#about how I'm wasting time and that I have SO MUCH TIME and I don't use it and I have to apply to an fsj until tomorrow

[lady-of-endless]

"Veiled Intentions" (Hwang In-ho/Player 001/Front man x player!reader)

Summary: No game of cat and mouse ends well.

Author's Note: Thank you so much to everyone who voted for this fic to be done first. I'm happy to provide. He might be a little obsessive, but you should've expected it by now. Don't worry; I got a softer, heartfelt, and angsty fic on the go for tomorrow. Hope you'll enjoy this one until then, darlings!

(Squid Game masterlist here)

Whenever he flashed a smile to the team, no one noticed how the coldness of his eyes was somehow still persistent. The charm of his smile always eclipsed that detail. It was enough to successfully manipulate most players, except for you. The only one who seemed to see the bigger picture was you and he could sense it. No amount of calculated smooth-talking, apparent encouragement, or fake short smiles could trick you too.

The others seemed to accept him easily, either for the calmness that made him seem reliable or for the vital need to have more people with the same vote. Not you, and it was clear to him.

In-ho had a plan going on; he had no intention of wasting time and trying harder to trick you too, letting you do your silent judging. But still, you were slowly becoming more and more present in his mind. You weren't warming up to him, weren't impressed like the others. Why not? More importantly, why did he like it that way? You were smarter and he enjoyed watching you analyzing everyone around, including him. Yes, you were a problem for him, but he was almost proud of having such a fascinating problem to take care of.

In-ho was too good at looking relieved, and joyful whenever the other players from player 456's team made it during the games. You noticed a strange spark in his eyes whenever you also completed the games. Was he really relieved or just glad that with each game he was getting closer to taking care of you personally?

Even now, he was watching you silently when the speakers announced bedtime. You all remembered what was the plan Gi-hun came up with to stay safe and looked around for a lonely bed bunk. Your constant doubt pushed you to come up with a plan to figure him out and now it was the perfect time to strike.

In-ho was ready to make a strategic choice when your voice interrupted his thoughts again.

"Join me?" You asked bluntly, with a warm smile on your face. A fake smile, a reflection of his. He looked at you, raising an eyebrow at your proposal. "For bonding time, getting along." You added, encouragingly, almost playfully, not to stir suspicion in others.

All the other teammates noticed how you kept your distance from him and were glad to see you try to get along.

In-ho almost wanted to chuckle at your reasoning but his expression remained composed. He could tell that you were trying to convince him with your charm and that you only played a role. And he was doing the same.

"Lead the way then." In-ho responded calmly, as always.

In-ho had a small, almost imperceptible smirk on his face the whole time following you, and his eyes were glued to the nape of your neck. How could he ignore you?

You crawled carefully under a bed that was placed closer to a corner no one else chose. A shiver ran down your spine when he joined you effortlessly, making almost no sound at all. The lights dimmed. However, that wasn't the problem. The problem was that the space from under the beds was not enough for two. Both of you were lying down on your backs, staring at the bed from above. His shoulder was pressed against yours, the feeling was impossible to push aside.

You closed your eyes tightly, cursing the tight space and sighing deeply. Why didn't you think this through? In-ho was amused by your frustration and how your body tensed next to his.

"You seemed so sure about this." He teased with a mocking tone he didn't even try to hide.

The way his voice sounded so intimate in the dark and how his warmth surrounded you, were making it hard to stick to the plan. You grew a little hotter under your clothes but you had to go for it. You took a breath in and spoke in a whisper.

"I can see right through your tactics." You said bluntly, still looking at the bed from above to avoid his gaze, knowing how intense it gets sometimes. You were almost proud of the sternness of your tone. "What are your intentions?"

He didn't respond right away, taking time to just look at your expression. In-ho was a meticulous man, he was expecting that question sooner or later from you.

"Wasn't I clear from the start?" In-ho asked calmly, almost innocently, switching his position to lay on his stomach and elbows, never losing sight of you. That position forced you to look up at him, exactly the way he liked it. He was getting too comfortable for someone who was cornered. Seeing how there was no sign of panic or surprise on his face, the previous boost of confidence was starting to slowly diminish in you.

"I think we both know what I mean." You added coldly, letting him know you've had enough of his games. He could feel your patience running thin and he was enjoying it.

Your assumption was true; you were so close to figuring it out but, at the same time, so far away, so clueless about what he really wanted, what he really was capable of. It gave him the freedom of acting anyways he wanted for a little bit.

"Indeed." He said, seeing an opening and moving a hand to the opposite side of your face on the floor, making it look like he was just supporting himself and not caging you. "And that's because you're playing the same games, don't you agree?" He asked smoothly. He watched as you rolled your eyes and looked away to hide your real reaction, taking you longer to respond. In-ho didn't insist, wanting to take his time exposing you bit by bit. When you turned your head back at him to answer, your heart halted, words dying. Your eyes met intimately, his face was even closer than expected.

"It won't work with me." His breath touched your lips. He brushed a strand of hair behind your ear to see your face better. He frowned when he caught himself giving in to his instincts, his fingertips caressing your cheek and stopping on your lower lip without thinking.

"But your tries were..." He added, applying pressure on your sensitive skin and moving his lips even closer to yours slowly. "Entertaining, to say the least."

In-ho watched your expression closely, observing the details of your face in the dark. He couldn't get enough that moment but his face didn't betray any sign of the greed that was coursing through him. So he didn't stop there, using the momentum of your shock.

"Was it fun?" He asked, mercilessly but blissfully tormenting and playing you. "To feel like you had the upper hand?" He whispered while his hand descended to the base of your neck.

In-ho looked at your parted lips again, waiting for your answer and not moving away. There was a storm of conflicted thoughts in your mind and the warmth of his palm on your pulse point was not helping you find a good answer in time.

"Answer me." His grip tightened slightly, his tone smooth yet demanding. "And look at me, darling"

You looked up at him and nodded, admitting silently. Finally, you understood what you got yourself into and felt more than exposed. It was frustrating how easily he switched the roles from being the one interrogated to the one asking whatever he wanted.

You shivered at the sight of his subtle smirk. It was nothing like the bright fake smile he offered to the team. One corner of his lips curled upwards while the rest of his expression remained composed. His eyes glinted with icy, calculated sharpness. Finally, you could see him, whoever he was, and not the simple player 001.

In-ho was studying her, thinking about how you weren't aware of the effect you had on him from how well he was concealing it. Still, none of your questions were answered.

"What are you going to-"

"Hush." He murmured against your lips, cutting your words. "Don't wake the others."

In-ho slowly traced your collarbones through the thin material of the shirt with your player number and placed his whole palm on your chest over your racing heart. He paused, just to feel your heart, taking credit for its hectic beating. The silence that surrounded you was not helping either, you could hear every breath, every move, enhancing the intimate feeling so much you had to remind yourself that you were still in the middle of a sick challenge with daily deadly games.

He looked back into your eyes and spoke softly, seeing your inner conflict, wanting to distract you from it. "I've caught you staring at me so many times."

"I was just spacing out." You whispered, not hesitating this time but still telling him another lie.

Even the always calm, rarely out of character In-ho chuckled at that. It was a pleasant, unfiltered but still strange sound.

"Liar." He said while caressing your hair again but making sure to tug gently at the roots as a warning. "You had so many opportunities to push me away since we got under here." He whispered, almost tenderly, meaning it. His eyes were not locked on yours. Was it because he was letting himself think out loud? "But you don't want to do that..." He added, pausing his touches, giving you time to object. But the truth was that your denial ended with him calling you 'darling'. That waited objection never came and In-ho understood.

With that, he allowed himself to take what he wanted. He thought to himself that it was inevitable. His lips found yours with an unexpected gentleness despite his restrained hunger. The hellhole you were trapped in seemed to fade away with the way his lips explored yours. His fingers tightened possessively against your skin as the kiss deepened. His warmth was embracing you blissfully but his tongue was making you dizzy with each breath he was stealing from you.

After what felt like time, bending to his will, In-ho broke the kiss slowly. Even if you didn't say a word, he still covered your lips with his finger for a moment.

"I'm expecting you to still be smart about this and keep it private." He spoke in your ear, an expectation or a warning. "Do that and you'll be safe no matter what."

What you couldn't understand was that this was a hidden promise. If you kept whatever he gave you a secret for yourself, he would pull all the strings to get you alone with him, away from that game.

[kirammanswifey]

Would you be down to write some reverse comfort with the Arcane characters?

Basically just make them go through one of the worst days of their lives then have the reader take care of them (I mostly just wanted to see Viktor in this scenario, but if you want to write for other characters too that'd be awesome)

Either way take your time and I hope you have a wonderful day ~☁️

arcane characters reverse comfort x fem reader

characters: viktor, jinx, vi, caitlyn, jayce, ekko, silco, mel and sevika.

writer's note: i'm always down for this kind of scenarios, make me feel like a teenage girl again. as you already know request are open ;)

Viktor

It has been an exhausting day in the lab. The experiments have failed time and again, each mistake weighing heavier on Viktor’s shoulders. You can see it in his eyes when he finally gives in, letting the tools fall with a long, heavy sigh. He leans against the workbench, his slender, hunched figure casting a shadow of defeat on the walls illuminated by the flickering equipment.

"This doesn't make sense..." he murmurs, as though the words are a burden he needs to release. His fingers drum frustratedly on the metallic surface, and you feel the despair in every tap. "I’ve made mistake after mistake... Maybe this was all a mistake from the start."

His words hit you, but it’s the tone of his voice that wounds you more, filled with a self-criticism that is painfully familiar but no less difficult to hear. You know how much his work matters to him, how much of himself he has poured into these projects. And you know this failure consumes him more than he’s willing to admit. You can't just stand by and watch him spiral.

"Viktor," you say softly, stepping closer and placing a firm yet comforting hand on his arm. "You’re a genius, and even geniuses have tough days. Today was one of those days, but it doesn’t define who you are or what you do."

At first, he doesn’t respond. His gaze is lost, searching for answers in the shadows that stretch across the lab. But then his grey eyes meet yours, filled with doubt and exhaustion. "How can you be so sure? Every day without progress... I feel like I’m wasting time, like I’m failing everyone, even myself."

Your heart tightens at his words. You take his hand in yours, intertwining your fingers gently, feeling the coolness of his skin against yours. "Because I know you, Viktor. I’ve seen your dedication, your passion. Every mistake, every small setback is part of the process. You don't have to carry this weight alone. I’m here to help you shoulder it."

The silence that follows is thick, but instead of uncomfortable, it’s a space where words aren’t necessary. Slowly, you see his posture relax, the tension in his shoulders beginning to ease. Without letting go of his hand, you step even closer, sensing the fragility of the moment.

"Let’s step outside for a bit," you whisper, "You need to clear your mind, get some fresh air. You don’t have to do it all today, not tonight."

He looks at you again, with a mix of gratitude and weariness, and finally nods. "Alright," he says softly, as if it’s hard for him to admit he needs the break.

You walk together to the exit, your fingers still entwined with his. The night air is a balm, cool and light, carrying away some of the day's heaviness. You walk in silence through the almost deserted streets, the distant hum of the city a constant murmur.

"Thank you," he finally whispers, breaking the silence with a voice soft, almost breaking. "I don’t know what I’d do without you."

You stop, turning to face him. "You don’t have to know, because I’m not going anywhere. I’m here for you, through the good and the bad days. You don’t have to bear this burden alone."

He tilts his head, and for a moment it seems like he’s about to say more, but instead, he simply squeezes your hand tighter, a silent gesture that speaks volumes.

"Come here," you say, leading him to a nearby bench. You sit beside him, and for the first time all night, you see him take a deep breath, as if the fresh air could cleanse not just his lungs but also his mind and soul.

Viktor rests his head on your shoulder, allowing himself to close his eyes and savor the moment. You kiss his head and gently stroke his hair, cherishing these rare moments, knowing how precious they are when they happen.

"Today was a bad day," he finally says, his voice tinged with a quiet melancholy. "But, for some reason, it doesn’t feel as overwhelming with… with you here."

You smile softly, feeling warmth spread from his acceptance, from his openness. "I’ll always be here to remind you that even the worst days come to an end. And that you are stronger than you think."

He looks at you, and for an instant, the world seems to stop. His gaze, filled with gratitude and something deeper, envelops you. Before you can say anything more, you feel him leaning towards you, and in that moment, everything falls into place. His lips brush against yours with a tenderness that disarms you, a kiss soft yet laden with unspoken emotions.

When you part, just inches away, his eyes remain closed as if he wants to hold onto the moment a little longer. "Thank you," he murmurs, his voice barely a whisper.

You cradle his face in your hands, gently caressing his cheeks. "There’s no need to thank me, my love."

Jinx

The day had been chaos, even by Jinx's standards. Everything had gone wrong: a botched attack, crumbling plans, and to top it all off, an unexpected explosion that almost trapped her in her own trap. Now, she sat in her lair, surrounded by the wreckage of her shattered inventions, her breath short and pulse racing. Her mind, always a whirlwind, now felt like a hurricane of uncontrollable voices and thoughts.

The laughter of her imaginary "friends" echoed in her head, growing louder, mocking her. "Failed again, Jinx. You always fail." She pressed her hands against her temples, squeezing as if she could silence the voices. But the laughter wouldn’t stop, and the crushing weight of loneliness and failure bore down on her.

You approached cautiously, knowing that Jinx in this state was a minefield. But you also knew you couldn’t leave her alone in her internal storm. "Jinx," you called softly, keeping your voice low and calm. "I’m here, sweets."

She didn’t respond at first, her body tense like a spring about to snap. But as you drew closer, her bright blue eyes, wide and wild, met yours with a mixture of anger and desperation. "Why? Why do you keep coming back? Don’t you get it? I don’t need anyone. I don’t want anyone to see me like this."

"I’m not here to judge you," you replied gently, sitting down next to her without encroaching too much on her space. "I’m here because I care. Because I know that sometimes, even the strongest people need a breather. And there’s nothing wrong with that."

