#they just love to do some sort of performance

[millermouth]

𝙭𝙤𝙭𝙤

Masterlist || Harry Castillo x Reader || Part II: RingGate

Summary: After a carefully crafted meeting over coffee, your public debut with Harry unfolds better than you ever expected. Each event slides effortlessly into the next as the plan is executed, performance convincing, and everything seems to fall into place exactly as you intended. And yet, you never could’ve predicted the effect it would have on you. || fake dating, tabloids, Gossip Girl AU, socialite!reader, richgirl!reader, kinda bratty!reader, NYC, reader is in her mid 20s, old money lifestyle, trust fund babies, age gap, rich people problems, reader has a last name for storytelling purposes, no y/n, alcohol consumption, implied drug use ||

You weren’t entirely sure why you’d called Harry back. 

Well, no, that was probably a lie. You knew exactly why. 

Harry Castillo made sense in a way no one else did. He was everything your parents meant when they spoke about a ‘good man’ to ‘settle you down’. He was sophisticated and predictably traditional, he came from a wealthy family, understood reputations and legacies, and didn’t have a scrap of dirt on him being seen at coke fueled yacht parties. Just nice tailored suits, understated luxury watches, and generous golf outings with potential investors.

But there was something else, too. Something that made him even better than all of that combined.

Harry was old enough to make anyone seeing you on his arm do a double take. Old enough to raise eyebrows. And you liked that. Hell, you loved it. Because while your mother would probably sing the praises of dating a nice, rich man with so much generational wealth he could bury you in it, the second she would see it was him, you could almost picture her face falling. 

The Castillo name always earned a reaction in your family. Some long standing rivalry between your father and his, some sort of stock market tension or power play. Your mother always made a face as if the name sounded spoiled on her tongue and your father always got a set in his jaw at the briefest mention of Castillo Investments. And though your families orbited each other for decades, running in the same circles and sharing the same tables, they never managed to sit comfortably side by side. 

So yes, Harry was perfect. 

Because if you had to play by their rules, you’d make sure it still felt like your own game.

He looked the part now, sitting across from you in his crisp button down and open tailored blazer, the espresso cup held delicately between two fingers. The drink had long gone cold, but he swirled what remained, mulling over something in his mind. You were halfway through your latte, bringing it to your lips for another slow sip. 

“So,” he said, voice low and thoughtful, “we’re agreed on hand holding?”

You nodded, watching him over the rim.

His eyes didn’t leave yours. “And…kissing?”

You set the mug down with a soft clink. “It’s supposed to look real, isn’t it?”

“Of course.”

“Real relationships don’t shy away from touch. I think a few public kisses are okay.”

He nodded back to you, “Just…you’ll have to let me know when you feel uncomfortable. If it gets to be too much.”

“Same to you. I don’t want to look like we’re in some rom-com soap opera.”

He leaned back in his chair, finally setting down the espresso cup with care. “I think you’ll find I’m quite good at moderation. But for clarity’s sake… what is off-limits?”

You considered for a moment, brushing a crumb from your napkin. “I mean… I guess the only rule I really care about is not humiliating each other. I seem to do that to myself enough as it is. So no divulging about us in interviews, no winks or jokes about the bedroom. If people ask, they can assume what they want. But we don’t talk about it.”

Harry nodded, his gaze steady. “Agreed. No innuendo, no details. Private things stay private.”

“Yes,” you agreed, your stomach doing a little flip at the thought.

“How long do you see us doing this for?” he asked.

You took a beat, thinking. “I only need eight weeks. By then, my family and I will be in the Hamptons hosting the annual Midsummer White Party—you know, everyone in white, garden tea, obligatory polo matches, and networking paraded around as philanthropy.”

Harry smiled, knowing. “Ah, yes. The crown jewel of performative generosity.”

You lifted your cup in mock salute. “Exactly. So if that works for you, we can bow out gracefully then.”

Harry nodded, “That should work. Camilla should be back by then and will most likely be attending. So the timing lines up.”

“Perfect,” you said, setting your cup down with a soft clink. “She can blend in with the party, and we can quietly let the news of a breakup make its rounds and...go on with our lives as if none of it happened.”

"Sounds very civil," he murmured, and then, eyes finding yours again as he sipped his espresso, “And when questions get asked about when we started dating?” he added.

You perked up. “Actually, I was thinking about that. I might have an idea.”

“Oh?”

You grinned. “The Met Gala. I’m already on the list, and so are you. I’m thinking, what if we made our public debut at the afterparty?”

“You and after parties, huh?”

You rolled your eyes, “It would be a good place to be seen together, and then if some civilian takes a photo of us cuddling in a booth, I think that would sell the thing perfectly. Rather than playing it up on the red carpet which might look more forced.”

“That’s next week, is that too soon for you?”

“Not at all. In fact–”

You reached across the table, gently taking his hand and adjusting the way he held his coffee cup. You tilted his fingers slightly, so that the emerald ring on his finger caught the light just right, gleaming against the white ceramic.

He gave you a curious look. “What are you doing?”

You brought your own latte closer, arranging your hand just so, both of you touching the handles of your mugs, your nails freshly painted and perfectly visible. You snapped a photo.

“This,” you said, opening Instagram, “is called a ‘soft launch,’ Harry,” 

“Soft launch?” he asked with an amused grin.

You didn’t look up. “It’s where you show just enough to make people wonder who you’re with, but not enough to confirm anything. You post it to stories and let the speculation do the work.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, clearly entertained. “You really have this down to a science.”

You tapped through the filters without much care. “You said you wanted a distraction, right? This is how you make a splash without stepping outside.”

He leaned forward slightly, studying the image on your screen. “No one will know that’s me.”

“That’s the point,” you said. “Gotta keep it mysterious at first.”

He watched you with something that might’ve been admiration, or at the very least amusement. “You’re not what I expected.”

You smiled, “Would’ve been quite boring if I was predictable. Besides, you don’t want calm. You need chaos, and it just so happens the chaos you’re looking for is dressed in Chanel.”

That earned a real laugh — not the polite kind, but a rich, unguarded one that curled warmly at the edges. His eyes crinkled when he smiled, and for a second it made your chest pull in a way you hadn’t expected.

“Alright then,” he said, lifting the last of his espresso in a little toast. “To soft launches.”

You touched your mug to his and took a sip, the two of you smiling at each other over the rims.

You were rather pleased with yourself as you sat down at the table marked with your family name. The tablescape was decadent with pink and white flowers, crisp linen pressed to perfection beneath the gleaming gold flatware and bone white china. Tiny menus rested at each place setting and were printed on thick, textured cardstock with  blush borders and embossed initials. Mimosas floated past in crystal clutches, delivered by white-gloved staff as the bridal shower brunch officially began beneath a silk-draped pergola on the Van der Woodsen terrace.

A harpist played delicately in the background, drowned only by the clinking of glasses and happy conversation around Serena. She was absolutely glowing in her white floor length gown and long white gloves, the essence of bridal straight from a magazine. 

