#LIKE THE SYMBOLISM HERE. THE DOUBLE MEANING

[bladekindeyewear]

HS^2 bloggin’ mainline 2025-08-01

(Previous post - current page 797)

DID NOT expect two updates back to back, so I needed rest overnight before reacting to this! We're finally starting in on the new act, and from glimpses at the news post and what I tried my best not to see on the log I already know the name of who we're going to see first...

> ACT 2

Whoa, what is that, cosmic pollen of some sort? And that explosion mark on the arch, is that where the presumed-seadweller (one of Rose's created alien race) lives, the obvious Doom player? In this arch sticking out of the ocean? Or is who we're going to see the one who lives in the sorta-flowering perhaps-blown-dandelion-like green spire in the middle and the blackened part is part of the LORE that the art is referring to, with the sea and land races having possibly been at war? With either the depictions of Dirk's race vandalized by a blast, or a depiction of a war against darkness itself because Rose wants to stand-in as Light?

Ooh, the Next arrow has three equals signs implying six players... does that mean we're going to have (a) 6 seadwellers, (b) 6 deltritians, or (c) 6 total players? I think having 6 deltritians and the 4 omega kids for a 10-player balance would make plenty of sense, meaning three of Rose's new race and three of Dirk's new race, that would keep things from being overloaded... but what would the missing aspects be? And if it's 6 seadwellers for a full goddamn 16 player session, which four aspects would be doubled-up on? (No, I don't believe we're going the route of new or fan aspects. New class pairs, I might believe but will doubt til I see proof.) Oh also, here's a reminder of the titles/aspects I think the Omega Kids represent so far.

===>

A young- oh, god. What the hell happened here? Can we rewind a bit?

HAHAHAHAAHH OH MAN XD

That's pretty freakin' hilarious. Guess we ARE starting with the Doom player and their explosives. Plus, that's a ~ATH coding book below their desk on the right. Oh right, and we have the weird session symbol that we got a preview for...

I'm not sure why it's shaped like an Apple other than the obvious connotations of the beginning and leaving the garden of eden, if this is to be the Session That Begins All Sessions (and also like a butterfly with its two-sidedness perhaps representing the teams), but more importantly it has SIX arrows pointing outward and FOUR pointing inward. Meaning this is probably indeed three aliens from each race plus the four Omega Kids. (I also see that the goopy image with that logo is from "Tc", not gavageCunctation. Going back to my liveblog of this new GC's first shown chat, it sounds like the Sburb-equivalent is "TC's game" now, so TC is the one who decoded it from the ruins and compiled it for everyone to play, whoever that is. They reversed the usual camelCase even though their chat client still uses it for their names, too, so the first letter being capitalized and the second lowercase might have something to do with their typing quirk. Also, go back to that page and gavageCunctation's first conversation if you have ANY DOUBTS that they aren't obviously a Doom player, because they are 10000% a Doom player.)

Anyway, they must be a pretty hardy customer if they have explosives and ~ATH-virus-exploding computers blowing them away on the regular like this.

Hours in the past, but not many...

PAGE 800

ROSE'S CUSTOM ALIEN RACE

FUCKING SQUIDDLE-HEAD PEOPLE WITH ALIEN SUCKER-TEETH TONGUES (can't tell if the second pair of eyes on the living headpart is functional)

I LOVE IT

Ah, there we go. A young nymph stands in her reclusehollow. It just so happens that today is the day her GRAND METAMORPHOSIS begins (colloquially known as a MORPHDAY). Well, supposedly. Though it was several thousand tidal turns ago she was given life, it was... still several hundred tidal turns ago she was given a name! The specific grouping of these thousands of tidal turns would be equivalent to 15 earth years. She may have already been named, but it'd be a shame not to type it up again for old times' sake.

So, NYMPHS! Makes sense as a pick for Rose to name her custom race! If they're Nymphs, I wonder if they're primarily female-identifying like Gems in Steven Universe, because Ultimate Dirk's race being primarily male-identifying would make way too much sense with his latent toxic masculinity gone rampant.

Is there a physical metamorphosis she's yet to go through, as indicated by "GRAND METAMORPHOSIS" etc, that any Nymph older than her that's playing has already went through? Or if there IS such a physical transformation, are they all perhaps young enough that they haven't gone through it and won't transform until they hit God-Tier in the session to come?

This girl is absolutely reminiscent of Grimdark Rose and that's doubtless no mistake, based on Rose's taste and aesthetics.

===>

Your name is LY'LAC- oh. You've hidden your last name with an EPITAPHIC HEX. Dope. I guess you go by LY'LAC, OF THE FINAL APPLAUSE. It's been a while since you've done this properly.

That first name is the only thing I was spoiled on-- "Ly'lac"! It makes perfect sense for Rose's horrorterror-inspired race to have embedded apostrophes as a naming convention. Ly'lac is a gorgeous name-- and "Ly'lac of the Final Applause" is a great dramatic flourish for a Doom player to call oneself, if this is indeed GC we're looking at (and her "hair" color suggests so since it matches the color theme on gavageCunctation's computer)!

An "Epitaphic Hex" sounds like an ~ATH-related bit of programming magic, and the obscuring green goop resembles what was dripping from her computer. ~ATH-based curses may be more common than expected from Rose's race, if I had to guess (meaning we'd get a flourishy Rose-like title for each of the players of this race to which we're introduced!!! I'd love that! Dope indeed!), but there's no doubt that a Doom player used to exploding her computer would be a specialist.

Honestly, from her messages to Vrissy I never imagined gC as a girl instead of a boy/enby and I'm not sure why. This isn't the first time Homestuck's reckoned with the ambiguity of gender over a remote text medium, with the beta kids guessing the trolls' genders wrong several times like Dave did with Kanaya.

(I wonder if their real last names are going to hold some surprising correlations/relevance that would mean too much to us (such as their potential biological relationships to existing characters) for them to be revealed just yet?)

Okay, one more time.

What a fun explosives-filled roo-- WHAT THE FUCK ARE THOSE CARTOON POSTERS DOING HERE. (Zooms in...) Oh they've been made fish-based, eg. that's "CATfish-DOGfish", not just "CAT-DOG".

Wait, given the First Guardians of alpha and beta earth that probably has more significance than I can guess yet. Not just Doom's binary-ness or black-and-white dualism.

You are known as LY'LAC, OF THE FINAL APPLAUSE. As was previously mentioned, it is your MORPHDAY; though you are PRETTY MUCH OVER IT ALREADY. You tend to get over things pretty quickly. It's not like you've got much time left anyway.

She did mention she was convinced the game was going to kill her, and just like Sollux, she's almost certainly right. The game DOES tend to kill you at least once.

Coinciding with this lack of time; you've taken up few INTERESTS but a large variety of DISTRACTIONS, first and foremost amongst them ANCIENT SATYRICAL THERMAL WEAPONRY.

We knew they were Satyrs but calling things related to them "Satyrical" is a priceless move from Dirk. This definitely reinforces that the two races have warred in the past. Perhaps the Satyrs with technology and the Nymphs with magic? That would make a ton of sense.

You have a particular fondness for their EXPLOSIVE PROPERTIES. As an AMATEUR ALCHEMIST you've found you can make PRETTY MUCH ANYTHING INTO A BOMB if you put your upper organon to it, and OFTEN WHEN YOU DON'T.

Doom, etc.

You consider yourself a connoisseur of the EPILEPTIC SCRAWLCELS; An incredible art form known to laymen as "cartoons". Though many would leer at your personal selection of GREISEI ERA ANIMATED AVANT GARDE COMEDIES, they are nonetheless your favorites. The opinions of others don't really get you down. Those cartoons made you FEEL something and THAT MEANS IT'S ART and you've long held that ART IS CINEMA.

No idea what pun "Greisei Era" is alluding to.

You've also taken up GARDENING lately, though somewhat predictably your talents lie more towards THE ENDING OF THINGS. Your friends tell you that you have something of a BLACK THUMB.

I *did* notice all the flowers looked like they were wilting, but here's confirmation that they don't naturally do that. It definitely seems like we'll be focusing quite a lot on what Doom actually IS and its opposing role to Life, getting elaboration we had to tease out of the original comic's secrets that will likely be explained to us more plainly and straightforwardly in this new story.

There's also lots of WHITE and BLACK in this room, which I'll remind everyone is a Doom theme to keep one's eyes out for, hence "black thumb" etc.

Speaking of friends, you have a small but dear cadre of them that you have been COMPLETELY IGNORING for the past few hours. To this end you have not been using your somewhat complex mystically enhanced chat client, which is called NAGLINK. Your nagtag is currently gavageCunctation and you find yourself easily distracted... because unfortunately, the wonders of your world largely underwhelm you.

So this "Naglink" is the new chat client from which she was "negging" Vrissy, perhaps indicating (as I've already speculated) that Rose's race is associated with "Negative" and that Satyrs will be "posing" or using a chat verb that associates Satyrs with "Positive somehow. Prospit and orange for Dirk's, Derse and purple for Rose's. (Another reminder, and Doom association-- "gavageCunctation" basically translates to "avoiding being force-fed".)

You are also CURSED, but WHO ISN'T THESE DAYS.

Unsurprising given ~ATH's involvement, like how Sollux's code (when run) supposedly cursed all the players.

Ly'lac: Retrieve arms from mysterious shell.

You've got plenty of arms already right here! And all around you!

Holy shit, Rose really went to town with these fellas!!!

No wonder they can survive an explosion. And I imagine having tons of arms is exactly the sort of fun for adults of their race that Rose would have thought up.

That purple fleur-de-lis-like bloom from above and below her eye looks much like the green stalk we were seemingly zooming in on, so there's a good chance at least the top of that's her home. The room is round too after all, though the stairs would have to lead to a teleporter if this isn't in the stalk.

===>

Doing that actually feels kind of weird so you probably won't do it again ever.

Or at least they won't go through so much trouble animating it that often.

That, or her coming "metamorphosis" precludes it?

HEY, I see that link! TEREZI! Don't do that just because she stole your username letters!!!

> WR1TH3 L1K3 4 FL4G3LLUM 4ND PUK3 1N YOUR SH3LL.

Gosh, she looks so depressed. Not surprising from a self-described "Doomer" who has a hard time getting interested in Life.

Aren't you a little early? That aside, you already did that, numbnubs! Now THE CARETAKER's going to have to clean it all up. Or you could. But you won't. You turn away from your ISOLASHELL in shame. Sorry CARETAKER.

Between this and the first speech we saw from her over text, I'm getting the distinct feeling this character's being written with explicit Depression. Hm.

Ly'lac: Pick up a bomb.

Oh, there's a classic Homestuck gift package either from or to "Tc" in the corner!

You pick up a classic CARTOON BOMB from your TRUSTY ARSENAL, which is more or less just sort of a HAPHAZARD PILE OF EXPLOSIVES. What a comfort. This feels right.

Cartoon interests and cartoon bombs, huh?

Ly'lac: Take bomb.

You captchalogue the CARTOON BOMB. Its card is now PRIMED. Later, if you want to retrieve it, you will have to complete the DIFFUSE SEQUENCE to successfully retrieve the item without detonating the card. In this case, this would detonate the CARTOON BOMB as well, setting off a chain reaction of SLAPSTICK EXPLOSIONS. This methodology applies for all items captchalogued by this modus, not just literal bombs. It goes without saying that this causes problems.

