#and then in another category he has the people that he does not have any actual attachment to that he will allow himself to pursue

[biblicalhorror]

Aroace Riz real but also Fabian is SO clearly in love with him and Riz has no idea

[actually-safer-to-kiss]

Confesser

Summary: Spencer is a criminology professor, and Reader is a French professor. Separate focuses managed to get tangled together once, which makes Reader even more suspicious when he stops by her office on Valentine’s Day.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Light flangst

Content warnings: Slap

Word count: 1.7k

A/N: a little last-minute Valentine scenario

The bulb in your desk lamp flickered, as if it was begging for you to call it a night. You've been working late nights at the office recently, not only to help your students before midterms but also to keep your mind at bay from the lingering anguish.

There’s nothing wrong with being alone on Valentine’s Day. It’s been the case for you for years now. Solitude has been your most consistent and prosperous state. It’s how you earned your place as tenure after just five years at Marbury University (Go Cardinals). A job for life. Many people aren’t lucky to have that like you are. So you can’t stop now and get comfortable. Your students love you, and over the years have advocated this position for you. Stopping now would be nothing but a disservice to them.

If only you hadn’t been so stupid your fourth year here (and the first half of your fifth), then the feelings you get when in Jefferson Hall might be less painful. You were stupid enough to believe that the number one workplace rule didn’t apply to you.

Don’t fuck your coworkers.

Perhaps you thought your achievements from back to back earned you a place of immunity in that pool. Well, Dr. Spencer Reid was happy to prove you wrong there. Things like that can always risk being casual, unrequited, awkward. And you were stupid enough to go back more than once, and sully the place and position you rightfully earned.

Spencer first noticed you speaking to some of your students outside the hall. When approaching, he spoke in French, assuming you were a foreign exchange student. But when you turned to face him, he saw your staff badge, and put the pieces together quickly. It’s not too far off of an assumption, as most people think you’re French when they see how easily the language and history flows from you. You applauded his French (both pronunciation and accent) regardless.

That meeting turned into a coffee date. Coffee turned to grabbing lunch, then grading papers together, moral support to keep one another going. That quickly trickled into a friendship as you learned about Spencer’s specialties, multiple degrees, and current employment at the BAU in Quantico. You’ve both been to France for pleasure and to study. One was coincidentally in the same year as each other, where you both visited the city of Orléans. The rich architecture and vast history as far back as the Merovingian era made you both agree you prefer it over Paris any day.

Those days were during your fourth year. And it was just over a year of friendship where you made the mistake of agreeing to a drink after work.

The bulb flickers, as if to mock those memories or distract you from going too deep. Does it really matter? Spencer made it clear it was a mistake. None of it was meant to happen — the kiss, the confession, the sex. And with your shared brilliance mixed with two vodka sodas, you both unraveled what used to be a genuine friendship, a trusting relationship among coworkers. You cut your desk lamp off with a click, muttering to yourself as you collect your bag and some books. It’s a good enough sign to call it a night and head home. At the very least, you could spoil yourself with a nice bath and some wine. You question if you should grab a bottle on the way home or use what you’ve got stashed.

Your keys rattle in the door as you lock up your office, and you jerk on the doorknob for the sake of double checking. Spencer told you most break-ins occur because people fail to check the locks in their homes or cars before leaving. You don’t know how many of your students or fellow professors in the Language Department would be eager to bust into your office, unless they need some spicy ancient French poetry or books on Rococo architecture. No issues of the sort have arisen yet.

That is until you spot him at the end of the hall, drenched in fluorescent lighting and paused as if you caught him in the act. Of what, you didn’t know. It’s not like Spencer was short on French books or books in French. You hesitated to speak, questioning if it was even worth speaking a word to him. Regardless of the fact that you have to go his direction to get to your car.

Of course you caved. “Spencer.” You tried to not make your gulp so audible.

He just stood there awkwardly, like this wasn’t as much his fault as it was yours. Like you were in his way.

You scoff. Seeing him there, just feet away, it’s a cruel feeling blooming in your chest. The idea that maybe it isn’t too late. Maybe he’s here to confess what he really feels. On Valentine’s Day, no less. A bit of a cliché, but you’re not in a position to be too picky about how you might make up. If that’s even what’s happening.

With reluctance, you walk toward him. “I’m heading home for the night,” you say. “Are you parked out front too?” It pains to ask as if this is all casual. It feels like your heart’s about to burst or crush because he’s not saying a word as you approach him. Not until you actually approach him.

“Hi,” he meekly says. He looks pale. He looks sick with worry. If you were more concerned, you would feel inclined to ask about it.

You try to avoid sighing too loudly. You need the air. Since the bar (and everything after that), you two haven't been this close. “Do you want to walk out to the parking lot?”

Spencer shakes his head. “I, uh, I got you something.” He digs around in his satchel and pulls out a frame delicately. Like it was an old piece of art. Spencer hands it to you.

It’s not an old piece of art. It’s an old piece of poetry. Two of them in a single frame.

“They’re not the originals. But I have a friend in Germany who knows a guy in France who could exchange some pretty old copies.”

You stared at the pieces. Gawked is likely the more accurate word. They were definitely old copies. It was all handwritten and translated to Middle English.

You looked up at Spencer. “Charles d’Orléans?”

Spencer nodded, lips pressed together in a boyish, nervous smile.

You were so stunned by the decoration of the parchment, the distinct age of the pieces (well before the revolution), you almost forgot to ask, “Why are you giving this to me?”

“Had some spares around the apartment. Figured you’d appreciate them more than me.” He chuckled.

You turned your head and narrowed your eyes.

And you saw Spencer’s audible gulp. Much more audible than yours earlier (yes!). “Read it.”

You scan over the parchment, translating in your head:

Let men and women on Love’s party

Choose their St. Valentine this year!

I remain alone, comfort stole from me

On the hard bed of painful thought.

As he is well this day has caught

A Valentine that loves him, as I guess,

Whereas this comfort me here alone

Upon my bed so hard of painful thought.

You looked back up at Spencer, hoping this time he’ll put some more context behind the words instead of leaving you to fill in the blanks (again). You waited.

“I’m sorry about what I said. Or I guess… the way I said it. Maybe both. Both is probably the safer option to go with. The point is that I’m genuinely sorry. I didn’t mean what I said.”

You didn’t know what to do with the poems. It is instinct to keep them close to your chest like a book, but (like with you and Spencer) you’re afraid of ruining them. Somehow cracking it or damaging them. Firmly held in your hands, you are hyper-aware of its value. You also try not to let your emotions take a grip for the sake of your pieces. “You said it was a mistake.”

“It was a mistake that we went that far in one night. That’s… not who I am.”

You quirked a brow.

“That’s not who I usually am. I went too far in every way, and I’m sorry.”

You clamped your lips closed, looking around like students were present, ready to eavesdrop and gossip later. If your favorites were here, they would beg you to dish it all out over lunch. But no one was here. It was just you and Spencer (and Charles, kind of). “But what if my feelings were genuine?”

“I-I assumed they were. And I hurt them, and I’m sorry. I understand if I blew it and you may want to forget those feelings now, which is completely understandable. I destroyed it all in one night. And I can’t hold your hands right now, but I want to, and just say that you’re very important to me. And I miss you being around. And, uh, whatever context that might be, I hope we can be around each other again. A-at some point in the future.”

You sighed. It was heavy but concentrated. You needed a fresh breath of air. Spencer had the look of a sad puppy. It’s the way he looked whenever he was worried. How could you kick a sad puppy when he’s already down?

Well, you didn’t. You slapped him.

And he instantly reached for his cheek, already burning red.

“That’s for hurting me.”

Spencer nodded, not objecting to that part.

You then took that same cheek and pulled him closer, locking his lips with yours. And you both inhale deeply upon recognizing the contact. You’re hesitant about getting closer, given Charles is between you. “That’s me forgiving you.”

Spencer’s eyes crinkled as he held your face, but he didn’t initiate a kiss. The nerves in his fingers show he was hesitant to touch you so suddenly. He wasn’t messing this up again. “Can I walk you to your car?”

This time, it’s you who doesn’t hesitate. You hold the frame in one arm, cradling it like a baby. And you reach for Spencer’s hand as you walk out of Jefferson Hall.

[svsss-fanon-exposed]

Exposing SVSSS Fanon: 4/∞

CHRONICALLY/TERMINALLY ILL SHEN YUAN

Rating: FANON - UNSUPPORTED

It isn't an uncommon thing for fans to headcanon their favorite characters as disabled, or queer, or otherwise having experiences that relate to the fan's own identity or promote fandom diversity. This in itself can be a very positive and affirming thing.

I will reiterate, of course, that this blog is not meant to say that anyone's headcanons are bad or invalid-- no matter what canon says, anyone can have whatever headcanon they please.

However, there is a difference between headcanon and incorrect interpretation.

The idea that Shen Yuan, prior to transmigration, was chronically or terminally ill is something that falls more heavily into the latter category. Rather than being known as a headcanon or even acknowledged as fanon, this idea is often taken as canonical fact or "default" in western fandom.

It does not stem from one person's creative interpretation of a character, but instead from an inaccurate TL note on a passage in an earlier fan translation of the novel.

In this early translation, the following passage:

不过沈清秋要求真的不高，在这边混吃等死，颐养天年，他就心满意足了。反正跟他前生过的日子也没啥差别。

was translated as:

However, Shen Qingqiu didn’t have any high requirements. He’d be content to just while away his time here and wait to die. At any rate, it wasn’t much different from his previous life. (CNoveluv/BCNovels Ch. 3)

Attached to this was the following Translator's Note:

Previous life: Bit of a subtle hint that our main character probably had a terminal illness or something that would have taken his life in time.

(many thanks to @furbygoblinxiv for quotes!)

This TL note is where the idea that Shen Yuan was canonically chronically/terminally ill originated.

However, the assumption is wholly incorrect. The phrase "混吃等死" is a saying which translates literally, to "aimlessly eating meals and waiting for death," but refers to a lack of ambition and general listlessness, or someone who just wastes their life away, not making anything of themselves.

This is in line with Shen Yuan's original description of himself:

From early on, he’d known that even if he idled the rest of his life away, he’d never want for food. Perhaps due to this carefree upbringing, devoid of either competition or pressure, he came to believe that ranking in the top ten of a competition was good enough, so long as it had more than ten people. (7S Ch. 1)

In fact, this same phrase 混吃等死 is used here in the original text, where the translation says "idled the rest of his life away."

In fanworks, Shen Yuan has sometimes been referred to as a "pretty boy waiting around to die," specifically in reference to having poor health in his previous life. This comes from another section later on in the novel:

He based this body on the appearance that he, Shen Yuan, originally had in his past life. It wasn’t as good as Shen Qingqiu’s immortal demeanor, but it could still be considered a pretty good body. The only thing was that it gave off a bit of a dispirited feeling like he was a pretty boy sitting around waiting to die. (BCNovels Ch. 44)

Yet again, this is a translation of the same phrase as before, and while not incorrect in terms of a literal translation, the true intention of the phrase does not carry over well to western audiences.

Within the novel itself, there is nothing that directly implies that Shen Yuan was terminally or chronically ill. The headcanon itself is valid as a headcanon, but not if it is taken as a canonical fact.

Of course, it cannot be entirely disproven either-- which is why this post is rated as fanon-unsupported instead of fanon-conflicting. One could argue that his cavalier attitude toward Without-A-Cure could be a result of past experience with chronic illness, or his general disconnect from his past life and body, and that would be a fair enough interpretation-- however, it could also be explained by something like depression (while I am well aware that depression is a chronic illness, the fanon of chronically ill Shen Yuan almost always is referring to specifically physical chronic illness). Either interpretation would be equally arguable, and fans should choose whichever resonates with them personally to use in their works or otherwise for themselves-- or neither, if they would prefer!

However, it should NOT be argued that chronically/terminally ill Shen Yuan is a canonically-proven fact, as it is based on an inaccurate interpretation by a translator, not on the original text itself , and it should not be spoken of as if it is any kind of erasure for Shen Yuan not to be portrayed as chronically ill.

The idea had already circulated throughout western fandom circles by the time the official English TL came out-- so it was deeply entrenched within fanon by then, and many fans likely didn't pay too much attention to the changes because of this. However, the official translation interprets the two passages listed above the following way:

Still, Shen Qingqiu was a man of few needs; he would have been satisfied just idling away to a ripe old age. In that way, it wouldn’t be that different from how his previous life had been going. (7S Ch. 1)

[Shen Yuan's appearance] just had a bit of a certain listlessness—the listlessness of a worthless pretty boy idling his life away. (7S Ch. 9)

This translation, while not word-for-word, is far more accurate in spirit, and much harder to misinterpret.

Because of misunderstandings such as this one, I highly recommend that fans who have not yet read the official translation do so, as many other such inaccuracies and misinterpretations have been clarified in this translation.

[house-of-lovin]

legally binded - 2

Jenna Ortega x F!Reader

masterlist | series mast. ♣ prev part | next part

Chapter 2: Lakers, Headlines… New York?

Summary: After getting caught in some hot waters with the press, you are forced into an unexpected agreement with America's sweetheart, Jenna Ortega to save your career.

Warnings/Tags: dual pov, famous!reader, actress!reader, mentions of substances, intoxication, mature language, real people. (do not read if any of these make you uncomfortable)

(this is all fiction!)

Note: part 2 of legally binded! I hear yall and I see the comments! This will be a series, got a lot of ideas for this one. But of course, I am open to hearing what you guys think and want to see! A little bonding moment for R and Jenna 😮‍💨

Word Count: 6.3k+ (lol sorry, may have gone overboard!)

“So… what does this mean, exactly?” Jenna asks for both of you.

“We’re gonna make the two of you the talk of the town. And hopefully get people to back off on the allegations that Jenna is difficult to work with and that Y/N is entering her Justin Bieber phase — and not the good one.” Your PR agent, Liv, purses her lips.