But it wasn’t the atmosphere that had you feeling so content. No, the smile tugging at the corner of your lips was from the fact that you’d sent the bait and people were flocking to it. Your soft launch with Harry had gone perfectly. You went unnoticed in the coffee shop but public online, it was purposely vague and yet sparked obsession across Gossip Girl and your DMs. Your plan was working. And across the table, it made your mother’s glare taste even better.

“Honestly, you think you’d want to actually be on time given the circumstances.” she scoffed as she aggressively snapped her napkin across her lap. Her greying hair was scraped back into an uptight bun, silver Tiffany hoops glittering in her ears and a beautiful, fresh look to her makeup. She was the picture of nobility, even as she sat across burning daggers into you. 

And you too looked put together, good enough to pretend our weekend scandal never happened. A gauzy, floor length floral dress tickled your ankles, with woven wedges and golden teardrop earrings to accompany your understated look. But you could still feel the eyes, the whispers, the people around you looking over. 

You knew your headline wouldn’t die with a simple coffee date exposition. 

“I wasn’t even that late,” you muttered, sipping at the bubbly flute of champagne and orange juice. The look she gave you doesn’t go unnoticed, but it was cut off by another voice behind you.

“Did you really block my number again?”

You didn’t even have to turn to see who it was.

“Are men even allowed at these things?” you asked your mother flatly, ignoring the voice behind you.

Your mother exhaled, “Charles,” she said in greeting, though tired, “thank you for joining us. But yes…usually it is just the women who come to these.”

You glanced over your shoulder to see your brother with his hands gripping the back of your chair. Impeccably dressed, a crisp blue blazer and freshly cut hair. Of course, he also had a faint white dusting beneath his one nostril.

“How’re the donuts?” you smiled sweet as syrup, using your code for wipe your fucking nose, dumbass.

He clocked your meaning with a swipe to his nose with the back of his hand. “Delicious,” he murmured with a mocking smile, reaching for a glass of champagne like it was a handshake.

“But seriously,” he added as he flopped into the seat beside you, “are you mad at me or is this about your Girls Gone Wild debut?” 

“Can people please stop calling it that?” you whined into your hand, covering your face, “I especially don’t need to be hearing it out of my own brother’s mouth, Chuck.”

He shrugged, “Kind of iconic, sis,”

“Charles.” your mother hissed with a scowl.

“Where’s B?” you asked him, hoping to god for a change of subject.

Chuck didn’t look at you as his jaw tightened and he stared out onto the terrace.

“Busy, I think.” he finally said.

You narrowed your eyes, “Busy with what? I just talked to her last night. She’s supposed to be here too.”

He leaned back in his chair and downed the rest of his glass. “I didn’t ask. She said not to come over last night, so I didn’t.” His voice was casual, but you knew him too well, there was a crack in it, right under the surface.

You didn’t press, you rarely did. It was their thing, whatever strange, codependent gravity held them together all these years. You’d long since stopped trying to understand it, and it wasn’t worth messing into anymore, even if it was the strangest feeling in the world: having your brother and best friend dating, that is.

But before you could say anything else, you felt a shift in the air, could smell warm perfume and that glowing Serena energy that always preceded her like a weather front.

“There you are!” she beamed, sliding up behind your chair and throwing her arms over you. You stood automatically, turning into her embrace, your arms sliding around her waist in return. Her hair brushed your cheek, smelling clean and floral and always so impossibly soft, and for a moment it felt like being sixteen again, sneaking out of benefits and charity galas just to smoke in the park and talk about boys you’d never marry.

She squeezed you once more than necessary.

And then, right beside your ear, voice low and lilting, she said, “Harry?”

You pulled back, blinking. For a second, you forgot where you were. She was smiling tightly, eyes bright enough to register the glee beneath it all. Your pulse spiked.

She knew. You didn’t know how, but she knew. 

She gave a tiny nod, conspiratorial, and you mirrored it automatically, your body moving before your brain could catch up. 

She giggled, delighted, and pulled you back into her arms

“I won’t tell a soul until you’re ready!” she whispered like it was sacred, “I recognized the Darius ring immediately!”

Your stomach dropped. Because if she knew, if she could identify it from a vague, cropped, untagged post over morning coffee... then everyone else wasn’t far behind. You’d set the match and the fuse was lit.

It was only a few seconds that you held each other there, but as you let go of each other you realized your hands were clammy when you reached for your champagne glass. You’d wanted this, you’d pictured how it’d go, when people would finally figure it all out and the gossip would start. But it was another thing to see the knowing in Serena’s eyes. To realize it had worked.

And the nicest thing about her was that she never asked about your messes or pressed you to do better or change your ways. She had her own fallouts once, and you were each other’s favorite bad influence until she got help junior year and started using words like boundaries and healing. But even now—clean, radiant, engaged—she wasn’t sanctimonious. She never needed you to explain yourself.

She just watched, knew, kept secrets like a dragon keeping its jewels. And she didn’t miss much, least of all a man’s ring.

The following week, you arrived at the Gala with your nerves fluttering beneath a glittering, bespoke Gucci gown. As the car crept behind a long line of black SUVs outside the Met, you ran your hands over the hand-sewn jewels stitched across the fabric, trying to steady yourself. The fabric clung like a second skin, sheer and opalescent, dusted with crystals that caught every flicker of light. Soft tulle spilled from your hips in delicate, weightless layers, each one shifting like smoke when you moved. The bodice swept off your shoulders in an ethereal curve, barely there, as if the entire dress had been spun from stardust and breath.

Outside the windows, camera flashes strobed like lightning. Journalists, paparazzi, and red carpet interviewers stood pressed against barricades while celebrities floated past them, their stylists, managers, and handlers hovering just out of frame. Everything looked exactly as it always did every year, controlled and perfect and expected. But something about this time felt heavier, almost electric.

Maybe it was you, maybe it was the buzz of cameras flashing in your face while you were sober this time. Maybe it was the fact you and Harry were going public tonight. The thought of him made your stomach turn and flutter into your lungs. 

The moment your driver opened the door, everything shifted. The hum of the carpet swelled into a roar with the snaps of camera flashes and sharp cries of your name cutting through the night. From the left and the right, voices shouted, whistles pierced the air, all of it crashing toward you in a dizzying rush of flashbulbs and frenzy.

Typically, you just waltzed into these without so much commotion, just a pretty daughter of a major donor to the museum. But tonight there was no chance you’d sneak by with only one or two photos. At least this time your dress, though it clung to every curve, was full coverage. Elegant and thoughtfully styled and tailored to your body. Not like last Saturday when your nipples made headlines.

Your heels hit the carpet and you glided forward, plastering your best soft smile across your face, though the redness in your cheeks was hard to miss. You didn’t stand for photos, you kept moving, kept walking, because you thought your knees might give out if you didn’t. 

Just find your family, find your table and your family and just sit before you throw up.

And then, once mercifully inside the grand doorway, a softer, elegant buzz fell around the room and you let out a long breath. Crystal chandeliers glowed above long tables dressed in gold and white, set between marble statues and famous paintings. It was breathtaking, curated within an inch of its life.

