#i just needed to get this out of my system lol

[menelaus-blue]

posting this here bc there's nowhere else i could post it but i woke up at some point in the middle of the night thinking about jayce from arcane and the parallels between his relationship with mel and viktor and hm i'm kind of thinking that they parallel his relationship with innovation and industry? like his feelings toward magic/the arcane/hextech as a scientist/creator and as a businessman/someone who is selling them as products?

idk again i was half asleep thinking about this but there is something there in terms of his approach to the both of them and how their relationships come to be in the narrative and then how they're changing in season 2. like viktor's actual final straw before leaving is jayce using the hextech as a weapon, selling it to the council to hurt people. and yes, leading up to that, jayce held firm to their belief that hextech should only be used to help people, but he folds after the attack in s2e1. i don't necessarily think mel wanted the hextech to become a weapon, but she is, especially in season 1 when that deal is first brokered, pretty much running the show. again, this is super vague but

[midnightbears]

✿ duskbound, afterlight.

#STARRING: cybertronian femme reader & other characters.

#TAGS: fighting. actually the mildest chapter up to date. god I'm so scared no one will like how i've written megatronus lol. please i hope you see my vision. first time doing rivals to lovers or whatever you can call this. pls cope

#NOTES: decided to update every friday from now on. if i manage to get chapters pre-written in advance (i aim to have the next chapter ready by the time i post one that same friday, so i can spend the week working on the one after—does that make sense?), i might occasionally treat you to two updates in a week! enjoy.

part one | part two | part three | part four

By the time you reached the Gladiators’ lobby the following day, the air was thronged with a charged energy, the sort that seemed to cling to every wall, echoing with the sounds of metal on metal, vents straining, and deep, triumphant shouts.

Everybot was huddled along one of the balconies, crowding around an opening that overlooked something beyond the far wall.

Rows of mechs stood shoulder-to-shoulder, some bellowing cheers that bounced off the metal walls like thunder, others clapping with resounding clangs, while the most fervent smashed their fists against the rail, their excitement so volatile it seemed to need an outlet.

Curiosity began to scratch at you, prickling down your frame. Despite every instinct to stay back and keep yourself apart from the ruckus, you found yourself walking toward one of the stairways that wound upward, leading to the crowd clustered on the balcony.

Each step seemed to amplify the roar of the crowd, until it was as though you could feel the vibrations of their shouts traveling through the very metal under your pedes. Keeping a cautious distance from the more raucous mechs, you slipped your way toward the source of the commotion.

As you neared the top of the staircase, your optics caught sight of a rectangular hole in the wall, reinforced by vertical bars. It was just wide enough to see through, though you had to strain on tiptoe to get a proper look. Beams of infrared light filtered through the opening, casting fractured red rays across the walls and the faces of the onlookers, painting everything in sharp contrasts of light and shadow. 

Finally, as you reached the top, you craned your neck, peering past the row of mechs to get a clear line of sight through the opening. When you did, a small gasp left your dermas, barely louder than a whisper against the deafening roar of the mechs surrounding you.

There, in front of you, lay the full view of the Pits—up close, brutal, and thrumming with the tension of every movement, every strike, every staggered breath. From this vantage, you could see what the crowd above you never could. Here, there were no barriers, no filters to buffer the violence; you were close enough to make out every tiny detail.

You could see a vast assembly of mechs locked in combat—hulking frames clashing with smaller, wirier fighters, protoforms smashing against armor, the floor slick with the bright, gleaming blue of spilled energon.

The air down there was thick with the wails of mechs in pain, shrill and jarring, mingling with the triumphant shouts of those who tasted victory, and the ragged cries of the defeated. The sound was jarring, almost painfully so, but what kept your optics trained wasn’t the thrill of the fight itself, nor any particular fascination with the combat.

No, what held your gaze was the proximity of it all—the rawness, the sheer vulnerability of every bot below you.

From here, you could see everything that those in the stands missed: the frantic stuttering of vents, trying desperately to cool their overworked systems; the almost invisible droplets of coolant collecting along neck joints and plating, beading and trembling like they were waiting for just one more blow to shatter them. You saw the armor of one mech pressed and twisted under the crushing weight of another, locked down to the ground, his frame rigid, his optics wide with desperation as he fought against his own survival instincts.

This, you realized, must have been what Bluey had meant when he’d said most of the gladiators had watched your match. They weren’t just fighting their own battles down there—they were spectators, too, studying every movement, every hesitation, every moment of weakness or strength.

For a moment, you couldn’t help but wonder if they’d seen it—the exact instant when your fight had started, the moment you’d frozen, the flicker of panic that had tightened your frame and seized your joints, rendering you unable to move. Had they watched as you felt the first stirrings of that paralyzing fear, the memory of Starlight’s cold, lifeless form flashing across your processor?