Jenna can’t help the snort that leaves her lips, awkwardly coughing to hide it. But you catch it anyway, throwing her a glare.

“Difficult to work with huh?” You speak up — in faux interest. “Not hard to see why.”

This time Jenna is the one glaring at you. “You don’t even know me.”

“You don’t know me either.” You huff.

“Enough!” Jake yells. Anger steadily rose in the man’s bloodstream.

You and Jenna flinch at his loudness. Sliding down the chair, you feel ashamed again; ignoring Jenna’s piercing glare.

Liv is sighing but opts not to add fuel to the fire. “It’s going to take a few hours to get the paperwork and contract drafted —but once it’s done we’ll have it sent over to you. For now, get to know each other, I don’t know.”

You shoot Liv a scowl. She was making this already awkward situation so much worse.

She catches your look, sighing, “Just–pretend this is another job and you’re new castmates. Anything please. ” She rolls her eyes, already fed up with what disaster this morning has been.

“You can do that, right?” Liv crosses her arms, staring at you two in question.

“Yes.” Jenna mumbles.

“Mhmm.” You hum lazily, changing the subject. “Can we tell people? That this isn’t real?”

Liv glances at Jake and Sarah sharing a silent conversation. They nod at each other. “If they sign an NDA. Only family, your team and us. This cannot leave the room.”

You feel pale. You couldn’t even tell the people around you about this fake relationship without binding them to a contract? Suddenly, the situation starts to feel more real; the carpet of delusion being pulled from under you.

You’re standing up, pushing the chair back with a loud scrape that rings terribly against your ears. “I need some air.”

“You’re really leaving in the middle of a meeting?” Jenna questions with a snip, crossing her arms.

“Sorry your highness, I got better places to be. Liv you can send the contract to my assistant. Ortega, wish I could say it was a pleasure to meet you… but well.” You trail off, shrugging.

Liv and Jake are fuming red in the face at your words, but you were still hungover and the comedown was begging to wreak havoc – your irritation getting harder to restrain. 

Jenna’s face scrunches, offended. You walk away, not bothering to listen for a response.

“There’s no way I can work with her…” You catch it anyway.

●●●

“I mean can you believe what they’re asking me to do!” You pace up and down your living room.

“Oh come on, I don’t buy the allegations that she’s difficult, you know they love to tear women down when they get their come up.” Link reasons tapping on his phone.

“I mean how can this face be rude?” He holds up a picture of Jenna at the SAG awards and you furrow your brows because you don’t remember seeing her there — you might have been late.

You were just nominated anyway. So you pulled a Beyoncé and only showed up for your category.

“Maybe Jenna’s not so bad?”

“Quit it.”

It was now mid-afternoon and the battering Californian sun was shining bright above clear skies and through your floor-to-ceiling windows. You bought this house in the Palisades for the peace it provided you. Not too far from central L.A. but still tucked away enough for a moment of solitude with a life like yours.

It was your own version of a sanctuary – like a home should be. 

“Okay, that sounds crazy, I agree. But dude, you fucked up. Big time.” Your long-time friend Link said. 

You and Link grew up together and when you got your come up, best believe you took your best friend with you. You offered to help him out while he lives with you as you achieve your dreams but ever the stubborn guy, he refused. Only agreeing to move to Los Angeles with you if he works as your assistant to earn his keep.

He’s a good guy like that. 

Since then, he’s been by your side. Through every disappointment, bad news, great news, red carpets, and movie premieres. You couldn’t do this job without him. 

He’s like your brother.

“I know!” You groan, dropping to the couch. Why the hell did you let your designer choose these couches? They were stiffer than a plank of wood.

“Look at this article online, 2-time Grammy winner and Academy Award Nominee, Y/N L/N’s fall from grace? Sin City indeed! The actress blacks out at a Vegas strip club! Click here to see exclusive mugshots.”

“They’re selling my fucking mugshots?” You lift your head above the headrest horrified, watching Link sit across the room on a bar stool reading his phone. 

“I’m pretty sure they’re public domain.” He refutes.

Falling back, you groan louder – hiding your face behind your palms.

“I don’t see how you have a choice, buddy.” He sighs, placing his phone on the bar top. 

“There has to be another way. Why can’t I just run away? I’ll fly back home for a couple of weeks, and let all of this shit die down. It’s worked before.” 

“Yeah, I told Jake and Liv you’d say that.” He rolls his eyes, walking to you. “I don’t think you can run from this one, Y/N.”

The softness in his voice has you sighing in defeat. He’s right, you know he’s right. This wasn’t just some tiny mistake you can brush under the carpet like all the other ones. This was serious. 

You got arrested. For blacking out with someone who had drugs on them. In a strip club, no less.

What a mess.

Something like this could seriously hurt your career. You could lose roles, relationships, connections, brand deals – the blood, sweat, and tears you poured in; everything you worked so hard for – gone.

“I know… Doesn’t make me wanna do it more though,” You mumble, distantly staring at the high ceiling.

He chuckles, “I know bud. But this is what we signed up for, right?” 

You frown. It’s what we signed up for.

It’s a mantra that you have adopted in all your years as a working performer. It certainly wasn’t the most comforting and loving thing to say, but it works because it’s true and there’s no greater motivator than a slap in the face to reality. 

You much preferred tough love anyway.

“Right.” You mutter.

“Come on, I think Jenna’s manager just sent me the signed contract, they’re just waiting for your signature.” He walks off to his office. 

You close your eyes, letting the sun warm you up through the glass panes. A few moments pass until Link comes back out with a tablet and pen. “Sign here, under Jenna’s signature.”

She has pretty handwriting – you note as you sign the electronic document. 

Call it weird but you had a thing for people with neat handwriting, steady hands and all that. 

But then you remember who the professional signature belonged to and forced yourself to snap out of it.

“Did you even read it?” He arches a brow.

“That’s what lawyers are for.”

He scoffs, “Okay, superstar. It basically says what you and Jenna need to do. Public spottings at first, then dates, appearances at each other's events. Maybe posts on social media, but the idea is to be discreet – we can’t have it seem like we’re using this to scrub away the Vegas incident.”

“But that’s exactly what we’re doing,” You sigh.

“Yeah, but they don’t know that. And it’s your damn job to make sure they don’t ever find out either.”

You rub your forehead; a headache beginning to form. Not sure if it was from the hangover or from all this PR mess.

“Anways,” He takes the tablet out of your hands. “I’ll send these over to Liv. Now as for you. Go upstairs, take a shower because you smell horrendous and then put on what your stylist picked out.”

Wrinkling your nose, you ask, “What, why? I literally just got back, I already have to go out and show my face? The paparazzi will hound me.” 

“We have to beat the Vegas headline with a bigger story, so you need to be seen with Jenna ASAP. That means out for a late lunch at a well-known spot downtown. You have to act like the news doesn’t bother you – like you’re moving past it.”

“Who goes out for late lunch?” 

He sends you a pointed look. 

“I’ll be upstairs…” You mumble, dragging your feet as you ascend the steps.

●●●

You tap your fingers on the steering wheel, glancing up at the modest house through your sunglasses.

A mid-modern century house in Glendale. Not where you pictured her to live but whatever. Her front yard was bare but professionally trimmed. No signs of any plant life that made the space look a little… dull. The only signs of life in the house was the humble SUV that you assumed belonged to the young actress.

Your tapping grows impatient the longer you wait.

As if staring harder at the front door will make the actress come out faster. Another five agonizing minutes pass – you seriously consider pulling away to go home and sleep off this hangover but Link stood a good half-foot taller than you.

He’d lock your ass out of your own home. 

Eventually, the door opens and the short brunette walks down the driveway in confident strides. Dressed in jeans, combat boots and a cardigan; those headphones around her neck, again. Somehow, she looked consistently gothic and you pondered if she really was like her character in real life.

You see her scan your Mercedes-AMG GT3 for a moment before pulling the passenger door open; sliding into the cushy seats. “Nice car.”

You blink, “Thanks… you sure took your time though,”

You couldn’t stop the slight attitude that accompanied your words.

She gives you a sharp glance, “why didn’t you just ring the doorbell?”

“You had to unlock the gate to let me in, you knew I was waiting outside.” You huff, staring at her back. 

“Then would have waited in the living room if you had knocked. What difference does it make?” She shrugs.

“That’s not the poi–” You gruff but stop, inhaling a deep breath. The pounding in your skull was begging for you to cool down. 

“I think I much preferred waiting in the car… alone.” You whisper the last bit then shoot her a sarcastic glance; shifting the gear in reverse.

You don’t bother to check if she had her seatbelt on as you aggressively pull out her driveway; leaving skid marks on the pavement.

She jerks forward at the sudden movement. “Shit– a little warning next time?” She glares bracing herself on the dashboard.

“Hands off the leather,” You bite as you pull off her street and to the restaurant Link sent you the directions to. 

She scoffs. “My driveway!”

●●●

“Table for 2 under Ortega? Please follow me, can I be the first one to say how delighted we are that you two decided to dine here.” The host enthused a little too much.

“It’s our pleasure.” Jenna answers politely.

You plaster a tight-lipped smile keeping quiet; sliding a modest hand on Jenna’s back when he leads you past other patrons and to a secluded table – heads already turning in your direction. Jenna jumps, sending you a menacing glare and for a moment you feel slightly scared by the fire in her eyes – dropping your hand immediately. 

Okay, no touching. Got it.

“Here we are, the best seat in the house. We have complementary champagne on the table to start your evening. We’ll give you a few moments to get settled,” He sends a tight smile causing his wrinkles to show – definitely trying too hard but you’d never say no to free alcohol.

“Thank you,” You bid, pulling a chair out for Jenna.

She walks to claim the opposite chair, assuming you’re taking the one you pulled out. But she stares as you stand behind the open chair, awkwardly. Only then did she seem to realize that the seat was for her.

Raising her brows, she looked a little surprised but wordlessly and a bit awkwardly (she sends a tight-lipped smile) sits over to the chair allowing you to push it in for her, before taking your own seat across.

The first thing you grab is the bottle of champagne and the flute. 

You miss Jenna’s tracking eyes as you pour a hefty glass. “Is that really the best thing for you to have, especially after last night? Also, it’s like 4 PM.”

“I didn’t know you were the alcohol police and it’s 8 PM somewhere.” You take big gulps of the champagne, savouring the way it burned but also felt cool on the way down.

“Trust me, I’m not. But my ass is on the line here too and there are people watching.” She grits out the last part, signalling with her eyes. You glance up catching two girls from another table with their phones up, no doubt taking pictures and recording you and Jenna. 

Looking away, you place the glass flute down, sitting back in your seat with a slump. “Fine…”

“When are you going to take this seriously?” She whispers, tone: sharp.

“I am taking this seriously,” You fight to keep your face impassive knowing there are eyes on you both. 

“No, you’re not. You couldn’t even sit through the meeting this morning and now you’re acting like a child. Might I remind you, we’re in this mess because of you.”

You clench your jaw, trying your hardest not to blow up in this fine establishment. 

“I’m the reaso—“

“Are we ready to order?” The waitress cuts in.

“Yes, we are.” Jenna turns to her with that large, sweet smile that sells millions.

●●●

‘New Gal-Pals in Hollywood, Y/N L/N and Jenna Ortega spotted out for lunch’

It was now the following day after your ‘lunch date’ with Jenna and you wish to say it only got better as time went on but that would be a lie. You two did not get along – at all. How was it possible for your management to find the one person on this planet that you just couldn’t get along with. 

You know difficult, you can handle difficult. You’ve worked with the likes of Shia Lebeouf, Gweneth Paltrow, Michael Bay… just to name a few. You’ve had your fair share of difficult colleagues.

But this girl? She’s something else. 

“Gal pals? Really?” Your nose scrunches in distaste.

“No wait, this one’s better! Wednesday star Jenna Ortega supports new bestie, Y/N L/N amid Vegas arrest.”

“Stop.” But Link’s loud laughter overpowers you.

“Oh! We got one that’s different, Trouble-maker, A-lister, Y/N L/N, will drag down rising-star Jenna Ortega!”

“Okay, that’s just bullshit.” You pique up.

“Rising star?” Jenna voices in disdain.

“Enough!” Liv’s voice echoes from your laptop speaker. “This isn’t the headline we wanted.”

You roll your eyes, scanning the candid photo of you and Jenna sitting at the restaurant.

The images look tame enough and can definitely be interpreted as just two friends out for a bite. News outlets don’t buy it, but the internet is already freaking out; spewing out unsolicited opinions on this new pairing. Some think you two are just friends, some think it’s a date, others think it’s for a movie role.

“I thought I did a good job,” Jenna speaks up on the other line of the Facetime call. 

“Clearly not…” You mumble, but she catches it anyway, rolling her eyes. 

“We need to up the ante, this is not good enough.” Liv sighs and you can hear the trepidation through the call.

“Like what?”

“There’s a Lakers game tonight and you two are making your first official appearance.” She grins with mischief.

“Lakers?” Jenna rouses, sounding excited.

“How would they interpret that differently than before?” Shaking your head.

“I got a plan already, darling. I have a guy in TMZ who’s going to break the first official headline that you two are in the ‘getting to know each other’ stage. Which is where you two come in… after the game headlines of your guys’ date night will be the number one trending topic.” She explains, eyes lighting up in excitement.

Liv loves to lay out her plans to whoever was willing to listen — you’re already tuning her out.

You are sure her plan is genius like she says it is.

“Are they versing someone decent, at least?” You ask tiredly. When were you going to get some time to yourself?

“Celtics.”

“I’m in.”

●●●

“Do you really have to wear sunglasses indoors? Everyone knows we’re here.” Jenna whispers from beside you.

“It’s part of the look.” You retort, sliding down the foldable chair. Why are courtside seats so uncomfortable for all the money I’m paying?

“What look.”

“We got two stars in the Lakers house tonight! Everyone, please give a warm welcome to Y/N L/N and Jenna Ortega!”’ The announcer booms through the stadium speakers. 