You spotted your mother and father at a table across the room and began to move towards them, when you were suddenly stopped short. There, stepping directly into your path, was a woman with a sleek, dirty-blonde bob and an icy blue coat draped over her shoulders. Her sequined gown shimmered with an elegance that commanded a room without question.

“Anna-!” you blurted, “Ms–Ms. Wintour, how are you?”

She didn’t smile or even reply to your greeting. Her eyes were like sharp daggers through silk.

“Miss Montclair,” she said crisply, “You were removed from the guest list earlier this week due to recent…events.”

The words hit like a slap across the face. You almost wish she had slapped you instead.

Your mother’s words from last week rang through your mind as you stared into Anna’s cold, green eyes.

You can forget about your cover with Forbes. Vogue sure isn’t going to take you back.

And here was the truth, standing in your path— the editor and chief of Vogue herself telling you that you were no longer welcome. 

“I—what?”

“Your family is, of course, still welcome. I believe they’re in their seats right now. But you were struck from the official list.”

You didn’t even realize how tight your hands had curled until your fingernails pressed so hard into the palms of your hands you thought you might start bleeding. You glanced over her shoulder at your mother who was suddenly not looking at you at all.

So this was how it happened. Your first public appearance since the scandal, in front of every person who mattered, and you were going to be escorted out.

You felt your chest tighten—your throat caught, eyes already hot.

But then, there was a warm hand at the small of your back.

“Ah, Ms Wintour, thank you for finding my date.”

You turned, and there he was.

Flawless in all black Tom Ford, tie knotted perfectly and not a single hair out of place. He stood beside you, his chest emitting warmth as it brushed your shoulder, steady and calm as his eyes met Anna’s without blinking.

“Mr. Castillo–” Anna said, surprised.

“I’ll take her to her seat now, thank you,” he said calmly.

“You’re attending together?”

“Yes,” Harry said, “she’s my guest tonight.”

There was a long pause as Anna looked between the two of you, her eyes momentarily caught on the way his arm was around you.

“Very well,” she said with a nod, stepping back. And just like that, she turned and disappeared into the crowd of curated faces and brand sponsored gowns.

You stood frozen, watching her go.

You heard Harry’s voice, so gentle beside you, as it brought you back to the moment, “You okay?”

You took in a gulp of air, remembering yourself, and nodded. He didn’t say anything else before gently guiding you forward, hand staying at the small of your back, through the velvet ropes and into the glittering madness of the main hall.

“You look really nice tonight,” he whispered in your ear as you closed in on the table with your family. It was decorated with white orchids and gold place cards, and you could just make out your name when he stopped you. He turned you towards himself, his hand coming up to your upper arm, steady and gentle.

“Thanks,” you swallowed, but your voice felt so small. You weren’t sure all you were thanking for, but it was for everything, really. For saving you from social torment, for guiding you through the buzzing crowd when you could barely catch your breath. Maybe even for the compliment.

He smiled, just slightly, then lifted a hand to your chin. His thumb brushed softly against it before he glanced behind you. He nodded once, tight, toward your family before turning away and melting into the crowd.

You watched him for a long moment, already being stopped by some hedge fund heir in a pearl bespoke tux.

Sinking slowly into your seat, you could already feel your mother watching, your father’s eyes on the back of Harry’s head.

Both of them confused, and more than anything, furious.

“Care to explain what exactly that was?” your mother said tersely over the rim of her champagne flute.

The swell of the room came back to you as if you were stuck in a whirlwind and finally climbing back out. Around you, the long table buzzed with idle chatter as guests admired the floral arrangements, whispered about other guest’s attire, and traded gossip beneath the glow of crystal chandeliers.

“Can we do this later?” you managed to say, barely above a whisper. You weren’t sure you had it in you to explain everything in the midst of your near social exile.

Your mother opened her mouth to object, but your father cut in first. “She’s right. Later.” and then his deep, stern eyes were on you, “But I expect to hear about it.”

You gave a small nod, grateful for the reprieve, even if temporary, just as Blair slid gracefully into the seat beside you.

She looked like she’d walked out of a fashion editorial, or perhaps an old film—her deep plum gown cut sleek and sharp across her collarbones, the satin catching the light like still water. A band of silver sequins wrapped low around her hips, subtle but stunning, accentuating the drape of the fabric. Her hair was curled softly around her shoulders, her expression calm but knowing.

She didn’t say anything at first, simply reached for her water, took a slow sip, and then leaned in slightly toward you. “You looked incredible,” she murmured. “Even with the parental firing squad.”

You smiled, immediately at ease with your best friend beside you.

“I’m so glad you’re here, B.”

“Please. Like I’d miss this circus. Besides, half of these people are wearing Waldorf gowns, you think my mother would let me miss out on her chance to boast?”

You exhaled, shoulders lowering just slightly. Around you, the room went from a buzzing livewire to hushed tones and the scrape of chairs as everyone took their seats. With Blair beside you, you almost felt like you could face everything the night had in store.

And when all the glitz and glamor dissolved into a haze of flashbulbs and farewells, you found yourself grateful to slip away from the velvet ropes and instead, behind a nondescript steel door with music blaring from inside.

The speakeasy was low-lit and smoky, filled with only the right people. No flashing cameras or press agents. Just velvet booths, a marble bar backlit in soft amber, and a jazz band in the corner with a singer who looked like she was plucked straight from a 20’s Hollywood movie. You let your shoulders drop as the door swung closed behind you, the noise of the outside world sealed off completely.

“Oh god,” Blair muttered beside you, adjusting her diamond earrings. “I see Chuck.”

You rolled your eyes. “He wasn’t even at the gala.”

“Exactly,” she hissed, already backing away. “Classic Chuck, always ruining my night when it’s just about to get fun. I’ll find you later, okay?”

You nodded, amused, and made your way toward the bar.

You ordered your dirty gin martini—Ice cold. Like frostbite. I want my hand to hurt just holding it. The bartender smirked as he went to make it, his gaze lingering too long at your neckline. You stared back blankly until he finally turned away.

Your fingers skimmed your phone screen as you leaned into the bar, scrolling through the expected: red carpet recaps, Vogue slideshows, slow-motion video of someone’s Glambot from the night. You caught sight of yourself in a carousel of photos—you, for once, not for scandal, but for style. A quiet thrill settled in your chest.

Then came a voice, low and close.

“And how many martinis are we thinking for tonight?”

You didn’t have to turn. “You really do have a knack for sneaking up on me tonight, Harry.”

He settled in beside you, his presence tall and steady and gleaming at the edges—like some sleek, expensive car pulling up beside yours at a red light.

“Only one,” you murmured to answer him when he didn’t say anything. “Just enough to take the edge off.”

He lifted his own glass, ice clinking faintly. “Tequila.”

“Of course,” you said, “Can’t help but wonder what that says about you.”

“Dangerously misunderstood,” he replied, deadpan.

You smirked.