With a hard, irritated shake of your helm, you wrenched your attention back to the fight in front of you.

And then, as if sensing your attention, a sudden blur of blue shot across your field of vision. The movement was so quick it seemed almost impossible, and then—clang! Bluey’s frame crashed against the bars just in front of you, close enough that you could make out the nicks and scratches etched across his plating.

His backplates were pressed firmly against the bars, his vents cycling rapidly as he caught his bearings. For a sparkbeat, you could only watch in shock before he shook himself off with a chuckle, his grin defiant as he pushed himself back to his pedes and leaped with renewed vigor.

The flash of motion snapped you back to the world around you, and out of the corner of your vision, you noticed a faint, colorful flickering. Shifting your gaze upward, you saw a large screen suspended from the wall above, displaying a multitude of names. Each one shifted up and down, the rankings constantly changing as new names appeared and others dropped.

You searched the list, half-curious, until your optics snagged on Bluey’s designation, not far from the top. Your own, however, was absent, and Bluey’s rank dipped every so slightly each time he took a blow. It wasn’t hard to guess the screen’s purpose and how it must have been related to the ongoing match.

Cringing, you comprehended that you wouldn't be fighting today either. Just as well. If your designation was never called, it would hardly make a difference. You weren't exactly itching to return to that arena. Let them throw their punches and spill energon. Today, you had other things to deal with. Like returning that rotatory buffer to Rumbleburner.

You turned on your heel and headed back down the stairs, casting one last glance at Bluey’s gleaming form as he ducked an opponent’s swing. The crowd's roar followed you down the hallway, fading as you returned to the berthroom.

The buffer lay on your recharge slab, and you picked it up without much thought, immediately turning on your heel afterward. You ran a thumb over it, feeling a vague sense of satisfaction at how it had wiped away the traces of yesterday’s match from your frame. Not that Rumbleburner would care about that—he just wanted his tools back in one piece.

The infirmary was halfway across the complex, and you knew better than to dawdle on your way there. Rumbleburner wasn’t exactly patient. If he had to wait even a second longer than necessary, he’d make sure you knew it.

Navigating through the complex, you used the dents on the walls and the scattered objects across the ground as a sort of map to reach the infirmary, and although you had to use the signs on the walls more than once, you were pretty pleased that you remembered most of the way there on your own.

You barely stepped through the medbay door when the sharp tang of heated metal hit your olfactory sensors. A faint hiss, the sound of old servos grinding against fresh repair plating, came from the far corner of the room.

There, on Rumbleburner’s main table, was a massive figure with silver, angular plating, the kind that looked forged from the deepest recesses of Kaon’s foundries. He was reclined halfway, his shoulder stripped down to the bare mechanisms, while Rumbleburner worked at him with a scowl and a welding tool, sparks flaring every so often.

Rumbleburner’s optics flicked over to you, and his scowl deepened. "Finally. Thought you’d keep that buffer ‘till it rusted in your berthroom."

It had only been a day since he had given it to you, but you weren’t about to point it out.

You offered silence and held out the tool, trying not to stare too much at the mech on the table out of your own well-being. But the urge was intense; something about him commanded attention. Every line and groove of his frame looked crafted to channel strength, but his optics were dimmed, waiting, as Rumbleburner worked to patch him up.

The old medic grunted, plucking the buffer from your servo and giving it a quick inspection. "I don’t care what you new little bots do with my tools," he muttered, only half to you, "just give them back on time. Speaking of…" He tapped the mech on the shoulder. "Megatronus, this is the rookie I was telling you about."

At the sound of his name, the bot’s optics flickered to life, their ochre-like glow sharper than you’d expected. His gaze found yours instantly, and for a fleeting moment, the whole medbay seemed to close around you. He took you in with a slow, appraising sweep, his optics narrowing, processing every scrape, every trace of dust or scuff on your frame, in the way a seasoned warrior might size up a fresh recruit.

That was precisely what it was, after all.

"You’re the new one," he said. "Only just arrived yesterday with the rest of that batch, if I recall. They threw you into the Pits already?"

You nodded and shrugged, uncomfortably aware of his optics on you as if he were sifting through every memory of that match. "I talked back to the bosses."

One side of his lip components lifted ever so slightly, a gesture you couldn’t reasonably interpret. Approval? Amusement? You couldn’t tell.

He chuckled, and the sound made you cringe. "Not a lot of newcomers do that."

You were about to answer when Rumbleburner beat you to it, letting out a small huff, setting the buffer aside with a thud, and turning his full attention back to Megatronus’ shoulder.

"She survived," he muttered, gruff but loud enough for you to hear. "Not like they’re sending their best these days."