Looking up at the jumbotron, you and Jenna are plastered big and bright on the screen. You flash a dazzling smile and force your body to untense – ignoring Jenna’s quip.

You embrace the loud cheers and applauds, waving and sending the camera that dazzling smile you have mastered. Jenna copies your movements.

Eventually, the camera pans away from you two and you finally feel like you can breathe again. 

“God, I think my eardrums ruptured.” She complains, clutching her earring clad-ears painfully.

You laugh, “Oh come on, you don’t have people shouting for your attention at you at every turn?”

She frowns, shaking her head, “Not at this level… I like to think I still have some anonymity.”

Snorting, you say, “Yeah well, just wait. That’ll all be gone — so enjoy it while you can.” 

You don’t see her frown deepen because you spot a familiar face. “Look who’s in the house!”

“Hey!” You stand briskly. Lebron James comes barreling over in large steps; greeting you with a hug and a pat on the back. 

“Feeling ready for tonight?” You ask, smiling up at the athlete. Being a big name in Hollywood definitely came with nice perks like knowing world-renowned athletes.

As much as you complain about your life – this is certainly a perk you can’t deny.

“You know it! We’re gonna mop the floors with your lil Celtics team.” He smirks making you laugh.

“Okay, save the trash-talking for the court... This is Jenna by the way.” You move to the side to reveal Jenna sitting; watching the two of you with a flabbergasted look on her face. 

“Nice to meet you, Jenna. My kids loved Wednesday, I think my daughter might dress up as you this Halloween.” He jokes; shaking her hand. 

It was quite an amusing sight to see Jenna crane her neck to meet the basketball player’s eyes. And you really tried your hardest not to snort when her tiny hands slide into his gigantic palms – her upper arm practically disappearing in his grasp.

They continue talking for a few more moments before the basketball player eventually bids his goodbye to continue warming up. 

“You’re friends with Lebron James?” She asked in disbelief when you sit back down.

“Yeah, is that surprising?” You arch a brow.

“Yes?” She asks like you were stupid for even asking.

You chuckle. “Well, now you know.” 

“Also… a Celtics fan, really? That’s just disgraceful.” She shakes her head.

You scrunch your face in faux annoyance, puffing your chest proudly, “Hell yeah the Celtics! We’re gonna wipe the court with your little Lakers in their own house.” 

“Don’t let people hear you say that, you’ll be stoned,” She laughs heartily. 

For a brief moment, you watch as she shakes in laughter at her own joke – unable to fight the infectiousness of her laugh. Her bangs shake with her movements as she attempts to hide her smile behind her hand.

Were you guys getting along? Nah, impossible. 

“I’ll just use you as a shield.”

“I’m like five-foot, I don’t think I’ll be much help.” She snorts. 

“Pocket-sized shield – makes travelling easier.” You shrug, smirking. 

She shoots you a side-eye but you see the smirk she tries to hide from you. 

Eventually, the national anthem is sung and tip-off begins. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t enjoying yourself right now. After the weekend disaster in Vegas, all you wanted to do was sleep away your fuck-ups. But this… isn’t so bad. 

Jenna seems to have loosened up and allowed herself to enjoy the game.

You cheer enthusiastically when the Celtics go on a 12-0 run in the fourth quarter. 

The score is 94 - 90, with the Lakers in the lead. You were standing now, your concession drinks and snacks forgotten under your chair. The energy in the stadium is infectious as everyone cheers for their respective teams.

“This is what I’m talking about, now we got a game!” You clap loudly, yelling.

“$100 Lakers win this one.” The sweet voice shouts over the crowd.

You turn, grinning. “That’s it? $1000, Celtics win.” 

The quiet contemplation is burning bright in her eyes, but eventually, she gives in extending her hand. “You’re on.”

Somehow, your grin stretches wider when she slides her hand in yours to seal the deal. “I can’t wait to be a $1000 richer.”

“In your dreams,” she clicks her tongue, focusing on the court.

“Come on ref, that was a foul!” She shouts at the checkered-shirt man as he runs past you.

She’s not looking at you but you find yourself unable to look away from her. 

Granted, you barely knew anything about Jenna before meeting her yesterday. But you think you like this laid-back version of her more than the one you met at first.

A whistle-blowing breaks your staring before it becomes too obvious.

Eventually, the game goes into overtime with the score being 104 - 104 when the Lakers gets both free throws in. You’re practically shaking in excitement as you watch from courtside.

You are bent over, hands on your knees like a soccer mom watching their kid get a penalty kick. You miss Jenna snapping a photo of the court with you bent over in the corner of the picture.

“Come on, Tatum!” You shout, a vein on your forehead protruding. 

“Did you say a $1000 richer?” She mocks, using your words against you.

“Don’t go on a victory lap yet,” You stand as the last time-out is called, “The score’s even and there’s still 5 seconds on the clock. It’s anybody's game right now.”

When the whistle blows signalling time-out is over, you are tense again. Jenna seems to share your sentiments as she absentmindedly grabs your jacket when the Celtics shooting guard walks behind the line to inbound the ball.

Anticipation getting the best of her.

You ignore the touch – unsure if you wanted to pull away or never move your arm again.

“Shit!” You yell when someone on the Lakers intercepts the Celtics attempt to inbound — sloppily passing it to another player in gold and purple. 

3 seconds remaining on the clock and a fast-break on the Lakers side ensues; green jerseys struggling to keep up.

“Schroder tips the Celtics inbound and manages to pass it off to Thompson, to James! James with a hail mary from half-court with 2 seconds, will he make it!” The announcer exclaims.

It was like the movies when everything goes silent and somehow you see everything in slow motion. You watch as the ball spins high above in the air with the powerful throw from the Laker’s power forward. The only thing you feel is Jenna’s fist gripping your arm, bunching the jacket in her hands. 

You unconsciously lean into her; the intensity of the room bouncing off you. 

The ball continues to spin until it amazingly flies through the basket with a satisfying swoosh and the buzzer rings loudly.

The crowd explodes – bursting into loud cheers. 

“Holy shit!” Jenna jumps, cheering.

“No fucking way.” You groan.

You feel her grab your shoulders to face her, still jumping up and down; a large smile on her face. You find yourself matching her grin despite your team not winning. 

Nodding in defeat, you admit, “Okay, okay… that was a pretty great game.”

“Great?” She shakes you like a rag doll, “That was the best game I’ve ever seen!” 

“Are you turning into a basketball fan, Miss Ortega?” You tease as she pulls away from you.

Still with a grin, she says, “Never… Football will always have my heart.”

“I didn’t peg you for an NFL fan but I guess I’ve heard stranger things.” You tease as she rolls her eyes.

“Soccer, Y/N.”

“Why didn’t you just call it the proper name then?”

“We are not starting this.” She holds a hand up, turning to sit back in her seat. The high of winning the bet, dwindling away.

●●●

“This is me…” Jenna says into the quiet night air. 

You shifted on your feet as you stood by your car. The night had been an unexpected…. success. After the game, you two made sure to stick around to chat and take pictures with fans in the crowd. 

The more eyes that saw you two together, the better. 

“Um… this was nice, I guess.” You mumble, feeling a bit awkward now that it was just you and her. 

She blinks up at you, surprised by your admission. “Uh – yeah, this wasn’t bad. Surprising, but not bad.” 

A small smile creeps on your face, “Okay, well I guess I’ll see you later… or whenever our managers say we need to be seen together again.” 

She laughs, nodding, “Yeah…”

A bright flash from your peripheral has you blinking, unfocused. “What the–”

“Paps…” She sighs. “Kiss my cheek.”

“What?” You asked bewildered.

She sends you a pointed look, turning her back from the direction of the flash so they couldn’t see her face. “Kiss my cheek, they’ll take a picture and then they’ll know we’re not just gal pals.”

Jenna is rolling her eyes but you’re still stuck in your spot. “Y/N.”

Snapping out of your thoughts, you clear your throat, “Are you sure? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Something indecipherable shines in her eyes, but it disappears as she blinks, “You’re not asking for my hand in marriage, Y/N. Just kiss my cheek.”

Blushing, you lean down. Shyly placing your lips on her soft-dimpled cheek – she leans into the contact, placing a hand on your neck. Immediately, a flurry of bright flashes and sounds of clicking interrupt the moment. 

“Goodnight, Jenna.” You say softly once you pulled away; ignoring the goosebumps that rose on your skin.

“Goodnight.” She takes a moment to look at you before walking to unlock her gate.

You wait until she opens the metal door; not missing the kind eyes she shoots you as she shuts the gate. Only once Jenna’s out of your view did you let out a deep sigh, turning around.

“Y/N! Over here! Did you just kiss Jenna Ortega? What about the singer you were with in Vegas? Are you two over?”

You didn’t want to give the paparazzi lurking on her street more reason to stay, so you keep your head down ignoring their shouting and slip into your car.

●●●

“How was it?” Her sister’s voice can be heard on her phone. 

“Awful – she’s a menace, Mia.” Jenna replies as she opens her fridge, looking for a mid-afternoon snack. 

It was now Sunday afternoon and as predicted – you and Jenna are the top headline of every major news outlet in America. 

“Did you tell her that you loved her in Little Women?” 

“What? No, of course not! I’m not gonna tell her that.”

“Why not? You watched that movie like five times when it came out.” Her sister reminds.

“Shut up, Mia.”

“Okay, anyways…” She trails off, laughing. “I saw the pictures. You’re smiling pretty wide with her. Also the kiss on the cheek when she was dropping you off? Chef’s kiss. Just perfect.”

Jenna rolls her eyes, “It’s all part of the act. Of course, I look happy.”

“There’s videos of you jumping on her. I can barely scroll through my Twitter feed without seeing an edit of you two at the game.”

“Stop. I don’t want to talk about her anymore.” Jenna snaps.

“Okay, okay…” Mia laughs and Jenna can picture her raising her hands in surrender. “Let’s talk about New York, are you excited?’

Jenna lets out a repressed sigh. With all of this PR mess with you, she hasn’t had time to think about how busy her schedule is about to be. The Scream VI premiere and SNL is inching closer and the Coachella native is feeling the familiar phantoms of anxiety rumbling in her chest. 

“Yeah, of course, I am. It’s SNL…”

“But?” Aliyah, her younger sister’s voice comes out of nowhere.

“But it’s SNL!” Jenna exclaims, “It’s a big deal! What if… what if I fuck up? Or I break character?”

“Okay… let’s take a deep breath,” Mia speaks up. She recognizes her sister’s looming anxiety and knew she had to act before the young actress sends herself into a panic. “You will kill it, like you always do and you won’t mess up. It’s okay to be a little nervous.

“Right, right.” Jenna agrees but the weighted pressure in her chest was still to creeping in.

Mia hums over the line unconvinced, “Listen, the whole family is flying in before your premiere. So don’t worry, we’ll be there, cheering you on!” 

Jenna can’t fight the smile that creeps up on her face. The thought of her family being there on one of the most important nights of her career is all she needs. They always had her back, picking her up when she felt like she couldn’t do it anymore. “Thanks, guys. I really appreciate that.”

●●●

“You want me to fly to New York, to what– be her personal cheerleader?” You dead-pan, watching as Link frantically throws clothes and shoes into a suitcase. 

It’s been about a week since the Lakers and Celtics game and news of you and Jenna’s night out in town are still abuzz. The two of you made a couple more subtle appearances over the last couple of days and the media is eating it up shamelessly. Pictures of you and the star are plastered on the front pages; be it grabbing coffee or grocery shopping or walking your dog at the park.

Now, you couldn’t even step outside without someone hurling Jenna’s name at you.

But you couldn’t lie. It was nice to have some company while you run your errands. Only yours though — you hated when you had to do hers. Jenna always thought too hard about which cereal to get, like she’s ever home to eat it.

‘New budding romance in Hollywood? Do we have a new power couple on the rise with Y/N L/N and Jenna Ortega? These two seem to be getting to know each other well… click here to read more’ 

Was the first thing you read when you turned on your phone this morning. 

Of course, it’s never that easy because there are still a handful of nobodies sending hateful messages about your criminal escapades – not everyone was convinced.

Some well-known people on social media – people you personally know are adding fuel to the fire; engaging in discourses of you and Jenna and if you are dragging her down just by being associated with you.

Fake-ass motherfuckers.

“Yes, I think those are the exact words Jake and Liv put in their texts, actually.” He reaches for his phone to read over the message; mocking you. 

“Stop, Link…” You run a hand on your face, “Tell them I’m not going. I have better things to do, Coachella is right around the corner and I literally have a song I need to send to my producer.”

He watches as you childishly cross your arms, scowling. 

If you weren’t his best friend he would’ve said goodbye to the Hollywood life – too rich for his blood. Link wasn’t sure how he still put up with your attitude after all these years. Could you have said those words any more snobbishly?

“Are you done?”

“No.”

“Well you don’t have a damn choice. Now, take a shower – Marcus will be here in an hour to drive us to LAX. And you can record in New York, no one said you had to be attached to Jenna’s hip.”

“What if I don’t want to.” You stand your ground. 

“Don’t do this today, Y/N.” He sighs. 

For a few moments, you hold your ground; contemplating if you should dig a hole and barricade yourself – metaphorically, of course. But never say never. 

Link raises a challenging brow – daring you to try him today. 

Wow, someone must have woken up on the wrong side of the bed…

Knowing what that look meant, you knew when to pick your battles and accepted the loss, trudging over to the master bathroom but not before slamming the door behind you.

“Don’t be slamming doors ‘round here! I don’t care if the house is under your name.” He shouts from the other side. 

“Fuck off!” You yell back, yanking your shirt off as the water turns hot.

He is such a dad.

–

“What are you doing here?”

“Hi to you too, Jenna. How was your day? Mine was great, the flight was a bit bumpy but I can handle a ‘lil turbulence. Thanks for asking.” You reply, ignoring the furrow in her brow hidden behind the silky fringe. 

You wonder what conditioner she uses to get her hair looking that soft.

