#you know how this was supposed to be a banter

[aetherstorms]

Themis glanced toward the kitchen again, brow furrowed as he thought of Amon and the comparison she had made between him and her mother. Even without knowing Amara's mother, he had a feeling they would have little in common with one another, but without knowing for certain he wouldn't dispute it and instead looked back at her with a warm smile. "You find me the opposite of cold and clinical? I'm pleased to hear it! I'm well aware of how I came across as Zodiark's Heart." He put a hand to his chest with a rueful smile. "A part of me is still that way, I think....being a part of a primal changes you."

"No shit!" Amon called back from the kitchen, which got a soft laugh out of Themis before he tilted his head slightly at Amara, and his expression became further amused.

"You don't recall why you had wanted to fight me? Hm....well I suppose a lot has happened in your life to muddy memories. Ironic as it is to me that I should remember it better than you." He smirked crookedly. "As I recall.....I had given the Antecedent a bit of a painful blast to her soul when she had tried to come at me, and you, quite understandably, took offense to that. Afterward, I gave you some small....tests to prod at your temper and get a feel for your disposition and strength. This was.....not long after your first encounter with Lahabrea, I believe. So understandably you were a bit wary, and as we know, not without cause."

He blew out his breath softly then. "As for insisting upon calling myself an emissary, it was my title and my purpose. Elidibus the Emissary, and mostly I did try to play that role....save when I stepped out of it to assume heroic figures. My fellow unsundered were quite unsuited to such tasks, Emet-Selch for his unwillingness to take any host he could not model into his own image and Lahabrea.....who could not sit still, self-destructive to the last." He became a bit sad mentioning Lahabrea this time, knowing he'd played his own part in the older's self-destruction.

"Food will be ready soon!" Amon called back. "So you'd better not be making out over there!" Themis rolled his eyes, but Amon's banter seemed to be relaxing him. Though Amon as Fandaniel had been somewhat sarcastic to everyone, he had been comparatively the most respectful to Elidibus, and still seemed not to have much issue with him now.

“Hm.” Themis sat back, and after a moment, he smiled slightly. “Yes, I remember them somewhat. My father was a rather serious man from a city that had once upon an age been at war with Amaurot, which brought unique insights considered valued by the Convocation and me thereafter. My mother….” He trailed off and frowned before he smiled again more ruefully. “She was an adventurous spirit who had a strong moral code and sense of justice, believing that the ends justified the means, even if it was a painful choice. I learned much from them both, though I could not accurately judge how much I’ve taken after either.”

He arched a brow then. “Different from the rest….” The other two unsundered, he assumed. If so, then he would have to agree that he had certainly been quite different from his colleagues, who had both lost their minds in their own ways, while he….had lost his very self. He shook his head slightly to discourage himself from thinking about that any harder. “I see. A factual enough statement. I will be sure to ask him if I feel I need clarification.”

He smiled and inclined his head at the mention of their first face to face encounter. “I remember you threatened me, though I was an Emissary. Though of course we both know that was merely sophistry. Though true on the surface, I had long ago betrayed the truth of that title.” Perhaps he should have felt ashamed of that, but it was hard to dredge up any emotion for something he had done only in the most technical sense. Hydaelyn could hold Herself no higher given her own sins, so why should he feel bad for his own actions in defiance? A matter he would likely ponder until he once more returned to the Aetherial Sea.

He liked how she leaned into him when he stroked her arm, and so he did it again, tracing lightly over her skin. “I look forward to seeing what the future holds for us all. For the first time in a very very long time, the mystery of it entices rather than anticipates.”

[charlie-shmarlie]

hello!

i absolutely adore your head canons!

i had a request if you dont mind, for playful headcanons about loki? we know he's mischievous lol but just general playful things he'd do with a lover, female if specific. thanks love!

Aww thank you, I'm glad you do! And I absolutely love that idea! Thank you for requesting <3

▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱♡▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰

How he likes to toy with you: Loki Odinson headcanons

Some headcanons of how Loki would like to mess around and tease reader ♡

Loki being a smug little jerk, established relationship, deep down he's a softie for you.

Requested <3

▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱〥▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰

So we all know Loki loves making trouble. Causing drama, or just toying with people to get reactions out of them. It's what he lives for, really. He's not called the god of mischief for being sweet and well-behaved, if you know what I mean.

So naturally, a relationship with him means lots of unexpected moments. Lots.

Such as returning home to find your room in an all-consuming darkness, only to have him further use his magic to scare you out of your mind and right into his arms.

Or, getting out of the shower/bath only to find that the clothes you had sitting out have mysteriously disappeared. Yep, he loves that one.

Or, or, him purposefully turning off your morning alarm the night before, so you wind up sleeping in with him and show up late to work.

Or, or, or, him shifting into someone else to pry information out of you that he specifically isn't supposed to know- such as any birthday or anniversary surprises you might have planned for him. Which only lasts so long until you realize it's him and then have to change plans all over again.

You shout the single word "LOKI!!" a lot.

The severity of his pranks and teases can range with him. They can either be small and barely noticeable. Or! Absolutely traumatizing.

Yeah, he considers that time he faked his death to be a "prank."

"YOU ASSHOLE! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT YOU PUT ME THROUGH?? I THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD."

"....but I'm not ☝️"

He actually did feel pretty bad about that. But don't worry, he won't do it again.

Probably-

I'm just gonna say it, you've gotta have A LOT of patience to be in a relationship with this man.

Absolutely ADORES teasing you. He loves seeing you get all flustered and sputtering. To him, it's endearing that he can get such reactions out of you each time without fail.

But of course, he does try not to go too far with the teasing, although the line may get blurred at times. It's not that he wants to say or do something out of line, it's just- he can't entirely help it, you know? That's kind of his thing, pushing people to their limits and inevitably causing trouble.

But, that being said, if he ever does something that legitimately upsets you, he will apologize and try to make up for it. Maybe not directly- but he will make it up to you in his own way.

PLAYFUL BANTER. You bicker like an old married couple.

Loki has a great time embarrassing you by practicing pda in public, especially if he knows it flusters you. He'll be touching you and "sneaking" kisses all the time.

If you tease or prank him BACK?? Oh, you're cooked cause he is not gonna hold back next time. Sleep with one eye open, dear.

▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱〥▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰

[starhvney]

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟐 | 𝐌𝐈𝐗𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐈𝐆𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐒

𝐖𝐂: ~3.7k

𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐓𝐎𝐑: @arienic

𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 ☆ 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 | 𝐅𝐈𝐂 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐒

This is… really… really confusing.

The ambience of the arcade isn’t helping, either. The pop music filling every corner of the room with its hyped-up intensity; the bright, patterned floors that teetered on the edge of psychedelic if you stared too long; and the colorful neon lights that shone dimly in the otherwise dark room… it’s almost overstimulating when mixed with how quickly your mind is running.

“I’m sure he’s been into you as long as you’ve been into him!”

You had brushed off Aphmau’s insistence, but that sentence stuck like glue to your mind, seeping into every crevice of your brain even as you tried to focus on the shooter game Laurance had dragged you over to play with him. God, what is your problem? You haven’t left his side since you walked in, when you should be keeping your distance and getting over the girlish giddiness you felt when you stood close to him. It’s almost pathetic. How can the person causing you inner turmoil be the very thing you don't want to separate from?

Laurance groans lightheartedly when your character loses their last life and the screen flashes with a bright red "You lose!". You feel anything but playful, though, and you wonder if the universe is laughing at you, flashing the bold font in front of your face as if to remind you that you weren’t just losing against some pixelated zombies.

You lose!

You wrinkle your nose, gritting your teeth as you try to swallow down the heavy feeling in your chest—to no avail.

“Hello…?” Laurance’s hand lightly pats the top of your head, his head tilting as he leans in to try and catch your distracted gaze. “Are you upset?”

“No, I’m fine,” you respond, cringing at how robotic you sound. “Just thinking.”

He knows you’re lying—and you know he does. It’s frustrating, how he's still able to read you like a book no matter how much you wish he couldn't. Right now, you wish he could be as oblivious as Dante so you could have some privacy and stew in your feelings alone.

But no. You don’t miss how his fingers linger along the strands of your hair as he hesitantly pulls away, or the pinch between his brows, or the frown on his lips as his eyes drop. Usually, he wouldn’t pause before confronting you, somehow getting you to spill your secrets to him. But for once, he looks hesitant. Scared of saying more.

It’s so unlike him, and it was another piece that was throwing you off from solving the mangled puzzle you were trying to put together. It’s like as soon as you gather a few thoughts together, and the image is coming into view, the universe sticks its hands in there and throws everything around with a wicked grin.

If Laurance really did like you all this time, why would he date another girl? He’s so confident and straightforward—what reason would he have for doing that?

Whether he likes Michi or not, what’s with his protectiveness over you and his insistence to stick so close to your side? Did he actually like you, or had you misread friendly banter as flirtation?

And why the fuck would you agree to hanging out with Gene just because you were upset over all of it?

The look Laurance had given you earlier when he heard his name associated with yours was crushing. The sting of the disappointment in his betrayed gaze made what was supposed to be a fun, casual hangout tinged with a bitterness you couldn’t shake. It settled on your tongue, keeping your mouth in a permanent scowl and muscles tense.

You nearly crash into Laurance’s back as he stops in front of you, and you blink in surprise. When did you two start walking to the next game? Looking up, you meet his concerned gaze, that same, confused care swirling in his irises so intensely as they flick across your face. Surely, no friend would look at you that way. None of your other friends do. But that’s what you are: friends. Just friends.

…So why does he have to torture you like this?

When he turns to face you properly, his knuckles brushing against the back of your hand, and you swear—over the arcade machines, and the kids laughing, and the music blaring—you hear him suck in a sharp breath. He stares down at his hand as it clenches into a fist, then pulls away from you.

An awkward moment passes, and with a quick clear of his throat, he points at the claw machine beside him.

“Do you want to try this one?” he suggests in a tight voice, bringing his fist to his other hand, his fingers brushing against his knuckles and jaw clenching.