Megatronus tilted his helm slightly, giving the medic a stern look, but Rumbleburner only shrugged, unbothered.

"What? It’s true." He gave a sharp twist of his tool, forcing a grunt from Megatronus as he worked a stubborn piece of plating back into place. "Can’t fix the whole world with a dent puller."

But you were hardly listening to the medic now. Megatronus’ optics hadn’t left you, and as you held his gaze, you felt a faint, strange pull—like he was seeing past the fresh scars on your plating, through the layers of doubt and frustration still crusted to your frame.

"So what brings you here today?" he asked, voice quieter but somehow even more intent, as though he cared about the answer despite himself.

"Just… returning the buffer." The words felt strangely trivial, even as you said them, yet you couldn’t seem to hold back a faint wryness in your tone. "I hear Rumbleburner’s tools don’t stay out of his sight for long without consequences."

Megatronus’ optics flickered with a gleam of humor at that.

"My comrades said you told off Bullway," he said, now completely ignoring the medic working on him, "shame I couldn’t be there to see it. I was matched against another rookie at the time."

Instinctively, the word ‘rookie’ made you raise your helm as a bothered expression crossed your features. Had one of your comrades lost his life to him? You slightly gestured to the wound on his shoulder with a flick of your optics.

"Did the rookie do that to you…?"

"Mh? Yeah, caught me off-guard. He couldn’t even get a proper hold of his sword before I turned his helm inside out, though."

Your optic ridges furrowed, and you willed yourself to look down. 

Before you could say anything, though, Rumbleburner clamped down on Megatronus’ shoulder plating one last time, satisfied. "There. Fixed, well enough, though Primus knows how long it’ll last with you throwing yourself into the arena every other cycle. You took your sweet time comin’ to get it fixed, too."

Megatronus stood, standing only a smidge taller than you, his shoulder plating gleaming faintly from Rumbleburner’s patchwork repairs. When you looked at his powerful shoulders and blunt-featured face, so rough and yet so civilized, it was impossible to believe he could be defeated. He stepped toward you, optics tracing over your frame one final time.

"Do you have a name?"

Your optics wondered briefly, nowhere in particular, but then, you told him your name.

He offered you his stretched-out servo, and you took it without much thought. "You may call me Megatronus."

The weight of his servo was steady, his grip firm yet not overbearing as you clasped it. His touch was warm against the roughened edges of your own, a strange contrast to his intimidating form. 

He glanced once more at Rumbleburner, who had already moved on to sorting a chaotic pile of tools, muttering to himself about the medbay’s perpetual mess. Megatronus gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod toward the door, signaling for you to walk with him.

You hesitated a moment as Megatronus turned toward the door, but he glanced back over his shoulder and raised a brow ridge.

"Well, rookie? Coming along, or are you just here to gawk?"

A spark of irritation shot through you, lighting up your circuits. Straightening with a flash of defiance, you closed the distance, falling in step beside him as he led the way out into the corridor.

The hall was quieter than the medbay, with only the faint, distant murmur of the crowds filtering through the heavy walls, swallowed up by shadows stretching between each overhead light. Matching his pace, you noticed his occasional side glances, that annoying, casual way he seemed to size you up, as if already forming conclusions he wouldn’t bother explaining.

"Not exactly my first option to trail after you," you said, the edge in your voice as deliberate as the steady rhythm of your steps beside him, "but I had questions."

He scoffed without even glancing your way, his pace unfaltering. "Questions? I'd expect a new recruit to ask for advice, maybe. But then, from what I’ve heard, you’re more the type to give orders to mechs with twice your frame."

You blinked lazily, your optics fixed straight ahead, not giving him the satisfaction of a reaction. "If Bullway’s ego can’t handle a little criticism, that’s his problem. Besides, I wasn’t exactly gentle with it."

A low chuckle rumbled through his frame, resonating as he shook his helm. "Criticism? That’s one word for it."

You rolled your optics, catching his smirk in the corner of your vision. He had that irritating way about him, like he held some exclusive knowledge of the world that put him a step ahead. He was just like every other mech here, you thought—acting as if his opinions were forged in the stars and the rest of you were just stragglers trying to catch up.

"So, what? You thought you’d come and set me straight?" you asked, with a dry tone and one brow ridge raised.

"Primus, no," he replied with a grin, one that tugged lazily at his lip components, equal parts amusement and dismissal. "Not worth the effort. Rumbleburner can barely tolerate you as it is." He cast you a sideways glance, his optics sharp but not unkind. "Besides, I’m not interested in meddling with anyone’s bright ideas. Not in the habit of saving anyone from themselves."

