#the fact both are considered geniuses

[eksvnd]

Reference:

[raptorific]

IMPORTANT FACTS TO CONSIDER:

The Paddy's Pub crew has no lower limit to how morally depraved their actions can be, but they have a hard upper limit on their capabilities. There's nothing they won't do, but also many things they can't do. They are horrible, but they're also idiots whose plans always backfire on them, even if it leaves a trail of destruction in their wake.

The Wilkerson family has no upper limit to their capabilities, but hard red lines they're unwilling to cross morally. There's nothing they can't do, but there's a lot they won't do. They're fundamentally decent people, but their lives are a vortex of chaos and destruction because they're geniuses with no ability to tell the difference between good ideas and bad ideas, and Failure never stops their worst ideas from being executed perfectly.

Effectively, the difference between them is that if they were both trying to build a killer robot, the gang's robot would cause disaster for others because they did a bad job making it, and the family's robot would cause disaster for them because they did a good job making it

The Gang is working with functionally unlimited resources, but they have very little willpower and they are cowards

The Family is working with next to no resources, but are unable to let things go, ever, no matter how trivial, and are also chronically unable to anticipate consequences to their actions at all

IMPORTANT RULE:

If you think one side should be able to call on a supporting character, the other side must also get an equivalent supporting character, i.e. if The Gang gets Rickety Cricket or Artemis, then The Family gets Lois' Mother Ida or Francis' Wife Piama, etc

[grandline-fics]

Hi can i request a Luffy x fem!reader where the pair are just two dumb idiots together like the reader has a personality like his (overly enthusiastic and optimistic) and they do everything together but they both dont realize that the like eachither (bc again dumb idiots) and the crew works tgt to make them both realize and get them to confess to eachother?

DESCRIPTION: You’re just as clueless as Luffy and the crew have to intervene to make you both realise your feelings

WARNINGS: none

CHARACTERS: Luffy

WORDS: 1,734

A/N:  Thank you for this request. I honestly didn't know how to make this work in the beginning but I'm happy with how this fell into place. Hopefully you like what I came up with

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

MASTERLIST | PROMPT LIST

———————

Once upon a time the Strawhat crew believed that their Captain was one of a kind. They took his energetic nature, clear motivation to only do what he wanted as his current mood directed without any thought beyond that, stubbornness, and still unwavering joy in the face of most things as the concoction that could only be Luffy. However they were all collectively shocked when you crash landed into their lives and promptly made them realise that everything that made Luffy his loveable yet exhausting self was also very clearly what made you you too and when you and Luffy first interacted it was like two points finally connecting, never to separate. 

All their adventures before you came along seemed like such a breeze, how naive they had been in those days to consider it difficult to keep up with Luffy’s optimism and spontaneity. After you joined the crew if felt like double the work. It didn’t matter if they had eyes on one of the chaotic pair you two created because without the vigilant supervision over both of you, it only assured a disaster that could have been avoided. It never mattered to you or Luffy because at the end of the day you two would be laughing and telling the drained crew that it had worked out in the end and that there had been nothing to worry about. After a while it wasn’t the lack of thought to the crew and their wants of an easy time on an island to explore that frustrated them, it was the fact that you and Luffy still hadn’t realised you had feelings for each other and continued to act like oblivious morons every single day while also so clearly showing them and anyone else you interacted that you were two idiots in love. 

“They’re doing it on purpose.” Nami muttered one day, arms folded tightly across her chest as she glared at you and Luffy running about the deck of the Sunny, laughing and chasing Chopper without a care in the world. Suddenly Luffy grabbed one of the masts and propelled himself through the air. Chopped managed to dodge but you ended up being the one Luffy tackled loudly onto the ground. There was a beat of silence before the two of you burst out into loud laughter once more, doing nothing to move out of the position you were currently in. “They have to be doing it on purpose. They’re evil geniuses.”

“Don’t give them so much credit. They’re both just blind to how they really feel.” Zoro disagreed from his spot in the shade, opening his good eye to look you and Luffy’s way. “Don’t know how many times the stupid cook and I have brought it up. Luffy just believes he loves them the same way he loves us as his crew.”

“Oh no, that’s a very different kind of love compared to what he feels for us.” Usopp said with a small shake of his head. He supposed that the only reason this whole matter hadn’t been resolved yet was because of your personality. Anyone else would have been more aware of the difference and clear feelings and actually talked things out with their Captain. Everyone seemed to let out a collective sigh of exhaustion and resignation. All of them wishing-more for their own selfish peace of mind more than anything- there was something to be done and help you both realise your feelings.

It wasn’t until a week later that the crew stopped at a new island to relax and enjoy while they waited for the Log Pose to set. While some took to resupplying the ships, others took to exploring. You weren’t exactly annoyed that you hadn’t gone with Luffy, you were just confused at why Usopp and Nami insisted on you joining them on their shopping trip and no one else coming with them. Had they had a fight with some of the others on the crew that you weren’t aware of? You certainly hoped not, you didn’t like the crew fighting amongst themselves. 

“Are you sure this is going to work?” Nami whispered to Usopp as they remained a couple paces away from you. Operation: Divide and Conquer might have had a good name but the strategy didn’t seem all that good except try and get you to confess to Luffy by either making you jealous or straight up lying. If they couldn’t get through to you, they would try the same tactic with Luffy.

“It has to!” Usopp hissed back, quickly throwing you a nervous smile when you looked over your shoulder with a curious tilt of your shoulder. “Hey let’s go in here!” He called out in a panic, pointing to the closest store. You stopped and shrugged, going along with whatever the sniper wanted. You had nothing to buy on this trip so you were just here for company and fun. Still this wasn’t what you’d thought would be on his or Name’s shopping list.

“Is someone getting married?” You asked, looking around the store filled with elegant gowns, robes and suits. Suddenly your eyes lit up as you hurried to hug Nami and Usopp tightly, so this was why they had insisted on you coming with them. You couldn’t fully understand why they were being so secretive but it didn’t matter given how overcome with happiness for them. “You guys! I’m so happy for you both! Have you told the others?! Are you getting married on the island?” 

“WHAT?! NO! ” Nami blurted out in shock while Usopp could only shriek at the implication. “We’re not getting married!”

“Oh…that’s a shame.” Your smile fell slightly. “I always thought you two made a nice couple. Guess I was wrong. So who is getting married?” You asked, staring intently on your friends who stammered and struggled to think of something. Operation: Divide and Conquer was crashing and burning around them and their brains all but blanked as together they rambled together while you patiently listened. Neither of them really knew what they’d told you or knew if it made any sort of sense but you seemed to accept it and continued with your day with the frazzled pair.

When you returned to the Sunny later that day you went to your usual perch of the railing near Sunny’s head. Silently you thought over what Usopp and Nami told you and were beginning to work it out in your head when Luffy appeared beside you with a bright grin. “Hey, what’s got you so frustrated looking?” He asked, oblivious to the rest of the crew on the deck; all of them pretending to go about their business when they were only making sure they were close enough to hear. 

“I’m thinking about Usopp.” You explained in a dazed tone, absently running your fingers along your bottom lip, deep in thought. Luffy frowned slightly while different sets of eyes glanced Usopp’s way, all confused about what he and Nami did while they were alone with you. “I’m trying to work out this wedding.”

“Usopp’s getting married?” Luffy asked. On the one hand he was happy but on the other hand he thought Usopp would have told him personally. “To who?”

“That’s what I’m trying to work out.” You mumbled before taking a deep breath, deciding to start from the beginning. “Usopp’s enemy wants him to marry their princess to avoid a great battle but he doesn’t want a fight or to get married so he needs to make them think he’s already married so they don’t get angry right? He needs Sanji to cater the wedding, Brook to preform the music, and Zoro to be his bodyguard so they’re out. Nami said because she’s giving Usopp the money for the wedding that’s the only favour she’s doing and won’t marry him as well because that’s not fair. Usopp said he can’t marry Franky or Robin because they’re like his parents and Chopper’s a reindeer and that’s weird. Which leaves us.” 

The more you explained the situation the more Usopp and Nami shrank towards the floor out of despair and embarrassment. Why had you believed that nonsense enough to now relay it to the entire crew who were now looking at them in bafflement. Through it all Luffy hadn’t taken his eyes off of you. He didn’t want Usopp to be forced to be married to someone he didn’t like but it didn’t stop him from quickly turning on his heel and looking to his friend. “Usopp I’ll marry you!”

“You can’t marry me dumbass!” Usopp shouted back making Luffy glare, all but standing in front of you to block you from Usopp’s stare.

“Well you’re not allowed to marry them. So it’s me or the princess.” Luffy told him with defiance in his eyes.

“Why can’t he marry me?” You asked curiously while getting to your feet, watching Luffy blink as he only now considered his fierce sense of protectiveness and possessiveness towards you. 

“Because I don’t want him to?” He suggested with a shrug. “I don’t want you to marry him, I don’t like it.”

“Well I don’t like you being married to Usopp.” You added, voicing your own reluctance and unhappiness at the thought of Luffy marrying…well anyone. There was a silent exchange between you and Luffy as though you were communicating in your own way through a look alone. Together you both grinned with a faint blush creeping across your cheeks as you both whipped your head towards Usopp and declared in unison.  “Usopp you’re marrying the princess.”

While it hadn’t been the grand romantic epiphany the crew had been expecting to witness, they could tell that a shift between you both had occurred. There was something a little more intimate between you both while you both remained your happy, energetic selves. No one on the crew had the heart to tell either of you that Usopp had been completely lying about the arranged marriage so they never mentioned it again. They were however all in agreement that if it ever was brought up it was to be brushed aside and explained as a story Usopp had been thinking of writing and nothing more. But from the looks of things slowly developing between you and Luffy they could all see that it was shaping up to having a happily ever after.  

[vatelixx]

On the concept of ‘want’, (part 2):

Spencer Reid x afab!BAU!reader (written with early-ish seasons Spencer in mind)

Part one here.

—> SMUT!!! and copious amounts of yearning and fluff, and like maybe some angst??? I wasn’t originally going to do a part 2 because it worked pretty well as a one shot, but I really liked their dynamic (and hyper fixated on it for HOURS), so here we are— it details the build up to their relationship, and then provides an epilogue to the end of part 1.

Warnings: sub spencer, corruption kink still present (but Spencer plays into it this time, what? who keeps writing that??? they need help???), greek mythology references and endless space facts (nerds), autistic Spencer (the way it should be), mean reader always (except she still for the life of her can’t be mean to Spencer, it’s those fucking brown eyes), begging, crying (pussy remains that good), praise kink, degrading names (slut, whore, because hello??? Spencer Reid breathes and he’s a slut to me), them being total losers for each other, they’re both still geniuses and they’re both still too domestic for my sanity, alcohol but no inebriated sex (a lot happens OKAY??), aftercare always!!

— brief brief mentions of rape in correlation to Greek Mythology (male Gods are disgusting)

w.c: 8k (im not mentally okay)

a/n: i wrote the smut and then had to take a cold shower (i cry for my digital footprint). i wanted to put this out on Spencer’s birthday, but I got distracted— i think he would be happy I dedicated all of my shots to him (and then had to explain that no he’s not actually a real person but rather a fictional character)

───────────────

Prequel, the build up, (pre ‘part I’):

Spencer is barely conscious, drifting in that half-way state, all tousled hair and messy clothes. He’s dishevelled, at best, cradling a coffee (too much sugar, limited caffeine). Early start, the sun has only begun to burn by the time he reaches his desk. Torture, it’s torture the way you linger, it makes his brain distort, fracture into a tangled mess of nothing. How is it scientifically possible that one’s presence alone can reduce his mind to static? He’s not sure whether he loves or hates the abrupt decline in his IQ.

7AM. There’s bags pooling beneath his eyes, crimson distressed shadows, insufficient sleep can hinder the brains ability to regulate emotion, attention. It’s fine. He’s fine.

To put it simply, you’re terrifying. A carefully crafted figment of intelligence. He wonders if you’ve ever pressed a knife to someone’s skin before, it’s more intimate than a bullet. Hands on. It’s not a morbid thought, he doesn’t consider himself that hedonistic. Jobs in the BAU are coveted, and yet, in despite of your age, you were offered to join. No strings attached, no extensive training— nearly a year of working alongside you has proven that you’re more qualified for this than anyone could’ve anticipated. Is it cruel to say you were made to analyse, to deceive and coerce the most callous minds?

It’s demeaning, sure. But there is nothing more to you than the job. You clock in, and your personality becomes bound, restrained, kept away from him.

He’s trying. They’re all trying; to accommodate you, to ease you into the team. Drinks after hours, even intoxicated, you’re meticulous at keeping yourself away from anything inherently personal.

But right now, you’re here, and you’re so pretty. “Early,” he groans, letting his face drop to the desk. He likes that you’re shifting closer to him, that out of everyone, the rare, celestial phenomenon, moments of vulnerability are reserved for him. They’re brief, and admittedly a little sharp around the edges, but Spencer is selfish in admitting that he wants them all to himself. To hoard them and gloat, because no one has ever chosen him first before.

And you, you justify this ‘friendship’ because you’re indisputably human, because you do need someone (even if you’re too proud to ever accept that), and of course it would be Spencer. You’re both too young to be here, skipping a multitude of stages in the rise to an FBI agent, trauma bonding over the weight of your scathed experiences. Plus, you share an element of difference; your brains are abnormal, wired in unique, distinctive ways in contrast to the average human. It makes sense. It’s logical.

“Too early.” you agree, shifting to lean against his desk. “Did you read that article I sent you? The one about astrophysics and how it can shape human experiences?”

“Of course I read it,” He looks up, bleary-eyed behind his glasses, half-lidded gaze flickering across you. Maybe there should be an element of competition to your dynamic; you’re both geniuses, working alongside each other in close close (oh— close) proximity, but there’s not. For all of your sharpness, you’ve never once seen him as anything but your equal.

He turns his head, hair falling, obstructing his sight, a mess of brown, tousled and out of place. His brain is already working overtime, absorbing every detail about your appearance: your heavy, maddening eyes, your shirt (wrinkled, untucked), your watch (gold), the pen stuck behind your ear. Analytical, analytical, analytical.

“Don’t ask me about it.” he continues, “I’m halfway through an essay on my thoughts about it, expect a message tonight.”

That’s a new progression. Whenever he can’t sleep, whenever his thoughts are fervid and incessant, his mind caught on obscure facts, he’ll text you. Let you wake to paragraphs upon paragraphs of information on miscellaneous subjects. He’s never really understood ‘texting etiquette’, abbreviations and short responses.

“Can’t wait.” you hum. Oh, and you mean it.

“Can’t wait? First time i’ve heard that one,” he laughs.

He glances down at your shoes— combat boots, of course. Practical, sturdy, thick leather worn down with use. He can’t look at your face right now, not when you’re soul-crushingly beautiful, and you’re taking an interest in his quirks. But, oh your face— using the golden ratio as a foundation, you’re… well, perfect. Sure, the dark shadows pooling beneath your eyes reduce points, but he likes them, it’s a subtle, yet impaling, reminder that you’re real, that despite everything, you’re undeniably human.

It’s a mess, he’s aware that it’s an unnecessarily disjointed mess; the universe decided to torture him (painfully so), by placing the personification of perfection in front of him. Reachable distance, and yet, you still feel light years away. So far, because god he loves you— he loves you in ways he can’t even speak about. But what is love, and how does he comprehend it when he’s never been in its orbit? Not until now.

“And yeah,” he continues, adjusting his glasses. “I’m drafting a response, of course I am. You think I’d not send you an in-depth message? That would be a disservice to your knowledge.”

────────────

Detroit, 8hr flight, mid-morning, coffee and case files, an endless haze of intentions, behavioural patterns regarding the most recent unsub. Spencer always chooses to sit beside you, it’s non-negotiable, assigned. He spends half of his time curled up in the corner, catching a few minimal hours of sleep, and the other half rambling. At this point, you know a lot about him. Months and months of knowledge, some he’s told you, some you’ve profiled: he always carries a satchel (dog-eared novels and notebooks consisting of half-finished thoughts), his favourite season is halloween (when he first came to your apartment and saw various autumnal decor, despite it being mid-July, he smiled so much you thought you were going to die), and he’s afraid of the dark. Trivial pieces of information. Unnecessary, and yet you still store them for safe keeping.

“So,” he mumbles after briefing, “It’s nearly Halloween…”

Those words. The simple declaration of a date that you were already aware of sentences your fate. Of course you’ve noticed the rest of the team deftly turning down his invites at any occasion possible, but to receive one? You’ve never been a people pleaser, in fact, if anything you’re the polar opposite. Blunt like a knife, intransigent, unwilling to spare feelings for the sake of etiquette.

But you do agree when he offers to make plans.

────────────

Pumpkin patches, seasonal harvest. The leaves beneath your heavy platforms are ochre. It’s late- afternoon when you get to the festival, even later when you manage to coerce Spencer into humouring one of the ghost-walks.

But, you got distracted, tangled up in some tangent about Roman philosophy, Plato’s symposium, different accounts of eros. Socrates and his belief in stoicism, unwavering to the pretence of beauty, turning down Alcibiades— the most desirable.

You can only laugh. You laugh, and no, you’ve never laughed like that before. It shuts down Spencer’s body, renders him incapable for a good few moments. And now, suddenly he’s gone dumb, because he wants to get lost every weekend, just to hear it over and over again until it’s firmly imprinted into his brain for good. You breathe, and he’s brain-dead.

“This isn’t funny—“ he tries.