Doubtless absurd and dangerous. (What is that pollen-like stuff second from the right? Wasn't that raining down from the sky when the curtains opened? That's a DEMON CORE too held just open from disaster, so she might be an even hardier race than we thought in addition to her potential halfhearted death-wish.

--Wait don't do it, that's not in your strife specibus!

Ly'lac: Throw bomb.

In your room? That's a terrible idea! Instead, you slot the CARTOON BOMB into your BOMBKIND strife deck, then responsibly chuck it out the window, where it's safe.

Oh, that's a convenient way of disposing of primed explosives. So her room's just short of the top sphere of the green/teal (Terezi-colored?) stalk.

Ly'lac: Fondly regard poster.

You have a variety of scrolls on your walls depicting some of your all time favorite cartoons. This one here is CATFISH DOGFISH. It's pretty much just what it says on the tin. Conjoined twins of two different species. Of fish. They're opposites but they're still sisters. Through thick and thin. Mostly thick. Or thin? Which one is the bad one? The show itself is always under scrutiny from naysaying aesthetes of lesser ability. They say its title is hard to pronounce. They say its characters are largely unlikeable, and the circumstances of their birth implausible. They don't get it. Nobody gets it. IT'S. ART.

I get the sense Ly'lac is going to be an ineffable source of slapstick even compared to her peers. Also, "Conjoined twins of two different species. [...] They're opposites but they're still sisters." This seems like a backdoor hint to the eventuality of the discussion of Aspect Duality and the connection between Life and Doom, not to mention other aspects. Given Doom already has something of an obsession with binaries, it makes sense to use Ly'lac as one vehicle for the concept.

Ly'lac: Check notification.

Concerning zaps from the about-to-explode-soon computer, yep. ALSO, that green thing supposed to invoke the Rosetta Stone, isn't it? Given its color it's probably from the Frog Ruins and part of how they assembled the Game, though we don't know what color they are for this session given the Red and Blue ones that the trolls had vs the kids' Green ones. There's an off chance this might hint at some sort of knowledge-based class... they implied earlier one of their fellow players is an "oracle" but that could mainly mean the clouds. We've already had a Mage of Doom, it would be a little odd to have a Seer of Doom but it's not entirely out of the question. I get the idea that Ly'lac's class entails more Action than a Seer's from the way she talks and her room layout, though, despite her premonitions of death... that's just my preliminary feel of it though, we'll have to see.

You would, but you get too distracted examining your setup instead. Assembled from high quality trash you found on the beach. It's tried to die on you so many times you've lost count. It has a resting BPM of 200. You often wake to the moaning and wailing of fans in its aching obsidian tower when it turns on in the middle of the night for seemingly no reason. Sometimes the screen blackens during regular use for several minutes. It is your pride and joy.

Hmm... this is reinforcing the idea in my mind that Technology is primarily a Satyr thing and Magic is primarily a Nymph thing. Doom has ties to computers and roboticization that would make a usually-magic-focused Nymph very attracted to Satyr technology if that were the case. Dirk's obsession with robotics and Rose's with magic coming to blows in a duel between their races' themes is pretty damned perfect, really.

Your buddy TC has been trying to get you to upgrade for years. You probably should. But you're just too attached to this dilapidated piece of shit. Honestly if you built something too good you'd start to feel bad about mistreating it. He's also suggested you at least handle it a little more gently, maybe keep it a little farther away from the explosives, but you can only do so much.

So TC is a dude with a penchant for less piece-of-shit computers. This makes it sound likely with the Tech-vs-Magic theory that TC has some likelihood of being a Satyr?

Ly'lac: Marvel over your vivacious botanical triumphs.

Pretty sad plants.

Okay. A couple of your friends keep sending you these for some reason. They've sent you a lot of plants over the turns. You may have to ask one of them to send another. You think you can do it right this time.

Interesting, so Ly'lac isn't entirely uninterested in Life, despite not having the knack for it. We should keep this in mind. Still no idea what her class is (her room screams her Aspect but not her Class), but as she gets more shit done things should become clearer, as your Class is how you act upon and with your Aspect as opposed to the Aspect's comparatively more static persistence/existence/natural-march-forward.

Ooh, so according to the link it IS a present from Tc? This is defying Homestuck present color conventions, because the box is usually supposed to be the sender's color, not the receiver's color.

Ly'lac: Open present.

It's a MECHANICAL LOTUS. Your friend TC sent this over after the first couple specimens perished due to mysterious neglect-adjacent phenomena. A plant that even you can't kill... that's actually pretty cool. You need to make sure you take extra special care of this one.

TC knows what's up! (And indeed has a technology focus!) This is the perfect sort of plant for a struggling Doom player to take care of, with the Life roboticized out of it. I wonder if it being a "Lotus" is indicative of anything special, such as them being near the Frog temple, or having a dream focus (Void)?

--WAIT, NO LY'LAC DON'T DO IT!!!

Ly'lac: Water mechanical lotus.

Fuck everything.

PPFDJKHT:LF THAT'S HILARIOUS

Ly'lac: Explain slime situation.

I just kinda figured the Nymphs use slime even more than trolls do?

You're not in the mood to talk about that right now. SOMEONE destroyed your precious MECHANICAL LOTUS!!! You might never be okay. ...whoever did this could be lurking nearby.

What? Huh?

Is she being silly or is she genuinely susceptible to paranoia?

Ly'lac: Equip all bombs.

Oh this is going to end extremely well.

Excellent suggestion. It never hurts to be prepared to blow something to smithereens for no reason. That's the sort of go-get-em attitude that's landed you on quite a few lists. A small price to pay for peace of mind. Unfortunately, your mind knows no such peace.

Alright, she knows she's doing this for basically no reason, but frankly, why not? Get on with your bad self.

It's interesting to contrast this with, say, a certain Life player we know:

God you wish stuff would stop exploding.

(Reminder, explosions are Doom. Anyway, back to Beyond Canon--)

TC usually knows what to say during times like these.

OOH we get a pesterlog already! Or naglog! Or whatever! With the technology guy who may or may not be a Satyr!

Ly'lac: Open Naglink.

Oh no, here she goes again. It is really not the time for her brand of bullfishshit right now.

Oh wait, we've been intercepted by AA first over what is almost certainly a magic-themed operating system (having left messages for her and then gone offline). "AuguryAside"? AA is the same one GC called an oracle or-- wait let me find the exact wording:

GC: AA (that's oomf)---* has def been bugging you about this because she cannot fucking help herself... GC: if it's one thing she gonna do it's bug or fuss or meddle. GC: heh well, i guess that's three things. GC: haha... tag that shit i'm fussing... GC: o--* GC: are you there? GC: o-* GC: sorry. GC: um anyway she's like an oracle... GC: except she's not an oracle. GC: she's some other shit... GC: to keep it real with you i don't really understand it... but that's kind of the whole deal with magic, right? GC: you don't have to understand it, just believe in it...

So either she's OBVIOUSLY a Seer and that's how she's something different from an oracle, or she ISN'T a Seer and instead has Skaia cloud sources or is obsessed with something like Light and the divinations it can provide?

(Oh god even her slab-like code files have explosion timers.)

We can also see the chumhandles/naghandles cloisteredConnoisewer (???) and tinnitusChakra (Void via drowning out all sound?!???). These are much more mysterious screennames, I can't get clear for-sure Aspects from them.

Seth sounds like a pretty cute Denizen. Anyway, let's see what's up with this Augury-obsessed lady and if I can guess whether she seems a Seer, a Mage, or just someone playing the part because of her Aspect leanings.

===>

Oh she just exploded the window, okay. WAIT LAST PAGE I MISSED THE MOST IMPORTANT THING ON HER SCREEN, ALMOST CERTAINLY THE SBURB PROGRAM: "CHA.OS". This isn't just Eden's apple, it's Eris's apple, the source of all discord! And if this is going to be the session that creates the Game for all other sessions, it would also represent the "primordial Chaos" from which all else originated. Given Dirk Strider's involvement I'm not surprised there's Greek shit going down here.

Ly'lac: Stop messing around and read some messages.

Checking messages from TC after all huh, tinnitusChakra? A "hazelog", huh? Wonder if that's just the magic OS's phrasing for the communication... why Haze? Because Hazing?

-- tinnitusChakra [TC] began hazing gavageCunctation [GC] --

Oh no the Satyr chat client is frat dudebro themed isn't it oh god that's not the Positive connotation I was hoping for D:

I'm getting more and more convinced that there's supposed to be a male-identifying vs female-identifying dichotomy between Satyrs and Nymphs, which would play into the toxic masculinity inherent in Ultimate Dirk's drive and themes and having Rose relentlessly counter them with their natural opposition. If so it'll also be nice to see one of them buck the trend and be trans/enby/etc which would be quite likely.

TC: yøøø! TC: ly'lac. TC: lac attack. TC: i'd be ly-ing if i said i never caught yøu lac-king... TC: but that's chill. TC: it's neither here nør there. TC: anyway happy mørphday brø!

A crossed-out-circles quirk, like crossed out zeroes or the Empty Set. That's reminiscent of Void, perhaps, or even perhaps the destruction of Void for all I can tell. And Void players tend to have a good hand with technology so far, too.

TC is definitely being introduced as our first Satyr because he's the dude-bro-iest. TC: i sent øver a cøuple gøødies, and luckily the drønes didn't even get intercepted this time arøund. TC: but møre impørtantly... TC: ... TC: ... TC: the game's døne. TC: surprise! TC: had tø munch døwn søme crunch tø get it alll cleaned up in time før yøur big day, but it's nøthing a little tactical intendøcrine tweakage cøuldn't smøøth øver.

"Tactical intendocrine tweakage"? Caffeine / energy drinks?

TC: SHURB is ready tø røck.

Wait, SHURB? Then what's CHA.OS??????????????

????????

I know it's extremely important, its image showed up in the previews and I intentionally looked away from it without scrutinizing it too hard because I wanted to go in blind as possible but I did recognize the apple and arrows logo.

TC: øhhh man. TC: i'm just sø støked we actually did this. TC: bløws my brainstem that it's already been øver a lap since we met. TC: sø many gøød times, and all thanks tø søme enigmatic ur-tech CT tripped øver in a cavern, ør whatever the fuck. TC: i knøw yøu aren't always super big øn the løwer mysteries, but when yøu respønded tø my crøss-net cømmunique i didn't just gain an indispensably critical cønsultant før this prøject, but like... TC: a true ass friend. TC: :)

Dudebro-talk-aesthetic aside, he seems like a genuinely cool person.

If CT found the code in the ruins, just like Aradia did or Grandpa Harley did by living nearby the places, that makes it likely that CT is either the Space or Time player, whoever they are.

TC: øh damn, speaking øf which. TC: i went ahead and remøtely installed a little dørmbrew tech øntø that dilapidated piece øf shit cømputer øf yøurs. TC: it's called cha.ØS! TC: øøps, fuck. TC: cha.ØS. TC: brø, løl. TC: cha.OS! TC: shøuld sølve a løt øf the weird øthernet and spatiøtempøral discømfuckulatiøns we've been dealing with while trying tø integrate all øur separate chat clients, and yøu shøuld be able tø høøk up yøur naglink accøunt nøøø prøblemø. TC: plus yøu aaalready KNØW that shit is SHURB cømpatible. TC: even gøt the architecture før the team grøup chat all set up, sø when yøu're feelin up tø it yøu shøuld høp øn in sø we can get this amuse cruise gøing.