“Y/N…” Jenna sighs, walking past you to enter your hotel suite. Walking into the living room to place her shoulder bag on the coffee table then she turns to face you, crossing her arms still waiting for an answer. “I’m serious, why are you in New York.”

You lean against a wooden panel, crossing your arms as well. “Didn’t your team tell you?”

Her frown deepens, patience thinning the longer you beat around the bush. “Obviously not or I wouldn’t be here.”

“Okay relax…” You warn not appreciating her tone. You literally just landed an hour ago and it’s almost midnight East Coast time. The timezone switch is fucking with you and her attitude is the last thing you need. 

“Don’t tell me to relax.” She snaps. The young actress hated those words, it always made her more riled up.

You scoff trying your hardest not to snap back but controlling your anger has never been your strong suit. “Why do you think I’m here? Liv told me I had to show face for your premiere and SNL episode. Be your cheerleader or some shit.”

She drops her arms, frown still etched on her soft face. What? Ignore that.

“Shit, I think Sarah might’ve mentioned it but I was just so busy with rehearsal and fittings with Enrique that I didn’t see.” Jenna sighs, rubbing her forehead.

For the first time since she barged into your room – you take a moment to scan her. Her face is bare and makeup free but you can see the dark smudges from her eyeliner earlier today just under the lashline. She was dressed in a large sweater and mismatched sweatpants; the sleeves are so long it covers half her hands and her short wavy locks tied into a messy low bun.

Her clothes practically engulfed her tiny stature. You figure this is a pretty rare sight that most people aren’t privy to and suddenly you’re unsure as to why it’s so hard to look away. 

“I didn’t mean to snap… I’m sorry.” She says quietly, looking at you like she was genuinely apologetic. 

“It’s fine…” You shrug and pushed off the wall to sit on the couch. Everyone has their days, you thought.

“I didn’t mean to ambush you. I really thought you knew I’d be here.” You turn on the TV, not being to stand the silence in the large room.

Jenna sits down beside you, tucking her feet against her chest. When did she take off her shoes? “It’s not your fault.”

The sigh she lets out is heavy and something tells you there’s some meaning behind it too. But you didn’t feel like it was your business so you zip it and continue watching the TV drone on about a program you don’t care about. 

“I saw clips of your SNL promo… I thought it was hilarious – you were great and that reporter outfit? So cool.” You change the subject. It gets her to smile as her dimples poke out, a little shy now. 

“It’s so cringy.” She covers her face. 

“Awh, nah… the internet loved it.” You laugh, a little amused that the actress was all flushed by a single compliment. 

Call it big-headed, call it ego, call it whatever you want but you personally relished it when people fawned over you. 

“Of course they did. They’re the whole reason for the meme.” She rolls her eyes after dropping her hands but she still had a toothy smile. 

“I bet that dance follows you everywhere…” 

“Every. Fucking. Day.” She says then raises a brow at you, “How do you know about the dance, though?’

You send her an affronted look, “I’m not a grandmother, Jenna. I know what’s hip with the kids.”

She snorts, “You’re an idiot – I just mean, I didn’t think you were on TikTok like that with a schedule like yours. Also, that app is toxic.”

“Every social media app can be toxic.” You quip, “But get off your high horse, your majesty. I literally just saw a couple of edits on Twitter of it.”

“Uh huh…” She hums, unconvinced, if the side glance she throws you was any indication. “But yeah the writers wanted to do a bit with Wednesday and this is what we came up with.”

“Well, I think it’s genius… from a business standpoint.” You offer up, nudging her shoulder then turning back to the TV.

You miss Jenna’s bothered frown. “Business standpoint?”

“Yeah,” You say off-handedly, “It’s smart, good for you.”

“Are most things a ‘business standpoint’ for you?” She asks, genuinely curious about what you could mean.

“Hmm. I guess I never thought of it like that but now that I’m saying it out loud, yeah, kinda.” You shrug, thinking about it. 

Most of the interactions in Hollywood that you have had are based on transactions and is usually for your own self-interest.

“...That’s kinda sad.” She says getting you to turn.

“What does that mean?” You frown.

“I’m just saying… there’s more to this industry than business deals and brand offers.” This time Jenna offers up a thought but it sounds a bit judgemental to you, shrugging.

You’re furrowing your brows, sitting up straight. “Look, you don’t even know me. Just forget what I said.”

But the laugh she lets out grinds your gears in the most unpleasant way.

Jenna holds up her hands in surrender but it feels mocking. “Clearly…” She emphasizes. “But I’m just saying, there’s no need to get all defensive.”

“Okay, I don’t know what kind of shit you were dealing with today but don’t take it out on me. Don’t come to my room talking about things you know nothing about.” You glower.

She matches your frown, standing. “It kinda sounds like you’re the one dealing with something, actually.”

“I think you should leave.” Your glare turns sharp and cold, standing too.

“Already on my way out.” She scoffed, snatching her bag aggressively off the coffee table then turns to walk to the front door. 

You follow to make sure the door hits her on the way out but she stops abruptly by the hall causing you to trip on your own feet to not tumble over her. 

“I think you should go back to L.A.” She glares up at you, tightly clutching her shoulder bag.

The laugh you let out is humourless, stepping back to create space between you and the other actress. “And get my ass handed to me by Jake, Liv and Sarah? They’re like four horsemen of the apocalypse – just searching for their last member. No thanks. You got a problem with me here? You deal with it.”

She clenches her jaw, “Done. Leave it to me.” Then turns and leaves making sure to slam the door shut. 

Those hotel doors weigh a fuck ton, how did she do that? And what did she mean leave it to me?

“Can I come out now?” Link peeks his head out from the adjoining room; fear present on his features.

●●●

:)

-

tagging who comment so far:

@alexkolax @ladey @jjsmaybank20 @werewoofrobinbuckley

[zlebooks]

𓂃 alhaitham + no words to describe .

for a haravatat graduate, alhaitham sure knows a lot of words. but when it comes to you, it’s only silence that he can provide for comfort.

alhaitham, a scholar who has mastered over 40 languages, classifies words into two categories: those that defy translation and those that cannot be expressed in any other form. to him, whichever you might be, will always be someone that he will earnestly try to decipher.

that goes for days when you can’t help but wish to stay quiet on your own, with you pulling away from the group as you’d rather drown in your own thoughts. alhaitham appears right beside you moments later, staring off at a distance with no words leaving his mouth. the scribe provides comfort with no words, making the silence a little bit bearable along with the crickets in the dark night.

kaveh tells him often that he has an emotional quotient of rock. how he lacks empathy and how at times he fails to connect with people. alhaitham knows that there’s some merit behind those words hurled at him, but as he stares at your unmoving form; face riddled with sadness and eyes moist, alhaitham wishes he can provide more comfort than his silent company.

there are also days when you take your isolation to a different level. these days are reserved when all your feelings have filled your insides to the brim, waiting to explode. alhaitham, the last person you expected to lecture you on the matters of the heart, has told you once before that it’s no use in bottling your feelings up— it does nothing for you and for the people around you— but just like the stubbornness of a rock, you never heeded his words seriously. during these times, he’d be there outside your door. he’s not hovering; he never hovers. he’s there to wait, just in case you decide to come out and seek his silent comfort. you have always thought that he’ll eventually grow tired of this setup, with him always waiting around and you taking longer to come out each time. but similar to knowledge, always there and always true, alhaitham remains outside your door, every single time.

it seems like it was one of those nights when you have yet again bottled up your feelings against alhaitham’s advice. the moon lights up the sky, its light going through the cracks of your blinds. a familiar ache settles inside your chest. only this time, the weight feels heavier, like the unspoken words and pent-up feelings are tugging the edges of your heart harder. the air around turns difficult to breathe in, like everything holding you down materialised became the very dust you had to breathe in.

outside, alhaitham is waiting like he always has, the gentle hum of the night accompanying him.

tonight, something shifts within you. your feet take you to your door, your hand trembling as you reach for the handle. as you twist the door open, familiar teal eyes meet yours and flickers in surprise.

people around you would always talk about how the scribe was expressionless. if no one knew better, one would think he’s some sort of smart machinery, created by the brilliant mind of a builder. but as merely metres separate the two of you, you notice the slightest movement in his eyebrows, the small tilt of his lip, expressing concern. he makes no move to enter your room, waiting for you to utter words. and for the first time, you step out. not to flee, but to confront.

“alhaitham,” you start and words like water break free from the dam you were holding in. you talk about your fears, your worries, the dread that consumes you from within. and alhaitham listens, unmoving, he doesn’t care when you stumble over your words because he knows all of it were genuine.

when you finish, alhaitham remains. your words dried up and worries aired out but alhaitham remains. and the scribe realises yet another thing in your presence; he who has mastered over 40 languages learns another one that is beyond words to connect with you.

with the moon unwaning and casting a soft glow on the both of you, alhaitham finds the courage to hold you in his arms. his touch that is so tender, so warm, so delicate, cherishes you in your entirety, with or without your fears.

for the first time that night, alhaitham opens his mouth to speak, “sometimes,” he starts with so much softness in his voice, “no word from any language is needed to comfort and to understand.” he looks you in the eyes and pauses for a moment, “sometimes, just being there is enough.”

and in his gentle embrace you remain thankful, and in your heart, a feeling with no amount of flowery words to describe blooms.

♥︎ please do not repost or translate without my permission . reblogs are heavily appreciated!

a/n: js a little writing practice and projecting my own feelings lawl

[drdemonprince]

Your post about "transitioning to escape gender but then there's more gender" has been rotating furiously in my mind since I saw it. When I first realized I was trans at age 15, I identified as agender, but I knew I wanted to go on T and get top surgery so I decided it would be simpler to tell everyone I was a trans man and that just kind of became the truth. Now 10 years later I'm sorta starting to feel like I wanna actually be agender again, but the idea of an identity shift like that at my current age is terrifying and idek who I'd tell, or how I'd do it, and I don't think I wanna stop using he/him exclusively, and I have no idea why I'm telling *you* this other than that I'm scared to talk to anyone I know about it because it feels like somehow admitting that I was wrong about the gender I fought like hell to become, even though i don't really think that's the case I think my sense of self might just be continuously evolving... but I just wanna say you talking about having a gender shift like once every several years is helping me process this rn and feel like I'm not faking anything now AND wasn't faking anything before.

Dog i am right there with you. As a kid I always thought gender was bullshit, the coercive nature of it disgusted and scared me and I rebelled against it the best that I could. I loathed being assigned to any gender category, I never identified as a "girl", but I didn't really identify with any other category either. Puberty terrified me (and of course, it does most young people, but it felt like it would only more deeply entrench the category that I was assigned to in other people's minds, it made it more difficult to escape). I had trans friends as a teen but it did not occur to me to transition because there was really no end goal that I wanted to head toward, I just knew what I wanted to avoid and not experience. I coped mostly by degendering my body with a fairly androgynous style and way of presenting myself to the word and mannerisms, but also by starving myself which was not so great, and not sustainable. I considered transness for myself, even trying on a friend's binder and presenting masculinely at certain queer events, but it seemed to me at the time like just another way in which to obsess over gender, a foolish coercive socially constructed thing that i was trying to avoid.

In my 20s, I learned more about nonbinary people and figured that explained things pretty well. I was enamored with the transition journeys of some other trans people, largely trans women more than trans masculine ones (with some trans-effeminate faggot boy exceptions), but I still didn't want to take on all the expense and uncertainty and hassle of navigating the medical system for myself. I didn't think that the pursuit of being happy merited taking on so many risks or fiddling with myself so much. I saw it as an extravagance I didn't deserve, I guess, and I also couldn't locate a target outcome that seemed desirable enough for me. I was still dealing with an eating disorder and recovering from some trauma and didn't really think about my life in the long term. I guess I still don't, haha, whoops.

Eventually I came out as nonbinary, and nobody really gave a shit. There is a lot of useless, solidarity-breaking discourse that happens online about essentially who is "more" oppressed, binary trans people or nonbinary people, and a lot of that fight amounts to the two groups shouting about the ways in which they annoy one another without there being any cogent analysis of power and where oppression comes from (let alone how much those two categories overlap).