He almost looks… sad, his gaze distant as he observes the prizes in the bright display. He looks like someone's just punched him in the gut: body tense, shoulders curling inward, and eyes squinting. You just want to close the distance and force him to spill out his thoughts, to end your own turmoil by at least having him give you some sort of closure on the romance that never even had the chance to bloom within your friendship.

But perhaps this is your fate. To forever remain on platonic terms with the boy beside you despite the sparks that seem to light your skin on fire when you linger too close and for too long. You could cut the tension in the air, grab it with your own hands as you lingered by each other’s sides—too close to be friends, not close enough to be something more.

“Sure,” you mutter.

Isn't this unfair to Michi, too? Surely she’d be upset if she saw how you two had drifted from the group and stuck to each others’ sides. Before, you enjoyed the thrill of not knowing if he’d make a move or not. But now, there’s another girl in the mix, and neither you nor Laurance are cheaters.

He wouldn’t cheat, you know that, so why would he torture you both by continuing the tender stares and close proximity? It isn’t because of a 'flirty personality', either, because he doesn’t act this close with the other girls in the friend group.

Perhaps you’d given him too much credit and overestimated how emotionally mature he was, and this was a sharp slap in the face reminding you that he’s—at the end of the day—a stupid teenage boy.

You hadn’t witnessed his decision-making when he joined the Shadow Knights, but maybe this was another lapse in his judgement (just like your own when you'd agreed to hang out with the very same people). His reasoning for dating Michi is beyond you, however, and you think if you continue your internal monologuing like this any longer, you might actually have a full-on meltdown on this entire arcade.

Despite your nerves screaming for space, you tear your eyes from his side profile, looking at the little plushies stuck in their glass cage. You bite your lip when he leans forward to insert some coins into the slot, his shoulder brushing against yours.

Neither of you move away.

“Which one is the cutest?”

Right. Winning this game is the goal here. Nothing else. Focus.

Your gaze lands on a cute fox plush, his bright red fur sticking out from the others. As you point to it through the glass, Laurance leans closer to you, squinting with a curious hum. The sensation of his breath brushing against your cheek and the scent of his honey-dew soap makes you freeze in place, like one wrong move could disturb the moment. You could see his face in your peripherals, feel the warmth from his skin.

“The fox…” you say after a moment, cursing yourself when you stutter.

You swallow thickly when he makes a sound of acknowledgement, nodding as if an important mission had been given to him and finally pulling away. Hopefully, he didn’t hear you trying to catch your breath, eyes squeezing shut as you look down.

“Guess we’ll see if this thing is rigged…” he murmurs, guiding the claw with laser focus.

“Most are,” you reply, a half-assed effort to draw attention away from the fact that you were freaking the fuck out.

It’s one try, then two when you suggest moving on and saving any more coins from being eaten by the greedy machine. But of course he insists on just one more, and you sigh as you watch his final attempt to capture the prize you’d pointed out on a whim. To both of your surprise, all the determination he’s channeling through the joystick seems to work as the flimsy metal claws hook around the little fox’s head and pull him right to the prize chute.

You blink when he claps once in victory, the same smug smile on his face when he’d score a goal at one of his soccer games. He quickly retrieves his prize, shaking it lightly in front of your face for you to take.

“Wow, you actually did it,” you murmur, shaking your head.

“Third time’s the charm.” He grins, his eyes lingering in satisfaction on the smile reflected on your own lips. 

He keeps staring when you take the fox, beaming as you pinch its cartoonish cheeks and observe its design. It's pretty decent quality, too.

“This color is nice,” you note, glancing up at him and raising an eyebrow with a smirk. “Makes me wonder how it looked on you your freshman year.”

He looks at you in surprise, a fond, almost excited twinkle in them at the playful tone that’s returned to your voice. Then, he quickly shakes his head, wrinkling his nose at the memory and scoffing.

“Nope. Nope. Shut up.” He waves his hand in dismissal. “I’ve deleted evidence. I don’t even know what you’re talking about. Ginger? Me? No. Never.”

Some of the heaviness you were feeling ebbs away as the two of you fall back into your natural banter, and you continue your teasing, unable to help yourself.

“It’s okay. No need to deny it. I’ve already seen the pictures.”

“What…? No you haven’t.” He chuckles nervously, eyebrows pinching. “I swear I’ve had everyone delete those pictures.”

“Oh yeah? Well you didn’t destroy Dante’s yearbook.”

His face drops in slight embarrassment, rubbing the back of his neck. “No way… He—”

“Bro, it’s supposed to be a friend hangout, and you’re acting hella down bad. You can’t have them all—”

Speak of the devil.

For a moment, you’d almost forgotten the dread and anxiousness of teenage romance looming over your head, but of course it would be Dante who reminded you. His voice cuts across the moment, and you swear you see a vein pop in Laurance’s neck, his eye twitching as the boy throws his arm around his shoulders.

Dante waggles his brows at you, making a kissy face and looking at Laurance. “C’mon. I want you to flirt with me, too.”

“Shut the hell up, Dante,” Laurance bites, his annoyance barely veiled.

He makes a wounded face, a noise of agony leaving his lips as he clutches his chest. “Ouch!” He glances at you, pouting. “See? He really doesn’t love me.”

You watch Laurance, his impatience with your friend a little more intense than usual. Then, powder blue hair blocks your view, and you glance up warily at Katelyn’s unimpressed face as she stands directly at you. To her left, Lucinda appears, a smile quirked on her lips.

“Oh, Luci. You’re here.” You attempt to sound excited as you greet her, but her red eyes narrow in knowing suspicion, and as Aphmau approaches you from your other side, you come to the sudden realization that you’re being ambushed.

“Hey, cutie.” She smiles just a bit wider, her eyes sliding over to Laurance for a split second before she slyly approaches to hug you.

“Let’s go to the restroom,” Katelyn says, grabbing both of your arms and nodding to Aphmau, who nods eagerly.

Travis makes a noise of shock, waving at your group as you’re practically escorted towards the women’s restrooms. “All of you? Why do girls always do that…?”

You glance up at Katelyn as she glares back at the boys that had gathered together, briefly looking Laurance up and down with a judgemental wrinkle of her nose.

Oh, great. You’ve been kidnapped for an intervention.

There’s nothing you can do to prevent it as you enter the girls’ bathroom, head ducking to stare at the worn and dirty tile as you turn on your heel, arms crossed. A moment of silence passes, a sense of understanding lingering between you, Aphmau, Katelyn, and now—you can presume—Lucinda.

“Girl.”

You wrinkle your nose at Katelyn’s tone, glancing up at her unimpressed expression. Aphmau shifts on her feet, offering you a sympathetic smile as her eyes dart between you and Katelyn.

“Oh, don’t be silly with that attitude, Kate. You’ve had your fair share of boy troubles, too,” Lucinda coos lightheartedly, waving the scrutinization off with a neatly manicured hand, stepping forward to unwind your tense arms. “Now let me work my pep talk magic.”

You frown when she leans in, but her expensive perfume is lethally relaxing, and you can’t bring yourself to be completely defensive about this. Her eyebrow quirks, a smirk pulling on her plump lips.

“Gene Hyun, huh?”

Katelyn makes a gagging sound.

“Shush.”

You sigh. “He uh—yeah. We’re not together, though. Like, not at all.”

“Mm, yeah, no. I figured that much sweetie. Still, that’s quite a shift in your type.” She pauses, humming in consideration before giving you another sly glance. “From our cutie Laurance to the bad boy Gene. And they have a messy history. Spicy. I didn’t know you had that sort of game in you.”

“I don’t—” you start, mouth curling in discomfort.

“Shh, It’s a compliment!”

“Maybe for you,” Katelyn scoffs.

“Kate.”

“Whatever.”

Aphmau grabs Katelyn’s shoulders, muttering something to her and pulling her to the other side of the bathroom, giving you a sparing glance that you can only slightly appreciate through the uncomfortableness of this situation.

“As I was saying…” Lucinda sighs, squeezing your shoulders and tilting her head. “This is quite a situation you’re in, huh? I can practically see the stress and despair rolling off your shoulders, honey.”

For some reason, as much as you’d think Lucinda’s playful and flirty attitude would only make your thoughts spiral more, her presence is comforting. It’s like you’re talking to an older sister, one who's already had her fair share of relationship trials and abundance of advice. So, instead of brushing off her spot-on observation and clamming up, you nod, looking down.

“Yeah.”

“Oh, don’t look so down. Pretty girls like us can’t let boys get us worked up like this.” She taps your chin, grabbing your attention. “We’re supposed to be the ones that make them beg. Duh.”

You sigh. “You and I are very different, Lucinda.”

“So?” She rolls her eyes. “Clearly you’re just as attractive as me, if you’re luring two heart throbs from two very different crowds of people.”

“You did not just call Gene a heart throb!”

“I did! And you’re not in this conversation anymore, Katelyn!” Lucinda purses her lips and juts a thumb behind her in a ‘get a load of this guy’ gesture before lowering her voice again. “My point is: Even if you don’t act confidently, you can still easily get a guy to fall to his knees for you. And that’s exactly what you need to do here. Once Laurance realizes Gene could be taking you away from him, he’s going to come begging for you to give him a chance like a puppy.”

“Laurance isn’t into me, though—”

Lucinda laughs loudly before covering her mouth with her hand, giving a half assed apology underneath it. “Oh sweetie. Bless your naive little heart…”

“Don’t mock me,” you deadpan.

“I’m not!” she defends before sighing, her face softening. “Look, even if you don’t believe he does, I think you should go hang out with Gene and pull away from Laurance. He’ll drop what’s-her-face and come running back to you when he realizes he’s been acting like a fool, trust.”

You sigh. You never took Laurance to be the jealous type. If he saw you were really with Gene, would he come after you? Or would he be the type to let you go? Did you really have any leverage considering he was dating Michi?

She leans in, smirking. “Hey, and guess what? If he doesn’t, you still get to have a little fun excitement with a bad boy. Let loose, girl! Stress like this doesn’t suit you.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“Sure it is. Keep being your cute, shy self. Be hard to get, and maybe we’ll get a Laurance vs. Gene fight video on the PDH twitter.” She winks, her sentence ending in a playful tone. Leave it to Lucinda to joke about boy drama like it was a silly past time of hers. The suggestion of the two boys colliding, though, only makes you wince.

