#or the ones not quitting it. just hating the entire thing now?

[starmocha]

I've got this doubt that I can't shake off: if MC's pregnancy, for some reason, is a very tough and risky one (both might die or something), which one of the guys would have the saddest breakdown at some point (just ugly crying into MC's arms after months of keeping it together for her sake) and which would have the angriest (trashing entire offices, taking their anger out on their enemies or both)?

(I had intended to respond earlier, but man…that trailer…) Gosh, you guys know how to prod at that special part of my brain with these asks lately… 🥺 I may or may not have...started writing...little...snippets, really... 😔

Zayne would go into “doctor-mode.” He is going to utilize his medical knowledge and resources to give you the best care possible for both you and the baby, and while it seems you have nothing to worry about, you will feel the emotional-withdrawal from him as everything will feel so methodical and clinical and he forgets completely his role as a husband until you break down crying.

You had tried to keep your emotions in check these last few months, rationalizing that Zayne was never an expressive person, but his feelings and actions were always sincere. He was pacing across the bedroom reviewing with you about your recent prenatal checkup and what it meant for both you and this baby. It had been like this for several months now, and with your weak heart and the risk it posed for both you and the baby, Zayne had been extra attentive about your prenatal care.

As you sat on your bed, heavy with his child and close to your due date, listening to him rattle off different medical terms and speaking to you less as a wife but more as if you were his patient, you could feel your emotions peaking. You couldn’t remember the last time he was affectionate with you or actually asked how you were personally feeling throughout this whole pregnancy. He was by your side more, but you had never felt as lonesome as now, needing him back as your husband and not a doctor. You could feel the tears brimming, but it was getting harder each day to suppress your feelings.

Everything Zayne was saying sounded like muffled gibberish to you. You could barely focus on the present, barely acknowledging even the faint movements of the baby you were carrying, feeling more lost in your loneliness. You finally let your emotions and hormones collide and broke down crying in front of him, startling him immediately. Within seconds, he was on his knees before you, grasping your arms as he asked worriedly, “What’s wrong? Are you hurting somewhere?”

It took you a minute to gather yourself before you felt calm enough to speak, finally revealing to him how you hated who he had become during this time. At first, Zayne looked shocked, not quite comprehending what you had just said to him, but the more he pondered your hurt words, the more he realized there was a lot of truth in what you had said.

He kissed your belly, surprising you. Then, he got up and sat down next to you on the bed, pulling you into his embrace as he kissed your forehead, his apologies immediate and sincere.

“I didn’t mean to,” he said, holding you a little tighter, “I just…don’t want anything to happen to you. Either of you.”

You leaned into his embrace, and sighed softly, “I know…I’m not mad at you. I’m just…”

Zayne looked down, noticing how your words gradually stopped and you were withdrawing again. He lifted your chin, making you look at him as he coaxed you gently, “Just what?”

“I just miss you,” you said, voice breaking again and fresh tears brimmed your eyes. As he brushed your tears away, you cried harder, “And I’m scared…and I can’t stop thinking about all of the things that could go wrong…and then I realize stressing over this is also hurting the baby and…and…”

Zayne looked guilty as he realized that while he was too focused on your physical health, he had neglected your mental and emotional state, realizing how you had been suppressing your feelings for his sake.

He sat back against the headboard and pulled you back to rest against him. He apologized again for his neglect, and for the rest of that night, he listened and comforted you through your anxieties. There was that familiar warmth in his embrace that you missed, and the softness in his eyes returned as he listened to you earnestly. While your anxieties were still there, they seemed more manageable now that you realized the man by your side in this moment was not Doctor Zayne but your Zaynie, your beloved husband.

Rafayel is angry and emotional and will lash out and say things he doesn’t mean, such as he would rather lose the baby than you.

It had been like walking on eggshells these past few months. You had tried to keep your spirits up in spite of the situation, but eventually everything that had been quieted was going to surface, reaching an ugly peak.

You just had never expected him to say such words to you.

“You…don’t want…the baby?” You felt like you were choking as you uttered those words back to Rafayel.

He looked conflicted, his face twisted in pain and frustration. “I…I didn’t mean it,” he finally said, seeming to struggling with not just his words, but also his feelings.

You glared at him with tears in your eyes. “You said it! What could you have possibly meant to say if not that!”

“I don’t want to lose you!” he finally yelled back, frustrated that his words were being used against him by you of all people.

A strained silence filled the space, creating a rift between the two of you as you stared at one another in shock. In the distant, there was the cries of seagulls flying outside the studio, the sound of waves crashing on the shore a peculiar reminder that time was still moving forward even as you two stood frozen, locked in this seemingly unbreakable tension.

After several beats, Rafayel dropped to his knees, his head buried into his hands as he apologized, though it seemed more like he was apologizing for hurting you and not because of what he had said.

You walked closer to him, surprised when his arms wrapped around your waist, and his face pressed against your rounded stomach.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized again. He didn’t look up at you, but his words were heard clear: “I just can’t lose you again.”

You stared down at his head of hair, unsure of what you could say in this moment. He looked so broken and helpless, and while you understood his sentiments, it still did nothing to alleviate the hurt you felt at his earlier words. Shakily, you let your hand rest on the back of his head, as you said softly, “My fishie…I won’t leave you…”

You said that to comfort him, but even you had doubts about whether you could hold true to your words. It was so bright and sunny outside in Linkon today, so why did your future look so gray and uncertain? This was to be a joyous time in both of your lives, but even as you both felt the baby kicked and moved, that cloud of doubt remained.

Xavier is stunned and feels helpless.

It had been an awkward couple of weeks. Xavier was quieter than usual, but he still answered you whenever you spoke. You didn’t think he was upset at you, but you also couldn’t ignore the sudden distance between the two of you.

“Captain Jenna had put me on desk duty for the remainder of my pregnancy,” you told him over dinner one night.

He didn’t answer you, appearing distracted as he was grilling some beef slices on an electric griddle.

“Xavier?”

“Huh?” He looked up, surprised. “Oh, sorry, I had something on my mind. What did you say?”

“I…I said Captain Jenna is putting me on desk duty,” you repeated hesitantly.

“That’s good,” he answered and picked a slice of beef off the griddle to place in your bowl. “You should have some more meat for protein.”

“…thank you,” you said, noticing the way his eyes kept averting with yours. You placed your bowl on the table, upset now. “Xavier, did I do something wrong?”

He looked taken aback by the sudden question. He immediately shook his head. “Wrong? Why would you even think that?”

You frowned. “You’ve barely spoken with me lately,” you said, “It’s been nothing but ‘yeah,’ ‘okay,’ ‘alright’ from you lately.”

“I’m sorry,” he looked at you with remorse etched on his face. He sighed as he turned the griddle off before he rubbed the back of his head awkwardly. “I…I just have something on my mind.”

“You keep saying that,” you retorted, mildly irked now, “What could be on your mind that is more important than being here with me?”

“You.”

Your irritation disappeared in that moment, his solemn gaze resting on you. Slowly, you found your voice, your words stuttering a little in confusion, “Wha…what do…you mean?”

“You and the baby,” he clarified. “Ever since the doctor said this was a high-risk pregnancy, I just…can’t stop thinking about…everything that could go wrong.”

“Xavier…”

“I don’t know how to make this easier for you,” he continued, suddenly unable to hide his anxiety any longer, “And even if we do everything right, what if things go wrong at the last minute? What if—no, just…no…”

You gasped when he suddenly came to you, his arms wrapped around you immediately in a tight embrace. He kissed the top of your head and apologized again, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you upset.”

“Xavier…it will be alright,” you reassured him.

He was silent.

“We’ll both be alright,” you continued.

“Right…” he answered, but you noticed he still didn’t want to let you go. You also didn’t want him to part, so you both remained in this moment a while longer.

Sylus has all of the money and connections in the world. He is going to ensure that both you and the baby will be alright throughout the pregnancy until birth. On the surface, he seems calm and confident, but to keener eyes, such as yours, you will pick up on his anxiety through little tics or behavioral changes.

The moment you had told Sylus you were pregnant with his baby, he lavished you with even more luxuries than before. You received the best care possible, especially when it came to light that this pregnancy was not going to be easy for you and there was concern about the health of the baby. Sylus made sure the most qualified doctors were monitoring you and he had ordered the personal chefs to prepare only nutritional dishes for you and the baby.

He was adamant that you received only the best of the best, and to strangers, Sylus appeared to be so level-headed and grounded, not a trace of worry could be seen on his face.