So that explains why it's so important-- it's both spatially and temporally linking the new players with the Omega Kids to such a supernatural extent that they were even able to chat across the Meat/Candy divide before now, with its pre-release and now fully-ready technology. I'm not sure how they mean it's "integrated" with SHURB except perhaps guaranteeing that those inside and outside The Medium can communicate with each other. Hmm.

TC: i'm gønna pøp a cøuple chillatønins and get søme last minute netsesh tweaks set up nøw, but drøp me a line ASAP.

Melatonin? More "tactical intendocrine tweakage"? Seems this TC is a fan of mood-altering substances, submission to which is usually associated with Void. But we're grasping at straws right now, nothing concrete.

-- tinnitusChakra [TC] set his vibe to CHILLING! -- TC: wait actually høld øn. -- tinnitusChakra [TC] set his vibe to VIBING! -- TC: fuuuck yesss. TC: vibal precisiøn. -- tinnitusChakra [TC] is now an idle bro! -- TC: wait. TC: brøøø, i am actually nøt entirely sure that vibing is the vibe at all. TC: i mean, tø be clear, i'm før sure vibing. TC: but vis a vis the questiøn øf "am i chill tø be starting imprømptu cønvøs with any øld randø" the answer is a resøunding fuck nøskiii. TC: dø yøu think følks get the nuance øf like, "i'm vibing but in a prøductive way and i've gøt maaajør maneuves gøing øn sø i'd rather yøu didn't shøøt thrøugh unless it was urgent lest yøu thrøw me øff my grøøve"? TC: i'm just gønna assume it's øbviøus. TC: anyway, get ønline and hit me up søøn, silly filly! TC: i have a feeling tøday's gønna be a pretty cøøl day. TC: høpe yøu liked yøur present!

TC seems quite obsessed with projecting the right outward impression to match his current mood and preferred state of interaction... is that Light? Mind? A Void player could have a Light obsession like that, especially if they were of a Destroyer class of Void... and they're definitely filling plenty of empty airwaves with meaningless chatter right now. Hrrrmmm. Nope, still not sureat all.

What kind of nickname for Ly'lac is "silly filly"? Wait, no...... (looks it up)

A filly is a female horse that is too young to be called a mare.

Fuck, the Satyrs' horse puns are trickling in! Everybody panic!!!

===>

I didn't quite realize til now that she was wearing a set of overalls with one of the sides lazily not buckled in.

Oh right, the game. That dreaded game… Recently, the mere mention of it triggers a major vibal nosedive, and vaguely reminds you of the PROPHECY FORETOLD REGARDING YOUR "BIRTH". Something about a global calamity, THE GREAT LOSS or whatever. You don't remember the specifics but it seems pretty awful. To be fair though, pretty much every NYMPH PROPHECY is about some calamity or other. Nymphs sure do love a good calamity! Man, it sucks that ALL PROPHECIES MUST COME TRUE.

She's not wrong, and she's not wrong to be down about the imminent Reckoning of the Deltritus races, too. (Rose would DEFINITELY guide events so that "all prophecies must come true" too, with her out-of-control Seer of Light obsessions making her averse to the concept of breaking or loophole-ing them.)

Ahh, that was fun. Exhausting, but fun. I still wonder what this imminent metamorphosis of hers is supposed to be? And I'm still nowhere NEAR sure of what any part of TC's title is going to be, even though the empty set symbol is usually such a Void clue it's hard to go off of just one or two bare clues when we have dozens strong for Ly'lac. Unless there was a clear Class or Aspect pun-word like gC's earlier "Doomer" that I missed earlier in TC's speech that I'm too tired right now to catch, I'm sure y'all will point shit out to me if you catch it before I do.

Phew! Two back-to-back updates sure is exhausting to deal with at my current energy levels. Still enjoying the hell out of them though. See you next time!

[window-on-the-west]

I keep coming back to this fic, it fr is my favorite thing I've written. I don't read my own fics except for this one

[transingthoseformers]

Personally I like the idea that TF1 tarn is LITERALLY wearing megatronus's face. like he went back to that cave where the dead primes are just sitting around and went 'y'know. man's not using this anyway' and just slices the face off megatonus and wears it like a mask.

then when he gets back megatron's inner fanboy awakens and he's like 'wow tarn, your megatronus mask is so realistic that's amazing where'd you get it???' and tarn goes 'haha i know isn't it so cool?' and doesn't answer the question

(i sent you a meme about this and then i remembered you had no context for why it would be funny so. here you go)

Oh that'd be fucked up in an interesting way

I personally like the idea of tfone Tarn being a rebuild / "failed" clone of Megatronus, because warborn Tarn angst but also a reference to Cyberverse Tarn and the Perfect Decepticons, but!!! This is fascinating. There's implications here.

Does this mean tfone Tarn here is *fucking massive*?? Bigger than end of movie Megatron?

Turning your idol's dead idol's face into a mask you'll hinge your entire persona off of will surely has some interesting symbolism behind it

[akkivee]

so with rei being akin to god, bb being christmas babies (their red and green team colours, making wise kings references and being baptised in three kings) the naturally to round off the trinity is—

[sakuracyanide]

gestures at pgsm zoisite.

in this essay i will explain how pgsm zoisite switches the colors & coding of the direction he's associated with from north to east and why that is fascinating -

[zeezeepearl]

ok im going to #seriouspost for a second here. I don't think Harry Potter is a manifesto. I think it was a flawed passion project that millennials latched onto because of the fantasy of sticking it to their mean teachers and arbitrarily categorizing themselves (hogwarts houses; it's the thinking millennial's astrology). I think the fact that the series got popular when and how it did was very much a product of its time.

I don't think Harry Potter is the biggest symbol of JKR's bigotry. I think the most flagrant sign of that was how she responded to critics. I watched her become radicalized in real time. I watched how she doubled down on her racism when she was called out for the ways she promoted her tragically mid fantastic beasts movies. I watched her chase marginalized teenagers with a double digit follower count off of twitter for daring to criticize her thought process, and no one with any kind of power standing against her because she was the one who was paying them. This isn't to say Harry Potter is without flaws. This is to say she really didn't give a shit about that. Getting rich and powerful is a hell of a drug, and she had enough sycophants that she had no reason to care about what her critics were saying.

She was convinced that she was a martyr; a voice for the unheard; a leader for the ages, so of course her detractors were the bad guys. And I think we should take this to heart. We should see this as an example of how easy it is to get radicalized; if you think of yourself as a paragon of virtue, you are going to think that whatever you see as good and right is an objective fact. Most people don't know this, but the majority of terfs start out as trans allies. You are not immune to propaganda! You are not immune to falling into dangerous ideologies!!!

This is why the most important thing you can do as an activist is to listen. Do NOT think you're above being wrong; do NOT develop a god complex; do NOT form an identity out of being right all the time. Involve yourselves in the groups you claim to speak for. Listen to trans women; share resources that help trans women; familiarize yourself with the diversity of experiences that trans people have and the struggles they face.

No, none of you are as bad as JKR because you don't have her money or her power. You will likely never have the capacity for harm she does. But check yourselves. Do not affirm yourselves into thinking you always have the moral high ground. Watch yourselves; humble yourselves; check yourselves for signs of cult behavior and internalized prejudice. You are always learning. You will always be learning. Do not allow yourselves to get a power trip from brushing off marginalized voices.

[koobiie]

bestowing my highest honor as an artist to ffxv (drawing the characters in fun outfits)

thoughts under the cut

RREAAAGHHHH SO EXCITED TO BE DONE WITH THIS!!!!! it took me forevarrrr but i soldiered through as an act of love. now excuse me. yap time

OKAY SO the concept behind this was originally specific fashion subcultures for everyone!l ike noct emo ignis dark academia etc. but then decided i didnt want to pigeonhole it all and just freestyled outfits i thought would look nice on everyone

noct - i do think noct would still be emo-ish but also opt for comfy baggy stuff a lot. something you could just fall asleep in on the spot. note the details of bass pro shop shirt (of course) XV necklace, little moon + stars accents, carbuncle + fish keychains. i also wanted his metal band logo shirt to spell LUCIS but i forgor some letters but its not very readable anyways

ignis - ignit ooohghh ignos ignaurs. sorry i made him serve so much cunt it will happen again. i drew him first cause that kind of inspired this whole thing i love him so bad if i didnt draw it id explode. not much detail to note except his collar pins are like his double blade thingies

luna - lunaaa the concept was “clean girl aesthetic” idk if that happened but im actually really happy with how it came out! might be my favorite of the bunch just because she looks so pretty and happy. your honor she should have been able to just be a normal girl and just. chill

prompto - prompotoooo i had trouble picking his vibe!!! my first thought was techwear?? because weeheeeehee he loves tech and well... you know... but then i realized i didnt really like the look of anything i saw + it was so bulky and dark and serious for him! ending up going with some more youthful and baggy. i was considering something more loud and colorful but ended up not going with it. i feel like in canon he'd be too nervous to have such a flashy fit and would want to just look "cool" to fit in with the boys lol. itty bitty details here - chocobo keychain, pompompurin and bi miku buttons, and his lanyard is kings knight themed! i also thought it was funny to write LUCIS on his shirt like you know those shirts that just say BROOKLYN or TOKYO or SAN FRANCISCO and thats it. thats what its like

gladio - okay i know this is going to sound like a lie but im not horny for gladio like at all, hes my least favorite, i think he's just alright. but also i KNOW in my heart of hearts that he would LOVE being a leather daddy and so i had to make it happen. main detail to note here is that his tank top has the motifs of a cup noodle! i didnt know what else to add cause you know.. hes the cup noodle guy.. but also i didnt want it to be so in your face about it with a big as logo so kept it subtle!

(side note the leather daddy gave me an idea for a post where its like noct and prom go to a gay bar all nervous but then they run into gladio and its like "p: GLADIO YOURE GAY?" "n: nevermind that PLEASE dont tell ignis we snuck out" and then ignis walks up and theyre all like WHAT THE FUCK!!!! caption would be "the gang finds out theyre all bisexual." probably wont draw it but i think its very funny lol)

iris - iris my sweetheart.... definitely leaned into the scene vibes here and also that one image of the blonde emo anime girl. details here - of course the moogle big ass backpack and keychain (can you tell i love keychains), but also her buttons are an iris (the flower) and also a crown with hearts (haha symbolism)

anyways oh god i didnt mean to write an essay down here. usually i keep this in the tags but this time i just had Too Much To Say. can you tell i put a lot of thought and love into this . anwyays. *walks off into the sunset and fuckig dies*

[scarletwinterxx]

protective or possessive? call it passive or aggressive - choi seungcheol oneshot

don't ask me what the color of the sky is, might as well be green for all i care. the way i couldn't sleep after he dropped these pics haha yea no chance of peace last night. lord might have some mercy but choi seungcheol did not when he posted THAT pic. anyways enjoy my chaotic brain last night.

you can follow me on x i usually rant there, niniramyeonie 😊🌻

for my other svt fics, check them here

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2025 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(pics not mine, credits to choi seungcheol)

You’re just peacefully minding your business on a Sunday afternoon, curled up on the couch in your ugly-but-beloved pajamas, scrolling through Instagram like a normal person. Brain half-off, mouth slightly open, thumb doing that lazy flick-flick motion

and then you see it.