“Are you really encouraging her to hang out with Gene?” Katelyn’s voice makes you jump, and you glance over to see she was trudging over to the two of you, poor Aphmau trying and failing to hold her back.

“As long as she’s safe, yeah.” Lucinda shrugs, crossing her arms. “She’s not stupid. She won’t get into any real trouble.”

“She will with Gene fucking Hyun.”

“No need to act like an overprotective boyfriend, Kate. Leave that for Laurance.” Lucinda gives you a sly wink.

“Laurance is dumb!” Katelyn groans in disdain. “He is literally throwing!” She waves a hand at you. “Fucking airballed dating her cause he doesn’t have more than three braincells floating in his head. You can’t expect him to swoop in and save her if Gene hurts her!” 

“Oh, relax, Kate. Seriously. Gene won’t hurt her.” She crosses her arms, turning serious. “And if he does, he’ll have you and me to deal with.”

Aphmau shrugs her shoulders, shimmying up to your side and patting you on the back. “Guys. You both have good points, but it’s up to her what she wants to do. We’ve known her long enough to know she doesn’t make stupid decisions. I think whatever she chooses, we should have faith it’s the right one.” She glances up at you, smiling softly. “And if it isn’t the right choice. We’ll be there to catch her.”

“See? You get it, Aphmau.” Lucinda sets her hands on her hips proudly. “High school is the time to make mistakes and try new things out, anyways. Who knows, maybe Gene isn’t so bad, after all.”

“Of course you’d say that, you’re dating Ivan,” Katelyn mumbles.

“What’s wrong with Ivan?”

“I don’t like him. He gives me bad vibes.”

“Okay! Guys!” Aphmau groans. “We’re supposed to be motivating her!”

The three of them look to you, and you feel a headache growing behind your eyes.

“So… you gonna go with my plan?” Lucinda says softly as you press your palms into your eyelids.

Fine. You will. Push your angst over Laurance to the side (yeah, right), and have some fun with Gene. You nod, and though Katelyn sighs, she doesn’t give you any more flack about it.

Walking back out into the arcade is like walking back onto a battlefield.

And for the rest of the time in there, it was.

Laurance’s knuckles would brush against yours before he’d jerk his hand away, looking down at it with a frown. He’d shimmy up to your side to show you something, his shoulders pressing against your side, before he’d pull away, sucking in a sharp breath. Several times you caught him staring with an almost saddened look, before he’d smile and shrug off his strange behavior, looking away and carrying on as if nothing was wrong.

At one point, you’d begun to shiver under the arcade’s very effective AC system, and he’d given you his jacket. His jacket. He’d done it plenty of times before, but it just felt—different. Strange.

It's well into the evening, now, and you’ve just handed said jacket back to Laurance. He seemed reluctant to take it, but still did, smiling dryly when you offered him a thanks. You hate how his cologne lingers on your skin, curling around you like cruel, false possession. So you distract yourself by pushing him away further, holding the adorable stuffed fox out between you two like it's a child of divorce.

“Here’s your prize.”

He shakes his head at your offer.

“No, that’s for you,” He states as if it were obvious. “That’s why I got it.”

“What?”

“I got it for you. You can keep it.”

Your mouth gapes, but you quickly snap it shut.

“I think you should go hang out with Gene and pull away from Laurance.”

You nod, pulling the fox into your chest. “Oh. thanks.”

He stares at you, the corners of his mouth dropping and eyebrows furrowing at your blank tone. Guilt immediately overtakes you, and you have to stop yourself from reaching out to hug him and chase away the lingering sadness in his gaze.

“I’m an idiot. I’m sorry,” he murmurs, looking down.

You blink.

“What’s that supposed to mean? What’re you sorry for?”

“…It’s nothing.”

☆

Your fist repeatedly punches into your poor child of divorce, the fox plush’s face folding in from your violence. You sigh and stop, feeling a sense of pity over the inanimate object and setting it down next to you on your bed. You turn on your side, curling into your blanket.

“You saw what he did today, didn’t you?” you mutter. “Aren’t boys so incomprehensibly stupid?”

The plush stares blankly at you, its innocent black eyes giving you no response. You like to imagine its nodding in agreement, though, and you sigh in approval.

“I knew you’d get me.”

Your phone buzzes, pulling a flinch from your shoulders.

Gene:You still on to come with me to the mall tmrw?

A sharp inhale is sucked through your lips, and you spare one last nervous glance at the plushy.

“Here we go.”

You: Yeah

Gene: Good. See you then ;)

©starhvney 2024. do not plagiarize, feed to any AI, or repost my works to any sites.

taglist: @wasting-away-on-the-internet @angelhyperfixates @valentique @arienic @dazedbydeath @theaquaticplant @starsbrightly @kalegrinch @izzybella1807 @marst4rz @vyladsgirl @allieyaaa @luvsymai @yoom-ss @garrothswiferealnotfake @fartmonster98

[nocturnebite]

Clickbait [+..••]

(is this real) - gamer! Ni-ki x fem! reader

synopsis: He wasn’t supposed to swipe back. But now you’re trading late-night calls with a too-perfect gamer, and it feels real—until his past comes crashing in. Was he genuine… or just another kind of clickbait? fic notes: dating apps... ew || banter || mild trust issues || fluff :3 wc: 4.87k

ash's notes: this idea has been in my head for so long and i really wanted to write it and now i'm finally done! i've got so many drafts i need to post it's unreal. but i hope you enjoy this little story :3 !!

“Okay, spill. How was it?”

You blink at your friend, the flickering glow of the café’s fairy lights reflecting in her eyes as she leans forward, resting her chin on her palm like she’s about to hear the juiciest gossip of the year. The table between you smells of burnt caramel and overpriced matcha, and you’ve barely touched your drink. You draw a slow breath, the kind that tastes like disappointment, and offer a flat smile.

“Just more clickbait,” you say.

Your friend groans like it physically hurts her. “No way.”

You nod, slouching in your chair as if gravity itself has finally gotten too heavy to resist. “He said he was six feet. He was five-seven, max. His pictures were from, like, 2018. And he talked about crypto for an hour straight. I didn’t even know people still did that.”

She winces. “Oof.”

You sigh again, softer this time, letting the frustration settle in your chest. “I’m so tired of people pretending to be someone they’re not. I get it—it’s a dating app. Everyone's performing. But why does it feel like I’m the only one actually showing up as me?”

Your friend plays with her straw, thoughtful. “So... you’re giving up?”

You shrug. “I think I’ve officially retired. I’ll knit. Adopt a cat. Maybe start writing angry Yelp reviews.”

“Oh, come on.” She bumps your arm. “You can’t just quit. I had a good date last week, remember? It’s not all trash.”

“Yeah, and I’m thrilled for you,” you say honestly. “But you’re, like, the one-in-a-million success story they use in the ads. I’m the cautionary tale.”

“Stop it,” she says, dragging out the last word like a scolding mom. “You’re gorgeous, funny, smart. You deserve something good.”

You smile, a bit tired around the edges, and tilt your head. “Tell that to the last guy who said ‘no thoughts, just vibes’ on his profile.”

She groans and grabs your phone from the table. “Let’s just look, okay? You don’t have to marry anyone tonight.”

You eye her skeptically. “You’re relentless.”

“And you’re tragic. Come on.”

You sigh but relent, taking the phone back. The app lights up like a slot machine as you open it. Familiar profiles slide past your thumb: shirtless mirror selfies, vague bios with gym stats, a suspicious number of “entrepreneurs.”

Some match with you. You don’t swipe back. Some are clearly bots, or worse—people who look like they borrowed someone else’s face.

And then you see him.

Your thumb freezes.

Tall. Jet-black hair, slightly tousled like he just got up from a gaming chair but still looks model-ready. Hooded eyes. Full lips. That smirk—cocky, unreadable, like he knows something you don’t.

“Holy—” your friend leans over the screen. “Swipe. Now.”

“No,” you say immediately, locking the phone like it just burned you. “Absolutely not. He’s definitely fake.”

“Are you kidding me? That man looks like a Greek god and you’re not even curious?”

“He looks like trouble,” you mutter. “He’s hot. He knows it. Probably a Twitch streamer with a Discord full of girls who call him ‘daddy.’ I’m not signing up for that.”

Your friend laughs so hard she nearly spills her drink. “You don’t know that.”

“I do,” you insist, though your heart is pounding for reasons you can’t explain. “It’s written all over his face.”

“But what if it’s not? What if—plot twist—he’s the one that breaks the pattern?”

You hesitate.

“Just swipe,” she pleads. “Worst case, you don’t match and never see him again. Best case…”

You shake your head, but you can already feel yourself giving in. Still, before you can decide, your friend snatches the phone and swipes right with a dramatic flourish.

You gape at her. “Did you just—?!”

“No match,” she says, showing you the screen. “Happy?”

You exhale, weirdly deflated. “Honestly? Yeah. I mean, he’s probably got a million people trying to match with him.”

“Maybe. Or maybe it just wasn’t your moment.”

You nod, lips pressed together as you slide your phone into your bag. “Well, I’m done for the night. I’m going home, washing my face, and watching something stupid.”

She stands with you, grinning. “Good. You deserve to turn your brain off. But hey…” she pauses, her smile softening. “Don’t give up completely, okay? I’ve got a good feeling.”

You roll your eyes but give her a hug goodbye.

- - - - - - - - - - - - 

That night, you toss your keys onto your desk, the screen of your phone lighting up just as you’re about to plug it in.

1 New Message - [Tinder]

You frown, opening it automatically, expecting another “hey cutie” from someone who can’t spell your name right.

But the screen shows something else entirely.

You matched with Riki.

Your heart stops.

Your hands go cold.

You blink at the message, then again—just to make sure your eyes aren’t playing tricks.

The same face. The same smirk. The guy who was too good to be true…

Matched with you.

- - - - - - - - - - - - 

You don’t open the message right away.

You tell yourself it’s because you’re busy—brushing your teeth, feeding the dog, picking at dinner you don’t even taste—but deep down, you know it’s because you’re scared.