You, however, noticed how he seemed to drum his fingers on hard surfaces more often. He would also pull out his coin to flip at the most peculiar time, and his visits to the boxing ring also seemed to have increased. There were so many odd tics that you couldn’t ignore, but you suspected you knew the reason why.

One evening, you slipped into bed earlier while Sylus was still sleeping. It would almost be time for him to wake up from his slumber, so you waited. When you noticed the fluttering of his eyes, you leaned in closer, smiling as your face was the first thing he saw once he awoken.

“Good morning,” you greeted him with a mischievous smile, leaning down to peck his lips.

“Mm…morning,” he answered back in amusement, still a little groggy and bleary-eyed. He yawned. “What did I do to deserve seeing such a sweet sight first thing after waking up?”

“I wanted to talk.”

His mirth disappeared in that instance upon hearing your stern tone. He shifted in bed, sitting up with his back to the headboard. “Is something the matter?”

“You tell me.”

Sylus shook his head in confusion. “Sweetie, you are going to have to elaborate more,” he responded with a frown. “What are we talking about?”

“Are you…worried?”

“Worry?”

You rested a hand over your belly, his gaze instantly following your movement. “About the pregnancy,” you clarified.

“Of course I worry,” he answered back in that same even tone.

“You…seemed so assured, but lately, I’ve noticed these little…tics,” you explained, elaborating to him more in details as he listened patiently. When you finished, Sylus gently pulled you closer to him, letting your body rest against his. His arm wrapped around you, his hand resting on your belly to rub gentle little circles.

“I will always worry about you,” he said, “but panicking over things will not achieve anything, so I just redirected my worries elsewhere. Is that a problem?”

You shook your head and looked up at him. “No, I was just…wondering if you wanted to talk about them with me.”

He laughed and bent down to peck your lips. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

“What if I want to?”

He smiled in amusement and kissed you again. “Then who am I to argue with my pregnant wife?”

“What would you do?”

“Do what?”

“If…I don’t ma—”

“You will be fine,” he immediately cut you off, his demeanor shifting entirely. “You will both be fine.”

“But—”

He lay back down in bed, pulling you closer to him in a tighter embrace. “Lull me to sleep,” he said instead.

“But isn’t it time for you to wake—” You clammed up when he shot you a pointed look. You could sense his unease, feeling his fingers digging into your flesh a little more. He was upset, deeply troubled, and you hated how he carried that burden alone on his shoulders.

“Alright,” you answered, snuggling into his embrace. You sang a song, a lullaby you had learned recently that you hoped to sing to your baby in a few months. As you sang, Sylus quietly hummed along, and it wasn’t long before you both fell asleep together, your worries left behind as you dreamed of the upcoming months when a new bundle of joy would arrive at Onychinus’ base.

Caleb is nervous, but he pours himself into taking care of you, because that is all he has ever known. He’s never liked seeing you ill or hurt, so he is going to do everything possible to make sure you receive the best care ever. He will do a lot of research and ask as many questions as he could to gain insight on what can be done to minimize the risk so both you and the baby will make through the pregnancy as safely as possible. He does not even want to consider the possibility of losing you.

You didn’t have any autonomy over yourself anymore. Whatever you wanted to do, Caleb did it for you first. Whatever you were craving, he would negate it half the time, citing it was better for you to eat a healthier alternative.

Even though you wanted to be mad at him, you knew he was doing this out of worry after the reveal that there were some concerns about this pregnancy. The moment that you had heard the word “risky,” everything afterwards suddenly sounded muffled as you were frozen in shock, a sudden anxiety creeping in as you stared down at your belly. Meanwhile, Caleb was already proactive, asking what needed to be done, what you both needed to be aware of, and so on and so forth. As if he could sense your worries, his hands immediately rested on your shoulders as he stood behind you while he continued to converse with the doctor.

He was your pillar and your protector. He always was, and he always will be.

Even if sometimes you found him to be overbearing.

You had missed many of his more indulgent dishes ever since he had put you on a clean-diet, and each time, you made a point of letting him know just how upset you were as you sulked when he finished setting the table with steamed fish and green veggies with bamboo shoots.

“It’s only temporary,” he reassured you, smiling to himself as he watched you picked at the fish half-heartedly.

“Most women get to enjoy their cravings while pregnant,” you said sullenly, taking a small bite of the fish.

He nodded in agreement as he sat down opposite of you. “If this was a normal pregnancy, then of course you should be able to indulge on your cravings—”

You looked at him hopefully.

“But your cholesterol level is higher than normal, and we also need to be cautious about the risk of developing gestational diabetes—”

You sulked again. “You are killing my appetite again.”

Caleb laughed softly as he set his chopsticks down. He cocked his head to the side, his chin resting in the palm of his hand as he leaned forward on the table. “What are you craving, pipsqueak?”

“What does it matter? You won’t let me have anything…” You bit into your bamboo shoot, not making eye contact with him.

“Pretend I will,” he answered in the same tone.

You shrugged. “…Pasta.”

“Pasta? Okay,” he answered thoughtfully, “What else?”

“Hmm…pizza…cheesecake…dumplings…”

Caleb covered his mouth to suppress his laughter as he watched you list each food longingly, practically lost in your own world and not even paying attention to him anymore. When it seemed you had finished listing, he questioned you again, “That’s all?”

You sighed and shook your head.

“What else is there? You’ve practically listed all of the food available on takeout menus,” he teased.

“…Braised chicken wings…”

Caleb looked surprised. “What?”

“Your braised chicken wings,” you clarified and looked up to meet his surprised gaze.

“Okay,” he said after a moment, “I’ll make some braised chicken wings tomorrow for dinner.”

You perked up. “R-really?” You eyed him suspiciously. “What about my clean diet?”

“In moderation would be fine,” he answered, smiling, “Besides, having the mother of my child miserable the whole time is also not good for the baby.”

You huffed at him, annoyed. “I’m miserable because of you.”

He blinked, not expecting you to suddenly be mad at him again. “I’m only—”

“I can’t enjoy the food I like, I’m tired all of the time, I can’t even see my feet anymore, my back hurts, my feet are swollen—how am I fat when I’m not even eating anything yummy?!”

“…are you having a mood swing?”

“Yes!” you cried out hysterically, nearly sobbing, “It’s your fault, too, I can’t control my hormones right now!”

Caleb laughed helplessly as he stood from his seat and crossed over to your side. Immediately, you wrapped your arms around his waist, your face buried against his stomach as you continued to cry and list your grievances with him.

“Alright, alright, it is my fault I gotten you pregnant,” he agreed. He peered down at the top of your head, smiling when you sniffled against his shirt while he rubbed the back of your head soothingly.

“…dummy…”

“Yes, yes, I’m a dummy,” he continued in a very pacifying tone.

“…A big dummy…”

“Mmhmm…”

“The biggest…”

“Right, right…”

You looked up, suspicious again when he continued to be very agreeable. You yelped in surprise when he immediately grabbed your face and leaned down to steal your lips with his. It took you a few seconds to register that he was kissing you before you gave in, feeling a warmth in your chest at his sudden display of affections.

“What else?” he asked softly when he pulled back a few centimeters, still close enough that his breath brushed against your trembling lips while his eyes locked with yours. You could feel his thumb brushing away the tears that were still on your cheeks.

“…you…”

“Me?”

“Uh huh…”

“What do you want from me?”

“Just you…”

He laughed and kissed your forehead. “Alright, pipsqueak,” he said, “You have me. I am all yours. Forever.”

You guided his hand down to your pregnant belly, smiling when that same look of surprise crossed his face again when he felt the baby kicked. Your smile widened as you answered him, “You’re ours.”

He knelt down on one knee, his large hand still resting over your belly as he smiled back before his eyes drifted down to your stomach. “Yeah,” he said, sighing almost as if in disbelief by this current life he was living, “Both of yours. Forever.”

[jiminomenon]

what is jimin’s reaction to assistant yn threatening to quit?

from my series: the devil wears prada

the penthouse was silent—eerily so, considering the shouting match that had just taken place. the air between them was thick, charged with lingering frustration and unspoken words. jimin stood in the middle of the living room, arms crossed, expression locked in a stubborn scowl. y/n was a few feet away, breathing heavily, fists clenched at her sides.

neither of them had meant for it to escalate like this. it started with something minor—an argument over jimin’s impossible demands, her bratty attitude, the way she acted like y/n was hers to boss around twenty-four-seven. but then, words were thrown like knives, sharp and cutting.

and then y/n snapped.

“maybe i should just quit, then!”

the words ripped through the space between them. jimin stiffened instantly, her brows drawing together.