She let out a bitter laugh, dripping with sarcasm. "A breather? You think I can just... breathe and everything will be fine? That’s not how my head works. It’s... broken. Everything’s broken."

Your eyes softened at the pain in her words, the self-loathing and anger intertwining dangerously. Without much thought, you reached out, lightly touching her hand, hoping the physical contact might ground her somehow.

"Maybe you can’t fix everything right away," you said softly, "but at least you’re not alone in this boat. I’m on board with you, and I’m not getting off, even if we hit an iceberg." You joked to lighten the tense atmosphere.

She looked at your hand on hers, and for a moment, it seemed like she would pull away. But instead, her trembling fingers closed around yours, with a grip that betrayed just how desperately she needed something—someone—to understand her.

"Why do you care?" she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I’m a mess. Everything I touch... I ruin."

"Because you’re more than your mistakes," you said, squeezing her hand gently. "You’re strong, creative, and even if the world doesn’t understand you, I want to be here for you, to help you see that, even when everything gets tough."

Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, her voice breaking as she murmured, "I don’t know if I can do it... but thank you... for not giving up on me."

You smiled softly, leaning closer to her. "I’ll never give up on you. And you know what? Let’s make a deal. Today was a bad day, but just for today, we’ll do whatever you want. How about we start with some ice cream?"

Her eyes lit up slightly, though there was still a shadow of doubt in her expression. "Ice cream? Really?"

"Serious business," you said, smiling a little more. "Pick your favorite flavor. We’ll go get it, and then we can do whatever you want. You can draw, launch rockets, blow things up—whatever makes you feel better."

"Can I dye your hair blue?" she asked, her tone teasing but her eyes hopeful.

"Anything but that," you corrected, not quite understanding her obsession with wanting to dye your hair.

She burst out laughing, pressing a hard kiss to your cheek. "Just kidding, hon. I love everything about you, even your boring dark hair."

"Hey!" you playfully patted her shoulder.

Suddenly, her smile faded again, uncertainty flickering in her gaze.

"But what if everything keeps going wrong?"

"Then I’ll be here to pick up the pieces with you," you said, gently stroking her hand. "You’re not alone, sweets. Not today, not any day."

She launched herself into your arms, hugging you tightly, her body trembling slightly. "Thank you..." she whispered against your neck, clinging to you as if you were her anchor in a storm. And in that moment, you knew the only thing that mattered was her feeling your presence, your unwavering support.

Vi

Vi’s mind was still trapped in the ring, replaying the final moments of that crucial fight. She had bet everything on it—her money, her pride, her reputation. Everything hung by a thread, and she had lost. The cheers had faded, leaving only the echo of failure resonating in her head.

She limped back to her hideout, her knuckles bloodied and her jaw clenched. Dropping onto the worn-out sofa, she let out a frustrated growl, covering her face with a hand as she tried to contain the fury and humiliation. She had risked so much, and now it was all gone.

The whispers of her defeat spread like wildfire. You knew Vi wasn’t one to admit defeat easily, nor to ask for help. So, with a heart full of concern, you went to find her, worried about her state.

The door creaked open as you stepped inside. "Vi," you called gently, finding her on the couch, shoulders tense and gaze fixed on the floor. You approached cautiously and sat on the floor in front of her, your chin resting on your hands as you looked at her intently. "Are you okay?"

"I don’t need your pity," she snapped, her voice sharp but laced with vulnerability. "I’m fine. Just... need a moment."

"Vi," you said softly, "it’s just one loss. You’re incredible in the ring, babe, but you can’t expect to win every time. Besides, we learn more from our mistakes than from our victories. It’s okay."

"No, it’s not okay," she shot back, finally lifting her head to meet your gaze, her blue eyes filled with frustration. "I bet everything on that fight. Everything. And now I have nothing."

"That’s why I’m here," you responded, sitting beside her and gently taking her bloodied hand in yours, inspecting it with care. "You don’t have to carry this alone. Let me help you."

"I don’t want your help," she protested, trying to pull her hand away, but you held on firmly. "I don’t need saving. I can handle this."

"Vi, don’t be stubborn," you chided, your voice firm yet warm. "I care about you, and I’m not going to stand by while you drown over something we can fix together."

Her gaze softened, a mix of wounded pride and unspoken gratitude in her eyes. "I can’t take your money," she muttered, looking down again. "It’s not fair to you."

"Babe, if the roles were reversed, I know you’d do the same for me," you reminded her. "This isn’t about fairness or debt. It’s about caring for someone I love."

The last word hung in the air, making Vi look up again. "You... love me?" she whispered, as if it was something she hadn’t allowed herself to hear before.

"Love you? I’m crazy about you, woman!" you admitted with a chuckle, gently squeezing her hand. "And because of that, I’m going to help you through this. Take the money, just this once. It’s not weakness to accept help, Vi. It’s strength to know when you need someone."

She let out a deep sigh, her body relaxing slightly as the tension began to ease. "Alright," she murmured finally, her voice barely a whisper. "I’ll take your help... just this once."

"That’s all I needed to hear," you said, smiling softly as you caressed her hand. "We’ll get through this, together."

Vi looked at you, and for the first time that night, a faint smile curved her lips. "Thank you," she said, leaning toward you. Her hand suddenly slid to your ass, giving it a playful squeeze.

You looked at her, a mix of confusion and amusement on your face. She just shrugged, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"What? It’s my way of saying thanks," Vi defended, following it up with a loud slap.

Laughing, you climbed onto her lap, leaning in close to her mouth, "Well, if I’d known your gratitude was this charming, I’d hope for favors more often."

Vi leaned in and kissed you, a tender kiss that spoke of gratitude and something deeper, needing no words. "I love you," she murmured against your lips.

"And I love you," you whispered, your lips still brushing hers.

Caitlyn

Caitlyn's office was silent, the only sound breaking the stillness was the soft scratch of her pencil against paper as she reviewed the reports that had come in. It had been a particularly difficult day for her. The weight of the decisions she'd had to make hung heavily on her shoulders, and her mind couldn't stop replaying the latest case she had been handling. Even though she tried to maintain her composure, you knew Caitlyn wasn't invincible.

You approached cautiously, gently tapping on the door before stepping inside. "Cait," you called softly, seeing her immersed in her work, her eyes glued to the desk, but her rigid posture betrayed her exhaustion.

She looked up and forced a smile. "Don’t worry, everything’s under control," she said, her voice slightly tenser than usual.

Leaning against the doorframe, you watched her with concern. "I know you're working hard, Cait, but this isn’t just about work, is it?"

She didn’t respond immediately, her eyes narrowing as if fighting herself not to admit what was clearly troubling her. "It’s nothing. Just... tough cases. Nothing you need to worry about."

You knew her too well. Something wasn’t right. Caitlyn always maintained her facade of strength, never showing vulnerability, but you knew even she had limits. You decided to step closer, gently removing the papers from her hands and sitting on her desk, right in front of her, catching her off guard. Her hands instinctively found your thighs, her fingers pressing into your skin as a silent sign of her pent-up stress.

"You're not doing this alone tonight, Cait," you told her firmly. "I know you feel the pressure, but you don’t have to carry it all by yourself."

She tried to smile, but the gesture only highlighted her fatigue. "I can't afford to show weakness. Everyone expects me to have the answers."

"That’s precisely what makes you human," you replied softly, cradling her face and appreciating her delicate features. "The burden of leadership, the tough decisions... it can’t all rest on you. If you need a break, you’ll take one. If you need to talk, I’m here."

Caitlyn remained silent, her gaze now locked onto yours, as if considering your words for the first time. You could see her defenses slowly crumbling, her breathing easing into a calmer rhythm. "Sometimes I feel like no one understands... how hard it is to keep everything together, always being the one expected to know what to do."

"I understand," you said, gently holding the hand that gripped your thigh. "And you don’t always have to have all the answers, Cait. It’s okay to feel lost. You can lean on me for these things and anything else."

She didn’t speak for a long moment, simply watching you, and for once, her face displayed a vulnerability she rarely showed. Finally, she sighed, letting the tension in her face melt away.

"I know," she murmured, almost as a confession. "Sometimes it’s just hard not to feel like a burden."

"You’re never a burden to me," you assured her, leaning in and wrapping your arms around her, your fingers tenderly running through her hair. She responded with a soft sigh of relief. "You’re the strongest person I know, Cait. And that strength doesn’t make you invulnerable. Don’t be so hard on yourself. You carry so much responsibility and expectation, and you handle it as best you can. You can share that with me too, love. I’m not in your life just to enjoy your company and admire your beautiful face."

With an intense gaze, Caitlyn gently squeezed your hand, displaying a rare tenderness. "Thank you," she whispered, her tone much softer than usual. "Thank you for this. For always being there when I need it. For knowing what I need when I don’t even know myself."

You moved a little closer and, without thinking, kissed her forehead, a warm and comforting gesture. "I’ll always be here, Cait. You don’t have to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders."

She closed her eyes for a moment, allowing herself to rest in your presence. And although the day's worries wouldn't vanish immediately, there was something about that small gesture, that silent connection between you two, that made her feel less alone. She knew that, no matter what, she would always have a refuge in you.

Jayce

The door creaked open, and instantly, the tension that Jayce carried with him filled the room like an unwelcome guest. He stood in the doorway, his figure worn down as if each step of his day had chipped away at his strength. His face was a canvas of frustration and exhaustion, the lines of weariness on his forehead barely hidden by his tousled hair. The warm light of home contrasted sharply with the cold night air, but even the comforting ambiance seemed powerless against the heavy burden he bore.

Without a word, you moved towards him, your presence a sanctuary in the storm he was weathering. You gently took his cold hands in yours and led him to the couch, where he sank down with a deep, weary sigh. The weight of the day clung to him, a cloak of responsibility and fatigue. He barely acknowledged you as you spoke.

"Rough day?" Your voice was gentle, laced with concern.

Jayce exhaled sharply, his exhaustion evident as he turned his head to you. "More than you can imagine." His tone was rough, frustration simmering beneath the surface. "Viktor and I... the experiment in the lab was a disaster. Then, the Council meeting... a complete mess. I’m not even sure how I made it back here tonight." His voice cracked for a moment, followed by a bitter laugh. "And tomorrow? I have to give that damned speech to the entire city. I haven’t even started writing it."

The air felt thick, laden with everything he couldn't put into words. You squeezed his hand, holding it with a tenderness that cut through the fog of his mind. "Breathe, Jayce. You don’t have to solve everything at once. One step at a time."

Instinctively, you sat behind him, guiding him until his back rested against your chest. You began to massage his shoulders, feeling the tension slowly seep from his muscles. Each movement of your fingers seemed to ease his burdens, though his sighs suggested the thoughts still swirled in his mind.

"I’ll help you with the speech," you offered softly. "We’ll write it together. You don’t have to face it all alone."

Jayce closed his eyes briefly, as if clinging to your words to prevent drowning in his thoughts. "But... it all depends on me. If I screw this up, the consequences are massive. I can’t afford to fail." His voice broke, and he sat up abruptly, anxiety gripping him once more.

"It’s just a speech, Jayce. It doesn’t define you." You wrapped your arms around his torso, holding him from behind. "What matters most to me is that it doesn’t destroy you. The city needs you, yes. But you need yourself too."

A long sigh escaped his chest, a release of some of the weight he'd been carrying. "How do you stay so calm through all of this? How do you have the patience to listen to my problems over and over?" His tone softened, a realization of what your presence meant to him.

"Because I love you, you big lug. And because I respect you," you said without hesitation. "Now... first things first. Dinner. I made your favorite." You whispered in his ear, the warmth of your embrace surrounding him, offering a sliver of peace. "Then, I’ll draw you a bath. You need to relax, to stop thinking about everything for a while. We’ll have dinner together, and afterward, we’ll stay up as long as you need. I’ll help with the speech. And if you need to rehearse all night, we will. The important thing is you’re not facing it alone. I’m here, Jayce, because I know how much this means to you."

Jayce let the silence hang for a moment, absorbing your words, your support the anchor he desperately needed. Slowly, he turned to look at you, his face finally showing signs of easing. "I don’t deserve you," he murmured, a small pout forming on his lips.

"Don’t be ridiculous. You’re my spoiled giant baby," you teased with a soft laugh, cupping his face with care.

Jayce chuckled, a low, grateful sound that was music to your ears, and you hugged him tighter, feeling the anxiety that had gripped him start to dissipate. "Can we stay like this a little longer?" he asked quietly, his tone vulnerable, more human than ever.

"Of course, love," you whispered. "There’s no rush tonight."

And there, between tender laughs and promises of unwavering support, time seemed to pause. In that moment, there was only the two of you, the warmth of home, and the certainty that, no matter what the next day brought, you would face it together.

Ekko

The sound of gears grinding and tools sparking filled Ekko's workshop, a familiar symphony that usually brought him a sense of calm. But today, the rhythm was frantic, almost as if he believed that focusing on the intricate mechanical details could help him outrun the weight pressing down on his heart. It wasn’t working.

"Ekko, what’s wrong?" Your voice was soft, almost a whisper, yet it cut through the tension hanging thick in the air. You could sense something was off, not just from the hurried way he moved but from the pallor that had taken over his face in the past few hours.

He didn’t answer right away. His fingers continued their precise dance over the wires and components, but there was a distant look in his eyes, a clear sign that his mind was far from the task at hand. Finally, he looked up, and though he tried to hide it, you could see the frustration and pain etched into his features.

"Things are... out of control," he admitted, his voice heavy. "The people of Zaun keep dying, and we can’t do anything about it. The illnesses are spreading, the air is becoming unbreathable, and the solutions... they seem further away than ever. How am I supposed to lead them when I have nothing to offer?"

His question lingered in the air, a cry of desperation in the stillness. Ekko had borne the weight of leading the Firelights since their inception. It was his strength, his refuge, yet also his greatest burden. Every day, he witnessed more of his people falling victim to the oppression and the harsh realities of Zaun, the toxic air swallowing those he cared about, and the seeming futility of their efforts gnawed at his resolve. What could one do when everything seemed stacked against them?