You already decided not to get your hopes up again. You’ve already been down this road before—the one where a hot guy matches, flirts, builds you up like you’re the only girl on earth, only to ghost you the second things feel real.

Still.

You tap the app. His message is waiting.

Riki: Thought I was imagining things for a sec. Didn’t expect the girl with the death-glare profile pic to swipe back 😅

Your nose scrunches. Death glare?

You flip to your own profile, stare at the photo your friend picked—half-smiling, eyes a little dead inside.

Okay, fair.

You: Yeah well. Didn’t expect the cocky gamer guy to swipe either. So I guess we’re both glitching tonight. Riki: I’m not cocky. I’m just... factually confident. And good with my thumbs.

You roll your eyes and try not to smile. You fail.

You: That’s exactly something a cocky guy would say. Riki: Damn. She’s clever too. I’m in trouble.

You don’t respond right away. Not because you don’t want to—but because something in your chest tightens at how easy it is. The flow. The banter. Like slipping into an old sweater you forgot still fit.

And somehow, it stays like that.

No “wyd” texts. No pressure. Just long, meandering conversations that start late and end later. You find out he streams sometimes, but only for fun. He has a little sister he’s protective over. He learned to cook because his mom works nights. His favorite genre is horror, but he’s a total baby when it comes to jump scares.

He doesn’t ask for selfies. Doesn’t hint at anything sketchy. In fact, half the time it feels like he genuinely just wants someone to talk to.

Which is kind of nice.

It turns into a rhythm: He messages. You reply. You laugh. You tease. You talk until your phone is warm in your hand and your eyes sting from lack of sleep.

Riki: You’re fun. You: You’re not what I expected. Riki: That’s either the best compliment or a red flag in disguise. You: I’ll let you know which later.

It’s two weeks in when he says it.

You’re half-asleep, curled in bed, squinting at his message through one heavy eyelid.

Riki: Random idea You should come visit sometime

You blink. Sit up a little.

You: …what? Riki: Like, no pressure. Just throwing it out there. I’ll even pay for the flight if it makes it easier.

You stare at your screen like it just called you by your middle name.

You: Uhh. Red flag alert. Guy offering to pay for your flight? That’s how true crime documentaries start. Riki: Rude. I don’t even own duct tape. You: That’s exactly what someone with duct tape would say. Riki: Touché.

You toss your phone onto the bed, pull the blanket over your face, and scream into it.

Then obviously you FaceTime your best friend.

- - - - - - - - - - - - 

“You’re being dramatic,” she says, chewing a mouthful of chips. “You two have been talking nonstop for, what, three weeks?”

“Two and a half.”

“Exactly. That’s like, seven months in internet time. Honestly, if you were dating IRL, people would be asking when the wedding is.”

You throw your head back with a groan. “It’s not like that. We’re just… friends. Kind of. With... light sarcasm and subtle tension.”

“So... dating.”

“NO!”

She levels you with a look. “You like him.”

“I like the version of him that lives in my phone. That doesn’t mean he’s real.”

“Then FaceTime him.”

You blink. “What?”

“If you’re nervous he’s not who he says he is, video chat. If he’s a catfish, boom—case closed. If he’s real... then you’ll know.”

You sit with that for a second.

Then you do it.

- - - - - - - - - - - - 

The first FaceTime is awkward in a cute way. He’s lounging in a hoodie with messy hair and a controller in his lap. You’re in your worst pajama shirt, already regretting not putting on concealer.

But he smiles when he sees you—no hesitation, no filters, no pause.

“Yo,” he says like it’s no big deal.

“You’re real,” you blurt before you can stop yourself.

He laughs. “That’s what I was gonna say.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - 

One call turns into two.

Two turns into three.

Three turns into four—until it’s a quiet comfort, this unspoken ritual of being online together, even when you’re not talking.

You study. He games. Sometimes he curses under his breath. Sometimes you hum without realizing it. Neither of you hangs up first.

The screen just stays on.

And somewhere between late-night calls and sleepy “goodnights,” it stops feeling like a maybe.

It starts to feel like something real.

One night, while adjusting his mic and opening some game you don’t recognize, he says it again:

“You should come visit.”

This time, it sounds less like a joke.

And more like a hope.

- - - - - - - - - - - - 

“You should come visit.”

It’s not the first time he’s said it. 

But this time… it’s different.

His voice is soft through your laptop speaker, his hoodie bunched up around his elbows as he clicks through some loading screen. You’re lying sideways on your bed, textbooks open, highlighter uncapped, but your focus vanished the second he said those four words.

You don’t answer right away. Just chew your lip and stare at the screen where he’s pretending not to look at you.

“That’s like the fifth time you’ve asked”

“I’m serious,” he says after a beat. “I mean… if you want to.”

There’s that voice again. Casual, light, no pressure. Like he’s talking about ordering takeout, not asking you to fly across the country and see if he’s actually the person you’ve been falling asleep on FaceTime with every night.

You close your textbook.

“Riki.”

He glances over. The game’s paused now. You can see the flicker of the screenlight reflected in his cheekbones. He looks tired. Warm. Real.

“Yeah?”

“You’re not like… secretly plotting to harvest my organs, right?”

He snorts. “I literally stream Minecraft, not organ trafficking.”

“Not a convincing alibi.”

He grins, then sobers. “I get it. It’s a big ask. But I meant it when I said I’d help. I’d book the flight. You’d stay at a hotel if you want, no pressure. I wouldn’t be weird.”

“That’s what all the weird ones say.”

“Okay,” he says, deadpan. “I’d be only a little weird. Like, manageable-weird. Charming-weird.”

You laugh, and that’s the problem.

Because you like him. More than you meant to.

You liked the idea of him at first. A distraction. A match your friend forced. But now… it’s not just the banter or the voice you’ve memorized or the ridiculous way he says “dude” when he’s excited.

It’s how he makes you feel like the only person in the room—even through a screen.

And that? That’s dangerous.

- - - - - - - - - - - - 

The next day, you bring it up to your best friend over lunch.

Her response is immediate: “You have to go.”

You blink. “Okay, but what if he’s not—”

“You FaceTime him literally every night.”

“What if he’s different in person?”

“He watches K-dramas and talks to your dog through the phone. You already know him better than half the guys you’ve actually dated.”

You stare at your untouched sandwich.

“I just…” You swallow. “What if I go and it ruins it?”

She’s quiet for once.

Then: “What if you don’t… and it ruins you?”

- - - - - - - - - - - - 

That night, you don’t say yes.

You say, “I’m thinking about it.”

You say, “It’s a maybe.”

And he doesn’t push.

Instead, he smiles at you—gentle and slow, like he knows you’re a scared thing on the edge of something, and he’s not going to rush you off it.

“I can wait,” he says simply.

You believe him.

- - - - - - - - - - - - 

The next week, something shifts.

Not in a dramatic way—no confessions, no intense moment of clarity—but in all the quiet ways that matter more.

You fall asleep on call, and he whispers, “Goodnight,” like a secret. You wake up to a message from him with a screenshot of a dumb meme he swears “just felt like you.” He starts calling you by your name more, not just your username.

One night, in the middle of a game, he glances at his screen and says, out of nowhere: “Do you always look at me like that?”

You blink. “Like what?”

“Like you’re trying not to.”

You don’t have an answer.

So you call again. And again.

By the time it’s the sixth night in a row, you’re not even nervous anymore. You’re just… used to it. Comfortable. You study, he plays. You breathe. He listens.

Sometimes you don’t talk for twenty minutes.

And it feels like home.

That night, he says it again—quieter this time.

“You should come visit.”

And this time… You don’t say no.

You just look at him—pixelated and beautiful—and whisper, “Maybe.”

And he smiles like maybe is everything.

- - - - - - - - - - - - 

It starts with a ticket in your inbox.

No subject line. No message. Just an email that reads:

“Your flight to Seoul has been confirmed.”

You blink.

Then your phone buzzes.

Riki: Don’t panic. You can still say no. I’ll cancel it in a second if you’re uncomfortable. Just… wanted to make it real. In case you say yes.

Your heart is doing weird things.

You stare at the screen, your thumb hovering over the keyboard, your thoughts a loud chorus of what ifs and you’re crazy and this boy could be everything or nothing or both.

You: Give me three days. If I don’t back out by then… I’ll go.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

You don’t back out.

Your friend screams when you tell her. She helps you pack—overpacks, really—like you’re heading into battle instead of a long weekend. She even shoves a tiny pink can of pepper spray in your purse “just in case he’s secretly a weirdo.”

(You both know he’s not. But still. Pepper spray is ✨ aesthetic ✨.)

The night before the flight, you barely sleep. You FaceTime Riki and end up playing “21 questions” until 2am, your voices slow and sleepy.

“What if it’s weird?” you ask.

“What if it’s not?” he replies.

You hate that that makes you smile.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

At the airport, your nerves riot inside you. The terminal smells like pretzels and nerves and new beginnings.

By the time the plane lands, your hands are cold and your thoughts are loud.

You look around baggage claim, eyes darting.

Then—you see him.

He’s leaning against a pillar, hoodie half-zipped, hair tucked under a black cap. There’s a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He’s scrolling his phone, one hand in his pocket.

He doesn’t see you yet.

And in that second, you think—he looks like trouble. But the good kind.

Then he looks up.

And smiles.

Not the polite kind. Not the awkward oh-hi-nice-to-meet-you kind.

The I know you already kind.

And just like that— You’re not nervous anymore.

The first five minutes are weird.

Of course they are.

You both talk too fast. Or not at all. He goes in for a hug, and you kind of flinch, so he backs off and jokes, “Guess I deserved that.” And you say, “No, I’m just—processing,” and then neither of you talk for five minutes straight in the car.

But then he says, “You hungry?” And you say, “Always.”

And suddenly… you’re fine again.

The first night is a blur of fast food eaten in his car, music playing low, and a midnight walk through a neighborhood you don’t know but don’t mind getting lost in.

At one point, he bumps his shoulder into yours and says, “You’re taller than I expected.”

You deadpan, “You’re not.”

He laughs so hard he nearly drops his drink.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

The next day, you hang out at his place.

He’s more nervous than you’ve ever seen him—rambling about his cable setup, offering snacks every five seconds, adjusting his monitor like he’s auditioning for HGTV.