“what?” her voice was dangerously quiet.

y/n exhaled sharply, still fueled by frustration. “if you’re just gonna keep treating me like this, maybe i should just leave, huh? find another job where i’m actually respected.”

jimin scoffed, but there was a hint of uncertainty in her voice. “you wouldn’t dare.”

“why not?” y/n challenged, eyes blazing. “give me one good reason why i shouldn’t.”

jimin opened her mouth, but for once in her life, she had no comeback. no smug remarks, no bratty retorts. because the idea of y/n actually leaving—actually walking away—felt like a punch to the gut.

her jaw tightened. “you’re being dramatic.”

y/n let out a bitter laugh. “of course you’d say that.”

jimin hated this. hated the way y/n looked at her right now—like she was tired of her, like she was done.

“you’re not quitting,” jimin said firmly, like it was a fact, like she refused to acknowledge the possibility.

“and why not?”

“because—” jimin’s voice faltered. she wanted to say because i need you—because she couldn’t imagine her life without y/n constantly by her side, keeping her in check, understanding her in ways no one else did.

but that wasn’t how she worked. she didn’t admit things like that. she didn’t let people know how much they mattered.

“because i said so,” she settled on instead.

y/n’s expression darkened. “you don’t own me, jimin.”

“i never said i did.”

“but you act like it!”

the silence that followed was suffocating.

jimin hated the thought of y/n leaving, but she also hated feeling like this—out of control, vulnerable, on the verge of losing something she refused to name.

so she did what she did best.

she walked away.

but before she could fully disappear into her bedroom, y/n’s voice cut through the air.

“you don’t even care, do you?”

jimin froze.

“if i left, it wouldn’t even matter to you, right?” y/n’s voice was quieter now, but still laced with hurt. “you’d just find someone else to boss around.”

something snapped inside jimin. she turned around, storming back toward y/n, eyes burning with something unreadable.

“it would matter,” she said, voice low. “it would matter a lot.”

y/n blinked.

jimin exhaled sharply, running a hand through her hair, frustrated—at y/n, at herself, at the entire situation.

“you think i don’t care?” jimin continued, tone softer now but still firm. “you think i’d just let you go that easily?”

y/n didn’t respond.

jimin sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “i’m sorry, alright?”

y/n’s brows shot up. “what?”

jimin groaned. “don’t make me say it again.”

y/n stared at her, searching for any sign of insincerity—but, for once, jimin actually meant it.

a small smirk tugged at y/n’s lips. “wow. never thought i’d hear those words come out of your mouth.”

jimin rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. “don’t get used to it.”

y/n chuckled, shaking her head. her frustration wasn’t completely gone, but… jimin had apologized. and for someone as stubborn as her, that was a huge deal.

“you’re impossible,” y/n muttered.

jimin smirked. “and yet, here you are. still not quitting.”

y/n sighed dramatically. “unfortunately.”

but there was a warmth in her eyes now, and jimin—though she’d never say it out loud—felt like she could finally breathe again.

[iamquiantrelle]

VIRGIN TERRITORY (chapter 7) ────── iamquaintrelle

# pairing: aurelien tchouameni x black oc (☔️✨💕) #wc: 4.1k

# tags: @whoevenisthiz @irishmanwhore @lettersofgold @sucredreamer @leighjadeclimbedmtkilimanjaro @rougereds @jessnotwiththemess @judectrl @ayeshami @greyishbach @haartemis @goldenngt @solidbriii @sailurmewn @rainbowsparkelsunshine @lbchi @bbgkoo @mauvecherie-writes @mufasathatniggatho @kaylalb

# summary: she's been his pa for almost a year and every day is a struggle to function around him, but he'll never see her more than that...will he? and what will happen if he finds out she's also a virgin? masterlist.

The Bernabéu is buzzing with its usual electric energy, but Leila's mind is somewhere else entirely. Carlo's got Aurélien playing as 14 again even though everyone and their mama knows he's better at midfielder, and her phone keeps lighting up with messages from William.

Things with Will are better now – easier somehow since their honest conversation. He's back to sending her memes that make her laugh, pictures of his day-to-day life in London, even some truly terrible dad jokes that shouldn't be as funny as they are. It's nice. Normal. Like they've found some kind of balance.

Except.

Except Aurélien's been taking her on dates every night this week, each one more thoughtful than the last. No more riddles, but plenty of moments that make her heart forget how to beat properly. The 'A' pendant catches the stadium lights when she shifts, a constant reminder of... something. Not quite a claim, but definitely a statement.

She touches it absently as Aurélien makes a run down the field. He's been wearing his heart on his sleeve lately – bringing her coffee before she can make it, leaving little notes in her planner, finding reasons to touch her when no one's looking.

Her phone buzzes again:

Will: Tell Aurél trying to play 14 is criminal

Will: Man's wasted there and Carlo knows it

She smiles despite herself because he's not wrong. But then Aurélien glances up at where she's sitting, that soft smile he reserves just for her making her chest tight, and...

And maybe some choices make themselves.

The final whislte blew, and the 1-3 scoreline feels heavy in the air as Leila watches Aurélien trudge off the pitch. She's already drafting notes about temporarily blocking Divisé Media – the "fans" on there are going to be brutal, and she's seen enough racism in La Liga to know exactly what's coming.

It wasn't even his worst performance, nowhere near it. But he wasn't the Aurélien she knows he can be, wasn't hitting that level that makes other teams fear him, and these so-called Madridistas will use any excuse to spew their hate. They don't care that he's got a whole media room in his house dedicated to Real Madrid history. Don't care about the way his eyes light up talking about the club's legacy, or how he studies old matches like they're sacred texts.

The racist comments are already starting to flood in – she can see them on the monitors in the press room. The same tired stereotypes, the same ignorant takes, the same bullshit rumors about transfers like they're trying to push him out. As if he hasn't bled white since day one.

"You okay?" Jude asks as she aggressively types out social media blocking instructions.

"These fans..." she shakes her head, anger making her fingers tight on her tablet. "They don't deserve him."

"They don't deserve any of us," he says quietly. "But especially not him. Not when he loves this club like he does."

She thinks about the vintage Real Madrid posters in his media room, the way he touches the crest before every match like it's a blessing, how he studies Carlo's tactics like they're gospel.

Her phone buzzes – PR wanting to know how to handle the growing online abuse. Like there's any handling it. Like they haven't been fighting this same battle since forever.

But she knows one thing: she's not letting him near social media tonight.

Not when he's already beating himself up enough.

Not when these "fans" don't understand what real loyalty looks like.

Leila's waiting outside the locker room, already having sent emails to their social team about monitoring comments, when Aurélien finally emerges. His shoulders are carrying the weight of the loss, and she can see he's already in his head about it.

"Don't," she says before he can speak. "Give me your phone."

"Ma puce–"

"Phone. Now."

He hands it over without argument, which tells her exactly how bad he's feeling. Normally he'd at least pretend to fight her on it.

"It wasn't that bad," she tries, but he just gives her a look.

"I played like shit."

"You played out of position."

"I played like I forgot what football was." His voice is tight with frustration. "Did you see the comments yet?"

"No, and neither will you." She's already changing his social media passwords. "Not tonight."

"They're right though–"

"If you finish that sentence, I swear to God..." She steps in front of him, making him look at her. "You love this club more than anyone I know. One bad game doesn't change that."

His eyes find the 'A' pendant at her throat, something softening in his expression. "You're too good to me."

"No, I just know your worth." She reaches up to straighten his collar, a habit she can't break. "Unlike these keyboard warriors who've probably never touched a football in their lives."

A ghost of a smile crosses his face. "Take me home?"

The way he says it – soft, vulnerable – makes her heart squeeze. "Of course. But first..."

She pulls out the protein shake she made earlier, the one with extra everything because she knew he'd need it.

"What would I do without you?" he murmurs, taking the bottle.

"Let's not find out."

Because these "fans" might not deserve him, but she's starting to think she might.

******************************************************

The drive to his house is quiet, Madrid streets emptier than usual like even the city knows to give him space. Leila's behind the wheel because he's too in his head to drive, his fingers absently playing with the pendant she's wearing. Every now and then his phone lights up with notifications she's glad he can't see.

"Want me to make you something?" she asks as they pull into his driveway. "Your mama's chicken soup recipe?"

He shakes his head but his hand finds hers across the console. "Just… stay? For a bit?"

The vulnerability in his voice makes her chest tight. This is a different Aurélien from the one who's been romancing her all week – no smooth lines or careful plans, just raw need for comfort.