A post.

His post.

Seungcheol.

You blink. Then you double take. Then you double tap purely on instinct, scrolling through the slides and then immediately curse yourself because right there, in glorious HD, is his back.

Bare. Sun-kissed. Broad as the moral gap between you and patience.

THE photo you took just days ago on a short trip to Hawaii you secretly tagged along all because he said he’ll miss you too much. The photo you admittedly stared at longer than you’ll ever admit. And that tattoo

The tattoo. His olive tree. Intricate, right at the top of his spine where his muscles taper off like a marble sculpture made by a Roman god with emotional intimacy issues.

You were half-sure he only let you snap it because you promised to keep it to yourself and also maybe because you bribed him with watermelon slices.

You jump off the couch like someone lit you on fire and march to the kitchen where he’s just there… innocently cutting apples like the tattooed menace he is.

“What the HELL is this?”

He jumps, literally jumps, like you just caught him cheating. Knife mid-air. Soul halfway out his body.

“Huh? What? What did I do?!”

You shove your phone in his face. “THIS. THIS back. THIS TATTOO. THIS SOFT BOY SUMMER INSTAGRAM CONTENT. EXPLAIN YOURSELF.”

He blinks. Looks at the post. Then back at you.

“Oh. You mean the beach picture?” he says, as if you’re interrogating him over a mildly burned toast. “I just thought it looked cool.”

You squint. “You said you were shy posting stuff like this! and suddenly you’re giving the people spine and emotional symbolism?!”

He rubs the back of his neck, ears already turning red. “I don’t know, you took it so nicely… I kinda liked how it turned out.”

You pause. Your mouth opens. Closes.

Because this man with shoulders like Greek architecture and a face sculpted by the heavens has the audacity to be shy about being hot.

“I literally keep this photo in a locked folder like a dragon guarding treasure,” you mutter, more to yourself. “And you just drop it on the timeline like it’s Tuesday.”

“I thought it was Sunday”

“That’s not the point.”

You lean back against the counter, arms crossed, trying to hold in the dramatic betrayal you feel in your soul.

Seungcheol fidgets under your stare, dimples threatening to appear. “You’re mad I posted it?”

“No. I’m mad you posted it and then didn’t tag me like a grateful man.”

He snorts. “So you are proud of it.”

“Obviously. It’s like watching Michelangelo post a picture of the Sistine Chapel and not mentioning he used a paintbrush.”

He actually laughs, putting the knife down and coming to wrap his stupid strong arms around your waist. “You’re insane.”

“You’re welcome for the free content.”

“I’ll post another one and tag you.”

“Good. But next time I’m watermarking it.”

“You’re gonna watermark a picture of my back?”

“I’m gonna watermark YOU”

He leans in close, lips brushing your ear. “Then maybe I should give you more… material to protect?”

You try to stay mad. You really do. But the dimples. The tattoo. The flirty smirk. The apple slice he now gently offers you like a peace treaty.

You take it. Grudgingly.

But not before muttering, “Still can’t believe you soft-launched your spine to the entire internet.”

And he just winks. “Only because you made it look that good.”

You scowl at him like he just betrayed the nation.

He’s still half-grinning when you shove your phone at him again, this time opened to the comments section. You jab your finger at the screen with righteous fury.

“Look at this!”

He blinks. “‘Body of a god, vibes of a boyfriend’… oh.” He looks up, sheepish. “That’s kinda nice?”

You gasp. “Don’t you dare enjoy this. Look at the next one.”

He reads it out loud. “‘This back cured my chronic sadness.’” A pause. “Well that’s just sweet—”

“And this one!” You scroll down aggressively. “This person wants to know if you’re single because you ‘look like you’d build a bookshelf and cry after making love.’”

He chokes. “What?!”

“Don’t act surprised. You literally cried over that dog in the car commercial last week. You’ve branded yourself.”

“Wait—wait, ‘build a bookshelf and cry’—what does that even mean?”

You glare. “It means they’re thirsting. Over my man. Who now has strangers projecting emotional healing and woodwork onto his stupid hot back.”

He’s biting his lip to keep from laughing. You scroll more.

“‘Respectfully, I’d climb him like a jungle gym.’”

“‘This is the type of man that hugs with both arms and smells like cedarwood and loyalty.’”

 “CEDARWOOD AND LOYALTY, SEUNGCHEOL.”

He gives up. He’s laughing now, leaning against the counter, red in the face. You toss the phone on the table dramatically and huff, 

“This is why you’re banned from posting back pics. I knew this would happen. The internet isn’t ready for respectful, tatted men with emotional depth.”

He shrugs, walking over to trap you in his arms again. “Maybe I just wanted to impress you.”

“I already know you’re hot, Cheol. I live with you.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“The problem,” you grumble into his chest, “is now I have to fight the entire internet in the comments and one in particular who said ‘God took his time.’”

He chuckles, brushing his lips to your temple. “Let them look. You’re the one who gets to touch.”

You roll your eyes. “Gross. Stop being smooth.”

“You love it.”

Unfortunately… you do.

[hellotailor]

louis' final three costumes in S2 are so, so cleverly chosen. after the curated blandness of his interview wardrobe in dubai, this is our first glimpse of his personal taste in the present day. each outfit is full of meaning.

in the first half of S2, louis and armand’s coordinated interview outfits seemed like part of their performance as a happy couple. by the end, they have a more sinister subtext. louis has gone from having stylish, flashy fashion sense to wearing uniformly expressionless black and grey:

dubai-era louis exclusively wears the colors of depression and mourning, in a style stripped of personal expression, physically and spiritually separated from the outside world. i’ll write a separate post about armand’s costumes later, but you could interpret this as louis' taste being subsumed by armand’s nebulous 500-year-old absence of identity. at the very least, louis is blending into the chic minimalism of the apartment, presenting himself as part of the household unit.

with that in mind, his final three outfits signal a seismic change after leaving armand. his NOLA tour costume reflects the philosophy behind his 1940s wardrobe (ie. selected to blend into a human crowd) but he's also reconnecting with his home, wearing a New Orleans Saints hat with (in a potential piece of double symbolism!) a fleur-de-lis logo.

then we have the loustat reunion outfit, which is more enigmatic. he’s going for subdued colors (although not pure black and grey), with a silhouette echoing his mid-20th century wardrobe: high-waisted, wide-legged trousers and a bomber jacket - a cut he wears pretty often. IMO the reunion’s overall color palette is a major factor here, with lestat and louis' costumes and surroundings sharing a spectrum of dark brown, sepia and muted gold.

finally there's the last scene in dubai, arguably the most “pure” expression of louis' taste because he’s not wearing this outfit for an audience. coordinating with the apartment’s colorful makeover, he’s wearing a multicolored cardigan with yellow highlights, matching claudia’s dress, the yellow couches, and the gold background of his new painting. (i’ve identified this as a YMC cardigan retailing at £250; a mid-range english brand.)

this piece (paired with navy blue pants with a yellow stripe) is modern and distinctive; basically the opposite of his interview costumes, which displayed very little in the way of personality or cultural markers. you immediately understand that louis is expressing himself through fashion again, now in a more casual streetwear context than the tailored and accessorized suits of his youth.

[rabbiitte]

Queer Coding in Media: Jayce and Viktor's Case.

Let's address what Christian Linke recently said about Jayce and Viktor's relationship because this is making some noise in the community:

According to the co-creator, Jayce and Viktor love each other like “brothers”.

Christian states that he doesn't understand why people see their relationship as a romantic one.

Linke also added, after the end of the series, that Viktor is canonically asexual and dismissed a possible romantic relationship with Jayce due to that reason.

We'll expand on these points next. But first, some context.

| About queer coding...

If Jayce and Viktor's relationship is seen as beyond brotherly, it's because it was portrayed that way. Their relationship is very queer coded.

Queer coding refers to the practice of subtly implying that a character in a piece of media is part of the LGBTQ+ community without explicitly stating or confirming it. This is often achieved through subtext, symbolism or specific character traits associated with queerness. This often arises due to societal restrictions, censorship or creators intentionally embedding queer elements into their work.

Queer coding for a couple in media involves using subtle visual, narrative or dialogue-based cues to suggest a romantic or deeply intimate connection between two characters without explicitly confirming their relationship as romantic or LGBTQ+. This type of queer coding focuses on the dynamic between the two characters rather than just one individual's traits.

When discussing queer coding in media, the examples can include both the content of the relationship itself (dialogues, interactions and dynamics) and visual and non-visual narrative (cinematographic techniques, narrative techniques and the use of music). Both aspects—content and narrative—are essential to queer coding because: a) Content provides the material that audiences can latch onto (dialogues, dynamics or gestures) and b) the narrative guides how the audience perceives this material (through visuals or music, for example).

Below are examples and methods used to queer code couples:

Relationship's Content (character's dynamics and dialogues):

These are the in-universe moments or dialogues that give romantic or emotionally intense undertones to the relationship. For Jayce and Viktor, this includes:

1. Use of subtext in dialogue or relationships:

Ambiguous or "more-than-friendship" dynamics: Characters have intense emotional bonds or interactions that go beyond typical friendships but stop short of being explicitly romantic. Jayce and Viktor’s connection, for example, is filled with vulnerability, admiration and devotion beyond brotherhood. Their willingness to risk everything to save each other in each timeline adds a tragic, almost romantic layer to their bond. Jayce’s comment calling Viktor “beautiful despite his imperfections” and their mutual sacrifices suggest a deep connection that goes beyond friendship or platonic relationships. Their bond, tied to time loops and destiny, feels more like a soul bond with a cosmic significance that transcends a typical brotherly dynamic. In other cases, this would be a romance.

Loaded Dialogue: Lines of dialogue may carry double meanings or suggest emotional or physical intimacy without being overt (e.g., characters use ambiguous terms like partner, special or soulmate, which can suggest deeper feelings without explicitly labeling the relationship). For example, if one says, "I’d sacrifice everything for you," it resonates beyond platonic territory. Dialogue between Viktor and Jayce is filled with layered meanings that suggest a connection deeper than traditional friendship. Here are some examples:

When Viktor’s former mentor warns him about sacrificing love and legacy, Viktor instinctively replies "Jayce will understand," directly associating Jayce with love and signaling how central Jayce is to his emotional world. Similarly, Jayce’s decision to abandon politics to return to the lab is encapsulated in the line "my place was always here in the lab with you," which emphasizes that his devotion isn't just to their work but specifically to Viktor. The repeated use of "partner" by Jayce further blurs the lines between professional collaboration and emotional intimacy, as the word carries dual meanings, suggesting equality and closeness. The term is somewhere between friends, brothers and more than that. Hence, the term can be freely interpreted. Viktor later reflects on their bond by stating, "it was affection that held us together," acknowledging that their relationship transcended shared goals and was rooted in genuine emotional warmth. Finally, Jayce telling Viktor, "there is beauty in imperfections," as he admires Viktor’s struggles and physical challenges, conveys profound validation and care, elevating their bond to one of deep emotional resonance. These lines collectively demonstrate how their dialogue is charged with a sense of intimacy and mutual admiration, allowing the relationship to be interpreted as more than platonic, hinting at queer coding through its emotional depth and layered expressions.