But you sit on his bed, cross-legged, and just watch.

And after a while, he calms down.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he mumbles.

You shrug. “You’re real.”

He gives you a look. “Still convinced I was a catfish?”

“No,” you say. “But this part still doesn’t feel real.”

He sits beside you. Not touching. Just close.

“Same.”

- - - - - - - - - - - -

At night, you fall asleep on his couch watching him game—your legs draped over his lap, your heart refusing to chill out. You pretend to be tired just to stay where you are.

He doesn’t move.

Just shifts the blanket higher over your knees, one hand resting lightly on your shin. You catch him glance at you once. Twice.

But he never says what you both know.

Not yet.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

And then—on the last night—you’re both lying side by side, watching some movie neither of you are really paying attention to. His fingers are brushing against yours on the bedspread. Barely. But enough.

He turns his head. “Hey.”

You look at him.

He looks nervous.

“Do you ever think… if we’d met in person first, it wouldn’t have worked?”

You blink. “Why?”

“I think I needed to know you before I liked you. Like, for real. The real you.”

You smile. “I was a mess when we met.”

He laughs. “You still are.”

You kick his leg. “Hey.”

He looks at you then—really looks.

“Still the best kind of mess I’ve ever met.”

Your breath catches.

But before either of you can say anything else—your phone buzzes. Loud. Jarring.

You frown and reach for it, expecting your friend checking in.

It’s not.

It’s a direct message request.

From someone you don’t recognize.

And it says:

“You think you’re the only one he’s talking to?”

Your blood goes cold.

You look up.

And Riki—still smiling, still relaxed—doesn’t notice the shift in your face.

Yet.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

You read the message again.

“You think you’re the only one he’s talking to?”

The screen blurs. Your chest tightens. The room—warm and dim and full of the scent of Riki’s hoodie you’ve been curled in—suddenly feels foreign. Hollow.

Riki says something beside you. A dumb joke. You don’t hear it.

“Hey.” His voice cuts through. “You okay?”

You lock your phone and force a smile. “Yeah. Just my friend checking in.”

A lie.

You’ve never lied to him before.

It feels worse than the message.

You try to ignore it. Brush it off. A troll. A bot. A jealous girl with no life. Whatever.

But the message festers.

The next day, you wake up to another.

“I hope he told you about me. Or about our FaceTimes.”

You don’t reply. You can’t.

You don’t know what to believe.

So instead, you test him.

“Hey,” you say casually, the next time you’re lying on the couch with him.

“Hmm?” he says, eyes on his screen.

“You ever… talk to other girls on here? Like, before me?”

He pauses. Glances at you. “You mean on Tinder?”

You shrug. “Or in general.”

He leans back. “I mean, yeah. Before you. But nothing like this. Nothing real.”

You nod. Try to smile. But the words loop in your head.

Before you. Before you. Before you.

But what if before never ended?

- - - - - - - - - - - -

By the third message, it’s not subtle anymore.

“He sent me the same flight email. I still have it.” [Attached: a screenshot]

Same subject line. Same dates. Different name.

You feel sick.

You don’t want to accuse him. You don’t want to need to.

So you ask.

“Riki… have you ever done this before?”

He blinks. “Done what?”

“This. Flying someone out. Meeting people from the app.”

There’s a beat.

Then: “Why are you asking?”

He doesn’t deny it.

And that hurts more than any answer.

You go silent.

The car ride back to the hotel is heavy.

He notices. Of course he does.

“Okay,” he says, pulling into the parking lot. “What’s going on?”

You don’t look at him. “Just tired.”

“You’re lying.”

You snap. “So are you.”

He goes quiet.

The kind of quiet that confirms everything.

You swallow. “Someone messaged me. Said you were FaceTiming them. Said you flew them out. Same message. Same dates.”

His jaw tightens. “It’s not what you think.”

You laugh, sharp. “That’s funny, because it looks exactly like what I think.”

Then—softer: “I didn’t expect this to be perfect, Riki. I just didn’t want to be stupid for trusting you.”

He doesn’t say anything.

And that silence? It feels like betrayal.

You go inside the hotel alone.

The second the door closes behind you, you slide to the floor.

You don’t cry. Not yet. You’re not sure you’re allowed to. Not for someone who was never yours.

But your phone buzzes again.

Riki: I didn’t lie. Not about you. Can we talk?

And you don’t know if you’re ready.

But your heart?

It already misses him.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

You don’t answer his messages.

Not at first.

Not because you want to punish him—but because you’re scared that if you open the door, you’ll let him talk you back into something that maybe wasn’t even real.

You need space. He gives it to you. For about twelve hours.

Then your phone rings.

It’s your friend.

“You need to check Twitter,” she says.

Your stomach drops. “What?”

“Just… look.”

- - - - - - - - - - - -

It’s a clip.

From one of Riki’s streams.

He’s laughing in it, leaned back in his chair, wearing a hoodie you recognize because you wore it two nights ago.

One of his friends says something off-screen:

“So you’re just gonna disappear for four days and not explain why?”

Riki shrugs. “I’m flying someone out.”

“A girl?”

He grins. “The girl.”

The chat explodes. Emojis. Screaming.

His friend hoots. “You’re in love.”

Riki doesn’t deny it.

Just goes quiet for a second. Then says, low and sure,

“She’s different. You’ll see.”

You stare at the screen.

Your breath stutters.

You scroll down. The comments are a storm. Most of them are pure chaos and ship names and thirsty fans screaming “SOFT LAUNCH???”

But some…

Some are ugly.

And one account keeps showing up.

One you recognize from the message requests.

@ KikiLuvsRiki: don’t fall for his act. i used to be “different” too. he just wants content. @ KikiLuvsRiki: bet he sent her the same flight confirmation template he used last year LMFAO.

Your hands shake.

Then a post from her, timestamped four hours ago:

“Imagine thinking you’re special to someone who rehearsed the same lines with me. He just swapped the name.”

There’s a screenshot attached.

Of a flight confirmation email.

But it’s dated last year.

Same airline. Different destination. Different name.

But the same tone.

You click the profile.

Scroll.

And what you find?

It’s not a random hater.

It’s his ex.

That night, your phone rings again.

Riki.

You don’t want to answer.

You do anyway.

“I should’ve told you,” he says, voice low, rough. “I just didn’t think she’d find out. I didn’t think it would matter.”

You sit on the edge of the hotel bed, silent.

“I mentioned you on stream. I never do that. You know I don’t. And I didn’t even say your name—I was just… talking. I couldn’t help it. I was excited. I’m always careful, but this time I wasn’t.”

“Because of me?”

“Yeah,” he says, barely a whisper. “Because of you.”

Your heart twists.

“She saw the stream,” he adds. “And I guess she still had old screenshots or whatever. She’s not wrong—I flew her out once. A long time ago. We weren’t even a thing for more than a couple weeks, but she stuck around online. And when I stopped responding, she got weird.”

You exhale. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“I was scared you’d think I was doing the same thing again. That I was collecting girls off the internet and making them fall for me or something.”

“And aren’t you?” you ask, voice quiet.

Silence.

Then:

“No.” “I wasn’t trying with anyone else.” “I didn’t even plan to swipe on your profile. I saw you, and it just—hit me. Harder than I expected. You weren’t just pretty. You looked real. Like someone I could ruin myself for if I wasn’t careful.”

You bite your lip.

He continues. “I didn’t swipe right first. But when we matched… I knew. I’ve never been like this with anyone else. Not even her.”

Your chest aches.

“But I should’ve told you,” he says. “That’s on me. I’ll make it up to you. Or I won’t. If this ruins it, I’ll live with that. But you deserved the truth.”

You let the silence sit.

It’s not that you don’t believe him.

It’s that you want to.

And maybe that scares you most of all.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

The airport feels colder than it should.

Maybe it’s the early flight. Maybe it’s the sleep you didn’t get. Maybe it’s because you thought he’d fight harder.

You roll your suitcase forward.

Every step feels heavier than it should. Like maybe your heart stayed back at the hotel. Or in that voicemail you haven’t listened to yet.

“I get it if you’re done. But I’m not.” “Not with you.”

You clench your jaw. Shake your head. Keep walking.

You did what you were supposed to.

You gave him a chance to explain. You didn’t scream. Didn’t cry. Didn’t make a scene when your feelings got kicked around like some bonus level prize in his online world.

You let him talk.

You just didn’t stay.

Not this time.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

Your gate is five minutes away.

You wrap your arms around yourself and try not to think.

The check-in lady takes your ID.

“Round trip?” she asks, typing.

You hesitate. Then shake your head.

“Just one way.”

She nods, unfazed. Prints your ticket.

You turn around—

And nearly crash into him.

Riki. Standing there. Breathless. Hoodie crooked. Hair messy. Like he ran.

And didn’t stop.

You freeze. “What—how did you—?”

“I tracked your flight.” His voice is hoarse. “Don’t be mad.”

You blink. “Are you serious right now?”

He swallows hard. “I wasn’t gonna let you leave thinking I didn’t mean it. That you were just some... random screen name.”

“Riki—”

“No,” he says, stepping closer. “Let me talk. Please.”

Your heart races. Your throat tightens.

He exhales. “I don’t care who’s watching. I don’t care if this is pathetic. I’ve never wanted something like this before. Not like this. I didn’t know how to handle it.”

You don’t say anything.

He runs a hand through his hair.

“I messed up,” he says. “I should’ve told you. I should’ve known she'd try something the second I opened up. That’s on me. But don’t let her be the reason we don’t happen.”

You feel the tears sting before they fall.

He sees it.

Softens.

Steps forward like he’s trying not to scare you off.

“I’ve never had what we have,” he whispers. “The FaceTimes. The quiet. The way I don’t need to perform when I’m with you. You didn’t fall for the persona. You fell for me. And I—I need you to know I fell right back.”

You sniff. Wipe your eyes.

“And if that means I have to fly to every city you run to just to say it again, I will.”

You meet his eyes.

“I wanted to believe you,” you say. “I still do.”

“Then do,” he whispers. “Let me prove it.”

You pause.

Search his face.

And for the first time in days, the panic starts to melt. The ache eases.