The bartender set your drink down with a soft clink, and Harry’s hand brushed your lower back as he gestured toward a booth across the room.

The leather was black and glossy beneath the dim gold light that bounced from the sconces along the wall. Harry slid in first, and you followed, settling beside him as his free arm draped behind you along the top of the loveseat. The heat of him was immediate as he moved in closer. He smelled like sandalwood and amber, sharp and expensive. You could feel the weight of his presence, could hear the shift of his jacket as he leaned in. He was close enough to count the gold flecks in his dark, endless brown eyes.

“Did you have a good night?” you asked, keeping your voice smooth even as your pulse ticked higher. You tried not to shift under the burn of his nearness, tried to ignore the way your skin prickled where his breath grazed your cheek.

He nodded, his thumb lightly circling your wrist as his hand drifted closer on the table, casual but intentional.

“You're a natural,” you added, tilting your head up at him, trying to make it look like flirty banter to any wandering eyes. God he was close.

He mirrored your tilt with a slow, knowing smile. “I saw the bartender looking at you.”

You glanced back toward the bar and caught it. The glint of a phone, half-concealed behind the ice bin. Filming.

“I think he’s recording us,” you whispered when you looked back up to Harry. You leaned in slightly, your voice like a secret.

“What do you say we get this show on the road?” he asked. 

You faced him full, heartbeat quickening. “Okay.” you said, softer now.

“Come closer,”

You set your glass down. Condensation kissed your fingertips as you brushed your hand along the front of his tuxedo jacket, pulling him toward you. The room seemed to fall away—replaced by shadows, low voices, and his warmth beside you.

“I’m going to touch you now, okay?” he asked, and when you nodded, your throat too tight to speak, he added, “Let me know if it’s too much,” 

His breath fanned over your face, smelling like spearmint and alcohol and that oud wood cologne as his fingers trailed from your wrist to the bend of your elbow, cold from the glass of his drink. Goosebumps bloomed across your skin like reflex as he moved in closer—so close his nose nuzzled yours, then traced the high arc of your cheekbone, lingering at your temple before slowly sliding into your hairline, hidden from sight. His breath was warm, slow, steady.

You didn’t mean to grip his lapel so tightly. But your fingers curled anyway, holding him closer than maybe necessary, your knuckles brushing the silk pocket square as if searching for something to anchor you.

Your eyes fluttered shut and he hovered at your ear, close enough for the edge of his jaw to graze your skin.

And then, just when you thought he might pull back, he said: 

“Good job,” voice low, neither smug or insincere. You weren’t sure if he meant your touch, your composure, or the flush you could feel blooming high on your cheeks. Maybe all three.

You drew back slowly, your hand falling from his jacket as your eyes lifted to meet his. But not before they lingered for a second too long on his mouth. When you looked up again, his gaze was already there, steady and a little cheeky, the burned caramel of his eyes catching the soft light and holding your reflection inside them.

You offered him a smile, “Not bad for our first show, huh?”

He shifted slightly, his eyes flicking to the table just as your phone began to buzz beside your glass.

“You tell me,” he said, his voice lighter now, a smile playing at the edge of his mouth.

You picked up your phone, and for a moment, your smile threatened to widen. But you caught it quickly, schooling your expression into something more performative—eyes wide, just the right amount of shock, thumb frozen above the screen like you weren’t expecting exactly this.

Across your notifications, Gossip Girl was already doing what she did best.

“I am trying very hard not to look excited right now,” you whispered, keeping a hand over your mouth so no one could see your smile.

“Why, have I gotten you all twitterpated?” Harry said in your ear, reading the screen.

“Harry, it’s the twenty-first century, no one says that shit anymore,” you said, letting your smile break free as you dropped your hand to reach for your drink and took a sip. The alcohol was cooling against your burning skin, your parched throat, your heavy tongue. Everything felt so real suddenly, like it was snowballing further and further as you saw people around you reaching for their phones, reading their notifications, their eyes finding you in the corner of the room.

“So yes, I think we put on quite a show, don’t you?” Harry said, lifting his glass to his lips.

You leaned back just slightly, letting the confidence settle in your bones. “Close it out with a standing ovation?”

He laughed softly, then set his drink down and reached for you again, nodding. His hands found your waist and tugged you in, your shoulder bumping against his chest. Without another word, he pressed a single kiss to the high point of your cheekbone. Just a small, sweet, calculated gesture. The kind that would photograph beautifully under dim lights of the room.

“How’s that?” he asked in your ear.

You blinked, caught off guard.

“I was thinking of something a little more exciting, but I think that'll do.” you chuckled, voice low, eyes flitting to his lips before settling back on his eyes.

“Can’t give them everything they want,” he said, eyes twinkling.

You huffed in amusement, but then quietly asked, “Can I return the favor?”

His eyes flicked to yours, just a fraction of hesitation before he gave a subtle nod that was measured and careful, like everything he did.

You leaned in, pressing your lips to the edge of his jaw, where his five o’clock shadow covered his skin. It was brief and camera friendly, but still, the second your mouth met the warmth of his rough with scruffy face, your stomach gave a tight and fluttering twist.

“I’m starting to think you’re better at this than me, Castillo,” you murmured, your lips brushing just close enough to make sure he felt the words.

He smiled, soft and smug, “Wouldn’t dream of it, Montclair.”

note from the author: okay yes chuck is your brother and im pretending he doesn't have the last name Bass in this!! sorry bass lovers!! his dad sucked anyway!!

taglist: @ovaryacted, @boscogirlsworld, @or-was-it-just-a-dream, @marisemonteiroo, @obsessedwithjustaboutanything, @umadirectioner, @yslgreen, @blogwagenzmom, @ch0c01atech1p, @vickie5446, @silksepia, @maiamore, @avengersfan25, @indiegirlunited, @tofics, @magicxmiller, @stevie75, @littlcdarlin

[mysteryshoptls]

Ortho Shroud Chat Lines

Same as the King of the Underworld.

Ortho: You're curious about my hair? It's made of flames, just like my brother's. Ortho: I hear it's the same as the King of the Underworld, too. Ortho: And his even turned red whenever he got angry! Ortho: My hair is managed by a program, so by changing the gas composition, I can make it any color I want. Ortho: Ehehe, it's so cool, don'tcha think～?

A Gamer's Soul

Ortho: Hey, Prefect, what sort of games do you like? We should play together sometime in my dorm. Ortho: We can play any type of game. Ortho: Even if my brother doesn't own the game, I'm pretty sure there'll be at least one person in the dorm who'll have it. Ortho: Ignihyde's filled with a bunch of guys who love computer games and board games. Ortho: They say that the King of the Underworld also planned his strategies on a chessboard, so maybe he liked games too. Ortho: Maybe that's why those with a gamer's soul end up in Ignihyde!

Transform into Anything

Ortho: Oh man, your heart's racing... You must've just come from PE class. Ortho: Maan, you're so lucky. I wanna be able to exercise too! I should see if I can get my brother to swap out my attachments. Ortho: I hear that the King of the Underworld's minions could transform into anything at will. Ortho: When they want to fly, they turned into birds. Ortho: When they wanted to run fast, they turned into horses. Basically, they were shapeshifters. Ortho: Isn't that super handy? If only I could get equipped with a similar function～

Watching Sparring Matches (New!)

