#it's such an in-character little moment for everyone :3

[brain-in-the-stars]

what immediately became one of my favorite things about ISAT is the party's so blatant yet natural characterization and subtext

because each one of them incorporates very recognizable archetypes while naturally breaking them down through the dialogues, mannerisms and other little details they deliver as the story progresses ever since the very first moment they're introduced

Mirabelle is not merely an anxious and shy damsel in distress, but a powerful, responsible, empathetic and very strong-willed gracious lady who leads the team and was the chosen one to protect Dormont and defeat the King! she's a multilayered heroine in development, who still deals with insecurity and figuring herself out while being a brilliant and gifted fighter

Odile is not merely a grumpy intellectual "elder", she's actually incredibly caring and aware of the others emotions and social situations in general, REALLY far from being self-centered or ignorant. her interests are not only limited to logic and rationality, but includes various subjective concepts as well! she also has an excellent sense of humor AKJDADJKDLJDA

Isabeau is not merely a handsome face in a brainless head! he's an outstandingly attentive, smart and brave defender, seems to have great memory (in high contrast to Siffrin-) as he is ALWAYS giving out useful information and clearly has high levels of emotional intelligence! not to mention how, although he's a very manly character, he doesn't seem to display a trace of toxic masculinity as he is not afraid to be vulnerable, fashionable or affectionate

Bonnie is not merely a naive angry child, they're a hardworking kid who's always trying their best to be as helpful as possible to their caretakers, keeping full grown adults well fed with the meals they prepare all the while they're doing their best efforts to save their sister from being eternally frozen...

and Siffrin... where do I even begin? do I even need to elaborate? to me, they're simply one of the most intriguing and puzzling main characters ever (in the best way possible!), who's a constant enigma even though we're playing through his pov and, therefore, reading their thoughts. one of the best uses I've ever seen of the memory loss trope. although he's supposed to be the party's comic relief and is capable of being very witty and smooth, he's HEAVILY emotionally charged and goes through some trouble interacting socially, frequently taking things too literally and not knowing how to handle more complex emotions. they can be silly from time to time, but they're not to be underestimated too, showcasing many skills and how reliable they can be early on

everyone's individuality is extremely well portrayed and it only gets better as they complement each other so well. they feel like actual people and are THE found family, y'know, it's pretty challenging to not get charmed so easily </3

[cuppakyu]

READY FOR CHANHEE (REACTION THREAD)

"wow, your eyes were pretty in this lighting" truly pulling this man just by treating him like a human being i am so for this

oh my god and he's generous????? shower you with gifts????? way to my heart

"his eye could not leave you for a moment, not even to drink his coffee..." oh my god ?? how whipped is this guy.... NOTHING can take my attention away from my coffee whew

GOOD GIRL

GOOD GIRL

okay im gonna chill... GOOD GIRL

have i mentioned dear/dearest is one of my fav petnames but bc it's so hard to pull off it's a little tricky (CHANHEE DEF PULLS IT OFF)

"just admit you like her" WHAT is with changmin and all tbz writers having him be the most perceptive smart characters who can see thru everyone... frankly he's the best one i agree

ALL THE NATURAL SKINSHIP IS GETTING TO ME FUCK I WANT A KISS ON THE CHEEK

OH MY GODDBJSBSBSBS OKAY WAIT THATS SUCH A PERFECT ENDING

bc yes chanhee understands how much more yn can reach outside of his influence but it also shows how much he cheers her on in every aspect, personally and professionally

the whole boss/assistant dynamic can only go so far when personal feelings are involved and having that end and preserving their budding romance is such a great way to wrap it up

AND CHANHEE THE GREAT MODEL MUSE RENDERED SPEECHLESS AND A STUTTERING MESS BY THE MOST WHOLESOME DOMESTIC RELATIONSHIP EVER... perfection.

truly one of the most ohenomenal chanhee characterization i've had the honor to read and enjoy

thank youuuu <3

𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐬

model!choi chanhee x fem!assistant!reader

you were just supposed to be his assistant, but at some point, you'd come to mean a lot more to him.

6.4k words (WHOOPS my hand slipped), technically s2l, fluff, angst if u squint, slight pining?, kissing, model stuff and first world problems 😔✨, like one curse word, barely proofread

a/n: istg it wasn't supposed to be like this ;-; it would have been longer but i got impatient </3

Choi Chanhee once made a girl cry because she had forgotten his phone in the car. In his defense, he hadn't gotten much shuteye the night prior, but Kevin liked to always remind him of that instance.

They said that was the first, true moment the tabloids began painting him in a new light.

'Choi Chanhee, Model-zilla, Hits the Streets of Paris for Fashion Week Once Again'. 'Choi Chanhee's Ex-assistants Come Forward with Shocking Experiences'. 'Satin or Silk: the Truth Behind New's Refusal to Wear Alexander McQueen'.

The last one didn't even make sense; Alexander McQueen only used silk, anyway, and Chanhee had walked in one of his shows a few years ago. Chanhee simply hadn't the time to pen the designer into his schedule since.

The one about assistants? Well, they were all entitled to free speech, but that didn't mean that he would spare them any mercy if they decided to blatantly lie about him. He could always trust Lee Sangyeon, his personal attorney, to take care of business, if and when any of his ex-employees decided that a good payout was comparable to spewing filth.

Then there was you.

Chanhee hadn't needed a new assistant in a little over half a year since you came along. Fresh out of university with a bachelor's in communication and punctuality, you waltzed into his life, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. You'd sat across from him, no-nonsense; he hired you right there. (He had not regretted it since. This was the last time he would let anyone but himself do the interview process.)

The best part about you was not that you always had his schedule memorized before he did, or that you appeared at his apartment before the car picked you both up with his favorite coffee order, or that you actually had decent taste in perfume—not… that he paid attention to what perfume you wore—but it was the fact that you could look him in the eye when he spoke to you, and you to him.

"—and you have a fitting with Chanel at five o'clock this evening right after that meeting with Maison Margiela about the perfume line. We'll have just enough time to—"

Wow, your eyes were pretty in this lighting, he thought. The two of you sat before the massive, floor-to-ceiling window in his penthouse apartment. The entire city laid sprawling at your feet while you sat across from each other at his breakfast table, eating blueberry muffins and drinking lattes.

And for some reason, all he could think about was how nice your hair looked again today, how brilliantly the shine in your eyes was from the sunlight, how impeccable your fashion sense was—even if it wasn't perfect, but that could easily be remedied. Chanhee would have to remind you to remind him to—

"Chanhee. Chanhee, are you listening to me?"

He snapped out with a flutter of his long eyelashes. He reached for his cup of coffee, delicately bringing it to his lips. "Hm? Of course, Maison and then Chanel. Did Changmin cancel our dinner or are we still on?"

A smirk pulled at the corner of his lips when he saw how your expression lightened knowing that he was paying attention. You idly stirred your latte around with a little silver spoon. "He says he's still good to go for tonight. Same place, same time."

A nod. "Good."

He nudged up the Prada sunglasses on his nose as he turned his head slightly to gaze out the open window. It was an awfully beautiful day out today. The sunlight was gentle, the skies were an azure wave of silk, sewn with clouds of white. "Yn, dearest, are we clear until the Maison meeting?"

You blinked. "Yes," you answered, checking your watch for the hour, "it's 10:32 right now."

"Mm, that gives us about five hours to refresh your wardrobe."

Your lips parted, and he smiled in amusement. There was something so adorable about your flustered state. "Excuse me?"

"Call it a little token of my appreciation," he sang, standing up from the table to deposit his empty plate and cup into the kitchen sink. "Could you call the driver to round the front?"

"Oh, uh, sure—"

"Thanks, love. I'll be back in a few," he called to you just as he disappeared into his bedroom to freshen up. You were left at the breakfast table, dumbfounded. You'd only ever gone shopping with Chanhee for him or for someone else. Not you. You were always on the clock when you were with him, and you figured he would probably take everything you bought today out of your paycheck, but…

You couldn't deny the flutter of excitement in your chest like the wings of a butterfly. This could either be the best thing that happened to you… or a complete shitshow.