Inside, Ocho greets them with his usual enthusiasm, picking up on his dad's mood and pressing close. They end up on the couch, Aurélien's head in her lap while she runs her fingers through his curls. She can feel the tension slowly leaving his body.

"The next match-" he starts, but she cuts him off.

"Is not tonight's problem." Her nails scratch his scalp gently. "Tonight we rest."

"We?"

"Yes, we." She tries not to think too hard about how natural this feels. "Someone has to make sure you actually sleep instead of watching match footage all night."

His laugh is quiet but real. "Taking care of me, ma puce?"

"Always."

The word slips out before she can catch it, heavy with meaning neither of them is quite ready to address. His hand finds hers again, bringing it to his lips.

"Thank you," he murmurs against her skin.

And maybe some choices really do make themselves.

They stay like that for a while, Ocho curled at their feet, the city lights casting soft shadows through his ridiculous windows. She's still running her fingers through his curls when his breathing starts to even out, the stress of the match finally catching up to him.

"We should get you to bed," she says softly.

"Stay," he mumbles, already half asleep. "Please."

And lord, the way he says it – all vulnerability and trust – makes something in her chest squeeze tight.

"Aurélien…"

"Just to sleep." His eyes open, finding hers. "I'll behave."

She should say no. Should maintain some kind of professional boundaries. Should remember she's technically still keeping her options open even though her heart's pretty much made its choice.

"I don't have clothes," she tries weakly.

"Top drawer. My t-shirts." His thumb traces patterns on her wrist. "Unless you're scared?"

"Of what?"

"Of admitting this is more than just dates and gifts."

The way he says it – direct but gentle – makes her pause. Because he's right. This stopped being just anything a while ago.

"One condition," she finally says.

"Anything."

"No match analysis until morning."

His smile is soft, real. "Deal."

They make their way upstairs, Ocho trailing behind them like he's supervising. She pauses at his bedroom door, a thought suddenly hitting her.

"These better be new sheets." At his raised eyebrow, she clarifies, "You know, because of..." she waves her hand vaguely, "all your visitors."

His laugh is unexpected. "It's a new bed, actually. New everything."

"What happened to the old one?"

"Got rid of it." He runs a hand through his curls, almost shy. "When you were in Georgia. Wanted... a fresh start."

Oh.

Oh.

"You got a whole new bed?"

"And sheets." He steps closer, fingers finding the 'A' at her throat. "I told you I was serious."

And really, what is she supposed to say to that? To this man who's apparently out here buying new furniture just to prove a point?

"Top drawer?" she manages, and his smile is soft with understanding.

"Top drawer."

And maybe this should feel weird – changing into his Madrid training shirt that smells like him, climbing into his ridiculous bed after taking the world's fastest shower. Maybe she should feel nervous when he slides in next to her, all warm skin and easy smiles.

But instead it just feels… right.

Even if she's not ready to admit why.

Not yet.

Dreams hit different when they become reality. Leila's been imagining what it would feel like to wake up in Aurélien's arms for months now, but her imagination didn't do this justice. He's got her in what's basically a headlock, one arm under her neck while the other's wrapped around her waist, but she's never felt more comfortable in her life.

His training shirt's ridden up during the night, leaving her stomach exposed to where his fingers are splayed across her skin. The heat of his touch makes her whole body warm, especially with how his basketball shorts are barely containing her curves. She should probably feel self-conscious about that, about how much of her is pressed against him, but there's something too perfect about this moment for insecurity.

Every breath he takes moves through her too, his chest pressed against her back like he's trying to eliminate any space between them. His face is buried in her neck, those curls she loves tickling her skin, and she can feel the steady thump of his heart.

This is dangerous.

This kind of comfort, this kind of intimacy – it makes her want things she's not sure she's ready for. Makes her think about mornings like this stretching into forever. Makes her forget about keeping options open or playing it safe.

His fingers flex against her skin and she knows he's waking up. Knows she should probably try to put some distance between them, try to maintain some kind of boundaries.

Instead, she finds herself melting further into his embrace.

Some choices really do make themselves.

Even at seven in the morning.

"You think too loud," his voice rumbles against her neck, still rough with sleep. Instead of loosening his hold, he somehow pulls her closer.

"I'm not thinking," she lies, very aware of how his thumb is now drawing lazy circles on her stomach.

"Mhm." His lips find that spot behind her ear that makes her toes curl. "So you weren't just having a whole internal crisis about this feeling too good?"

"How did you-"

"Because I know you, ma puce." He presses a kiss to her shoulder. "Know how your brain works. Always analyzing, always worried about what comes next."

She should probably be offended that he reads her so well, but it's hard to focus when his hand is sliding higher under her (his) shirt, fingers tracing her ribs like he's mapping territory.

"Aurélien…"

"Just feel," he murmurs. "Stop thinking about William, about boundaries, about what this means. Just be here with me."

The fact that he knows exactly what's running through her head should probably scare her. Instead, it just makes something in her chest warm.

"I need to get up," she tries. "Make your protein shake, check your schedule-"

"Five more minutes." His lips are doing devastating things to her neck. "The world can wait."

And really, how is she supposed to argue with that?

Especially when he's right – the world can wait. This moment can't.

He turns her in his arms, and any thoughts of protein shakes or schedules evaporate when his mouth finds hers. This kiss is different from their others – maybe because of the intimacy of morning, maybe because of how his hands feel on her bare skin, maybe because she's wanted this for so long she's forgotten how to want anything else.

The sound he makes when she tugs his curls experimentally – somewhere between a groan and her name – shoots straight through her. His response is to trail kisses down her neck, finding spots she didn't even know were sensitive until his lips discovered them.

When he hits a particular spot under her jaw, she can't help the moan that escapes. She feels his smile against her skin before he returns to that spot with more purpose, like he's cataloging her reactions for future reference.

Her inexperienced self is definitely not prepared for how this feels, for the way his hands span her waist, for how natural it feels to arch into his touch-

And then Ocho barks.

Of course he does.

Aurélien pulls back with a muttered curse, but Leila sends up a silent prayer of thanks because if they'd kept going… she was about five seconds from making some questionable decisions.

"Putain," he sucks his teeth, forehead pressed against hers. "I'm gonna let him out real quick. Don't move."

The command in his voice makes her shiver, but she also needs this moment to remember how to breathe properly.

Some interruptions are blessings in disguise.

As soon as Aurélien disappears with Ocho, Leila's up and in his bathroom, splashing cold water on her face like it might help her racing thoughts. The mirror shows her exactly what she feared – swollen lips, marks forming on her neck, hair a mess from his hands.

"Get it together," she mutters to her reflection, fanning her heated face. Her body's still humming from his touch, wanting things her mind isn't quite ready for.

This is what she's wanted – being with him, waking up in his arms, feeling his kisses. But that next step? Giving him something she's never given anyone? It feels huge, especially when things aren't completely settled.

She needs to talk to William properly. Needs to make things official with Aurélien before she even thinks about taking that step. Needs to-

"I thought I said not to move?"

His voice in the doorway makes her jump. He's leaning against the frame looking entirely too good for this early, eyes dark as they track over her appearance – his shirt riding up her thighs, her kiss-bruised lips, the way she's clearly trying to calm herself down.

"I needed a minute," she manages, gripping the counter behind her.

"To overthink?" He steps into the bathroom, and suddenly the space feels much smaller. "To talk yourself out of this?"

"Aurélien..."

"Tell me what you're afraid of." His voice goes soft as he stops in front of her. "Is it me?"

"No," she says quickly, because that's one thing she's sure of. "It's... I've never..."

The change in his expression is immediate – something dark and possessive flooding his features as understanding hits. His pupils dilate, jaw clenching like he's physically restraining himself.

"You've never been with anyone."

It's not a question, but she nods anyway, heat flooding her cheeks. She watches his throat work as he swallows, notices how his fingers flex at his sides.

Lord. She thought he was possessive before, but the way he's looking at her now? Like she's something precious and tempting all at once? She might have just created a monster.

"Ma puce," his voice is rougher now, deeper. "We don't have to do anything you're not ready for."

"But you're used to-"

"I'm used to nothing that matters." His hand cups her face, thumb tracing her bottom lip with new purpose. "This? Us? Being your first?" His eyes are almost black now. "That matters."

"I need to talk to William first," she admits. "Need to make things... clear."

"I know." He presses his forehead to hers, but there's something different in his touch now – more controlled, like he's holding himself back. "And we need to do this right. No rushing."

The relief that floods through her is immediate. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." His smile is soft but his eyes still hold that new darkness. "Though you might need to stop looking at me like that if you want me to behave."