“No you’re right. It’s not funny at all.” you lie. Straight. Through. Your. Teeth. All things considered, you’ve had fun today— which is admittedly a feat in itself.

“Don’t worry,” you continue, knocking your shoulder into his. “I’ll protect you.“

“You do that enough anyways,” he states; it’s true, you’re a little too assertive on the field, unwilling to let him stumble inadvertently into danger. Maybe it’s just because you’re now acquainted with the knowledge of his previous missteps. Or maybe it’s because you care — not in the way he cares about you, obviously. But he’s willing to take what he can get. Anything, as long as it from you.

Spencer hates the dark (it’s common knowledge, the absence of light is unsettling) and with his flashlight wavering, stuttering in and out of use, he’s forced to stray close to you, to share your working one. It feels like the start of some budgeted horror movie he’d possibly take you to see, speaking through the entirety, pointing out the obvious scientific flaws.

“Why do you have so many layers on?” He asks, watching your face. The flashlight in your hand illuminates the small clearing around them, casting your face in a starker light. Every contour, every blemish, every freckle is more pronounced in the cold.

“You look like a burrito,” he adds, unable to stop himself.

You scoff, “I run cold.”

Pine-oak and cold, the air is sharp, plainly glacial at this time of night. It’s an amusing way to spend halloween; even though you’re currently missing out on the tour you paid for. “And, I don’t look like a burrito, thank you. Very astute evaluation, Reid. Your words are clearly so intellectual.”

“Yes, well— I am a doctor, remember? Astute observation skills are a priority on the requirements list. And actually,—“ you huff out a breath, and his forthcoming tangent dissolves before it can escape his lips. Usually, you humour the onslaught, the mess of facts— but, considering they’re directly aimed at you tonight, it’s clear that circumstances are in fact different.

He tucks his hands into his pockets, knuckles blemished red from the cold, rose shadows that match the flush to his face. “I’m glad you said yes, to this. Most of the team,” he laughs awkwardly, “Well, they usually ignore my invites. So yeah, it’s nice not to be alone for halloween.“

He’s quick to move on, to shift shift the subject. “And— as for the,” he continues, glancing down at your attire. “The excessive layers— I just meant that you look comfortable. If you’re running cold, then you need all those layers. It’s not a critique.” Another huff, and he glances awkwardly around the clearing.

“I’m just rambling.” He murmurs, “As per usual. I need to, uh— to stop doing that.” A pause. Silence.

You’re not really digesting his words anymore, lost in a labyrinth of thoughts— it’s a few moments before you speak again. You turn your gaze towards him, observing the sight of him in the perpetual darkness, profile only illuminated by faint trances of your flash-light. Swollen lips, half-bitten, brown eyes blown out of proportion, irises wide and unabated.

You know a lot about him, that’s already been established. Albeit, there’s still fragments you haven’t quite discovered yet. And sure, you shouldn’t want to find out, to unravel him completely. You shouldn’t— because that’s a direct transgression to the rules you’ve always set for yourself. But you do.

“Are you..” your face softens, “Uh, are you alone a lot?”

You’ve never been the type to ask about personal life, about the complexities behind closed doors. Sure, you can deduce his home-life through months of experience and mannerisms, but you’ve never asked specifically about his own relationships. The question catches him off-guard.

He blinks, a few too many times, and then finds his eyes are very very interested in staring at his shoes.

“Yeah.” he finally answers, “But it’s okay! I’m used to it. I don’t mind,”

“I have lots of time for my own pursuits,” he adds. “Reading and-— um, chess and stuff. And the team, of course. But— they’re not- they don’t want to, like, hang out. Outside, I mean. They have their own lives, partners. Families, so it makes sense.”

It’s not okay, and you’re uncertain why it pains you so much. Maybe because he makes the effort to arrange plans, to connect, and it goes undervalued, wasted. In contrast, you’re content in loneliness. People are overbearing, insufferable at best. You’ve never had much of an interest in an abundant social life, you’re content in your small, reserved circle. But he has no one.

And yet he has the audacity to pretend it’s okay?

“Well, if you want to like, be lonely together sometime. That would be fine with me.” you say after a moment of strained silence.

His whole life he’s struggled to fit in, to meet, to conform to the expected societal norms. Acceptance, community, humans are wired to want integration, and yet he’s always fallen short. It’s why he throws himself into facts, into research, into studies and books.

His shoulders have slackened. For a slender frame he’s remarkably tense, like he’s waiting for an eventual downfall. “Yeah,” he agrees, “I’d uh, also be fine with that. More than fine actually..”

No one has ever wanted him, they’ve just needed him and he wonders if there’s really even a difference.

────────────

That’s how it starts. Inevitable, in the grand scheme of life and work and you. Spencer watches as you soften, slowly unfold protected layers over countless evenings of chess and movies, and suddenly you’re not so untouchable, so beyond conventional existence, and yeah, berate him for loving you even more because of it.

You’re restless, completely. A night in his apartment is always fated to end with you tugging him through cobbled streets, desperate to catch some air. Tonight, it’s raining. Protected beneath a ledge of a closed shop, you’re approximately 12 minutes away from his place. Spencer should hate you for bulldozing his routine, he really really should. But it’s never that simple, not when it comes to the intricacies of you, and the exhausting effect you prove to have on his sanity.

He leans back against the soaked brick, watching the rain pour over the road, greyed streets, washed out by water. Just passing 10PM, like most nights, his mind seems to be insistent on you you you. And sure, he’s longing (if that even encapsulates his want), longing for something, to connect the invisible line between you two.

“Why am I not surprised,” he mutters, “Always a disaster with you.”

The cold will undoubtedly lead to you being sick, but the sight of you under the glow of streetlights, water-stricken and frustrated— he can’t bring himself to complain. For a moment, he simply stares. At your profile, the sharpness of your features, the exasperation in your blinding gaze. You’re beautiful, in ways he can’t comprehend.

“Hey,” he backtracks, “Not in a bad way, but like, in a you-cause-so-much-unexpected-stuff-to-happen kind of way. You’re always bringing me into messy situations.”

The space between you is so minimal, but so stretching. There’s an invisible wall, one that he won’t ever tear down, can’t ever tear down, in case he loses you. He wants to reach out, to grasp at your hand, your wrist, or even your shoulder. Anything, to feel the barest touch of your skin. Something.

Touch. To feel. He’s never allowed himself to sink into the warmth of someone else before, he’s never been able to. But for all your terror, he knows you’d hold him. Or maybe that’s just what he hopes for. Maybe it’s a delusional hypothetical.

When you do return to his apartment, you’re laughing. A common sight these days, as mind-bending as that might seem. The journey back was discombobulated, rushed movements, jackets spilling over heads, drenched thoroughly, attempting to outrun the inevitable storm that now seems to consume the area.

There’s not a part of you that regrets your offer to be ‘lonely together’ because whilst you despise most humans, Spencer doesn’t seem to be on that list. No, you could spend hours doing nothing with him, and still find it more gratifying than the best laid plans.

Plus, these days he seems happier. You both do.

“You look like a wet dog,” you say as you attempt to sort your way through his soaked hair. You’re sitting on the floor of his kitchen, cold skin pressed against tile.

He grins. You’re both laughing, and it’s so good. “Thanks for the compliment. You know, you’re not much better—“

He finds himself subconsciously, instinctively, leaning into the touch, as if his body has been searching for this, as if his skin is merely wired to only ever respond to your hands. Head tilted backwards, allowing access to the tangled strands, his neck arched slightly so he can still see your face, every expression that passes by.

He has a brief internal war with himself, wondering which part of the situation exactly he’s freaking out over. Maybe it’s the cold, which will undoubtedly leave him sick for the next week? Maybe it’s the fact that you’ve initiated a touch of some variety, your hands in his hair, a moment of human connection. Whatever it is, he can’t help but sit in silence, staring at you like you’ve just hung the stars.

────────────

Both of you are incontrovertibly devoted to work, married in some key aspects. You stay late, ceaseless over-time, covering offices with evidence and reports, rehashing cases until you’re too exhausted to function. So naturally, it’s no surprise that you’re coerced into taking time off, mandatory leave— if only to appease the rest of the team, and their wilting sanity.

Road trip. That’s the ‘logical’ solution, considering you’d both end up exasperated at your respective apartments, overthinking the cases you’ve been shut out of. The Appalachian trail. Neither of you have any interest in the hike, albeit the skyline yurt, overlooking the area, endless planes of landscape, certainly seems like a selling point. If only to keep you countless miles away from work.

November. The days are hazy, mostly due to your shared fatigue, interminable exhaustion. Spencer has abandoned his glasses now, and you try not to mourn the loss.

The drive felt eternal. Hours stuck listening to the radio, only interrupted by Spencer’s endless rambling and your sporadic requests for coffee. There’s something intimate to travelling together. Being trapped in a car, in close proximity, sharing a space.

Now, the two of you are situated in the middle of nowhere, nature, something he’s never really sought out in his life. He’s an intellectual not a lover of the outdoors. Sure, the science of it fascinates him, the endless cycle of life and death, but actually being here — in the midst of it all, amongst the trees and fog — is a foreign concept.

You’re standing beside him, eyes observing the landscape, sharp gaze tracing the outline of the horizon. He wonders if you’re thinking of the city, of work, of anything else besides the freezing air. He just wants to get inside, to feel warm, to stop shivering.

But no, you’re too busy looking at the stars.

“That’s Cetus,” he says, pointing out a constellation, “Sometimes referred to as ‘The Whale’. Cetus, uh.. he was a sea monster in Greek Mythology, sent by Neptune to devour Andromeda. Perseus saved her by turning him to stone using the head of Medusa. Medusa, who he beheaded using a mirrored shield whilst she slept.”

You hum, “It also represents the whale that swallowed Jonah when he disobeyed the Christian’s God.”

“Yeah! Yeah, because Jonah went to Nineveh instead of Tarshish.” he looks back at you, “You know, Cetus covers over 1200 square degrees of sky. But personally, personally, my favourite is Ursa Major.”

“The great bear? Cmon, that’s so basic.”

“No it’s not! What? Don’t judge my taste,” he protests, “It’s named after Arcas. Zeus fell in love with Andromeda—“

“Mhm, and Hera, his wife, turned Callisto into a bear. Zeus raped her, the Gods were fucked up.”

“The Gods were fucked up, yeah.” he agrees, before knocking his shoulder into yours. “But Ares wasn’t, you know he counts as a pseudo god for feminism.”

“Shame he was brutal in every other aspect.”

Spencer rolls his eyes, “You’re paying more attention to the stars than me.”

Later, much later, you end up on the floor. Laying back against cold wood, you both stare at the domed ceiling. Distorted vision, clouded by alcohol; there’s not much to do around here, and you had incautiously thought a bottle of whiskey would be a good idea— no, actually, you just wanted to see Spencer intoxicated. Beyond messy nights at the bar in D.C, when the team was desperate for a break from work, he’s never really been in this state before.

The area is vast, too big, but you were hardly going to plummet yourself into the middle of nowhere without a few prominent luxuries— you’ve always been devoted to the city, the endless drama, sleepless nights and constant futile noise.

This is… different.

Alcohol has made everything more intense, magnified, in every aspect. The yurt is dark now, the only light coming from the occasional flash of lightning, slicing through the sky and illuminating the area in fragmented beats. The room is cold, but he’s over-warm. Not accustomed to the alcohol, to the buzz it leaves him feeling, the pleasant numbness in his limbs. As if nothing matters.

He’s laying next to you, mid-tangent about space. “Did you know that Jupiter has 95 moons. That’s more moons than the average solar system. And that most of them are named after Greek or Roman mythology. There’s— there’s Ganymede, that’s the largest natural satellite in the solar system. It’s nearly the size of Mars..”

He turns on his side to face you, watching as you mirror his movements, “And, and,” his words fail him, “You are so pretty, — you have amazing, amazing eyes, you know that? And this laugh….” that makes me burn, “You should laugh more. I’m going to make you laugh more.”

He’s staring at you, half-lidded gaze following every line, contour, every feature. He wants to trace his hand along the curve of your cheek, your jaw, down your throat, your shoulder. He wants to touch, to feel you. He can’t tell if you’re aware of his suffering. The torment that comes with being this close to you, yet not able to touch you. How painful it is. To love you.

“Spence..” you mutter, and oh, you’ve never called him that before.

“Mhm, yeah,” he says, bringing himself back to the point; the topic of space. Ignorant to his words. “The planet Jupiter, it’s a gas giant. You knew that, right? It’s got the shortest day of any planet. And on top of all that, it has a redspot! Like, this huge, massive vortex, bigger than the Earth, and it’s just roaming the atmosphere.”

A loud peal of thunder interrupts his speech, followed by the incessant, incessant rain, pounding against the walls. “I love when you listen to me. No one’s ever really listened to me before.”

It’s not fair, not fair that you’re about to plunge yourself into the centre of the storm. That Spencer Reid laying next to you, in the middle of nowhere, would be your fatal flaw. Hamartia. The downfall of the walls you’ve kept resolute for so long. You could blame the alcohol, curse yourself for encouraging this when you’ve both always balanced on a thin, trembling line.

But perhaps it was always inexorable.

You cup his face, running your hand over his pretty profile. Pupils blown out of proportion, so beautiful it scalds. You can’t stop yourself from leaning forward, from pressing a soft, fleeting kiss against his lips.

“I’ll always listen to you.” you promise. Because if no one else has the decency to acknowledge him in full capacity, you will.

And Spencer? Oh, he’s frozen, caught in some location of suspended space. Every thought, every coherent piece of logic in his head has come to an abrupt hilt, silenced by your mere touch.

Your words sink into his skin, seeping into his bones like fire. He’s burning, burning hot and feverous under your hands. The kiss is brief, and he whines involuntarily when you pull away. “Don’t stop. Please— not yet.”

You want him, repeats like a mantra. In all universes, in the grand scheme of time, he never considered this alternative.

Suddenly he’s glad he resides in this reality.

So you kiss him again. You’re aware that you’re both a tangled mess on the floor, limbs interwoven, lips pressed against lips. You’re aware that you’re both drunk beyond comprehension, and that you’ve used alcohol to cheat, to skip time, to fast-forward to the good. Because if you were sober right now, you’d be too calculated, too rational to allow this.

And it hurts— kissing him. Because he touches you like he’s never felt anything before, like he’s been impossibly starved for the entirety of his life. Neglected, in so many ways. You’ve never been interested in caring for someone before, but somewhere along the way, he buried his way into your chest, and now, you’re hopeless to the consequences.

Right now, that doesn’t even feel half as terrifying as it truly is.

His hands are everywhere, everywhere they can reach, grasping at anything they can find, trying to bring you closer, closer, to keep the heat burning against his skin. He needs it, needs the feeling of your lips. He’s overwhelmed, overwhelmed as his tongue slides against your own, as his hands press at the curve of your waist, tracing over skin he’s only been dreaming of touching. He feels alive, incandescent with pure bliss.

“I’ve wanted this,” he mumbles against your skin, between breaths. Between the fire. “For so long, so long,” he sighs, pressing his forehead against yours when you both become reacquainted with the concept of oxygen. “Don’t regret this tomorrow, please?”

“I won’t.” you say, drawing his lips back to your own.

And you do stay true to your word.

────────────

Epilogue (—post ‘part I’):

You’re not entirely sure how to approach the situation of sex, considering you’ve just defiled Spencer Reid on various surfaces of his apartment. So, naturally, you untangle yourself from his body, and take him to see some mundane documentary on sealife. Mostly because you know he’ll enjoy it (and you’ll certainly enjoy him leaning over your seat to comment on omitted pieces of information and technical inaccuracies). Then, when it’s over, you muffle his protests on crime as you coerce him into sneaking into another screen.

Now you’re not the most inconspicuous pair, sitting in the back row, practically hidden by shadows. He has one arm wrapped around your shoulder, thumb tracing over the bone there, lost to your proximity, the warmth of your leg, thighs pressed together.

“You are so pretty,” you mutter, transfixed by the sight of him, illuminated by flashing lights. Some excessive slasher playing in the background, discarded.

“Shh,” he sighs, “Be quiet, there’s— you’re distracting me.”

You’re difficult, you know; your head is leant against his shoulder, lips dragging along his jaw, then his neck, just under his ear. He can’t focus on the screen, the movie barely registers, not when all he can feel is you, your lips against skin, leaving remnants of heat wherever they touch.

You’re aware that you’re a few meticulous touches away from giving him a heart attack, albeit it’s not like you have any interest in stifling your attraction. Not when he’s sitting right next to you.

“What was that? Oh? You want me to be quiet. Maybe you should do something about it then, because personally I have no interest in—“

His lips are quick to silence you. Ruinous, you kiss like you talk, with a sense of assertiveness, all encompassing and dizzying. He’s leaning forward to deepen the contact, to chase chase chase your mouth with little regard for etiquette.

“It’s—“ he mutters, stumbling into his apartment when you predictably get kicked out of the cinema. “All your—“ his hands are tangled deep in your hair as he silences your protests with his lips. “Fault.”

He’s lovesick, pressing his thumb against your bottom lip to stifle the contact. He feels light, like everything will be okay, all of the ache will dismantle, disintegrate if he keeps kissing you. But comfortability breeds defiance, so when you try to close the distance again, he’s laughing breathlessly.

“There’s paperwork we need to do—“ he says, and you blink. “It’s stacking up, and uh.. it’s very very important.”

You both stare at each other for a moment. Then, he’s grinning, leaning forward to press an apologetic kiss against your lips. “Sorry, sorry. Had to.”