There was something odd about walking into one of Chanhee's go-to leisure shopping stores—Dior—with the mindset that you were supposed to be shopping for yourself. Chanhee had asked the driver to pull up to the Dior storefront even as the regular paparazzi camped outside.

Your eyes gazed longingly at the Macy's across the mall.

Chanhee followed your gaze with a little scrunch of his nose. "Absolutely not," he clicked his tongue, dragging you out of the vehicle and to the sidewalk.

The press already dubbed you a "miracle" for being in his employ for longer than a day. But when they got shots of him literally hauling you into the Dior… you could imagine what they would all claim now. This was going to be a whole lot of cleanup, but you had learned after months of working with Chanhee that he was way tougher than he looked. He also didn't mind biting back.

When the two of you were safely stowed away within the guarded interior of Dior, you breathed easier.

Straightening, you greeted the staff members with a shallow bow, who did the same to both you and your boss.

Chanhee wiggled his fingers in silent greeting, then beelined for a white, quilted blazer on a mannequin. A worker scrambled after him to talk about the piece while another stuck by your side to make small conversation.

"How was your morning?" They asked you pleasantly.

"Oh, it was quite nice! How was yours?"

"Pretty quiet," they smiled. They were about to say something else when both of you were interrupted with Chanhee calling your name.

His eyes were pinned to you from over the rim of his sunglasses. Draped over his arm was a tapered coat of some sort, a dress, and… oh, god no. "Yn, come here."

You could already hear your wallet crying. "Chanhee, I literally cannot afford a single thing in here—"

He pressed a palm between your shoulder blades and steered you in the direction of the dressing rooms. "That's besides the point because I can afford them; that's what matters."

Surprise made your footing falter. "Huh?"

"Silly Yn-ie," he teased, "did you think I was gonna bring you all the way out here to not treat you?" Before you could say anything else, he was shoving the items into your arms, and your body into the grandiose space of the Dior dressing room. He winked over his glasses. "Now hurry and put them on. I wanna see!"

He ripped the curtain closed, and you stood there for a moment.

In your hands were the jacket, the dress, and a pair of shoes that probably cost you more than your entire bank account combined. You blew out a puff of air, just as you heard a staff member offer him a glass of champagne on the other side of the curtain.

"No getting out of this, Yn," you muttered to yourself, then began hanging everything up."

Chanhee was no stranger to the effect he had on people. In fact, he wielded it like a dagger. It was how he had gotten so far in this industry in the first place other than his immaculate good looks, of course. The face of an angel and an attitude of the devil—at least, that was what one article had said about him. He quite liked it, actually.

There was something wholly different about his effect on you as you stood beneath his scrutinizing, heated gaze, as you tried on piece upon piece. He loved being able to unabashedly stare at you, to take in your flustered expression as you did little spins for him in the outfit of choice. For once, you couldn't look him in the eye, and when you had done so once, it had been when his tongue darted out to wet his lips.

It wasn't just the champagne he was tasting.

It was the next morning when you appeared in his home at 7 o'clock sharp, as usual, but with a new accessory hanging off your arm. It was one of the more low-key purses he had bought you yesterday—and to be honest, it was actually one of his personal favorites. It was a Chanel one, of course, and it complimented your pant suit quite nicely.

"Morning," you chirped, handing him his cup of coffee as he stumbled out of his room in a silk robe and with a yawn widening his mouth.

Chanhee smiled at the sight of you, graciously accepting the coffee from you. He leaned against the countertop next to you. "Good morning," he murmured lowly, peering at you over the rim of the cup, taking a languid sip.

He sighed as the caffeine began working its magic. "How are you this morning, dearest? Have a good night?"

You had set your purse down on the island, then moved away from him only to go check his refrigerator to see if he needed anything restocked. Always so attentive. "I had a good night. How was dinner with Changmin?"

"Lovely," he said fondly. "I see you are putting my gifts to use." His fingers danced along the gold chain draped along one end of the quilted leather.

He swore your cheeks flushed, but then again, his eyes had never tricked him for a second. "Ah, yes. Thank you so much for yesterday, by the way." The fridge closed softly, and you grabbed an apple from the basket on the counter to wash and munch on. "I really don't know how I can repay you—"

Chanhee dismissed you immediately, his wrist flicking outward. "Pfft, none of that. I told you it was all a token of my affection," he grinned, propping his chin onto his palm across the island counter from you. "And gratitude," he added. "I don't say this to just anyone, Yn, and I don't buy just anyone all that stuff—but I did it because I appreciate you."

Your chewing slowed and you swallowed. "Oh."

He said it so easily. God, was he lucky to have met you.

Knowing he had successfully rendered you speechless once more, he laughed lightly, deciding to change the subject. "What's today's schedule like?"

You immediately straightened; this was something you knew like the back of your hand. It was much more up your alley.

As you ran him through his activities today, you failed to notice the difference in his posture, the softer smile on his face, and the way his eyes could not leave you for a moment, not even to drink his coffee.

Grueling was an understatement. Today had been one of the worst days of your working existence under Chanhee's employ. You'd endured rough days and nights before, but today, it seemed to have been hassle after hassle after hassle. You probably got around thirty-thousand steps by how much you ran around trying to find emergency kits and emergency outfits and running to the emergency dry cleaner's.

As much as the fashion world enthralled you, sometimes you wondered how anyone could survive it.

Chanhee was just as maxed out as you were by the end. It was maybe three in the morning by the time the two of you collapsed into the backseat of his driver's car. Streets were barren at this time in the ungodly hours of morning, and your joints ached every time you breathed.

Chanhee was quiet as well as he leaned his head back against the headrest to allow his body some rest. He just barely managed to get through that last shoot—clearly the directors had no clue what they were doing, he thought with a dead look in his eyes. That was how he felt—dead. If it hadn't been for you swooping in with a creative direction…

You were brilliant; that much he was certain of. Without you, that shoot might have dragged on for another couple of hours, or Chanhee would have just walked out. Usually, he had a good sense and eye for things, but with everything that happened today, for once, he didn't have the energy to yell or direct.

He needed to treat you to brunch tomorrow, if he was even able to wake up in time—

His inner thoughts halted when he felt a sudden weight fall upon his left shoulder. He froze up.

Your head had slumped onto his shoulder, eyes closed and no doubt deep asleep. Your bangs had fallen out from the bounds of your ponytail and draped across your face as you slept. He could smell the Miss Dior on you with this proximity.

Chanhee smiled to himself, taking his other hand and brushing the hair from your face and gently caressing your cheek. "Cute," he murmured.

By the time the car rolled to a stop in front of his complex, Chanhee had made a couple of executive decisions.

He lightly roused you from your sleep, cooing into your ear, "Come on, Yn-ie. Let's get you to bed, hm?"

You hummed, lifting your head from his shoulder with a yawn. You rubbed your eye with no care for the makeup smudging. "Chanhee? Why're you still here?"

Normally, the driver would drop Chanhee off first and then you, especially when it came to late nights like this. But… what… was happening?

Chanhee helped you out of the car, thanking the driver while mustering up a kind smile for him. "You're too tired, love. I'm taking you upstairs to my place."

"Wait, I can't—" but you weren't physically protesting; your body ached and ached and ached. But this was your boss, your employer. This wasn't professional.

"Yn, you're exhausted," he countered, buzzing into the building and helping you inside.

You couldn't argue with him anymore. You just wanted your face to hit a pillow and be out for the night. "Okay," you mumbled, letting him press your face into his shoulder on the ride up the elevator.

"Good girl," he sighed. He tilted his head back against the elevator wall, one arm wrapped around your middle and the other cradling the back of your head. Just a little longer, then the both of you could finally get some well-deserved rest.