That comment sparked something more profound in you, an itch of frustration mingling with a new curiosity. His voice had a jaded edge, as if he’d seen enough high hopes and brighter sparks sputter out to know better. His dismissal wasn’t harsh—just resigned, the weariness of a mech who’d watched too many days turn and too many bots burn out. Something about it felt like a challenge, as if he were waiting to see how much heat you really had in you before you burned away like all the others, too.

"Must be nice," you said, letting a taunting note slip into your voice, "to have it all figured out. So what is it, then? Is it hard to have all the answers?"

He halted mid-step, tilting his helm to the side with the slightest arch to his brow ridge. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, and his optics glinted with something you couldn’t quite place—amusement, perhaps, or just a dash of challenge. "Would it bother you if I did?"

"Would it bother you if I said it wouldn’t?" you countered smoothly, holding his gaze with unyielding sharpness. "Bots like you come in here, acting like they own the place—like they know exactly how things should work. But you’re just another mech, stuck in the Pits like the rest of us."

"Am I now?" he said, arching a brow ridge, though his expression remained carefully composed. "Tell me, rookie, what would you know about the Pits? One match? Half a round before you’re tossed back to the medbay?" His gaze narrowed, studying you like he was trying to decide if your fire was all talk.

"Maybe," you shot back, narrowing your optics to match his. "But at least I’m not hiding behind tired speeches and empty advice."

His smirk wavered, replaced by a narrowed gaze, his optics narrowing with scrutiny as he took a long look at you, one that seemed to penetrate down to your spark. There was no malice in it, just a silent assessment, like he was measuring your resolve by the pulse of your optics alone.

"You’re still learning your place," he said finally, his tone steady and just as piercing as his gaze. "But I think you’ll find I know mine just fine. After all, I’m not the one who panicked in my last match, now, am I?"

The jab hit like a jolt to your cooling fans, a direct hit you hadn’t expected, but you willed yourself to keep your expression blank. He didn’t deserve the satisfaction of seeing any reaction, any chink in your armor.

"Fine," you replied, lowering your voice to a steely whisper. "But at least I didn’t have to hobble back to the medbay because a rookie managed to land a hit on me."

Silence stretched between you, the hallway suddenly seeming endless and deserted as the tension crackled in the air. For a split second, you wondered if he’d lash back, close the distance between you and start a fight right there, but instead, he just stared, his optics locked on yours with a look you couldn’t quite decipher.

And then, against all odds, he laughed—a rough, genuine sound that echoed off the walls.

"You’re a sparkplug, aren’t you?" he muttered, sounding almost impressed, a smirk ghosting across his face as he shook his helm. Without another word, he started walking again, as if the entire exchange had been nothing more than idle chatter. "Still, try that in the arena, and you’ll end up in a scrap pile. No one cares how fast your wit is if you can’t back it up."

"Is that a warning?" you shot back, quickening your pace to catch up with him, feeling a rush of energy from the exchange. "Or just an excuse?"

"Take it however you want," he replied easily, his voice even. "I’m just saying that next time you find yourself staring down an opponent, maybe think less about how clever you sound and more about whether you’re willing to finish the fight."

You paused, fixing him with a steady gaze, and for a brief moment, it felt as if the entire world around you—the distant din of the crowd, the hum of the lights, the shadows that stretched down the corridor—all vanished. It was just the two of you, optics locked, your resolve colliding with his challenge. His gaze held none of the mockery or disdain you’d expected; instead, it was something darker, sharper, a quiet but powerful test.

"Maybe I will," you said, your voice softer but laced with intent.

He gave a curt nod, though the familiar smirk was back, tugging at one corner of his mouth. "Good. I’d rather see you prove me wrong in the Pits than just stand here trying to talk me in circles."

You couldn’t help but let out a snort, crossing your arms in a defiant stance. "Believe me, when the time comes, you’ll know exactly where to find me, Megatronus."

He lifted one optic ridge, that unreadable, calculating look slipping back onto his features like armor. "I’m counting on it, Y/N."

"Seriously, I can’t leave you alone for one match?!"

"Please—"

“Not only did you meet the Megatronus, but you also threatened him?”

“I have done no such thing!”

After his daily matches, Bluey had practically dragged you into one of the countless armories, excited to test out a new weapon on which he had invested a significant amount of saved shanix. However, based on his tone and judgemental remarks, it seemed less about actually trying it and more about him swinging the hammer around while envisioning you hovering nearby to vent his frustrations.

Bluey hefted the hammer, the weapon far too large for his frame but swinging with ease in his practiced servos. His optics glinted as he shot you a mock glare, the hammer’s weight shifting in his grip.

“So you’re telling me,” he continued, his tone caught between exasperation and disbelief, “that you just happened to be in the medbay when he was there, and you didn’t say anything to him that could be interpreted as a threat?”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “I just… implied he might not be invincible. That’s hardly a threat, is it?”