“You’re a dick.” you confirm, hands slipping beneath his sweater to trace warm flesh. His reaction is scarring, body clattering back against the wall, torso arched forward as every part of him follows your touch mindlessly. He’s not sure if he’ll ever grow tolerant to you, or if it will forever feel this devastating— his swollen lips are parted and a soft oh escapes.

“But a pretty one, so maybe it cancels itself out.” you laugh, adorning his neck in soft kisses that trail, growing sharper, more biting as they begin to puncture skin, leaving behind mauve blemishes. The process is delirious, and you’re coaxing the most destroyed, whiney noises from him now.

Spencer sighs, “I don’t think that’s how it works—“ his sentence is destroyed by a whimper, something pained, when you run your tongue along a forming mark, when you deepen the burn. “I’m uh— yeah.”

You laugh at his mindless sentence, “I thought we needed to do paperwork, hm?”

“What’s paperwork?” Spencer responds, gripping your hips, guiding you back, back, back until you both meet his couch. “I’ve never heard of that— stop making things up.”

“Are you going to behave?” you ask, straddling his hips, pressing against his clothed dick, working in slow movements to intensify the stifled stimulation between you.

“No.” he answers simply, plainly. As if the answer is self-evident. Which, considering the state of him, debauched beyond reason is. His needs are conspicuous, from the scattered bruising that lines his neck to the indecent noises spilling from his throat. He grips your hips, whines when you refuse to push harder against him.

It’s not fair. It’s not fair that you can reduce him to this state, diminished to nothing but want the moment your touching becomes calculated.

And god, he wants— he wants to trace every part of you. The shape of your collarbone, the dip of your throat. He wants to mark himself on every part of you. The curve of your wrist, the inside of your hip. Every part available. He feels like an open wound, vulnerable in ways he never anticipated he could be, desperate for you to thread the skin back together, to ease him from this repetitive cycle of desperation.

“Going to punish me?” he teases, watching the myriad of emotions that cross your features. The way you’re so intently focused on him, on his skin, the need he emanates. Fuck— he loves it, he loves how he’s the object of your attention, every thought, every sense devoted to him. No one else, just him.

He knows he’s begging, that he’s all but pleading with you to fix him, to make him whole again, because for some reason, he can’t remember what he was like before you.

“Maybe,” you answer, moving off his lap to destroy the friction, and he wants to protest, but before he can even cohesively think of words, he’s clattering off the couch to sink to his knees.

He’s looking at you now with this distinctive gaze, big, innocent eyes, pupils dilated beyond necessary reason, and you’re disorientated, undone just by the sight of him. It’s fervent, this thing that burns between you, and neither of you are sure when you got so tangled in each others orbit, but you’re not complaining, not when you’ve got him sitting pretty on his knees for you.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you state, drawing your hand across his jaw, tilting his head up so he can meet your gaze entirely. You let out an exasperated breath of air, “Don’t look at me like you’re innocent here,”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about…” he says, and of course he’s playing naive, utilising his lack of experience in this moment, exploiting it to spite you.

Your palm meets his cheek, and he’s gone, just staring up at you, too distracted to formulate a coherent response. He never considered himself to be a particularly ‘dirty’ person until you kissed him, and then he crumbled, evanescence of logic, sanity.

He pushes his thighs together, moaning whorishly at the friction.

And oh, that has you gripping his hair hard, earning an assortment of obscene sounds. With your thighs parted, you hike your skirt up further, allowing him to slot himself in place. He’s quick, needy with his actions, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along your skin, trailing them up up up until he meets your panties. Wet, soaked through, a prominent indication that you’re feeling this as much as he is.

He drags them down your legs with little regard, fabric discarded, forgotten about for greater priorities. His tongue, tentative at first, runs along your clit, and you’re responding, hips canting against his face– yeah, suffocate him. He could die very happily right here in this demeaning position.

Tug, he buries his face entirely into you, moaning at the taste, at the sheer concept that he’s being throughly used. It’s messy (in more ways than one), but he knows that it’s good based on your reaction, the way your thighs are wrapped around his head, digging into his shoulder, the way your hand is threaded through his hair, controlling, instructing until he’s just a mindless instrument to your desires.

“Oh— fuck, Spence, that’s it— that’s it. So good, so good f’me.”

“Taste so good, needed this so bad.” he all but whines, pussy-drunk, a little too gone for anyone’s good. He’s straining against his pants, creating damp spots that he really can’t justify, and it hurts. He pushes his thighs harder together, trying to relieve the ache with some pressure, even if he’d love nothing more than to shamelessly grind against your leg right now, to rut in the most indecent way possible. He’s squirming, and don’t come untouched don’t come untouched, focus.

You’re tight, and when the first finger slips inside of you, there’s a visceral reaction from both of you. His hands are deft, slender and long, and with a subtle curve to his movements, he finds that spot before he’s even added a second digit. He would be fairly content with staying here forever, at service to you, watching as you fuck yourself against his face, body bucking and squirming, and yeah– there you go, that’s it. Right there. When you tense, he looks up to meet your debauched gaze, noises spilling from your swollen mouth as you fall apart. Clenching to unclench, perfect.

He’s still dizzy when he comes up, tongue and fingers and mouth and chin all obscenely coated in the aftermath. Oh god, he can’t even stand it, he looks way too satisfied with himself, and he is. He is. He is. He is.

You say how amazing it was (which is sweet, very very sweet) and then you say you’ve used him like a whore. And um. Yeah. Okay. That’s good— great even. He loves being useful!

There’s his bruised knees and then there’s the couch. Stumbling movements, the way he collapses, the way you follow after, shifting to straddle his body.

“Need you. Just you— please. I’ve waited for this, want it so bad.” he mutters.

He’s painfully hard, and he’s been so good, which means he’s prone to acting out now. As you work on staining his neck with remnants of this night, he slips his hand into his pants, and yeah, much better. He could cum just like this, with his palm wrapped around his dick and your lips all over his neck, polluting skin. He should be patient, he knows but he’s so hard and the need is too overwhelming. And oh oh oh. He squirms, releases a pitiful noise that has you reacting, noticing.

After that, his hands get bound behind his back.

He probably deserves that.

He can only watch the depraved actions, the formulated process of you removing his trousers, then his ruined boxers. By the time, he’s bare, undone to your eyes, he’s a disjointed mess. Every time you touch him, the sensory nerves that formulate inside his body burn, agonisingly so, to the point where he can only melt, capitulate to you alone. You, only ever you. He’s fairly certain he was created for you exclusively.

You roll your thumb across his tip, watching as he squirms, grasping your hip, and your free hand, discernibly breaking orders to keep them tethered behind his back. You just lace your fingers together, press a soft kiss against his knuckles, before you return to the simple task of tearing him to pieces.

No. Big. Deal.

“You like that, hm?” you ask, letting out a dissatisfied hum when Spencer only nods, flushed and breathless, debasing little whimpers escaping his mouth with every stroke. “Use your words, — use them or i’ll stop. You don’t want that, do you? Because I don’t think you want that at all.”

“No—no, please, god please don’t stop. I like it— I like it a little too much. Feels, oh.. feels so good.”

Your hand is wrapped entirely around him now, and he can only shift closer, bury his face into the crook of your neck, shelter his gaze from your sight because if he looks at your pretty eyes again, he’ll finish immediately.

God, he’s loud, he’s so loud, a litany of whimpers escaping him with every cataclysmic stroke. It gets to a point where you have to untangle your hands, push your thumb into his mouth, and thankyou, something to do with himself— he just moans around the digit.

“That’s it— taking it so well.”

“I’m trying! Oh, oh… m’trying. Just wanna be good for you— please, please it’s so much.”

He’s so sensitive, too sensitive, it’s good and bad, and it’s a complete onslaught to his deprived body. He’s not sure he’ll ever comprehend how you touch him, the way every movement seems to be perfect in derailing his mind until he’s too blissed out to know anything beyond you.

He’s really trying to form words with your finger in his mouth, but it’s just a mess of saliva and he wants to tell you that he’s a germaphobe, that hands carry so much bacteria, but he’s more than willing to trade germs with you anyway, to offer himself up on a sliver platter, lamb to the slaughter. Sacrifice, he can’t even articulate how much he would renounce for you.

You push your thumb deeper into his mouth, watching as it hits the back of his throat, as he gags around it. There’s blind, unwavering obedience to his actions now, taking it all willingly, passive in a way that counteracts his previous behaviour.

So naturally, you ask if he feels like a slut right now, and yup yup yup. But, as morbid as it may appear, he has no qualms in being your slut, because it’s just you, and the thought that you’re here, that you’re with him, taking care of him in ways he was never convinced he would receive, is intoxicating. Dismantling. Self-destruction, he supposes.

You draw your thumb from his mouth, push it into your own to show him that yeah, sharing germs is not an issue. “Such a good boy for me, Spence. So proud of you.”

“Oh..” now he’s just crying. It’s formidable.

“That’s it— you’re safe. I’ve got you, gonna make a pretty mess for me, yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah. Mhm. Wanna cum so bad, need it— pleasepleaseplease.”

You hum, “Just a little longer for me. You can do it. Be a good boy and hold it.”

“Cant—“

“Spencer.” you say, actively silencing his protests, and he can only nod, following your command mindlessly.

It’s a form of art, he believes, the way you dismantle him piece by piece, the way you destroy his cognitive function, strip him raw until he’s just a tangible mess of everything he was always deprived of. Until it’s just him, just him who you still stare at starry-eyed.

When you finally grant him permission, the bliss has him unable to form anything beyond stuttered oh oh oh’s, his back arching, his nerves ignited, and maybe he’s falling, falling fast because it’s all just a labyrinth of transient pleasure that his body struggles to keep up with.

But afterward, when he’s satiated, you’re still there, and you’re still so painfully warm and real.

There’s something gratifying about the sight of you, taking unprecedented care to clean his skin, to coax him out of his stupor when you’re supposed to be the incarnation of sharpness. It’s a hard concept to grasp, that the blade will never penetrate him, that he’s always going to be your exception.

When you’re tangled in sheets, foreheads pressed together, when it’s just the two of you, and nothing else matters, he does consider luck again. And how so much sacrifice was worthy of enduring, if only for a fleeting second of this.

“I love you,” he mutters, “I have for a long time.”

And you sigh, cup his face, it feels like a solar eclipse, like something astral. “I’m not sure when it happened, but yeah. I love you too, Spence. Love you enough to deal with the insane amount of paperwork HR are going to give us for this shit.”

“Worth it.” he mutters, kisses trailing along your jaw, dipping to meet your neck. “So so worth it.”

[myymi]

i want to talk about the paradox prism for a minute because it's really interesting to me

[everything below is purely speculation / headcanon - please don't mistake it for canon. beware of spoilers for sonic prime part 3]

similar to the master/chaos emeralds, the paradox prism has a level a sentience. not anywhere close to the same level as the emeralds, but there's still something there

the chaos emeralds tend to set up a line of dominos to cause a future event (ex; sonic taking tails under his wing and learning to become more responsible from it)

the paradox prism doesn't do anything close to that, but it does share something with the master emerald; it holds memories

the prism was able to create more versions of the people it saw based on the emotions it saw them project (tails, knuckles, amy, rouge, and eggman)

the different shards / shatterspaces are made up from other major events. whether from this timeline or another is different for each shatterspace

new yoke was created from the group's frustration with sonic + an ending where eggman's almost won (i believe this could be pulled from the events of forces, considering the enforcers)

i think the reason new yoke is the only shatterspace to have a version of eggman is because it's the only one that makes sense to have one

it's pretty well known by now that eggman will need a helping hand if he wants any chance at taking over the world

the only thing better than an evil genius is five evil geniuses, right?

the new yoke group are, as i said, everyone's frustration

nine is frustrated with his past. reminiscing about his tormentors brings him more anger than pain, and living in solitude definitely does not help

rebel and knux are frustrated by the loss of their home (and the egg council in general). having watched their home be destroyed was more heartbreaking than anything at first, it eventually grew to an anger that spurred them on to fix it

rusty is frustrated with those who disobey/fight against the council, but her anger eventually ends up directed towards the council for the way they used her.

i could go more in depth about the new yoke group, but this post is gonna be long enough as is wefoefwof

the shard being red could simply be because that's the color that represents anger, but i'd like to think that-going back to forces-it was a bit influenced by the phantom ruby/infinite as well

no place is formed by the underlying sadness + a devastating event that permanently changed the world (chaos' rampage)

im not connecting no place to chaos because of the fact it's flooded, im connecting it because of the way the stories parallelled

chaos' rampage begun when pachacamac attempted to steal and harness the power of the chaos emeralds for his own gain

dread seeks out the 'devil's ligthouse' solely to prove he is a legend, nearly killing his original crew trying to do so

both protagonists of these stories are selfish and caused destruction for their own gain

dread's, well, dread comes from his failure of proving himself to be the most feared pirate to ever live.

him failing to collect the shard caused him to believe that he truly wasn't a good pirate, leaving him to spiral into a life of cowardice.

the rest of the pirates' dread comes from their longing to be actual pirates.

because of his failure and cowardice, dread now leads a peaceful crew. they don't do any 'pirating', which leaves much to be desired

they enjoy the parties and all, but their true fun comes from being pirates, which dread deprives them of

boscage maze comes from the protectiveness surging between everyone + a world where harmony between enemies is possible to achieve (possibly comes from a timeline where eggman simply doesnt exist, leaving mobius to grow peacefully)

boscage is the shatterspace with the most life. it's full of all kinds of plants because nobody there is destroying it (intentionally, anyways)

thorn rose is protective over birdie and the green. she does what she can to protect both, even if it means hurting people she once called friends

keeping the jungle and birdie safe is her #1 priority, and nothing will ever change that (that's not to say something else can't join them in being her priority)

the scavengers are protective over their belongings and, no matter how strangely they show it, each other

gnarly was nervous when sonic touched his house, immediately turning aggressive to make sure he wouldn't damage it

instead of hiding the berry, prim showed it to the others for a chance they could all share it

instead of running off on his own, mangey let the scavengers follow him as he sniffed out the berry (+ him fetching the one that fell off the treetops, showing it off to the group)

hangry allows mangey to crawl around him, which we can assume means it happens a lot off screen as well

they stick together and cover each other's backs, no matter how hard the fight gets

while we don't know what this shatterspace was before it turned into the grim, it's pretty safe to assume that it was apocalyptic

who or whatever used to live here is long gone. the only thing standing are the purple crystal things.

my guess is it's a timeline where eggman won. he won, and the world died out because he ruined the ecosystem from building so many machines.

while purple is usually associated with royalty or mystery, it's also associated with power, ambition, peace, and independence

whatever happened to the world before the grim, it's very probable that it was out of high ambition with a need for more power. eventually, the world found its peace and is now independent

ghost hill is the blueprint. the time before sonic & co. make their mark on the world. a blank canvas.

maybe a timeline where they don't get a chance to make their mark on the world

yellow is a very light, energetic color. the feeling of happiness at the chance to create something new and fun.

ghost hill and the grim don't have much in terms of characters and design, but i think the colors of their respective shards give us plenty of information about them

the paradox prism is nothing like the chaos emeralds, but is also just like them at the same time. it's powered by pure chaos with no sort of indication on how it was created or why it has the powers it does

i wonder if eggman knew what the prism was exactly or if he only knew that it was powerful

did he know breaking it would cause the world to shatter? did he know how may memories it holds? how many lifetimes it's lived?

i also wonder if the prism knew sonic would shatter it, and that it was already preparing the shatterspaces; hence why it glows brighter

maybe it understood that sonic is a hands-on learner. maybe it knew he needed to experience the lessons first hand, needed them to-quite literally-slap him in the face

maybe it knew they all had their own flaws that they needed to be aware of. maybe it lived through the timeline where sonic never shattered the prism.

maybe the prism planned to be shattered by someone so it could share its memories. maybe there was some sort of pull that told sonic it needed to be shattered.

[7s3ven]

OBSESSION. tom riddle x fem! reader.

( master list )

IN WHICH… Tom Riddle is partnered with a Gryffindor for potions. He expects them to crush every assignment sent their way, but what he doesn’t expect is him falling in love.

Words: Too many

Warning/s: Not proof-read, Grammar mistakes

A/N: I disappeared for a while, but I’m back now, lol. With Harry Potter oneshots. I have so many in my drafts that I hope to publish soon.

—

“These are your potion partners. You will work with them for the rest of the year. And no, you cannot change.”

Half of the class erupted into groans but Slughorn ignored them. Slytherins and Gryffindors were paired together, one boy and one girl.

Slughorn had purposely paired up Tom Riddle, the cold Slytherin heartthrob, and Y/N L/N, the intelligent Gryffindor beauty, together. He saw their potential together considering both students were academic geniuses.

“A Skele Gro potion? Seriously?” Y/N scoffed, rolling her eyes. It was one of the easiest potions to make and this was an advanced class.

“Slughorn probably gave the class an easy potion since he partnered us up with people we basically hate.” Tom retorted, staring at the old potions book.

“You hate me?”

“You are a Gryffindor, after all.”

“How original.”

For the remainder of the class, the two were quiet. There were a few words exchanged but not many.

“Pass the scarab beetle.”

“Give me the puffer fish.”

As Tom was busy mixing the potion, Y/N took this as her chance to glance at him. She couldn’t deny that he was attractive with his curled brown hair and high cheekbones.

She soon went back to scribbling a few notes in her textbook, the black ink staining the side of her hand (something she didn’t notice). She wiped the side of her cheek, unknowingly smearing the ink onto her face.