You would argue you had seen Choi Chanhee at some of his best and worst moments. He was one of the most beautiful human beings on this planet, and yet, none of the prior moments could even compare to when you stumbled out of his bedroom to the sight of his back to you as he fried eggs and ladled waffle batter into the maker in the kitchen. He had a big T-shirt hanging from his lean frame, as well as a pair of loose pajama pants on, and he crossed his arms over his chest as he waited for everything to cook.

Even at ten in the morning, the light pink waves of his hair looked immaculately styled. You almost forgot he hadn't gotten a perm in awhile.

The panic of waking up in his sheets instead of yours had faded when you recalled your conversation with him just seven hours prior. He had managed to wrestle you into an extra set of sleepwear he just had lying around (Gucci, nonetheless), before he deposited you onto his bed, then promptly curled up outside on the living room couch.

You swallowed. Now what?

It was then that Chanhee turned around with an innocent look on his face. You watched as it melted into something softer at the sight of you. "Good morning, dearest," he beamed, "sleep well?"

Drowsiness lingered at the corners of your eyes, but you somehow managed a nod. "Yeah, how about you?" You asked him quietly. Actually, that had been some of the best sleep you'd ever had. Something about his sheets with high thread count and the smell of Chanhee lingering on everything. But you weren't just about to say that to him.

"Well enough," he replied. He waved you over. "Come sit; breakfast is almost ready."

Your eyes widened a smidge. That was for you? Now you really needed to go home. "Ah, I appreciate it, but I've practically overstayed my welcome—"

He sent you a look. "Yn, come have breakfast with me."

You caved. Because at this point, you'd already screwed yourself over. And breakfast really did smell nice; what was the difference between Chanhee making you breakfast and you bringing him breakfast from the café down the street?

(You didn't even want to go home, as much as your logical brain was trying to urge you towards.)

So the two of you breakfasted, and for a moment, you could forget, for once, that you were just supposed to be his assistant.

Some things changed after that morning, and Chanhee found himself getting you to stay over more and more often. Even if he had to come up with something stupid like "You haven't watched the 2001 New York Fashion Week rerun?" For some reason, you bought into all his excuses, and even though he knew it was probably because you were always attentive to his needs, a part of him liked to fantasize that you felt it, too.

The pull.

Something had shifted after that morning when he made you breakfast and the two of you ate together at the breakfast table. Sleep had lingered in your eyes, and your hair was a mess, but it was soft and beautiful and… he'd never been so in awe at someone's "I woke up like this" look.

His heart had leapt at the sight of you in those pajamas with that subtle pout to your lips.

God, he thought he might sweep you into his arms and kiss y—

"New. Chanhee. Choi Chanhee—"

He blinked, lifting his eyes from his menu to meet Changmin's. "Hm?"

Changmin wrinkled his nose at him, adjusting the sunglasses seated atop his head to hang from the collar of his dress shirt. (How it managed to hang with two buttons popped open, Chanhee chalked it up to fashion magic.) "You're awfully quiet today. What, tabloids finally shut you up?" He joked.

Chanhee rolled his eyes. "One of these days, I swear, they will render me speechless with their ridiculous delusions," he muttered airily, half-heartedly skimming the menu again.

He and Changmin were seated at their usual booth in their usual restaurant at their usual time. It was their weekly dinner together, something they had kept up since their university days in order to keep themselves grounded. They, of course, touched base with all of their university friends often, but the two of them were two peas in a pod. They even refused to let Sunwoo in on these weekly dinners specifically (something the younger friend was undoubtedly salty about).

Changmin could figure out when Chanhee was occupied with something other than the present. Usually, he was all up and out of his seat dealing out gossip or what torture he and you had been… oh.

Changmin cocked his head to the side, nostrils flaring slightly as he tried and failed to suppress a sly smile. "How's Yn these days?" He asked nonchalantly, lowering his eyes to the menu in front of him even though he always got the same thing every time.

To his credit, Chanhee didn't even react. "She's lovely as always. Why do you ask?"

"I dunno," Changmin drawled, "you haven't gushed about her like you usually do. I feel like you hang out with her more than me."

Chanhee raised a brow at his friend. "She's my assistant; of course I'm going to spend more time with her."

"Yeah, but—"

"And she's a lot more agreeable most of the time."

"Hey!"

Chanhee grinned in impish delight. "You asked."

Changmin sent him a stink eye, huffing as he raised his hand up to summon a waiter. "Yeah, whatever. Okay, but you literally refused to go out with me the other night, and when I texted Yn if you had a schedule, she said that you two were at home!"

That got his attention. Chanhee pursed his lips together, sheepishness peering through his smile. "In my defense, she hadn't seen New York Fashion Week in 2001."

"You hated that year, Chanhee."

"Exactly."

Changmin sighed to himself, and just as he was about to add on, a waiter came by to take their order. Once that was done, Changmin laced his fingers over the table and leveled his friend with a pointed look.

"Just admit that you like her."

Oh, Changmin. If only you could hear the rapid palpitations of his heart when you called him out like that. Chanhee blinked innocently. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he swallowed.

It wasn't even two days later that Chanhee had you staying a little later at his place, once again. There was something jazzy and vibey playing in the background, while Chanhee finished up plating dinner and rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt. You were over at the small table by the window pouring wine into twin glasses, your hair pulled haphazardly out of your face (for the most part) with a pearl-studded claw clip from Chanhee's personal PR box.

(You blatantly refused, but he then reminded you that he couldn't even use the clip himself.)

Chanhee didn't often think about sharing his life with someone, but it was moments like these—moments when he heard you hum under your breath, moments when the two of you could laugh about the day over dinner, moments when you weren't just his assistant but someone closer—that he could indulge himself. He wasn't a very domestic person; since childhood, he dreamed of places far away from home, seeing sights and experiencing cultures… but if he could come home to you? And experience this every time?

Suddenly dinner was over, and you were collecting dirty dishware and glasses to bring to the sink to wash.

"Yn-ie, hey, I can wash those—"

"No, no! You made dinner; I am washing dishes," you asserted, pushing him away from the sink when he tried to come up to you.

Chanhee broke into a laugh, coming up behind you to set his hands on your shoulders and rub the upper parts of your arms. "Okay, okay. Thanks, love," he said. He didn't even think before he pressed a kiss to your cheek and walked off to go to the bathroom.

Your cheek tingled where his lips had been, and you turned the faucet on to drown out the thrumming of your heartbeat in your ears. What was happening?

You felt like you were floating on air as you hummed to the music and washed the dishes, with the ghost of Chanhee's lips left lingering on your cheek. It served as a reminder of your growing affections for him. This was dangerous, dangerous territory, and yet… it was thrilling. It was new, bold, and delectable. It was Chanhee, for goodness sake.

He was the man you saw crying drunkenly over a cat video on TikTok, the man who lended you Gucci pajamas and his bed for the night. He was on the face of every magazine cover, always excited when you could read his mind about a certain piece of clothing. Everyone in the world wanted to be him or be with him. He was so out of reach, yet right in front of you.

Maybe it was the wine making your head buzz with this wave of unmitigated sentimentality.

You finished up with the dishes, drying off your hands with the towel hanging on the oven door. Chanhee sang your name out from somewhere deep inside his bedroom, and you followed his voice to his location.

He was seated on the rug in the middle of his walk-in closet, the white LEDs washing you with light. It was a far cry from the darkness of his bedroom and the warmth from the kitchen. Chanhee patted the spot next to him on the carpet, where he had a smattering of PR gifts littering the floor around him.

Curious, you lowered yourself next to him. "Are we sorting through PR stuff?" You asked, already making a mental catalog of all the things he'd probably want to keep and the things he'd want to donate.

Chanhee hummed his dissent, rising onto his knees and shuffling over to you. Your eyes widened as he stopped close to you and you held your breath. He raised a pair of twin diamond drop earrings from Tiffany and Co to your earlobes, eyes narrowed in consideration.