But I will say that being a they/them was far more difficult than being a trans guy socially and institutionally, because your identity is completely illegible to every system around you. "binary" trans people struggle under this too, but i have found there are some immense benefits to having a socially and institutionally legible target gender. nobody would fucking actually they/them me. not anyone. not even other trans people and queer people. there were no public gendered spaces for me. there were no spaces for me. there was no way to move through the medical system, professional life, and other public institutions as a nonbinary person. i was still just a cis woman in everyone's eyes. including the people who claimed to support me. and it was massively frustrating.

and so i think ultimately, i took my frustrations with not being at all able to escape coerced gendering as a nonbinary person and combined that with the affinity i do feel for queer men and the general sense of misery i was still experiencing in my life and decided what the hell, i'll round myself up to being a trans guy. i upped my T dose, i dressed more masculinely, i eventually got a super masculine hair cut that really squared off my jawline and got me gendered correctly, and i started more consciously inhabiting queer men's spaces.

and it was pretty dope. for a while. i felt the rush of having gotten away with something. when people effortlessly gendered as male i felt freed at last from the pressure to be a woman. i was no longer being coerced into being something that i was not. i had escaped the enforced category so much that people couldn't even see the history of that category being pushed onto me. there was relief.

but then. as always happens. people made little comments about my handshake being too weak for a man. the hypermasc dudes at the leather bar rolled their eyes at me and all the other effeminate dudes swanning around the bar. the people who picked me up off the apps or at the sauna would always let it slip, eventually, that they had a lot of experience with trans guys, or had most recently been dating all trans guys, and it would make me feel like a stock character to them, yet another category into which all kinds of assumptions had been projected. a type not a person. a few people said my haircut made me look like i was in the military or described me as actually masculine, which was equally jarring because it was so incorrect. people tried to affirm me by saying i was such a dude, i was such a man, i was such a fag, i was such a gay bro, pawing all over me leaving the mark of all their assumptions and oversimplifications behind. i had tried to run away from gender and there i was just BASTING all the time in everybody's goddamn assumptions about gender. trans people didn't talk about it any less than cis people did, they were just as fucking confining to be around.

it honestly feels really dirty. when people try to affirm your gender constantly and can't stop talking about it, when people look past you and see only your body, your history, or the role they have typecast you in, when people use your body as an outlet for their own gender or sexuality explorations, when they keep trying to measure every single facet of existence up into being masculine or being feminine or being toppy or bottomy or any other gendered type, it's claustrophobic.

as a trans man i tried playing this whole gender game and the second i started winning i began to feel even more disgusted with myself. it wasn't a victory or an escape, it was a capitulation. exploring with my identity and presentation has brought positive things into my life and my health has gotten better as a result, and i've made wonderful friends who, like me, are disaffected by this coercive gendering system. so i don't regret any of that. but trying to make myself legible under the existing gendered system was a fool's fucking errand. i wish i hadnt done it to myself and i wish i hadnt had it pushed onto me. to be clear, it was cissexist, binarist society that forced it onto me; even when other queer people coated me in their gendered assumptions that is obviously a byproduct of societal conditioning, and it's conditioning that ive reinforced in my own behavior and outlook toward others plenty of times too. we all do it, and we are all wronged by the existing coercive gender system.

i dont even care how i fucking identify anymore and i have no intention of changing pronouns again or anything, i'm so bored of it, i just actually want off this fucking thing. im not interested in trying to make others understand what i am anymore or in who i am even being simply categorizable, i dont want to obsess anymore over how i am perceived or to attempt engineer my appearance and mannerisms to broadcast an identity to anyone. i dont even want to fuck anybody right now at all because im so sick of how much that's a gender pantomime for people. i want off this fuckin ride man im so done.

it's kind of freeing, to hit this point of complete gender apathy, and i think it is a pretty common stage of identity development for a lot of queer people who have explored multiple identities and roles over time. there is no category that i actually am, or that anyone is, there are just the frameworks that society has given us to work with to understand ourselves, and the ways in which we flatten who we are to be able to make sense of the world using those frameworks. but who i actually am is so much more contextual and mutable than all that. i am a different person in the classroom than i am on the train platform than i am in the bedroom than i am cuddling on the couch than i am when i'm working out than i am when curled up on the floor crying than i am at a big furry convention. who i am continues to change as new people come in and out of my life and age and change and my body alters and as the weather turns. who fuckin knows man it's nothing and everything. i want to let it just be

[island-in-the-shadows]

On Felix Catton & Disgust/Desire

I had been waiting for a long while now to write this post. I wanted to do another full re-watch before I got into it because the ideas for this have been sitting in my mind for a long time. This is going to be a long post and, hopefully, not super pretentious. Most of us fans of Saltburn know, to some degree or another, that the core themes of the film revolve around disgust, desire, and obsession. And the biggest entry point to discuss this is the actions of our protagonist, Oliver Quick re the object of his disgust/desire/obsession Felix Catton.

I've written before that I believe that Oliver did know Felix and that Felix was emotionally vulnerable and candid with Oliver. I further stated that we, the audience, are forbidden from knowing the details of this intimacy because Oliver does not want us to truly know Felix. This means that the bits we get of Felix are small and very subtle. It means that we can interpret Felix's core personality, true intent, true desires in a litany of ways. My opinion is, realistically, no more valid than anyone else's. But for today, I wanted to discuss what I view, from the bits that we get, is Felix's relation with the core themes of the film. And, because I saw a truly heinous takes about a different fandom I'm in and I don't want to think about it, my brain said: hey...let's talk about Felix Catton and his disgust and desire.

Pt. 1: "Only rich people can afford to be this filthy."

When Oliver says the above, he and Felix are in Felix's messy and disgusting dorm room at Oxford. When you take a closer look at the room (which I admit was difficult on my first few views because Felix is lit and positioned to take all of your focus), it is a total shit show. There's clothes everywhere, empty containers everywhere, other unidentifiable debris...honestly wouldn't shock me if there was some used condom somewhere. We know from Oliver that, not only does it look like chaos, it smells terrible. However, Felix is unbothered. He is concerned only with the heat which, in this case, is an external force that he cannot control no matter his good looks, his charms, his pedigree, or his money. By what we see, Felix is quite happy and content in the filth. It is only when Oliver points out the filth and points out that Felix won't take care of it, that Felix reacts negatively.

Felix, as we know, is very accustomed to his messes being cleaned up for him. Before we even get to Saltburn it's a safe assumption to make. Prior to college/uni, he would've gone to some posh boarding school or other. I doubt that they were made to clean everything in boarding school (though if any of you know please let me know). We also know that wealthy people tend to have hired staff who clean for them. This is a young man who has never had to clean up his spilled milk and it has never even occurred to him to do it.

However, the important bit to note is not that Felix is messy and that it doesn't occur to him to clean. What's important to note is that the mess simply does not bother him. Just because he is born to extreme wealth and privilege does not mean that he would have to be this way. There's been germaphobe rich people or people who prefer to have a minimalistic space or any number of things. Regardless of wealth, some people are fine with mess and some people require mess to be done away with immediately. Felix is in the former category. He certainly must notice the mess at some point (even if, clearly, he's nosebleed to it) but he is comfortable in his space.

This is also true of his room at Saltburn. We barely see it, I know, but let's take a look at that glossy af pic of it from the Architectural Digest Article...

There is crap EVERYWHERE. The more you look at it the more crap you find. You can't even say that it's perfectly clean either because there's dirty clothes in spots, there's multiple pillows on the ground, there's a random used water glass, there's either toilet paper or paper towels on the night stand, the bed isn't perfectly made, I could go on. Chaos and filth and mess is, technically, Felix's natural habitat. It's the kind of mess that is surrounded by opulence, certainly, but it's still a mess.

Only rich people can afford to be this messy because they can also dictate when and where their staff cleans. Presumably, there are things in Felix's bedroom (perhaps the toilet paper/paper towels which have a...purpose) which he has instructed Duncan to leave alone. Or Elspeth has put terms for how often the maids come in the rooms. It could be framed in a multitude of ways. The point stands that Felix can exist in these chaotic and, even, disgusting spaces because he chooses to be. What his privilege does, then, is afford him absence from judgment.

We see the staff at Saltburn clean up after the party. We see that they quietly replaced a broken mirror before anyone can question the cracks. We never see the staff judge. Do they? Certainly they must, we all have opinions. But do they express their judgement to the masters of the house? No. It's not their place to do so. They are considered staff and therefore their opinions do not come into play for the Cattons nor would they want to hear them. Even Duncan's genuine unease and grief after Felix dies is mostly kept under control. He's not paid to express his emotions or his thoughts, after all.

And why go into all of this? Because Felix is content to live in the mess, to revel in the gross and in some version of the abject. What Felix cannot handle is being confronted with his pleasure. To me, this (along with wanting to separate Oliver from staff when the younger boy starts actively cleaning) is the main reason why he snaps when Oliver points out the disgusting state of the dorm. He does not need or want to know how he fits outside a specific role that he was born to play and, likely, believes he has to play. Even if it didn't occur to him to clean, he could've used his wealth and influence to find someone to clean for him. But he didn't. Because it doesn't bother him. Oliver being bothered and pointing out that Felix is so wealthy that he can live in the filth is what bothers him, instead.

Pt. 2 "Was it? Was it awful?"

I am going to keep this section short, because there have been much better posts about this and I, personally, go back and forth on this all the time. Regardless, Felix having an interest in a made up fantasy of a shitty childhood and what he can, likely, envision as some Dickensian nightmare of a situation falls into his relation to disgust and desire. What Felix knows of true poverty and addiction likely comes from media or exaggerated stories from people who have been in contact with someone who was an addict or something to that extent. His imagination must be running wild with theories. And while I do think that he did have good intentions regarding Oliver when it comes to this, his demeanour also shows an attraction to the grotty aspects of it. Oliver only ever calls him out on this, to a degree, in the maze. Before this, Felix can be interested in what he imagines is the horror of Oliver's childhood but not be caught out as being a tragedy whore or someone with a saviour complex or anything else, because his interest is not being pointed out. Again, he has an interest or desire for mess and chaos as long as it is not pointed out.

Pt. 3 "You're supposed to be here with me."

Let's, briefly, talk about queerness. Let's talk about how Felix has an image to maintain. How he has expectations put upon him. Yes, he has privilege and wealth beyond understanding, but these things often have a tradeoff. Celebrities, for example, have to forfeit a lot of their privacy. Royalty and nobility (regardless of country) often forfeit chunks of their privacy and the possibility of living outside of a script (publicly, at any rate). Felix CANNOT go off script.

He is implied to be the heir to Saltburn and everything that comes with it: money, land, title, expectations. Like in the days of old, it's probably expected of him to produce an heir. It's also expected of him to marry a lady from his class in order to produce said heir. And, back in 2006/7, people were less acceptating of LGBTQ+ people that they are now, and Same-Sex marriage was not a thing in the UK and it wouldn't be for another 7 or so years. So Farleigh, who will inherit nothing and only ever be given scraps, can embrace his queerness; Felix cannot.

Personally, I believe that Felix did have some sort of interest in Oliver. It's not just in the fact that he is possessive of Oliver to the point of disregarding his family. It's in all the Bambi eyed looks that we see Felix give Oliver. You could argue that these are exaggerations from Oliver but then, how do you explain the POV shots we get of Felix looking at Oliver? How they are also romance coded, lustful, pinky and fluffy? There is something there. To what extent there was something is pure conjecture. But, I personally believe that he had some kind of feelings for Oliver but could not express those feelings and, to an extent, found his feelings for Oliver disgusting.

Even if his mother is, in her way, tolerant of queer people, this does not mean that she would be ok with Felix being with a man. I doubt his father, who is in his 60s at the time, would be any happier about it. Again, Felix needs to have an heir and take over Saltburn. So, at most, they would've tolerated that Felix had a "friend" tucked away somewhere that Felix could go to every so often. Queerness is not the desired outcome and so, at some point, Felix would've had to separate any feelings from the matter. And, hypothetically, in boarding school any hand jobs etc. from other boys would be viewed as part of a norm that exists within the realm of "no homo."

So, given he has been emotionally intimate with Oliver and, given that he has felt more for Oliver than he probably thinks he should, he feels disgust as much as he feels desire. He can, and personally I think does, want Oliver, but feels disgusted by his feelings and has a strong desire to keep them channeled in the "appropriate" way. Just the same, he gets jealous and he does not want to share. He cannot abide by Oliver being free to pursue another partner (guarantee he would be equally as incensed if he had found out about Farleigh and it probably would've slightly registered had Oliver actually slept with Indabel). It's specifically a slap in the face that it's Venetia who has done this kind of thing before and who is allowed to be physical with these friends of Felix's with whom Felix does not feel he could or should be physically intimate. Thus, the possession and the jealousy and the spurned wife behaviour of it all.

Pt. 4 "You make my fucking blood run cold."

Bref, I think Felix had good intentions but poor thinking skills when he wanted to take Oliver to his parents' house. Multiple posts have discussed this bit and I do think he wanted to further trauma bond with Oliver the way they further trauma bonded when Oliver's dad "died", afterwards, per the script, they were "closer than ever." And then they had that intimate moment on the bridge and spent some time there completely alone instead of being at a giant party. I think he thought that the experience would bring them closer and that he would be there to, in his way, protect Oliver. And I still think this plays in to all the little ways in which Felix desires disgust and is disgusted by his desires. But he does it anyway.

The betrayal of trust and intimacy that follows has to feel like a bomb has gone off in Felix's mind. But what's worse for him, again this is solely my opinion, is that he still desires Oliver regardless. It might not have fully formed in his head and he then dulled it with drugs and alcohol and with his shoddy attempt at fucking Indabel in the maze, but possibly the inkling of why Oliver lied the way he did had entered his brain. Oliver already tried to explain. Told Felix in the hallway when they got back that he wanted to be Felix's friend. And Felix likely relived his entire relationship with Oliver including what Oliver just told him. And, to me, Felix was not entirely opposed to it. He didn't immediately kick out Oliver or cause too much of a fuss. He wanted space. He wanted to not think about it for a while. But Oliver forced his hand.

Again, here we have a Felix who is disgusted by his desire. A Felix who, deep down, knows that he likes that Oliver lied. That he likes that Oliver desires him so much that he would do anything for him. Likes that, despite NEVER wanting anyone to know the most debauched parts of him, Oliver is close to knowing all of his darkest parts and loving him for them just the same. But a Felix who, nonetheless, does not allow himself to revel in the filth once it's pointed out.

And Oliver points it out. In a big way. "Everyone puts on a show for Felix! [...] doesn't this just prove how much of a good friend I actually am? How well I actually know you!" He does know him. Felix knows this. Felix CANNOT go off script. Felix cannot acknowledge his love for things that are disgusting or less than savoury. So too he cannot allow them or acknowledge them here. And then we have something in the script vs. how Jacob actually looked that's what inspired me to write this overly long post in the first fucking place.

This is not the exact beat. Because this is after Felix says his line about his blood running cold. The vibe is the same, though. Regardless...is THAT the fact of disgust? Because to me, that is not disgust. That is some form of desire that most mortals will never experience. But then...it also IS disgust. Because the two are intertwined for him. Because he desires because of the disgust at the situation and at the lengths of debasement Oliver will go to to please him. He is a boy who loves mess and chaos and who makes his home there. And, to whatever extent, his heart could've made a home in the mess and chaos and filth that Oliver brought to the table. Even if Felix has to be disgusted at his desires and prevent them. Even if Oliver took any option or opportunity away from Felix.

Oliver makes his blood run cold, but Felix never said that was a bad thing. And it isn't. Just as Oliver revels in the filth of bodies and their fluids and the inferred possession that comes with them, so too Felix revels in the filth of places and things he shouldn't want and things he can only truly savour in the shadows where no one points them out.

