh, hell no—"

Writing © xechu - please do not redistribute, translate, or repost any of my works.

[xhollowfaerie]

Añoranza

a/n: damn, wombo combo!! two in a day, lol! sequel to this tags: demi4demi soft Rookanis, yearning, hurt/comfort, supportive Spite, idk why but they speak like they're in a historical drama romance lol

-

Rook crept into the dining room in the early morning hours - or at least, that's what Lucanis estimated. It was always daytime in the Fade. He despised it like he despised little else, except Venatori.

“Coffee?” he would always ask. This time, the sight of her left his lips agape before they pursed with emotion. Grief, relief. He wasn’t sure.

A heartfelt “Rook” slid past his lips instead. He wished it could convey even a fraction of all the things he dreamt of telling her.

It’s so good to see you.

Oh, how I’ve missed you.

We have been worried sick. It’s so hard to focus. You’re all I think about.

Let me take care of you. You look exhausted.

I’ve made you coffee every morning.

I know you’re not okay.

I'm so sorry.

How could I ever show you how much you mean to me?

She shuffled towards him, dragging her bare feet against the cold floor. With a scowl, he ducked into the pantry and procured a pair of his own slippers. She slipped wordlessly onto a chair, and he kneeled in front of her, placing them onto the floor. 

He felt something burn in his throat when he looked up.

Empty.

Rook… looked… so empty. It almost broke him.

Spite wailed, tugging onto Lucanis.

‘Misery. Smells like old wounds. Shame! Pretty flower... Wilting!’

A Crow never regarded anything with such love and softness in their eyes.

‘Failed, Lucanis. We failed Rook! She protects us. We couldn’t… Protect our pretty rose.’

Spite sniffled, sitting in the chair next to Rook, behind Lucanis. ‘Tried to help… didn’t work’ he lamented, uncharacteristically quiet. He bit his tongue.

No, he thought. We don’t give up this easily, Spite.

The demon’s scowl lessened. He idly stuck his tongue out over a plate, forgetting he couldn’t see his reflection in it. It made him snarl.

A Crow always fulfills their contract.

People come in three kinds. Family, contracts, enemies.

Which kind did Kore qualify as, as the yearning, adoring gaze of a melancholic Dellamorte studied her so?

She felt the overwhelming urge to collapse into his arms, to wrap hers around him sweetly; to cry into his chest, to run her fingers over his breathtaking face and kiss him until every single thought other than his lips left her mind.

But Kore saw the image of Viper, blighted and bleeding, and grit her teeth, teetering on the verge of tears again as she clenched her fists. It was hard enough seeing Ashur like that… if she ever got Lucanis hurt, she would never forgive herself, or be able to live with it. Live without him.

“Rook” his voice rang again, this time rougher, missing the Antivan accent as he rested his forehead against the side of her thigh. “Lucanis hates. Seeing Rook. So sad.” 

She brought a hand to her mouth and whimpered, hesitantly placing a hand atop his head before it moved on its own, gently running through his hair. “I’m so sorry.”

Spite knew not to overstep this time, letting Lucanis return not a moment later. He was so taken with her, their intimate touches escaped him as he stood a bit taller. How he longed to tuck the pink strads over her face behind her ear.

Do it, the voice in his head rang, and Lucanis couldn’t tell anymore if it was supposed to be a demon or an angel on his shoulder, but, very hesitantly, he obeyed nonetheless. 

His hand paused mid-air as it reached for Kore; he almost jerked it back in fear as she glanced at it, horrified by her awareness, but instead was met with her warmth as she desperately held onto his digits and pulled them further to her face, nuzzling into it, inhaling the scent of his skin, feeling the weight of his fingers ground her.

His eyes trembled, heart erratic in his chest as his other hand followed Spite’s guidance, pushing the mess of hair back so he could see her face.

“I cannot change a thing” he finally broke the silence between them, the self-hatred lingering deep within him, “but I know this better than I have ever known anything in my life: I am your blade, Rook. Sharpened and ready. If you wish to use me for revenge, I will gladly oblige.”