Not completely. But enough.

You step closer.

And his shoulders drop—like he was holding his breath for too long.

“I hate you,” you whisper.

He smiles.

“No you don’t.”

You shake your head. “I don’t.”

Then, softer: “You’re lucky I like dramatic airport gestures.”

And when you wrap your arms around him, burying your face into the hoodie you never gave back—he just holds you.

Not like he won.

Like he’s grateful you stayed.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

BONUS :)

Later, after the flight you didn’t take…

You’re on his stream.

Just your voice.

He reads a question from chat:

“Are you guys together now?”

He looks at you off-camera.

Smiles.

Then to the chat: “She’s sitting right here, isn’t she?”

You groan. “You’re so annoying.”

He grins wider. “But you like me.”

And you don’t deny it.

Not this time.

tl: (read rules before asking to be added to any list ᥫ᭡. )

[sinsxo]

03. the price of silence.

navigation. profile. masterlist. part 1. part 2.

synopsis. not wanting anyone else to see you at your lowest again, you avoided that place, hoping that he kept his silence. who knew the price of silence could be paid off with just yoghurt gummies?

cw. emotional vulnerability, mild physical injury, playful banter, cussing.

wc. 1.5k words, not proofread.

“i don’t want anyone to know, making tomorrow more difficult.” —run, dosii.

spring break passed with you cooped up in your room, buried in textbooks and silence. you ate late, long after everyone else had gone to bed. not because you wanted peace, but because facing the table again felt unbearable.

you hadn’t gone back to the convenience store. not once. not after what happened. you told yourself it was because you didn’t need anything. but deep down, you were afraid. of being seen again like that, of someone else catching you mid-breakdown. not everyone would stay quiet the way he did.

at school, nothing had changed since the last school year. rin passed by you in the hallway as if both of you had never had that exchange, and you were thankful for it. no glances. no smirks. no words. seems like he hadn’t told anyone since you hadn’t heard anyone mention a single word about you crying at a convenience store.

and maybe that counted for something. because a week into the new term, you found itoshi rin at the same convenience store again. this time, you both were fighting over the last pack of yoghurt gummies.

“itoshi rin,” you said flatly, still holding the edge of the packaging.

he didn’t flinch. “i reached it first.”

“you sure about that?”

“positive. and besides—” his gaze flicked to you. “you owe me.”

you sighed, reluctantly letting go. “you looked like you needed it more anyway.”

he didn’t argue. just dropped it on the counter — right on top of your snacks.

“ring this up too,” he said casually.

you blinked. “you’re paying?”

“no,” he said, monotone. “you are.”

you stared at him.

“i said that you owe me,” he added.

“that’s not how it works. i already gave up the yoghurt gummies,” you grumbled, dragging out the words as you paid anyway. “you’re such an asshole.”

“but a silent one,” he said as you both left the store. “so technically, you earned something from it, no?”

“whatever,” you muttered, clearly annoyed. “we’re even now, right? no more debts or whatever.”

he shrugged, annoyingly nonchalant. “i guess.”

he turned the corner first, walking off without a second glance. and you watched him disappear into the distance before walking off in the other direction.

it was supposed to be over — a weird coincidence, paid off with a pack of gummies and silence. but the next day at school, rin nodded at you. he acknowledged you.

just once. barely perceptible. you hoped that you were overthinking it.

a subtle tilt of his head when you passed each other in the hallway. it was unnecessary and out of character. he was the one people bowed to, not the other way around.

and it stayed in your mind longer than you liked.

weird.

you didn’t realise how distracted you were until you found yourself walking the long way past the school’s field, which was not the fastest route to the library, and didn’t even notice the loud thunk of cleats against a ball.

you heard someone shout, “watch out!”

but it was too late.

the ball smacked into your shoulder with a solid thud, knocking your bag off and nearly making you stumble. the sting bloomed instantly, your breath hitching in annoyance more than pain.

“shit, sorry!”

a pair of voices — hurried and panicked — echoed across the field. a couple of second-years scrambled towards you, both still wearing their pinnies from practice.

you crouched to grab your bag, barely looking at them.

“are you okay?” one asked, his expression apologetic.

“what the hell does it look like?” you snapped, shooting them a glare sharp enough to cut. “do you kick balls at everyone who walks past?”

“no! we were aiming for each other, it was just— uh, wind?” one offered, shrinking back.

“don’t give me excuses,” you muttered, dusting off your uniform. “why do you play football if you can’t aim?”

they looked properly chastised, eyes wide, unsure whether to apologise again or back away.

you didn’t wait to find out. and when you turned to leave, you saw him.

itoshi rin was standing a few feet behind them, arms crossed, watching the scene unfold with unreadable eyes. he wasn’t part of it — his hands were clean, his posture relaxed. he didn’t even pretend to look sorry.

your eyes met for a second.

he blinked.

and you scoffed and walked off.

typical.

you didn’t know what you expected. maybe for him to say something? perhaps for him to check on you, even briefly? no, you both didn’t have that kind of relationship.

and you weren’t someone people checked in on anyway.

your shoulder ached — a dull, annoying throb that flared every time you moved too suddenly. it wasn’t unbearable, just irritating enough to throw off your focus. and after two hours of trying to study through the throbbing pain, you finally gave up, stuffing your notes into your bag with a frustrated sigh.

you stepped out of the library into the cool evening air, passing by the field again on your way out of the school grounds. it was quieter now — the echo of shouting and whistles had long faded. the floodlights buzzed softly overhead, illuminating a mostly empty field.

the sky had already begun to darken, painted in muted shades of blue and orange, but there was still someone out there under the buzz of the floodlights.

itoshi rin. again.

he was alone, juggling the ball lazily, as if waiting for something. or someone.

he looked up the second you appeared — almost like he’d been watching for you — and without a word, he picked up his water bottle and duffel bag from the side. by the time you were halfway past the field, he was already walking towards you.

“what?” you asked warily, eyeing his packed-up gear. “…were you waiting?”

“yeah,” he replied flatly. “you took forever.”

“yeah? well, i was trying to salvage a study session. kind of hard with a sore shoulder, thanks to your idiot teammates. how the hell did they even manage to kick it over the fence?”

he raised a brow, unconcerned. “well, they did kick really hard for people who can’t aim to save their lives.”

you blinked. “and you’re not even gonna defend them?”

“why would i? like you said, they suck at aiming. terrible accuracy. who do you think scores the goals for this team?”

you snorted despite yourself. “wow. you’re awfully full of yourself.”

“it’s called being honest,” he said, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips.

you rolled your eyes and adjusted your bag on your shoulder with a wince.

“you should ice that,” he said quietly, falling into step beside you as you walked toward the school gates.

“it’ll heal on its own.”

he didn’t answer, just walked next to you in silence for a few moments, his gaze fixed straight ahead.

then, quietly, “you didn’t have to brush it off earlier. if it hurt, you could’ve had them take you to the infirmary.”

“well, too late,” you muttered. “i wasn’t going to cry again. especially in front of a crowd.”

you glanced at him from the corner of your eye, expecting some smart remark.

but all he said was, “you’re worse than the rumours.”

“the hell does that mean?”

he glanced at you. “i don’t think people know what to make of you. they say you’re cold, stuck-up. but really, you’re just…”

you raised a brow. “just what?”

“meaner. more stubborn. and too honest,” he said bluntly. “but you’re just… you. they seem to misunderstand you, huh?”

“…are you trying to insult me or flatter me?”

“it definitely wasn’t a compliment.”

“asshole.”

he didn’t argue. just kept walking beside you, steps steady, matching your pace without making it obvious.

you didn’t talk the rest of the way, but neither of you turned to leave, even when your roads were supposed to split. instead, he reached into his bag and pulled something out — the same packet of yoghurt gummies you’d almost argued over yesterday. unopened.

“here,” he said, holding it out to you without looking directly at you.

you blinked. “…huh? that’s yours.”

“you paid for it anyway,” he replied casually, a hint of amusement tugging at his tone. “so technically, it’s yours.”

your eye twitched. “seriously?”

he shrugged, as if it didn’t matter. “take it. compensation for your shoulder.”

you stared at him, unsure whether to be irritated or just… confused. “…you waited two hours just to return snacks?”

“wasn’t planning on it,” he said. “just figured you’d be heading home around now.”

“what a stalker.”

“i’m not, you’re just predictable.”

you clicked your tongue and snatched the packet from his hand. “whatever.”

“you looked like you needed it more,” he added as he turned to walk off.

“…i don’t need your pity,” you muttered under your breath, recognising the familiar sentence.

“wasn’t pity,” he said without turning back. “just didn’t want to owe you.”

“liar.”

he didn’t deny it. just kept walking, hands stuffed in his pockets.

“thanks… again,” you mumbled once his back was turned — too quiet for him to hear, or maybe just loud enough.

and for the first time, you didn’t feel like strangers anymore.

taglist. @yuukiririix @rohfulike @bestboileeknow @mihyas-dieehefrau @lilahlil @bruisedchickensoup @vvs-mew @kuronarnze @mixolya @lovingmayday @saekisserfr @appl3-orchard @fiestvr @n0tbelle @scoosh4you @tartardisalmone @luvynii

back to. masterlist. proceed to. part 4.

© all written works are created and owned by @sinsxo. do not plagiarise, modify, repost or translate any of my content on other platforms under any circumstances.

all images, aside from the dividers, do not belong to me. credit belongs to their original creators on pinterest & xhs.

[selfless-desires]

[ penny for one's thoughts ] ; for steve .

can be drunk , could be sober but still needing to just get things off of his chest ; maybe he doesn't feel comfortable with the idea of " burdening " people with what's weighing him down && is in need of fresh air , so it's upon the shore that he just talks to what he assumes is just the wind , and doesn't realize a certain radioactive monster is lurking . . .