TL;DR Felix is as much of a freak as Oliver is, though in a different way. He is shown to be comfortable and even like messy and gross things but, he only does so when it's not pointed out. He can be, to a point, physically close and emotionally intimate with Oliver and, even partially overlook a betrayal of this intimacy, but only if it's never pointed out. Only if it doesn't break with the expectations and social script on which he has been raised and to which he has to stick. He serves to demonstrate the relationship with disgust and desire as much as Oliver does, but his relation is more subtle and harder to see. And maybe, just maybe, given time, he would've at least bent the script.

--------------------------------------0--------------------------------------

Super sorry for how long this is, I just needed to get it out! Thanks to @ollieapologist for being my biggest cheerleader about this post. Sorry if this is incoherent!

[relic-seeker]

it's always really weird reading fics or looking at art of hollow knight & specifically the pale king, because the interpretations of him i see are COMPLETELY different to one another.

one moment i might be seeing him as a flawed yet noble king, then others he's the scourge of the whole kingdom.

it's really odd for me because i simply cannot see any king ever as a "good guy" in any respect -- this comes from living in britain, under a very corrupt monarchy. unfortunately this then reflects onto how i see the pale king as well -- i don't really know how to feel about him because mostly what i feel is a hatred for the system in general.

there are very valid criticisms of him from a contemporary human pov: all the stuff with vessels & using a living creature to seal an Infection for the greater good; leaving the rest of the vessels at the bottom of the abyss after he picked the 'perfect' one; colonising hallownest in the first place when there were clearly natives etc; implementing the strong caste / class system in hallownest-- there may be more but that's what i think of from the top of my head

yet, a lot of people spin these things to make him a very positive force in hallownest. lots of people interpret his relationship with the white lady as something very loving, or the moment you see at the end of the path of pain is something that shows he may have wanted to care for his child but couldn't due to the duty of sealing the Infection. even the fact he built a monument in the centre of the capital city to his child is enough to show he clearly cared for the hollow knight.

i think something that aids the understanding of who he is is putting it all in the context of possibly being someone from hallownest: wouldn't you truly believe that the hollow knight was truly hollow & save everyone? i can't remember the source for it, but i think there was an inkling somewhere (correct me if wrong) that the public of hallownest didn't even believe the king's plan was going to work -- shows a degree that he didn't completely brainwash the entire kingdom into loving & worshipping him... plus in the sense of being a controlling & powerful king, he does everything majorly right -- basing my views on that of the medieval european feudal system etc (ive not much knowledge of other ways kingdoms ran, my history degree hasn't started yet).

either way, i think the pale king is certainly morally grey at best but he's got a code of conduct -- imagine him as lawful neutral if you will. in terms of alignment, it seems that most put him somewhere in the lawful category but evil or good, but that just doesn't feel right. a truly good person probably would not seal their hundreds of children down in a deep pit (whether they thought they were hollow or not) & a truly evil person would not go to the lengths & agony to save his entire kingdom.

therefore: the pale king has a set of morals & codes he abides by, but they can definitely be questionable! but he's as complex as any other person & i LOVE seeing interpretations where he's portrayed in a fairly positive light :D

(especially all compared to my uhh anti-monarchy stance)

[yourleftpinkytoe-blog]

Andreil soulmate au:

Background

Not everyone has a soulmate

To have one you need to fall into a very specific category of people

To put it simply “in order to have a soulmate you and your partner have to choose each other in every universe in existence”

This is a very rare occurrence

Like one in of every million people have a soulmate

You know you have one when you are born with a picture of something that holds meaning to you and you soulmate in every universe

There is only one way to make the marks disappear (when they do you are no longer soulmates in any universe)

“If romantic feelings are expressed and unreciprocated”

As long as there is a possibility for a relationship there is a bond

So all it takes is a no that is genuine for the bond to break

(So if affection is felt by one but never expressed then your still soulmates until the other party rejects you)

(If both parties hold romantic feelings for the other but are unable to be in a relationship then the bond is still there)

It’s basically a “yes, until it’s a no”

***

Nathaniel Wasinski was born with a soulmate to the delight of absolutely nobody. His father hated it for the soul reason of it being a potential joy for his son. He will go on to attempt to rid his son of the mark via a hot iron.

His mother hated it for being a distraction. Years after she would hate it for the fact that frankly, it’s too recognizable. Too distinct.

Abram likes it. In his eyes it’s something to latch onto. “In another universe maybe I’m not constantly in fear of the mob coming to kill me.” It’s hope but hope is not something he has room for so he doesn’t dwell on it.

Alex, Stephan, Chris nor any of his other identities have a soulmate. Abram’s soulmate is his and his alone. He only allows himself to acknowledge his mark in the dead of night locked in motel bathrooms. He traces the lines of the key, watching himself do so in the mirror. He doesn’t acknowledge the multitude of scars surrounding it. In those moments he lets his mind wander to all the possibilities. Who is his soulmate? Are they happy? Do they have a mom that rips their hair out too? Will they ever meet? If they do, could he even feel the types of feelings necessary for them to stay soulmates? Would his soulmate like him? He hopes so. It’s the only thing he lets himself hope for.

***

Andrew Doe was born with a soulmate, his twin brother was not. That distinction played a major part in Tildas decision. She knows the attention people like that bring. If she’s already going to have to deal with a snotty crying shit maker, she wants to do it in peace.

You’d think a child with a soulmate would be easily adopted. It is already rare for a child to be born with a soulmate let alone one that’s being put up for adoption. But Tilda’s track record for abandoning then subsequently coming back for said child put a bad taste in potential adopters mouths. So Andrew gets passed around from one hellhole to another, each with a new and exciting type of trauma for him to experience.

Andrew when he was young liked that he had a soulmate. He’d been abandoned so much but the idea of someone actually choosing him not just once but in every universe gave him hope.

All hope he had died when he was seven.

By the time Andrew Minyard is his legal name he no longer looks at his mark with any emotion at all. It was apart of him but he felt nothing for it. Or at least that’s what he tells himself.

He definitely doesn’t get an intense feeling of longing when he catches a glimpse of the key on his forearm. He definitely doesn’t ever think about his soulmate. who he is, what he’s doing, if they’ve met, how they could meet, what he look like. Is his life just as shitty as his own? No he definitely doesn’t think about that.

Except Andrew is only a liar when it matters and this doesn’t matter. So yes he thinks about his soulmate far more than he’d ever admit out loud ,But it’s not like it matters to him. His soulmate is a pipe dream, something to thinks about but never something he can have.

He’s too broken for his soulmate to choose him anyway.

[justblades]

⌕ DULCET MUSINGS

⟢ CHARACTERS : dan heng, gepard landau & sampo koski x gender neutral! reader WC : 1.4k

⟢ IN WHICH they celebrate your day in their own special way <3 tooth rotting fluff

dan heng — beams a sweet smile as he fixes the little gift's wrapping that nestles in his gentle soft palms. he closes his eyes for a little while, envisioning your reaction once he finally gives the item he carefully prepared for you. although silent most of the time, dan heng is the type to pay attention to your preferences, your dislikes, almost everything that you babble about to him.

with his eidetic memory and meticulous nature, his present, without a doubt will cater to your liking. but apparently, two hands cover his eyes, making the male flinch from the sudden presence behind him. "oh, what could this be?" you query, scooting closer to the male, scrutinizing the gift box before him.

"wait, remove your hands first." dan heng protests as he attempts his best to gain his vision back. a chortle slips from your lips and eventually gave in, letting the male breathe free again without the restraints of your hands plastered on his face. he arises from his seat and hands you the gift, teal eyes glimmering with excitement although not that evident from his expression.

sometimes, a small smile from his lips and his long lashes fluttering are all you need to know his heart is brimming with happiness and excitement. dan heng is usually perceived as a cold yet nerdy type, it's actually a privilege you get to see him like this.

gepard — whisks the mixture carefully, having a full on chef look from the apron tightly wrapped around his snatched waist and a hand towel draped on the front pocket. aquamarine irises glancing from one dessert to another he intricately made for you, euphoria pools inside him - feeling satisfied with everything he did so far.

every dessert is different from the other in spite of each one belonging in the same category, he made sure that your taste buds won't cloy from eating too much sweets of the similar variety. the blonde male suddenly takes a trip down the memory lane, moments of when he tried to perfect each sweet dish flash in his mind.

with enough perseverance, he finally perfected the arts of it— thus, he calls you from your room, masculine yet gentle, affirming voice chiming into your ears from the other side of the wall. "coming!" you respond with such enthusiasm and once you got to meet up with your partner face to face, your eyes avert to the desserts prepared on the glossy tabletop.

pudding, ice cream, muffins, everything. the extra toppings were even in your favorite flavor, you also noticed how majority of the courses were also in your favorite color. a miniature doodle adorns the pudding's gleaming surface, supposedly a chibi version of you and gepard together bound by a small heart.

the doodle looked different yet adorable in its own way, baby pink hues flushing his pale cheeks. "it's not much but . ." you immediately cut him off by pressing a quick chaste kiss on his lips, "this is everything to me already. it's a lot, it's not 'not much'!" gepard's heartbeat picks up, embarrassed from how he looks disoriented in front of you. "i'm lucky to have you."

sampo — is usually deemed unreliable and a ridiculous person, leading you to doubting yourself how did you fall for someone like him. sometimes it's unbearable to hear people dissing him and even the male knows it well. however, he sports that usual smug look on his face and shrugs it off by saying "it's not a big deal."

you knew him very well so it was natural for you to not heed any mind to those comments. your perception of your boyfriend is always a 50/50 and never exceeding past that number. 50 of happy for having him, 50 of wanting to strangle him because he always does questionable things that irk you.

no matter the outcome, sampo never fails to grant him a saccharine smile from your lips. he has his ways to make you happy - but he might be crossing the line just now. today is your birthday but the male is nowhere to be seen, he was gone since yesterday and you couldn't help but heave a sloth sigh in the end.

traversing the boulder town with no particular plans in mind, you find yourself seeking companionship from whoever could improve your solitude in the streets. your eyes land on the moles and they do so too; hook trekks towards you followed with her other two playmates, curiosity glinting in her eyes. "huh? isn't it your day? where's your blue haired lover?"

kids can really rub salt on the wound sometimes and your nervously chuckle, "it's okay, he's probably busy." when suddenly, a confetti pops from above, glittering shiny paper shreds fall down in a horizontal blur from your sight. you quicly whip your head, your eyes greeted by the lush green ones- and the iconic cocky smile.

he bows lightly with a gloved hand on his chest, sampo gestures for you to look at your left and three unknown men make their entrance. one man was holding a bouquet of roses, one was holding a box of chocolates, and the remaining guy hands you an envelope, seemingly a handwritten letter for your lover. "i hope i'm not late." he says, holding your right hand and seals a lingering kiss on the back of your palm.

my masterlist !

[mouschiwrites]

hihi it’s the anon from the one req with the prime empire outfit thing :3 !! i was wondering if you could do something similar but with a reader who wakes up before them and makes them food ?? your writing is so munchable (positively)

Yaay good to have you back!!! I cannot express how joyous it makes me to know that people actually enjoy my silly scrawlings 🥹

Ninjago - Making Breakfast For the Ninjas

Kai

He is NOT a morning person

Definitely the type of guy to say “just five more minutes” like eight times before he finally drags himself out of bed

But when he wakes up to the smell of food…

And you’re not next to him…

He’s more than motivated to get up

He follows the smell into the kitchen, sighing to himself when he sees you at the stove

He approaches from behind, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his face in your neck

“Come back to bed, my sunshine.”

“You don’t want breakfast?”

“…keep cooking.”

He leans on you, half asleep while you finish frying some eggs and bacon

He’s still a little groggy while you eat together, but you can see him waking up the more he eats

You watch him carefully, watching for any signs that might indicate his opinion on your cooking

Polishing off his first plate, Kai blinks the rest of the sleepiness from his eyes

You make eye contact, both smiling softly

Your lips curl into a bigger grin when he asks for seconds

Still, you can’t help but tease:

“What about going back to bed?”

“Nah. I’m up now. Your amazing cooking has worked its magic on me.”

He smirks as you blush, grabbing his plate to get him another serving

Watching you, he can’t help but wonder how he got so lucky

Again, he’s not a morning person, but he’s discovered his new favorite way to wake up

Jay

When Jay wakes up, the first thing he does is check to see if you’re awake

He refuses to get out of bed unless you go with him, and he expects you to do the same

So when he wakes up and you’re not there, he’s a little offended

But then some worry starts to settle in

Did something happen? Surely that must be the case; why else would you break your routine?

Hauling himself out of bed, he hurries around the house, calling your name

He perks up when he hears your response in the kitchen

Dashing in, he stops dead in his tracks when he sees you alive and well, even smiling at him from your station at the stove

You perceive his worried expression, suddenly feeling a little guilty for abandoning him in bed

“Sorry, did I scare you? I didn’t mean to. I just wanted to surprise you with breakfast.”

He sighs in relief, assuring you that he’s just glad you’re okay

He starts rambling about his dream he had, taking a seat at the table while you finished grilling waffles

He doesn’t stop (aside from a quick “thanks”) when you set his plate in front of him

But when he takes his first bite, he freezes mid-sentence

“…is it okay..?”

“Oh my Borg. Y/n. You beautiful savant. This is amazing.”

You smile giddily as he shovels the food down his gullet

When he’s finished, he reclines in his chair satisfactorily

“This absolutely makes up for getting up before me. But next time let me wake up with you, okay?”

Cole

Cole could sleep through a category 5 hurricane

He certainly sounds like one when he snores

So it’s no surprise to him when he wakes up and you’re not there

Actually, that’s what he’s used to

He’ll lumber out of bed and make his way to the bathroom, where he’ll find you getting ready for the day

That’s how you start your day: one a tad later, but always together

When he goes to the bathroom and finds it empty, he’s baffled

He stands there for a solid minute, waiting for the grogginess to leave his head so he can think clearly

Before that happens, he’s enticed by the smell of pancakes

He follows the aroma to the kitchen, where two of his problems are solved

One, he’s found you

Two, you’re making breakfast, so his hunger will soon be satiated

He stands behind you, placing his burly arms and his chin on the top of your head

“What’s cookin’, good lookin’?”