"Like what?"

"Like you want to kiss me again. Because knowing what I know now?" He exhales sharply. "My control only goes so far."

She slips past him, very aware of how his eyes follow her movement with new intensity. At the door she pauses, looking back at him.

"Aurélien?"

"Hm?"

"Thank you."

His smile is everything, but there's something predatory in it now. Something that says when she's ready, when she's his, nothing will hold him back.

She's definitely created a monster.

But maybe that's not such a bad thing.

******************************************************

Making breakfast feels different with Aurélien watching her every move like she's prey. He's sitting at the kitchen island, coffee untouched, eyes tracking her as she moves around his kitchen in his clothes.

"You're staring," she says finally, cracking eggs into a bowl.

"Can't help it." His voice still holds that new edge. "Thinking about how no one's touched you. How no one's seen you like I have."

The eggs nearly slip from her hands. "Aurélien…"

"Tell me something," he leans forward, elbows on the counter. "How has no one…?"

"It just never happened." She focuses very intently on whisking. "Never felt right."

"And now?"

The question hangs heavy between them. She pours the eggs into the pan, finally meeting his gaze.

"Now feels… different. But also scary."

"Why scary?"

"Because you're…" she gestures vaguely at him, "you. With all your experience and models and-"

"Stop." He's around the counter before she can blink, caging her against it. "None of that matters. What matters is that when you're ready, when you're mine properly…" His fingers trace her jaw. "I'll make it perfect for you."

Her heart's definitely trying to escape her chest. "That's kind of the scary part."

"What is?"

"How much I want it to be you." She swallows hard. "But also… I'm not built like the girls you usually date."

His brow furrows. "What do you mean?"

"Come on, Aurélien." She gestures at herself, at how his shorts are stretched across her hips. "I'm not exactly model size. And when people find out about us…" She trails off, thinking about the headlines, the social media comments, the inevitable comparisons.

"Look at me." His voice is firm. "You really think I care about that?"

"The media will."

"Fuck the media." His hands find her waist, spanning it possessively. "You're exactly my type. Always have been."

"But-"

"No buts." He pulls her closer. "You think I haven't noticed every curve? Haven't thought about how perfect you'd feel under me? How much I want to-"

"The eggs are burning," she cuts him off, face flaming.

He lets her turn back to the stove but stays pressed against her back. "We're not done talking about this."

"About my virginity or my insecurities?"

"Both." His lips find her neck. "Because clearly you don't see what I see."

"And what's that?"

"Perfection." His hands slide down to her hips. "Curves that drive me crazy. Intelligence that challenges me. And the fact that no one's touched you?" His grip tightens, the sound he makes is almost primitive. "Makes me want to show you exactly how perfect you are."

"Aurélien…"

"When you're ready," he promises. "When everything's settled. When you're officially mine."

The possessiveness in his voice should probably worry her. Instead, it makes her feel… safe? Wanted?

"The eggs are definitely burning now."

His laugh is warm against her skin. "Let them. We'll order in."

"You have training-"

"We have time."

And maybe that's what she needed to hear.

That he wants all of her – curves, inexperience, insecurities and all.

His breath is hot against her ear as he pulls her back against his chest, voice dropping to that dangerous register that makes her knees weak.

"Let me tell you how this is going to go," he murmurs, one hand splayed across her stomach. "The first time? I'll be gentle. Take care of you properly." She can barely breathe, especially when his lips brush her ear with his next words: "But after that? You'll never ache for another dick besides mine."

The crude promise sends heat straight through her. Before she can process it, he's straightening up, moving away from her, and licking his lips in a way that should be illegal in at least twelve countries.

"We need to stop by your apartment before training." His eyes are dark with promise. "Get you proper clothes."

And then – lord have mercy – he actually smacks her ass before turning off the stove and heading upstairs to get dressed, leaving her gripping the counter for support.

Her virgin self is definitely not equipped for this new possessive Aurélien.

The Ethiopian pop-up restaurant is exactly the kind of place William would've taken Leila – all warm ambiance and cultural significance. But tonight he's here with Kemi, the journalist he met some weeks ago, and something about it feels… right.

He'd found her card while cleaning out his wallet, remembered how easy their conversation had flowed that day. The text was casual: Heard about this Ethiopian spot. Thought you might want to check it out?

Her response was quick but measured: As friends?

And honestly? That's exactly what he needs right now. Because yeah, he likes Leila – how could he not? But he's not blind. He sees how she looks at Aurélien, recognizes a battle that was lost before it began.

The restaurant itself is a masterpiece of pop-up ingenuity. Traditional mesobs dot the space, these intricately woven tables that make sharing food intimate but casual. The aroma of berbere and fresh coffee fills the air.

"Have you had Ethiopian before?" Kemi asks as they settle at their mesob.

"A few times in London. You?"

"My best friend is Ethiopian. Her mama practically raised me on doro wat." She smiles at his impressed look. "What? Surprised a journalist knows her food?"

"Surprised you're not taking notes for an article."

Her laugh is warm, genuine. "Not everything is a story, William."

The way she says his name – not Wilo, not Saliba – feels refreshing.

Their server brings out a spread that makes his nutritionist's stress levels spike from miles away: doro wat rich with complex spices, tender kitfo that melts on the tongue, various wots arranged like art on fresh injera bread.

"The trick," Kemi demonstrates, tearing off a piece of injera, "is to get the perfect ratio of bread to sauce."

She's right – the flavors explode when balanced properly. It's the kind of food that demands presence, attention.

"You know," she says as they share another piece of injera, "it's okay to take time."

"Time?"

"To heal. To move forward." Her eyes are knowing. "To let go."

And maybe that's what this is – not letting go of Leila exactly, but of the idea of her. Of what could have been if timing and hearts had aligned differently.

"You're pretty wise for a journalist," he teases.

"And you're pretty honest for a footballer." She wipes her fingers delicately. "Most would pretend they're fine."

"Are we having a therapy session over Ethiopian food?"

"Maybe." Her smile is gentle. "Or maybe I just recognize someone who needs a friend."

The server brings more injera, and they fall into easy conversation about everything and nothing – his childhood in France, her dreams of writing a novel, their shared love of art house films that make their friends fall asleep.

"This is nice," he says finally. "Just… this."

"Being friends?"

"Being real."

She nods, understanding. "No pressure to be anything else."

"Exactly."

They finish the meal with traditional coffee. Something in his chest has loosened, like he can breathe properly again.

"Thank you," he says as they walk out into the London night.

"For what?"

"For making it easy. To just… be."

Her smile is worth everything. "That's what friends are for."

He'll always care about Leila, but maybe it's time to care about his own heart too.

Starting with friendship. The rest can wait.

Sometimes the best endings are really beginnings in disguise.

...................tbd

[loving-family-poll]

Ultimate Incest Poll - Final

Propaganda under the cut:

Liam/Noel:

The Gallagher brothers have a very intense relationship that doesn't make any sense to the outside viewer unless one considers the possibility of incest. For 30 years now they have been utterly unhinged about one another in the public eye. Noel has often made incest jokes; Liam once said on-stage once "we had sex last night" referring to him and Noel. Even people writing in actual books and magazines have picked up on the vibes (some stuff that has been printed about them fully feels like it was written by tumblr incestinas except it's like. actual fucking journalists). Also there was this one time in 1996 where they kissed each other with tongue in front of 40 thousand people.

They have been described as “in love with each other” by both themselves and third parties. the lyrics “you’re my lover, i’m your brother.” they kissed with tongue at loch lomond in 1996 and have also been photographed/videoed kissing on the mouth other times. liam regularly groped noel onstage. liam’s entire twitter is just propaganda too. liam talked about impregnating noel once. noel frequently talks about how physically attractive liam is. liam claims that he’s noel’s muse

their song guess god thinks im abel has the lyrics "i could be your lover" while comparing themselves to you guessed it abel and cain. and like. a thousand more instances of them being weird about each other. also noel REALLY wanted a sister and he mentioned it quite a few times and said well liam IS basically a sister or something like that. normal behaviour

Liam literally called himself Noel's good boy on twitter, and called him god a few times after reunion. Noel said he loves make women cry and the only thing that's better is make Liam cry so he can laugh and call him a woman. They literally kissed with tongue and loch lomand is not their only kiss they have two more photos of different kissing to, they literally used the japan kiss video for reunion video. YES THEY DID THAT TF. Noel said they are head over heels in love and said it's illegal in many countries. Also Noel said Liam is like his ex-wife a few times or shit like those cunts are fucking crazy

Other people have described them as more like boyfriend/girlfriend than brothers and said they’re in love. someone on twitter asked liam “if you’re john lennon, who is noel?” and liam said “yoko ono.” another time someone said on twitter “you defo rimmed noel when you were younger” and liam replied “you jealous?"