2. Body language and interactions:

Lingering gazes or physical proximity: Close, lingering touches, extended eye contact or standing too close for “just friends” —common romantic cues—are often used. For example, long hugs, holding hands or standing closely during emotional moments are subtle ways of suggesting attraction or intimacy. In Jayce and Viktor's case, Jayce is almost always the one who initiates the physical contact. Jayce's non-verbal language with Viktor is marked by gestures of reassurence with a hand on his shoulder, hugs without centimeters of distance and fast moves to help Viktor in the face of his weakening due to his illness. An important detail to take into account is Jayce's reaction to Viktor and Mel's return. When Viktor returns from the dead, Jayce surprises his friend with a hug that knocks him off balance by his strength. When Mel returns after no one knew of her whereabouts, Jayce doesn't even hug her, but instead complains about why she didn't save Viktor.

Protective gestures: Scenes of one character sacrificing for, protecting or expressing deep vulnerability to another can suggest more intimate feelings. Jayce and Viktor's relationship also has the presence of hundreds of moments in which they both profess for the safety and well-being of the other. In season one, after having sex with Mel, she wakes up in an empty bed. It turns out that Jayce was with Viktor, waiting on the side of the bed for him to wake up. This detail alone shows where Jayce's loyalty lies. But, overall, Jayce is very delicate and helpful towards Viktor. In turn, the only moment in which Viktor initiates physical contact is to reassure Jayce so that he doesn't feel pain on the astral plane. Both join their foreheads in a significant gesture of appreciation and affection and console each other at the end of their existences.

3. Avoidance of heteronormativity:

Lack of romantic interest in the opposite sex: A queer-coded character may show no explicit attraction to the opposite sex while forming deep emotional bonds with same-sex characters. This is especially true for Viktor, who has had no interest in any character of the opposite gender during the two seasons. The guilt Viktor felt over Sky's death shouldn't be confused with sexual, romantic or aesthetic attraction. Viktor practically didn't even know Sky's name during the first season and, despite knowing each other since childhood, Viktor continues to call her "Miss Young" during the second season. As you may already know, Sky's presence in the second part of Arcane represents what Viktor has left of humanity. Jayce is a separate case, since he did have a sexual-affective relationship with Mel, despite not being officially a couple. However, he always put Viktor's well-being above his relationship with Mel.

Unconventional partnerships: Instead of marrying, having children, or living “normal” lives, queer-coded characters often follow nontraditional paths. The unconventional partnership between Jayce and Viktor lies in their shared path of devoting their lives to science and progress instead of following more traditional societal expectations. Their bond, rooted in their shared ambition and mutual understanding, creates a life partnership that revolves around innovation, discovery and reshaping the world. Together, they prioritize their intellectual and creative pursuits over conventional relationships, with their lab becoming the core of their connection and purpose. This can be seen, for example, in the moment when Jayce decides to resign from politics because he realizes that his place is next to Viktor in the lab. This partnership not only defines their lives but also strengthens their relationship, making it deeply meaningful and unique in its intimacy and shared vision.

Visual and non-visual narrative (cinematographic techniques, narrative techniques and music):

These are the deliberate storytelling choices that imply deeper subtext or allow the audience to interpret a couple's bond as queer. Examples include:

1. Visual narrative:

Symbolism (in scenes): are visual and narrative moments intentionally designed to evoke ambiguity, emotional depth or hidden meanings in a relationship. These scenes often rely on subtext, metaphor or visual framing to suggest intimacy or connection between two characters, leaving their nature open to interpretation. For example, Jayce's campfire scene. Fire might symbolize Jayce's internal turmoil. Mel appearing first may reflect her role as a significant figure in Jayce's life, while Viktor appearing next could symbolize a deeper, enduring connection. The fire "burning away" Mel and transitioning to Viktor might suggest that, in this moment, Jayce's thoughts are consumed by Viktor, representing a priority or emotional focus shifting toward Viktor. So, Viktor isn't simply a colleague or friend but someone whose presence looms large in Jayce's thoughts, surpassing Mel's. While the scene might not explicitly state anything romantic, the visual choices align with tropes often used to convey profound emotional connections, making it easy to interpret the subtext as romantic or deeply personal.

The decision to interweave Viktor’s scene with Jayce and Mel's scene while having sex is highly unusual too. If Jayce and Viktor are purely platonic friends, such a juxtaposition does feel strange. I understand, both Jayce and Viktor are "merging" with something beyond themselves, but can you imagine a similar scene with Jinx and Vi? If Jayce and Viktor's relationship were purely professional, friendly or brotherly, such imagery wouldn't normally feel warranted in storytelling.

Parallelism: In storytelling, parallelism refers to the use of comparable or mirrored elements—such as characters, themes or visuals—to draw connections or contrasts. It often involves showing two or more situations, characters or relationships side-by-side to highlight their similarities, differences or shared significance within the narrative. In Arcane, the creators align Viktor with Mel through parallels. Through this technique, creators seem to suggest that Viktor holds a similar or even equivalent place in Jayce’s life. Since Mel’s relationship with Jayce is explicitly romantic, this framing subtly implies that Viktor could also occupy a romantic or emotionally intimate role.

2. Non-visual narrative:

Music and Lyrics: are powerful tools to subtly hint at romantic or emotional dynamics between characters without explicitly stating them. By selecting specific songs or using lyrics that carry layered meanings, creators can invoke emotions or associations that resonate with queer themes, intimacy or romantic undertones. Songs that have lyrics with open-ended or ambiguous lines, when placed over scenes with queer-coded characters, allow for multiple interpretations. This creates a sense of queerness without labeling it outright, allowing the audience to interpret the relationship as they see fit. As is the case of the song The Line by Twenty One Pilots. Through the line "pull the blanket tight now" you can interpret the song from Viktor's point of view and dedicated to Jayce (since Jayce was the one who gave the blanket to Viktor).

Comparisons and mirroring: narrative parallels with romantic couples, either in character arcs, sacrifices or framing. For example, Jayce and Viktor share a significant bond across multiple timelines. Jinx and Ekko, meanwhile, also share a significant bond in another timeline. This could be interpreted as both couples choosing each other, even, in alternate universes. This is an idea that is commonly related to romantic relationships. Love across different universes is seen as something beyond fraternal and worthy of epic romantic love. In the same episode that Ekko meets Jinx in another timeline, Jayce meets Viktor in another timeline too. The same thing happens in episode three of season two. In the same episode where Vi and Caitlyn fight and part ways, Jayce and Viktor also fight and part ways. In this way, Jayce and Viktor follow a similar pattern and theme (albeit on a larger scale) to that of the other canonically romantic couples in the series.

Subtext in dialogue: refers to lines with double meanings that subtly suggest emotional or romantic undertones. The choice by the creators of lines that are commonly associated with romantic relationships such as "beautiful despite the imperfections", "in all timelines, in all possibilities, only you can show me this", "my place is in the laboratory, with you" or "it was affection that held us" convey an ambiguous message that leaves the possibility of multiple interpretations open. The use of the term "partner" was not accidental either. This word is commonly used by queer individuals to signify a romantic relationship while avoiding gendered language. Jayce and Viktor not calling each other “brothers” is significant because it leaves room for ambiguity, suggesting that the creators might not have wanted to firmly define the relationship. Jayce only called Viktor "brother" once and then insisted on the term "partners" until the end of the series.

As you noted, these aren’t accidental choices—they are purposeful creative decisions made by team members who do support the romantic interpretation of Jayce and Viktor's relationship. Animators, voice actors and designers contributed to shaping this relationship through subtle creative choices. For example, animators might have chosen specific expressions or gestures to convey deeper intimacy, even if this wasn’t explicitly stated in the script. Leaving their relationship ambiguous might have been seen as a “safe” route in the face of disagreements.

In collaborative works like Arcane, no single individual (not even Christian Linke) dictates the entirety of what's canon or not. Creative contributions from diverse team members with their own agenda and interpretations also shape meaning.

If the intention was to show a “brotherly” relationship but the execution led to widespread interpretation of a romantic one, it's failure in storytelling. If the intention was to show a "queer coded" relationship and the execution led to widespread interpretation of a romantic one, then it's success in storytelling.

Death of the author: Viewers also have their own interpretations and that's valid. Varied interpretations shouldn't be dismissed. Here the death of the author applies. This term refers to the fact that, after an author publishes a piece of work, that piece ceases to belong exclusively to the author. Once a work is released, it belongs to the audience as much as the creators. If significant parts of the fanbase interpret Viktor and Jayce as more than friends, that interpretation becomes part of the narrative’s cultural impact, regardless of authorial intent.

The interpretation in media of queer codes is deeply influenced by cultural cues. Although this changes from society to society, social cues are the same for everyone. If Viktor and Jayce’s interactions evoke a sense of romance, it’s because the storytelling taps into those cues, whether intentionally or not. The relationship between them two integrates cultural and social codes typical of queer relationships.

Cultural codes: are tied to traditions, beliefs and shared understandings within a specific culture or subculture. They include symbols (objects, gestures, or imagery that carry specific meanings within a culture —e.g., a wedding ring symbolizing commitment—), narrative patterns (storytelling conventions that audiences recognize, such as the "star-crossed lovers" trope or visual parallels that suggest a connection between characters), expressions and language (words, phrases, or metaphors that carry connotations shaped by cultural usage —e.g., the word "partner" often implying romance in contemporary Western culture—.

Social codes: are the behaviors and norms that define interactions and relationships between individuals or groups. These codes are often context-dependent and include: body language (physical gestures or proximity that suggest intimacy, power, or affection —e.g., lingering touches or intense eye contact indicating closeness—), relationship norms (expectations about how certain types of relationships—platonic, familial, romantic—are expressed in actions and language) and contextual cues (the way relationships are framed by their environment, such as a candlelit dinner indicating romance or playful banter suggesting friendship).

The way Viktor and Jayce interact is coded in a way that aligns more with romantic love than familial or platonic love. So, asking to associate Jayce and Viktor's relationship with a “brothers” type of relationship would mean having to disregard cultural and social codes.

| Romantic Undertones as "Canon Adjacent”.

As I previously said, the romantic undertone of Jayce and Viktor's relationship would result in a canonically established couple in any other series. So, what I see here is a double standard in romantic representation in the series. For example, many think that Ekko and Jinx are canon after (a conversation that wasn't added to the series and after...) Ekko gave his jacket to Jinx. Jayce and Viktor’s dynamic features more romantic subtext than that but they still are dismissed as "brothers". Is this homophobia? No, of course not. How could it be homophobia if Arcane shows an established lesbian couple? Well, let me tell you, lesbian representation is more socially accepted in male-dominated spaces due to fetishization, whereas romantic relationships between men are less embraced. The idea of two men in love can lead many people to question the masculinity of these men and the masculinity associated with characters like Jayce or Viktor is vital to League of Legends. Making a canonically gay male character is riskier for the franchise because, in lol, masculinity is an element that, many times, determines the election of one character over the other.

Unlike Vi and Cait, among whom (I understand) there was the belief of a romantic relationship, Jayce and Viktor were never associated in that way. So, I can see the risk.