‏‏‎ ‎ Running never made a lick of difference . It would still be there , that persevering sense of dread he's been trying to avoid since that night in November― looming like a shadow , biding its time , lurking just around the next corner no matter how often Steve would remind himself it'd be alright . ' Can't lie forever now , can you ? ' It'd be an instance like many before where the young swimmer couldn't settle for the night , body achin' from exhaustion but his mind ... it'd keep him pre-occupied . He'd toss & turn in his sleep while he dreamt of monsters without faces , sharp rows of teeth meant to scrape flesh from bone . Tall , pale figures that'd chase him through the dark tunnels with no indication of where to go . He could still hear their screams , friends he swore to place his life on the line for , kids that have grown onto him like siblings , people that have become the family he's yearned to have but knew better than to ask for . ' It was all just a nightmare , ' he'd repeat like a broken record , just another fucked up fabrication of his mind that'd haunt him throughout the days after― wouldn't be the first nor the last time , has become a strange routine of sorts where he'd find himself wandering the night alone . Following the ghostly-pale stretch of gravel would the man hum to the distant beat of radio , the only source of noise beside the occasional owl , crickets that have come out of their burrows to play their distinctive notes . It’s a surprise to him , how unsteady his Nike's felt on the ground , flask sloshing in hand while he aimlessly stumbled towards the lake . Only remembered taking a few draws on whatever the hell’s inside , though he hasn’t got much in his stomach other than that leftover pizza he's found the other night . The lake’s close , close enough to hear , to smell … been a while since he's last gone near a large body of water on his own like this , that sharp stench of chlorine now replaced by the earthy scents of nature― is it something you can walk into , or is it deep from the get-go ? A short sharp plunge , or having to wade in even when every nerve in your body is telling you not to ? Steve feels like he’s on the edge of one or the other , legs rooted in place as that familiar feeling returns : the one he's been trying to get away from all this time now returning tenfold , leaving him breathless , petrified . Harrington inhales long and hard through his nose , bracing himself . He took a step forward , then another , and there’s a soft ripple― a gleam of something shifting in the depths , causing his attention to be drawn to the murky water . He sees his reflection then , eyes worn by lack of sleep staring back at him like two orbs of the void , strands of hair standing all over the place instead of the picture-perfect state they were known for . A hand met the surface to distort the face that's been there before , a quiet hiss escaping Steve's breath due to the chilling cold ... the pain’s just a shadow of what it could be , though . Secondary to the heavy weight of his shoulders , alcohol all poison still , working its way down in his system .

" You know , I ... I never really considered myself a hero , " He'd say to no one in particular , eyes drawn to the dock near the shore . " I just ... I dunno , I thought― I thought I could be a hero , if I tried hard enough , " a pause , throat feeling tight he'd swallow . " ... I'm not― I know I'm not , " he'd say in the form of a breathless whisper , talking to himself . Look at you , even now , hesitating to do something so simple . With a frustrated shake of his head Steve tipped the flask back , downing the last of the booze while he marched down the path . Headed for the dock would he pause inches away from the edge , planks creakin' beneath his feet with every step , mocking him , legs feeling uncertain as he stared into the abyss― depths that threatened to swallow him whole . Thoughts would linger at the back of his mind , Barbara Holland vanishing without a trace right outside of his window― a world of slow-moving vertigo beyond the brilliant white & turquoise glow of the pool ... it would feel dark , sinister after learning about the beasts in the shadows . He'd remember the day they brought Will Byers' body out of the dark waters , the day he fought for his life while flesh-like vines dragged him below surface , beyond a gate between their world and one far more sinister . Heaved breaths would escape him as the jock stood frozen in place , hands shaking by his sides , legs threatening to give in beneath his weight― ' Sometimes you just ... have to let go , y'know ? ' Such words echoed in his mind like reminders , a wound still fresh , a person who's died all too soon without a proper burial . ' Let it all out , ' Steve draws in a breath with the whole of his chest and tips his head back, hands folding into fists by his sides— ' let the world hear you . ' He howls , mournful and stupid : a coyote yowling at night , a dog left on its own . It echoes off the murky surface , swallowed by the vast emptiness before ... sharp breaths escape him once his voice dies down , looking like he’s going to do it again― and he does , rougher this time , more of his voice in it , stretching louder and hoarser— like he’s trying to make it hurt— like he’s trying to get rid of something— until he’s folding at the middle with the force of it all , the cry buckling as his voice gives way . The torn-off sound rackets off the trees like a cough , gone , like it never happened . Silence replaced with the dim thump of music from the car up above would Steve heave for air , throat feelin' hoarse , abused after such extensive use ... and with a defeated sigh he'd finally give in to exhaustion , fell forth on his knees , fingers still grippin' the flask he's brought ... Maybe he could rest , if only a little ... lulled by the faint ripples of water below .

‏‏‎ ‎

[lizzybeeee]

the language being stripped of lore specific terms made it so much worse in retrospect. fr tho Davrin calling Eldrin "Uncle" Eldrin instead of Hahren, like it's okay Davrin you can use elvish around my Rook I won't judge :( I haven't romanced him does he at least call you vhenan??

I could get the use of 'uncle' if Davrin was trying to explain it to Rook who was not elvish (since all elves in this game seem to just instinctively know elvish) since it would make sense to make a connection between the dalish role and familial role for an outsider:

Rook - "Who are we seeing?" Davrin - "Hahren...Uncle Eldrin." Rook - "Hahren?" Davrin - "It's elvish - they're storytellers and caretakers in the clan." Rook - "So...not your uncle." Davrin - "Close enough. He raised me."

Does Davrin call you 'vhenan'? I could have sworn he did in the final love/petting over clothes scene but I did a look up because I couldn't remember...apparently its just my wishful thinking - but don't quote me, maybe it's only in a specific dialogue option? :(

That fact that I can't recall it off the top of my head is telling -> Solas calls Lavellan 'vhenan' so much its burned into my brain, the same with other endearments from other romances. I played as a shadow dragon elf so I was hoping to be able to say 'amatus' - didn't get to do that either.

Which is one reason that the romances in this game really fall flat for me. I loved how different characters had different endearments for you, it made it feel more personal! Bull with 'Kadan', Dorian with 'Amatus', Solas with 'Vhenan', Leliana with 'My Love', and Sera had a 'pick your own' that wonderfully reflected her character!

I assume they were trying to make the language more accessible for new players, but it was never a barrier for me in any of the other games? If anything it always made me more interested/curious in what was going on when I encountered a phrase that I didn't understand. It added to the idea that these characters were from different nations and cultures - they had their own languages and phrases that reflected that -> the world felt bigger because of it!

Even if I didn't understand something, the voice work was always so stellar that even if the exact meaning wasn't understood, I got the intent that it was being said with.

Best examples being Solas and the Arishok - I understand certain words and phrases of each language, but I'm not a translator like some very talented people on this website. Even if I didn't get what was being said I absolutely understood the intent from the emotion and nuances in voice work. Top tier example is Solas and Sera in DAI:

Solas: Our people used to be here. Sera: Pfft, you say that everywhere. Solas: It is more true than you want to believe. Sera: I bet, right? Who wants to think about stepping on dead elves. Solas: Din elvhen emma him? Sera: Oh, you felt that one.

The way that line was delivered was incredible. Didn't understand a word but you could absolutely feel the repressed fury of what Solas was saying - his disgust at what Sera said. Once again, Gareth David-Lloyd coming in with incredible voice work! <3

It's such a strange choice to just...remove that immersion - to have so little of it in-game. Does it require extra work to make certain that the characters language reflects their history and culture? Yes! But what it adds is so immense to the world. I can't imagine not having Solas call Lavellan by elven endearments or having Andrastian characters not say 'Thank the Maker!' or 'Maker's breath!' It was cool worldbuilding! Just like how we say 'oh my god' there's a Thedas equivalent that communicated the very same idea!

Hearing lore specific words and phrases makes me know that I'm playing a Dragon Age game. Playing DATV which severely lacks in those words and phrases made me realize I'm sitting on my swivel chair and looking at a computer screen.

[lloydfrontera]

my biggest gripe with the manhwa rn is that they made javier more of an asshole than he is in the novel and then took away most of the scenes where we see him being kind and soft with others.

javier can be an ass, he is a brat and he's especially annoying when he's with lloyd, but above anything else he is kind and loyal and selfless and good. i cannot emphasize enough how good javier is. he's the kind of person who cannot see someone in trouble or danger and do nothing about it. he's the kind of person who would sacrifice his life for total strangers and no hope of any reward. he's the kind of person who can't even enjoy a lavish party without feeling guilty because he'd much rather help people in need with that money.

he's so fucking good, lloyd is a little annoyed by it because he keeps getting dragged into life-threatening situations because javier just won't stop helping people they don't even know. mind you, lloyd is also endeared by this and would not want him to change but god can it be frustrating in his endeavor to keep them both alive.

there's this particular scene that i just. i'm so sad it was cut. where javier is helping around the refugee camp, going without sleeping and eating so he can focus on helping as many people as possible and then he spots a little kid that got lost on his way back. so he decides to help him.

and he's so gentle with this kid.

Javier walked over to the kid and called him. The flustered boy looked up. Javier strove to put on a warm smile on his face. "Are you lost?" “...” The boy nodded, his eyes all wet. Javier carefully stroked the boy's head. "I think I can help you with that. Why don't you let me help find your tent?" suggested Javier. “...” The boy nodded again. "But why didn't you eat the food? It's going to get cold. Are you not hungry?" "I am… hungry," the boy finally said. But what he said next caught Javier by surprise. "But I won't eat it," said the boy. "Why not?" "My mother is hungrier." "Is that so?" "Yes." “...” Javier wondered why this kid came out to take the food when he had a mother. There must be a reason, he thought to himself. He held out his hand. "I will hold the tray for you." "..." "I won't spill it. I promise." "Okay..." Javier took the tray and wrapped the boy’s hand with his own.

like. god. javier is not a naturally warm person. he's very reserved and stoic and sometimes outright cold, but he still tries so hard with this kid. because he knows what it's like to be him. he knows what it's like to be a child and be scared and hungry and without a home. and he remembers how much it meant for a kind adult to reach out a hand to him and help. and he wants to be that to others too.

everything he does, he does because he genuinely believes it's the right thing to do and therefore his obligation. and even when it doesn't come naturally to him, like being warm and gentle to a child, he still tries his best to do so.

and like that wasn't enough, when they finally find the kid's mom, javier finds out she's blind. recently blinded actually. that she used all her strength to get her child to safety and now she has to depend on him to take care of them because she can't do it anymore. her blouse is smudged with porridge.

so javier kneels down and explains who he is, why he's there and that he wants to help. he lifts up a spoonful of food and slowly and carefully starts to feed her himself. she's a complete stranger and javier doesn't hesitate one second to do this for her.

this is who javier is!! this is who he is at his core!! he's kind and he's selfless and he's above all else good!!

if your audience can't imagine javier comforting a child, then you failed your audience. you missed the point of his character.