Ortho: Most people know that the King of the Underworld loved watching sparring matches. Ortho: Sometimes he'd just watch it casually, snacking the whole time, but there were times he'd get really into it. Ortho: My brother and I like to watch livestreams of fighting games a bunch, too, so I definitely understand. Ortho: Like, the other day, the streamer we were rooting for lost, so we both ended up shouting at the screen. Ortho: I wonder if the King of the Underworld also had a champion he liked to cheer on? I should do some more research on that!

Small Talk

Idia: They say that the King of the Underworld was great at small talk and could negotiate like no one's business... Idia: B-But I can't even get through a research presentation in class without stuttering... Idia: As Ignihyde's Housewarden, presiding over a dorm honoring the King of the Underworld... Idia: This is beyond pathetic, isn't it...? [sighs] Ortho: I mean, as long as you're not actually talking to someone face-to-face... Ortho: ...You can spit a million words a second that'd even throw the King of the Underworld for a loop! Ortho: Replaying an excerpt from your chatlog, recorded 15 hours and 42 minutes ago: Ortho: "Can always count on Muscle Red's support in a pinch! See, vets are a totally different breed～!" Ortho: "Now, for the main event～ All your rare drops are belong to me! Yahoo!" Idia: S-Stop... Please, nooo...!

Like Lightning (New!)

Ortho: Um, Vil-san, I'm having a bit of a difficult time figuring out the right emotions behind this script. Vil: Why are you asking me this? I'm sure you're capable of searching up anything you need. Ortho: Yeah, that's true... But I feel like "as angry as lightning" is a little too metaphorical for me. Ortho: When I looked it up, I hit on a story of how the Thorn Fairy brought down lightning in a rage... Ortho: But it's way too hard for a mere actor to show anger like lightning. Vil: Being able to express that is what being an actor is all about. There is nothing I can help you with. Ortho: Yeah, but I feel like you'd get the performance you're wanting if you give me more specific instructions, don't you? Ortho: Or, maybe you're just don't know how to handle these kinds of stuff efficiently, huh? Oh well, I guess I just gotta give up, then～ Vil: I know you're just trying to anger me in order to see an example of the correct expression. You won't glean anything from me. Ortho: Aww man, you saw right through me. Oh well. This is all to help my understanding in expressions, so I'll keep on trying!

Something He Left Behind (New!)

Ortho: So, there's this tale about how a prince rode a magic carpet to go see a princess... Ortho: But wasn't she startled to see someone just floating in mid-air all of a sudden like that? Vil: Rather than being startled, it seems she and the prince went off on a date right after. Ortho: Whaaat!? You mean, even though he could've been some kind of intruder, instead her affection level went up!? Vil: I bet your brother would be the type to faint if some unknown party were right outside his window. Ortho: You're probably right... Oh, but the other day, I flew up to a window in my brother's classroom and delivered something he left behind. Ortho: 'Cause that's faster than climbing the stairs to deliver it! Vil: You were calling him an intruder, but you did the exact same thing as that prince...

Requested by @monavitty.

[unsolicited-opinions]

Hi ! I’m lurking through your blog and you seem very mature, like in a way that’s rare to find. I naively had similar beliefs as a teen but now feel like I’m never radical enough or useless, I felt like I lost myself and I wanted to ask how do you stay confident in your mindset.

Old, Anon.

The word you're looking for is old.

Aging is weird.

The truth is that I don't stay confident in my mindset.

I think that's mostly a good thing, because the reflex to defend a mindset can drive you to bypass genuine listening and reconsideration when presented with new information or new ideas.

Mindsets can get tangled up in feelings, fallacies, and cognitive biases.

I try instead to stay open and skeptical, especially of myself. That uncertainty keeps me checking in with my beliefs. It helps me pause before posting, read people I disagree with, and listen when people disagree in good faith.

Maybe you're really asking something deeper, Anon.

You mentioned feeling like you're never radical enough, or that maybe you've lost yourself.

That disorientation, that sense of being not enough for the tribe you're supposed to belong to is real.

It's especially brutal when you actually care about justice...but your community starts measuring morality by loyalty, shibboleths and performed tribal rituals instead of by integrity.

You're not alone in feeling this way.

____

I've been trying to understand what's happening when a wide variety of people get angry at me.

In the past week alone, no shit, I've had each of the following spit at me as contemptuous invective by someone on Tumblr in Replies, Asks, or Reblogs:

Communist!

Liberal!

Centrist!

Nazi!

Boot-licking Fascist!

I've been trying to figure out what it is I'm doing which is so upsetting to so many people across so many ideological camps.

My working hypothesis:

Consistency is a strangely radical trait to display publicly in a polarized society and it is deeply offensive to people on either end of the horseshoe.

Below are moral principles which I think always apply.

These aren't slogans or moral flexes.

I often want to check and re-calibrate my own internal tools for moral navigation, and that's what this sort of thing does for me.

They're guardrails which help me avoid going off the road of human decency or straying from my core moral beliefs. They're also not comprehensive or universal - they're just some examples which are useful and meaningful for me.

Every People Has a Right to Exist

All of them.

You don't have to love every culture. You don't have to endorse every political entity, but no group deserves to be erased.

If your activism involves erasing a people physically, culturally, or symbolically, you're not doing liberation work.

Oppression Doesn't Excuse Oppression

Being hurt doesn't give you a free pass to hurt others. Nothing justifies massacres. Bigotry and violence don't become righteous when they're flipped upside down.

If we cheer atrocities when "our side" commits them, we're not opposing violence, we're promoting it.

Human Rights Are Universal

Women's rights matter in Afghanistan and in the US.

LGBTQ+ rights matter in Iran and in Florida. The right to protest matters in Gaza, Georgia, and Tehran.

Free speech matters even when it protects people you disagree with.

If we bring up human rights to attack our enemies but excuse our allies when they do the same, we're making human rights which should be universal into something selective and tribal.

Targeting Civilians is Never Acceptable

Drone strikes. Suicide bombings. School shootings. Pogroms. Doesn't matter who's doing it or why. Targeting civilians is always wrong.

Moral Agency Applies to Everyone

People and movements must be judged by what they do, not by the story they tell about themselves.

This includes the US, Hamas, Russia, MAGA, antifa, the IDF, radical feminists, the Ayatollah, and your favorite TikToker.

If you treat any group as too victimized to be morally responsible, you're infantilzing and dehumanizing them. It's not compassion, it's condescension.

Oppressed ≠ pure.

Powerful ≠ evil.

The Ends Don't Justify Inhumane Means

If a "revolution" regularly promotes torture, genocide, authoritarianism, or child soldiers...it's not a liberation movement.

If a cause requires mass deception or mass suffering to work, the cause should be revised or abandoned.

"By any means necessary" can go very wrong very quickly and this phrase should not be used often, casually, or as an abdication of moral responsibility.