Tom gaze wandered from the simple potion to Y/N, who was leaning over the desk, quill in hand. He looked at the ink on her face, almost smiling in amusement.

“L/N,” He uttered. She turned her head to look at him in confusion, wondering why he had mumbled her name. “You have something on your face.”

She reached up a hand, touching the wrong side of her face.

“Other side- You know what, never mind.” Tom licked his lips and shook his head. He beckoned Y/N forward and with a pinch of hesitation, she stood up.

Tom pulled out a handkerchief and gently wiped her cheek, strangely fascinated by the way the ink didn’t stain her face as it did with her hand.

She stared into his dark brown eyes, leaving Tom stunned. Most students, even the girls obsessed with him, were always scared of Tom. But Y/N purely gazed at him, unfazed.

“Thank you.” She slowly said, her lips curving into a small smile.

Tom was silent for a moment before he cleared his throat and nodded. “No problem.”

The pair went silent again and when class was dismissed, Y/N shoved all of her things into her bag and fled the room.

Tom took his time in packing up. He picked up a thick leather journal that he didn’t remember owning and when he flipped thorough the messy pages, he realized it wasn’t his.

Every page of Y/N’s book was different. Some notes were messy while others were unbelievably neat.

Tom gently put the book in his bag and hurried out of the classroom to see if he could find Y/N. But she had moved too fast and was nowhere to be seen.

“Tom, why do you look so worried?” Avery came up behind the brunette prefect, slinging a pale arm around Tom’s shoulder.

“Y/N L/N, what do you know about her?” Tom asked.

“What? The Gryffindor girl with the fan club?”

Y/N was, to put it lightly, popular with the Hogwarts students. Not just the boys, in fact. Girls liked her too, both platonically and romantically. Hence her little fan club.

“Yes. What do you know about her?”

“Not a lot. She’s a Gryffindor, obviously. Comes from a wealthy Mudblood”- Avery froze as soon as Tom sent him a stern glare. “Muggle family.” He quickly corrected himself. “She’s smart, pretty, and people like her. She’s, uh, popular and acts as a stand-in for the Quidditch team because, despite liking the sport, she doesn't have enough time to play it regularly."

"Find out anything else about Y/N. And figure out her preferable type when it comes to romantic partners." Tom said, waving Avery off. The blond left, leaving Tom alone to tend to his thoughts.

The sound of heels clicking against the stoned floor filled the silent hallway and a shoulder banged into Tom's.

"Ah! Sorry!" Y/N called out, not realizing who it was.

Tom quickly reached out, grabbing her arm and pulling her back. With a loud gasp of surprise, Y/N harshly crashed into his chest, almost knocking the air out of Tom's lungs.

Tom paused, inhaling the sweet scent of Y/N's floral perfume. "You left your notebook in the classroom. Here." The brunette boy handed Y/N her leather book, their fingers brushing against each other. She gripped her notes tightly, almost as if she was afraid of losing them again.

"Thank you." She muttered, her knuckles turning white. She looked like she wanted to say more but she didn't. She only nodded and ran off.

Tom let out a loud sigh, the brief feeling of Y/N's skin against his imprinted in his mind.

—

"My lord," Avery strode up to Tom, a few pages in his hands. "I, uh, made a list about... you know." He whispered the last part and handed Tom the list.

"Thank you. You may go." Tom looked around to see if anybody was paying attention to him before he flipped through Avery's messy handwriting.

Y/N L/N, muggle-born. Gryffindor. Enjoys studying in the library with her friends and loves (your favourite drink). Her best subject is defence against the dark arts and potions.

Her ideal type wasn't easy to figure out, but I managed to question a lot of her friends without raising suspicion. Her ideal type is people taller than her, and she really seems to like scholars over sporty people. Honestly, there's a lot of grey area so her type could be anyone.

Tom folded the notes and shoved them into his pocket. He cleared his throat, nodding in satisfaction. His first class of the day was potions, and he felt a weird feeling in his chest. It was almost like it… jumped.

Tom could feel his pulse speed up as he got closer to the potions classroom and he momentarily paused to feel it. “Strange.” He muttered under his breath. He must be sick because this had never happened.

Nevertheless, he continued on his way. He was early but there were already a few students inside, one being Y/N. She was sitting at her and Tom’s desk but was speaking to a Gryffindor behind her.

They immediately went silent, though, when Tom approached them. Y/N pressed her lips into a thin line as the awkward silence settled over the room.

Tom cracked open his potions book, his eyes scanning over random words. He could feel Y/N staring at him and when he glanced at her, she hurriedly looked away, her cheeks flushing red.

Tom held back a snicker. “Are you excited for the Yule ball?” Tom unexpectedly asked. He wasn’t one to be phased by silence, but Y/N looked uncomfortable by it.

“Pardon me?”

“The Yule ball. Are you excited? Surely you must be.”

“Oh, um, yes. What about you?”

“I’d rather skip it. But being a prefect, I have to be there.” Tom didn’t care for social events. He hated most of them and found them rather pointless. He had never liked the Yule ball in the first place.

“Have you got a date?” Y/N questioned, fiddling with her quill.

“No. Why do you ask?”

“I’m just curious. How is it that someone like you doesn’t have a date? Girls are crazy for you.” Y/N turned her head to look at Tom, which was probably the first time she had done so since he caught her staring.

“I’m not interested in them. They aren’t what I’m looking for.”

“Well, you have plenty time to find a date, if you want one.”

Tom silently nodded, opening his mouth and then closing it. “You’re on the Yule ball committee, are you not?” He asked after a hint of hesitation.

“I am. I’ve been so busy planning it that I haven’t thought about the event itself. I don’t even know what colour my dress will be.”

“(Favorite colour.” Tom immediately replied, taking Y/N by surprise. “(Favorite colour) would suit you.”

Y/N briefly smiled. “I’ll make sure to keep that in mind.”

—

As the days passed by, Y/N haunted Tom’s mind like a ghost haunting a dark house. He couldn’t get her out of his mind, no matter what he tried. He had even gone as far as making out with a fellow Slytherin to try and erase Y/N from his mind.

But all he could do was imagine it was Y/N who was desperately kissing him, smearing lipstick marks all over his white collar and drowning him in her sweet perfume.

Tom had gotten little to no sleep for the past week, a certain Gryffindor etched into his brain. The dark circles under his eyes had grown, a sign that he hadn’t been resting well.

“Riddle, are you okay?” Y/N’s voice snapped the brunette Slytherin back to reality. He realised that his head was leaning against his desk and his neck ached. He sat up, looking around the empty classroom. “You, uh, fell asleep.” Y/N explained, “Slughorn let you sleep since you seemed so tired.”

“Ah.” Tom thickly swallowed and cleared his throat. “I’m fine. Thank you.” He waved his hand, trying to dismiss Y/N like he would dismiss Avery but she didn’t leave.

“Are you sure? Slughorn told me to tell you that if you ever need more sleep, you can ask him for a potion.”

Tom stood up, a little wobbly. He picked up his stuff and placed a heavy hand on Y/N’s shoulder. “I’m fine.” He repeated. His hand lingered for a moment too long on Y/N before he lifted it and walked off, slightly unstable.

Y/N watched him leave, her lips parted and her eyebrows furrowed with concern. She recalled how peaceful Tom looked in his sleep, the completely opposite of what he looked like right now. He looked so… rough.

Y/N could faintly remember the feeling of Tom’s hand on her shoulder and she began to wonder how his cold hands would feel on her waist. Shocked by her own thoughts, Y/N violently shook her head.

Tom was attractive but he didn’t like anyone. Not romantically and not platonically. And Y/N would be the last person he’d date, with her being both a Gryffindor and Muggleborn.

Just as Y/N was about to leave, she spotted a slip of paper on Tom’s desk. Curiosity got the best of her and she hurriedly opened it. The paper looked like it had been quickly torn out of a notebook.

Light of my life. Fire of my loins. I can’t get her out of my head, just like how Humbert couldn’t stop thinking about Dolores. Perhaps Lolita is not the best reference to make buy nevertheless. This is not supposed to be happening, not now and not ever. I cannot love and yet here I am, undoubtedly and inexplicably in love with her.

It was Tom’s handwriting, Y/N was sure of it. She felt confused when her heart sank after reading the contents and not seeing her name. She had been thinking about Tom Riddle ever since they got paired up and she was starting to wonder the same question her friends were asking: Did Y/N L/N fancy Tom Riddle?

—

Potions couldn’t come fast enough. Tom and Y/N were the first ones to enter the room. They seemed to have the same idea and try to be as early as possible to get a glimpse of their potions partner before class started.

“What’s the theme for the Yule ball?” Tom inquired.

“It’s the same as it always is.” Y/N replied, “Snow.”

“How original.”

“I wish they’d spice it up a little. But the ball committee isn’t on charge of the them, just the planning and decorating.”

“Still no date?”

“I’ve had a few offers but… not my type. You?”

“No.”

“At this rate, it seems like you’ll never get a date.” Y/N joked but her smile faded when she saw Tom’s unamused face. “Say,” She said, suddenly remembering what she had found a few days ago, “Do you like anyone?”

“It’s impossible for me to like someone.”

“I know… but if you could, who would you like?” Y/N stared at Tom, anxiously awaiting his answer.

He took his sweet time in thinking. So long that Y/N was sure he wasn’t even going to give her a proper answer.

“It’s hard to say who when I don’t feel anything.” Tom lied through his teeth. The girl he was interested in was right in front of him.

“I see. No pressure to answer then.”

“But if I had to describe someone I’d like, if I could feel anything, I’d want her to be kind and caring. The opposite of me to balance it out.”

Y/N could feel anxiety course through her veins as she parted her lips to make a reference she probably shouldn’t have. “Would she be the light of your life and the fire of your loins?”

Tom tried to hide his small amount of panic with a chuckle. “A strange reference, huh? Why Lolita?”

“I just think it’s strange how some people can’t stop thinking about their crushes… like how Humbert was always thinking of Lolita.” Y/N watched Tom’s face for any form of reaction, but he had none.

“How did you find it?” Tom quickly questioned, turning on his wooden chair. “The letter? How did you find it?”

“You left it on your desk. Just tell me who the girl is, I want to know. I’ll even help you ask her out.”

“I do not need your help.” Tom seethed, “And do not mention a word of this to anyone else. We will discuss this after class.”

Perhaps Y/N should have kept her mouth shut. If she did, she wouldn’t have found herself locked in a dingy old basement with Tom Riddle.

I’m going to die, she thought to herself.

“Riddle, I promise I will not mention this to anybody. I swear! You don’t have to kill me! I won’t say anything!”

“I’m not going to kill you, L/N. What do you take me for? A savage?”

Y/N wanted to mention the time where Tom had beaten up a Hufflepuff for accidentally taking his book, but she forced herself not to say anything.

“You want to know who the girl is?” Tom asked. Y/N silently nodded. She subconsciously stepped back as he slowly walked towards her. This pattern continued until Y/N’s back hit a stone wall and she stiffened.

Tom was standing right in front of her, looming over her with that stern stare he always had.

“The girl that I am so infatuated with, to put it lightly, is you.”

Y/N blinked once, and then twice. Then she burst into laughter. “Are you messing with me, Riddle? Is this a joke? Come on, be serious.”

“I’m not the one who should be serious here.” Tom responded, reaching out a hand to tuck a piece of Y/N’s hair away.

“Wait, so you’re not joking?” Y/N asked, raising her eyebrows. She couldn’t ignore the little jump her heart did.

“If I was joking, I wouldn’t be willing to do this.” Tom had to lean down to press his lips against Y/N’s. She jumped and, on instinct, pulled away and slapped Tom.

She froze, her mind processing what she had just done. Then she panicked. "My gosh, Riddle, I am so sorry! I didn't mean to slap you! Are you... okay?" That was a stupid question to ask, considering how red Tom's cheek was right now.

"Fine." He answered even though his face was stinging.

"I didn't mean to slap you. You just caught me by surprise. Sorry... again." Y/N cringed, staring at Tom's reddening cheek. "Say... do you happen to know what loins actually means, Riddle?”

“No. I only used it as a pitiful reference.”

“It's your, uh..." Y/N paused, "Humbert was basically saying that Dolores got him... aroused.” Y/N had expected him to know what it meant, Tom being an academic and all.

“Oh… well, I can assure you that I am not a pedo and nothing like Humbert.” Tom sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I am sorry I kissed you without warning. You are free to go. Just… not a word.”

Tom turned around and even though Y/N wanted to call out his name, she simply stared at him before nodding and walking off.

Tom, who was hoping Y/N would stay, pressed his lips into a thin line. He thickly swallowed, waiting a few minutes to see if Y/N would return. When she didn’t, he could only nod in acceptance.

Love was never meant for some people, and perhaps Tom was in that category.

—

Y/N sat in her dorm room, sitting on the edge of her bed. She clasped her hands together, deep in thought.

“A penny for your thoughts?” Liza, a fellow Gryffindor, bounced up to Y/N. She was one of her dorm mates, and a close friend.

“Are you sure you want to hear it?” Y/N quietly muttered, sheepishly smiling.

“Shoot. I have nothing better to do.”

“Riddle, uh… he…” Y/N struggled to finish her sentence. She could still feel his lips against her’s and for some reason… she liked it.

“What did he do? Did he- No. I knew he was rotten apple! That is unacceptable!” Liza assumed the worst.

“No! No! He didn’t. He… kissed me.”

Liza’s eyebrows rose in shock. She opened her mouth, then closed it. “Riddle… kissed you? Like… actually kissed you? No offence. He just doesn’t seem like the type… to be interested in relationships.” Liza’s gaze fell upon Y/N’s solemn face. “But, uh, how are you feeling? That’s the most important thing.”

“That’s the problem… I’m not too sure. I… liked it? But, it feels wrong. I mean, Riddle is… he’s untouchable. He’s the head boy, he’s smart and charming and loved. And I’m… just me.”

Liza grabbed Y/N’s hands, holding onto them tightly. “You are not just you. You are a top student at Hogwarts. A role model to younger kids. A great candidate for head girl. You are amazing and talented and skilled. You are Y/N L/N.” Liza furrowed her eyebrows as she spoke with such passion.

Y/N teared up at her friend’s kind words. Liza softly smiled and wiped away a stray tear.

“Y/N, do you like Tom Riddle?”

“I’m… not sure.”

“That isn’t an answer. Do you like Tom Riddle?”

“I do.”

Liza grabbed Y/N by the shoulders, tightly gripping them. “Then listen to me, Y/N. You are going to march up to Riddle and you are going to ask that boy out if it’s the last thing you do! And he will accept your offer because he is lucky to even stand so close to you! Do you understand?!”

Liza’s enthusiastic behavior on this matter made Y/N laugh. “Okay, okay. What do I have to do?”

Liza smirked, standing up straight and flicking her raven black hair over her shoulder.

“Leave it to me.”

—

Y/N felt a little foolish as she stood in the crowded hallway, a huge bouquet of flowers in one hand and heart-shaped letter in the other. Liza stood behind Y/N, keeping a lookout for Tom Riddle.

“Is this necessary?” Y/N muttered, gulping as people stared at her when they passed by.

“Absolutely. Come on, I see him.” Liza pushed Y/N forward. Her heart was beating like crazy in her chest. Her knees wobbled like jelly and she found it hard to stand properly.

“Liz,” Y/N whispered, hyperventilating. “Liz. I can’t do this.”

“No. Come on. Y/N, I believe in you. Let’s go.”

Y/N shakily stepped forward. She locked eyes with Riddle, who stared at her in confusion. His eyes flickered to the flowers and the letter, and he tilted his head to the side.

“I can do this.” Y/N muttered to herself.

“You can do this.” Liza echoed.

“I’m a Gryffindor. I’m brave. I’m loyal. I’m courageous. I’m Y/N L/N.” Y/N took a deep breathe before she quickly walked towards Tom.

The sea of students parted for her. They whispered and muttered, wondering what Tom’s answer would be. He was infamous for not caring about other people and, to them, Y/N was just another girl who thought she could change him.

“Y/N.” Tom uttered. That was the first time he had called her by her first name, which said something. Tom’s group that had been accompanying him stepped back, pushing and shoving each other and quietly laughing.

“Tom.” Y/N greeted him back.

“Did you finally say yes to someone asking you out to the Yule Ball?” Tom questioned, reaching out a hand to look at the beautiful flowers. “He has nice choice in flowers.”

“Actually,” Y/N said, stepped closer to the tall brunette, “I’m not the one who has to say yes. But, I’m hoping the person I’m asking will.”

Tom arched an eyebrow, confused and left in the dark.

“Tom Riddle, being your potions partner has been… interesting. It’s been chaotic, which is my favorite kind of fun. You are… amazing, and smart, and a great companion. So, Tom Riddle, despite me being a Gryffindor, will you make me so happy and go to the Yule Ball with me?”

“This is such a Gryffindor thing to do; the girl asking the boy out.” Tom plucked a flower from the bouquet, slightly grinning, “Y/N L/N, you are one amazing girl. I would be honored to be your date.”

Tom slowly tilted Y/N’s chin up and smiled.

“That’s… a yes, right?”

“It’s a yes.”

Malfoy practically tackled Tom. “My friend has a date! Tom finally has a date!”

The hallway burst into cheers and claps. Liza was especially happy. She bounced up to Y/N, hugging her tightly. Other people approached Y/N, joyfully congratulating her and patting her back. Her cheeks ached from smiling so much, but the adrenaline blocked out her pain.