Bluey’s optic ridges shot up as he adjusted his grip on the hammer, letting it balance on one shoulder. “Yeah, okay, then I’ll just walk up to Vexblade and ‘imply’ his joints are overdue for a little rust, see how he takes it.”

“Not the same thing!” you protested, but your spark pulsed a little faster as the memory of the exchange with Megatronus replayed in your processor. “He was testing me.”

Bluey scoffed, setting the hammer down with a heavy clang. “Right. And in the arena, when they test you, do you plan on talking your way out of a ground slam?” He shrugged, shaking his helm with a playful look that you could still tell masked some genuine concern. “Because you and I both know there’s no talking there. They don’t let up until you’re either out cold or crawling back for repairs.”

He was right, of course, and even if he was trying to be more melodramatic than usual, his words weighed heavily. It wasn’t just Megatronus you had to worry about, after all; everybot in this place was out for a victory, and no amount of quick words or barbed comebacks would matter in the heat of the arena. Your name or purpose would not save you.

“Fine,” you muttered, shifting uncomfortably. “I know it will take more than just… attitude to survive here. But I can handle it.”

Bluey’s optics softened, and he set the hammer down entirely, crossing his arms in a rare moment of quiet seriousness. “You’re not bad, you know that? But your technique—your form. It’s… well, let’s just say I’ve seen better. If you want to last, you’ve got to be more than just ‘not bad.’”

You glanced away, unsure if you wanted to hear it, but knowing you had to. He was right again, and he wasn’t saying this just to prove a point; he was saying it because he cared, because he saw something in you worth fighting for.

Bluey continued, his tone softening even more. “You have some instinct for this stuff, but the moment you hesitate? That’s the moment you’re done. You need to train yourself past that.”

A quiet moment passed, and you met his optics, “And you’d help me, then?” you asked, managing to sound more confident than you felt.

“Of course.” He lifted the hammer and tossed it between his servos, his expression mischievous but not unkind. “In fact, I think we should start now. I’ve been waiting to test this out, and I’ll be doing you a favor by giving you a head start on your training.”

You took a step back. “So that’s your big plan? To beat sense into me?”

He shrugged. “Hey, if the hammer fits…”

He spun the hammer once more before planting it on the ground and leaning on it, that spark of playfulness still lingering in his optics.

“We’ll start small,” he said. “Nothing serious, just getting you comfortable with some moves. Maybe work on your footwork and teach you how to get out of those lock-ups.”

You tilted your helm. “Lock-ups?”

“Oh, yeah.” He gave a mock grimace. “You’d better get used to them. Everybot worth their metal will try to pin you first thing. Figure if you can’t move, you can’t fight. But if you know how to twist out of those before they set, you’ll have an advantage.”

You considered this. It was daunting, but with Bluey’s confidence, something else stirred—a sense of resolve you hadn’t felt before. You might not have known if you belonged here, but you’d be damned if you went down without giving it everything.

“All right, then,” you said, setting your shoulders. “Show me.”

Bluey grinned, readying himself with the hammer as he gave you a once-over. “But you have to promise me something. Next time you run into Megatronus? Maybe don’t go testing his patience. Bots like that don’t exactly have it in surplus, you know.”

You crossed your arms, rolling your optics. “I won’t tiptoe around him just because he has a reputation. Besides, he’s the one who started it, not me.”

Bluey let out a laugh, raising an optic ridge. “You think it’s that simple, huh? Megatronus isn’t just some brute out for a thrill. He’s… well, complicated. He might look like he’s sizing you up for a fight, but there’s a lot going on under all that plating.”

“Oh, you mean like he’s an unsolvable mystery?” you said dryly, trying not to let on that the conversation had piqued your interest.

“More like he’s a spark that could explode any minute,” Bluey replied, his voice low. “A mech like him doesn’t care about rookies or rivals, really. He’s here for his own reasons, and believe me, they’re big ones. He’s not going to lose sleep if you get in his way.”

“Good thing I’m not planning to get in his way,” you replied, meeting Bluey’s serious expression. “I’ve got enough on my hands just trying to keep my own frame in one piece.”

“Just don’t get tangled up with him if you can help it.” Bluey rested the hammer on his shoulder, looking thoughtful. “Bots like him don’t usually come out of nowhere. Megatronus has something to prove, something huge, and the way I see it, anyone who gets close enough is bound to feel it.”

“Maybe,” you said, trying to sound dismissive, “But he’s not the only one here who’s got something to prove.”

Bluey smirked, that mischievous light back in his optics. “Look at you. Almost yesterday, you were crying your optics out in the middle of the hallway, and here you are, talking big about proving yourself.”