Peace and Justice Require Listening

You don't build a better future by eradicating your enemies. You build it by figuring out how to share space with people you may never fully agree with.

Justice requires truth and accountability...then forgiveness and coexistence.

When movements start purging dissent, silencing disagreement, and chasing utopias through destruction...that's when they start becoming the thing they claimed to fight.

Right now:

Identity is treated as morality, and power is treated as sin.

Being "on the right side" means never having to check yourself.

Rage/outrage is mistaken for moral clarity.

Empathy is weaponized against an enemy, not leveraged to relieve suffering.

The loudest performers are drowning out those who are working meaningfully and materially for peace.

A large number of us have abandoned consistent principles and ended up cheering for monsters...mostly because the monsters hate the same people we do.

So I try to hold onto moral principles that don't change based on who's in power, or who's claiming victimhood. Moral principles which focus on alleviation of suffering and promotion of justice, not on revenge or the balancing of scales. Principles which prioritize action over performance, and rational universalism over tribalism.

To be clear, I don't think doing this makes me neutral or right.

But I do hope it makes me trustworthy.

---

Anon, if you're feeling lost or like you're not "radical enough," maybe ask yourself:

Are you anxious about being faithful to your values...or just to your group?

Are you sacrificing thought for belonging? Are you sacrificing your own moral principles for social acceptance?

Where did you get the idea that there's some threshold of being "radical enough," and that other people can set that threshold without your consent?

Solidarity without principle isn't justice. It's just one's preferred (or socially acceptable) flavor and direction of selective injustice.

So...what beliefs/principles/values do you hold as sacred no matter what group they're applied to?

---

The quiet moments when you're alone with your conscience are the ones which will tell you who you are.

So don't worry about falling short of perfection, Anon- everyone falls short of that.

And maybe don't worry about falling short of other people's standards either - because it'll never be possible to satisfy them, and you don't owe them a performance or allegiance to their standards.

You owe yourself consistent commitment to your standards.

___

If you feel like you're "never radical enough" or that you've lost yourself somewhere along the way, consider the possibility that you're just experiencing the natural results of trying to be honest and true to yourself in a dishonest, inconsistent, polarized, tribal, performative, reactionary, dangerous time.

Managing that can be difficult and unpleasant, but even just making the attempt takes courage...and you're already working on it.

That's more than most people ever manage.

[aetherograph]

I had this too but even worse because I grew up in Hollywood-the-culture-the-industry, and my parents were (I think) so scared of being Show Parents and pushing me to do something I didn't want that they never stopped to consider that maybe I DID want to do it. It didn't help that I grew up in Hollywood during the height of all the child abuse of the 90s kids channels (yeah sorry most of your favourite 90s shows were made while the kids were being horrifically abused; most child actors are horrifically abused bc most ACTORS are abused), and my parents didn't want any part of that for me.

But I did WANT to perform. I wanted to learn how to do what my dad did as a stage hand. The few times I got to, I loved designing sets or doing SFX. Being on stage was harder and I DEFINITELY needed support and I didn't get it, but I did like to sing, and to play pretend, and tell stories, and dance, and those are all things performers do.

However.

Where I DID get support, and teaching, and a chance to practise performing?

The SCA.

The SCA is full of great folks! It varies by chapter as to how active the Bardic Guild is, but every single one is supportive and friendly even and especially to newbies. Bardic Circle/Practise is where you just go to practise stuff around other bards that give you support. Or you can practise being audience, or chorus--because if someone starts a song and you know it, you can join in! That's just the culture. And going to events, especially War (camping), doesn't mean there's only structured audition-only type of performance, or even only contests. Nope! You can just walk from camp to camp asking folks if they want to hear a story or a song, and most times if there's a fire and people around it, they do! Of course they do!

Granted, the SCA is pre-1700, but they're flexible. Sea shanties no matter when they were written are fine, for example; basically as long as its in the right sort of genre, you know? But heck, folk songs and storytelling are good by me! I just like the joy of singing, and I'm a storyteller by nature, I've always loved the types of stories that should be TOLD, not read. And the support cannot be overstated.

If you don't want to compete, if you just want to perform without pressure, you can! That's probably one of the only places you can anymore (that I know of, anyway)! And I like the feeling of connecting with my ancestors from times past, telling stories I know they knew, or would understand. There's some deep magic in standing there doing that oldest magic in the world, lit only by flickering flame.

The worst part about audition season as a kid: If your parents don't do the song and dance of pitching a fit to insist you're special as everyone else you don't get roles. You don't get pushed to show talent and you are never put in the spotlight. You loose out to all the kids who's parents insisted that "Their kid is so special they are the specialest I'll pay you to give them a role" (which worked unfortunately the same 10 kids ALWAYS were given roles even if they weren't suited to it, because they were friendlier with the people who ran production) you never get to develop your talent or work hard or show what you can do. You might be carrying ensemble, you might be better at memorizing, you might actually HAVE the vocal range needed for a part but your parents don't think you're the specialest little kid to ever grace the earth with your presence, so you never EVER get to go further. And now I have stage fright. I didn't start with it but never being good enough for a decade of work and effort shattered my self confidence.

The performance environment you were in as a kid sounds like no fun :( unfortunately it's a relatively common experience in the arts. Somebody's parent is a director or a board member or just VERY pushy etc. and their kid automatically stars in every show.

[the-daughter-of-a-wolf]

Some more 2 Old 2 Guard thoughts, having calmed down a little (but not a lot)

Spoilers galore, obviously!

Okay so I'm gonna sort this vaguely by character in hope of some semblance of cohesion. It's probably not gonna be that cohesive anyway because my thoughts bounce around a lot but ah well!

Andy & Quynh

Charlize Theron continues to be incredible, I really loved her performance in this movie.

Also the lesbian mullet. Woooweeee. That was hot.

I really liked the dynamic between Andy and Quynh. I had been really worried about how they would handle that, because obviously Quynh was going to be really angry, and possibly a li'l bit insane after what she's been through, and I wanted that to be explored but also obviously I was rooting for a reunion and forgiveness in the end. Their arc more or less gave me what I wanted. I feel like they could've gone deeper into Andy's experiences after losing Quynh and why she eventually stopped looking, because that can't have been easy, and if I were Quynh I would not have been satisfied with the explanations that were offered for that.

I do wish they hadn't returned Andy's immortality before Quynh even got a chance to learn about her mortality. I think it would've been juicier for Quynh to injure Andy and realise oh shit she's not healing, and have to grapple with losing the person that meant the most to her but also who she was really angry with, and also with having limited time to fix things between them. Either make them both mortal or leave it as just Andy, if you ask me.

The toxic yuri fight moments did give me life, though. And the beginnings of reconciliation towards the end! Those were lovely!! Honestly for the most part this plotline was a huge positive to me!