Her tears rolled down onto his hands, and he gained the courage to inch closer. “Not only do I owe you my life, I now owe you the life of everything I have ever held dear” he was so soft-spoken; he could never, ever express the magnitude of his appreciation for her, let alone repay her- “But in exchange, you paid much too steep a price. That which you love.” For that, I cannot forgive myself.

His voice trembled, the gnawing frustration inside him burning at the corner of his eyes. This was so unfair to her, so fucked up. Would he ever stop wronging her? And to think, the most selfish parts of him still wanted her so badly, as if she hadn’t given enough for a lifetime already.

“Lucanis” Kore whispered, and while her heart ached much too painfully to ever part with the words she desired, her eyes did their best to fill in the blanks, gazing at him like she had never gazed at anything, anyone ever before. 

Not all that I love is lost.

He felt his heart threaten to shatter, swell and shrivel all at the same time.

She mustered half of a smile, glancing away shyly as their circumstances sunk in. Kore slowly let go of his hand at the same time he began to retreat with a mirroring blush, both clearing their throats. He ran his hand over the side of the table, as if to smoothen out the tablecloth lacking any wrinkles simultaneously with her shyly tugging her baggy sweater down, in an attempt to cover up more of her thighs.

Spite stared at them, biting into his own hand to stop himself from saying anything, wide-eyed and filled with hope.

“Thank you” Kore choked out, tentatively glancing up at him as she stood to her feet.

He straightened his back and looked around the room awkwardly, their gazes catching each-other for a brief respite before they both glanced away again. “It is I who should thank you, but there are no words in this world to express the light you bring into my life.”

She flushed in place, as did he - mierda, he must have been reading too many romance novels, what in the Maker’s name possessed him to say that?! Of course, Spite snickered, despite the words belonging to Lucanis and Lucanis only.

Kore slipped her feet into the oversized slippers, fidgeting with her scarred fingers in front of herself. “You always say the sweetest of things, and I always fail to reciprocate, despite wishing nothing more…” she mumbled, reaching a hand up to nervously play with her hair. “You have done more for me than you know” she breathed, slowly clenching her hand, steadying her voice. “You do not only bring darkness, Lucanis.”

The exhale was louder than he intended, blinking rapidly as he tried to process her words. Unsure of what to do with himself anymore, he glanced at their empty coffee cups, scrambling to his only saving grace, but she was faster.

“Coffee? I’ve… missed it terribly.” 

The honey in her voice wrapped him in the sweetest trance. She couldn’t get enough of the longing in his eyes, the gravelly sound of his voice reminding her of the oddly comforting feel of wet coffee grounds sticking to her fingers. “As have I.”

He gave her a charming smile, throwing a towel over his shoulder. She watched him roll his sleeves up with a tilt of her head, curving her lips and following behind him, doing the same with a giggle as she relished the sound of his voice again. “Coming right up.”

[welcometoteyvat]

finally typing up my late lantern rite thoughts (very long). overall 100/10 quest I love hu tao

The amount of Xingqiu's brother mentions were insane. Surely we'll see him either as an NPC soon, right? Right? /j Honestly here he sounded pretty competent, nothing like "a simpleton" like Xingqiu's troubles voiceline suggests hmm...

The little model animations were SOOOOOOOOOO GOOD. contributed a lot to the experience and made it feel so much more alive. hu tao's expressions especially, but also yun jin's expressions, and Xiangling's "come back, get over here and eat!!!!!1!1!!!" was also really fucking funny. they've been adding these small animations for a while but this event specifically had so many of them and the effort paid off <3

in a similar vein I'm impressed how smooth the animation/model actions were when Xiao put the sigil on us

hu tao lan yan and qiqi fill in the gap fic please

timaeus is kind of silly, also very funny he and ying'er still going strong 2 years later. he's literally learning liyue language for ying'er? genuinely his dedication is impressive. they should make events replayable because how will everyone who missed 3.5 windblume know why timaeus simps for someone a whole country over

we finally know what the fake chinese characters in all those liyue signs represent (kinda ig). I need to look over this part again

if hu tao&/xiangling or hu tao &/yun jin stocks on ao3 don't increase after this I will start biting. MY GIRLS T_T T_TT_T_T_T_T_T_T. bro the farewell section was so tender I enjoyed it greatly. Their relationships with each other got developed on screen.. yun jin and hu tao's banter especially was really cute and really shows us their relationship aside from the hints in their VOs

YUN JIN OPERATIC HILITUNE ON SCREEN. the fanvid of it from bilibili can finally rest, thanks for your service, canon got here 4 years later.