Tom glanced at Y/N, pausing. He adored that glint in her eyes and he hoped it would be there for a long time to come.

[jbaileyfansite]

Interview with Backstage (2024)

Jonathan Bailey is still marinating in his thoughts, andthey taste pretty sweet. Top notes of red wine, he says. 

These are busy times for the witty British heartthrob. He’s speaking over Zoom from Malta, where he’s filming the next “Jurassic World” installment. And two days prior, he received his first Emmy nomination for his supporting turn on Showtime’s “Fellow Travelers.” 

What’s lingering in Bailey’s mind after reaching such a huge milestone? “The nature of the story, and how that story’s come to be told,” he says of Ron Nyswaner’s limited series, a decades-spanning gay drama that’s chock-full of steamy sex scenes. For him, the Emmy nod is “an acknowledgment of [the show] meaning something much bigger.” 

The 36-year-old actor radiates humility and surges with pride for his collaborators; “Fellow Travelers” also picked up nominations for lead actor Matt Bomer and for Nyswaner’s writing. Bailey believes the fact that executive producer Robbie Rogers was able to get the project on television at all is a “brilliant signifier” of changing times. He feels lucky to have been the right person for the job. And after a couple of decades in the industry, the actor’s star is about to go supernova. 

Childhood stage work and gigs on 2000s teen TV shows led to roles on acclaimed series like ITV’s “Broadchurch” and Channel 4’s “Crashing.” He nabbed an Olivier in 2019 for his performance in Marianne Elliott’s West End revival of “Company.” Households on the other side of the Atlantic learned his name in 2020 when he courted lockdown audiences as Anthony, the strident head of the titular family on Netflix’s period-romance smash “Bridgerton.” 

Then came the game-changing “Fellow Travelers.” Bailey plays the idealistic Tim Laughlin, a closeted congressional staffer who pursues a clandestine relationship with another man amid the witch hunts of McCarthy-era Washington. The actor is keeping up that momentum in the coming months with part one of Jon M. Chu’s highly anticipated film adaptation of the Broadway musical “Wicked” (out Nov. 22), followed by the fourth “Jurassic World” in 2025. 

“Fellow Travelers” is a fitting inflection point for Bailey, considering it reflects aspects of his own gay identity. Tim’s story also illuminates a thread connecting the actor’s work, both in and out of character: always embracing the truth, shame be damned. 

Born in Wallingford, England, Bailey made a beeline for the arts as a kid when he began studying music and ballet. After getting a taste of performing at a young age, he secured an agent when he was a teenager. Even now, he feels the sense of joy and wonder he discovered in those early days. 

He chose not to attend drama school, instead throwing himself into professional theater, where he encountered the performance process in its most essential form. “You start with your own instincts, and then you share with others in the room in real time,” Bailey says. “You academically approach text, then you emotionally explore it. Then, you physically put it on its feet.”

Theater taught him to be observant. In rehearsals, he witnessed actors being brilliant and bold, but also making crucial mistakes. Weeks of rehearsing helped him learn how to spend time with a character as he watched his castmates play against type and expand themselves through performance. Those lessons both tested and encouraged him, and they’ve carried him throughout his career. 

Since then, Bailey has gotten the chance to see plenty of giants at work. He reverently discusses performing Stephen Sondheim’s music alongside Patti LuPone in “Company” and reciting Shakespeare opposite Ian McKellen in the Chichester Festival Theatre’s 2017 production of “King Lear.” 

His contemporaries also made for great teachers. He worked with Phoebe Waller-Bridge on “Crashing” and Michaela Coel on “Chewing Gum”—two certified television geniuses whose creative successes Bailey likens to the magnesium flame of a meteor. It’s an apt comparison—Waller-Bridge called him “a meteorite of fun” in a 2022 interview with GQ. (“I think I’ve always been quite naughty,” he says playfully.)

“There’s so much you take on via natural osmosis,” Bailey explains. “It’s what you watch and how you interpret things.”

For example, he thinks that every actor should see Sandy Dennis’ Oscar-winning turn as Honey in Mike Nichols’ 1966 film “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?” Her performance whet his curiosity about the craft: “She is so fluid. I mean, that might be the most exposing answer I’ve given about what my inner world is like.”

Bailey’s technique is rooted in music. He plays piano and clarinet, and he approaches acting like an instrument, too. When reading a script for the first time, he experiences his character’s arc as the phrases in a song. “The way my brain works is that I see the images of what they’re doing,” he says. “When I say ‘phrasing,’ it’s like, how you get from that image to this image.”

When he was playing the bottled-up Anthony on “Bridgerton,” Bailey found inspiration in songs by Echo and the Bunnymen and Nirvana. While filming “Fellow Travelers” in Toronto, he went on long walks while listening to expansive pop music to help him explore Tim, a character whose energy radiates outward.

Considering Bailey’s process plays like a song, connoisseurs of his work might notice a motif. Sam from “Crashing,” a party boy Bailey calls “a wild, untamed animal in a tiny little cage,” aggressively maintains a facade of heterosexuality while pining for his male housemate Fred (Amit Shah). On Season 2 of “Bridgerton,” Anthony locked himself into a prison of duty and a loveless engagement to avoid acknowledging his desire for the fiery Kate Sharma (Simone Ashley).

Tim of “Fellow Travelers” is the latest in a series of sharply drawn characters confronting the tension between their assigned roles and their personal truths. Viewers first meet a straitlaced rule-follower whose Catholic piety is only matched by his loyalty to the infamous Senator Joseph McCarthy. All that changes when he crosses paths with Hawkins “Hawk” Fuller (Bomer), a crystal-eyed, debonair State Department official. Their respective closets combust on contact, and they enter into a forbidden love affair just as McCarthy’s Lavender Scare has begun purging queer people from the halls of government.

Bailey’s interior work tends to be more emotional than cerebral, but he’s a generous conversation partner who’s always game to riff on the deep stuff. Whether it’s yearning, going against expectations, or facing high stakes, the phrasing is what draws him in. 

He finds a lot of gorgeous notes to play across the eight episodes of “Fellow Travelers” as the action moves from the 1950s to the ’80s, making pit stops along the way. While Hawk settles for a life of straight domesticity, Tim hurtles through a sexual and political awakening: The Beltway boy becomes an activist priest who refuses to diminish himself, especially when the AIDS crisis begins to rip his community apart.

Bailey loved being inside Tim’s head; in fact, the actor thinks of him as a hero. After experiencing the isolation of his secret relationship with Hawk, he opens himself up to the world: He comes out, moves to San Francisco, cobbles together a found family, and builds a life as his true self. 

“Ron Nyswaner has spoiled Matt and me for the operatic detail that existed between [our characters],” Bailey says, “and also with Tim’s political fervor: the truth and the honesty that he demands of himself and the world around him, and the grappling with anything that is an obstacle to his own and other’s happiness.”

You can’t talk about “Fellow Travelers” without discussing its rapturous sex scenes—and not only for titillation’s sake, though the kinky encounters between Tim and Hawk certainly call for smelling salts. These sequences gave Bailey the opportunity to commit authentic queer intimacy to the screen, which members of the LGBTQ+ community rarely come across as they search for ways to understand their identities. 

The trust between Bailey and Bomer informed everything they did onscreen. Before filming those scenes, the two actors talked through their approach at a café (Goldstruck Coffee on Cumberland Street in Toronto—a ribald little detail that still makes Bailey laugh). The filming itself was incredibly technical, and the actors worked with an intimacy coordinator on set. “We sort of hit the ground running, knowing exactly what was going to be required but also how to communicate throughout it,” Bailey says. “It felt immediately quite safe.”

He sensed an exciting opportunity to tell a story about transformative love amid the “wild, oppressive moment” of the Lavender Scare, dismissing any reservations about the explicit nature of the material. “Honestly, this is exactly why this show is going to be brilliant,” he remembers thinking.

The series’ milestone dramatic moments, with buttons still done up and no skin showing, carried that same sense of significance. No matter how much Tim grew over the course of his arc, Bailey says that his bond with Hawk remained an “extraordinary, material thing.”

This summer, the actor made a very Tim move when he founded the Shameless Fund, a charity that supports LGBTQ+ causes under the tagline: “Raising cash. Erasing shame.” The initiative grew directly out of his acting work—first inspired by the platform afforded to him by “Bridgerton” and further influenced by his experience on “Fellow Travelers.” 

Playing Tim—or, as Bailey puts it, spending “five months doing a dissertation on queer oppression and liberation”—catalyzed his thoughts about the people who created a world where such a show could even exist. “I think in ‘Fellow Travelers,’ it’s so clear what Tim wants,” he says. “But as the world around him develops, you realize there’s so much that he can’t have, but that he can help change.”

Bailey sees that progress playing out in the next generation. He has a small role on the upcoming third season of Netflix’s queer YA hit “Heartstopper” as a dreamy academic who’s the celebrity crush of the series’ protagonist, Charlie (Joe Locke). Based on creator Alice Oseman’s graphic novel series, the show has found a passionate following of young LGBTQ+ fans. 

When he watched “Heartstopper” for the first time, Bailey remembers wondering what it would have been like to see such representation on television when he was growing up. “I was so celebratory of it,” he says. “But it was obviously kind of a melancholic watch for people above a certain age, because it allowed them to grieve what they didn’t have.”

Having conquered the Regency and Cold War periods on the small screen, Bailey’s blockbuster era is imminent. He’s playing dashing love interest Fiyero in the “Wicked” films (based on Gregory Maguire’s 1995 novel), singing and dancing alongside Cynthia Erivo and Ariana Grande. It’s a perfect fit for the actor’s particular lens: “Musically and theatrically, I understand it massively.”

Since “Wicked” came with its own well-known songs to study, Bailey spent a lot of time with composer-lyricist Stephen Schwartz’s music in his ears rather than Kurt Cobain’s. He explored Fiyero’s interiority through the musical theater form itself: What does the act of singing express for him?

And for a character whose signature number is called “Dancing Through Life,” what metaphorical direction are his steps leading him in? 

Bailey sees Fiyero as part of the same club as Tim, Anthony, and Sam, as the heightened world of Oz sends him on a journey of radical transformation. “I think about where he starts and where he ends up; he’s literally a changed person,” the actor says. “I savored the arc over two films.” 

Next year, Bailey will become an action star in Gareth Edwards’ next installment of “Jurassic World” opposite Scarlett Johansson. Though details have yet to be announced, including the movie’s title, production is well underway; Bailey just finished filming in Thailand before shooting moved to Malta. A few days before we spoke, he was interacting with a fake blue-screen dinosaur (which is only a spoiler if you thought Hollywood has actually been cloning big reptiles this whole time).

But Bailey is still keeping his theater muscles toned. Next year, he’s starring as the titular monarch in Nicholas Hytner’s production of Shakespeare’s “Richard II” at London’s Bridge Theatre. “I have to go and sharpen up,” he says of returning to the stage. “You feel so sharp and dexterous at the end of a theater run—but also, you know, without a soul. Carcass levels of absolute exhaustion.”

Bailey lights up at the prospect of getting back onstage and experiencing the kinetic energy between the actors, crew, and director. He believes that the emotional and intellectual rigor of theater leads to a tight, specific piece of work. It’s an art form that requires continuous creation night after night.

This stamina comes in handy in front of a camera, too. “When you’re exhausted, you have to rely on technique,” he explains. “Technique does get you over the finish line, and you can deliver a performance that is honest and tell the story effectively and truthfully.” 

Until then—and until he’s back on set with those fake dinosaurs—he’s going to soak up that Emmy-nomination afterglow for a little while longer. 

“I’m actually going to go and have another glass of wine to celebrate,” he says.

Source

[riririnnnn]

As I mentioned in my post earlier:

His cuff (that thing around his neck) is near transparent which gives us a lot of room to ponder since we don't exactly know what this chain even represent.

Taking Hiori as an example, let's suppose the chain represents the burden that holds back someone's true ego.

His cuff being transparent gives us two things:

1. It might be plastic which doesn't really make any sense if I were to be honest.

2. It is glass which makes a lot of sense because how's glass? Hell yeah, my geniuses, glass is really fragile which completely fits into what he said:

Further, in that volume cover, he has pulled down his collar which puts a lot of spotlight into his blue rose tattoo, and we all know what that tattoo symbolises for Kaiser.

In case you don't remember: Kaiser got this tattoo as a reminder to himself to never fall back into his weak mentality because Blue Rose symbolises the achievement of impossible, and he saw it as an example to turn impossible to reality since Blue Rose, itself, is artificial and defies the natural order.

What is said above can be found with a quick Google search:

But what grabbed my most attention is this panel:

WHY?

If he only wanted to push the soccer industry to despair, then why he is adamant about winning the Champions league and the World Cup?????

Also, contrary to popular beliefs, I don't actually think Kaiser has a superiority complex because, look:

What Chris said could be considered as an exaggerated way to rile someone, but isn't this, indirectly, exactly what Kaiser says after the Manshine City match ended?

Kaiser said something along the lines of, "BM's main character is Noa and it's impossible for me to be the current number one, that's why I came to NEL to use Isagi as a way to increase my value." He even went as far as to say that he is a secondary character in BM because BM is Noa's team.

I don't think so that anyone with superior complex will admit such real facts.

Further, why did he got so angry when Chris said those things? Isn't someone bound to be angrier if the other one was to point out their obvious weak point? So, does this mean, Kaiser actually got an inferior complex?

I'm not a psychologist, so I'm not dwelling too much into it.

However, there is another thing I want to point out:

So, because of that spreadsheet/official art of a very damaged soccer ball beside Kaiser's foot, the Fandom widely believes that Kaiser was poor while growing up .

BUT!

Being poor as a backstory has already been used three times: Naruhaya Asahi, Noel Noa, and Lorenzo Don.

I understand that in any sector with a lot of money and/or fame, there are many people who come from a poor economic background, but this is fiction, baby. No author wants anything be repeated to the point it feels overused.

That's why, I highly believe that Kaiser was either bullied or mistreated by his seniors when he started playing soccer which explains that he practiced fucking hard that the soccer ball was damaged, and also his supposed hatred towards the soccer industry. It also explains his long, unkempt hair because he was too indulged in practice.

OR!

It goes a bit darker, so proceed with caution:

Soccer somehow destroyed his family's peace just like the brotherhood of Itoshi brothers.

I may write about others in another post, but in this post, I would like to think that the person who destroyed his family's peace was his own father. It could be that his father was a soccer player himself and due to some circumstances, he fell off the soccer industry which took a toll on his mental health, and he started physically abusing either Kaiser, his mom or both.

Why physical abuse? Because Kaiser is shown having an affinity to choking.

If we get our minds out of the gutter, then there have been instances when he choked himself because he was frustrated. Also, didn't he say that he stroked his rose tattoo as a good luck before matches and compared it to, "as if tightening a noose," or something.

That's why, I kinda think that, AT LEAST, someone has choked Kaiser as abuse/bullying.

I'll rant about the above thing in another post tomorrow or some time later because I don't want this post to be too long, and also because I'm hungry af.

.

.

.

I remember a vivid dream when Kaiser threatened me to join BM.

[aha-chuu]

Kaveh Backstory Summary

Taken from the character stories recently leaked on project ambr.

Childhood:

When Kaveh was young, he was the only child of his parents, who were both accomplished scholars. Kaveh encouraged his father to take part in the inter-darshan championships - the same ones we see in the 3.6 trailer. His father ends up doing well and Kaveh is so so proud, tells his father to compete further.

He loses the championship by just a hair. Somehow, this leads to him going into the desert... Where he goes missing. Some time later, his body is recovered and he's announced officially dead.

From that point forward, Kaveh's home becomes a cold, lonely place full of sadness. He believes that if he hadn't encouraged his father, he never would have died. Kaveh desperately holds onto this idea that, so long as he never inflicts pain on anyone, he'll somehow rediscover the warmth of his childhood.

Akademiya:

Kaveh joins the Akademiya as part of Ksharewar darshan, the same as his mother. His mother, who has been depressed since his father died and unable to create art, receives a job offer from Fontaine. While Kaveh says it's fine and she should go, he's in fact consumed by loneliness.

He's an excellent student, the best from his darshan in many years. Alhaitham enters the Akademiya two years his junior, and makes a less positive name for himself - while they are very different and do butt heads, Kaveh gets to know him out of curiosity. He meets Alhaitham right as his mother leaves him to live alone for the first time in his life, and they become close.

Kaveh considers him his best friend, at the time.

Together, alongside several other students, Kaveh and Alhaitham embark on a group project. But they are geniuses and the other members of their group struggle to keep up, dropping out one by one. Alhaitham sees no issue; he and Kaveh can complete the project alone, they should not slow down to artificially uplift the others.

Kaveh, meanwhile, is too kind hearted. He stretches himself thin in order to take up everyone else's workload on top of his own, slowing down and burning out.

Alhaitham tells him not to, that it's not good for him or for the project. Kaveh says he's heartless, that he should be more willing to help others. It becomes heated, then, Alhaitham pointing out that Kaveh needs to stop feeling guilty for everyone else's problems - that he's only so focused on other people because he can't bear to look inward at himself. His altruism is not a symptom of selflessness but of overwhelming guilt.

It's the first time someone has read him so perfectly. Kaveh finds himself exposed, upset and angry in front of the person he considered his closest friend. The reality Alhaitham described is one that he cannot face. So Kaveh strikes back, tells Alhaitham that he should have never befriended him - that he regrets their entire relationship.