“Pancakes. You want butter and syrup?”

“Mmmm. You know me so well.”

He stays by your side while you cook, trying to keep the drool in his mouth

You make him a high stack of pancakes, which you both know he’ll absolutely destroy

Before he even takes his first bite, he’s already complimenting your cooking

The compliments keep flowing while he eats, bringing a flattered pinkness to your cheeks

When he’s done, he lets out a dreamy sigh, placing his chin on his palm, admiring you

“My partner’s drop-dead gorgeous and the best cook in the world. Wakes me up with pancakes. Pancakes!”

“Only because you deserve it.”

You share a sticky kiss that tastes like maple syrup, which silently prompts you both to go brush your teeth and get ready for the day

Zane

Zane's usually the one to wake up earlier and get breakfast started, so you'll have to be really early if you want to surprise him

He assumes you're just in the bathroom when he doesn't see you in bed, so he shrugs it off and heads to the kitchen

He blinks in shock when he sees you already there, setting the table with omelettes and toast

He hurries over to you, reaching out to take the butter from your hands, but you dodge him

"Nuh-uh, you just sit down."

He reluctantly obeys

While you eat, you can't help but notice his curious glances at you

Eventually he breaks the silence

"Why did you do this?"

"Because I love you. I wanted to treat you."

His gentle smile does little to express how touched he is

You know he's a man of few words, so just having him finish his plate is enough to tell you he liked the meal

You grin proudly to yourself as you gather the dishes

He absolutely insists on helping you clean up, will NOT take no for an answer

While you clean up together, he gives you constructive feedback on your cooking

He figures it'd be more valuable to you than just compliments

And of course it is; he's basically a master chef, and you're getting free advice

Lloyd

For Lloyd, having you by his side when he wakes up is a 50/50 chance

Sometimes he gets up first, sometimes you get up first

So he's not exactly surprised waking up alone

What does catch his attention is the sweet smell of cinnamon in the air

He breathes it in deeply, wondering where it could be coming from at such an early hour

Eventually he gets up to investigate, and to his surprise (and delight) there are fresh-baked cinnamon rolls on the stovetop

And who but his lovely s/o mixing cream cheese icing on the counter?

He leans over the pan of rolls, wafting the smell into his nose

The sound startles you, but you smile when you realize it's only Lloyd

"Good morning."

"Morning. Did you make these?"

"No. A bipedal horse dropped them off."

"Har-har. Well, they smell fantastic, love."

He practically begs you to let him help spread the icing

You later realize that he really just wanted to lick the spoon... and the bowl

You eat the rolls informally as you sit on the counter, not bothering to use plates

Your hands end up stickier than the rolls themselves

Giving up on licking your fingers, you finally decide to go wash up

While getting ready, Lloyd clings close to you, expressing his abundant gratitude

"The rolls were so so so good. Just like you; you're so good to me. I love you."

Apparently your gesture got him feeling all mushy, because you ended up spending the rest of the morning curled up together watching TV on the couch, receiving sporadic kisses on your hands and head

Nya

Nya likes waking up early, but she doesn't like to disturb you

She'll immediately switch to stealth-mode when she wakes up, silently slipping out of bed and into the bathroom

She doesn't even notice that you're not in bed; she's too focused on being quiet

She nearly jumps out of her skin when she walks into the kitchen and opens the fridge, only to hear your voice:

"Hey, I made parfaits—"

"First Spinjitsu Master, Y/n!"

"Pfff—sorry, my flower! I didn't mean to scare you!"

If she wasn't awake before, she certainly was now

You decided to enjoy your yogurt parfaits while watching the sunrise

Spoon in one hand, Nya's hand in the other, you watched the sky grow brighter

Occasionally you would sneak a glance at your girlfriend, smiling to yourself at how beautiful she was, even after barely waking up

Little did you know she was doing the same

You continued to watch even after your parfaits were gone

Just as the sun peeked over the horizon, staining the sky a vibrant orange, you heard Nya say:

"I love you."

"I love you too."

She brought your hand to her mouth, placing a chaste kiss on your knuckles

"The parfait was delicious. Thank you."

"My pleasure. Should we go get ready now?"

"Let's watch the sunrise for a little longer."

Thank you sweet anon for this marvelous request! And thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed! <33

(divider by saradika)

[transmutationisms]

…so can you expand on the psychological ramifications of stewy being in private equity? that has definitely been lost on me given that i barely understand what private equity is

ok this is an underrated funny aspect of the show imo, and also good insight into stewy and kendall. i'm trying to spare you a bunch of stupid business jargon but basically, maesbury capital (which stewy represents but sandy/sandi ultimately own) is a private equity fund, meaning it's a big pile of a bunch of rich people's money, and stewy's job is to take that money and invest in private companies. a PE fund can invest at a few different points: at the very beginning of a startup's life (venture or angel investing), at a point where the company is trying to grow or restructure (growth investing), or when a company is struggling financially, in which case the fund is usually planning to either dismantle it and sell it for scrap, restructure and go public, or sell it for cash to another company. PE firms like to present themselves as doing a lot of growth or venture investing, but in truth many/most are primarily engaging in this third category of investment strategies, because they're lucrative (and because many startups are stupid, and only good for generating investor payouts).

so, when kendall went and dismantled vaulter in season 2 because logan decided that selling most of it for scrap would be more profitable? that's basically a dramatisation of what stewy does routinely, except of course the exact financial instruments and strategies will differ because stewy represents a PE firm. like, if kendall's venture capitalist schemes tell us about his delusions of creating cool new products and services, stewy is sort of the opposite because his structural goal is usually to dismantle companies and liquidate them however is best for maesbury's backers. it's a total destruction of all use-value and a conversion of it into pure exchange-value in the form of capital (which goes into his pockets and maesbury's). stewy generates money by destroying utility, which is perverse if you think capitalism is supposed to create and sustain human life, but actually completely comprehensible if you understand that capitalism is an insatiable growth machine with inherently contradictory internal tendencies and no raison d'être beyond the endless accumulation of pure capital itself.

many viewers think stewy is insane because he is friends with kendall roy. this is true, but on a deeper level stewy is insane because his job is to participate in the inexorable tendency to more and more abstraction in the capitalist mode of production. it literally does not matter at all to someone like stewy whether people are fed or clothed or happy, or have any of their needs met. the point is solely to create money, to turn all social forms and values into numbers on a balance sheet. this is why, when kendall tries to threaten him on axos at the end of season 2, stewy is able to casually tell him that "it doesn't matter; it doesn't mean anything." he and sandy are convincing shareholders that their offer will be able to make them more money, "and that's all that this is." stewy speaks the language of business differently than logan, because stewy doesn't care about dick-swinging competitions or demonstrating dominance in logan's cringey old catholic military way. which makes stewy more rational in certain ways, but also more insane, in that he operates in a way totally detached from this type of social value system and solely motivated by cold hard numbers.

the irony is that, whilst being detached and disembodied in his business practices, stewy is also better than the roys at appreciating the material fruits of wealth. he eats; he dresses well; he enjoys the "several houses" he owns. kendall is always trying to come up with some grand moral bullshit masculinity reason that what he's doing is noble or whatever, and he's alienated from his body and afflicted with severe catholic martyr disease. stewy just bypasses all that shit, measures his success by his payouts, and enjoys wealth because he sees it as an end in itself and not a means to logan roy's respect.

this is also why kendall's line in 'living+' about "it's enough to make you lose your faith in capitalism" is so funny. kendall can't just accept that business is a bunch of meaningless bullshit confidence games played by coked-up assholes who like to win; he always has to try to convince himself he's making cool new tech shit, or saving the world from the spectre of death itself or some shit. it's like, insane that he made it to literally 40 years old, growing up in a media conglomerate of all things, and still thinks that what he's doing requires actual skill or creates actual social value—but of course, part of the reason he still thinks this is because he deified logan and was therefore incapable of ever seeing logan or waystar for what they really were. stewy would never say that line because he can't be disillusioned this way on account of he already knows the whole thing is bullshit. it's just that to him it doesn't matter, because being bullshit does not preclude it from paying well.

[halfetirosie]

♡ An Edmond-Post for the struggling fanfic writers ♡

(NOTE: This post will be LONG. I tried to be thorough and include evidence.)

I feel an AGGRESSIVE MORAL OBLIGATION to make this post because of the writing homies that want to write Edmond into their fics, but feel like they don't know enough about him.

My recent Character-Ask post for Edmond might help you guys a little, but I think you could use more information.

The NU: Carnival Lore Spreadsheet (Google Sheets)

This isn't an Edmond-exclusive resource, but still helpful.

If you don't spend any time on the subreddit, you may not have seen this, but this is a fan-made lore spreadsheet contains information the game's world and each of the characters. It hasn't been updated for a little over 3 months, so it's a bit outdated, but it is teeming with practical information that can help familiarize you with characters' backgrounds and such.

(Quick note for Edmond's "Power" category-- although he is unfamiliar with actually using magic, in Frozen Echoes/Tranquil Cloud Edmond intimacy rooms, we discover that Edmond has recently started to practice magic (particularly Light/healing magic).)

2. The current Edmond Era (the most recent Ed Dynamic)

Many people seem to be intimidated by the prospect of writing Edmond because he's a "tsundere." However, to borrow the words from my Character Ask post, "that’s only out of habit (and shyness), rather an actual reflection of his desires." In other words, Ed's inner workings probably look something like this:

It also is noteworthy that, when Eiden initiates sexual activity, Edmond willingly goes along with him. By that I mean, he might scold Eiden a lot and say something to the effect of, "You are a pervert!" but he doesn't actually tell Eiden to stop what he's doing when they're starting out. And while it doesn't happen as often in recent rooms, the habitual "Stop♡" and "No♡" Edmond might say are very clearly insincere, considering his tone of voice (as well as his physical reactions).

And during the rare occasions where Ed does tell Eiden something like "Stop," Eiden will stop; but then Ed will look disappointed, so Eiden will ask him if he wants to continue, and Edmond will say yes. Here's an example of this type of exchange from Sweet Aroma R2:

There have also been times when [we can infer], at the beginning of H-activities, Eiden doesn't have as clear of a read on Edmond's opinion; in which case, he will verbally search for confirmation on whether he can do more. The most accessible example of this is Ed's SR R3:

Here is another example, from Tranquil Cloud R5:

While Eiden is still the one that initiates sexy activity (14/16 of the Ed H scenes), Edmond willingly goes along immediately. That is the crux of the typical Edmond dynamic: Edmond also has strong desires, but is usually too embarrassed to admit them, so he needs an understanding partner that will guide him along until he feels secure enough [and/or horny enough] to admit his wants.

Edmond is in a bit of a transition period right now. He's starting to be much more active in his H-activities with Eiden. He also might "blame" Eiden for his own desires, but he's beginning to own up to his feelings, too. From Tranquil Cloud R2:

3. Edmond Anatomy & Kinks

One word: SENSITIVE. Edmond is HELLA SENSITIVE.

(I'd argue he's even more sensitive than Olivine, but idk if you could consider that a definitive fact or not.)

If there's an area that can be considered a relatively common erogenous zone, it's most likely an erogenous zone on Edmond. Here's the one's that have been canonically confirmed or STRONGLY suggested:

Mouth - Edmond's mouth is very sensitive. When he kisses for the first time in Sweet Aroma, Eiden coaxes him into admitting which specific parts of his mouth are most sensitive; roof of his mouth, tongue, sides. Edmond likes kissing a LOT, and has initiated kisses himself at least 3 times (Elite Instructor R5, Flaming Secret R5, Tranquil Cloud R5)

Ears - Ed has a strong reaction in Tranquil Cloud R2 (Eiden blowing on his ear helps send him over the edge to finally cum)

Neck - Eiden kisses his neck and Ed has a verbal reaction in Tranquil Cloud R5

Nipples - Best example is in Sweet Aroma R2 (he can cum from nipple-play alone); also featured in Spring Chaos R2 and Elite Instructor R2

Hands - Many rooms include Suggestive Hand-Holding™ but White Lover R2 includes significant hand-pay

Stomach/Waist - White Lover R2 includes Eiden caressing Ed's stomach, and in Tranquil Cloud R2 Ed has a strong reaction to Eiden tightening his hold on his waist

Ass - In Elite Instructor R2 Edmond gets spanked and he is VERY into it

Penis - *obvious answer is obvious*

Anus - Has cum from anal-play alone multiple times (including fingering and rimming). It isn't explicitly sated, but I'm pretty sure Edmond's anus is more sensitive than his penis

Additional canon sexual preferences:

A Little Pain - As is famously known, Edmond enjoys a little pain during sex

Praise & Dirty Talk - Gets very embarrassed by it (and will usually scold Eiden) but he has strong positive reactions to it

Roleplay + Dom/Sub Undertones - We see it in SR R5; once Ed is convinced to try it out he gets extremely aroused and feels more comfortable engaging in *mild* dirty-talk himself. It's also sorta-kinda in Elite Instructor R2, but only a little bit on Eiden's part (calling Ed "teacher")

Kissing - I mentioned it before, but I must emphasize it again; EDMOND LOVES KISSING

Overstimulation - Most Ed intimacy rooms include some element of this

Semi-Public Sexy Stuff? - Depending on if you count sex-in-a-carriage, this happens in 7-8/16 intimacy rooms. Idk if this is necessarily Ed's personal kink, but Ed isn't exactly opposed to it as long as Eiden is being careful. He does appear to get excited when Edmond says something like "don't be too loud, or someone will come and see you like this!" From Elite Instructor R2:

Light Bondage - Only seen is Elite Instructor R2, but he seems to like it:

4. Some Ao3 reading recommendation that you can use for Edmond-specific inspiration/references

As a passionate Edmond-Lover, here are some works of fanfic that I think do a particularly good job of writing Ed-relationships. Obviously (by the nature of fanfic) many of them take a lot of liberties, but when I was reading these stories, I didn't need to suspend my disbelief at all. The way Edmond acts in these stories feels very in-character to me.