"Ekko," you approached him, gently taking his hands in yours. "Listen to me. I know what you're thinking. I know it feels like everything is collapsing, like there’s no way out. But you're not alone in this. You have the Firelights, and you have me. Caitlyn Kiramman might be able to help with this problem."

Ekko raised an eyebrow, confused. He knew Caitlyn, as an Enforcer, symbolized the oppressive system that had kept Zaun in misery, but he also knew you didn’t speak lightly. You must have had a plan.

"I don’t trust Piltover," Ekko muttered, his tone firm. "Or their damn Enforcers. How am I supposed to ask someone like Caitlyn for help? After everything they’ve done to us?"

"I know," you said, gently stroking his hands to calm him, "but hear me out. You're not just asking Caitlyn for help. You’re asking the person who owes me a few favors. Trust me. I think we can secure some supplies, maybe some of the medicines we need, at least to keep us going for a while. Something to help the Firelights keep fighting. Don’t see it as surrendering, Ekko; it’s a step towards giving us a real chance to make our voices heard."

For a moment, Ekko stared at the ground, lost in thought. It was clear he struggled to trust anyone outside his circle, especially someone like Caitlyn, who embodied Piltover’s oppressive power. But your words resonated with him, and for the first time that day, something inside him eased slightly.

"Maybe you’re right," he finally said, his voice low, as if only partially convinced. "But this... it can’t just be words. We need to do something real, something that actually makes a difference."

"We will," you assured him with a soft smile, trying to instill a bit of hope. "Together, step by step. Let’s start by talking to Caitlyn and see what we can secure. I don’t know how, but I believe we’ll make it happen."

Ekko looked at you, and for a moment, everything in his expression changed. The usual anger gave way to a mixture of gratitude and, perhaps, a hint of relief. He was exhausted, but the idea that not everything was lost gave him a tiny spark of hope.

"Thank you, babe," he murmured, his voice softer than before. "I don’t know how you do it. You always know what to say."

"That’s because I’ve learned how to deal with your stubborn, grumpy self," you said with a light laugh. "Now, how about we take a stroll through the city? Maybe a few hours of disconnecting will help."

A trace of a smile appeared on his face, though still tinged with fatigue. "What? Are you planning to make me forget all this by tagging the walls with graffiti?"

"Exactly," you responded with a mischievous grin. "That way, at least for a while, we can forget the world and do whatever we want."

Ekko finally gave in, his soft laugh filling the air as he grabbed his hoverboard. "You know, that sounds like a great idea. Let’s go before I change my mind."

And as you wandered the streets of Zaun, the weight on his shoulders didn’t entirely vanish, but for a while, Ekko could relax, paint his frustrations on the walls, and most importantly, remember that he wasn’t alone. Sometimes, all it took was stepping back and breathing, even if just for a moment.

Silco

The air in Silco's office was heavy, thick with the unmistakable scent of Zaun: metal, sweat, and burnt chemicals. Yet beyond those familiar odors, the room was saturated with the tension of recent events. The sting of failure clung to him, unsettling the usually composed mastermind. His meticulously laid plans had unraveled, and while his followers proclaimed loyalty, cracks in their devotion were becoming apparent. Zaun teetered on the brink of internal rebellion. The Firelights, the Enforcers, even the streets themselves seemed to be slipping through his fingers.

But what truly unsettled him, what gnawed at his very core, was the ever-present specter of betrayal, the fear of losing those who mattered most. In these moments, when chaos felt imminent, you chose to enter.

Silco stood with his back to you, staring out at the city’s dim lights through the window. You could sense the disquiet within him. His silhouette was somber, almost ghostly, with one hand resting on the glass. He seemed like a man who had lost faith in everything around him. Without hesitation, you approached him with a calmness that contrasted starkly with the storm raging within him.

"Silco," you began, your voice gentle but resolute. You refused to let his fragility consume him, not now. "We've faced this before. You don’t have to bear it all alone."

At first, he remained silent. The tension in his frame was palpable, and you could tell he was fighting a battle he wasn’t ready to share. Yet, you knew that struggle all too well. Beneath his layers of hatred and ambition lay a man as broken and vulnerable as any other.

Finally, he turned toward you, his eyes, usually burning with disdain, now dulled. "You don’t understand," he said, his voice low, roughened by a restrained fury. "This isn’t like before. It’s not just about winning anymore. It’s about maintaining control, about not losing everything. If I fail now, all we’ve built will be for nothing. What’s looming isn’t just a challenge—it’s war, and I need to be ready."

You stepped closer, studying the exhaustion etched into his face. His words were a glimpse into the turmoil that consumed him. "You will be ready. We will be ready. But isolating yourself in this downward spiral won’t help."

Silco’s gaze met yours, and for a fleeting moment, vulnerability surfaced. He appeared more human, less the monster Zaun feared. But his pride fought to keep that part of him hidden.

"I don’t need your pity," he said, though his words lacked conviction, a feeble defense against the truth you were unveiling. "Spare me the empty reassurances."

"They’re not empty," you replied, your voice steady. "I know what you’re feeling. This isn’t just about controlling Zaun. This is about you."

A heavy silence followed, thick with unspoken truths. Silco’s brow furrowed, not in anger but in contemplation. "It’s a war I can’t win. The city hates me, even my own daughter—"

"Don’t speak of her as if you’re some monster," you interrupted gently but firmly. "Jinx needs you, and you need her. This war isn’t just against Piltover, Silco. It’s against yourself. And if you keep fighting it alone, you will lose."

The room was still, the weight of your words settling in the air. Silco’s expression softened, touched by a realization he couldn’t deny. He wasn’t accustomed to being seen so clearly, to having his inner battles laid bare.

You took another step forward and, without allowing him time to withdraw, you took his hand. "You don’t have to do this alone," you whispered. "Not now, not ever."

For a brief moment, conflict flickered across his features, but then it happened—he relented. It wasn’t the surrender of a defeated man but of someone willing to trust, if only for a moment, that there was more to life than his solitary fight.

"I don’t know why you persist in keeping me upright," he murmured, his voice softer, laced with weariness. "Sometimes… sometimes it feels like too much."

"It’s not," you assured him without hesitation. "We’ll face it together. I won’t let you fall."

Silco said nothing more, but he didn’t pull away as you held his hand more firmly, a silent acceptance of your comfort. And for the first time in a long while, the cold steel of his demeanor cracked, if only for a fleeting second.

Mel

Mel's balcony was as sleek and cold, a testament to her meticulous nature. The soft glow of lanterns cast a gentle light over the cityscape, illuminating the endless sea of Piltover's lights below. Yet, amidst the serenity of the night, an unseen storm brewed within her. Tonight, her mind wasn't consumed with political maneuvers or strategic plans. Something far deeper gnawed at her: the weight of her ambitions had begun to manifest in ways she hadn't anticipated, threatening to fracture the carefully constructed facade of her life.

She stood by the railing, gazing out at the city that never slept, as if the twinkling lights could somehow chase away the growing void in her heart. You could see it—the tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers gripped the railing a little too tightly. She was a picture of composed authority, yet the subtle cracks in her armor betrayed the turmoil within.

"Mel..." Your voice, soft yet firm, broke the silence. You approached from behind, your footsteps light but deliberate. You didn't need to be loud; she had always been attuned to your presence, as if you existed in a part of her consciousness she couldn't ignore.

Mel turned slowly, her face a mask of unyielding calm, but her eyes... her eyes told a different story. They held a flicker of vulnerability, a silent plea she wasn't ready to voice. "What is it?" Her voice was cool, almost detached, but you knew better. The detachment was a shield, one she had crafted over years of political warfare.

"What’s wrong?" you asked again, your gaze unwavering as you closed the distance between you. You could sense her struggle, her reluctance to admit that something was amiss. "I can see it, Mel. You're not okay."

She sighed—a sound so heavy it seemed to carry the weight of the city. It wasn't frustration; it was the exhaustion of someone who had carried too much for too long. "It’s Piltover. My role in the Council... I can't keep up with it all," she admitted, her words slow, measured, as if each one was a reluctant confession. "I’ve been playing this game for so long, but the pieces are moving in directions I can’t control. And..."

Her voice faltered, and she didn't need to continue. You understood. This wasn't about Piltover alone. It was about her, about the toll her ambitions had taken on her soul. Here, on this balcony, she wasn't the indomitable Mel Medarda. She was a woman, weary and yearning for something she couldn't quite name.

"Mel, not everything needs to be under control. Not everything needs to be perfect," you said gently, stepping closer. "You can handle what’s happening in Piltover, but you don’t have to carry it all on your own."

Her eyes darted away, as if looking at you would make her break. She was so used to being the one in control, to bearing the burdens without complaint. "And if I fail... what then? What’s left after all of this? I've given everything to Piltover… everything."

Her voice trembled with a sadness that cut through you. Despite her steely exterior, you knew there was a part of her that longed for something more—connection, peace, perhaps even love. But the world she had built around herself left little room for such indulgences.

"If you fail, Mel, you’ll have the chance to start over. You don’t have to keep fighting for something that's slipping through your fingers," you said, your voice steady as you reached for her. "Sometimes, letting go of what we fear losing the most is what sets us free."

Mel's eyes met yours, and in them, you saw a vulnerability she rarely showed. She wasn’t used to conversations like this, to empathy. But in your gaze, she found something she hadn’t seen in a long time: safety, support, and perhaps... the promise of something different. Something better.

"I know it’s not easy," you continued, your hand gently brushing her arm. "But you don’t have to carry the weight of Piltover alone. You have people who respect you, who admire you. There are other ways to move forward without losing yourself in the process."

The silence that followed was thick, but not oppressive. It was as if the night itself was holding its breath, waiting for her response. For a moment, Mel said nothing. Then, her lips, always so carefully set in lines of authority, softened. "And if I fail… what happens to you?"

"You won’t fail," you said with a conviction that only you could have. "But even if you did, I’d be right here, helping you rebuild. Because what really matters isn’t the power or the control. What really matters is you, Mel."

For a second, she looked at you as if seeing you for the first time. The iron-willed woman everyone knew, the strategist, the leader, was now gazing at you with a newfound sense of recognition. And in that moment, she allowed herself a rare indulgence: she let her guard down.

"Maybe... maybe it’s not always about winning," she murmured, more to herself than to you. "Maybe you're right."

You smiled softly, knowing that Mel had just taken a step towards something beyond ambition—towards her humanity.

Sevika

The night had fallen with an oppressive stillness, but Sevika couldn’t find peace. The hours had dragged her into a whirlwind of stress and frustration. Each minute felt heavier than the last, and the air around her seemed thick, as if the city itself was pressing down on her chest. The decisions she had to make, the moves she had to plan, the constant need to watch over and protect her people… all of it had left her exhausted. But what weighed her down the most was the lack of control over her own life.

The shadows of the streets seemed to stretch out, enveloping her with an invisible pressure. Silco, as if things weren’t bad enough, was more erratic than ever, his paranoia brushing the edges of madness. To top it off, Jinx had played one of her twisted jokes: locking her in a room with a bomb that looked ready to explode. Sevika had been on the brink of death, only to discover that the bomb was a cruel joke, the kind only Jinx could conjure. If she had the time, she would have made sure the girl paid for it. She despised feeling vulnerable. But there was more. She had to deal with some of Silco’s men, and her day culminated with a direct punch to the face, leaving a visible mark on her otherwise stoic features.

On any other day, Sevika might have sought solace or at least retreated into the quiet of solitude, but today was different. No matter what she did, the sense of losing control gnawed at her insides. She needed to see you. She needed your presence, your calm way of looking at her and making her feel that everything, even if just for a while, would be okay.

Finally, the door creaked open. The sound of your footsteps was a balm to her weary spirit, and Sevika lifted her gaze. The damp night air lent a melancholic intensity to her eyes, now etched with fatigue and disdain. Though she tried to maintain her tough exterior, you quickly noticed the bruise marking her face.

“What happened?” Your voice, soft yet filled with concern, echoed in the room. Sevika tried to muster a smile, but it was futile.

“Just another day, you know?” she rasped, moving to lean against the table. She wasn’t about to crumble in front of you, but the exasperation in her tone was unmistakable. “Silco’s paranoid as ever. Jinx pulled one of her idiotic pranks… locked me in a room with a fake bomb about to explode. I thought I’d die there, amidst confetti and laughter. And if that wasn’t enough, one of Silco’s guys managed to land a punch on me.”

Your gaze, laced with worry and tenderness, softened instantly. You stepped forward, cupping her face gently, trying to ease the storm swirling inside her. Sevika stood still, unresponsive at first, but the hard lines of her face began to relax, even if only slightly.

“Why didn’t you call me?” you asked, your eyes never leaving hers, your words carrying a silent concern. You knew she hated appearing weak, but it didn’t matter; you would never see her that way. Sevika closed her eyes for a moment, letting out a long sigh.

“You know I don’t like to worry you.” Her tone was sharp, but softer than before. She could feel how your warmth affected her in ways she wasn’t ready to admit, but needed more than she was willing to acknowledge.

Without missing a beat, you acted. With a small smile, you stepped back a little, creating some space to prepare something that might bring her some comfort.

“Tonight, I’m making something special for my strong and sexy warrior,” you said, a mix of tenderness and teasing in your voice. “It’s not much, but I know you’ll like it.” You headed to the kitchen, and instead of a typical meal, you decided on something you knew would make Sevika smile: a homemade chocolate cupcake, with a hint of vanilla and a soft cream topping. While the sweet treat took shape, you thought about how this small gesture might lighten the night. The smell of freshly baked chocolate began to fill the air.

Sevika raised an eyebrow, unable to suppress a slight smile. “A cupcake?” she asked, almost playfully, though her voice held a softness rarely heard. “Am I a child needing comfort now?”

“Maybe,” you replied, smiling as you set the table. “Sometimes we all need something simple and sweet.” You playfully tapped her nose.