BUT on the flipside the return of Andy's immortality was a HUGE MISTAKE in my opinion. Really took the bottom out from under everything that was discussed at the end of the last movie and in the first half of this one. Having her grapple with losing her immortality means nothing if it can just be handed back to her! AND okay fine if they end up doing that like they did, THEN HAVE HER AND BOOKER DEAL WITH IT AND NOT JUST (presumably) KILL HIM RIGHT AWAY! Have Andy say "hey Booker, you're doing that thing again where you presume to know what I want with my life and immortality! Did we not talk about this last time! And actually maybe I didn't want my immortality back, which you would have known if you'd ASKED ME!" It steps on her agency so hard to do this, and that at least merits a fucking discussion!! Now they just never did anything with it. Because the movie didn't have an ending. Sigh.

Booker

I really really liked how they added Booker back into the squad. I think it was inevitable, and I very much like that Joe was the one to break first and reunite with him. I also think his conversations with Andy were really good, those were some of my favourite moments in the movie.

I also think the way Booker acted after learning about Nile's "destroyer" ability was very in line with his character, and incredibly well acted.

The scene where he sparred with Nile was also one of my favourites in this movie. It was incredibly juicy. Aside from the fact that I LOATHE the whole concept of "newest immortal can take away immortality and then you can pass it on to anyone you fucking like without their consent", Booker was the correct character to put in that situation.

But crucially I DON'T THINK IT SHOULD HAVE WORKED. I think Booker should've done all he did, fight Nile and then send Andy out to fight thinking she was immortal and himself out to die and THEN REALISE IT DIDN'T WORK. AND THEN THEY WOULD'VE HAD TO DEAL WITH THAT. How does Nile feel about Booker using her essentially to self-harm/kill himself? I would've liked to see that explored! How would Andy feel about the fact that Booker's trying to decide for her again and that despite everything they went through, he's still willing to hurt the others to end his own immortality? I WOULD'VE LIKED TO SEE THAT EXPLORED. (OR, and this would've made less sense for his character, but HAVE HIM NOT BE ABLE TO GO THROUGH WITH IT AFTER ALL! Like, he's like oh hell yeah gonna give up my immortality and give it to Andy and then realise he can't get himself to do it! That would've been interesting!) Instead he just martyrs himself like an idiot, and if we're to assume he's actually dead (well, either way because that third movie is NOT happening), these things will NEVER be explored! I'm truly so mad at the wasted potential here.

Joe & Nicky

I would've like to see more of them! Obviously! I'm biased! But I feel like they set up a lot of interesting things for them that never got explored. (Like most things. Because this movie was MISSING THE LAST QUARTER TO THIRD OF IT. AAUUGHHHHHHH.)

I liked some of their lighter, goofier moments, some not so much. The car chase felt a bit dumb and I didn't like the cartoony thumb and ankle gore, it was silly and gross. I did like their drunk antics, that was cute. I like that they get to be funny and weird sometimes! But I would've liked a bit more dimensions to them beyond that.

For example! I was honestly SO ON BOARD with the "oh I want to spend some time by myself" situation and the following Booker conflict! That shit was juicy! I want to explore their differences and disagreements as well as all the happy lovey stuff! But that didn't really go anywhere after the first discussion, which was a bummer. Obviously I don't want anything permanently detrimental to happen to my boys, but I want them to have complex inner lives of their own! I feel like they conveyed that so concisely and well in the first movie, with just few key moments of dialogue and acting, and here they were mostly relegated to the background and I was bummed about that.

The love declaration speech vol 2 was adorable and very touching, but because there was no follow-up to any of it (BECAUSE THE LAST ACT WAS MISSING), it ended up feeling a little tacked on. Like, okay foreboding sense that their time is coming to an end! Where's that going!! I WOULD LIKE TO SEE THAT!

Also not enough cuddling and no kissing. What's up with that!!

Nile

I am so frustrated about how little Nile got to do in this movie! Because it basically should've been her movie. And would've been, HAD THEY BOTHERED TO FINISH IT. I can't believe that in a movie mostly centered around Nile's role in the group and abilities, SHE NEVER GOT TO LEARN ABOUT HER ABILITIES. What a clown show.

First of all she shouldn't have that power to begin with, the whole concept was a load of crap. But if she had to have it, MAKE HER GRAPPLE WITH IT. How the dynamic between the group would immediately change. Are they gonna be careful around her and scared of her? Are they gonna want to use her powers to end their immortality? Does she get a choice? What about her own immortality? Is this not what the movie should have been about, if that element had to be introduced????

Also I'm annoyed that they brushed off that whole "hey, are you suddenly okay with all this excessive violence" thing. I'm glad it was brought up, but the fact that she was like "nah it's for the greater good, it's fine" did not feel in line with her character, or at least felt like something that should've been explored further. Like yes, I remember that in the last movie she came to the conclusion that the work they do is important enough to justify the violence, but honestly I feel like in this movie it really wasn't. Like okay, arm dealer bad, gotta kill him, fair enough. Gotta kill DOZENS AND DOZENS OF HIS STAFF AS WELL? How does that sit with the soul, I wonder. It felt gratuitous to me so I think it might've felt gratuitous to Nile as well. But nah who cares.

I would've liked more discussions about how Nile is settling into the immortal life in general.

But anyway Kiki Layne is hot as fuck and Nile is so cool and I love her <3

Tuah

idk it's really weird that he exists

I liked him fine as a character, but you can't just be adding random immortals willy-nilly like this! That really stepped on everything we thought we knew about how the immortals worked and who they were but okay then.

He should've just been a cool librarian dude, I wish they weren't all warriors!

He was cute and I liked his interactions with the main crew well enough. But again, the character existing is a big problem for the lore, so that kinda got in the way of my enjoyment.

Discord

Literally the biggest problem of this whole movie to me (aside from all the other stupid lore shit they changed).

There should not be an older immortal than Andy. And if there was, THEY SHOULD ALL KNOW ABOUT IT, WAS THAT NOT HOW THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO WORK?!? And since Tuah is suddenly someone Andy also knows, would this woman's existence not have come up?? Somewhere in the past several hunderd/thousand years??

NO, see what I think they should've done is either A) just make her a mortal?? Maybe a mortal who's conned everyone into thinking she's an immortal and is playing the rest of the team against each other in hopes of gaining immortality! That could be juicy! But a greedy mortal all the same! or B) make her someone who's gotten her immortality more recently! Like idk, if she knows about this stupid-ass ✨LEGEND✨ that's so convenient, she should've gotten her immortality by somehow having someone else lose theirs! Make her a mortal who knows about the immortals and this fuck-ass legend and have her manipulate Nile into injuring Booker or Quynh or something idfk and have her gain immortality that way!

Then the movie would've been about the old immortals who are So So Tired and Andy - who is the oldest - having lost her immortality, and these newbies/mortals being like OOH IMMORTALITY GIMME IT. Wouldn't that have been something to build a movie around?? (idk. like. the first movie. which explored this theme with great success and thematic cohesion...)