"No," he muttered, dumping the earrings into their box, then digging out another.

You scrambled to delicately put the earrings back into their proper holdings. "Chanhee, what are we doing?"

"You—" Chanhee returned with a pair of sapphire earrings this time, performing the same ritual as before, but this time smiling, "—are going to sit still and look pretty for me. I am going through the PR stuff for anything nice."

"Anything nice?" You parroted in disbelief. It wasn't like he just threw a pair of diamond earrings into a box like it wasn't nice, or anything.

"I've never seen you in pearls before," he said offhandedly. From a black velvet bag, he withdrew a string of pearls clasped at the end in gold. His mouth parted in awe, and you suddenly thought of how cute he looked. Chanhee, oftentimes, was attractive and elegant and spellbinding—but this Chanhee was adorable.

He eyeballed it around your neck, then moved to clasp the collar onto you. He brushed the stray strands of hair away from the nape of your neck, gently grazing the pads of his fingers along the warm skin there. The action sent a shudder down your spine, and you were reminded of the cheek kiss from earlier.

"There," he murmured, coming back around to inspect you from the front. "Looks much better on you than it would on me."

You scoffed, reaching up to touch the cool pearls seated on your collarbone. "I disagree wholeheartedly."

He had turned around to go digging again, but the grin he threw over his shoulder at you was a certified heart stopper. "Then we'll just have to go get me a matching one."

"This is the last time I'm letting a company get me lunch," Chanhee grimaced as both you and he feverishly dabbed at the sauce splattered on his cream silk blouse.

One of the interns working on today's interview and shoot had come to deliver him his lunch when you noticed that the sauce lid on top was a dark red and not the usual light mayo Chanhee always requested beforehand. That, as well as the fact that the lid wasn't fastened all the way. Suffice to say that when you were about to point it out, said intern became flustered at Chanhee's side profile and spilled his lunch onto him.

You made sure to send the intern away before Chanhee could react.

"This was the Burberry one Haknyeonie got me," he whimpered in devastation as he took in the mess of dark brownish-red on his chest.

"Hey, it's okay. The cleaner I usually go to can fix it up," you said, biting your lip and assessing the situation. You gave a sigh, straightening, then swiping at the dampness on your forehead. "For now, you'll have to change into something else."

Chanhee pouted. "I promised I would wear this one for the interview…" He glanced back over at the clothing rack in the far corner of the dressing room at the dozens of options he had, as well as the backups you had brought, when all he wanted was to wear the shirt Haknyeon had given to him.

You wondered how long you had until the interview. You wondered how fast you could run to the dry cleaners and how fast they could fix this, if only to make that pout on Chanhee's face go away.

He pursed his lips. "I'll change into the YSL one," he resolved, standing from his vanity chair to go grab the YSL blouse from its garment bag. "Y'know," he said to you as he disappeared behind the changing divider, "we'll probably see something about this in the tabloids sometime tomorrow, depending on how bored the press people are."

You leaned back against the vanity counter, mentally noting the time. Hair and makeup would be here soon since the interview was set for half past noon. Chanhee would have to wait until afterwards before he could eat lunch. You frowned, "It wasn't your fault, Chanhee."

"I know." You saw him drape the dirtied Burberry blouse over the top of the divider and you walked over to take it down and inspect the damage yourself. "But it doesn't have to be my fault."

Unfortunately, he was right. The press would do anything for a juicy story, even if that meant twisting the facts just a little. You abhorred those stories; you always saw Chanhee's eyes glaze over like a shield at the "model-zilla" headlines, when in fact, it had little to do with Chanhee's "attitude". You wondered if someone would blow up his reaction to this out of proportion—he hadn't said anything to the intern before they ran out of the room in tears, but you supposed if you had spilled coffee on someone with as much name power as Chanhee, then you would also freak out.

"I'm sorry," you said quietly, leaning slightly against the divider. A weight sank into the pit of your gut; you felt pathetic. These were one of the few things you couldn't just fix for him.

You thought you felt him lean back against the divider on the other side. "Nothing to be sorry for, dearest. It's just a shirt."

It wasn't just a shirt. It wasn't just the tabloids.

Chanhee, being the professional he was, carried on through the interview and subsequent photoshoot with elegance and grace. He wasn't in a bad mood, save for the slight melancholy in his smile when the intern's superior came by to apologize profusely and offer to have the blouse dry-cleaned for him. Chanhee politely declined—he only trusted one person with his items.

When you and Chanhee finally made it back to his penthouse suite, the sun had disappeared into the seams of the horizon, hoisting a bejeweled night into the sky. Chanhee collapsed onto the couch face-first while you dropped everything on the floor by the door and made a beeline for the refrigerator.

"I'm making tea," you declared.

Chanhee raised his head slightly. "Me too please."

You got the electric kettle started and brought out two porcelain mugs. While you waited for the water to finish boiling, you fished your phone out of your pocket to check your messages to see if the dry cleaners had alerted you yet as to the status of the blouse. On the way back, you had swung by to get the shirt to the dry cleaners. Hopefully it would be done by tomorrow morning so you could go pick it up.

Chanhee shifted and adjusted his positioning on the couch. He sat upright, leaning his cheek against his fist. "Yn-ie."

"Hm?"

"I'm lonely over here."

You huffed air out of your nostrils in a silent chuckle, but obliged him and went over to the couch. He raised his arms up toward you, making grabby hands and pouting. "You're lonely?" You repeated in amusement, slotting yourself next to him and allowing him to curl into your side.

"Well, not anymore," he said into your shoulder.

The apartment filled with the sound of water bubbling on the stove and the muffled sounds of the city outside the window.

With nothing said, you could imagine for a second that this was not your job, but your life instead.

You felt him move a little, his arms wrapping around your stomach. "Thank you," he murmured, "for everything."

Your chest tightened. "Of course," you replied simply. Because doing all of this for him was as easy as breathing air now. Taking care of him had become as easy as breathing air. It was just that simple.

He was quiet again, fingers fidgeting with the cuffs of your blazer. Something lingered in his mind.

"Yn…" He slowly brought himself to sit up straight, one hand braced on the cushion space between your bodies and the other on the back of the couch. His face was so close—you could see the baby pink hairs falling in his eyes, the bits of glitter on his eyelids, the length of his lashes brushing his cheeks. But there was something wobbling, shimmering in his irises like the ripples in a pool of water. "I think we need to talk."

Your voice was trapped in your throat. He was going to fire you. He was going to tell you that all of it had been a lie. He was going to—stop. Stop freaking out. You knew him. You knew him better than what the people on the outside only claimed to know about him. You gulped. "Okay."

Chanhee brought his hand up toward your face, but instead stopped short, his hand dropping. He wet his lip, head ducking for a second before meeting your eyes again. "You know how much I appreciate everything you do for me, right?"

Oh no.

You nodded shallowly, hands clasped in your lap. "Mhm."

"And you know that I would rather hurt myself before ever hurting you?"

You didn't like where this was going. "Chanhee—"

His eyes shuddered. "Just—just listen for a second. I promise I'll let you speak, just… I just need to get this out."

"I can't really think straight," you croaked. His cologne—god his cologne. You would die suffocating in his cologne, but he was so close and yet so out of reach.

You thought you saw hurt flash across his face. "Oh. Uh, I'm sorry—" He was leaning back now, and you were internally hitting yourself. You'd never heard Choi Chanhee stutter before.

You resisted the urge to say "come back". Come back, where you could pretend that he was yours. Shit, this had gone too far. "Chanhee, I think I have to quit."

Alarm shot his eyes wide open. "What?"

"I can't keep working for you because I have feelings for you," you blurted, staring him straight in the eyes. "I have to quit because the feelings—the want—I have for you are so strong and precariously unprofessional. And I'm sorry, because this was the best job I could've ever gotten, but—"

Chanhee grabbed your face and crushed his mouth to yours, effectively shutting you up. Shock had you freezing, but it wasn't long before you held him close and let him wholly devour you.