With the cupcake served and a cup of aromatic tea, the two of you sat together, letting the calm settle for a moment. As she savored the cupcake, your fingers brushed hers gently, as if that simple touch could convey something deeper. Sevika’s gaze, usually so hard and closed off, softened as it met yours.

“Thank you,” she whispered, almost with a humility that was unlike her. “I needed this more than I thought.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” you said with a gentle smile, intertwining your fingers with hers.

And in that moment, it didn’t matter what was happening in the outside world. For an instant, everything else faded away. Only that small space between the two of you existed, where love and understanding felt like the answer to all the burdens Sevika carried within.

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Lilia Vanrouge - Room Relaxation Voice Lines

It's a waste to sleep the night away! My special day starts now!

Summon: I got a birthday performance and a party to go to... Kheeheehee, tomorrow's sure going to be busy.

Groovification: I hate mornings... But there's so much fun things to do today. I can even appreciate the sun on a day like this!

Home: It's fever time!

Swap Looks: The morning sun's unforgiving today, as always...

Home Transition 1: This hairband is my absolute favorite, because it just increases my cuteness factor tenfold.

Home Transition 2: There's so much I want to do at night: play games, practice the bass, read, watch movies, and sometimes even study... Aaah, there's never enough time to do everything!

Home Transition 3: Birthdays are all about celebrating life and all the joys you receive from it. The date it's celebrated is not what's important.

Home Transition - Login: I get more into dressing up when it's for my birthday. It's no fun for anyone else if the birthday boy isn't looking his sharpest, after all!

Home Transition - Groovy: I got into a spirited conversation about the bass with Jade when he came over to give his thoughts on my birthday performance. I think he really knows his stuff!

Home Tap 1: Hoho! It's not often I spy Leona in the Mystery Shop all by his lonesome. Let's see, maybe I can wheedle a birthday gift out of him. Kheeheehee!

Home Tap 2: When I told him it was my birthday, Deuce practically shouted his birthday greetings to me. He did that even though I told him the same thing about three months back... Cute kid.

Home Tap 3: The eyeshadow Azul gave me looks to be a limited edition version of my favorite brand. Well, isn't he a sharp one.

Home Tap 4: I snagged these slippers from one of those online app crane games. You don't really see fluffy dragon feet like these just anywhere!

Home Tap 5: The string on my hoodie? ...Oh, you're right, the left side is a little too long. These things are a pain to fix once they completely slip out, y'know～!

Home Tap - Groovy: What's up, why're you grinning like that? ...I look cute in this getup? Heheh, well, that's because I'm a cutie, of course I look cute ♪

Duo: [LILIA]: Jade, this is how cute a real adult can be! [JADE]: You're almost too dazzling, Lilia-san.

Birthday Login Message: Thanks for coming to celebrate. I'm more than pleased to have you remember my birthday. The Pop Music Club is planning on having a birthday performance tonight. You'll be joining us too, right? I hear that Kalim is preparing an extra-large cake as a surprise. Cater was worried that it wouldn't be a surprise if he told me, but... Kheeheehee, I'm still happy about it. We'll sing and party, surrounded by all those close to me... It's this kind of birthday that makes me the luckiest guy in the world.

Requested by @kingren77.

[teeskzagain]

"i'm popular with older sisters."

• synopsis: in which the lines have started to blur between your long-term neighbor, sim jake.

• warnings: heavily suggestive content (as in this is one step away from being just straight smut basically), jake calls reader "noona", dry humping, hickies/neck markings, slight dirty talk, desperate!jake

• wc: 1.1k

• a/n: im thinking of expanding this idea into a one shot, but please let me know if i should.

» imagine younger!neighbor jake, who one day barges into your house, ready to hang out with you and your family- he'd been bored with nothing else to do.

» neighbor!jake, who roams around the living room and kitchen in search of someone, before finally working his way upstairs (there was no one around) and sees that your door is open. immediately, he beelines straight down the hall.

» imagine younger!neighbor jake, who wastes no time storming into your room, excited that you're home, only to get told off harshly by you. you're on the phone with a friend, back resting against the bed frame as you wave at him to go away.

» after scolding him and returning back to your conversation, imagine younger!neighbor jake's reaction. his face would contort unpleasantly, nose turning upright at your dismissive attitude. he'd stand at your door frame, mumbling out, "noona." over and over again as a means of regaining your attention. though, you would just ignore him.

» imagine neighbor!jake, who doesn't appreciate how you're acting towards him, stalking up to the end of the bed. his whines of, "get off the phone." combined with, "just talk to me instead." begin to irritate you, with you purposely keeping your gaze away from him.

» younger!neighbor jake didn't like being ignored. which is why seconds later, he's crawling onto your bed and swiftly engulfing you with his body. after the many years spent together, he already knows what gets you the most distracted.

» imagine neighbor!jake who, as your busy yelling and fighting him off of you, begins to bury his head deep into your neck. he produces little groans into the crevice, saying such verbage as, "noona, i miss you so much. please, just missed you so much."

» imagine neighbor!jake smothering you with his weight when he starts to press his full lips against your skin, trying anything to get your attention. you fumble your phone in an attempt to hang up the call because absolutely no way would you let anyone know about this. no. no one could ever know. “we are not doing this right now.” you hiss softly once you know your friend is unable to hear the scuffle going on.

» "why not?" neighbor!jake rumbles into your skin, "don't you love it when i-" without any hesitation, he starts to nip at your skin and instinctively a sharp inhale has you levitating. his arms wrap tighter around your torso as you now begin to feel trapped underneath him. wrestling you deeper into the mattress, he can't help the light rut his pelvis does into your side. the need to just have you becoming ever so consuming.

» imagine younger!neighbor jake, who in actuality, came over to your house because he's been missing you a little more than a neighbor truly should. while, yes, he was missing the comforting presence you would always bring to him. your caring tendencies in an almost sisterly way.

» imagine neighbor!jake, who's true reason for visiting, was because he began to miss you. he started to miss your thick, velvet walls that always feel so fucking good around his strained cock. the tiny whimpers you would produce when you were overstimulated. how much cum he would squirt out because only you could ever get him so aroused. he's longing for it, and now he needs this asap.

» "jake...." murmuring, you feel your head roll to the side as neighbor!jake uses a hand to push it out the way, needing an even greater space to kiss and mark you up, "we need...to stop. we need to stop this now. my parents are gonna be home-ah...soon."

» younger!neighbor jake is too much in a daze to even register your concern. fuck, how could he pay attention? despite your protests, you're already whining softly into the air, the little huffs of your chest has both you and him heaving up and down. this is how it always starts. it starts with your refusal to engage, your mature attitude that battles his easy going one, before eventually you begin to falter.

» imagine neighbor!jake slowly pulling his head back to gage you from above, and then recieving all the confirmation he needs. his noona. so fucking pretty, the way you're eyes are shut tightly because you always get aroused so fast. you want this, no matter how many times you try to deny. the evidence is all of your face. god, he feels his cock buzzing because of that pretty face. you just make him so damn horny. after admiring you, he lowers himself once more and goes back to producing fat, lazy hickies all over your neck and grinding his tip against you.

» imagine younger!neighbor jake, who's cock is pulsing so hard that he's seconds away from cumming on himself. raking his dick into your body, the sloppy kisses, all of it acts as the perfect foreplay for him. but what really does it for him, is when your legs involuntarily widens and closes to cage him in, solidifying the unspoken agreement between you two.

» a tiny smile starts to spread across neighbor!jake's face as he switches between splotching you red and huskily speaking, "you ready now?" he lands a larger kiss on the middle of your throat, "i'll be quick, noona." his throaty voice vibrates just perfectly into your ears. "just how you like it."

» imagine younger!neighbor jake, who's moments from stuffing you raw, muttering sweet nothings into your skin. he grabs a handful of your pants fabric and quietly pulls it down to reveal your commando state. when he brushes his fingertips against your bare clit, you have to bite your lip to stop a shuddered moan from leaving. his hazy eyes look up to your contorted face, "kinda wish you wouldn't hold back. i wanna hear your pretty moans. i wanna hear your soft pleads. let me hear you-"

» as you go to let out a throaty mewl, imagine younger!neighbor jake's dismay when he suddenly hears the front door opening then closing and indistinct talking emerges from downstairs. with an, ‘oh fuck’, the two of you jump and scramble apart, the sounds of footsteps echoing around. someone starts to make their way upstairs as you both go from a state of startling shock to sheer panic.

"Y/N! We're home!"

*

*

*

*

[earlgreytea68]

And the thing is, I don't even care if you demonstrate you understand the material. Like, it doesn't make my life better if you can write an essay on x, y, or z. I want you to learn because I want you to learn. Writing an essay is often part of the learning, because part of learning can be communicating, but really, truly, learning is the point. And not learning how to prompt a robot to do the thinking for you, and not even learning so you know how to do whatever career capitalism decides you have to do, just learning because what have we been doing in our species's long quest that has ruined so very much if we also give up ever using these brains we've evolved?

We do things backward in so many ways, but one of the ways is cabining "school" into this limited portion of the very beginning of your life and so many people I talk to are just trying to get it over with so "real life" can begin, as if learning things is a huge waste of time we make everyone go through before the real stuff happens. I wish learning was not seen as a means to an end but as the end itself. I wish we took all these robots we made and used them to free all of us up to just sit around and learn about stuff. I think it would be so cool if we thought of ourselves as beings who learn rather than just...Idk, beings who buy stuff? Idk how we think of ourselves now lol. Anyway. Idk. Learn things. It's cool, in and of itself.

(This, btw, isn't about education itself. Schools have issues, I'm not trying to solve them or address them here. I'm just saying learning is cool. And also, I think learning many things you wouldn't ordinarily do just for yourself is cool. Like, being forced to read and think about things you wouldn't do yourself is a good thing sometimes. Being forced to get outside of your comfort zone of subject areas is a good thing. If we weren't always so stressed about our grading ourselves, I sometimes feel like this would be more evident to us and we'd do it more often, instead of being conditioned to avoid things we can't get an A+ in. I include myself in this.)

[imjustdreamingig]

Isn't that sweet, I guess so

Part 1, Part 2

pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

summary: The secret's out, Steve's proud of himself, and you can't seem to keep your mouth shut

A/N: chat there is no way I put out 2 fic in the past week, this has never happened to me before! yay everyone cheer. again, i have no idea where this story is going how far im gonna go, i def want to try writing other stuff and idk if this is the best place to put and end to whatever this series is but again, we shall see i guess. thank you all so much on the love on my last two works you have no idea what that means to me! please please PLEASE send me asks or comment what you'd like me to write next or if you want a pt4 i need help people

warnings: sfw, swearing, fluff, idiots who like each other

Facing your fears is tough. No matter what it is, no one would actually choose putting themselves through a situation in which they know would cause them extreme distress. For some that may be going on a rollercoaster, interacting with a clown, going into a dark forrest alone, it could even be making a phone call by yourself to schedule a doctor's appointment (which is a valid fear to have, thank you very much.)

And here you were, facing your fears: being sat in your living room with Steve Harrington 3 feet away from you for an extended period of time. It's only been about 15 minutes, where no talking has happened since minute two.

You hope you can get to 30 minutes without fainting.

As you attempted to focus on the book in front of you, Jane Austen's words, who usually kept your focused for hours on end, were not being absorbed by you in the slightest. How could they, when Steve fucking Harrington was in your house.

Steve is the type of guy who Jane Austen would write about, you thought, eyes flickering towards him as he hunched over his book, face crinkled in concentration, trying to understand said author's musings.

The swoop of his hair, the two moles near his neck, his deep, beautiful, chocolate eyes, his gorgeous smile, and my god those arms? Yep, Jane would be absolutely obsessed with him.

"God, why did I agree to do this book?" You are snapped out of your daze at Steve's words. "What do you mean?", you replied. He gave you a look that can only be described as "seriously?"

"I mean, that I can barley understand what any of these characters are saying half the time, and honestly, it's a bit boring. I thought you would have better book recommendations," he said, running a hand through his hair to push it out of his face.

A scoff left your mouth before you could stop it. "Excuse me, are you actually hating on Pride and Prejudice, the best romance story of all time, the romance story, period." You leaned over and snatched his book. "I mean, come on! You are literally only 6 pages in, you can't just judge it that quickly, you haven't even gotten to the good parts yet!", you exclaim.

Steve watched you with an amused look on his face, unbeknownst to you, who kept rambling on, trying to convince Steve this book was worth continuing.

"— and Elizabeth, she is just funny, like actually hilarious. There is one part where she basically tells someone that I'd rather not be wasting my air talking to someone like you, like please, how did she even come up with that? Also, I'm just obsessed with this proper English style of speaking, or writing I guess, because they're basically talking shit but covering it up with fancy words! And when—"

"You talk a lot, don't you?"

You look up from the book and towards Steve, eyes widening slightly, realizing you had indeed been talking too much.

"One of my greatest faults, some may say, and by faults I mean my mom, but she only tells me this when we're arguing, so..." You glance away from Steve's face for a little reprieve. God, he's so hot.

"Well, like a good partner," you continue. "I'm trying to help you get some of this project done, and maybe if Robin were here, she could've helped," you defended yourself, crossing your arms, "which I'm still confused about, by the way. You said something about her telling you earlier how I invited you guys and some other people to work on the project together, but then she doesn't show?"

Steve leans back in his chair, also crossing his arms. You glance down for a quick second and send a quick thank you to anyone who's that Steve is wearing a tight shirt that beautifully enunciates his biceps. Or maybe you should be mad at them, you don't know yet.

"Maybe it's the fact that she noticed, like I did, that it's been a month since this project was assigned and we haven't even started," Steve countered, "which is unlike you, you usually want to get stuff done ASAP."

You look at him in confusion. "How the fuck do you know that?"

Steve smirks, "I also happen to know that you don't have a sister, thanks to that lovely dinner with your mom." You shake your head in disbelief, mentally making a note to yell at your mom later.