They part ways immediately afterwards. Their joint research is never completed, but the research space is offered to them both. Kaveh writes it off, unwilling to stay in contact with Alhaitham. In addition, Alhaitham removes his name from the thesis and Kaveh tears up his copy - only to put it back together some time later.

Career:

Over time, Sumeru becomes more and more radical. The arts are seen as completely useless, senseless decoration. Kaveh's vision of design is the combination of aesthetics and practicality, but all the jobs he receives ask for a completely rational approach. He's stunted, realising that he can't realise his dream like this. Kaveh can't help but become more and more depressed over the state of Sumeru.

Then, like a shining light, he's offered the perfect commission: a huge mansion with near complete creative control over the design. It's Dori's commission and she is mostly uninterested in the process - simply asking that it be beautiful, extravagant and secluded in location. Kaveh convinces Dori to go out of her way for the mountainside view, and she finally agrees.

Disaster strikes halfway through construction. A withering zone overcomes the building site, destroying the materials and leaving the progress completely impossible to recover. Dori is incensed - if Kaveh hadn't persuaded her to change the building site, it would never have happened. She wants him off the project.

Kaveh sits on the ruins of the mansion overnight, considering. He's desperate to finish the project - certain it will sate the desire for fulfillment he's had for so long now. But Dori has lost so much money and she's so displeased with him, all he can do to get back on her side is to recompense her for all the materials so that she no longer sees the whole thing as one huge financial loss. Kaveh has savings, but not nearly enough... His mother's house is under his name though, and that would get him up to 70% of the cost.

The next day, Kaveh sells off all his assets and gives everything to Dori. She allows him back onto the project, unpaid. Kaveh makes further additions that are over budget, and by the time the palace is completed he's heavily in debt and homeless.

He feels fulfilled by the project's completion at first, but quickly falls into despair at his life circumstances.

The circumstances:

Kaveh turns to alcohol to drown his sorrows, camping out at Lambad's tavern day and night. When his old associates visit, Kaveh pretends that he's just in between jobs, on break. Out of sympathy, Lambad gives him free drinks and keeps his table reserved. For two weeks, he stays in the tavern in this way, paying Lambad's kindness back by redesigning the booths for him. He's completely penniless, and so he can do nothing else.

Then, by chance, Alhaitham visits the tavern for a drink, finding Kaveh. He immediately sees he's in a bad way, and Kaveh can't help but unload all of his troubles onto the man he once considered his best friend.

At this, Alhaitham asks a difficult question: "how has realising your ideals gone for you?". It asks Kaveh to face the reality of his life again, harsh and cold, but it comes from a genuine place that tells Kaveh to engage in some self reflection.

By happenstance, Kaveh moves into Alhaitham's home. Believing that Alhaitham would never perform a good deed unconditionally, he is plagued once again by his guilty conscience. Despite this, "the most unshakable part of one's past is a friend that will never change". Alhaitham is Kaveh's stability, it seems, and for the first time in years, "home" no longer translates to loneliness for Kaveh.

[symptomofgout]

the narrative of kaveh being an idiot is so baffling to me because he is, quite literally, canonically considered a genius…? why is the popular consensus “6000 IQ alhaitham and his lovably stupid roommate kaveh” when every npc commenting on kaveh refers to his intellect & talent, the literal god of wisdom says kaveh has an “almost-perfect grasp of what it truly means for sumeru to be a nation of wisdom” (whereas she questions alhaitham’s wisdom in her line about him), and alhaitham’s own story profile calls kaveh a genius multiple times??? like the whole point is that he’s alhaitham’s intellectual equal despite having entirely separate worldviews and demeanors, which frustrates alhaitham to no end — ‘how can someone so smart do all of these things that, to me, are so evidently stupid?’ the takeaway from their dynamic should NOT be kaveh is dumb, but rather that empathy and emotion aren’t actually the opposites of logic and intelligence, but sadly both alhaitham and the realm of academia as a whole are too blinded by their own definitions of logic to fully realize that.

tl;dr kaveh is not dumb by any standards and i will prove it

(under the cut: quotes/screenshots/etc proving this + more. please spread the gospel and dispel ignorance. amen)

some npc voicelines (there are more but i’m lazy):

these are pretty self-explanatory — kaveh is a widely-renowned scholar, architect, and engineer throughout sumeru. he graduated from the akademiya with flying colors, students were desperate to take his classes, etc.

nahida’s voicelines:

both are intelligent but only one is wise: kaveh. alhaitham is too restricted by his narrow definition of wisdom (read: what he deems ‘logical’) to look beyond himself and grasp that there’s more to intellect and knowledge than pure cold rationality. he can’t comprehend that empathy and intellect aren’t fundamentally incompatible — in fact, they’re best when put hand in hand. kaveh is one of the few scholars capable of valuing emotions, empathy, and artistic endeavors, while the rest of the akademiya closes themselves off to that entire realm of knowledge from the get-go. this is what makes kaveh uniquely wise, and what alhaitham lacks. until you understand that emotions and logic can and should coexist, you won’t be successful in the true pursuit of knowledge.

last but not least:

alhaitham’s profile (worth noting that profile stories are pretty much the most reliable source of information on characters’ true beliefs and opinions — their voicelines are still them putting on acts in front of the traveler, but these stories are told from the perspective of an omniscient narrator and are likely closer to the truth):

“two geniuses.” and even after their falling out, “neither of them will deny the other party’s exceptional brilliance” — meaning alhaitham considers kaveh to be exceptionally brilliant. point blank. in the text bro

hilarious line — it’s basically alhaitham saying he doesn’t understand how someone with kaveh’s talent and intellect could have a personality/worldview so different from haitham’s. ‘how can someone that smart be so annoying!!!!!’ and ofc by values we know it’s referring to kaveh’s idealism, empathy, and affinity for the arts

alhaitham considers kaveh to be “another genius,” someone who is so much his intellectual equal that he’s “an excellent mirror” for alhaitham. it’s like an experiment for him — the initial question is “how can someone as smart as me care about all of these things i’ve always believed to be worthless,” the subjects are kaveh and alhaitham, the controlled variable is their intellect. because their intellect is the same, alhaitham is able to study their differences (can’t attribute said differences to varying intellect). alhaitham would never say it out loud — and luckily he doesn’t need to bc his character story tells us — but he’s deeply fascinated by kaveh bc kaveh’s very existence is a threat to haitham’s worldview, & he’s letting kaveh stay with him bc through kaveh, alhaitham learns about not just himself but the outside world and humanity as a whole, and as a scholar, there’s nothing more valuable. (also because he feels comfortable with kaveh [“he’s a familiar face”] and they’re both lonely [“similarly lacks familial attachments”] lol these two are never beating the We Know You Don’t Actually Hate Each Other allegations but that’s a different point so i digress)

IN CONCLUSION:

this is all just the TEXTUAL evidence — people saying “kaveh is smart” — and doesn’t even include all of the obvious implicit signs of kaveh’s intellect (no one who graduates from the akademiya w honors and teaches classes there could be anything other than incredibly intelligent, al “i don’t do anything that i don’t want to do” “i’m not going to bother explaining it to you because you won’t understand” haitham not only puts up with but actively seeks out debates with kaveh which he absolutely would not do if he didn’t respect him or consider him to be of roughly equal intellect, look at the debates he has w alhaitham on sumeru messageboards and TELL ME those messages sound like they were written by an idiot or itto or something [you cant], etc etc etc).

and also this is all from 3.3 (+ 3.4 alhaitham leaks)! we don’t even know kaveh’s rarity yet, that’s how far he is from being playable, but there’s already this much information on just how smart he is! it’s the main thing we know about him — 1) he’s smart, 2) he’s passionate/driven by what he feels is right! why does that keep turning into “LOL HOTHEADED HIMBO”??!

okay look. this is all so extra i know. BUT. i must set the record straight now (god knows it’ll only get worse the closer we get to kaveh’s release) because this sudden-onset mass illiteracy within genshin players is going to send me to an early grave. feel free to use as a resource and educate the ignorant so kaveh does not end up reduced to a one-note meme dumb guy when literally that’s just… not even in the game. i mean at least other annoying OOC fandom interpretations have basis in the game but genshin literally tells u every time it gets the opportunity that Kaveh Is Just As Smart As Alhaitham Because Cold Rationality Does Not Equal Wisdom/Intelligence and losing that would be such a crime because it is by far the most interesting n promising thing hoyo has done with new characters in ages! like, not only are they funny and entertaining, not only are they fascinating incredible foils for one another, but they’re used to make a much-needed argument against the prevalent hegemony of mindless rationality and our “logical” society’s illogical fear of emotion/empathy. but yeah sure, theyre just itto & ayato 2.0, i guess. god. the lack of reading comprehension among genshin players is literally an epidemic

[linkspooky]

How do you feel about higuruma in the last couple chapters + how he died(assuming hes dead he seems pretty dead), normally characters with death wishes like choso for example are denied that wish, but it was granted for higuruma. just in a meta sense how do u think that served the story

The reason why Choso wasn't allowed to die, meanwhile Higuruma dies is less Gege being inconsistent and more they are two different characters with two different arcs. Choso's atonement arc is pretty clear, his arc is probably the most complete arc in the manga. Higuruma doesn't have an arc, he doesn't grow or adapt or change in time even though he has the potential to, and even though he's challenged head on by Sukuna and that's why he dies.

I don't mean to say that Higuruma is a bad character when I say that he doesn't have an arc, but rather his character remains static even though he is a well-rounded character. We can dive deeper into Higuruma's character though, to show what I mean when I say that his arc is static and that's the reason he died.

The Ugliness of the Weak

Everyone jumps to Nanami right away when looking for a character to compare Higuruma too, but while there are superficial similarities the best comparison is actually Geto.

Nanami is probably the prime example of a first grade sorcerer, he and Yuji are probably the only sorcerers who do their jobs for non-selfish reasons. Nanami could have had an escape from sorcery to make more money in a safer job, but he goes back to sorcery because he believes that work is more useful to society and worthwhile.

Admittedly, Higuruma starts in the same place as Nanami, wanting to do his work as a defense attorney even though the odds are stacked against him, instead of being a prosecutor or a judge because he doesn't want to turn his eyes away from others.

However, herein lies the rub, while they share the desire to do a job that's useful for others, especially people who can't really fight for themselves, and they both work hard thankless jobs Nanami never develops a superiority complex about it.

Nanami never thinks of the people he helps as weak and inferior. In fact, he criticizes for only fighting for his ego. He doesn't separate the strong and the weak as different categories, he just does his job out of a sense of duty.

Higuruma is compared to Gojo in terms of his raw talent as a Jujutsu Sorcerer, a modern sorcerer who learned domain expansion, and domain amplification in less than a month and then reverse cursed technique in a few minutes when pressed by Sukuna. He was also considered a genius at lawschool as well who could have easily climbed the ranks further if he didn't stay a defense attorney.

Higuruma does his job out of a perceived duty to keep his eyes open to justice, but he still looks down on those same people he's defending. He sees them as a category separate to himself, they are the weak defendants and he is the savior.

Now, who has a talent similiar to Gojo, started in a place of wanting to help the weak out of a sense of duty, while also harboring a superiority complex against them because he was considered such a genius? Ding, ding, ding you get no points for that one, it's Geto.

"The weakness of the victim. The weakness of the accused. Ugly that's what I thought every time I tried to help anyone." "What I saw was nothing out of the ordinary. A hideous evil, known to everyone."

They're both characters who had impossibly hard jobs who still put their noses down to the grindstone and did their jobs out of a sense of justice, or obligation, or because they upheld themselves to a higher moral standard, only to get sick of it from the sense that none of their actions were making a difference and also the ingratitude of people they were trying to save.

They're also, despite being geniuses incredibly fragile ego-wise. Geto has a hero complex, and when Toji easily defeats him, nearly kills Gojo, and kills Rika in front of him he's shown he's a normal person like the rest of the world and can't deal, even saying spiteful words to Gojo that if he had all of Gojo's strength anything he wanted would be possible. This is coming from Geto who had always treated Gojo like an equal and never envied him up until this point.

Then there's Higuruma who calls the victims of an unfair justice system ugly and weak because they ummm... stare at him.

LIke, wow! They're going to go to jail for a long time for a crime they didn't even do, and they're just a little bit upset about it?

How dare they.

They're looking for someone to blame because they're in a bad situation and they're freaking out?

This perfectly human reaction is called "ugly" because Higuruma sees himself in a superior category to these people. He calls empathy looking at someone's weaknesses, and he felt the people he tried to sympathize with and understand were ugly.

I mean yeah I guess freaking out when they were going to prison for a crime they didn't commit and blaming Higuruma who was overworking himself trying to help them wasn't very cash money of them, but you know what else isn't very chill?

Flipping out and murdering a bunch of people the exact moment you're granted a power like Jujutsu by the culling games. Geto and Higuruma see themselves in a category superior to the weak people who sometimes aren't perfect victims and sometimes aren't grateful for their sacrifices, but when given power how exactly do they use it?

Geto after snapping quickly takes over the same cult that killed Riko Amanai an innocent girl, and uses it for much more nefarious purposes. Higuruma quickly becomes a much worse person than the supposed ugly crimminals he was defending the second, the literal second he's granted power.

Geto and Higuruma are just as capable of being bad victims as the same kind of bad victims they looked down on. They're just as affected by trauma, and just as willing to do bad things when put into bad situations because guess what... they're still human. The strong are equally as human as the weak. They see themselves as better than others, and their altruism isn't 100% altruistic (but to be honest no altruism is completely unselfish) because it comes from a place of perceived charity work. When they are hit with the realization that they are just as human, and therefore just as capable of erroring they can't cope.

Which is where we finally get to my point, if Choso is not allowed to die for atonement then why does the story kill off Higuruma and grant him his death wish?

Here's where I tie him to Geto again. (A lot of characters parallel with Geto really including Yuji several times but that's a different post, like Higuruma doesn't have nearly the same bodycount as Geto and he doesn't have any genocidal ambition but that's why he's a character foil and not the exact same character.)

Arguably, Geto also had a death wish that was granted by Gojo himself at the tragic end of Jujutsu Kaisen Zero. While he never directly says so like Choso and Higuruma do there are plenty of lines that indicate it.

He says that he can't be happy from the bottom of his heart in this world, that's the same as basically saying he can't continue living in the world. Years earlier in Hidden Inventory in a panel that parallels this scene he also says that he'd willingly let Gojo kill him and there'd be meaning in that death. At the end of Zero, Geto is crawling away from Yuta ready to continue the fight again and when Gojo suddenly appears he basically makes no attempts to resist.

You could even say that Geto was throwing his life away in pursuit of an impossible dream to begin with. In the light novel adaptation of this scene, the narrator even speculates that the world was simply too cruel a place for Geto to live in.

'...no matter what, I hate non-sorcerers. But it's not like I hate everyone at Jujutsu Tech. It's just...' It's just that it was what Geto had to do. In some ways, Geto and Yuuta were the same. Geto was too sincere. To someone like him, the reality that the world of sorcerers presented to him was just too cruel. '...that in a world like this, I couldn't be truly happy from the bottom of my heart.'

So arguably Geto had a death wish too, and that wish was granted by Gojo in the end, while Choso's was denied.

To live for the purpose of being yourself. And for that goal, Geto could only continue to pursue his twisted dream, drowning himself in the curse that lies in the gap between ideal and reality. This was the final confession of a man who could only choose to warp himself, who had erased himself in pursuit of his goals. The only person who could bear such a curse was Gojo Satoru.

The prose even further compares Geto to Yuta in how they're too sincere, and how Geto can't change himself in the face of a cruel world. Geto dies not because of his death wish though that's part of it, but because of his inability to adapt and grow.

Then we reach Higuruma, who is literally a DEFENSE ATTORNEY, who is supposed to sympathize with accused murderers, and even actual murderers that he has to defend at court. Yet, this DEFENSE ATTORNEY, can't see a single reason to live and atone and redeem himself for the murders he's committed.

Higuruma's a defense attorney, but his cursed technique is a prosecutor and a judge that hands out death sentences. Despite his stated goal of being a defense attorney and wanting to sympathize with human weakness, in the end he cannot forgive crimminals and he also cannot forgive himself.

If anything, the difference between Choso and Higuruma is that Choso still has things to live for. He has a death wish and a wish to atone, but what keeps him going is his desire to protect Yuji. Higuruma the DEFENSE ATTORNEY has given up his role as a protector and is only dealing out punishments.

A character who is still capable of growing and changing in a narrative usually lives, unless they're a mentor to be sacrificed like Nanami. A character who does not grow either doesn't get screentime or they die. Higuruma couldn't see forgiveness or atonement for crimminals, he could only see punishment and because of that when he became a crimminal too he accepted his punishment and died.

[erendur]

Crack Silm Relationships I’d like to read about II

2. Daeron and Any Fëanorian but Maglor

This one is just because I would like to add even more awkwardness/drama to their family dynamics. We are told that Maglor is considered the best singer, “second only to Daeron”, so I would like to put them in the same room/family on a regular basis. I think they would behave like hostile cats. The Fëanorians would be torn between family solidarity (Maglor, our brother,  is the best !)and the fact that they have ears (they can tell that Daeron is objectively better). 

I think Daeron/Caranthir could be interesting. I think Caranthir is very depressed that his wife left him, and he’s a loner, so is being pretty miserable all alone in his castle with his snooty servants, and I want him to be happy. I think he is a bit overlooked among the Fëanorians, because he’s not tall and well-formed like Maedhros, he’s not a genius singer like Maglor, he’s not handsome like Celegorm, and he’s not like his father like Curufin. So I think he would like someone to hang out with him, be nice to him, and he would love a trophy husband. Daeron would sing to him and tell him he’s great. Daeron is the greatest singer, so Caranthir would finally have something to be super proud of. The other Fëanorians (minus Maglor) would also be super proud of the new genius family member (they like collecting geniuses, it’s a family thing), they would boast about him when Maglor is not around (and look super awkward when Maglor is around).