You blinked, clearing your voicebox, letting Bluey’s words roll off like energon on worn plating. The picture of you, unsure and battling, seemed far away—like a ghost from a life that no longer suited you. There was no time to contemplate what you had abandoned, or the grief that still lingered in your mind. You simply couldn’t focus on it. Not at this moment. Nor for the days to come.

So you shoved it all back into the far recesses of your processor, locking the memories away where they couldn’t follow you. That scared, grief-ridden version of yourself—the one that had faltered in her last match—would be gone. And she would leave. You would make sure of that.

Bluey tossed the hammer back and forth between his servos, grinning. “Now, enough talk. Let’s see if you can keep up.”

[kassandras-one-braincell]

Ranting into the void about Act 3 because I loved it, but episode 9 needed to be two episodes.

Ekko's arc and involvement in the finale was flawless. Phenomenal. Episode 7 was some of the best cinema I've ever had the pleasure of watching, and definitely the best execution of time travel I've ever seen. The 4 seconds limit was a lovely nod to the game.

I was not expecting Heimerdinger to die. Didn't think that was an option. Rip Donger :(

Jayce and Viktor's entire journey was fucking incredible. The whole Glorious Evolution trajectory was so good, but the war against the Evolved needed to span over two episodes. Going from plotting to conclusion in a single episode wasn't the right call. But beginning to end, Jayce has remained one of my favourites, and his conclusion felt right.

I'm overjoyed that Mel got a full arc, and there's no doubt that Riot's next show (if there will be one) will heavily involve Noxus. She's so beautiful. I'm gay. My only complaint is that the Black Rose's involvement felt a bit hasty, and I personally might have struggled to follow the end and Ambessa's death if I didn't have good knowledge of LoL lore and the Vision's intentions. Nonetheless, I'd be ecstatic if Mel made an appearance in any future developments.

Loved the Orianna cameo in the end, especially since she's the only living remnant of the Glorious Evolution. And honestly, I'm fine with Singed's war crimes having a lack of consequence. He played both sides with selfish intent, loyal to his daughter and nobody else.

Sevika being used quite heavily in the marketing of the final act, only to have about 20 seconds of screentime, was unfortunate. Especially since her character is a metaphor for Zaun. If the last act was a bit more fleshed-out, and if she rallied a few more people to beat up the Evolved (maybe with some of the chem barons' henchmen), her arc would have been more opaque. But hey, 4th arm's the charm. Her getting a seat on the council was necessary for a future of a joint city-state.

Maddie betraying Caitlyn wasn't much of a surprise, but it was satisfying to watch unfurl. I thought her proximity to Caitlyn beyond being sexual partners was a bit off. Mel deflecting her bullet was amazing.

Caitlyn was a consistently interesting character. Her leadership skills and flaws made her a joy to watch. The ending with her at the Kiramman computer-like thingy was lovely, because it hinted that Jinx never really died along with the outro shot of the blimp. I just wish the evolution of her relationship with Vi went a bit smoother. Them fucking in the middle of a prison cell after a suicidal Jinx disappeared in front of Vi felt like lazy writing/fan-service, honestly, and I say this as a lesbian. I would have loved a bit more humanity.

Don't have much to say about Vi. Really glad she finally, after how many years, got a short moment to grieve Vander and Powder. But another episode was needed. She got lost in the sauce, which is my only major grievance about the show, because everything began with her and Powder.

Jinx, comparatively, got a satisfying ending. Powder got something of a rebirth, and the hints that she slipped away into the ventilation system and escaped Piltover/Zaun on a blimp gave her justice. Ekko doing all he could to stop her from killing herself wouldn't have achieved much if her arc concluded with her death. Her cutting her hair to resemble Vi's weird mullet nearly made me throw up from joy and sadness. She was the perfect tragedy.

Overall, I'm happy with the conclusion, except for how Vi's character was handled. The show as a whole maintains its status as the best fucking thing I've ever watched. I really hope that if Riot does decide to expand their cinematic universe into another show, they learn from their pacing errors with the Arcane finale. Because Piltover and Zaun are tiny regions in a massive universe, and they got this masterpiece in their honour. Noxus has so much potential. I think the crow at the end and the Black Rose's intertwinement is hinting at this quite heavily. Fingers crossed.

[theshadowymansionsystem]

I love you systems.

I love you systems with other disorders along with their DID/OSDD.

I love you systems who are physically disabled

I love you systems who need to use mobility aids. (We use one too! We use a cane!)

I love you systems who feel like they’re “weird” or “odd”.

I love you systems who are fictive heavy!

I love you systems who are brainmade heavy!

I love you systems who are factive heavy!

I love you systems who have a low split tolerance.

I love you systems who have a high split tolerance.

I love you systems who switch a lot!

I love you systems who don’t switch a lot!

I love you systems with communication issues.

I love you systems with frontstuck hosts! (I’m also front stuck at the moment myself lol)

I love you systems who mask all the time.