"Isn't that what you said one of the many times I asked you to work on the project?" Steve looked so amused with himself, all cocky and proud that he had uncovered your lie. Your brain tried desperately to come up with a realistic enough explanation, but nothing was coming up.

You throw your hands up in defeat. "Ok, fine! I lied! Is it just so hard for you to believe that maybe, just maybe, not everyone in that high school wants to spend time with you outside of it?" Oh my God, why the fuck would you say that, you screamed internally.

Steve stared at you for a second before letting out a chuckle. " You know, I did think of that actually, but only for a bit." He reaches out for the book and grabs it from your grasp, flipping to a random page.

"You can only run away from a guy so many times before he catches a hint," he peers over at you, " and I mean literally, you're a fast runner, did you ever do track?"

"Yeah, in middle school," you answer quickly. Steve lets out a hum of agreement before placing his attention back on the book. You open your mouth, about to quip about being careful to not rip the pages when he speaks again. "I know I'm dumb, but I'm not an idiot, ya know?"

Your gaze snaps to his face. "Steve, I don't think you're dumb." He doesn't look too convinced. "Eh, I think you do. But you're interesting, you took me a lot longer to figure out than the others since girls just typically throw themselves at me."

You make a face of disgust, "Ok, you sound like a total prick, you know."

"Yep, heard it after I said it, but that's not the point here." He point his finger at you, "You have a crush on me."

You splutter out a sound of indignation. "Hello, what?" In your head, fire alarms are sounding. It's a code red, all hell is breaking loose. "Pfft, no I absolutely do not."

Steve raises his eyebrows. "Then how else do you explain the running away when you see me anywhere at school? You always have an insane excuse why we're not able to meet up to start the project, which some are hilarious," he admits, "but you've got me complaining about not doing homework, look what you've done to me!"

At this point you've gone silent, mouth agape with an excuse stuck in your throat refusing to come out. Steve's expression has changed, his eyes bore into yours with earnest, almost as if he's anticipating a certain answer, hoping for it. "So?"

You muster all the courage you have left and just when you're about to respond, Steve interrupts you again for like, the 15th time.

"Anyways, I've to get going, have some things to do and whatever." He gets up, shrugs on his jacket and then places his books in his backpack. You get up too, having absolutely no clue how to tell him not to go, that you want him to stay. "Steve, what do you mean?"

He glances over at you, "Nothing, I just have to go. I'm a busy guy." He starts making his way to your front door, leaving you behind in the kitchen, trying to understand what the fuck just happened. First, he accuses you of having a crush on him, which you do, and then he just thinks he can leave?

Oh, absolutely not.

With a new wave of determination, you catch up to Steve just as he's finishing putting on his shoes. "Say thanks to your mom for me for dinner, it was great," he says as he grabs the door handle. You don't let him continue with whatever stupid thing he was going to say next.

"Listen Harrington, I don't know what the fuck just happened back there, but the fact you think can just, leave after dropping a bomb like that is ridiculous," you say, glaring at him in annoyance, and Steve's just staring back at you with that stupid, stupid, smirk that has not left his face since the moment he stepped foot in here.

"So what if I did like you, huh? What if I did have a crush on you? Because I do, but that, quite frankly, is none of your business, none of your concern, actually, so... yeah." Steve is looking at you and you're looking at him, a little out of breath after your declaration. You don't have the energy right now to fully process what you just said.

All of a sudden, Steve seems to break character, the smugness gone, replaced with subtle endearment. He leans down and presses a swift kiss on your cheek before whispering, "Well, it's a good thing I like you too." He straightness back up and says, "I told you I knew you were different, you're a mystery. You're lucky running away seemed to work on me, by the way. I don't think it would for everyone else," he says while you stare at him in shock. You've been rendered silent once again, with nothing but the thought that Steve likes you back, repeating over and over again.

You clear your throat before speaking, "Well! Um, yay?" You truly have no idea what to do right now. Steve chuckles at your reaction, like he can't believe his words have caused you of all people, who continuously talk and talk and talk, to not have anything profound to say for once. He's kind of into it.

Steve grabs your hand and encases it with the other. "Come over to my house tomorrow after school, I'll drive you. We can work on the project and you know, talk, if you want." You nod fervently, "Yeah, yeah ok."

He smiles and drops your hand. "I really do have to go though, I wasn't making that up," he remarks as he opens the front door. "Oh, sure, that's fine," you reply. You hold open the door for him and watch as he descends the steps and makes his way towards his car. You watch him, holding onto the door for dear life.

As Steve gets into the car, he looks over at you and waves, "I'll see you tomorrow!" You wave back and yell back, "Yeah, tomorrow!" You don't go back inside until the car is out of sight. As you shut the door, you press your back against it, trying to wrap your head around what exactly happened in the last few hours.

Holy shit, you though, Steve Harrington likes me. Steve fucking Harrington. You let out an involuntarily squeal of excitement and immediately regret doing it as your mother calls down from upstairs. "Mija, are you ok? What happened?" Hearing her voice reminds you of her involvement over the events that transpired tonight.

Putting your happiness on hold for a moment, you start to storm up the stairs. "Mom!", you yelled, "How could you embarrass me like that, asking him to stay over for dinner, you know how I feel about him, I just about fainted 5 times throughout the night, how does that make you feel!? You almost killed me an—"

You would thank your mom later, because ultimately she helped, but for now, you'll stick to this.

[meanbossart]

ASK COMPILATION #385032: Shape-shifting genitals, mouth-mashing skillsets, who taps out first in the bedroom and the 17 different types of meat this guy eats.

I TRIED TO MAKE THIS A BIG ONE. Thank you everybody for your patience!

The truth of the matter is that I need one dramatic light-source or I will perish. HOWEVER...

Yeah, they seem the type to leave it purposefully ajar for the thrill of it. As well as the excuse to bring hell down upon anyone caught trying to steal a peek.

YES, actually! I've had the concept for a comic or two that's precisely about interactions they've had while younger. Comics take a lot of work, and there's a LOT of things I want to do, but that is definitely in the plans.

Yes! Or rather, as a shapeshifter, I believe she doesn't bother with them 99% of the time, possibly never, even though she has the habitability to form them if she so wished. The Orin DU drow knew was always doll-like in appearance when nude, and he did not particularly mind it or fantasized about anything different.

I believe this is both a preference in Orin's part (and across many shapeshifters, if I recall correctly) as well as a strategic choice.

And thank you so much!

[MORE BELOW THE CUT]

I don't know, kissing isn't that hard LOL I think they're pretty even-leveled in technique but Astarion is the tonguier one.

ALL IN DUE TIME, MY FRIEND, ALL IN DUE TIME...

Maybe 😊 🤫though I'm not sure how useful his powers would be in that context.

That said, Indeed! The irony of this match isn't lost on anyone. I'm sure Astarion would have some thoughts about the convenience of it.

I know this is more of a jokey message, but I don't think Astarion would be cool with that sort of thing, and DU drow most definitely wouldn't ask 😂

Whatever works, as he would probably say!

Astarion got drunk through DU drow on occasion while he still fed on him, yes LOL I don't care if that makes sense or not, It's a hysterical concept and definitely factual in my canon. To be fair as well, DU drow is a huge man and has to drink a LOT to get properly wasted - so Astarion wouldn't have to consume a whole lot from him to get on a similar level!

Post a few particular post-campaign events, Astarion gets drunk through strangers' blood that were either piss-drunk already or have been fed alcohol forcibly by the pair.

He likes thick stews, braised pork, and meat-pies the most. Don't ask me when or why I've decided this but he likes octupi as a every-once-in-a-while treat - I think he mostly enjoys the experience of eating it more than the taste.

For drinks, he likes beer, red semi-dry wine, and mead the most. He also likes a GOOD whisky - none of the copper-coin garbage they serve at most Inns.

Hi! Incredible question. DU drow can go indefinitely but when he stops he knocks out in record speed. There usually comes a point where Astarion flops over and lets him do all the work.

You know how, shortly after you find out about it, if you tell Astarion that you're frightened of your origins you get that really heartfelt bit of dialogue about how yourself and him are so much alike, and how he feels similarly powerless before Cazador as you do toward your father? Well, I never got that, because DU drow was too busy squinting into the horizon and contemplating the logistics of his conception which prompts Astarion to, essentially, say something along the lines of "Okay, if all you want to do is discuss your dad's cum I'm out"

So, like that.

They didn't smash in the graveyard! I'm hoping to either write a short thing about it, draw something inspired by how the scene went down in my head, or, ideally, both!

That IS kind of a wild comparison but I'm guessing you know about my origins, LOL.

Not... Quite. I'm reluctant to say more because I would like for it to be a surprise that I bring you all through art (even if you can make a pretty accurate deduction based on what has been said so far) but suffice to say that this is the flipside to the Bhaalist DU drow AU.

I don't think I could find the time 😭😭😭 but that's a hysterical idea and I would gladly mash together a bunch of clips if someone else was willing to highlight them!

Hello and thank YOU for humoring me in my nerdy little forays!

I hadn't heard about Model/Actriz but I had a little sneak-peek and, indeed, this might just be right up my alley LOL

It's hard for me to remove these characters from their intended universe so I have a difficult time picturing what they would listen to if the options didn't all sound like string-y bardcore music. I'm sure there are more genres to speak of in DnD lore, I'm just ignorant of them!

That said I do have some thoughts about which of them even enjoy music at all.

REALLY enjoys music: DU drow, Jaheira, Misc, Karlach, Wyll.

Modestly enjoys music: Gale, Shadowheart, Minthara, Halsin.

Generally doesn't enjoy music: Astarion, Lae'zel.

No notes just canonical character information being shared

I forgot what this one was in reference to for a moment and I was so aghast.

I really, really hope you weren't hoping for me to give you work-out advice because both, if you were, you've come to the wrong man.

But if you're just wondering about lore here, I think it's a solid 50/50. I think he's predisposed to a really well-built physique because Daddy Bhaal said so AND he's incredibly active and incidentally does a lot of manual labor. If he's had a few too many sedentary days in a row (which is rare) he pretty much has to tire himself through at-home routines or he goes a little cuckoo-bananas as well.

And thank you for being interested in my little freak!

He's pretty thoroughly desensitized, and thinks far too little of Orcs and half-orcs to be intimidated by them, even when that lack of fear is downright stupid. He's not impervious to fear, however, despite how hard he tries to be - Myrkhul, Grym, the giant Steelwatch, the brain, and even Cazador AFTER he snatched Astarion away were all encounters that made his blood run cold to varying degrees. I think it takes an unfamiliar foe for his sweat to run a little cold.

(Ironically, Raphael had no such effect on him.)

[radioactiverats]

Mentor Starscream x seeker!reader (4/?)

Purposely getting yourself kidnapped by the Autobots so you can persuade Ratchet to teach you some first aid, as you're worried that Megatron's escalating violence against Starscream will one day leave him with injuries you don't know how to fix.

There's more Ratchet in the middle (because I love him as well. I want to hold both of them in my hands with gentol totche.)

Mashup of timelines as usual, but I def realized that when I imagine Starscream he's visually the G1 or IDW design, and when I imagine Ratchet it's TFP. I love MTMTE Ratchet but I'm not quite caught up yet haha.

Since you and Starscream were now sharing a berth, it was inevitable that he would find out about the nightmares. Every time you jerked awake, you would take great pains to quietly settle back into berth even if recharge eluded you. The reason was simple - you didn't want to bother Starscream with it. He gets very little recharge as is, and probably sees things every solar cycle that are ten times worse that what you're faced with.

Starscream doesn't comment, if he knows - another bot might have rushed to console you, but his brand of comfort was to apparently grant you the dignity of being vulnerable in private, especially since you were more or less chassis to chassis with each other in berth.

However, he finally can't hold back when you begin zoning out during training. "Earth to cadet, as the fleshlings say," Starscream snapped, waving a servo in front of your faceplate. You jerk awake, optics cycling before they zero in woozily on Starscream's faceplate. Pinched with irritation, but was that... concern?

You lightly smack your helm in hopes it'll get your processor back to optimum function. No such luck, but it was worth a try. "Sorry, sir."

He narrows his optics at you, taking in the exhausted slump of your frame. For a long moment, no one says anything.

Then, Starscream abruptly turns heel, his back to you. "Dismissed."

But - but you've been here for barely a joor, and - "Sir, please, it won't happen again-"

"And waste my time and yours?" Starscream says bluntly. You flinch, but he just presses on.

"You're in no condition to absorb the information I am giving you, which, if I may add, is exceedingly valuable to your success as a seeker. Recharge properly, and perhaps your processor will be able to comprehend simple instructions such as 'stay awake'." He sniffs, but glances over his shoulder at you - and his optics are gentler.

"We will try our luck again then."

Your first response is to sag with relief even as you watch him stride away, because he wasn't giving up on you. Your second response, however, is that of pure consternation.

The nightmares have gotten worse.

Ever since you had to personally patch Starscream up as he bled out on the floor of his habsuite, the nightmares have gotten so much worse. There are momentary flashes of hate in your processor for Megatron, but they are quickly tamped down by fear. Even your mind is not a safe place, after all, with Soundwave here.

The memory of Starscream, broken and battered at your feet, replays over and over. In some of your nightmares, he is exactly as you found him - gouges in his frame, ripped wires, leaking energon. But just as you thought you'd gotten used to the memory (he's not like that anymore. He's alive and well. He's not like that anymore.), your processor decided to play tricks of the worst kind on you. Offering all kinds of ways Starscream could be hurt, in full technicolour detail, optics shuttered and frame unnaturally still. Worst of all, you could only watch as your processor conjured injuries beyond your rudimentary expertise, that Starscream could very well succumb to because you didn't know how to save him.

That night, the image in your processor is so bad that you bolt upright with coolant already leaking from your optics. You swipe roughly at your faceplates as the memory continues to remain fresh in your mind, fighting to get your trembling frame under control.

You turn to look at the bot next to you, if only to reassure yourself that he's okay, assuming he would be in recharge - but to your surprise, a pair of glowing red optics meet your frantic gaze.