Daeron is in love with Lúthien, but it’s hopeless. He’s too Elvish and too clean for her tastes. So he should just leave and go somewhere where he can be better appreciated. He’s an artists, so he would be attracted to the fatal charm of the Fëanorian drama. He would spot the potential for great songs. Plus he’s pissed off at Lúthien and her dad, who never recognised him at his just value, so he “passes to the enemy”. He immediately recognises in Caranthir a fellow brooder, who also thinks he is under-valued. Plus Caranthir might be one of the least-good looking Fëanorian, but he’s still a Fëanorian (he’s hot). He’s got blazing eyes and amazing black hair, plus probably looks a bit eldrichty to an Elf who did not go to Valinor like Daeron, all things we know that Daeron is partial to.

Next thing you know, Daeron lets himself be pampered by an actual prince like he always thought he deserved. He writes songs about how great Caranthir is, and about how much the Arafinweans suck, which Caranthir always thought he deserved. Caranthir gets super intense at singing/music competitions (mad football/soccer parents energy), and nobody dares to utter even the mildest of criticisms against Daeron, even well out of earshot of Caranthir, because we all know how hot-tempered and prone to violence he can be. Daeron’s reputation, as a result, has never been better. 

Maybe the fact that Maglor is considered “second only to Daeron” is in fact because Maglor doesn’t have a proud, hot-tempered and stabbing-happy husband, so whenever people say nice things about Maglor, they immediately feel the need to add “but Daeron is better, of course”, no matter where they are in Beleriand and beyond.

3. Amrod and Amras and Amazon Wives

These are the two Fëanorians we know the least about. If they both make it to Beleriand, it seems that they just enjoy hanging out together in the woods and hunt, and somehow manage to survive all the way to the last Kinslaying. So maybe they are like proto-hobbits Elves, who are just happy to chill together as bachelors and out of harm’s way. Maybe they invent pipe-weed and waistcoats during the 500 odds years where they do not have much fighting to do.

But since they seem to be spending lots of time East, in the forest, and seem pretty good at fighting, I would like to give them Avari Amazon Wives. Maybe also twins, for the matching look. They would woo each other with their respective prowesses with bows. They would go on hunts together. I imagine the Fëanorians in general being interested in other varieties of Elves, and in not marrying other Noldor. So A&A could go on adventures in the East with their cool wives. Maybe have some more red-hair babies, if they feel like it. That’s it, I have nothing more on that. 

3. Curufin and a Dwarf.

We only have unions of Elves and Men, and nothing with Dwarves. But Curufin, we are told, befriends the Dwarves enough that the few things Elves know about Khuzdul all come from him (not Celebrimbor. Curufin). Which denotes a very deep level of trust and friendship there, since Tolkien wrote somewhere (yes, somewhere), that Dwarves keep that language Super Secret. They never speak or teach it to anyone, in fact they never speak it in front of non-Dwarves, preferring to learn and use other race’s tongues in front of them to keep it a secret. They even go as far as to keep their Khudzul names secret, and only ever use other non-Khuzdul ones with non-Dwarves. And yet Curufin managed to learn some of it, or at least to learn some things about it.

Of course Curufin is great at smithing, is probably super interested in Dwarvish techniques and maybe aesthetics. A Dwarf partner would also be interested on learning more about Fëanorian Forge Magic. They would have a lot of interests in common (well, they would have forge-work, but since they would be both super into it, that’s quite enough). 

Curufin is also his Father’s Son, so I don’t think he would care what anybody would have to say about his choice of partner, or be particularly prejudiced when it comes his choice of romantic interest. If someone is going to cross that interracial barrier in Middle-Earth, it’s Curvo. 

Crack Silm Relationships I'd like to read about I

Crack Silm Relationships I'd like to read about III

Crack Silm Relationships I'd like to read about IV

[genshinfanboy]

His childhood friend

|Hello everyone who sees this. I'm finally back kinda my writings this is not the work in progress I mentioned before that one is still a wip. I will still be slow but that's no surprise to those who follow me. This will be a childhood friends au. The reader isn't the traveler. Anyways feel free to change the pronouns to fit your own. Please enjoy and have a wonderful day or night.

Scenario: He was typically alone in his youth very few he'd actually call friends. Though you were always there beside him. If anyone dared to say anything bad about him with you around you'd always come to defend him. He didnt care what was said about him but knowing you were there was endearing to him. As you both grew up he developed a bit of a crush on you. How could he not become enamored by you after all you were always there when he needed someone.

Alhaitham x A Male Reader

Warnings: Mentions of bullying, alcohol and being drunk in Alhaitham's, minor angst ending with comfort, some big and small spoilers for archon quests as well as character stories, and long|

Alhaitham:

It's not a surprise to many people to know the scribe wasn't liked by many people. He knew this as well and chose willingly to ignore the comments said behind his back. His senior Kaveh only seemed to add to them but he knew Kaveh wasnt a bad person. While he wasn't liked by many of his peers it didn't bother him much.

He didn't care about their opinions as they didn't matter much to him. Though he'd be lying if he said no one's opinions mattered to him. His long time friend's opinions mattered. More than he'd ever be willingly to admit out loud. They grew up together after all not many could blame his thoughts even if they did seem irrational. It seemed he wasn't the only person that had his eyes on this person. (Name) were objectively attractive and super kind.

He remembers fondly when they had met as he traversed home. The two met because (Name)'s parents were good friends with his grandmother. His grandmother was asked to watch the other for his parents who went on an expedition to the desert. The other wasn't considered a genius by the Akademiya standards unlike himself.

Though their differences in intelligence didn't seem to deter his dear (Name). In fact it seemed he wanted to be Alhaitham's friend even more due to that fact. He wanted to be there to support him or talk if needed. He knew the pressure put on those considered geniuses by the Akademiya. He would constantly ask what Alhaitham was reading and read it too. It'd take him more time to read the book but he was always excited to hear what scribe had thought.

He had a knack for caring for others. (Name) was gentle and caring. Whenever someone got injured hed tend to them best to his ablitlies. Alhaitham remembers back to his akademiya days where (eye colored) male would tend to Kaveh when his senior would get injured.

There were also others who'd intentionally fall in front of him to get his care. He was wildly popular kind of like Tighnari. The abount of people who would do things to get (Name)'s attention. The scribe sometimes wished he was clumsy to be treated by his best friend like others. Whenever he was sick the other would dote on him and he did enjoy it.

Whenever he was sick Alhaitham could feel his gentle hands check his temperatures. He both hated and loved being sick. On one hand he'd receive all of (Name)'s attention but on the other he'd feel awful. It wasn't like he was sick often. He took very good care of himself.

During his time in the akademiya the other could tell when he wasn't interested in interacting with others. (Name) would take any attention off of the scribe and put it on himself. That way Alhaitham could read in peace. It was nice to know someone cared about when he didn't wish to socialize.

The memories soon became a bit bitter for the scribe. His dear friend had been away in another nation for what felt like a long time. (Name) was an amurta scholar that left a year ago to learn about plans in Mondstadt. He only knew the other left when a letter arrived at his desk. During the time he was unable to leave while dealing with the grand sage situation.

Once it was resolved he still had to deal with being the acting grand sage. Which meant he had to deal with the hive mind situation. Not once did he get another letter. His roommate had made some comments about him being more irritated than normal. He brushed off what Kaveh had said of course. Though the architect was the only person who knew of his best friend. His words did have some merits to them.

Alhaitham was typically supportive of the other's academic endeavors however he left without a word in person this time. It hurt him quite a bit but none could tell. Things had finally calmed down for him and as irrational as it was he was super tempted to take a leave of absence and make the pointless travel to Mondstadt. He'd rather do nothing at all if he takes a leave of absence.

It was driving him mad not being able to see him for long. Alhaitham was used to seeing him at least once a day every day. Now it's been a year. The only thing he's gotten from the other was a gift that arrived on his birthday. Thinking on everything made his mood sour a bit.

The dendro user never thought someone could effect him to the point others notice a shift in his attitude. Which he was wrong about both Cyno and Tighnari had told him he seemed longing for something or rather someone. He rolled his eyes remembering the phrases they used. He turned his music up not wanting to hear anything around him.

Alhaitham's thoughts had become too disorganized for his preference. He brought out the book he'd be reading. He still paid attention to his surroundings effortlessly avoiding bumping into anyone or anything. He started to sort through his thoughts. Then something Kaveh had once mentioned became the loudest. "You know if you had just confessed your love he may have never left." Repeating itself in his mind.

(Name) certainly didn't expect to run into Kaveh when he returned to Sumeru. The young male couldn't say he was angry to run into the blond. His eyes quickly looked over the other. "You seem to be same as ever Kaveh. Why are you mopping around this time?" He asked with a smile. There were several comments about him being handsome and shining by those around them. He ignored everyone else and focused on the blond.

Kaveh's crimson eyes widened and he quickly rubbed them as if the person in front of him was an illusion. "You're finally back! Maybe now Alhaitham will finally get off my back a bit. You know since you left he's colder than ever. Not to mention the way you left him without a proper farewell had made his fuse so short. You really couldve parted in a better way. I heard he'd reject several thesis essays for minor errors the week you left." He quickly scolded forgetting about his previous stupor and worries.

The amurta scholar frowned and stepped closer. He pinched the others cheek slightly for talking poorly about his best friend. He always hated others speaking badly of Alhaitham even if the scribe could care less. "You need to stop being so hard on him. I swear your both like fire and ice sometimes. Yet both of you haven't convinced me you actually hate the other. You can't convince you both dont care. After all you both know too much about the others behaviors and moods. However since this past year has clearly been so hard on you how about I treat you to a meal at lambads? Then after I can walk you home and pay him a visit? I got him when i was leaving Mondstadt." He said patting his bag

Kaveh huffed at them a bit. "I keep telling you he's the worst but you never listen. You think that someone who has as much attention as Tighnari you'd find someone else to spend your time with. You know there are several people who requested me to give you their love letters. They all seemed to disappear before I could send them to you." He said rubbing his cheek. The two started walking to the tavern. Their conversations were pleasant and catching up on the past year. Several more passersby comments were made about the amurta scholar.

(Name) was used to hearing them and simply ignored them all. They've followed him since he was a child. They only bothered him when people would comment about Alhaitham. He remembered hearing several people making comments about him and (Name) got in a lot of arguments defending him constantly.

People would say that Alhaitham didnt care about him and that He didn't care and would continue doing it until his final breath. It's not his fault that people couldn't see the good traits of the tall scribe. He would argue with anyone who claimed that. They didn't know him and would just make assumptions about it.

During their outing at the tavern ended with Kaveh becoming intoxicated from the amount of drinks he had. Some wondered if they should contact Alhaitham to come collect him. (Name) reassured them he'd take the architect home amd there was no need to bother anyone else. He dragged Kaveh to the residence he lived in with the srcibe. "Kaveh please tell me you have your key." He said worried Alhaitham may have once again taken it by mistake.

Kaveh in his intoxicated state checked for his keys and realized he had them for once. He also reminded the other that he can't tell anyone of his living arrangements. He handed the amurta scholar his key not trusting his own coordination. (Name) was definitely surprised that the blond had remembered his keys. He unlocked the door and helped the older male inside. His eyes met with duel covered ones.

To most the eyes would seem uncaring as usual but there was definitely shock in them. He gave a smile to the scribe. "So you finally decide to come back and choose to dump a drunk Kaveh on me." The sliver haired male stated. The scribe had a bitterness in his tone. Which earned a laugh from the amurta scholar. "I plan on staying for a bit to catch up with you unless I'm no longer welcome here. If that's the case then I'll put kaveh in his room and leave." (Name) teased. He knew Alhaitham was upset with him but there was no hate in his tone.

Alhaitham admittedly got a little jealous watching the other carry Kaveh. The lighting in the house made him look perfect. The blond's arm around his neck and his arm around the other's waist. "Do as you wish. I know trying to convince you otherwise is pointless. After all you always do what you want. Just like all of those pointless fights you got into on my behalf. There is always the example of you leaving out of the blue despite promises we made." The silver haired male said looking up at the other holding his drunk roommate. There was definitely bitterness in his tone.

"Those fights were not pointless. They dared to slander you." He said. (Name) frowned he knew what the other had been talking about. When they were in their teen years he promised Alhaitham he'd always be by his side.

Alhaitham had graduated and their schedules grew hectic. They saw each other less and less especially while (Name) was working on getting through his studies. Alhaitham had made a comment about how maybe it'd be better if they stopped hanging out for a bit just like others had mentioned. Which seemed to upset the other who vowed that no matter what he'd stay by Alhaitham's side.

Even if it meant doing his assignments in the archive or next to him reading. He refused to give up on their friendship which admittedly warmed the scribes heart. There were a few occasions where the amurta student had fallen asleep when they were reading together due to pulling an all nighter to spend some more time with Alhaitham. (Name) promised he'd always be there for the scribe nothing would stop him.

He gave a sigh remembering the promise before taking Kaveh to his room so they could talk in private without Kaveh sulking over clients he's been dealing with. His guilt for his actions came up as they clearly effected his friend. He shook it off a bit then came back to the living room and noticed his long time friend had already marked his place in his book and closed it.

The silver haired male had his arms crossed seeing the other return. The look in his eyes was hard to read but if (Name) had to make a guess it would be anger and hurt. The room was silent and the mood was suffocating. The lights in the room suddenly became super interesting. Guilt building even more.

"Do you hate me for breaking our promise and leaving Sumeru?" He asked remaining standing. If the other said yes to his question he'd probably rush out knowing he messed up everything. He didn't want to sit anywhere near the other because he was understandably upset with him. "Without saying a proper farewell." The silver haired male added avoiding the question intentionally.

His duel colored eyes watching the other intensely as if waiting for something to happen. There was no sign of him going to respond to the other's question. Those multicolored eyes showing several emotions. Making guilt grow more. (Name) feared that his actions were mistakes.

"I couldn't say by to your face as I would've lost all will to go to Mondstadt. I thought of telling you in person but everytime I felt sick trying to think of the words to say. I needed to do it. I can't blame you if you now hate me or are upset with me. It's super hard for me to say no to you all it would take would be one word from you and my resolve would crumble in your hands. I know that doesn't excuse my actions and you deserve to have been........" as the amurta scholar started rambling he looked away from the other not able to keep eye contact anymore. His tone quiet and sad.

He skidishly made his way closer to the nearest wall. He leaned against it. He knew that he had no right feeling saddened bringing this up. If (Name) was being honest he may have avoided Alhaitham for a bit longer had he not ran into Kaveh. He looked at the entrance wondering if Alhaitham was going to be critical of his reasonings. He completely lost all the confidence he had when he brought Kaveh home.

Alhaitham stood up and walked over to the other. His body was reacting instinctually. He let it too. He felt as though his dear friend would run off the moment he said much. So just as his long time friend was about to continue his ramblings he caged the other between himself and the wall with arms to both sides of his head.

"Stop rambling and get to your point. What was so important exactly that you left for a year? Not only that but instead of telling me in person you choose to just leave a letter on my desk." He said pressing his body against the other's. His eyes met (eye colored) eyes. He was trying to get a read on the other's thoughts but the other was avoiding his stare. He placed one of his hands on the amurta scholars chin and forced him to look at him.

(Name) had no choice but to look into the duel colored eyed man. His heart was pounding in his chest he was worried at their proximity the scribe would feel it. "I wanted to look into something. It didn't have to be Mondstadt persay. Any other nation was fine. Mondstadt is just the one that was approved first so I went there. I was confused on a lot and needed to clear my head. I needed time to think things out. I sorted things out which is why I have returned." He answered still trying to look away to no avail. The scribe's hand keeping his face in place.

"You failed to take my feelings into account with all this. I would've been happy to aid you with what confused you. After all problems have multiple solutions. You never had a problem with me looking over things before or helping you talk through a problem before. Did you actually listen to what others said?" Alhaitham's voice started becoming quiet. His heart was heavy. His hand holding the other's chin fell to his side. He may needed to step away.

"Was leaving really necessary? It hurt that I meant so little that you couldn't tell me farewell in person. I found out after you already left that you were gone. Others had known about you leaving. You told Kaveh in person yet all I got was a letter only. Typically I take promises with a grain of salt. I thought your's meant something as youre not like everyone else." Alhaitham pressed looking at the other. He noticed their face had become red. He figured they must've drank a few drinks with Kaveh. The alchohol must've finally reacted in the amurta scholar's system.

Alhaitham's other arm dropped realizing this fact. He felt heart broken that (Name) couldn't have this conversation sober. His mind was racing with confusion and sadness. Maybe he should stop this conversation cause it seemed to hurt him more than the other leaving him.

He didn't wish to but pulled away. Here he was thinking irrationally again. Bothered about what others have said about their relationship. He was about to walk off but felt a hand around his wrist as if the other knew he was going walk off and not see him for awhile. His normally stoic expression changed for a moment. It revealed his frustration and anger about the situation at hand. "Let go of my wrist (Name). I dont want to talk anymore." He said. There wasnt enough will in him to pull his arm away forcefully.