If Linke intended to focus on male friendship, that’s fine, but dismissing other interpretations, especially in a story as emotionally charged as Jayce and Viktor’s, can come across as limiting or dismissive of queer readings, whether intentional or not. It would have been better for Christian Linke to shut up and let everyone have their own interpretation about Jayce and Viktor's bond. Instead of insisting on interpreting Jayce and Viktor’s bond as “brotherly”, it would be more inclusive and respectful to let viewers interpret their relationship freely. By insisting on framing Viktor and Jayce as just “brothers” or “friends,” the show risks falling into the “no-homo” trope, where creators deliberately steer clear of portraying characters as gay despite clear romantic subtext.

| Linke's arguments.

Arguments like "media lacks non-romantic platonic relationships" feel insincere because these type of relationships aren't underrepresented in media. That crisis never existed. Many popular shows and movies focus on deep, platonic male bonds (e.g., Sherlock Holmes, The Lord of the Rings, Supernatural). While it’s admirable to showcase strong male friendships, it’s not a groundbreaking theme. In such a case, there is a lack of representation of non-romantic platonic relationships between men and women. These type of relationships are equally rare and more deserving of advocacy, but we still have timebomb (Jinx and Ekko). In conclusion, media has no shortage of non-romantic male-male bonds, but LGBTQ+ male romantic relationships remain underrepresented. So, Christian Linke's dismissal about JayVik was even more noticeable after that argument.

Also, I would like to add that referring to a relationship as a "romantic" one doesn't diminish the importance or depth of a bond. Friendship isn’t erased by romance. In fact, many memorable romantic relationships in media are related to friendship (e.g., Anne and Gilbert from Anne with an E). But, to call it a brothers-like relationship would diminish the profound, cosmic depth of their connection because their bond is about recognition, unconditional support and shared purpose, even at the cost of the world. It’s poetic and tragic, resonating with themes of love, identity, and the human condition. The time loops, their repeated choice to find each other and their interconnected destinies make their relationship feel larger-than-life. For many viewers, this mythic quality resembles soulmate narratives rather than simple friendship or brotherhood.

Another argument that reveals Christian Linke's rejection of Jayce and Viktor as a possible romantic relationship, is the statement about Viktor being asexual. I would like to ask what is the point of revealing this information after the show ended? Representation works best when it's woven into the narrative, not dropped as an afterthought. Beyond that, I think Mr. Linke should educate himself. Experiencing little or no sexual attraction doesn't mean that romantic attraction cannot be experienced. Being asexual doesn't mean that a person can't be gay.

Asexuality: is a sexual orientation characterized by the lack of sexual attraction to others. This means that an asexual person typically doesn't experience the desire to engage in sexual activities with anyone, regardless of gender. However, asexuality exists on a spectrum. Asexuality as a spectrum refers to the understanding that asexuality encompasses a wide range of experiences and expressions of little to no sexual attraction. Rather than being a single, fixed identity, the asexual spectrum includes various orientations and preferences regarding sexual and romantic attraction.

Many asexual people form deep, meaningful romantic bonds and there's no inherent contradiction between being asexual and experiencing romantic feelings. To use Viktor’s supposed asexuality as a reason to dismiss any potential romantic undertones between him and Jayce feels reductive and dismissive—not just of their dynamic, but also of the diverse experiences of asexual individuals.

Let's end this post on a more positive note with Arcane team members who do support Jayvik.

Posts from animators + Jayce's voice actor with a JayVik fanart.

Viktor's character designer + posts from animator.

Moose is the creative director + AgentR is an animator + Mel's voice actress.

[pinkiemachine]

I made something…

Figured that since Ozai looked so young in his portrait, that must mean it was made shortly after his coronation, or thereabouts, so applying that logic here, ZuZu stills looks young and handsome. The dragons, I know, that event was meant to be kept secret, but counter argument, this painting doesn’t necessarily say, “Hey, Dragons are still alive—here’s a map!” It’s just a bit of artsy-fartsy majestic embellishment. Also, I feel like Zuko might want to rebrand the Fire Nation, just a little, you know, after the 100 year war. So instead of just pure fire iconography, he brings things back to their roots, aka, the dragon. More dragon iconography!!! In this portrait, Zuko isn’t the one firebending, it’s the dragons, the first Firebenders. And in the meantime, he’s holding out a White Lotus. Now, I tried to use my Google Fu to find out if there was ever any symbol in Japan or Korea or China that meant “peace,” but my search results came up empty, so I figured that perhaps the lotus could become their version of, say, the olive branch. A discreet and tasteful way to include such a major part of the final battle while having a double meaning. Also, take note of the fact that he’s holding it with BOTH hands. In Japan, when one offers a gift, you always do so with both hands. And while I know it may look a little strange, Zuko towering over his friends—bro—this was always going to be Zuko’s Firelord portrait. He was always going to be the main focus. He just wanted to also include his friends and commemorate the day the war finally ended/his coronation. Anyway, that’s all for now… hope that wasn’t too much… and if anyone has any ideas for how to make it even better, pls let me know.

And to all those who say the element order is backwards…

*ahem*

Japanese and traditional Chinese text layouts are read -right to left-

THANK YOU FOR YOUR TIME 👏

[timblriche]

I like overthinking about Stranger Things! Here are my...

BIG S5 Theories

The white goo in the S5 teaser is the Upside Down dimension collapsing. My theory on exactly how Vecna and the Mindflayer will be defeated in S5E8…

S5 Predictions: BIG S5 set design clue points to A Nightmare on Elm Street 2 as MAJOR S5 inspo

Setting the scene: My Vision for the S5E1 Intro

Why are the Upside Down portals so fleshy, veiny, and biological?

The lightning in the UD sky that always surrounds the Mindflayer is a hint that the UD is inside Will’s brain

Fate vs free Will: Mike rewrote the unfinished campaign story for Will the night he disappeared

Analysis & just gabbing :p

Cinematography analysis: This was NOT Mike's POV looking forward, it was Jonathan's. What is Mike actually looking at, and what makes this shot different from all the rest?

Follow-up: feedback from a film student/cinematographer on the unique purpose of the Will/Mike van shot

The Strangers Things Guide to conflict resolution in a happy marriage

The Montague reference was about Mike and Will

Why the writers made Robin a code-breaker

Why Mike can't tell Will he couldn't tell El "I love you"

Mike's lightbulb went off in S1E1, and he turned it off

Mike wore GAP (and GAP = Gay and Proud)

Food symbolism and movie parallels: Mike's "blasphemous" foods; Eleven's coke cans vs. bottles (powers vs. childhood); and Hopper's peanut butter death fake-out and Meet Joe Black

Straightbaiting and double meanings in ST episode titles

“I understand”: El and Mike's scene in the S5 teaser is a parallel to Jonathan and Will's scene of unspoken understanding in the pizza kitchen

(silly) Mike "boys only!" Wheeler

Will's happy ending won't include having powers

Erase your Byler doubt at once!

Byler doubt: why would they do this???

How to build your skills in film & literary analysis (ST edition)

[tsunamiholmes]

Here it is, my decoder for all of the new ciphers in The Book of Bill.

Huge thanks to Jim and trickenGF for help with the color cipher!

Happy solving, everyone!

I plan on creating fonts for most of these soon, but in the meantime, feel free to extract parts of the png for your own use from the transparent version below the cut.

I'll also explain how I got each cipher down there.

Theraprism: Brute-forced* using the first 4 ciphers in the book, then filled out via the decoder ring that appears in the dream sequence of The Last Mabelcorn.

Rune: Brute-forced* using the posts from OregonParksDept, then filled out via the stone that appears on page 111, "Cipherstitions".

Cipheric/Alchemic: Brute-forced* with lots of effort, and then filled out with the actual font its from (1651 Alchemy), where we discovered it's just the capital letters of that font. Womp womp.

Color: Brute-forced* by Jim and filled out via help from around the world! Some of the letters were only found via copies in different languages, since we have so little to go off of.

Bros. Secret Code: Solved using the key in the photo on page 161.

*Brute-forced means taking the symbols given, with no other information except the cipher itself, and using frequency analysis and word probability to break the cipher logically. Things like unique word structure (things with double letters, for example) help to speed up this process.

[hiacinths]

COMMON TERMS IN EDITBLR & THEIR MEANINGS. — guide by Aria.

* this post includes long texts.

KIN / ME TAGS

usually used by fictionkins who dont like doubles. "No Kin/Me tags" means you cant tag the character in the post as your kin, nor as "you", "irl you", or similar, usually due to the OP being uncomfortable with it. just respect it.

F/O TAGS

f/o (standing for fictional other; a character one selfships with, often romantic but can also be platonic, familial, or more) tags are essentially the same as the previous; OP probably is a self-shipper (also known as Yume, but could also be a Riako) of such character, and does not want other Yumes to tag the character as "their partner/wife/husband/love", or otherwise similar terms reflecting the user having a relationship with the character.

F2U or FTU

F2U, or FTU (standing for free to use) means... exactly what you think; usage of the creation posted is allowed to the public.

NF2U or NFTU

...the opposite. usage of the work is not allowed. the OP can sometimes also add "unless [user/name] afterwards, meaning only the one mentioned can use it.

CREDIT

pretty basic in every community. leave the OP's user somewhere visible; some have preferences of how they like to be given credit, such as; Linking, (linking their post or profile to a text, usually pinned post or your bio,) @'ing them, or just Adding their user somewhere visible (again, such as a bio or pinned post.)

REPOST & REBLOG

these two have a big difference. reblog is when you click the button on the app that looks like this -> 🔁, and repost is when you save the work and post it somewhere else. never repost someone's work unless they allow it, but reblogs are always nice.

PLAIN TEXT / TRANSLATION

tons of people here use typing quirks and/or fonts that some cant read, find difficult to read, or break screenreaders, which obviously bothers them a lot. plain texts/translations are versions of the same texts that are easier to read, having no typing quirks, fonts, symbols, or whatever was making it difficult/impossible to read and such.

PSD

stands for photoshop document. can be used on photopea or photoshop. when using these, it saves the project file and when opened has each layer, instead of the flat image. the term PSD is often used for colorings that alter the colors of your picture to custom ones with settings made by the creator, but it can be used for anything.

^^ NOTE: read this please ^__^ my wording came out wrong but this kind person explained. it better

USING AS BASE

commonly used for psds. this means you cannot grab the psd, and... use it as a base, adding your own layers to it and making it your own.

if any of these are incorrect shoot me an ask and i'l change it asap. thanks.

[jessiso]

Hello lovely! Ive just read "Borrowed Warmth" and im crying right now. It's so tender.

I was wondering if you'd do one (either a sequel or on its own) thats Spencer stealing Reader's cardigan? Cardigans as a love language are a weakness of mine

"Wrapped in You"

A Criminal Minds one-shot | Spencer Reid x Reader

Spencer Reid borrows the reader’s cardigan for comfort, but it quietly becomes a symbol of something more.

cw: just fluff

w/c 1,430

...

The BAU office was unusually quiet for a Thursday afternoon.

The team had just returned from a particularly draining case in Minnesota—a double homicide involving twin brothers and a trail of small-town secrets.

Garcia had practically shoved them out of the jet and demanded mandatory rest.

The bullpen was half-empty.

Morgan had ducked out to "reclaim his sanity," as he called it, and Emily was napping in the conference room with a travel pillow.