"Sir," You manage to garble out, through the layers of static distorting your vocalizer. "I'm sorry for waking you."

Starscream says nothing. His optics flick to the coolant that drips from your faceplate even as you try to assure him that you're fine, and suddenly, he opens his arms to you in wordless invitation.

"I- sir?"

It's not the first time you would have recharged in his arms. But... this? You hesitate, unsure whether this is too much to ask. Evidently, you've hesitated for too long, because Starscream wraps a servo around your wrist and pulls you gently but insistently to him.

"I'm here," He murmurs gruffly, in low, musical Vosian. And it makes coolant spring to your optics all over again, because ever since Megatron had taken charge, he'd quickly ensured that all his soldiers spoke only standard Cybertronian - a quick and brutal 'show' had made sure of that. You slip into recharge with the gentle lilt of Vosian in your audials, and for once, no more nightmares plague you. You're even more surprised to awaken not to an empty berth, but still pressed up against Starscream's warm chassis.

"Oh, good," Starscream had rasped, vocalizer not quite activated after recharge. "You're awake. There are some things I must see to, so I trust you will stay out of trouble in my absence."

You barely had time to even nod before he was gone. Checking your internal chronometer, you whistle quietly. Was it that late already? Had... had Starscream stayed on purpose, so you wouldn't panic upon seeing an empty berth?

You feel more recharged than you have in many solar cycles. However, your newfound energy and the warmth thrumming through your spark for your commander has only strengthened your determination to do something. Starscream might have kept the nightmares at bay last night, but you knew it wasn't sustainable. The only way you can bring some semblance of peace to yourself and him is if you can become confident in your abilities to repair him without external help.

Which is, admittedly, a lot easier said than done.

You knew you were about to do something really, really stupid.

The Decepticons had traded tales about an Autobot medic named Ratchet, before. The way they spoke of him with begrudging respect was enough for you to believe that Ratchet could work literal miracles, and that was precisely what you needed right now. But how could you possibly approach him?

You've heard enough about the Autobots, observed enough about them to know where they differed from the Decepticons. One major difference was that even when they took prisoners, they were not cruel. What if...?

You're too deep into this to give up. There's too much at stake here - despite the risk, if Ratchet was willing to hear you out, you might one day have a fighting chance to save Starscream's spark from flickering out. Which is how you found yourself trekking along the side of a dusty, abandoned road along some dry, sandy plain, not making any effort to hide yourself as you hoped for an Autobot to come across you.

But at the same time, what if they didn't let you go after taking you prisoner?

Before you can continue to second guess yourself, the roar of a well-oiled motor engine sounds behind you, and you almost laugh at how obvious you're being. A seeker, walking? The Autobot scout, Bumblebee, skids to a stop behind you, and you hear the smooth clicking and whirring of his transformation.

"Looking for trouble?"

Not particularly, You think, turning round to face him, but as Bumblebee falters, you realize you've spoken out loud.

This is the first time you've come face to face with the scout. You're about the same age, and for a moment, you both regard the other with open curiosity, like bots being introduced for the first time by a mutual acquaintance. In another timeline, you wonder if you could have been friends.

Bumblebee squints, looking unsure whether or not to drop his fighting stance. You make no move to engage, and simply stand there, servos dangling limply by your sides. This idea is really, really stupid.

"Defecting?"

You reset your vocalizer. "Not exactly."

"Still enemies, then," Bumblebee says, and he doesn't bother to hide the note of disappointment in his voice. Enemies. He doesn't even know you. You wonder if the divide between you runs too deep, even if only in name for you. Is there nothing more to you beyond faction name?

The bubbling hope of confessing to Bumblebee your real intentions abruptly withers. Why, indeed, would he help you if he knew you wanted to help the SIC of the Decepticons? Still, you hated to say it, but it seemed that Bumblebee had the privilege of naivety for a few more stellar cycles at least, under Optimus' kind guidance. Within the Decepticon ranks, you'd quickly learned that some bots simply didn't deal in kindness. You supposed it was back to the original plan, then.

"I've been out here for a while," You say, pretending to stagger a few steps. You are in the middle of a scorching hot desert plain, after all. Casting your hook, you hope to Primus that Bumblebee buys the act, because even to you, it looks phony as hell.

"I think I'm lost." Bumblebee, who was originally looking suspiciously at you, widens his optics as his little antennae twitch upwards in shock. Line.

You stagger even closer, pressing a servo to your helm. "Bumblebee-" You close your eyes and pray to Primus that the Autobots are actually nice. You really haven't thought any further beyond getting yourself captured. Maybe you wouldn't even get the chance to talk to Ratchet. But you're too far into your little one-man show to back out now. You crash to the ground, and with your optics offlined, hear Bumblebee's yelp of shock, the scuff of dry earth beneath his pedes as he races over to you. And sinker.

"Oh, Primus," Bumblebee mutters. "Why couldn't it just have been a fight? I can do that."

You're honestly hating this war more and more. Bumblebee felt so much like a little brother - you're torn between fighting to keep the laughter from bubbling up, and the need to scold him for letting his guard down so easily. What if it was a genuine trap you'd set for him? He'd rushed to your side with no regard for his own safety. Then again, this was exactly what you'd been banking on - you count your lucky stars that it was indeed Bumblebee you'd run into and not anyone else.

"Ratchet," You hear Bumblebee say into his comm. "There's a 'con here, but not in good shape." Just to really drive it home, you groan weakly from where you're collapsed in a heap on the ground. It must have worked, because Bumblebee's voice pitches upwards in slightly panicked urgency. "Yeah, yeah, I'll bring them through. Thanks, Ratchet."

Huh. You really hadn't expected it to be that easy. The tales you'd heard of the Autobot medic were from when you used to sleep in the barracks with the lower-ranking Decepticons. This varied from his rough bedside manner, his surprising ability to fight ("He had green, glowing optics," One Decepticon said with a shudder), his past as the 'Party Ambulance' (what.) to his relative fame amongst older bots as a highly respected neurosurgeon before the war broke out. Most strikingly, he'd apparently patched up Autobots and Decepticons alike on the battlefield.

"It's some medic code he has," Snorted the Decepticon next to you. "Stupid, if you ask me. Why fix up the bots who are out to get you?"

"Lay off the medic," Another bot admonished sharply. "You might not like it, but quite a few of us owe our sparks to him."

A couple of low, murmured agreements resounded around the room. There was undeniably a begrudging respect for him all around, and a fair number of the bots clearly didn't want to be the ones to take him out, if it ever came to that.

You were thinking about Ratchet even when the lights went out. Even though you'd never met him personally, admiration swirled in your spark for the bot with such a strong moral code that he would never falter in his actions. You'd always dreaded having to choose a side. Being with Starscream meant that you'd 'chosen' the Decepticons, sure - but it was Starscream you were loyal to, not Megatron. You'd resigned yourself to eventually signing your spark away to the cause, because you couldn't think of any other way to survive there. But perhaps, you think, you could be like Ratchet.

And now - as Bumblebee carried you through the swirling groundbridge, your spark thrummed at the possibility of imminently meeting him for real.

As soon as the roar of the portal closed behind you, your audials prick up as a low, gruff voice speaks.

"Are you hurt?"

"Not a dent," Bumblebee says. "Not sure about this one, though."

"Just the one?"

"Yup."

"Huh," The other voice says. "I'll tell Optimus to keep an eye on that area. Never know if the Decepticons are planning something."

You feel Bumblebee shrug, even with you gathered in his arms. One of these days, you really have to tell him off for being too trusting. Enemy or not, he seemed like a decent bot and you didn't want trust to be the thing that destroyed him.

A deep sigh. "Put them in the med bay and go refuel first."

"Sure thing," Bumblebee chirped, and you felt the cold metal of a medical berth against your wings. A few nanokliks passed, and you continue to remain still, pretending to be unconscious. Should you...? Ratchet, however, beat you to it. "Alright," He groused, as soon as you heard the door to his med bay slide shut. "Get up. I know you're not actually unconscious."

Your eyes shoot open. "How-?"

The bot in front of you looks unimpressed. "I'm a medic."

"Right," You mutter sheepishly. Sitting up on the medical berth, you take in the sight of Ratchet for the first time. Red and white, built and stocky. Rounded helm, pointed chevrons. You finally work your way to his faceplate. Glowing blue optics stare exasperatedly back at you.

"Sorry," You mumble, and Ratchet sighs again. He seems to do that a lot. Then again, he seems very tired. You don't blame him.

"If you're done," He grumbles, "I'd like to know why you got yourself kidnapped on purpose." There's an air of mistrust in his optics now, a tenseness to his frame that you don't like. In a way though, you're grateful that he's cutting right to the chase.

"I wanted an audience with you," You begin, haltingly. Ratchet's optics narrow slightly, but he doesn't say anything and just waits for you to continue. "I heard that you fixed up both Autobots and Decepticons before, because you have a code. And I know you're an Autobot - " You glance at the polished insignia on his chassis, "- but I'm kind of... like that, too."

Speech was never your strong suit, and you were glad Starscream often did the talking for you. His silver tongue had surely gotten the both of you out of a few tight spaces before, but you never dared to ask about the details. Fortunately, a sharp in-vent tells you that Ratchet has understood what you were clumsily trying to get across. He crosses his arms over his bulky chassis, optics roving carefully over your faceplate as he assesses the situation.

"So," He asks carefully, "What's your code based on?"

Ah. He'd seemed receptive so far, potentially persuaded to your own one-man cause, but here was the detail that might make him eject you bodily from his med bay.

"Starscream."

You watch as a range of emotions flit across Ratchet's faceplate. Eventually, it settles on confused and mildly horrified. "Starscream? Are you sure?"

"Yes," You say, feeling oddly defensive. Ratchet seems to pick up on this, and he unfolds his arms with an even deeper sigh. "A seeker," He mutters, optics flicking over your form as if really just seeing you for the first time. "How old are you?"

You tell him.

Ratchet pinches the bridge of his helm, between his optics, a bone-deep weariness emanating from his frame. "I'm assuming you're one of Starscream's students, then," He says.

"The last one," You add quietly. The Quintessons launched an attack on the Vosian Air Academy, and I was the only one who survived."

"...Ah."

Another hum, and this time, his optics are appraising, as if something had clicked into place. You, a youngling like Bumblebee, would not be sitting before him with your paint in near pristine condition, had someone not taken you under their wing. Literally and metaphorically.

"So what is it you want from me?"

"Can you teach me some first aid?" You blurt. Ratchet's brows furrow.

"I could," He says, confusion evident in his voice. "But what for? Don't the the Decepticons have a medic?"

"Well, yes," You hedge, "But, you know. Starscream."

That part he understands - it was no secret that the Decepticons had a brutal system of hierarchy that relied on shows of power. It made sense that Starscream wouldn't want to be seen in a vulnerable state. But there's still something he's missing.

"As far as I know," Ratchet presses carefully, "Starscream has not sustained any major injuries at the hands of the Autobots in recent stellar cycles."

You probably shouldn't be revealing so much information about the inner workings of the Decepticons, but as your hate for Megatron simmers into exhaustion, you slump on Ratchet's medical berth and decide to tell him anyway.

"Megatron... punishes him. A lot."

Ratchet seems slightly taken aback by that. Anyone with functioning optics could tell that the Decepticons were kept in line by fear, and it was no secret that violence ran rampant within the ranks - but to hear it so plainly that even their SIC was no exception? And to have you, trembling before him, desperate to help him, clearly knowing that rudimentary first aid was not enough for whatever injuries Megatron had inflicted - it must be worse than Ratchet had ever thought.

He checks his internal chronometer - you've been here for about a joor. Soon, someone is going to come looking for you, and neither faction is looking particularly appealing right now.

"We don't have much time. Hurry up and get over here."

Your helm shoots up as Ratchet pivots crisply away from you, suddenly all business. You leap off the medical berth, following him to a large table where he thunks down a heavy med kit. This Ratchet, intense, precise, laying a series of tools in front of you with deft servos, is undoubtedly the war medic that had earned every inch of respect he got. Now you understand why the Deceptions were so begrudgingly impressed by him.

Ratchet hesitates for a nanoklik before pulling out some even more complicated looking tools. Is this really happening? At your wide, awestruck optics, Ratchet huffs, a light flush of energon on his faceplate at your bursting admiration. "Alright already. Stop staring at me and pay attention."

Two joors pass before you hear the sounds of a commotion outside. Ratchet's audials flick agitatedly before he glances at you. "You'd better go," He murmurs, low and urgent.

Go? Just like that? Ratchet must have seen you freeze up in disbelief, because he snarls and springs into action for both of you, ushering you out of medbay and towards the groundbridge.

"I'm sure you know how to get back," He says, quick and curt, typing in a set of coordinates. The groundbridge shimmers to life. "Go," He orders, in a voice that brooks no argument. I'll handle this."

You give him one last, lingering glance before you step through the glowing green portal. Ratchet's staring at you too, something hovering unspoken in his optics. "Kid," He finally calls, as the sound of the commotion approaches. "No matter where this war takes you, be true to yourself."

You give him a jerky nod, overwhelmed but endlessly grateful.

With that, the groundbridge warps out of existence behind you, leaving behind a cacophony of Autobot shouts and abruptly plunging you back into the silent, sandy plain where you first met Bumblebee.

For a nanoklik, you feel so very alone.

But leaving Starscream was out of the question. Amidst all the uncertainty in the war, this is the one thing you're sure of. You leap into the air, transforming into your alt mode. If you were lucky, Starscream would still be on duty and you could sneak back before anyone had realized you were gone. You spiral through the air, picking up speed as night begins to fall. The flames of your thrusters illuminate the purple dusk as you add another burst of speed, your form now a screaming blur in the sky.

But before you can reach your destination, your destination reaches you first. Your only warning is a streak that blitzes into your field of vision before something huge and heavy tackles you out of the sky.