When he pulled away, his forehead was pressed against yours, the space between your lips near nonexistent. His hands were still cupping the sides of your face and his breathing was slightly labored; all either of you could feel, hear, smell, taste were each other.

"I love you," he whispered, almost inaudibly you thought you'd imagined it. But then he said it again, "I love you", and everything…

Everything settled.

"How could you?" After all, you were just… you. It seemed impossible that someone as high as he was could love someone like you.

His reply was simple, paired with a sweet return to your lips. "How could I not?"

You stood outside the massive, sky-piercing high-rise of Vogue headquarters, your heart pounding in your ears and your fingers drumming nervously against the seam of your dress pants. In about twenty minutes, you would be in the topmost office of the building interviewing for a chance to become CEO Anna Wintour's newest personal assistant.

"Well?"

You glanced over to your left where Chanhee stepped beside you, asking the driver to make a loop around the building and meet him back here in a few minutes. His hair, freshly dyed a silken midnight black, had grown slightly to mullet-length; and this morning, he was clad in a pristine white suit set in a classy contrast. A pearl collar sat on his defined collarbones like it was a throne. Beautiful, as always.

There were reporters lurking around here somewhere. That definitely didn't make any of this better for you.

You released a breath. "I've got this, right?"

He passed you a gentle, yet teasing grin. "Hey, you survived me. How much worse can she be?"

That made you crack a smile.

The two of you stood side by side staring up at the building for a moment longer. After you had quit being his assistant to instead be accepted as his partner, you and Chanhee worked to find you a new gig. You received about a hundred dozen job offers from lesser brands and big names when they all heard you were leaving Chanhee's employ on good terms. Anyone who survived Chanhee, and left with a stellar recommendation letter, was a hot commodity.

Chanhee reached for your hand, squeezing your fingers slightly. "Breathe, darling. You'll be in and out and hired before you know it."

He turned you around so you faced him. His tongue stuck out between his lips as he adjusted the pearl necklace around your throat, then the lapels of your jacket. "Wow," he breathed out.

"Huh?" You hummed with a smile in your eyes.

"You still take my breath away."

A nervous laugh fell from your lips, and Chanhee swooped in to taste it—that, your laugh.

"I love you," he murmured against your mouth. Nevermind all the press and paparazzi, or Anna Wintour, or anyone. This was just you and him, even for a little. You could imagine the headlines, but that was the last thing on your mind right now.

Your tongue swiped over his bottom lip to catch the last bits of him. "I love you, too."

There was a cunning glint in his eyes, offset by the soft smile on his face. "Okay, this is it. Call me if you need anything."

You began walking toward the entrance backwards. "What if I need you?"

His smile widened. "I said call me, didn't I? Anytime, anywhere." I'm yours.

tbz m.list

permanent taglist: @tayunji @im-a-big-mess @honeyhuii @y3jiishot @crazywittysassy @seomisaho @stopeatread @enhacolor @rnjfy @jaehunnyy @kpopjackie @spiderrenjunfics @soobin-chois @mingiholic @ja4hyvn @ethereal-engene @justalildumpling @vatterie @yogurteume @kflixnet

[loisinherlane]

If You Like Kon-El...

You'll Love Johnny Storm!

AKA welcome to the Kon -> Johnny Pipeline Propaganda. Designed primarily for @mamawasatesttube because I've been bugging them forever but also applicable to all Kon lovers because. Well.

Just look at them.

So to start off, a brief overview of each character's history to highlight their similarities. As this is directed at Kon fans, let's start with Kon:

Created by Cadmus Labs as a replacement Superman, the Kid (later named Superboy and eventually Kon-El) is set free and immediately becomes a menace young hero trying to make his way in the world. At his debut, Kon is physically and mentally fifteen years old and chronologically born yesterday. He knows no life outside of the limelight and being a hero. He's naive but open-hearted, wanting to believe the best in everyone. He's also kind of a huge nerd. Notable moments of manipulation (whether regarded so by canon or not) include his sleezy, money-grubbing manager Rex Leech; his first girlfriend, Tana Moon, who is in her twenties when they're together; and later his relationship with Knockout, a villain who is also an adult. Kon develops in many ways across the years with many fans noting episodes of perceived compulsory heterosexuality with love interests in Cassandra Cain (briefly, after which they both choose to remain friends only) and Cassandra Sandsmark (who has her own comphet issues), as well as hints of attraction to other characters such as Tim Drake and Bart Allen.

Similarly, Johnny Storm debuts at sixteen. He is the youngest member of the Fantastic Four, still in high school, and initially, he has a secret identity (that's not so secret to anyone) in the hopes of being able to keep a normal life. This is swiftly dropped as Johhny grows up. Johnny has a series of romances which have been analyzed under the lens of comphet many times over (and we'll get to that in a bit). There is a notable shift in Johnny's characterization from naive romantic after his marriage to Lyja, a Skrull who disguises herself as family friend Alicia Masters and coerces Johnny into a long-term relationship. After her true identity is revealed, she repeatedly stalks, threatens, and abuses Johnny in the hopes of renewing their relationship. (In mainline canon, this is never successful, and Johnny is always very clear that he wants nothing to do with her.) Afterwards, Johnny becomes very motivated to be in the spotlight and has multiple short-lived relationships with women which never pan out, along with other hints that Johnny may be gay (including an implied sexual relationship with Daken/Akihiro).

To explain why people who love Kon would love Johnny, I'm going to break it down now step by step.

Child Star

Kon and Johnny are both heavily in the spotlight from a young age. While these happen very differently, in that Kon is born in the spotlight and Johnny is thrust into it, the dynamics of being under such scrutiny both create a Lot of image issues.

2. Powers that Require Immense Control

Kon, of course, has his TTK. And Kon is good at using his TTK.

Meanwhile, Johnny's powers of flames also require that he constantly monitors his temperature and how he interacts with his environment. Similar to Kon's easygoing demeanor, Johnny does not let on to anyone how hard he works... something his sister only discovers after their power swap.

3. Manipulative "Love" Interests

As described before, Kon and Johnny both have... disturbing relationships which are not acknowledged fully within canon. Kon, of course, has relationships with two adult women with very little scrutiny about how they were grooming him.

Meanwhile, Johnny has his "marriage" to Lyja, when he thought he was married to someone else. Unlike Kon, Johnny does not want Lyja back.

But still. Interesting parallels.

4. Queercoding

Kon has his relationships with Cassie and Cass, both of which could be analyzed in more detail, but I'll keep it simple here. This does not look like a boy who wants to kiss this girl.

And of course Johnny has multiple scenes where he's uncomfortable with women kissing him.

And... these are actually weirdly similar scenes. Composition-wise.

Really, though, I think there's stronger parallels overall between TimKon and SpideyTorch.

And this is almost a subpoint to this, but Kon being obsessed with wanting to see Robin's face without the mask and Johnny being so mad when Peter erases his knowledge of his secret identity.

5. Underestimated Intelligence

This is a minor one, but both Kon and Johnny are portrayed as not being particularly smart at times for reasons that have... various validity. (More so for Johnny, but this is more about it makes sense for Johnny to think he's not smart.)

6. Nerds

They're just nerds. What can I say?

And, you know, fun that they both like Buffy/Wendy.

7. Guns

This isn't really a parallel, but. Guns.

8. And Last But Not Least... Dying <3

Because I'm running out of panels I can show, I won't go into detail here, but they both have deaths that have a lot fun in the narrative to me... And that's all I will say.

In conclusion: These two are cute, and you should love both of them. Please read F4 for Johnny.