Hotch had retreated into his office, blinds drawn, the corners of his eyes more tired than usual.

You sat at your desk, nursing a cup of Earl Grey that had long since gone cold.

Across the room, Spencer Reid sat at his own desk, jacketless, sleeves rolled up, surrounded by a fortress of open case files he clearly wasn’t supposed to be reading.

“Reid,” you said softly, not wanting to startle him, “you do know Hotch told us to rest, right?”

He didn’t look up. “I’m just—looking over a few inconsistencies in the report from three months ago. The Pittsburgh case. Remember the librarian?”

“You mean the one who wasn’t the UnSub but turned out to be the UnSub’s sister?”

He nodded, still flipping pages.

You stood up, walking toward him with your mug, and leaned against the side of his desk. “Spencer, you're going to give yourself another headache.”

That earned a pause.

Finally, he looked up at you, blinking as if he were seeing you for the first time all day. “I just wanted to understand how we missed it. If I map the behavioral triggers again—”

You reached out and gently pushed the file closed.

He stared at your hand, then let out a slow, resigned breath.

“Okay. Fine. Five minutes.”

You smirked. “Let me guess. That’s ‘Spencer time,’ which means twenty minutes?”

“Fifteen,” he said, a slight smile curving his lips.

It was only then that you noticed him shiver—just barely, but enough. You followed his gaze toward the office thermostat, which blinked “67°F.”

“You cold?”

“I’m fine.”

“Liar.”

You glanced down at yourself, considering.

The oversized cardigan you were wearing—dark green, thick knit, with tortoiseshell buttons—was easily your coziest piece of clothing. It had deep pockets and sleeves that swallowed your hands when you let them.

It was your comfort armor.

And Spencer looked like he could really use some comfort.

Without overthinking it, you slid it off and held it out toward him. “Here. Take it.”

His eyes widened. “Oh, no, I couldn’t—”

“Spencer. You're shivering.”

He hesitated like you’d just offered him your journal or a lock of your hair or something equally intimate.

"Are you sure?”

You nodded. “Just give it back eventually. Preferably without any coffee stains or quantum equations scribbled on the cuffs.”

He looked at it like it was precious. Like maybe it was more than just a cardigan.

Slowly, almost reverently, he took it from your hands. His fingers brushed yours, light and electric, and then he pulled it on in one smooth motion.

It drowned him a little, hanging loose over his lanky frame, sleeves a bit too long. But it suited him in a strange, soft way.

“There,” you said. “Now you’re warm and look effortlessly academic. Win-win.”

He gave you a small, sheepish smile, running his hands down the fabric like he was trying to commit the texture to memory.

“It smells like you.”

You blinked. “Um.”

He didn’t seem to notice your fluster.

"Vanilla. And—peppermint.. It’s… nice.”

You laughed, trying to hide how warm your cheeks felt. “That’s either creepy or sweet, depending on tone.”

“I meant it as sweet,” he said quickly.

“I know,” you replied, still smiling. “It is.”

He looked down at the sleeves, then back up at you. “Thank you.”

And something in the way he said it—quiet, sincere, with just a whisper of vulnerability—made your stomach flutter.

—

It became a thing, after that.

You didn’t ask for the cardigan back. Not because you didn’t want it, but because Spencer kept wearing it.

Every time you saw him, there it was—draped over his frame as he lectured Garcia on obscure password algorithms, as he paced the room during briefings, as he leaned against the jet’s window reading Sherlock Holmes for the hundredth time.

He wore it like it was his.

And maybe—maybe—you liked that.

One afternoon, as the team debriefed after a successful case in Seattle, you found yourself beside him on the jet.

You were pretending to read, but your eyes kept drifting to the curve of his shoulder beneath the knit.

Your cardigan had stretched slightly to fit his frame.

The sleeves were still too long, and he kept pushing them up in that absent-minded way that made your heart ache a little.

“You okay?” he asked softly, not looking up from his book.

“Yeah. Just tired.”

He shifted, resting his arm along the back of the seat, subtly closer than usual.

You looked at him sideways. “You ever going to give that back?”

“I could,” he said, eyes flicking toward yours with a mischievous glint. “But then I wouldn’t be able to pretend it’s a security blanket.”

You snorted. “You’re impossible.”

“I’m serious. It’s… comforting. I know it’s silly.”

“It’s not silly,” you said quickly. “I’m glad it helps.”

He hesitated. “Do you want it back?”

“Only if you don’t want it anymore.”

Silence.

Then: “I kind of do.”

“Then keep it.”

He looked at you like you’d just handed him a piece of yourself.

“Really?”

You nodded. “Really.”

Something soft settled between you after that.

Something unspoken but understood.

—

Weeks passed.

The cardigan became part of Spencer’s regular wardrobe.

The rest of the team noticed, of course—Morgan teased him for “stealing your cozy,” and JJ once asked with a knowing smile if you planned to “get it back via laundry basket or bedroom drawer.”

You just shrugged. “He wears it better than I do.”

But in truth, it felt like a piece of you was with him, even when you were apart.

Sometimes, in quiet moments, you’d catch him tugging the sleeves down over his hands, his fingers curling around the edge like he was grounding himself.

Other times, when the cases were hard—when victims were young or grief hung heavy—he wore it like a shield.

Like protection.

And you never said anything, because you didn’t need to.

—

One night, you found yourself in the BAU library, curled up in a chair with a book, the office empty save for the distant hum of the janitor’s vacuum down the hall.

You heard footsteps approach and didn’t need to look up to know it was him.

“Hey,” he said softly.

You glanced up. “Hey.”

He stood there for a moment, looking unsure.

Then: “I brought this.”

He held out the cardigan. Your cardigan.

Folded neatly in his hands.

“Oh,” you said, surprised. “You didn’t have to—”

“I want you to have it back.”

You frowned. “Why?”

“Because I—” He faltered. “Because I bought my own.”

You blinked. “You… what?”

He reached into his bag and pulled out a cardigan that looked nearly identical—same color, same chunky knit, same buttons.

“Spencer…”

He gave a small, sheepish smile. “I realized I was using it as a way to keep you close. Which is sweet, I guess, but also a little unfair. It’s yours. You should have it.”

You stood, taking it from his hands. “You didn’t have to do that. I told you you could keep it.”

“I know. But now we match.”

You laughed, warmth blooming in your chest. “We do.”

He looked at you then—really looked at you—and something shifted in the air.

“Spencer,” you said softly, “was it just the cardigan?”

He shook his head. “No.”

You took a step closer. “Then what was it?”

His voice was barely above a whisper. “It was you.”

And before you could overthink it, you leaned in and pressed your lips to his.

It was gentle and slow and full of everything that had built up over the past few months—comfort and tension and shared silence and the warmth of borrowed clothing.

When you pulled back, he smiled, dazed. “I was really hoping you’d do that.”

You grinned. “Took me long enough.”

He laughed, then held up the matching cardigans.

“So… couple's knitwear?” he asked, eyebrow raised.

You snorted. “We’re so embarrassing.”

He wrapped the newly bought cardigan around your shoulders. “Only a little.”

You pulled him into a hug, and he held you like something precious.

Wrapped in yarn.

Wrapped in each other.

Wrapped in something that finally felt like home.

[purplereina11]

🏀 Based after Eleven 🏀

Chapter 9

It started as playful online chemistry with someone unexpected-Alexia Putellas. Flirty banter turned into late-night texts before a heated moment on a club balcony shifted everything.

Now it was post game meet-ups, no-strings friends-with-benefits arrangement. They shared passion, comfort, and the grind of pro sports. But as the season went on, lines blurred.

It was supported to stay simple. These things never do however. Not in professional sports. The option to stay isn't always yours.

The press room was packed—shoulder to shoulder with journalists, cameras, microphones, and the heat of anticipation buzzing off every surface. The pre-final press conference always drew attention, but this one was something else. It wasn’t just another game. It was a shot at trophy number four of four. A chance to keep chasing history.

And most importantly it could be your last game in Barcelona.

You sat at the table in your team’s warm-up top, the club crest over your heart, ankle still slightly taped under your pants but stronger now—your presence here was no longer symbolic. You were starting.

Your coach answered the early questions—tactics, opponents, rotations. Maya followed with her usual sharpness and charm. Then it was your turn, and the room leaned forward like it always did.

And after a few standard questions—your fitness, your leadership, how much this final means—came the one everyone had been waiting for.

A quiet, confident voice near the back asked it, “You’ve been pretty quiet during all the contract speculation, but with the season almost over, can you comment on where you stand? What’s driving your decision?”

You took a breath, looked down at the table for a second, then straightened up. No spin. No fluff. Just truth. “Look,” you said evenly, your voice steady but honest, “It’s not just about playing basketball. If it was, I’d already have re-signed.”

Cameras clicked. Pens paused.

“I’ve loved playing here. I’ve grown here. I’ve helped make history here. But this job? This career? It doesn’t last forever. We’ve got a small window to earn, and then it’s over. So when one team offers you a certain figure—and several others are offering double, sometimes triple—“you shrugged, “you’d be stupid not to think about it.”

There was a ripple across the room. Eyes wide. A few scribbled notes. One or two raised brows.

“It’s not just about the badge on the shirt,” you continued. “It’s about where you are. Who you’re playing with. How you’re treated. And yeah—money matters. Because five, ten years from now? When I’m done? No one’s gonna pay me to relive my glory days. It’s about building something now that helps me later.”

A silence followed. Not awkward—respectful. The moderator moved to wrap, but you leaned forward to finish your thought.

“Right now, I’m focused on this final. I want this last trophy. I want to finish strong. But after that…” you paused, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of your mouth, “we’ll see who’s really in the business of backing their belief with more than just words and promises”

And with that, the press conference ended. But the headlines they were just getting started.

—

The final week of training before the big game was always a pressure cooker—drills crisp, energy high, everyone a little sharper, a little louder. Every pass felt tighter. Every play call had weight. And you were locked in. Blocking out the noise. Staying focused on the fourth trophy—just one game away.

Your ankle had held up, your rhythm was back, and you’d just hit a string of perfect shots in transition when your coach called a sudden stop. “[Last Name],” she said, voice raised slightly over the buzz of sneakers on hardwood. “You’ve got a visitor.”

You frowned, confused. Visitors weren’t unusual, but during closed practice? That was rare. You turned toward the far end of the gym, wiping sweat off your brow as you jogged off court—and then you saw her. Alexia. Hovering in the doorway, her hoodie pulled low, hands shoved into her sleeves, like she wasn’t sure she was actually going to go through with this.

Your heart kicked—fast, involuntary. You walked over slowly, the sounds of practice fading behind you, your teammates shooting glances in your direction, but no one saying a word. Alexia’s eyes met yours, soft but determined.

You stopped in front of her, arms crossed, breath still catching from drills. “What are you doing here?”

She swallowed. “I know you’re preparing. I didn’t want to interrupt.”

You raised a brow. “Bit late for that.”

She flinched slightly, then nodded. “I know sorry.”

You waited. And then, quietly, she said, “I want to go to Paris.”

You blinked. “What?”

“For the final,” she clarified, eyes flicking to yours, holding them now. “I want to be there. I want to support you.”

You stared at her, trying to read between the lines—because with Alexia, it was never just about what she said. There was always something else, something buried beneath the surface.