[originalcontent]

I can't find art of my ship anywhere so I GUESS that means I have to make it myself, here are some doodles.

[froschli96]

you know, i always find it really funny when dudebros complain about syndicate and odyssey being too "jokey" or not "taking its characters seriously" or whatever…

like, did y'all collectively sleep through "it's-a me, mario!", "i meant besides vaginas", ezio inventing the latte, bartolomeo's... just... *gestures vaguely* entire character, etc?

like, it's fine to have preferences of course, i myself prefer a more serious and grounded tone, but these are usually the same people who tout the ezio trilogy as "peak assassin's creed", call ac1 a glorified tech demo and hate on connor for being "too serious and boring", like? make it make sense!

[birdblorbo]

I'm back on my bullshit, here's the Loser's Club roller-skating

I went skating with my best friend and their younger sister the other night and it single handed threw me back into Loser's Club headcanons so here we fucking go.

Long Post

Bill: He's definitely skated with Georgie before and while he hasn't skating in a while (RIP Georgie I love you) it didn't take him long to get back into the motions of it (Just like riding a bike, pun partially intended). He loses his balance occasionally but always manages to stabilize before he's really in an danger of falling.

Stan: He's a natural. His first time skating he struggled for around five minutes and then all the sudden could skate as though he went every weekend, no one can explain it. Bill and him spend most of the time catching while they skate and matching each others pace. Bill will go check on someone if they fall while Stan pretends not to know them.

Richie: He's really good for some reason??? You'd think he'd be flailing around and falling constantly but he's the only one who can do those fancy turns (Where you put your feet in a triangle, idk man but I can't do it) and skate backwards (if you can skate backwards I hate you I can never figure it out). He likes showing off but in the process trips over children that fall while he's not looking.

Eddie: He can't skate and he's made about it. He is like a newborn deer on an icy road. He desperately grabs onto whatever loser is closest and refuses to leave the wall unless they let him hold onto them. Richie (and occasionally Stan while he skates by) keeps making fun of him and hallway through Eddie gets fed up and goes to sit out until Mike finally convinces him to try again and sticks with Eddie for the rest of the night.

Mike: He's not a pro but he's definitely not bad. He enjoys just slowly going around listening to the music the DJ plays. He's very careful of avoiding young children especially the ones who like to zip around the rink really fast (Honestly the children who are good skaters are more dangerous you don't see them coming and they're unpredictable. At least the kids struggling you can tell where they're trying to go) He's the first to notice if one of the Loser's is sitting out and always goes to sit with them even if it's just cause their feet or ankles are hurting.

Beverly: She likes to go fast. As soon as she's comfortable on her skates she is going around as fast as she can until she falls, knocks someone over, or is asked to slow down by a worker. She's also the first one to get bored and will inevitably drag someone with her to get food (most likely Eddie who was already sitting out and will complain about how gross the food is while proceeding to get probably the worst thing he could've gotten).

Ben: He struggles for the entire time he is there but is determined to be able to skate by the end. He falls the most out of anyone but swears he does not need to hold onto the wall and refuses the Loser's help. Good news! he does eventually get it. Bad news, he gets it down five minutes before closing.

[dwtolos]

started watching another home makeover show and it hit me once again how much I want an AU where George and Sapnap are the hosts of a 'siblings getting their own rooms' show (they compete on which room suits their respective kid best) and Dream is one of the cameramen who ended up commenting out loud about something so he ends up being a faceless fan favorite. George does flirt with Dream a lot. Sapnap is very tired of it. They also compete about which room Dream would like the best, which is not the point of the show but in their hearts it is.

[foxgloveinspace]

this is hella random but-

if you ever want to info dump about the call of duty guys (ghost and soap i think? are those call names? soap is weird lol) please do! that ship has started popping up more and more in my feeds and now i am thoroughly intrigued. mostly because yes give me more ships with everyone suffering ptsd, but also i had no idea call of duty had any sort of plot line or recognizable characters?

i’ve played it only a handful of times and it always just seemed to me like a “create a character then join a server and shoot people” kind of game i didn’t think it had any story lol

but yeah. pls fill me in if you so desire :) i am so curious

I’m the wrong person to ask, cause I haven’t played the games yet😔🤣.

I own a couple of them, but I haven’t played yet just cause… last year I was in a weird place with video games really, is the only explanation I have. The campaigns (the plot parts) are not too long if you wanna watch them on YouTube (I also haven’t done that,,,,,, I should do that if I’m not gonna play the 2020s games, just cause I know that people where Not Happy with the last game, but I should freaking play the ogs cause they are RIGHT up my alley oof).

There’s a couple things you gotta know, if you wanna get into to it: There’s two different series of Modern Warfare, the og, which came out 07, 09, and 11. And then the remakes (which is what got the fandom So Big), which is from 2019, 22, and 23. They are, the same story told differently, and they are Very Different. The characters have very different personalities depending on the series.

(This is why I tag things as ghostsoap, or 09 soapghost so I can keep track of the different characters lol).

Ghost and Soap are their callsigns, yeah. It makes the ship names fun though! (Ghosts first name is Simon, Soap’s is John (Ghost calls him Johnny, so the fandom runs with calling him that lmao)).

Ghost wears a mask, and doesn’t have a canonical face clam! Which is really cool to me, cause we get so many different versions of Simon from the fandom🖤 and also, masked characters make brain go brrrrrr.

I am mostly in it for the fic, and there’s tones of good fanart. Not to say I don’t know anything at all, cause I have read the fandom wikis/synopsis of the games (though I’m a little rusty on my knowledge,,,, again I do want to play the games, I just.. wasn’t in a video game mood all last year). I’m just… sometimes info dumping is hard.

But yeah. The fic is freaking good. Like, I was looking for military themed romance novels the other day and I legit couldn’t bring myself to start any cause I’m worried it won’t live up to ghostsoap🤣🤣🤣.

I was gonna give some recommendations, but I uhhh…. I have realized I mostly bookmark the good smut, and only have a couple fics that aren’t smut, but they are SO ANGSTY🤣🤣🤣. And then one long fic, but it’s ghostroachsoap (roach is a player character from the first mw2).

Gosh. What can I say about ghostsoap…… they are black and red coded characters??? (Not Actually, but in the fandom way. Ghost is black, Soap is red. I don’t know if that’s even still a fandom thing lmao).

I…. I don’t know what else to say, haha.

[burningcomputerpersona]

hey sorry for saying the wrong thing i wasn't socialized properly at the shelter. tbh i didn't even know there was a wrong dialogue option but apparantly there was and now you're all silently ignoring me and i'm here wondering what i should've said instead

[connormoving]

thank GODDD the doctor is taking time to work on himself maybe now he can stop ruining womens lives .

[phiniusandjelly]

Vaguely inspired by that one post where Danny gets summoned by the JL and keeps throwing his shoes and stuff at them bc HE might not be able to leave the summoning circle but his clothes sure can!

I think the twist for that was that the circle doesnt effect him at all because hes a halfa and he was just goofing with the JL.

But imagine if the summoning and containment WORKED.

Like, he gets summoned and its startling, but once he realizes hes been summoned hes mostly annoyed.

Its a school night! He has work to do! Sure he wasnt DOING it, but it was still a possibility!

And hes trying to banter with the JL. Which for him just means being vaguely-obnoxious-but-somewhat-charming.

But then he tries to leave.

Maybe hes worried about his friends reaction to seeing him disappear.

Maybe the JL are saying some anti ghost/demon/whatever they think he is nonsense.

Maybe he changed his mind about doing that homework.

But either way, it doesnt work.

He drags his hand along the edge of the spell. It doesnt give, and he realizes hes not sure what this spell is supposed to do.

Its all along the floor beneth him, he cant fly through the floor.

He tries to get away from the walls and floor, worried whatever spell makes up the container can be triggered to hurt him or brainwash him or SOMETHING.

Its not his best guest, but he has never been summoned before, at least not with this type of barrier, and he doesnt know what to expect.

He barely gets a few feet off the ground when he hits the spells invisible roof.

And he is trapped.

And now this fourteen year old child is caged in a room with clearly dangerous adult strangers.

After hes been more or less kidnapped.

He’s suddenly regretting insulting them.

And its not his first time beimg kidnapped. Or his first time being in danger in general (obviously).

but its usually some ghost! Or Vlad “Loser, I hardly know her!” Masters!

Both of whom explain literally everything they plan in long ass evil monologues! It usually takes danny five minutes tops to learn their entire life story Dr Doofenshmirtz style!

He knows most of them personally! They hang out sometimes! Heck! even the local ghost hunters are either literally related to him or someone he’s dated!

He knows their powersets, their strengths, their weaknesses.

Most importantly, he knows their goals

But now hes trapped. In a room of clearly superpowerd strangers. With magical abilities strong enough to trap him for real.

And has no idea what they want

And Danny just freezes up

This could be super angsty if the JL were told that he was evil and think his panic + young features are only done to manipulate them.

You can also add angst with a language barrier/translation issue

I imagine the JL would be trying to get information about ghosts/ are trying to get someone to fight a villain they can’t defeat

Its going to scare the shit out of Danny either way- like imagine fourteen year old you gets kidnapped by strangers and they start asking you about your weaknesses or say they will only let you out if you agree to fight this monster.

And if Danny doesnt know this villain or how tf hes going to fight them he might feel like hes being sent off to get his ass kicked.

I can just imagine Danny being told he has to fight this supervillain and being like “…if i like..die…trying to fight this guy…what are you going to do with my body? Like will you send me home? Cause my family will freak if my corpse is teleported into the living room”

JL would not be happy about any of his responses.

Im begging someone to write this please have a nice day