The impact completely knocks your systems offline for a nanoklik. Unable to even scream, you struggle to force your systems to reboot, gain back control of your frame as you hurtle towards the ground - but strangely enough, you quickly realize that you're not freefalling wildly through the air. Battling against the screaming winds at your back, you force your optics open to see none other than a furious Starscream, his servos gripping your arms with deathly force as he drives you downwards.

"Where the Pit were you?" He hisses, over the shrill whistling of air in your audials. "I've just spent the last few joors hunting every corner of this slagging dirtball for your sorry aft!"

As you plummet downwards, you struggle to make sense of his words. He was looking for you?

"What if Megatron got to you first?" He snarls, denta bared. "I told you to stay put! Do you treat my words like slag?"

You didn't think he'd catch you sneaking out, but you never imagined he'd be this angry. Both of you rocket through the clouds, the green environment of Earth swirling into your field of vision. Was this it? Had Starscream finally decided you were more trouble than you were worth? You wouldn't blame him. Shuttering your optics, you brace yourself for impact. His servos, where he's touching your frame, are warm. That's how you'd remember him, before you go out. Stolen moments of warmth with him. After all he'd done for you.

But over the screaming wind in your audials, your don't hear so much as feel his engines screech as he pulls up at the last minute. The warmth of his servos abruptly leave you, and your optics fly open as you are dropped a few meters above a patch of open grass and promptly eat ground. As you push yourself up with a groan, not so much sore but still ablaze with adrenaline, the realization suddenly hits. What Starscream did... Was not unlike how carriers and sires dealt with unruly seeker sparklings when they refused to leave the air. You shake your helm in disbelief, spitting out another mouthful of earth soil. Starscream... had quite literally grounded you. Huh.

You roll over to the sight of him seething above you, his ruby optics alight with rage, intake twisted in a snarl.

"Imagine," He hisses, looming over you, "When I learned you were being held captive by the Autobots - have you no sense of self-preservation in that scrap-filled processor of yours? Have I taught you absolutely nothing?"

His wings shudder with barely concealed anger as he begins to pace. "And of all the bots, it had to be that pit-slagged femme who blocked my way!"

Arcee? You're not too familiar with the Autobots, but you remember Starscream had literally shrieked himself into stasis after a particular battle with the Autobots over an energon mine, where a certain pink femme had foiled his plans at the very last nanoklik.

Wait. Arcee had blocked his way? You stare blankly at him as it sinks in that the commotion you heard earlier... was in fact Starscream singlehandedly blasting his way through the Autobot base to save you.

"Oh," You say.

"Oh?" Starscream screeches, wings twitching furiously. "Oh? That's all you have to say for yourself?"

You still can't bring yourself to speak as you gaze up at him. And slowly, a smile splits your faceplate. You can't help it. You smile big and bright up at your commander. "What?" He demands shrilly. "What is it?" He does falter, rage dropping momentarily from his faceplate and muting into confusion when you start to laugh. Relief, adrenaline, admiration, all at once.

"It was worth it." You gasp, through your fit on the ground. All this was worth it for Starscream, who'd against all better judgement risked his own helm to come looking for you, because he was worried. You'd carefully filed away every detail of Ratchet's instruction this afternoon. With the knowledge he'd bestowed upon you and extra bandages in your subspace, the gamble had paid off, because the chances of you preserving Starscream's spark had skyrocketed if the worst came to pass.

Starscream just stares at you, a hysterically giggling heap on the ground. "It was worth it!" You shriek, because Starscream is the one who found you and for now, you are safe.

You finally come back to yourself after a few cycles of wheezing almost soundlessly in your relief. You're sure there's coolant smeared over your faceplates and you look like a mess, but you don't give a frag - not when your stupid plan actually came to something. "Sir," You sigh to Starscream, who's still frozen above you, optics tracking your faceplate as you finally simmer down. "I'm going to have the best recharge of anybody today."

Unexpectedly, this douses Starscream's anger. He studies you carefully for a nanoklik. You take this rare moment to shamelessly drink in his handsome features - the sharp, defined ridges of his cheeks, the brightness of his optics, and the disapprovingly flattened line of his intake (okay, but still). Did he think that the nightmares, the war had finally broken your processor? It had happened to a few of the Decepticons. That would explain the flicker of worry in his optics - but he seems to find what he's looking for in your faceplate, so he simply sighs, all of a sudden looking more tired than you've seen him. He extends a servo to you.

"Get up."

You gingerly put your servo in his much larger one, feel his fingers close around yours as he pulls you up with much more gentleness than you're sure you deserve.

"I won't ask," Starscream begins. His optics flash. "But I will find out sooner or later."

You nod, trying for serious, but you must still have vestiges of a smile on your faceplate. Starscream stares at you and plants his hands on his hips.

"And don't think this will go unpunished. You think sneaking out is funny? Not when I'm through with you. You'll have done so many circuits of the 16-point roll that your wings will have dropped off by then. Sneaking off? Primus help you if it happens again. You think I'm coming to drag your sorry aft back home? Hah!"

I mean. He would come for you, but you wisely keep this to yourself as he gesticulates wildly to prove his point, even if both of you know it's more for show than anything.

Finally, he finishes his tirade with a huff. "It's dark," He says shortly, and glances at you. In the dark, his optics cast a soft glow on your faceplate.

"Eugh. Primus, wipe that stuff off your faceplate or it'll stain." Two large, servos come down either side of your helm, and you can't help but flinch as Starscream swipes his thumbs over your cheeks to clean the coolant off. Still admonishing you, but his voice is forgiving and wraps around you like a warm blanket. "Stop squirming."

Finally, your faceplate relatively un-smudged, Starscream breaks apart from you. You try to soak in this moment as long as possible, wishing it could always be like this. Just the two of you, under a sky full of stars. This planet's view of the solar system could really be beautiful. You glance back to find Starscream looking at you, also looking reluctant to leave. However, he has to play the bad guy. He always does.

"Come on," He says, but it's gentle. "Let's go."

Previous

[eva-does-its-best]

I think it's so awesome coded. That you're being like "the tmes", grouping up so many different kinds of people including many that you choose to ignore into a category you can oppose without guilt.

Did you get bored of actually fighting everyone's very real opressors, the transphobes and fascists and terfs that want us gone? Is it more entertaining to you now to have this personal fight now, a small scale fight that you feel you can actually win?

I sure as hell don't need any convincing or academic arguments that some niche theories that do not even match the practical reality of opression in our very real world are not something to make enemies for or waste time on petty discourse online that will ammount to nothing at best and invalidating others at worse.

I'm not gonna be available to be convinced of disrespecting or belittleling any group of opressed people when all of our rights to exist are in equal literal danger.

Maybe you live in the digital future where everything is ok except this, but in the actual present we don't need theory, we need people willing to do something about the very real problems all trans people face.

Am I being too rough? Too angry? Well swallow your irritation and reflect on yourself, because you've spit on the hard work me and many of my colleagues do every day in person and online for trans people, securing rights, resources, preventing suicides, seeing all the abuse and violence every trans person faces in person and having to swallow the hard pill of how powerless we are to help a lot of times.

We work for you too, you know? We protect you too as much as we can, you know? Despite all that you feel of us we are there when you need it, because fuck all that theory!!! we're all vulnerable hurt people in need of help! So how about you drop the self-satisfactory flag of your "tma/tme" discourse and fight against the real opression out there?

You're not my enemy, and I don't plan to be yours, but maybe you are the one who is not open to listen, I hope it's not the case.

I think it's so awesome coded that every trans woman who doesn't want to roll over for the tmes has to have a deep academic understanding of her oppression that she can succinctly explain to people in one paragraph or less (lest they refuse to read it) with small words (lest she be called pretentious and overly academic).

Of course, they aren't available to be convinced, but we're still expected to try anyway.

[veronicangel]

LOSER MONOLOGUE

daisuke - mouthwashing

cw: angst angst angst angst, depression, hint of starvation

he didn't know how he could be so stupid.

"(your name) i really like you and you're just so amazing to be around you're funny and you always laugh at my jokes and-"

why did he think you would feel the same way? how could he think that?

"daisuke..."

he tried to forget the feelings he had for you, but he can't stop his feelings.

"and i think you're so gorgeous too and you always make me feel good about myself and-"

why did he want you so bad? what is it about you he can't let go of? why does he want to talk to you, to laugh with you, to make out with you? why does he want anything from you?

"daisuke please listen to me..."

why did he think this would work out in his favor? nothing ever does. he isn't anything important, even his own parents think so.

"yes, yes , you're right, i'm listening"

nothing ever good comes out of him being around. just goes to show with the crash happening just as soon as he joined the crew. the least he could do is give his own rations to everyone else. he isn't that hungry anyways.

"you're really sweet and handsome daisuke but..."

he was so stupid. that smile he had on his face was useless. he should've known you wouldn't feel the same way. he's nothing compared to you.

"but i don't feel that way about you daisuke. you only think you like me because im the only person available"

why couldn't he show you he liked you for you and not because he has no one else? why could he never express himself? either way it wouldn't have mattered, he isn't enough for you.

"that's not true! i do like you so much (your name)!"

he felt the tears pricking at his eyes again. why is the only thing he can do is cry? why can't he get up and win you over? why can't he get over you?

"please don't argue with me about this daisuke. i don't want this to affect our time on the ship together. i do like you, as a good friend"

he cried into his own hands, how pathetic. he cried at the thought of you. anytime he looks at you, or hears your name, his stomach flips and gets butterflies. you didn't see him in that way though. why would you? everyone knows he's lazy and pathetic. everyone on the crew thinks so and everyone back home does too, so why wouldn't you think that too.

"oh i understand, im sorry for wasting your time. let's forget this ever happened am i right! haha!"

he remembers the moment so clearly. he remember the pitiful smile you gave him before walking back to whatever you were doing before he got to you. why did it have to be like this? he can't stop himself from fantasizing. he can't help himself from imagining how things would be back home. how you and him would move in together, get a cat, and live happily alongside each other, not on a space ship that was doomed from the start.

"you mean so much to me. i wish you'd look at me the way i look at you. i wish i could be with you. i just want to feel the warmth of your body next to mine. to see your smile. i want to play with your hair, see it shine under the sun as it hits you just right. i want to watch the sun sink behind the heavens with you. talk, laugh, make out. anything. i just want anything from you."

he wrote it all down on a random sheet of paper and the only pen he could find on the whole ship. the tears in his eyes dripped onto the paper, ruining his already messy writing. it didn't matter though. he figured you wouldn't want to read his loser monologue anyways.

sorry for the angst guys im depressed so my faves have to be depressed too but for reals who would reject my baby daisuke 🙁

[gauntletqueen]

I'm known to be honest. To a fault, some would say, but only logically, not emotionally. Without even realising it, I usually put up a front of sorts, appearing perfectly happy and content. It's not so much that I lie about how I feel, it's moreso that I can't get myself to talk about my emotions in the first place. It makes me feel really awful. I'm taking this time to be truly honest about how I feel and who I am.

I'm afraid of a lot of things. That most of my friends secretly don't care about me and only humor me because the alternative is too much of a hassle. That I'll never actually be happy with who I am, no matter how many positive changes I make to myself. That people will realise I'm not anything special, that so many people in my spheres are a better alternative to me, that what little I've managed to accomplish in my continuous car crash of a life amounts to nothing. That my years of professional education, self-taught skills and dreams of becoming an artist really have been wasted. That I'm undeserving and even incapable of real romantic love. That, by being honest about all this, I'll drive people away.

Most of all I'm afraid of the relentless march of time. That all of my bad choices, failures, wasted opportunities, fears and losses are constantly compounding. The terrifying prospect of living in a world that keeps getting worse, that as time goes by, the people in whom I find the most comfort will be taken from me. That my chances to live my life in a way I can be happy with are slipping away.

And I feel ungrateful. I'm told I'm loved, that I matter and that I do have a positive impact on the lives of others. People tell me they love what I do, that they look up to me, feel inspired. They put me on a pedestal, think me unapproachable. It makes me angry how wrong that feels. My self esteem is so bad I can't imagine a world in which these people aren't wrong for this. I know their feelings are valid, I know I should just be happy with their compliments, but it's like I'm an outsider in my own mind, desperately clawing at the windows and screaming to stop being so stubborn, so sad, so self-destructive.

I've often talked about wanting, needing to be a robot. For gender euphoria, of course, and to be rid of the need to eat and sleep, and chronic illness. But it goes deeper. I want to be something other entirely, somewhere else entirely. Something disconnected from this hellish existence where I'm constantly fighting myself in every way. Something not bound by the ticking clock of a biological life, or the crushing fear of a monotonous, unfulfilled everyday existence. Free to just be, without a lifetime of dreams and worries, stretching both back and forward in time. Maybe I want to be nothing at all.

I don't know if this makes sense. I just wrote it down. I'm sorry. Thank you for reading.

[mumuscae]

SPOILERS!!! SPOILERS!!!

Rant on Storytaco's bad writing of dark skinned characters. Specifically Sirius.

I wanna start this out with saying, I do not hate Sirius as a character. He's one of my favorites and I feel like he had wasted potential being in the hands of Storytaco. I don't think there's anything wrong with enjoying Sirius as a character either! I believe however that we can enjoy media, and look at it from a critical lense. There are good things about his character and I enjoy a lot of how he was written lore wise!!! Otherwise I wouldn't be so violently obsessed with him since the age of 15 lol. But again. There are a combination of things that I can't really see as a coincidence.

If you have anything to add, or disagree with any of my points, please do not be afraid to say so! I wanna have an actual discussion about this. please I do not bite. I stand pretty firm on my points at this very moment, but I'm entirely willing to listen and change.

Uh. Apologies if my points come across poorly or if my writing is incoherent. There's a reason why I did bad in school lol.

My criticisms are below here. Have fun

Anyways.

Fuck Storytaco?