Deeply weird about each other getting married (them not attending each other's wedding which occurred month apart and then getting divorce around the same time and they stayed at the same hotel for months), intense infamously love-hate relationship and is everyone's favorite soap opera, noel saying "on stage i just wanted him..there's only two of us that will ever get this", prominent theme of shame and crime and impossible dream in noel gallagher works, the elusive meaning of wonderwall which noel insisted is not about anyone but there's good amount of evidence that it referenced back to their childhood and their shared bedroom, liam having mental breakdown several times on twitter about noel, liam's my brother is getting a divorce playlist to which he shared with his 3 millions twitter followers, incest-baiting on main ever since the reunion, brother and lover being interchangeable for noel when writing lyrics, noel (allegedly) lying to liam that his girlfriend cheated on him in order to sabotage their relationship before oasis took off, liam hating noel's latest (ex) wife (sarah), noel writing "the owner of the star on stage" after liam's autograph and so many more insane shit

"[Liam] thinks all the songs are about him. He even thinks Wonderwall is about him." –Noel Gallagher (1997)

"It's all about me it always was and is" –Liam Gallagher (2023)

Japan kiss (kiss is at the end) loch lomand kiss

PLUS they’re back together after 14 years of estrangement! The narrative!

Cain/Abel:

the og brotherssss. invented murder.

Brothers inexorably tied together… brothers alone in a field, no witnesses but god… jealousy violence guilt sin… you get it.

Blueprint for violent older sibling & younger sibling relationships. Our beloved Cain complex comes from this story and where would we be without it? These two are the huge inspirations for both incestuous and non incestuous poetry, especially between brothers. Nothing represents the self destructiveness of incest more than these guys. Also I know they frotted in those fields, Eve told me.

[1296-very-good-year]

The thing that bugs me most about Caitlyn's arc is how obviously she was forced into the position Jayce had been set up to fill.

Jayce was the de facto head of the council that Sheriff Marcus (keep that in mind) reported directly to for city security.

He was the Golden Boy, Man of Progress, beloved by everyone in Piltover for the invention of Hextech! Charismatic! Handsome!

They didn't NEED martial law. After Jayce emerged unscathed from the terrorist attack, most of the council dead, Piltover would have been falling over itself to give him sole authority regardless of him wanting to quit the council right before the attack.

And Jayce should have been beside himself with rage! Jinx turned his invention, his dream, into a weapon that nearly killed him and the two people he loves most! Mel and Viktor, at the same time! She ruined his peace deal! (And killed Silco, but for some reason Cait and Vi never tell anyone about that)

But nope. He's just sad, and tries to talk Caitlyn down from wanting to kill Jinx.... Like wtf!! Where did his passion go?? His recklessness? Caitlyn got it all.

Let's say he's still reeling after killing the kid in his shimmer raid and fearing the consequences of violent intervention. Fine. But then there is the attack at the memorial. Now it's bigger than Jinx, and his entire city is threatened.

Picture the end of episode 1, with the council gathering in the basement after the memorial attack and it is JAYCE marching in to announce the strike team, with Caitlyn and Vi beside him, with their shiny Hextech weapons.

They didn't need to give Caitlyn political power. She could have become Sheriff under Jayce! She would have had nearly the EXACT same scenes. She doesn't get a single moment where she acts like a political leader in Act 2 anyway!

We never see her do anything the sheriff wouldn't do, which tells me this was a late change to cram all the remaining story into one season, to every character's detriment. If Caitlyn had just been following Jayce's orders until running into Vi, her flip would not have felt so jarring.

She loves Jayce as an older brother, she's grieving her mother, she and Jayce could have BOTH been manipulated by Ambessa. Let Caitlyn be at the forefront of all the awful shit she's ORDERED to do, instead of ordering it HERSELF.

By giving her ultimate authority instead, the few clipped scenes of her redemption, her "I know" and letting Jinx go free are nowhere near enough to get the audience back on her side. As evidenced by how many people hated her arc this season.

[tubbytarchia]

Ngl I kinda hate it when you talk about lizzie cause you always talk about this version of her and the fandom that's so utterly foreign to me as a lizzie fan, it always feels like a damned if you do damned if you don't scenario where she isn't allowed to interact with men and ignoring all the depth of her character in order to overanalyze specific events or headcanons in a vacuum and then saying it's ignoring her character and misogyny, as well as ignoring the irl misogyny that shapes the cc's choices for their c's. Big sister and protector is a title she bestowed upon herself and it should neither be dismissed as "just that one time " (because so much of everyone else's characterization is based on things that were "that one time" and it is also something both her and jimmy choose to quite fondly call back to) nor incongruent with her character at someone who loves a good "i meant to do that" and self-agrandizing herself. It feels more like you have to ignore several years worth of both hers and jimmy's story and characterization and also the more problematic realities of the situation (such as it being lizzies second season, while it had been jimmy's 5th season of an incredbly prominent ongoing plot point, and that lizzie's external interactions of note were, outside of our power and for various reasons, primarily with men, among other things) to boil the whole situation down to its most barest of bones of "people make lizzies death about jimmy". Which I find an untrue twisting of the actual concept most of the time but acknowledge it is sometimes simplified to, and there are aspects of misogyny in lizzie's portrayal, but you frame it in a way as if the concept itself is inherently misogynistic and purely a fandom issue. The fact is that no matter who it was, the first first death that wasnt jimmy was always going to be a bit about jimmy, there is no avoiding it and no seasonal plot that was going to overcome that fact, and lizzie is a good friend whos become his sister who explicitely had a plot about wanting and failing to protect him, who had a significant interaction with him not long prior where he killed her accidentally, and died while specifically targetting a man who was both jimmys tormenter and joels rival whom she randomly selected to be her target, and died due to a tripping failure which has already been previously interpretted in the past as being tied to fate, and the in game reactions being cpnfusion, happy/shocked jimmy managed to not be out first, and swearing to avenge her death. You'd be hard pressed to believe these things wouldn't be still true and play out the same if she was a different gender, and most of them would still happen even if she was an entirely different player. Nevermind the copious different interpretations that fall within the framing of it as a seablings moment, from wanting to give an accidental death more meaning and connecting dots (because thats most of what fandom does with an ad libbed story like the life series to begin with), to simply enjoying the poetic irony of both seablings being the first out, lizzie showing her true cringfail colours now that shes returned to the series, to tying it into the fact that yes she didn't do it onl purpose, but she absolutely would tell people and even herself that she did just to retain her dignity in the same way a cat who missed a toy stops chasing it and starts grooming themselves like they never meant to go after it in the first place.

And also, like, you ARE a Jimmy person also, so I'm not surprised you primarily interacted with stuff that involved Jimmy. As a Lizzie fan I saw plenty that was to do primarily with Lizzie, and yeah there was a significant amount that involved Jimmy. I didn't see any one of the people who complained about that fact actually go on to make works without Jimmy. I did see other Lizzie fans before and after making such works, and the works that did involve Jimmy being works with deapth and love for their specific relationship, stories, and personalities. I saw plenty of people who hadn't watched Lizzie at all suddenly become interested and retroactively watch her series, and of course the works the made before doing so weren't centred on her, because they were coming from different povs and didn't know as much, and their works after became more in-depth and come out the gate swinging during wild life where she stole the spotlight for much of the season.

I don't know as much about Pearl and Gem's fandoms. But I do know that Pearl is frequently treated as a wet cat and a little crazy, but also she loves playing particular characters like postwoman and cleaning lady that specifically utilize their responsibility to enact chaos through malicious compliance. And Gem takes open pride at being smarter and less ridiculous than everyone else even while actively doing the same things as them, she loves going "youre crazy!... I'm in." And she's pulled a "stupid boys" move several times. Which is to say, whether you consider it a product of misogyny or not, it is an aspect of their characters, they don't live in a cultural vacuum and by the nature of the series where they are only partly roleplaying and each character exists within the framework of their cc's biases, you cannot just analyze their actions like its a typical narrative with a single author you can point to and say they poorly write women. And you cannot blame fandom when these aspects of their character are represented, and while some do do so to the exclusion of the rest, 5am Pearl is the only life series plushie for a reason. Nevermind the difficulties of analyzing what people an fandom think of characters based off of the popularity of certain art and umbrella narrative concepts from fanwork posted excitedly in the moment without going to each individual and asking them what their full thoughts are on a character assuming they have the ability to articulate their opinions and thoughts properly. I'm sure those people who complained about Lizzie's death being tied to Jimmy had a LOT of thoughts about Lizzie, but as I said none of them actually bore fruit in the form of fanworks. Most people do not have time or ability to convey complex ideas, what you see at any given time when searching through fanart and short text posts in particular are the most resonant, dramatic, small thoughts and moments that touched something in someone enpugh to inspire.