Yun Jin, having practiced the tao dou opera, MUST have known something correct?? or else she wouldn't have asked hu tao so many times to promise to come back, right? She trusts Hu Tao so much :'''' . if Hu Tao says she can handle it, Yun Jin knows there's no stopping her, and she will find a way, but it doesn't stop her from worrying nonetheless :''').

hu tao's death flags during part 2......

my agenda is speaking, but I wish Xingqiu and Hu Tao directly talked during the farewells section. something something chivalry and sacrifice. Hu Tao makes her peace with giving up everything to resolve the Tao Dou issue, but is Xingqiu at peace with losing a friend even tho its selfish of him to want her to stay? he has personal stakes in this please just let them talk a little

I'm really really glad they went through with the death, they showed Hu Tao's emotions, they showed her father and grandfather waving her off. I broke, she looked so tired but satisfied (thinking about her vision story, where she waited so long for her grandfather to never appear vs him visiting her for just a brief moment here)

my other favorite shot is when traveler pulls her out and she looks at them in muted surprise. she just looked so sad and fragile and in need of a hug :(((

the Themes (waves hands wildly). hu tao's father's lingering regrets were his fatal flaw, and so Hu Tao settles her affairs properly and steels herself before going to die. she leaves behind the plum blossom branch just like her grandfather left his hat.. genuinely what the hell. the parallels between her cutscene goodbye and her saying "happy lantern rite" kills me

the epilogue last year with the fontaine tourists was pretty fanservicey, and tbh the epilogue the year before was also somewhat fanservice to me, (liyue gang dinner and zhongli venti teasing) though I liked it better. However I think this epilogue was actually really good— the hanging out and the fluff felt natural, it fit with everything else and wasn't super sudden. Maybe this was because of all the setup that happened (Yun Jin and Xiangling's promises to Hu Tao, Xiao and Yelan's dynamic built up in Perilous Trails and their earlier exchange), so the payoff is good instead of forced. After the trials and danger they got put through, everyone gets a chance to relax, and I appreciate the slice of life after the main plot. also Yun Jin's opera was crazy good considering it was not a cutscene, the animation and camera angles really sold it

I thought the special guest was xiao again, like how LR 3.4 had him dragged to the harbor by Hu Tao.... xiaolan banter was also v good though.

THE ADEPTI. they're still watching over Liyue in their own way :') the affectionate bickering about hu tao's name :''''''''

I barely mentioned lan yan in this... her part was pretty minor ngl, her habit of learning everything about a person to the point of sounding a bit creepy is kind of fun though.

alright. fantastic quest absolutely no notes I got almost everything I ever wanted and I am so glad Hu Tao had such an incredible 2nd story quest. chongyun and shenhe exorcist lantern rite next year?

[darklinaforever]