Uh. This is 100% inspired by recent discussion on the fandoms treatment of Sirius. But I'd like to discuss why this treatment is actively perpetuated by the developers of Arcana Twilight. Which is much more disturbing to think about when you consider their games are often marketed towards minors.(There are other issues with storytaco marketing towards minors too. Uh, idk if those are relevant for this post though. Maybe later cuz it's high key disturbing!!! 😃)

Sirius was written very inconsiderately. Like I know he's a villainous/morally gray character. However I feel like there needs to be a lot more tact when your only dark skinned character is written to be not a good person. Especially in comparison to the light skinned characters. I feel like they just applied every negative trait on earth to him, then turned around and went "jk guys! He's not actually bad. Hes like this cuz he's an orphan." 😭 Like some of these traits would be fine in their own if balanced out with other things, but there's so many combined together that I can't help but feel suspicious of their intentions and bias.

He's the most provocative out of all the love interests. He's consistently initiating suggestive situations, is labeled the "sexyman", and is constantly making innuendos. The game has a lot of fan service in general (even though it's rated E), but Sirius is disproportionately portrayed this way and is just constantly going "hehe sex 😁" Which making him the provocative one is both an issue with him being queer coded and dark skinned..double whammy 😟

He's the dangerous, unpredictable and violent one. He SHOT!!! SHOT the mc within the first few floors. And like. There wasn't even a good reason behind why they decided to write that in other than to make us think he's violent/dangerous/untrustworthy. There are times when it's portrayed that he can't even be trusted alone in a room with the mc, even prior to the villain arc. 😐

He's a pretty much a domestic terrorist.... 😐

He was a wanted criminal for half of the story. Idk if I need to explain what's wrong with that either 😐

He's potentially the only one killed off at the ending depending on your interpretation.

In the clan equivalent of Americans (cough. Guns + eagles + the lazy unlikable rebellious group that just gets into trouble) which is just. Silly. 😭😒

Again he's the "untrustworthy one that nobody wants to be around." This is a point constantly driven in by the characters he's surrounded with. they drill that into the viewers head so so so much.

He's the "party animal" of the group??? Which isn't really portrayed beyond him drinking a lot but was definitely advertised as such.

He's 100% queer coded you cannot convince me otherwise. Which. Now we're falling into queer coded poc villain territory. Double whammy again! Disney is that you?

Going off the queer coded point, he's falling into "predatory gay man" territory. Hes shipped with basically every man in the game by storytaco for promotional and bait reasons. But it's always displayed as Sirius making the other party uncomfortable and getting in their personal space. Making unwanted advances. Like... Y'all don't got a do that

Ok this is possibly nitpicky but deadass why'd they make him a basketball player in the highschool au thingy. He's a theater kid. Nothing about him reads as liking sports. Please do not wear dangly earrings while playing sports??? It bothers me so much 💀

Okay so the sassy, violent, deranged, perverted terrorist... is the only romance-able dark skinned man in the game. ??? NONONO just think about that for a good moment

HE HAS OTHER THINGS IN HIS CHARACTER. THERE ARE GOOD PARTS ABOUT HIS CHARACTER!!! I LOVE SIRIUS SO MUCH. HES VERY COMPLEX AND INTERESTING.. but this is such a horrible combination of very specific negative tropes that it's hard to ignore. Especially when thinking about how this game is advertised to minors who, more often than not, are easily subjected to subconscious bias in media and are easily influenced due to our lack of ability to critically analyze media we're haphazardly consuming. (Sorry fellow minors. As a senior minor aka 17 yo it's the hard truth y'all gotta accept. we've all been there and we've been influenced by media whether we're aware of it or not. I'm not mad at y'all or belittling. Keep having ur funsies with ur silly star men I'm not stopping you lol? This is legitimate concern and criticism towards a company that is promoting weird stereotypes to us)

And I don't think Sirius is just a one off weirdly written dark skinned character from Storytaco. Thuban (WHO IS GREEEEEY. Big issue on its own 😰😭) is depicted as lazy and rude.???? Like he has a single redeeming moment but again. Just reads as "domineering rowdy black man." Especially when you look at the whole great hero trio .. he's supposed to fall within the fantasy "Fighter" archetype with his big ass mace. Compared to Polaris who is like a Cleric and the Wizard/Ranger Schedar.

Also shout out to storytacos other grey men.....???????? I was only able to find four dark skinned men (not just tanned a bit) including Sirius when I went thru Storytacos game catalogue. Two of them are grey. 😐

Anyways Sirius was a huge motivating factor in why I wanted to make Extraterrestrial... Fucked up potential of a character. There are 100% biases showing through how he was written. These were all conscious decisions made on the writers part and I don't think it can be kept behind "he's a morally gray character who's going thru it" because there were so many good ways to show that and his grief without going to every. single. extreme.

--

[live-laugh-lenney]

Could we maybe have a part two of this > https://www.tumblr.com/live-laugh-lenney/753590143297912832/id-honestly-love-a-little-something-where-like-yn

Fuzzy confessions and stuff perhaps?

| part one |

months had passed.

and arthur hated how he never acted on what had happened; he wanted to speak to the boys as soon as it happened, as soon as he had them away from yn so he could get their help on what he needed to do, but he chose to keep quiet. he chose to keep what happened a secret between himself and yn... which yn understood.

a change in the dynamic of their friendship group was something she didn't want to happen and she didn't want george nor chris nor arthur hill to view her differently because she'd drunkenly slept with arthur... with no regrets on either side... definitely not.

but he couldn't stand not being able to call her his.

hearing stories about how she'd gone on different dates with men that she had been set up with through becky or shannon because they were fed up with her moping around and being unhappy. deep down, she wanted arthur and not the strangers she was being set up with... but she wasn't going to force any feelings if he didn't truly feel sparks.

how wrong she was.

"this guy just straight up belched in my face and never apologised for it. he drank half the bottle of prosecco before i'd even finished my first glass, he mansplained everything he spoke about, never asked me about myself or my interests or anything and," she huffs as she fell to the sofa behind her, completely flopping down into the empty space beside george, kicking her feet up on his lap, "he was so rude to the waiting staff who were looking after us, too."

"looked like a prick when he came to pick you up so," george shrugs his shoulders, "where did you meet this one?"

"hinge, surprisingly. thought i'd give it a go after you said about it," a scoff left george's mouth and she rolls her eyes, his fingers undoing the heels buckled around her ankles and pulling them from her feet, "i thought he was going to be really nice. maybe i should just stay single? maybe, just maybe, i'm not cut out for a relationship."

"that's rubbish and you know it," george tuts at her and she pouts her lips, "maybe we should double date? i can scope your dates out and you can do the same for me. we can be each others' wingman."

a door opening catches yn offguard and she looks in the direction of where the sound of the creaking hinge came from, making eye contact with arthur as he steps foot out of the bathroom, a soft smile on his lips.

"you don't look like someone who's just had a good date," he says cautiously, walking into the living room and taking a seat in the seat he'd been sat in previously, "what happened this time?"

"terrible table manners, a major narcissist and rude to those around him," yn grumbles and sits up, folding her arms across her chest as she let her eyes wander to the television, "i wasted so much of my time picking out this outfit, buying new shoes, doing my make-up and making my hair look nice. someone really has it out for me at the moment, i swear."

arthur gives her a sympathetic smile before he diverts his attention to his phone.

all he could think about was how she'd never be treated so badly if he just said something, if he put his fears and worries aside, and finally acted on the feelings he was feeling deep inside.

because he found himself thinking back to that one night they shared together on holiday. when he woke up with her beside him, with their clothes in heaps around the room so there was no point in lying to one another about what had happened, with a feeling of happiness that it had happened. a memory that he found hard to shake off. and everytime he was reminded of that night, he found himself falling a little more in love with her.

"want a cup of tea?"

"that sounds so good right now," she looks at george and he stands to his feet, sliding his phone into his pocket and striding across the living room and in the direction of the kitchenette, "can i stay here tonight?"

"you're always welcome here," george says.

and with that, he disappeared around the corner to make her, and himself, a cup of tea because the idea sounding really warming and he could feel a chill in the air. the silence swallowed arthur and yn as they sat comfortably in each other's presence... but he felt his tongue burning from wanting to say something to her. he just didn't know what.

"i don't know why i bother anymore, you know?"

"hmm?"

arthur looks over at her and she frowns in his direction, her eyebrows pinching together on her browline and there's a sudden flush in her cheeks that was something other than the wind-bitten skin that she would have endured on her walk to george's flat.

"why couldn't you just ask me out, doofus?"

"again, hmm?"

arthur's confused and his heart was racing in his chest, beating quick and hard and he was surprised she couldn't hear how worked up he was feeling at her question.

"we slept together, we had such a good holiday, but we get back to england and you forget all that happened? we go back to being best friends and act like we never did anything?" she questions him and he shakes his head erratically, "then why didn't you do anything?"

"why should i? why couldn't you make the first move?"

she scowls at him when she sees the smirk toying at his lips, his phone being slipped into his picket so she had his full attention, his body shifting in his seat so he could look at her.

"i wanted to ask you out. really, i did," he starts, gulping back a thick lump in his throat before he continued, "i didn't want it to ruin what we had though. that night was amazing, from what i remember, and i didn't think we could go anywhere because i didn't know how i felt at the time. i didn't want it to change the group because we became a couple. i didn't know how to approach it, i guess."

"you've seen me go through hell on these dates and you didn't step in," she grumbles and he stands up, taking long steps in her direction and kneeling down in front of her, "be my knight in shining armour, idiot. save me so i don't have to do this anymore."

he takes her hands in his and squeezes them tight, running his thumbs across her knuckles with soft movements, eyes trained on her face as she looks at her lap.

"stay at mine tonight?" he asks her gently and lifts her head, "don't stay here. come back with me. and i'll take you home tomorrow and you can get all dressed up again, you can spend hours on your make-up and your hair, and i'll take you out in the evening and show you a proper date."

"i'm bored of dinners now. i've had too many bad ones to count," she informs him, "surprise me? but it has to be fun. not boring or generic. it has to be exciting."

"deal," he grins widely, pressing a kiss to her forehead, "consider yourself surprised." x

[xxxdizzy19]

Nor wastes too much time on self-pitty stuff. According to Teylan's text note Nor stopped connecting to Eywa immediatly after their first encounter with the flower in the Kinglor Forest, not after the Clouded Forest. It is already very bad for Na'vi to do so. He filled his mind with nonsense like "I'm not Na'vi enough. What our ancestors would think of us?" and etc. Bro, just do smth. Start to learn the Sarentu ways instead of whining all the time. Everyone seems to forget that Nor wasn't the only one who had experienced terrifying things because of RDA. Aha'ri gets shot right in front of us. Our last relative. And look at our mc. They've endured that shit, somehow. Moreover, they found strength to fight RDA, to unite the clans and honor the memory of their sister and mother. Ri'nela has found courage in her heart to be the spiritual leader. Even "humanized" Teylan tries his best to be more Na'vi, despite all that shit Mercer had told him about Pandora. They all have their own traumas. Still, these three doing great and to coop with the Resistance was the right decision, because it is not a matter of personal whim, but of survival. Together they are much stronger + other clans. This is the only way to defeat RDA. Nor must understand that the past cannot be changed, but the future is still there and it depends of what are you going to do now. He chose to kill Alma's avatar and abandon his friends in the time of great need. He didn't even think about what would happen to his friends, that they could be killed because Mercer was still out there alive and dangerous. He didn't think about the possible consequences. It was with this act that Nor disgraced himself in front of Eywa, Aha'ri, his ancestors and friends. If it were up to me, I wouldn't be so happy to see him again. It irritates me when Teylan constantly brings him up and tries to talk to mc about Nor. It's scary to think how much bad stuff could have happened to Pandora if it weren't for protagonist and the other main characters. Resistance humans including. Now it's funny to me even remember that when I first started playing afop, Nor was my favorite among the other Sarentu. I thought we have smth in common. I can relate to his anger, sadness and loneliness. I think in some way we all do. But my choice is not to take my anger out on everyone else just because they don't understand me or disagree with me. I have a feeling that the developers have already come up with something interesting about Nor in possible future. This is the case why I no more care about him. I'm worrying about our dear protagonist instead. So little is known about them it's ridiculous. The story should have been more focused on lore wise of mc.

Nor wanting to leave the Resistance immediately because working for them feels too similar to working for TAP. Nor watching the Sarentu PC meet Na’vi clans and encourage them to ally with the Resistance. Ri’nela strengthening the bond between them as the Sarentu tsahìk. Teylan tinkering, improving, creating tools for the Resistance to use throughout Pandora. The Sarentu becoming just as ingrained into the Resistance as they were into TAP.

Nor possibly pleading with all of them that they’re still doing Alma’s dirty work. That there is no difference between the Resistance & TAP. Humans are humans regardless of what they call themselves. The PC and Ri’nela telling him there is a difference and that the work they’re doing is good. Teylan telling him there is a difference but that he still misses “home”. Neither answer feeling satisfying.

Nor no longer being able to relate, to understand, to connect to the other Sarentu anymore. TAP’s original goal was for them to be ambassadors to bridge the gap between humans and Na’vi. The Resistance’s goal is the same. Nor is exhausted of working with humans. He’s wanted to leave since day one.

The only family he’s ever had for years says “no” for reasons he cannot comprehend. They are laughing and smiling with the humans, with Alma, as if they are friends. Nor begs them to remember the RDA’s abuse, it’s all he can ever think about. But they do not like talking about it. The other Sarentu are here but are slowly leaving him behind.

In a base full of humans, Na’vi, and Sarentu, Nor is completely and utterly alone.

[lotus-pear]

the dialogue choices in this game should be more diabolical

[uncanny-tranny]

Hey, if you have speech impediments, you are so amazing.

If you stutter or have a lisp or misspeak easily or you have a flat affect or a limited verbal vocabulary or if your voice is AAC or if you just have a difference in your vocality, you are so incredibly important and amazing.

Just know that your voice is yours. Nobody will ever be able to truly take it away. Your voice is part of you, and you deserve to make it as true to you as you deem fit. I hope you have the space to grow with your voice and whatever about it makes it unique.