That is to say, as a Lizzie fan, one of the reasons I love her is the exact trits that lead to her choosing to become Jimmy's big sister in empires 1 in the way that she does. Her paper thin often facade of respectability and dignity, her failures despite it, her talent for mixing drama and comedy, her ability make up stories that often agrandize herself, her instant chemistry with most anyone, her ditziness and distractedness, her ability confidently declare facts even when theyre completely false, her ability to tie coincidences together into a coherent story. And absolutely all these things are also relevant to why I and others find framing her secret life death in a seablings light to be compelling. Personally, for me, I love that her death connects her to others when her time in secret life was so lonely. It can be bother angsty and, because these games don't end at the persons death, comforting and sweet. And I don't know anyone who was compelled by the potential character connection who wasn't also compelled and even directly spurred on by her as an individual. To boil it down to "she died for a man's story" is both untrue and removing it from its context, the especially when half the context is 2 narratives Lizzie herself crafted for herself and the result was something she herself enjoed enough to play into to craft a 3rd narrative in the next series.

Anyways... I know this won't change your mind. I don't expect it to. I'm just so tired of shallow takes and people who aren't even Lizzie fans talking about Lizzie's narrative through the context of the small snippet of what they see from other non-Lizzie fans based off immediate gut reactions that often stifle the way people talk about the women in this series to ironically complain about how people talk about women in this series. The feminist analysis in this fandom feels so... shallow. Like it begins and ends with the bechdel test as applied to more conventional works of fiction. Big sister bad, women interact primarily with men bad, people see women as responsible because misogyny. No further depth or context despite the endless paragraphs dedicated to these ideas, especially once theyre disseminated out to use against other fans to tell them theyre creating fanworks wrong.

Because of how politely this is written, it took me a few rereads and external evaluation, but I recognize that you're criticizing me for the things I criticize. All your ask really boils down to, is defending fandom practises that I criticize because I disagree with them. Like that of making Lizzie out to be a one-note character. You make good points, you speak the truth. The fandom IS like this. And that's why I criticize it. Because I don't like it. You're absolutely right that you haven't changed my mind

People are allowed to have their fun, I do not police people. I do not maintag my opinions 90% of the time. I'm allowed to voice my disagreements. You pointed out that a lot of fandom goers just don't care to dwell deeper into characters, that's fine. But I do

I think it says something when you have to make Lizzie's character about a relationship that was canon in ESMP1 and bears little to no actual presence elsewhere like the Life series. I don't care whether people headcanon her and Jimmy as siblings even in traffic, the issue is that she gets little to no characterization outside of that in SL, a series in which their only notable interaction was Jimmy killing her. Lizzie deserves an identity outside of "choosing to be Jimmy's sister". (She'd also gone out of her way to try and kill Scott because of Joel, it wasn't random.) And this type of treatment is detrimental to Jimmy too. Just as the misogyny in the fandom is always detrimental to the men also. Quoting one of my evaluation friends: "They aren't inherently wrong, you cant detach the men from the story and have it be the same but also to take an already interesting moment and story beat and just start piling unnecessary 'sibling' stuff onto it kind of ruins the drama and tragedy of the death itself"

Of course women can have meaningful connections with the men. It's not bad or misogynistic. I talk about Pearl and Scott's dynamic constantly and have never seen nor received a complaint about Pearl's character being made to be all about a man. Think about the relevance between those two vs Jimmy and Lizzie in the Life series

I talk about Lizzie frequently because I like and care about her character. I'm not saying that the people I disagree with don't. Clearly you care a lot too. The sentiment that people are just creating based on something that left a big enough impact on them to inspire, eg Lizzie's SL death, is very fair, but I can still disagree with it. I mourn that more people don't take that newfound interest to indulge in Lizzie's POV more, and that because of people's tendency to absorb characterization from the fandom to feed back into itself, that's all a lot of them know and care to learn about ("Lizzie taking a bullet for Jimmy" and all) and how so many characters (not just the women) in my opinion end up being absurdly one-note in their analysis and opinion pieces for being players in a death game (+ the practise of often shunning people who dare touch upon anything less desirable or popular in their analysis like abuse)

If it were a guy in Lizzie's shoes, characterized the same way that I disagree with - I would still disagree with it

I've explained it before but no, it's not misogynistic to credit the women for their successes, to point out when they're smart or protective. I see it as misogynistic when women exclusively are being accredited to successes that are not exclusive to them constantly to label them as the leaders of their groups, labelling them motherly or big sisterly solely because they're thought to be better than their male counterparts, viewing all the women as the best players specifically, etc

Lizzie's death was always going to be tied to Jimmy, yes, by the fandom, and I just don't like that personally. I don't want to resign myself to something because it "was going to happen anyway". I don't want to resign myself to approving of what little Lizzie gets in the way of the fandom because it's better than getting nothing. I shouldn't have to settle for more canary analogies than actual Lizzie centric content that barely exists. And I mean actual Lizzie centric content, I haven't seen any uptick of it that you speak of. That's all any of this really comes down to. You and I might both be avid fans of Lizzie's character but we're gonna have to disagree

[theoneandonlysemla]

Today, Sujamma wants to know about your OC's moral compass. What God do they worship and why? Do they engage in any illicit activities (drugs, etc?) Any holy activities, like healing in the name of a certain divine? Have they committed any crimes, or are there any crimes they actively despise? Feel free to talk about anything and everything along these lines.

Tagged by @sanza-17, @lillxart and @skyrim-forever

Tagging: @friend-of-giants @sheirukitriesfandom @hircines-hunter @dirty-bosmer

I'm late because of a stressfull weekend, but hey, better late than never! I choose Nevri and Canmal for this! Morotar would be interesting too, but that mer needs a break from my attention :P

First, Nevri:

Nevri's moral compass is uhhh kinda broken I guess. At heart she really is a good person, even if she thinks the exact opposite of herself. But her moral are a little... foggy. And they bend to what fits best in the situation sometimes. As a former champion of Boethiah she has worshipped Boethiah in the most cruel form, by bloodsport in the fighting pits of the sacellum. It was her home for five years and she had accepted the daily killing as her new normal. Before she got there, she was never really worshipping gods or deadra. But fun fact: As she grew up in Windhelm, she adresses the gods as the Nine. Mostly in curses tho. Drugs, apart from the occasional alcohol consumption were never her thing. In part 2 of DwD she came into contact with other drugs, but more as an aid for sleeping (Teldryn gave her those). Funny thing is, that even after the entire shitshow of part 1, she still worships Boethiah and sees her as the one who saved her life. So she still sometimes prays to her. Crimes tho... Is it murder if you're in a cult whose entire thing is murder? I guess. So murder is a crime she committed :P Also by now three attacks on Thalmor soldiers: one biting of a finger tip, one stab in the liver and a headbutt to the nose. Otherwise... how legal are those cult activities? Not easy to say :P Oh and thievery as a useful tool for her. She has done a fair share of it, being quite the good sneaker. She despises any crimes agains her friends (obviously) and she is also a very big hater of anything that is around sexual assault. In fact, she has killed a man for it. So... Can you despise it any more? And now Canmal! Canmal too has never really been a man of faith, watching as he grew up what faith let people do in Windhelm. When he got closer with his fiancé Jirocian, he got into his worship of Mara a bit. But not as much as Jirocian does, it's just some little habits that he builds. He wants nothing to do with the Daedra, especially after that entire thing he had watched Nevri go through. Canmal is my sheltered baby and does only drink an occasional mead or two, maybe some booze when it's "necessary". He does not like being drunk, it mostly makes him dizzy and he hates the feeling of being intoxicated and not being able to control his body anymore. Crimes are another thing. Before he set out with Nevri to clean up her mess, he had a business running in which he sold totally lega aquired Dwemer artefacts. (Tomb raiding and grave robbing, that's what he did.) With his talent of bending the truth and being very charming while doing it, he got a good wage from it! As long as you don't hurt anyone he tends to overlook other illegal activities.