"You were the one that was confusing me. Alhaitham it was never that you meant so little to me. You mean too much to me. If I saw you I wouldn't have been able to sorted things out and would've gave up on the entire thing. I've always been by your side and I wish to continue that. Which made it hard for me to figure out how or when my feelings towards you shifted from romantic. If it was a problem you could've solved I would've ran to you." (Name) admitted he held on to the other's wrist a bit tigher. As if letting go would cause the silver haired male to disappear from his sight. He was aware of his grip to not hurt the scribe's hand.

The guilt hit (Name) full force. His eyes started watering at the realization of what he did. However he refused to let go. He knew he should and everything he did was cruel and unfair to his dear akademiya genius.

The amurta scholar was super red and looking away trying to hide it along with his eyes. The room had become a suffocating silence again. The scribe looking at him with wide eyes. "How much did you end up drinking with Kaveh? It this some kind of joke you planned. After all you sound illogical. Leaving me to sort that out. What kind of answer did you come to? That you don't need to be by my side anymore? You get attention from everyone around no matter where you go. Why would I matter?" He said running his free hand through his hair.

Alhaitham was surprised his response made the other look at him finally. He saw the tears forming and got upset at himself. He shouldn't have lashed out like that. "I'm perfectly sober Alhaitham. I made sure I would be. I planned on bringing Kaveh home after I ran into him because it'd force me to come talk with you instead of being a coward and running away. After all confessing that I'm in love with you may make you hate me. Being away from you after years of seeing you all the time sucked." (Name) said.

He got a determined look before placing Alhaitham's hand he held hostage above his heart so the other could feel his heart racing. "Please answer my question. Did leaving make you hate me?" He pleaded refusing to feel sorry for himself as he was the one that did this and hurt his best friend. "I messed up and hurt you. If you do please tell me if I can make it up to you. Even if you don't return my feelings I don't want to lose you."

Alhaitham looked at him with wide eyes. He felt the racing heart beat his movements and speech were too clear for him to be drunk. "I do hate you for leaving me because I fell in love with you so many years ago. You make me think irrationally at times. However I can forgive you is you never do that to me again." He said before placing his free hand on the other's face. He gently wiped the tears away.

The amurta scholar tried pushing his hand away. "No I was the one who messed up and hurt you don't comfort me." He whined avoiding eye contact once again. "Then agree to be mine and never leave my side again and we can move past this. I need verbal confirmation." Alhaitham said pressing his forehead against the other's.

"I will always be yours. I'm sorry for everything this past year. I had got you something as well when I was in Mondstadt." (Name) stated. He opened his bag and brought out a neatly wrapped box. And a bottle of dandelion wine. Alhaitham took the items from his hands. He placed them on the table then leaned close kissing the other. "Stay the night." He said pulling away.

"It's so incredibly hard to say no to you." (Name) said pulling the scrib into a hug. The rest of the night went by as a blur. Alhaitham woke up the next day thinking it was a dream but felt something warm in his arms. He smiled faintly seeing his beloved (Name) asleep in his arms. He pulled them closer to his arms. There will be consequences if he tried another stunt he pulled a year ago.

[myneodream]

Have you noticed how unfair the existence of Cale Henituse and Choi Han is in Earth 1?

And no, I am not talking about how Cale knew what was going to happen or how they both have the main character syndrome.

Summarizing: They are Disney actors in a world of nosy auts!

Did I just got out of shower? Yes.

Should I go eat, because it's one in the morning and I have class at 8 A.M.? Also yes.

Is this my first post to this fandom, that I haven't interacted with in a year? Yup.

BUT THIS IS IMPORTANT.

Like, think about it.

Also, I'm focusing more on Cale, but Choi Han also fits.

I don't know how it is now, but to Millennials and Gen Z, we grew up watching Disney movies and, most of them, like High School Musical, showed lies, like that High School was fun.

But the point I want to say is regarding the visual. We grew up, watching how people were supposed to be in High school, having a pattern to follow. Disregarding the fact that the actors were in their twenties!

That caused a bunch of self esteem issues, because the ideal model was someone who already went through puberty, not one that is going through it. And the comparison was the worst, because it wasn't a realistic pattern to follow.

That made me think about how the world perceives the two. I haven't read the second part yet and haven't touched anything related in almost a year, but, if I am not mistaken, Cale ends that part with 20 years and Choi Han with the appearance of 18.

BUT we all know that they are way older than that. Cale was in his thirties and Choi Han between 60's and 150's (yes, I saw both options and I don't remember which was true).

The fact that everyone at first looks down on Cale is not only because of his physic. It's because he is technically a teenager! (Regarding the Korean age, they become adults at 20. Ps: I heard it had a change, so I don't know how it is now, but this novel was written before that). That is probably why the kids also tend to hear Cale. We always hear the older cooler kids and not the adults.

And then we have two teenagers fighting a war. Multiple wars. And they won. Because, in reality, they are mostly functional adults. They had time to learn, they had experience. But to everyone, they are only geniuses. Not that they aren't, but it is more like "the trash became responsible overnight and is taking strategies from the air."

And then we consider that Cale is also a nobleman. And you know what nobles do? Always want to be the best, always comparing to others. Imagine the pressure of growing in a family like this, in a society like this. And I can say I have an idea, I'm Latina and half my family is Asian. We always have that nosy aunt that compares us to anyone that is better. Sometimes the aunt is your own mother, but there is always someone.

But get the perspective. All the next generation will have Cale and Choi Han as the ideal model. In a society that comparison and nitpicking everything is the tradition. And it will be hell for them. Because there is no way that a "new Cale" or a "new Choi Han" can be born. They are the product of a bunch of factors. So, they will be searching for the impossible.

Hence, the existence of Cale and Choi Han is unfair the same way that Disney placing adults playing teenagers is unfair to the kids watching them.

[cavalierious-whim]

Of Handjobs and Geniuses (ScrewTio)

Dr. Ratio finds himself bored at an event and drags Mr. Screwllum to a dark and quiet corner.

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--

“So tell me—just how functional is fully functional?”

 A fool’s question for most but Veritas isn’t a fool, he’s a genius, so he’s allowed this one consideration. 

“Question—”

Insufferable, Veritas thinks, the way this man talks, both in that dull, dry tone and the way he thinks about it long after Screwllum takes his leave. Too polite, too proper, too—

“—is the level of functionality concerning my genitalia important for this specific moment?”

No. Yes. No. It isn’t Veritas who drags his hand down a chest, tracing the hemmed edge of a flimsy tunic. He may have pulled him into a dark corner but it is Screwllum who has the wandering touches, who is far more interested in the lithe shape of his form. 

“I do think that the question is apt when considering any future plans.”

“Future plans? We have barely executed this one, as poorly formed as it is.”

Poorly formed is a kind descriptor—but Screwllum is like that, isn’t he? Too kind when it comes to humanity, endlessly curious about what it is that makes humans tick. There is no plan, only action and reaction. Veritas found this particular space station event rather boring so the natural order of operations was to find a new puzzle to solve.

“Are you complaining?”

“I can only point out the rather ill-timing of your arousal.”

Veritas feels the smirk melt right off of his face. “I would have expected a man as learned as you to be better at dirty talk, but, then again, perhaps I should remind myself that a computer is only that—a computer. Absolute boner killer.” It nearly pains him to say boner, but there are times when a more crass wording is warranted. 

Screwllum’s expression cannot physically change but somehow, ever-so-slightly, Veritas picks up on the change in his demeanor. “Question: If your arousal is… killed—” Veritas snorts at that. “—then I ask for you to explain this.”

Veritas stops laughing when Screwllum’s hand drops to the front of his trousers. His gloved hand sweeps across the tented front, just the barest tease of a touch. This, Screwllum is better at, this soft-handed touch that makes his cock twitch in his clothing. All those thoughts of terrible dirty talk and ill attempts at flirting melt into the shadows that cloak them, and Veritas finds himself bracing against an old cargo container to keep himself upright.

“You aren’t unhandsome, despite being a mechanical windbag.”

“I would question your taste in potential partners—”

“You wouldn’t if you knew me better. Truly, Mr. Screwllum, you’re the most normal of the lot.”

There is a pause. The soft whirring of Screwllum’s inner workings is easily heard when pressed so close together. “And yet you insult—”

“Your dirty talk, yes. Abysmal. Tell me, Mr. Screwllum, have you ever fucked a man?”

Screwllum tilts his head, the tassel of his monocle swinging gently. “Answer: I am, in fact, fully functional in any capacity you so wish, and it may interest you to know that I am not entirely unpracticed.”

There is something funny about the thought of Screwllum sleeping with other people. Not strange—no, Veritas expects it, almost. One cannot observe humanity without considering every inch and corner of humankind. Figuratively and literally. Still. 

“I feel that I should inform you that it is in ill taste to inflate your—”

“You will find that I haven’t inflated anything yet.”

A joke. Veritas finds his mouth curling, annoyingly endeared—but it lasts only a moment before the annoyance settles in. “Your hand,” Veritas murmurs.

“I shall remove it—”

“I didn’t say that.” Were Screwllum a man he’d have a half-lidded gaze—Veritas knows that. However, there is a question that is needling his scholarly brain. “What do you get out of this?”

Another pause. That soft, whirring sound that Veritas finds strangely soothing. “Question—”

“Must you frame every sentence in such a way?” Veritas has no idea if that is a quirk of Screwllum’s programming or merely a preference. 

Screwllum huffs, a soft hiss of laughter that sounds almost foreign. “Dr. Ratio—” Really, he should call him by his name considering the hand that brushes against his cock, but Veritas doesn’t correct him. “—do you think that I am incapable of experiencing pleasure?”

What a curious thought. “Can you?”

“Rebuttal: What is it that you constitute as pleasure?” Screwllum’s knuckles press harder against Veritas’s clothed erection. “Many would assume that a being such as myself would be unable to experience arousal—as you clearly did. But then I must ask: What is pleasure? Is it not merely the act of feeling enjoyment? Satisfaction? These are things that I am well acquainted with, being a genius of many achievements.”

What a dick, thinks Veritas. But, takes one to know one he supposed, and he’s more than willing to admit that he isn’t the kindest man in this galaxy. 

“And does this bring you pleasure? Touching me?” 

“I always enjoy watching my partners come undone. There is… pleasure in that, and it has fueled my indulgences through the years.”

Veritas gives him a too-sweet grin that is mostly sarcastic. “And is this an indulgence?”

“Yes—and do not give me that look. I am incapable of lying.”

That sounds like a lie but it’s a concern for another time. Veritas finds it difficult to think with Screwllum stroking his cock through the thick fabric of his trousers, that gentle brush of his knuckles having turned into a proper squeeze. 

Veritas leans against the cargo container, legs parting as Screwllum bends closer. It’s weird to have a partner who cannot kiss you, who has no mouth, lips, or eyes to betray emotion, but Screwllum’s hands work perfectly fine, deft as they are when pulling at the opening of Veritas’s trousers. 

“Here?” 

“Are you not the one who pulled me into this corner?” Screwllum seems genuinely unconcerned, and Veritas still does nothing to stop his hand from dipping between fabric and his heated skin. 

Veritas hisses as Screwllum’s wrist brushes the spot just below his navel. “Cold,” he blurts, that metal hand a sudden reminder that Screwllum is not a man—at least not in the traditional sense. 

Thoughts are lost. He’d teased Screwllum about potentially inexperience but Veritas finds himself woefully wrong. Not quite practiced—no; Screwllum’s movements are jerky and odd, but he watches Veritas closely and is a very, very quick learner. The movements of his hand smooth out and he gives Veritas’s cock a stroke from base to tip that leaves him breathless. 

Screwllum’s hand is still cold, even through his glove, but the heat of Veritas’s skin clings to that fine, smooth leather, and the more that Screwllum jerks his cock, the hotter the space in his trousers burns. 

“Question,” says Screwllum then, with the absolute worst timing. “Is this adequate?”

Adequate, he asks. Veritas could punch him but he isn’t in the mood to break his hand, and something tells him that it would only amuse Screwllum further because the question is a damned tease. 

There are two options: he doesn’t answer, proving Screwllum right or he does answer, also proving Screwllum correct. A no-win situation. Screwllum has backed Veritas into a corner with the sort of ease that he hates being impressed by, and normally he’d blame the computer bits and programming, but Screwllum proves himself time and time again that he’s clearly more than a machine. 

Screwllum thumbs over the tip of his cock. “Observation: You’re wet.”

“You’re a fool—”

“And hard,” continues Screwllum, pulling his cock from his trousers properly. It’s dark enough. He’s covered by Screwllum’s form so that those passing by aren’t likely to see. “Good heft. You fit in my palm well enough—”

“Must you narrate?”

“No,” admits Screwllum. Veritas has the distinct thought that he would be smiling had he lips or smirking. “But it annoys you, so I am far more inclined to do so as a result.” He punctuates the thought with another twist of his hand, and Veritas finds himself biting back a moan. 

Ridiculous. Ridiculous. Screwllum leans in too close for something that’s more akin to rivals-with-apparent-benefits. Smells like metal and machine oil, and Veritas finds that he can’t get enough. Another stroke of his cock, this one slow and languid as Screwllum watches the way Veritas reacts as if he’s researching for a paper. Another sweep of his thumb across the tip of Veritas’s cock—and then Veritas is coming, spilling against that damnable leather glove, stunned stupid by his quick and sudden orgasm. 

Screwllum has the decorum to clean him up, politely yanking a handkerchief from his breast pocket to drag it across Veritas’s softening cock. And then he looks, studying his come that rests in his palm. “Observation—”

“I swear to the Aeons, if you comment on my semen—”

Screwllum does not. He offers him a boon by way of laughter instead, a deep sound that sounds far less tinny than the rest of his words. Then he tucks away that handkerchief, and then Veritas’s cock. “This was fun,” he says then, quietly, as he fastens Veritas’s trousers. “About what you said earlier—future plans. I am amenable to another tryst if you so wish, though I would kindly ask that it doesn’t take place in… a corridor. I enjoy sharing dinner first, at least.”

Veritas blinks. “Are you asking me out on a date?”

Screwllum steps back and readjusts his glove. “I think not,” he says dryly. “Merely a meal between colleagues, followed by a potential nightcap.” 

“For research purposes, I assume,” finished Veritas, pulling himself upright on wobbling legs. 

“If that is your preferred dynamic.”

Veritas rubs his forehead, too rung out to think about quipping back with a double entendre. Another time. Another—well, that’s the question at hand, isn’t it? “You’re annoying, aren’t you?”

Screwllum tugs his lapels straight and even. “I’ve been called worse, I assure you. Besides, you’ll find that petty insults of such a nature do little to harm me.”

Of course.

“That being said…” Screwllum trails off and clears his throat. “Dinner would be nice. I am surrounded by geniuses, yes, but I rarely share the company of someone so… effortlessly himself.”

Veritas grunts and drags a hand through his hair. “Consider me intrigued enough to oblige. Your phone, please.”

Screwllum seems surprised by how easily he gave in. Veritas ignores it, adding his contact and handing the phone back. “Don’t call. Only text if it’s to set a date. Otherwise, you’ll be left on read, or worse—blocked. My patience is thin and you’re lucky that you’ve held my attention longer than most.”

Screwllum hums and pockets his phone. “Noted.” 

Veritas is about to brush by him when Screwllum reaches out. Metal knuckles brush across his cheekbone, still warmed by the heat of his own skin. 

“Grease,” says Screwllum, dragging his thumb over the spot. “Likely my fault. I apologize.”

Veritas’s heart skips a beat. Oh, no, no, no, this is a mistake—but his bed has been made and it’s time to lie in the sheets. He knocks Screwllum’s hand away and leaves, barely offering him a wave of his hand.

Later, Screwllum sends him a text message thanking him for the company because he is, at his core, an absurd gentleman.

And, against all reason, Veritas chooses to answer.

[detectiveruth]

Hi, Ruth. How are you? I really like your character designs from different games, especially from MCF. I am very interested to know how Madeline (The Master Detective) treats characters such as the Archivist, Charles and Richard Galloway from Black Veil.

Thank you for enjoying my art 😊.

Charles is basically her biggest and most dangerous enemy of her entire career as a Master Detective. Considering Madelyn have been encountering Dalimar more times than she liked, whether intentional or not, so safe to say she doesn’t like him at all. Also considering the fact that Charles Dalimar have became obsessed with Master Detective, let’s just say if Madelyn would choose between jumping off a bridge to seeing Charles Dalimar again, she would choose the first option without hesitation 😅.

Richard Galloway isn’t a big threat compared to Charles but Madelyn considered him as a dangerous individual (considering the fact he did killed her during the events of The Black Veil). Madelyn would probably thinks of him as a lesser version of Charles Dalimar. (A murderous maniac who is obsessed with his mortality and is over heels with someone who isn’t interested, Kinda funny when you compared the two actually 😅).

Archivist. Oh My Goodness. I have so many ideas for Archivist and Madelyn’s relationship. I actually have this Au Idea involving both Madelyn and Achivist as well as the other existing characters in MCF but I’ll probably would post that another time.

Okay basically I like to imagine Archivist as an opposite version of Master Detective (Madelyn). Both being geniuses with their own abilities that makes them unique. Madelyn (of course) does not like Archivist due to the events of Moths to the Flame but Madelyn kinda does feel bad for him after seeing his workplace situation and many rejections application papers. She does see him as a possible capable ally especially since he is proven to be (sort of) helpful during the events of Crossfade. She’s still not gonna excused his attempts of nearly killing her though.

I actually had a more detailed writing on both of their relationships as well as some ideas for my Au in my Docs. I’ll probably post that idea soon.