[artytaeh]

i love sm how you made mattheo a stickler for consent, despite being really dirty and filthy 😭🤩. makes him ten times better (but it shouldn’t because everyone should be a stickler for consent 😤)

mattheo is one of the freakiest of the group but the man is TERRIFIED that the people he cares about suddenly see him in a bad light. while he demands full trust and faith in his character, mattheo also goes through moments where he grows paranoid that people secretly hang out with him for the wrong reasons. greed, lust, fear. growing up with people expecting the worst of you eventually tricks your mind into conforming with other people's opinions.

so yes, he's a stickler for consent 😭✋ this man needs a serious talk and almost written proof that you really want those things. definitely asks if you're okay, if you enjoyed it, if there are things you don't want to repeat next time — if it came to bruises or whatever, mattheo will properly massage slash rub soothing balms on your skin once he's a little more rested, too.

also ☝️ mattheo is everything but a coward. cowardy is something that infuriates him, as i've mentioned before; he has a sense of honor. mattheo would never hit a guy that is clearly unable to defend himself (never goes for the 'nerdy' stereotype, but takes satisfaction in punching a guy that definitely could fight back), because it's unfair and a cowardly thing to do. obviously would never become the type of boyfriend who hits a girl for control.

i think that mattheo has some sort of anger issues. if we go to a really dark zone, the most he'd do — though i don't believe he'd go to that point — would be a push. and that's it. mattheo fucking hates girlfriend hitters.

... and suddenly i have these big paragraphs because i unintentionally rambled. 🤓 anyways! tysm for interacting, anon! <3 and yes, i agree 😭 everyone SHOULD be a stickler for consent, 100%.

[storieschats]

So, I have read ACOSF and I have thoughts!!

Note: Check out previous reactions here. Feel free to comment, reblog, like and talk to be about books whenever!😊

ACOTAR Book 5 Page 757 of 757 Christ, this has been a long, long journey. Why must some series end on their lowest point?

What happened in this finale: Nesta stays behind to fight the Ilyrians, giving Gwyn and Emerie time to climb the mountain and win the blood rite. The Evil Queen uses the crown to control Cassian and force him to kill Nesta, but he has more strength than the crown and doesn't do it. Nesta kills the Evil Queen and then runs to Feyre who is dying in childbirth and makes a deal giving up her powers or part of them for the lives of Feyre and Rhysand and their child. The end.

What I thought of this book: I mean what the hell was this... I don't want to be mean because I know a lot of people like this book and I didn't find it badly written or boring but the story is so.... So .... Awful. And the ending? Just when I thought it couldn't get any worse you hit me with ‘character loses her powers’... Again?! Yeah, this whole book was very disappointing for me.

Positive points:

The friendship of the 3 main girls was spectacular. Gwyn and Emeri are excellent characters. I also loved the attempt to bring back the Valkeries that they're doing.

The book is very fast-paced and written in a way that makes reading very fluid and interesting. I didn't experience any major moments of boredom, which, in a book with so little plot, is an achievement.

Negative points:

Nesta losing her powers at the end is just bad writing. I mean, we've already had Amren's case, 2 times in the same series having a powerful female character lose her powers is pushing it!

Nesta and Cassian end up together after a whole book of having the saddest, most adversarial and unromantic relationship I've ever read in a romance book. They have a whole argument BEFORE Nesta is sent to the blood rite that is immediately forgotten in this final part.

Ohh wow the house where Nesta was imprisoned is given to her as a present.... Except everyone is still allowed to use it (lol). There's something to be inserted here about learning to love your prison, birds not escaping from their open cage and other philosophical stuff but I'll leave that to smarter souls than me.

"Her father had died for her, with love in his heart, and though she might not have deserved it then... She would do all she could now to earn it". This is a quote from the last chapter where Nesta goes to visit her father's grave. Let me make one thing clear, if there's one love in the world that I hope is unconditional, it's the love a parent has for their child. Even if we have a daughter who's what? Rude? Because we leave her to starve? Ungrateful? When nothing is given to her? This whole book keeps beating me over the head with having to earn love. Who the hell wants to deserve love? To be worthy of someone’s love? I've never done that and I don't think anyone should. Trying to always be more kind and gentle tomorrow than today is a great idea, but trying to change to be worthy of someone's love, whether it's a romantic partner or a friend or a family member, is a waste of time, you must follow your own morals not someone else’s.

Stars: ⭐

Notes: The best thing about reading this book is all the Nesta/Eris fanfiction on AO3, damn you guys are talented folk. Some of them are genuinely step by step what I wish had happened in this book!

[blackjackkent]

A final moment for Minsc's arrival in Rakha's camp!

Some time ago, when I first started speculating on how Rakha and Minsc would get along, @rhysintherain surprised me with a lovely gift - he wrote something about Rakha! (This is the first time anyone else has ever written something about one of my characters, and to say I was very excited would be an understatement.)

Specifically, he wrote something about one of Minsc and Rakha's early conversations about her Bhaalspawn heritage, and it was honestly so perfect that I asked him if I could just include it as part of the liveblog canon because I love it so much. :D And he said yes, so here it is!

-----

Of Gods and Hamsters by @rhysintherain

“There is a beast that speaks to me. It tries to control my actions.” There was no hesitation, no searching for the right words. This explanation was nearly tradition by now, a conversation that Rakha has with every new member who joins their group.

“Ah, I understand, my friend. I also have a beast who seeks to direct me. Is your beast also of the furry, pocket-sized variety?” Minsc replied casually.

Rakha hesitated. She had faced many reactions to this declaration, but none had prepared her for this one.

“Mine is the voice of Bhaal, god of murder. His will speaks in my mind and tells me to commit unspeakable violence,” in the face of Minsc’s confusing response, Rakha fell back to familiar facts, no matter how unpleasant. It was best the large, bald ranger know exactly what he was signing up for.

“Well, that is not precisely the same as Boo. More like a nasty, evil little rat living in your skull alongside the worm… is it not getting crowded up there? Your head has so many occupants it's a wonder you have any room for the facts you love so much!”

“You have no idea,” Rakha muttered tiredly under her breath.

“You know, you are not the first I have known to share a skull with Bhaal,” Minsc continued, unfazed.

Rakha had heard of the other Bhaalspawn he spoke of. Caden. Jaheira had mentioned him more than once.

“Imoen!” Minsc declared, clapping his hands together excitedly.

Alright, maybe she hadn't heard of who he meant.

“Like you, dear Imoen was a child of most foul Bhaal! Like you, his evil blood called to her. But sweet Imoen was not tempted, and did not embrace the legacy of murder!”

Another child of Bhaal who had resisted their urges? Rakha’s mood lifted, just a little. One Bhaalspawn who overcame their nature could be chance. But if another had done it, there must be a pattern, a strategy she could follow. 

“How?” She asked, working to keep a hint of desperation from her voice.

“Why, the same way the best of us stay on the righteous path of buttkicking for goodness! A good hamster can inspire even the most shadowed hearts to step into the light!”

“A good… hamster?”

“Of course! One simply needs a guiding voice on the outside to drown out the voice on the inside. A small, squeaky voice, ideally. Imoen’s small squeaky voice answered to the name Sniffs, and he liked to travel in the hood of her coat.”

Rakha considered his logic for a minute. On one hand, it seemed very unlikely that the solution to the beast in her head was an opinionated rodent. On the other, Minsc had known two Bhaalspawn who resisted the beast, and she had known none. Jaheira often seemed skeptical about Boo’s efficacy, but Rakha had to admit the little creature always seemed to speak up when Minsc was on the verge of a bad decision, and Minsc often reconsidered those decisions at Boo’s urging.

“... Do you think that would work?” She asked.

-----

“The solution to the beast couldn't actually be a hamster. Could it?” Wyll asked in bewilderment, overhearing the conversation from where he sat at the campfire.

Jaheira snorted. “Believe me when I say the only problem Minsc has solved with a hamster is Minsc.”

He sighed. “I suppose it's too much to hope that the Lord of Murder’s secret weakness was cute little furballs all along.”

