Its really tiring of loving a charcter was isolated/abused/ozterizrd by society and they dont act like the perfect "victum" and not only do the writers kill off the character but the fandom treats liking them like a moral sin. Anyways its because of this that Astarion is such a breath of fresh air to me. Like yeah im glad he gets a happy ending it makes me happy I dont care that hes a asshole because he gets to heal and find happiness and maybe I can to.
"Adorable puppy becomes disillusioned with his problematic job and leaves to join a team of chaotic weirdos whose mission is to save the world and help people and then forges a special bond with the girlboss who develops a soft spot for him even though she's grieving the loss of someone very important to her and is initially resistant to change" corporate wants you to find the difference
BONUS:
They missed a golden opportunity to have Jonas and Sam (and Teal'c) go undercover more so Jonas could wear a vast array of increasingly ridiculous disguises
Her titles are always excellent The Hunger Games not just referencing the games themselves, but the broader critique of the Capital’s fascistic government in the way they control the districts through keeping them hungry.
And I could go on about each subtitle, but I’m literally writing this right before I have to get on a train and don’t have much time. Maybe I’ll go back and edit this later.
But what made me thing of how layered her titles are is thinking about Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes works on so many levels.
Obviously, Coriolanus is a manipulative snake that’s his personality.
And Lucy Gray is a songbird, she loves to dress up, sing and perform for an audience.
But the songbird also works for Coriolanus who also likes to dress up and perform in a different way. He preens and what are some of his most powerful tools, his appearance like a beautiful songbird and his voice in that he constantly uses it to manipulate those around him.
Also Lucy Gray uses a Snake at her reaping.
They are both pretty, like a bird or a colorful snake. Much like a snake they are predators who stalk and learn about their prey. You might underestimate them because of their beauty. And then when you least expect it they strike.
They both use poison.
A snake can take down larger predators just like how Lucy Gray survives the Hunger Games or how Coriolanus takes down his enemies.
As well as ambitious and opportunistic (yes, even Lucy Gray when the situation calls for it). Traits historically associated with the snake.
Going back to the Songbird, which obviously symbolizes Lucy Gray’s yearning to fly away and be free and wander as the Covey used to do.
But also symbolizes Coriolanus rising through the Capital ranks.
(a Hitherby Dragons repost, because sometimes I feel like doing that.)
“I like the rain,” Sid says.
“It’s nice,” Max says.
“It’s like the corpses of melted snowflakes dripping slowly from some great snowflake graveyard. Don’t you think? A graveyard like elephants have.”
“I miss you,” Max says. “It hurts my heart. Because it’s so very Sid not to know the word ‘cloud.'”
Sid looks down. His eyes are winsome.
“It’s a hard word,” Sid says. “Two vowels in a row, like ‘ouzo’.”
A distant crashing noise intrudes. It is followed by a soft and faraway hum.
“It’s starting,” Max says.
“What is?”
The world vibrates softly. Something new is happening. Something strange. The salt and pepper shakers rattle. The beaded curtain in the doorway shakes.
“The running of the luggage,” Max says.
In Babylon, in 2004, it is the running of the luggage.
“I wanted to go to Sydney,” Sid says. “It has the best name of any Australian city ever. But I drowned in confusion and got on the wrong flight. That’s why I’m in Babylon.”
“Like luggage,” Max says.
“Like lost luggage.”
“My bag came here,” Max says. “A lot of luggage does. The undeliverable. The forgotten. The lost.”
The table shakes with its hidden passion.
(It is its love for the nearby table. It can never be expressed. It can never be spoken. If a table speaks of such things it is the end. But it may tremble.)
The water glasses on the table shiver.
“Every year,” Max says, “Babylon holds the running of the luggage.”
“I met you when I got off the plane,” Sid says. “It was an accident. I wanted never to see you again. I didn’t know it was the running of the luggage.”
“Have a drink,” Max says. “It’s no big deal.”
“It is a big deal,” Sid says. “I have to turn you in to the police.”
“It’s no big deal. We met. We walked to a restaurant. We got our hair wet in the rain. We went through the curtain. We sat down at a table. I ordered a drink. You should too.”
A pack of luggage gallops by outside the door. A damp breeze stirs Sid’s hair. A few thin locks of hair curl against his cheek. They look dead sexy there.
Sid looks pretty good today, for Sid.