(NOTE: All of these recommendations are NSFW where Edmond bottoms. Be sure to read their tags!)

Literally everything luster_candy has written (6 works at the time I'm posting this) - just be aware all of it is Eiden/Edmond.

Reprieve, Release by kkuro (~11k words) - Eiden/Edmond, one of the best (if not the best) BDSM-heavy Ed fics. Only note is, because this was written in 2022, Ed acts a bit more stiff/repressed in the beginning than he would now. In-character for Early Era Edmond tho.

A Helpful Hand by dracula (orphan_account) (~4.3k words) - Olivine/Edmond, Olivine tops (a rarity) and Ed is cursed with a V. Don't worry, Olivine-Lovers, he isn't a hella OOC sadist or ultra-masculine dom. XD Just very sweet and very horny, and Edmond is ruthlessly subjected to his brand of horny nonsense.

Do You Know Where the Wild Things Go by no birdstofly (~8k words) - Yakumo/Edmond, idk if it's OOC for Yakumo but it's in-character for Current Era slightly-more-honest Edmond.

The Knight's Discipline by RiyeRose (~3k words) - Restricted to Ao3 members, Kuya/Edmond. I subscribe to the belief that Ed would put up with Kuya if he were horny enough, which is why I don't consider this OOC. I think this fic has the perfect amount of BDSM that Ed would realistically enjoy.

Fanfic where Edmond tops is honestly very hard to come across. That's understandable, because for Edmond to top, there would have to be extremely special circumstances, and it would have to be written carefully in order to not seem too OOC. The best example of an Top-Emond fic I've been able to find is this:

Hidden Guidance by Okami01 (~1.9k words) - Edmond/Olivine, Edmond shyly admits he wants to try topping Olivine, and Oli is obviously down for it. (Let's be honest here; out of everyone, if Edmond were ever to top anyone, it would 100% be Olivine)

♡I hope people found this helpful!!!♡

I know reading this giant post was like reading an essay, but hopefully it was worth the time and effort I put into it!

If anyone has extra inquires, or if other Edmond-Lovers want to chime in with extra information I might've missed, feel free to put them in the comments!

[esamastation]

Shizuroth, part four.

-

Sephiroth's phone isn't a proper smartphone and has no internet, and he's being very brave about it.

Well, it has something. It is… kinda like a half-assed smartphone? Sorta. It's like that old flip phone his grandfather used to use - probably still does, if he's still alive, somewhere in another universe. It was more brick than a phone - no touchscreen, and the closest it got to any kind of smart features was running an email app, somehow. Sephiroth's phone is a bit like it. It has email - or just mail, apparently. It also has tutorials? Which is useful. Also online shopping? But no apps, no search function, no internet, no wikis, no websites, nothing. It doesn't seem to have photo or video options either - but apparently it keeps track of all his missions.

It's like somehow people invented most of everything that goes into a smartphone - but no one got around to inventing the internet, or anything like it. What a waste!

The tutorials are useful, admittedly, though they're more like manuals, really. Not like cultivation manuals, sadly, more like user manuals. "How to use your PHS" and "what key card opens what floor" and "missions, what are missions" and "materia, what is it and how does it work". There's dozens and dozens of tutorials on the phone, just like you might expect to find in a videogame that couldn't trust its users to remember how everything works. 

The mission roster is, uh. It's definitely something. There's categories, subcategories, levels, and then under those there's info and completion status. And Sephiroth, apparently, does a lot of missions. Like. A lot. He kinda despairs at the idea of having to keep up with it, because it looks like Sephiroth is a workaholic. Though, thankfully, half of the missions are training, experiments in the labs, or experimental training. Still! Isn't he supposed to be the Big Bad? Why is he working so hard?!

The shops' menu on the phone, though very bare bones and lacking any pictures, has his heart leaping with joy - as does the adjacent menu detailing Sephiroth's wallet situation. Which is… very good. Like, Shen Qingqiu wasn't exactly short on change either, he was the second Peak Lord of the most powerful sect in the world - but comparing the Gil Sephiroth has to the price of stuff in the various shops listed on his phone…

Sephiroth has that fuck you money. Guess that's what you get from being a workaholic Big Bad, the strongest and scariest in the evil dystopian planet-sucking mega corporation! You get money. And lots of it.

… Which, along with the details of all the clothing stores on his phone, makes his wardrobe situation even sadder, doesn't it? He should've definitely been able to afford a coat that actually fit him.

Ultimately though, what he figures to be most useful is the mail. There's a lot of it, and it looks like mailing lists are all the rage these days. Because Sephiroth's barely got anything else in his inbox.

News mailing list, SOLDIER mailing list, Shinra mailing list - professor Hojo telling him to go to the labs - another news mailing list, Shinra business mailing list, Wutai News mailing list - Genesis telling him to meet him for a spar - another mailing list, mailing list, mailing list - urgent meeting with Director Lazard - and some more mailing lists.

There are not that many personal messages, honestly. A few requests for a spar, and that's about it. Is that all he does for fun? What is Sephiroth, Liu Qingge 2.0? All he does is work and spar! Just skimming through his schedule makes him feel exhausted.

At least thanks to the mailing lists - and phone's bare bones calendar app - he'd figured where he's at, story-wise. Pre-Crisis Core, pre-Genesis' whole thing, pre… just about everything he remembers from each game.

Wutai war is still going on. And, rather distressingly, Sephiroth has a lot of Wutai missions coming up.

That's… not ideal.

Resting the phone against his lips in thought like he once held a fan, he sighs and tries to think it through. 

There's a squeak as the other SOLDIER steps out of the stall. Must've been the door hinges. "Sir," the SOLDIER says, carefully.

"Mn," he answers and tries to look as Sephiroth-like as he can while also projecting an aura of don't talk to me, I don't even know your name at the man. It works, because the man clearly doesn't want to talk to him.

It's very useful, having a villain halo.

The SOLDIER washes his hands like he can't wait to get away and then hesitates at the door. "Sir, I - there's someone -" the SOLDIER says, tentatively and then flounders at his slow blink. "Someone will be here soon."

With that said, the SOLDIER flees before he can think of a suitably Sephiroth-like answer.

Someone will be here soon? …Okay? Why? 

Making a face, he looks around in confusion and notices that one of the bathroom lights is burned out.

Oh, someone will be here for the light? Right, of course, he's the scary Big Bad here, can't subject the scary Big Bad to a less than stellar environment. Heh, guess that's an upgrade of sorts!

He… really didn't want it. 

It's all rather concerning, really. What is he actually supposed to do here? Go on missions, train, clad himself in barely fitting leather with a ridiculous amount of buckles, and go to war? Over building a life-sucking factory? By a vaguely western, very unsubtle Big Oil Allegory, at that. In what was a vaguely Chinese-coded land, too. The whole thing was very iffy, from what he remembers! He doesn't want to get involved!

And then what is he supposed to do, play out Sephiroth's life to its fiery, insane conclusion? Resurrect and then attempt to destroy the world?! Like all the good Big Bads of old! But he isn't even sure when that is supposed to happen! The timeline in these games is super vague!

At least with PIDW there was a very clear end goal, ah! It was awful and trying to survive had given him grey hairs, but there was a clear forward momentum and an end point! If he survived past it, then… then he won? Maybe?

He hadn't survived past it, though.

He'd died.

… Again.

Closing his eyes, he sighs against Sephiroth's phone, shaking his head. Depressing, depressing, it's so depressing! He'd really grown to like his life as Shen Qingqiu too! All his cute disciples, his books on Qing Jing Peak, his art works, all the things he'd got… all the things he'd done… the friends he'd made…

And Binghe…

Ah, his sweet, terrifying Black Lotus. As scary as Binghe had been towards the end, he's really sad he wouldn't be able to see Binghe grow into his own! Reading about the protagonist growing stronger and overcoming all obstacles had been his favourite part. And he'd rather been looking forward to watching it. Safely at a distance, mind you, disguised in another, unknown, body, under a new name and everything. Because if Binghe found out he survived…

Well.

Probably just as well. This is a new world and maybe, just maybe, he can now -

There's a sound that is an awful lot like an explosion, and he nearly drops his phone in shock as the restroom door is nearly blown off its hinges with the force it opens.

"What torment hath your soul suffered," espouses the runaway idol standing dramatically in the doorway, "to find the end of your journey here, of all places?"

In the immortal words of Airplane Shooting Towards The Sky.

W. T. F?

-

No System needed to gamify the world when the world is already a video game!

[secondratefiction]

Silly headcanon question: which clones do you think are the cutest first thing in the morning? Which ones are grumpy? Would this change when they wake up with their SO or would SO understand and make caf to help them get less grump?

Ok, I think I went a little overboard... let's break this down into a couple different categories:

Cute, early risers:

Rex - man's got lots of things to do and chaos to try and manage. He usually hits the ground running, and is the one making other people their caf

Cody - again, another one of those 'places to go, things to do', always busy types. He pretty much taught Rex everything he knows

Cute, but disoriented:

Fives - The amount of times this man has tripped over himself trying to get up and out of his bunk... There's a couple minutes of slight bewilderment and trying to remember who and where he is, but then he usually up and ready for whatever he's getting himself into today.

Wrecker - big boi is a solid sleeper that can and will fall asleep anywhere and sleep through anything. He doesn't wake up easy, but he does wake up in a good mood at least.

Adorably and endearingly grumpy:

Tech - did he just wake up, or is he coming off of his third all-nighter in a row? There's really no way too tell because whether it's been a 20 minute power nap, or a 20 hour black out, either way Tech wakes up like he's not sure what year it is, and absolutely prepared to claw someone's eyes out to get to a caf machine

Echo - granted, he's usually low-key grumpy on a regular basis because unfortunately he keeps getting attached to idiots with no sense of self preservation or common sense, but it always seems like no matter how much sleep he does manage to get, it's never enough. He just wants to be able to drink one cup of caf while it's still warm before he starts getting pulled in twelve deferent directions (#momproblems)

Hunter - in a pretty similar boat to Echo with the added bonus of waking up already over stimulated. Don't get him wrong, man loves his brothers (and his daughter) but it is 0600, and his eye is already twitching. It is too early for any of y'all to be this dang loud.

Grumpy and annoyed until fully awake:

Crosshair - usually there is an underlying hint of playfulness to his hostility - kind of like a grumpy old cat... Not right now. He's liable to actually stab someone until he's had some time and at minimum one cup of caf.

Wolffe - again, man is usually kind of grumpy by default. Now we just have the added bonus of 'not a functional human being... yet'. He will come around, he's just going hit anyone who tries to speak to him before that with a glare that's going to make them shrivel up and die a little inside. Don't hold it against him though, man doesn't even have the energy to roll his eyes yet.

[juliettedunn]

Epiphany: King and Luz are how fanon imagines Philip and Caleb

King is clingy, and has major separation anxiety. He insists he’ll never let Luz leave him, gets anxious and upset when she does anything without him. He wants nothing more than to have her stay with him forever at all times, having assurance and full control over it. He even specifically was afraid Luz would leave him for another realm. He wasn’t just orphaned, but he lost his entire species before he was born. Luz and Eda are the only family he has.

He’s a scared little kid who just wants a family who stays with him. That’s almost exactly how I see Belos stans portray young Philip. And maybe that is indeed how Philip acted when he was King’s age.

Though, crucially, King doesn’t target Luz’s other loved ones and then kill her, only to clone her tons of times and abuse those child clones before murdering them. Because King isn’t a pathetic weirdo bitch.

King grows up. Which, he shouldn’t have had to mature so fast, because unlike Belos, he really IS just a little boy during all this. When his entire world gets shattered, TWICE, he has every reason to think only of himself and cling desperately to everything.

When he learns his entire species was killed, that he’s alone in the universe, it’s even clearer that Luz and Eda are all he has. But he chooses to open up his world and see things more widely, to pay attention and have a deeper understanding of his loved ones.

He becomes more aware of other people and their own lives, his worldview expanded outside himself. He uses that knowledge to reach out to others, like having empathy for the Collector, not condemning him. He tries to help Collie with the lessons he only learned recently.

In the end, King himself sends Luz away to another realm to protect her. All that time swearing he would never let her leave him, but he loves her more than that. He expresses his joy over her having her as a big sister, and he saves her. Because he truly loves her.

King is a CHILD. He couldn’t be faulted for acting more selfishly. It would have been reasonable of him to cling and beg Luz to protect him during King’s Tide, but he was a hero.

Belos never understood actual love like this. Caleb gave it to him, but he didn’t return it. It further emphasizes what a fucked up weirdo Philip is. He hasn’t been a child in hundreds of years. He was an adult who couldn’t learn to think beyond himself and the idealized fantasy narrative of his brother existing for him.

He thinks that any attempts for Caleb to have his own life are an insult to him, that the entire world starts and ends with Philip and his own desires. Hundreds of years and he never learned to see beyond that. He doesn’t feel joy that Caleb was his big brother. Only that he has a right to control and possess, and he will do anything to make it happen. Murder, abuse, enacting sick, petty fantasies.

He even disguises himself as a little kid and clings to Luz, hiding behind and clinging to her, tricking her into caring for him, in Hollow Mind.

Two clingy, anxious, possessive little brothers terrified to be abandoned when the world already took what should have been their family from them. One who matured greatly at only eight years old, and sacrificed everything to protect his older sibling.

And one who maintained a petty, selfish obsession for hundreds of years, colonizing a world and trying to commit genocide, while playing out a sick power fantasy of caretaking and control while screaming about what was taken from him, which was his own doing

Istg, if King wasn’t placed into the “animal companion” category as default, the fandom would have been all over the parallels. I would say “Hey Belos stans! Your cute, sweet, angsty,clingy younger sibling with abandonment issues is right here in King! Make stuff with Titanlights!” but they’d probably hear that and miss the whole damn point.