[kingquentin]

i just think that if you’re quitting a show because of a minor character that’s been in maybe 12 of 114 episodes then maybe you weren’t actually a fan of the show

[mylove-thresher]

I keep trying to post shit I been drawing lately BUT I CANT. I CANNOT BRING MYSELF TO. THE WORMS INSIDE MY HEAD DO NOT APPROVE OF THEM. I CANNOT FUCKING DRAW. PUT ME DOWN. I DONT FEEL THE SILLY IN ME.

[bunnyboy-juice]

spent the first hour and change at work deleting some old files and am having a grand ol time laughing at myself for not realizing i was a lesbian sooner

[sheliesshattered]

somehow, I don't know how, but somehow sewing machines always know when you're nearly done with a project and pick that exact moment to throw a hissy fit

[orcelito]

Watching the Obito Reveal in naruto and while I still want to punch this guy in the face, I'm rly enjoying seeing how emotional Kakashi is getting AND how supportive Guy is being to him. Like Fuck You, obito, guy is here and he's better than you in every fucking way. Up to and including giving kakashi the support he deserves ❤️

[longagoitwastuesday]

So so indebted to u for posting those lovely illustrations from Cyrano <333 & even more so for yr tags!! I'm completely in love w yr analysis, please feel free to ramble as long as u wish! Browsing through yr Cyrano de Bergerac tag has given me glimpses of so many adaptations & translations I'd never heard of before! I'll be watching the Solès version next, which I have only discovered today through u ^_^ As for translations, have u read many/all of them? I've only encountered the Renauld & Burgess translations in the wild, & I was curious to hear yr translation thoughts that they might guide my decision on which one I buy first (not necessarily Renauld or Burgess ofc). Have a splendid day & sorry for the likespam! 💙

Sorry for the delay. Don't mind the likespam, I'm glad you enjoyed my tags about Cyrano, and that they could contribute a bit to a further appreciation of the play. I loved it a lot, I got obsessed with it for months. It's always nice to know other people deeply love too that which is loved haha I hope you enjoy the Solès version, it may well be my favourite one!

About translations, I'm touched you're asking me, but I don't really know whether mine is the best opinion to ask. I have read... four or five English translations iirc, the ones I could find online, and I do (and especially did, back when I was reading them) have a lot of opinions about them. However, nor English nor French are my first languages (they are third and fourth respectively, so not even close). I just read and compare translations because that's one of my favourite things to do.

The fact is that no translation is perfect, of course. I barely remember Renauld's, but I think it was quite literal; that's good for understanding the basics of the text, concepts and characters, but form is subject, and there's always something that escapes too literal translations. Thomas and Guillemard's if I recall correctly is similar to Hooker's in cadence. It had some beautiful fragments, some I preferred over Hooker's, but overall I think to recall I liked Hooker's more. If memory serves, Hooker's was the most traditionally poetic and beautiful in my opinion. Burgess' is a whole different thing, with its perks and drawbacks.

Something noticeable in the other translations is that they are too... "epic". They do well the poetic, sorrowful, grief stricken, crushed by regrets aspects of Cyrano and the play in general, but they fall quite short in the funny and even pathetic aspects, and that too is key in Cyrano, both character and play. Given the characteristics of both languages, following the cadence of the French too literally, with those long verses, makes an English version sound far too solemn at times when the French text isn't. Thus Burgess changes the very cadence of the text, adapting it more to the English language. This translation is the one that best sets the different moods in the play, and as I said before form is subject, and that too is key: after all, the poetic aspect of Cyrano is as much true as his angry facet and his goofy one. If Cyrano isn't funny he isn't Cyrano, just as he wouldn't be Cyrano without his devotion to Roxane or his insecurities; Cyrano is who he is precisely because he has all these facets, because one side covers the other, because one trait is born from another, because one facet is used as weapon to protect the others, like a game of mirrors and smoke. We see them at different points through the play, often converging. Burgess' enhances that. He plays with the language itself in form and musicality, with words and absences, with truths masking other truths, with things stated but untold, much like Cyrano does. And the stage directions, poetic and with literary value in their own right in a way that reminded me of Valle Inclán and Oscar Wilde, interact with the text at times in an almost metatextual dimension that enhances that bond Cyrano has with words, giving them a sort of liminal air and strengthening that constant in the play: that words both conceal and unveil Cyrano, that in words he hides and words give him away.

But not all is good, at all. Unlike Hooker, Burgess reads to me as not entirely understanding every facet of the characters, and as if he didn't even like the play all that much, as if he had a bit of a disdainful attitude towards it, and found it too mushy. Which I can understand, but then why do you translate it? In my opinion the Burgess' translation does well bending English to transmit the different moods the French text does, and does pretty well understanding the more solemn, cool, funny, angry, poetic aspects of Cyrano, but less so his devotion, vulnerability, insecurities and his pathetism. It doesn't seem to get Roxane at all, how similar she is to Cyrano, nor why she has so many admirers. It does a very poor job at understanding Christian and his value, and writes him off as stupid imo. While I enjoyed the language aspect of the Burgess translation, I remember being quite angry at certain points reading it because of what it did to the characters and some changes he introduces. I think he did something very questionable with Le Bret and Castel-Jaloux, and I remember being incensed because of Roxane at times (for instance, she doesn't go to Arras in his version, which is a key scene to show just how much fire Roxane has, and that establishes several parallels with Cyrano, in attitude and words, but even in act since she does a bit what Cyrano later does with the nuns in the last act), and being very angry at several choices about Christian too. While not explicitly stated, I think the McAvoy production and the musical both follow this translation, because they too introduce these changes, and they make Christian as a character, and to an extent the entire play, not make sense.

For instance, once such change is that Christian is afraid that Roxane will be cultured (McAvoy's version has that infamous "shit"/"fuck" that I detest), when in the original French it's literally the opposite. He is not afraid she will be cultured, he is afraid she won't, because he does love and appreciate and admires those aspects of her, as he appreciates and admires them in Cyrano. That's key! Just as Cyrano longs to have what Christian has, Christian wants the same! That words escape him doesn't mean he doesn't understand or appreciate them. The dynamics make no sense without this aspect, and Burgess (and the productions that directly or indirectly follow him) constantly erases this core trait of Christian.

Another key moment of Christian Burgess butchers is the scene in Arras in which Christian discovers the truth. Burgess writes their discussion masterfully in form, it's both funny and poignant, but it falls short in concept: when Cyrano tells him the whole discussion about who does Roxane love and what will happen, what they'll do, is academic because they're both going to die, Christian states that dying is his role now. This destroys entirely the thing with Christian wanting Roxane to have the right to know, and the freedom to choose, or to refuse them both. As much as Cyrano proclaims his love for truth and not mincing words even in the face of authority, Cyrano is constantly drunk on lies and mirages, masks and metaphors. It's Christian who wants it all to end, the one who wants real things, the one who wants to risk his own happiness for the chance of his friend's, as well as for the woman he loves to stop living in a lie. That is a very interesting aspect of Christian, and another aspect in which he is written as both paralleling and contrasting Cyrano. It's interesting from a moral perspective and how that works with the characters, but it's also interesting from a conceptual point of view, both in text and metatextually: what they hold most dear, what they most want, what most fulfills them, what they most fear, their different approaches to life, but also metatextually another instance of that tears/blood motif and its ramifications constant through the whole text. Erasing that climatic decision and making him just simply suicidal erases those aspects of Christian and his place in the Christian/Cyrano/Roxane dynamic, all for plain superficial angst, that perhaps hits more in the moment, but holds less meaning.

Being more literal, and more solemn, Hooker's translation (or any of the others, but Hooker's seems to love the characters and understand them) doesn't make these conceptual mistakes. Now, would I not recommend reading Burgess' translation? I can't also say that. I had a lot of fun reading it, despite the occasional anger and indignation haha Would I recommend buying it? I recommend you give an eye to it first, if you're tempted and can initially only buy one.

You can read Burgess' translation entirely in archive.com. You can also find online the complete translations of Renauld, Hooker and Thomas and Guillemard. I also found a fifth one, iirc, but I can't recall it right now (I could give a look). You could read them before choosing, or read your favourite scenes and fragments in the different translations, and choose the one in which you like them better. That's often what I do.

Edit: I've checked to make sure and Roxane does appear in Arras in the translation. It's in the introduction in which it is stated that she doesn't appear in the production for which the translation was made. The conceptualisation of Roxane I criticise and that in my opinion is constant through the text does stay, though.

[btvs]

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[lesbiansanemi]

I have started to accept I am a bit more (re a lot more) psychologically unstable than I thought for a long time and man…. I’m tired of it

[13eyond13]

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