“Before you put too much stock in that theory, keep in mind that Imoen denounced Bhaal long before Sniffs came into the picture. We never understood quite why that resistance came so easily for her, but I doubt it was rodent related.”

“Well, it can never be that easy, can it?” Wyll replied with a laugh.

“Take heart, Wyll. We will find a way for Rakha to escape her father's legacy. And I have faith that when we do, that solution will not require her to pack around an sassy rodent who refuses to keep his feet out of our breakfast.”

[blueskittlesart]

[egophiliac]

swipes everything else off of the table to yell about diasomnia flower bookmarks

(I gave Silver one too :D)

[crescentfool]

having the hc that minato is ace is incredibly funny sometimes when you think about how ryoji is oh so very bi because it's like. "ah. death stole my ability to be attracted to people," in the same way that ryoji stole minato's eye color and energy level. like wow, thanks ryoji, you just keep finding things to steal from minato!

[thescreaminghat]

There’s so much to talk about Arcane S1 and S2, and what I want to focus on for this ramble is the issue I take with Singed being Corin Reveck. I’ve said this before, but this was one of the choices that I was worried that the writers would make back when s1 was airing. I actively dislike the idea of making Corin and Singed the same person, and not just because I think it unnecessarily humanizes the awful, awful person that Singed is both in League lore and Arcane while taking away what is a tender and mournful story revolving around two relatively unimportant characters in the broader world and stakes of Runeterra (namely, Corin and his only daughter, Orianna).

My two main gripes with this writing choice are as follows:

It makes the world so much smaller and less interesting than before. In the most recent iteration of Orianna’s game lore, Corin was a famed artificer known for building prosthetics in Piltover (this could be seen as a "doing good work for the people" kind of job, even if he is running a business). This background in itself wouldn’t be too surprising even if directly transposed to Arcane Piltover and Zaun, as even prior to Hextech improvements, we see that body augmentations/modifications are accessible to members of the council (though I much rather prefer League’s idea of Piltover and Zaun as having all sorts of inventors and academics exist in both cities, with Zaun having its own Academy of Techmaturgy, rather than having a handful of named characters be responsible for much of the city’s technological development as we see in Arcane). However, to me, what makes Corin and Orianna’s story so compelling is how easily it can be overlooked amidst all of the grander narratives in League P&Z, the in-fighting between chembarons and the class hierarchy enforced by Camille, Jinx being Jinx, etc. Corin has importance as an inventor, but there are so many of his type—perhaps not specializing in prosthetics, but another field of study—that he really feels like another “ordinary citizen” of Piltover. There is no world-ending stake involved in his and his daughter’s story, but that is precisely why their narrative is so compelling to me—when Orianna rushes to the site of an explosion in Zaun, in secret, to apply the skills she learned as her father’s apprentice in order to save others, and returns home with irreversible lung damage, I feel as though I am witnessing a ”day in the life” of someone stuck within the conflict between P&Z. Corin and Orianna are still privileged, and their situation is vastly better than the actual Zaunites who Orianna made it her mission to save, but Orianna’s biography suggests that despite Corin’s renown, he and Orianna were left largely to their own struggle following Orianna’s illness. I.e. they did not have the kinds of resources and help presumably available to the houses with even greater authority in Piltover.

When Corin devotes himself tirelessly to saving his daughter with his own skills, and Orianna is watching herself lose bits and pieces of her own body, I feel as though we are meant to understand this as a small blip in the overall circumstances of the world, that there are far greater events demanding the attention of the many, and a father’s grief over his child, and a child’s horror at how her body no longer looks the way that she remembers it, is relegated to a quiet, personal tragedy to be shouldered by the pair alone (even though it shouldn't be).

When Corin and Orianna relocate to Zaun, after Corin spends everything he had in order to save his daughter, I can imagine the kind of small relief that father and daughter perhaps felt, realizing that as long as they had each other and their passion for their craft, then that was enough for them, regardless of what happens in the complicated landscape of P&Z. When Corin subsequently falls ill due to the toll that his stress has taken on his own body, and Orianna is forced to make a deal with a chembaron to obtain a hextech crystal in an effort to save her father, we are left wondering how many Zaunites and Pilovians alike may have fallen into similar circumstances, how many secret meetings have taken place between desperate people and good-for-nothings in positions of power in P&Z. And when Orianna ultimately saves her father by giving him her last, healthy organ, the physical embodiment of her emotional core—her heart—and decides to leave her home as a machine powered by hextech, there is no fanfare, but we do get the sense that a tragedy has occurred, that even if there was no “fatal flaw” or twist villain, that something unjust has taken place in these sister cities. And that is how it was meant to be, I think, in Orianna’s story. These are characters, who, by interacting with the world of P&Z as we know it, give us insight into how this world works for its citizens. Their stories don’t need to lead to a grander narrative or tie into timeline-changing events; they are meaningful because they allow us to see how a character could live and thrive and struggle within the backdrop of the world. And that allows us to imagine other stories that could organically come from the politics of P&Z, and other ways its citizens could envision change (e.g. what if working-class Zaunites were given better protections, and Zaunite industry designed to be safer for its workers, so that explosions like the one that was slowly killing Orianna didn’t occur? What if Piltover had better medical support systems so that Corin wouldn’t have to destroy his own health in order to keep his daughter alive? Did Corin’s initial attitudes towards Zaunites change? After all, Piltover effectively failed to assist them, and he and Orianna were forced to move to Zaun in order to continue their business, something that could be regarded by more elitist Piltovians as a “decline” in one’s respectability, regardless of the quality of work produced by Corin and Orianna for their clients. Etc. Etc.)

By making Corin the same person as Singed, the possibilities that Orianna’s narrative opens up for an exploration of other people’s lives in P&Z are removed. Because Singed is so closely tied with shimmer, with Warwick/Vander, with Viktor, with the trajectory of the arcane, with the surgical “creation” of “Jinx”, there is little room to let a backstory of a father and daughter breathe, let alone introduce an audience to the non-plot-related interactions that this duo could have with the richness of the world. It also, in my view, makes the world so much smaller/more extreme (e.g. we can only have a scientist who engages with grandiose, unethical experimentation for the sake of his child, because that is what we would commonly think of when we are presented with a scientist father; we cannot have a father who also happens to be a scientist, where the focus is on his introspective, personal mourning on how his field of study and his community of peers have, in many ways, failed him, but despite that resentment, he continues with what he has, representing one path in a set of circumstances that could drive a different person down another path). And I get that Arcane s2 in particular literally opens up the idea of the multiverse and “other paths,” but that felt somewhat hackneyed, and I much prefer the idea that the multitude of paths that an audience can explore is right here, in the world we currently see, as different people live through their different circumstances.

2) Singed being Corin Reveck removes so much of what made Orianna’s dilemma—whether she is a “machine” or a “human”—so interesting. Orianna, by having her limbs and organs slowly replaced with artificial ones (I emphasize this because the nature of Orianna’s transformation becomes a “ship of Theseus” question), also loses her sense of what it means to be human (e.g. the unbridled creativity that is suggested to have previously animated her craft seems to be gone, and she instead produces “masterfully tuned mechanisms,” rather than “works of art”). She becomes “disconnected” from herself, presumably both from her internal sense of self as well as her physical body, even as her care and love for her father lead her to literally give up her own heart to keep him alive.