I love you systems who don’t mask all of the time.

I love you systems who don’t mind being a system!

I love you systems who hate being a system!

I love you systems who age regress!

I love you systems who are still in bad home situations! (My heart goes out to you guys I hope you get to leave soon.)

I love you systems who are out on their own!

I love you systems with inconsistent amnesia barriers.

I love you systems who use humor to cope!

I love you systems who panic over “small” things.

I love you systems.

Remember that no matter what you are real and very valid<3 you’re beautiful and unique just as you are.

-Alex Mason

[abbysimsfun]

Hey just to carry over what was started in the comments…

What inspired Conrad? His backstory, events, narrative etc.

First of all I'm sorry, I can't answer this with a short reply!!

My friend Kenzie (@dinosmyte) inspired me to add a detective story to this generation when we were talking about how hard it would be to play two active careers at once. I was like 'no way' and she was like 'it'd be fun though.'

THEN Heather acted up with Everett in the thick of pregnancy hormones and I knew I needed to move away from my originally plotted plans for Gen 2. This meant introducing a whole new love interest for Heather, and I forged ahead with intent to introduce a detective and go for it with two active careers! I knew I'd add mystery and crime to this gen by introducing him, but I didn't know exactly what mysteries or crime right away, other than I knew he'd respond to/investigate Heather hacking Landgraab Systems.

Before I even knew the detective would be Conrad, I downloaded five different random detective sims from the gallery and let Kenzie pick the one for Heather. Based on looks and traits, she chose Conrad (because he and Heather were both geeks, she thought they would vibe and they DID!)

As for who Conrad is, I wrote his backstory in broad strokes right away, and fleshed it out with new details over time as we met Ximena, to explain his not wanting kids right now, etc. I knew he would be dealing with the tragedy of his parents' deaths because at first I wasn't going to make them at all, but I didn't know I'd get so deep that I'd be filming his flashbacks. I just fell in love with him that much! But even Conrad himself has shown me who he is with the added bonus traits he's earned since he was added to the save, so a lot of his inspiration has just come from straight up gameplay, too (he has six traits - Geek, Active, Ambitious, then added Proper, Neat, and Bro - thanks River lol).

[fox-guardian]

life pro tip: buy miniature cookware. it saves space and a lot of mini appliances come with little recipe books as well. if it's too small to cook a filling meal in one go, simply prep your ingredients so you can make more servings more quickly. i.e. mini waffle maker makes too-tiny waffles?? you will have excess batter just make more. tiny skillet makes too-small portions?? set your chicken and spices or whatever you have aside and make more servings. plus your next serving is freshly cooked oooo. mini baking stuff?? make another batch babyyyy that's half of baking anyway

*DISCLAIMER: this user keeps buying mini cookware because its cute and is also currently fantasizing about living independently and is Coping. life pro tip may not be effective for all readers.

[hvbris]

𝐅𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐎𝐍 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐏𝐈𝐓𝐎𝐋 . 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒 or my incoherent ramblings about historical fashion in Panem

After the collapse of society that led to the construction of Panem, it’s likely that, much like with technology, some knowledge was left, but there was a dire lack of resource. Fibers and textiles were natural fibers at first, with things like wool, linen, cotton and silk (which would have been produced in district 8, though the wool would have been shipped from 10). Dyes would have also been natural at first, which limits the range of colors that can be used for textiles. Since everything is shipped off to the Capitol first, Capitol citizens had access to rich, vibrant fabric, while Panem citizens only had scraps (with a focus for cotton and linen, much more practical). 

Now, trend cycles by the time of the 75th Hunger Games are quick, a few months at most. But that’s because their means of productions are greater and more efficient. At the beginning of the Capitol, trend cycles were a lot slower, probably a few years, perhaps a decade for each trend, which would have allowed Panem citizens to follow the trends (or at least try to). This would stop when the trend cycles accelerate, making it impossible for the much poorer Panem inhabitant to follow. 

As far as fashion in itself goes, we see in the modern Capitol that people love to alter their bodies. They dye their hair, have tattoos, surgical enhancements, etc etc. Again this is allowed by the advanced technology. But in the past, people wouldn’t have had access to such easy alterations. It doesn’t mean they wouldn’t have wanted to same sort of extreme transformations, which leads me to my next point: corsets, cage crinolines, bustles... There’s no doubt people would have uses similar things to create interesting shapes and silhouette for their bodies. Wigs would have also been a great and easy way to change hairstyles quickly (much like Effie also does in the modern Capitol). We can also imagine that people used masks and hats to create similar effects. 