Jesus Christ, as much as I'm not against people supporting and shipping Ellen x Orlok, you people have got to pull in the reins when it comes to shitting on Thomas. Constantly throwing in his face how he couldn't understand Ellen for who she really was and her powers blahblahblah, throwing on top of it all how he failed to provide both as a husband and a friend and last but not least, ultimately failing to kill Orlok as he intended to. Who's to say those things are even his failings, even if he did say that he will provide for Ellen and tried to be a doting husband, friend etc? Who can claim to have reacted better in his place when faced with A LITERAL MAGICAL DARK UNDEAD BEING, the literal personification of death itself?!! Is there a manual on how to handle your possessed wife that I apparently didn't read, please do send me the link to it?! And also you people WILL NEVER BE ABLE to know for sure how Ellen's and Thomas' relationship would've worked out if someone managed to kill Orlok before he and Ellen got together again, and Ellen and Thomas actually communicated properly, because there is no alternative to this movie!! So whatever you claim about their relationship proves to be just specalution in the end, just like everybody else. What sane man would've let his wife easily into the arms to rotting undead death machine corpse, without trying to kill it and save his wife, whether that wife is a supernatural being herself or not?? Have we forgotten how difficult it is in fantasy stories for a person who discovers they have powers to convince people around them that they do, if they can't actually show them their powers?? Who would believe such a thing, no matter how much you love that person?? Also, for all of you blaming all of that shit on Thomas.. Ellen also failed as a friend, she let a monster inside the Hardings' house and kill her beloved friend Anna and the children and consequentially Friedrich. She also broke Thomas' heart by not only choosing Orlok but dying beside him. And I'm not trying to paint her as the villain but if you're going to play dirty with Thomas then so will I with Ellen. In the end, you people can imagine Ellen bouncing on Orlok crazy style you can imagine yourselves bouncing on it crazy style for all I care, you can imagine them as some sort of vigilante heroes who are fighting against the poor little evil victorian society... but start using your god damn brain when imagining on how to deal with supernatural forces... when they are in fact supernatural??!!

You're honestly getting angry for nothing.

I never theorized about the future of Thomas & Ellen if they had stayed together already.

Then, it's Robert Eggers' words, not mine, that Thomas doesn't understand Ellen even though he loves her and he dismisses her for that.

So be mad at him.

We're just repeating what the creator of the film said because we see it in the film.

Second, Thomas was made to fail, simply because he was a tragic hero.

It's... just facts ?

Also, I'm tired of your excuse of trying to rationalize the fact that people don't understand Ellen's powers and that we should put ourselves in their shoes and that we won't react better, and so we can't critical them, because that doesn't not what the film is about.

The fact that the people around Ellen do not understand her power is meant to be seen as negative (and criticize) because it is the result of Victorian society of which they are the instruments.

Victorian society which is the real villain of this film.

I don't care how I or anyone else in real life reacts because that's not what this movie is about.

When you watch this movie, you're supposed to think about the meaning /symbolism of things. Not see it literally, at least not only.

Damn, we're not in a banal fantasy story where it's complicated for characters to accept that the hero or heroine has magical gifts ?! You are in a huge off-topic simply to try to further justify the actions of the characters towards Ellen and prevent them from being criticized. The context is not the same here as a more classic fantasy story once again. The comparison is ridiculous !

And then, I don't see why I would be upset with you for "playing dirty with Ellen", when I literally made posts talking about her parallel with Orlok, that Ellen is Orlok and Orlok is Ellen, that she is just as much Nosferatu than him, therefore a form of monster. I have also literally already reblogged posts or said myself that Ellen let Orlok into the Harding house signing their death. And @apoloadonisandnarcissus explained very well why Ellen can be considered as a villain. Do you think you're doing something to me by throwing things at me that I already know and have already talked about ?

And at what fucking point did I blame Thomas for what happens in the movie ? No one ever said he was the bad guy either ?The only thing I really say about him is that he's a bad husband. Which is... true (for so many reasons) ?

Visibly you are not a regular on my tumblr and have absolutely nothing to do with what I post about this film.

Also, am I supposed to take you seriously with your comment about how I can imagine bouncing on Orlok ? You are disturbed my word.

Oh, and you obviously aren't capable of interacting properly with fictional stories / fiction to have such a childish reaction.

[blue-cat-ter-flies-blog]

Just found and watched Space Sweepers (2021) and I cried so hard for Tae-ho and Su-Ni. I don’t think he ever found her remains but I’m glad he was able to finally say sorry and goodbye to his daughter thanks to Kot-Nim.

[weregonnabecoolbeans]

Lilia reading freshly thirteen year old, completely innocent and oblivious William Kaplan’s future and being like:

Okayyyyy lemme just un-know that real quick so it doesn’t haunt me forever🥲

I can’t properly express how much I love her

[cerealbishh]

"You're pretty new at this whole relationship thing, huh?"

"... Yeah."

[todayisafridaynight]

Is that character gay? *points at Mine*

Allegedly.