One can see the parallels between League Orianna and League Viktor, and how they potentially contrast (or complement!) the other. Viktor claims to have replaced his flesh with metal in order to rid himself of the weaknesses inherent to having an organic, decomposable body, while Orianna is forced to replace her limbs and lungs because she is experiencing, real-time, what the limits of that organic body are, even though she obviously does not want to experience something like this. Viktor claims that it is humanity’s emotions that leads them to make errors in judgment and hinder efficiency and progress, but Orianna’s love for her father leads her to perform a successful operation and save his life (and Corin’s love for his daughter leads him to “create” the kind of mechanical being that Viktor would praise, as part of his ideology). Viktor’s actions suggest that he believes it is necessary to move beyond “limiting” emotions like fear (e.g. his injection of that experimental serum into Naph) while Orianna’s whole struggle is trying to replicate, once more, those feelings, trying to indulge in sentimentality and romance (e.g. When she tells the automaton, Fieram: “I like to ride the Rising Howl at dusk to catch the last of the day’s golden rays,” . . . “From the very top you can see the harbor beyond the sea-gates, and the endless glistening ocean. From up there, you can imagine the smell of faraway lands.” – are these the thoughts and language of a machine, or of a human? And when she desperately destroys the casing around the automaton, believing herself to be freeing a boy like her, are those the actions of an “efficient” consciousness, or of a child encased in steel?). I can imagine, in the world of League P&Z, scientific and philosophical debates regarding the nature of Orianna’s existence (what makes her more human than machine? More machine than human? Is it her lingering connections to memory? To emotions? Or something else entirely?).

All of this to say, that there are some interesting questions to be explored through the way in which “Orianna”, whether she is an identity, a physical being, or something else entirely, emerged through Corin's gradual and necessary removal of her physical body. Making Singed and Corin Reveck the same person strips away these complexities.

Both League and Arcane Singed are awful people. That is undeniable. Regardless of his reasoning or emotions, Singed did unspeakable things to Vander, and was a catalyst for much of the violence, or its escalation, in Arcane, particularly with his production of shimmer in line with Silco’s aim of weaponizing and distributing the substance in the undercity. The circumstances of Orianna’s creation, with Singed noting that everything he had been doing was for his love of Orianna, are thus tinged with a layer of ethical wrongdoing so thick that not even Jesus Viktor could remove it. Similarly, Orianna was not replaced slowly, with the mechanical equivalents of her limbs and organs. She appears to have been yeeted back into existence with the magic shenanigans in S2 Act 3. Any interesting questions about Orianna’s identity, in my opinion, are overshadowed by the starting premises that, yes, Orianna should not have lived or been brought back to life in Arcane, if it meant that the horrible things that Singed, whether directly or indirectly, had done to the people of P&Z could have been avoided, and yes, Orianna in her current form may literally not be herself because we have seen the hexcore/multiverse/ascended hivemind Viktor shenanigans play out already. And this doesn’t even touch on the lack of agency that Orianna has in Arcane, as an unconscious thing for Singed to show the audience for sympathy points, versus the Orianna we get from League lore, who consciously made the choice to disobey her father to help Zaunites and was conscious and present throughout the entire process of her body modification/replacement.

The League lore also sets up an interesting exploration of how patriarchal power is used and its relationship to the mechanical female body—Corin comes off as not only overprotective of his only daughter, something that could also stem from class considerations towards Zaun, but as a sort of “Prospero” figure, guiding and warning his daughter to never venture outside of their neighbourhood in Piltover (like Prospero’s warnings to Miranda), while only permitting her to indulge in fantasies that he approves as “appropriate” for her (e.g. theatre performances). Even when he builds Orianna her artificial lungs, Corin keeps the key to these lungs in a safe, to prevent Orianna from leaving his sphere of authority.

When they do move to Zaun, Orianna not only takes on the traditional role of the breadwinner due to her father’s ailing health, but is in some ways able to gain more agency in her interactions with other elements of the world, such as the chembaron. When Orianna decides to make the choice to save her father, she takes with her the last object that he can use to maintain some form of control over her. While his control is not framed as intentionally abusive, it does lead to questions about how Orianna’s feelings of “detachment” from her sense of self may also be tied to the control that her father exercises concerning her physical agency.

None of this was explored in Arcane, and I never expected the show to focus so much on these kinds of issues for minor secondary characters, but that’s exactly the problem. By introducing us to Singed as “Corin Reveck,” and effectively tying him with Orianna and the intriguing possibilities available through the existing lore, Arcane, which has now ended in terms of its story, ends up failing to deliver any sort of exploration of these issues. Orianna and Corin could have been left as a side story in an Arcane spinoff, or as a cinematic like the Annie origins cinematic, etc. but because the Arcane writers seem to want to make everything “interconnected,” it just feels like we missed so much potential, and even if we did get something on these issues, it feels, from the path that the showrunners have gone so far, that they would narrow these possibilities to whatever can fit the ”interconnected stories” narrative.

Not everything needs to be tied to something else to be good, it can just be good—tying Singed of all people to Orianna’s story was the strangest of these kinds of choices made in Arcane S2, especially when we could have just explored Singed as Singed (i.e. exploring ethics in science from a broader perspective), and hopefully I’ve been able to explain why.

*Note: the above is just my opinion, so please ignore if you feel so inclined.

[seithr]

powerful sorcerer with magical storm blood who can still magic and rend minds and transform people btw

[aroaessidhe]

2024 reads / storygraph

The Sunforge

sequel to The Dawnhounds

fantasy/scifi with bio- cyber- & god-punk elements

follows a crew of revolutionary pirates who become stranded in a city in ruins, overrun by a hostile militia, who must find a way to the people who can help them disable the technology that’s stopping them from escaping

and find themselves pulled deeper into the conflicts and history between the strange gods who give them their powers, and the complex history of their world

mainly centres Kiada, told between flashbacks of her past in the city, and the present

arc from the author! out August 6

[zeb-z]

Bad has so many reasons to be cautious, even paranoid, as anyone else on the island. From Federation nonsense to Dapper being kidnapped to the whole purgatory nonsense to whatever fuckass suit of armor “old friend” was setting up cameras in his house. But it compounds on his regular overly aware paranoid self to this state of hyper-paranoia. And as a demon who can and usually will lie, cheat, steal, and use sneaky underhanded tactics, he expects the craziest extent because he thinks of it, realizes it’s possible, and would use it himself. We saw this very obviously in purgatory - when he thought greens desperate last ditch effort to balance the scale was a super planned out tactic to tip the scale, so he did it first, all the hardcore base hunting, the spawn killing, there’s a reason every other tactic he used usually followed a main channel qsmp post with updated rules - all usually things he was surprised no one else thought of. But then this also piles onto the fact that he has to have things go his way, all the time, and that he’s argumentative as all get out, which led to the debate between him and Bagi yknow. Especially because he’s not just doing it for the sake of being right, he doesn’t think he’s paranoid, but that he’s exercising the right amount of caution.

So like. Listen dude. Yeah he’s got reasons to be paranoid. But his thought process around building vaults for separate cookie caches like they locked up the risus pills, only to scrap it because it’s not perfectly impenetrable, is extreme. His character has hardly been a leading example in someone who has reasonable reactions to things. And even when there isn’t his own children’s livelihoods potentially on the line, he has a need for control, and the most control he has is if he keeps the cookies in his inventory at all times. If he makes himself the sole point in which the others can get ones in a case of emergency, then he can control the variables. The problem is he’s unreliable about himself when he’s at his most rational and healthiest, and he’s far worse with the current memory and health issues he’s been mostly unaware of.

I dunno it’s like. There is never going to be a purely impenetrable base. And it’s not just a case of “Bagi just hasn’t lived through __ yet!”. Bad’s own logic about keeping the cookies on him at all times is flawed under his own logic, because Bagi is right - if someone has enough drive to break into separate secured cookie caches purely for the downfall of eggs, they more than certainly have enough drive to find a way to kill Bad and just take them from his inventory, or to just kill the eggs themselves. All it truly does is give Bad a sense of control, and soothe his paranoia.

[number-1-crush]

oh my god he’s so fucking cute

[rawliverandgoronspice]

ohhh I managed to convince my potato laptop that it was indeed capable of running clip studio paint let's fucking goooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[imabiscuitinthousandworlds]

sometimes..so.etimes they change something even after the premiere. sp you appear and watch an entirely new and prolonged monologue. and it's like. FUCK YEAH.