“If you get an alcoholic drink,” says Max, “you might forget to turn me in. But if you get something watered down, the local water will make you sick.”
Sid looks sad and lost.
“Have I no third option?” Sid asks.
Max thinks. The cloud of his thoughts grows richer and denser. A suggestion precipitates. “Rum and coke?”
“Okay.”
Sid orders a rum and coke. He sits back.
A carousel of luggage storms by. It turns the street’s puddles into spray.
“Is this festival safe?” Sid asks. “The door is a beaded curtain. It cannot save us from feral Gucci.”
“I don’t know,” Max says. “I guess so. Nobody else is leaving.”
“That’s true.”
A single solitary bag ghosts by. It’s lean and underpacked, like a scavenger. Its hunger is tragic.
“I lost a head,” Max says.
“A head?— oh, thanks,” Sid says. His drink has arrived. He sips it through a straw. Each sip is daringly unabashed.
“I packed it to prove I killed someone. I checked it for Detroit. But it got sent to Babylon.”
Sid sips further.
Max waits.
“Hard luck,” says Sid.
Max nods.
“Sometimes I miss you and my bones ache and my eyes blur,” says Max.
“It’s not a big deal,” Sid says.
Max half-smiles.
Sid looks sad.
“I plan to do this,” says Max. “I’ll have a drink with you. I’ll hang out. Then when I can bear to leave, I’ll sneak out and find my luggage.”
“It’s out there?”
“Out there.”
There’s a scream from somewhere outside. The scream stops, sudden and short. The locals look up from their tables. There’s a silence in the room.
“Tourists,” one man says.
Another man shakes his head.
Then the locals go back to their conversations.
“Don’t go out there,” Sid says.
“Why?”
“It’s dangerous.”
“My bag is mine,” Max says. “It won’t hurt me.”
“It’s running with a bad crowd,” says Sid. “It might go feral.”
“Things like that don’t happen,” Max says. “Not to my luggage. My luggage wouldn’t go feral.”
“Mine bit me once.”
Sid drinks some more. It’s suddenly cold and bitter drinking.
“I caught my finger in the zipper. I had to rip the whole bag apart.”
“Harsh.”
“No,” Sid says. He’s hard-edged now. “Practical.”
“Ah,” says Max.
Sid sips ruthlessly at his straw.
“You know— I mean, that thing— what happened with us—”
“Practical?”
“Yeah.”
“I know,” says Sid. He smiles. His smile has sun and snow and ice in it. “I still have to turn you in. For closure.”
“I understand.”
“But I’ll go to the bathroom first,” says Sid. “I have to pee. So you can run away then, like a terrified puppy.”
“Okay,” says Max.
“I mean, not that you should.”
“Of course.”
“Just, I have to pee.”
“It’s okay.”
Sid gets up. He asks a waitress where the bathroom is. He faces the bathroom hallway with determination and walks in.
Max stands. He slinks to the door.
“It’s not safe,” the waitress says.
“It’s okay,” Max says.
“It’s not safe,” she insists. But he pushes past her, out through the beaded curtain. It rattles like a snake. Like a snake with maracas, preparing to strike.
“Be well,” Max says, to the waitress.
The luggage run is fierce now. It fills most of the streets. It shouts to Heaven like a world in pain. It thunders like the wrath of God. Max jumps up and grabs the fire escape ladder. He drags himself up towards the roof. He needs a lofty height to find his bag.
“I can’t see it,” Max says.
He goes higher. He’s standing on the roof.
“Black,” he says. “Black as pitch. Zippers like dragon’s teeth. My bag, with a teddy bear and some clothes and a poor damned bastard’s head.”
The luggage runs fiercer.
“Where are you?” Max asks the world.
There’s a growling snapping zipper behind him.
The bag is not Sid. It did not love Max long. It did not love him well. And it does not love him now.
whats up y’all crawling back here to post on a site that doesnt completely mangle image upload quality here’s ephrim, aka the prince accepted the spring with an open, silver hand, his ⸢chariot⸣ a wildfire, the excerpt of Confidence
[ID: A digital drawing of Ephrim as an excerpt. He has long hair swept to one side, going from black roots to bright red tips. He wears a large, flowing burgundy overcoat with a high collar and golden lining. He has gold necklaces and rings around his head like a halo. He wears a grey and black bodysuit with an intricate red sash wrapped around his waist and hips. /end ID]