I do think there's thematic potential in a super ancient immortal who's NOT tired of life as opposed to the main squad, many of whom really are, but I don't think the way they approached it here made sense. Partly because adding her to the canon as the oldest was so stupid and bad to begin with. Also if they wanted to explore an immortal wanting to keep their immortality... make it Nicky and Joe? Like, when confronted with the Magic Immortality Cure Stabby, have Booker be like YEEHAW, have Nile and Andy grapple with it, and have Joe and Nicky say actually no thanks we want to keep going? Wouldn't that have been interesting??? Idk man, they could've gone so many ways with this, but I am not a fan of what they went with.

Uma Thurman is cool though, not gonna lie.

Anyway I guess that's most of it for now! There were individual moments I liked, the acting was excellent across the board, and I was so happy to see my blorbos again. But they retconned WAY TOO MUCH of the lore that made the first movie so interesting and impactful, and there's just no getting around the fact that THIS MOVIE WAS NOT FINISHED. It wasn't even sequel bait, it was an unfinished movie. That's such a shitty move, especially after such a long wait, and I'm very pissed off about it.

I doubt I'll watch this movie again, but I hope that at least the first one will remain untarnished in my heart and mind even with all this clownery 💔

[mercaque]

The Old Guard 2 Thoughts

I liked quite a few elements and didn’t completely hate the lore changes, but I hate the poor communication trope that powered a significant subplot.

I liked:

QUYNH. Veronica Ngo’s performance alone was worth seeing the movie for. Her chemistry with Charlize Theron is flawless.

Henry Golding’s performance was also good. The “remember the new guy” trope often annoys me, but I liked him enough that it didn’t here.

The “memory lane” sequence was transcendent. A beautiful bit of storytelling and a sense of Andy’s headspace.

The fights. Excellent choreography particularly in all of Andy’s fights.

Joe and Nicky’s tiff about Booker. For me their different stances made sense with their characters. Joe’s anger burns hotter but also burns out more quickly, while Nicky is quieter but more immovable.

I have problems with Booker’s subplot, but Matthias Schoenarts gave a fantastic performance. I also thought the “expiration date” conversation was excellent. That was the sort of philosophical question I enjoyed about the first movie.

Joe kicking that guy onto Nicky’s sword.

I didn’t hate:

The concept of an “immortal killer” or the ability to “transfer” immortality. I did not love HOW this was implemented in the story (see below) or the blatant retconning. But if they were going to go further into the “how” of immortality, I can live with these ideas.

The idea of Booker finally getting his wish to die. As with the above, I do not love HOW this was done, to put it mildly. But as a concept, it makes sense. Booker wanting to lose his immortality is a consistent element of his character. He does not want this. No matter how much meaning others may find in their immortal lives, he simply does not. I think it’s valid storytelling that at least one of the immortals is just never going to be on board with it. That said…

I hated:

…HOW Booker went about losing his immortality. What.

That he did it by deception was so fucking cruel to Nile and Andy, and showed that he hadn’t learned a damn thing in his exile. I came away thinking “y’all should have listened to Nicky.”

Given his actions in the last movie, I can accept that Booker would be selfish enough to do it the way he did (even if I think it was a missed chance for some character growth). But why didn’t Tuah step in to inform Nile? Why not tell her first? If his character was intended to be the sort of person who would allow her to unwittingly kill fellow immortals, the set-up was incredibly poor. Booker asked him to promise not to tell, but I see no reason why Tuah should have agreed to that promise.

It ended up as the classic “the story would be over in 5 minutes if characters sensibly shared information with each other” trope. Lazy and unsatisfying storytelling, when it didn’t need to be.

Not telling Nile deprived her of a good story. Let Booker ASK and make his case for surrendering his immortality! Give us that scene, let Nile navigate that moral dilemma, give her some actual conflict within the immortal family. Follow up on the connection their characters established in the first film! Instead of skirting around that to power the plot, they should have leaned in and HAD that conversation. I think the storyline would have been much more forgivable.

Aside from the matter of Booker, not telling Nile basically cut her out of her own story. She was never given the chance to grapple with what she had unknowingly done to Andy or what she had the potential to do to her other family members. Imagine how much more tense that fight with Quynh might have been if she were desperately trying NOT to permanently harm her?

On a different and lesser note, Joe and Nicky were pretty relegated to the background/kidnapping victim. There were some decent moments with them, but they felt pretty disconnected from everything else going on. Would have loved to see more of their reactions re: Quynh.

All in all, the 30% or whatever it is now on RT is a much lower score than I would give this movie. The stuff I liked was worth seeing it for. But the contrivances that undercut Nile’s story were REALLY bad and unnecessarily so.

[bandzboy]

from my twitter since i also wanted to post this here

[eats-a-berry]

i wasn't sure exactly what i thought adult gideon should be doing, but i DO quite like the triple combination of cowboy-biker, drag queen, and used car salesman at the same time. she's always a busy person!

[youling-the-ghost]

I think a reason why I love sfth so much is that it strays so far from the mindset that I've developed as a musician.

as a guitarist, you must never make a mistake. oh, you missed a note? you played one note a little too loudly? your string buzzed on a chord change? your entire performance is now forever tainted. all practice is to mitigate mistakes. mistakes are the bane of your existence. and if you dare to make a mistake onstage? you better not show it. you must be graceful as a swan, hiding your desperately thrashing feet behind a facade of elegance.

but sfth? they embrace all of that. they don't shy away from making mistakes, in fact they embrace it. mistakes are repeatedly highlighted and become part of the sketch. for sfth, mistakes are the performance. and I think there's something beautiful about that.

[sciderman]

Do any of the boys wear jewelry?

Wade seems like the type to have those grandma box full of jewelry but Peter would probably have one pair of earrings for the occasion?? 

they're too broke for any kind of jewellery save for the edible kind

[sunsetcorvid]

genuinely been really wanting to get into music composition but it's one of those things that i've never fully learned and that everyone who actually does it has just been doing it since a young age and knows more things which. yknow is normal.

the Want to learn music and the Fear of Fucking It All Up Somehow

[sanjarka]

this is not meant to be petty i promise but i find it interesting how from the beginning of being in a fandom space, from the beginning of being a part of some sort of community, even if it was just rebloging gifsets at 13, it was kind of a given that i couldn't do it in my native language or within the frame of my own culture? idk if i'm explaining it right but i just wonder how does it feel to share a language with your favorite fictional character and to talk about them in it too.

[timetravelstudies]

the same way we popularize “is this a good outfit or are they just skinny”. we need a “is this a good performance or are they just skinny” movement. sooner rather than later

[retourpresdetoi]

now i did not like Nosferatu (2024) for a variety of reasons. but let me tell you. seeing the purity-centered, pearl clutching, absolute disgust-first opinions dominate negative reviews has me feeling like i watched a different film. "this movie is for deranged sex-perverts" my biggest criticism was that it didn't go far enough! all that for a 2hr 12min movie and it was boring!

[bumblingbabooshka]

[TUVOKTOBER: Day 9] Ballet with the Captain.

[no-brand-gays]

it is always a good day to find out that the character you’ve liked the most so far in your watch of love live superstar is a descendent of the samurai who founded the city you live in