It’s hard to just make up a whole new fashion history for a whole country, but considering that in the books and movies the “modern” fashion is similar to ours, we can imagine that their history of fashion was also somewhat similar. Fashion would also follow the political and moral trends of the country, which means that post war fashion would have been much quieter and simpler than pre-war. In ABOSAS, Coriolanus mentions that fashion only starts to get louder/eccentric 10 years after the war. 

If you’ve read all this, well, thank you and congratulations 😂

[viveela]

It must be weird to live so long that an integral part of himself is now accepted, he'll need more time to get there too

[icewindandboringhorror]

On average, what is the total MONTHLY amount that you spend on dining out*?

*(This doesn't only count going out to restaurants, but also stuff like picking up fast food to bring home, getting a coffee on the way to work, getting a premade sandwich from a grocery store deli during lunch, buying a quick snack from a convenience store or food cart whilst walking somewhere, ordering a pizza or any other food to be delivered to your home, etc.)

*(If you often dine out in groups/as a household: calculate and divide the costs so that you get a Per Person average. This is for YOU individually, NOT the total household/group costs)

(I'm sure polls similar to this have been made before (very common topic), I just haven't personally seen one that I can remember, so, I was curious to do my own! I was discussing this with a group of people today and it was very interesting to see how widely the number varied between individuals. :0c )

(Reblog for bigger sample size if you can, and feel free to explain your answer in tags if there's anything extra to add!)

[heybiji]

That causes Dande’s resolve to soften somewhat...

[itsmewahoo]

i scribbled these really fast! i thought beekeper!donna would be a fun idea! especially if the game took place during spring/summer. like imagine a meadow of yellow flowers thriving, thats terrifying with donna's power. thats why her house would be secluded because the pollen would get everywhere

i know the dark beekeeper suit wouldnt make sense but lets pretend its the effects of the pollen that make the bees not hostile towards donna. also i thought the medieval beekeeper suit would also be neat but i was too burnt out to draw more

[mewvore]

alien diet involves a lot of cows 👽🍔

[rainbowfunks]

she did nothing wrong

[thewildwoodpigeon]

Susan foreman is such a weird character to me. She's technically the whole reason the plot of the entire series kick off, but dosent have much impact on the plot beyond that, with her constantly playing damsel in distress and isn't allowed to do all that much by either the charcters or the writers, which sucks! Susan, in concept is such an intresting character! I do like her! It's just that the writers did so little with her at the time when she could of been so much more.

[fruitsofhell]

Something I really like about Rose Quartz's characterization is how dedicated the writers were to making what she did morally grey. Idk it would have been really easy for the twist to be she was Just Evil, especially learning she was related to the main villains, but no they created this very vague character who even in her appearances feels mysterious. If anything Rose is the one thing that is less clear to me after my rewatch, because now seeing the nuance in her character pulls me out of a black-ane-white view of her and into one that is just... foggy.

But a vibe I do get from Rose, is that despite clearly being incredibly compassionate, she's someone who lacks empathy in the case of the ability to fully realize others' autonomy and thought processes. There's just a lot of decisions she makes that feel aloof in an odd way, and when combined with how childish she can be it can give the impression she sees everything as a game. But it's still clear that she cares and is genuinely moved by the Earth, and when her entire truth is revealed you can see how ideologically honest she was. Even if it feels like her beliefs are just so she can have fun, but that is part of freedom, the freedom to vibe and explore and do silly things she couldn't.

That attitude clearly just comes from her position as Pink Diamond. It was an oppressive role emotionally, but not as literally oppressive as the lives of those around her. I think her relationship with Pearl is where I find the most of the part of me that sees her as compassionate but unempathetic. Pink can't fathom what it's like to have been born to be an obedient servant and how that would cloud Pearl's judgement. How telling her "I'm going to fight for this world but you dont have to" would mean nothing to her because she is still obsessed with her, how entering a romantic relationship with something while they're still effectively your servant is unhealthy, or how spending her life flirting with other men would probably tear your servant-to-lover-to-ex up inside lmao. With the first she obviously meant to be giving her a choice because she cares about Pearl, but she can't understand how to truly give Pearl freedom of choice she can't treat her like a fully freethinking person. With the second she doesn't understand how her power has an unhealthy impact on her bond with Pearl. And with the last it's not at all that Rose isn't allowed to move on, but I just always found she has a lack of awareness of Pearl's jealousy and misery that's a bit inappropriate. Not that you can't assume she has already let Pearl down easy or cares about her coping, but it's never shown, which feels like a deliberate choice.

I'm working on a more organized theory about Rose's characterization, but it is deeply fascinating. Her and Pearl's relationship is as well, I feel like it's sometimes characterized as just a mean jealous ex situation but like it's way more fucked than that, and is a great exploration of power dynamics, obsession, and grief. Love me some toxic doomed yuri.

[irraetional]

Blah blah blah the house always wins blah blah