She continued, softer this time. “I know I haven’t earned much of anything lately. But I still want to be there. If you’ll let me.”

You exhaled slowly, heart a mess of adrenaline and emotion. You’d told yourself you were done. You meant it when you said it. But looking at her now—open, asking, showing up for you without expectation for the first time in a long time— It made something shift.

You glanced past her, toward the gym full of noise and motion and pressure, then back to her. “I’m not a sideshow, Alexia. This isn’t about proving a point.”

She nodded quickly. “It’s not. I swear. I just… I want to be there when you win. If you’ll let me stand in the crowd this time. Not outside your door.”

The honesty in her voice made your throat tighten. You paused, then gave her a small nod. “Paris, then.” And for the first time in what felt like forever, she smiled without fear behind it.

You gave her a long look—sweat still clinging to your skin, the thrum of practice still pulsing faintly in your limbs—and she just stood there in the doorway, shifting slightly on her feet, eyes never leaving yours.

“Come over later?” she asked, voice quiet. Not a demand. Not a lure. Just… an ask.

Simple. Soft. You let the words hang in the air between you, unreadable for a beat too long. Long enough to make her glance down and lick her lips like she was bracing for a no. But you surprised yourself with your answer.

“Okay.” Her eyes flicked up, surprised. Hopeful—but cautious. Like she wasn’t sure you’d say it, and even now, wasn’t sure what it meant. You stepped back just a little. “I’ve got film review after this, and recovery. I’ll text.”

She nodded, her voice barely above the hum of bouncing basketballs behind you. “I’ll be home.”

Then she turned and left as quietly as she came, the door swinging shut behind her like a breath being released. You stood there a moment longer, staring at the space where she’d been. Something in your chest fluttered, unsure. But something steadier whispered, not everything was finished yet.

And maybe, just maybe… some things were ready to begin again.

—

You stood outside her door for longer than you probably should’ve—hands buried in your jacket pockets, staring at the brass numbers like they were going to give you an answer. Like they'd whisper what to say, how to act, who to be.

It was easier before. When everything was sharp. When it was anger and jealousy and fire. Now… now it was a slow burn. An ache. A silence you didn’t know how to fill.

You knocked. Not hard. Just enough.

The door opened almost instantly, like she’d been standing right behind it, waiting.

Alexia looked tired—but not unkempt. Like someone who hadn’t been sleeping but still wanted to make it look like she was fine. Hair pulled back, clean hoodie, fresh mascara but no concealer under her eyes. She looked like she’d tried. And that fact alone made your chest twist.

“Hey,” she said softly. Not a greeting. A test.

“Hey,” you replied, just as quiet. Just as unsure.

She stepped aside without saying anything else. You walked in, that familiar scent of her place wrapping around you like it always did—fresh linen, vanilla, something vaguely citrus. You used to tease her about how her apartment smelled like a luxury candle. Now it just smelled like her.

You didn’t sit. You hovered, shifting from foot to foot like you were still deciding if you were staying.

Alexia leaned against the back of her couch, arms crossed loosely. Not defensive—just contained. “You want water or something?” she offered.

“No, I’m okay.”

Silence stretched. Not tense. Just… cautious.

You looked around the room like it would give you something to latch onto, but the space was cleaner than usual. No clutter. Nothing out of place. Which only told you how much she was trying to maintain control.

You stepped a little closer but not enough to breach whatever line was hanging invisible between you.

Alexia’s lips pressed together, then relaxed.

Her eyes flicked to yours then. Not sharp. Not soft either. Just looking. Like she was trying to read you through layers she didn’t know were still there.

You stood there, silent for a moment, then crossed your arms—more out of instinct than anything. “I don’t really know how to be around you anymore.”

Alexia met your eyes again. “Yeah. I feel that too.”

It wasn’t cold. It wasn’t angry. It was just… careful.

You wanted to reach for her. You wanted to say something clever, something disarming, something that would take all of this back to the place where you knew her and she knew you, and it didn’t feel like walking through emotional landmines just to ask how the other one’s been.

But you didn’t.

Because this time—this moment—wasn’t about kissing your way around the hard parts.

So you just said, “I don’t know what this is anymore. Or what it’s supposed to be.”

And Alexia nodded, not flinching from the truth. “Me neither.”

You both stood in that admission like it was something sacred. Something broken.

And for once, neither of you tried to fix it. Not yet.

You stood there a moment longer, eyes on the floor, breath caught in your throat.

And then, barely louder than a whisper, “Can I have a hug?”

Alexia didn’t even pause.

Her arms were around you in an instant—gentle at first, like she was afraid to break something already cracked. But when you sank into her, let your weight fall against her chest, she pulled you in tighter. One hand slid up your back, the other cradled the back of your head, her fingers threading into your hair like they had a lifetime of permission.

You hadn’t meant to cry. Not really. But it started anyway. Quiet at first, then steadier. You buried your face in her shoulder, the fabric of her hoodie soft and warm and familiar, and let yourself unravel just a little.

Alexia didn’t say anything. She just held you. Rocked you slightly, barely perceptible—like the motion was more for her than for you.

And when you finally pulled back, your face damp and your voice stuck somewhere in your chest, she didn’t tease. She didn’t joke. She just reached up and gently wiped the tears from your cheeks with the sleeve of her hoodie, her touch soft, slow, careful. Like she was afraid to make anything worse.

“Hey,” she said, her voice low and quiet, “it’s okay. You don’t have to hold it together right now.”

That made your throat tighten even more. “I just… everything’s shifting,” you managed, barely. “And I don’t know what’s coming. With my career. With anything.”

“I know,” she said, thumb brushing just beneath your eye again. “I know it’s a lot. You’re allowed to feel it.”

Her forehead pressed gently against yours, not asking anything more of you—just being there. Present. Solid.

“You’ve always carried so much,” she whispered. “You don’t have to carry all of it alone.”

You closed your eyes, just breathing her in. Letting her words settle in the spaces where all your worry lived.

For once, she didn’t try to kiss it away. She didn’t try to fix it. She just held you.

And maybe—for right now—that was exactly what you needed.

You weren’t sure how long the two of you stayed like that—folded into each other on the couch, her arms wrapped around your waist, your head tucked beneath her chin. The silence was warm, not awkward. A rare kind of quiet that asked nothing of you, just let you be.

Her fingers traced soft, absent-minded circles along your arm, and every so often you’d feel her chest rise a little deeper—like she wanted to say something, but didn’t. And maybe, like you, she was afraid the wrong word would pop the fragile peace you’d finally landed in.

Eventually, you exhaled, your voice muffled by the cotton of her hoodie.

“I’m so tired, Alexia.”

She shifted slightly, just enough to look down at you. Her brow furrowed, but her voice stayed soft. “Physically?”

You hesitated. “Yeah. But not just that.” You paused, then added, “It’s like… tired in my soul, you know?”

She nodded slowly, brushing a strand of hair off your cheek. “I do.”

A beat passed. Then, carefully, “Do you want to stay?”

You looked up at her, surprised. She must’ve seen it in your face, because she was already clarifying before you could speak.

“Not like that,” she said quickly, her thumb still grazing your skin, steady. “I’m not asking for anything. No pressure. I just meant… stay. Rest. You don’t have to be alone tonight.”

Your heart ached at the way she said it. Honest. Earnest. Gentle.

“I’m not trying to start something just because we’re hurting,” she added, quieter now. “I just… I care. And if you need somewhere to breathe, this can still be that.”

You stared at her, the weight of everything behind you pressing heavy against the relief of that simple offer. “Okay,” you whispered. “Yeah. I think I want that.”

Alexia nodded once, her arm tightening just slightly around you. “Good.”

You tucked your head back under her chin, your eyes already drifting shut. Her breathing steadied against you, and for the first time in what felt like weeks, the exhaustion didn’t feel like drowning.

It felt like rest. Real, safe rest.

No expectations. No promises. Just presence.

And for now, that was more than enough.

Later, after a quiet dinner of leftovers you barely touched and a shared tea neither of you really drank, you both padded down the hallway to her bedroom. It felt surreal, familiar and foreign all at once—like muscle memory mixed with déjà vu. You’d walked this hall before. Slept in this bed before. Undressed in this room a hundred times with her eyes following you like gravity.

But tonight was different.

Tonight, you both got ready like roommates. Soft silence. Occasional glances. No tension, just... that cautious kind of calm that follows a storm.

You stood at her bathroom sink brushing your teeth while she folded a hoodie over the back of a chair. At some point she handed you a clean pair of sweatpants—her own—and you didn’t even hesitate to change into them.

And now you were both lying on her bed, under the same duvet, facing opposite directions, bodies stiff with the effort to not touch.

You blinked up at the ceiling for a few long seconds before finally muttering into the quiet,

“Well... this is weird.”

Alexia let out a soft laugh behind you. “Weird?”

“Yeah. Us. Clothes on. Not immediately making bad decisions. Kinda feels like a sitcom where the two exes get stuck in the same room for the night.”

You heard her shift slightly, the mattress dipping. “Except we’re not technically exes,” she murmured.

You turned your head slightly toward her voice, raising an eyebrow. “What are we, then? Chronically confused situationship survivors?”

That got a real laugh out of her this time—quiet, tired, but genuine. “Something like that.”

You smiled faintly, turning back to the ceiling. “Still weird though.”

“I know.” Her voice was soft now. Close. “But not bad weird.”

“No,” you agreed. “Just... like we’re trying not to touch a bruise.”

There was a silence after that. Comfortable, if a little fragile. Like maybe tonight was your version of a bandage.

Eventually, her voice came again, lower this time. “I don’t mind weird if it means we’re okay.”

You glanced at her. “Are we okay?”

Alexia was quiet for a moment, then nodded slowly. “I think we’re trying. And that counts.”

You nodded back, even though she couldn’t see it. “Trying’s better than nothing.”

You both settled again, the stillness a little softer now.

And for once, the quiet didn’t feel like avoidance. It felt like peace.

—

Paris shimmered beneath a spring sun, the city buzzing louder than usual—not just with tourists and locals, but with the weight of something historic. Your team was one game away from completing the impossible:

Four trophies. One season. A perfect run.

You stepped off the team bus, headphones on, tracksuit zipped to your neck, your expression unreadable behind the sunglasses shielding your eyes from the chaos of flashing cameras and reporters shouting your name. But inside, your pulse was steady. Your focus, sharp. Your heart, beating with purpose. This wasn’t just another final. It was the one.

The end of a chapter—maybe your last in Barcelona colours.

The air in the locker room was electric—nervous laughter, bouncing knees, whispered affirmations. Maya was already blasting a playlist. Liv was braiding someone’s hair. Your jersey hung in your locker, bold and bright like a crown. You pulled it on slowly, taking in the moment.

One more game.

The tunnel was tight, echoing with footsteps, and you could hear the roar of the crowd even before you stepped onto the pitch. French fans, Barça fans, international press. It felt like the world had shown up for this. And somewhere in the crowd you knew she was there.

Alexia.

She’d said she wanted to come. You hadn’t texted to confirm. You didn’t need to. She'd be there. And for the first time, you weren’t playing for her. You were playing for you. For the girl who grew up chasing this dream. For the player they tried to undervalue. For the team you helped carry this far. The whistle blew. The game began. And from the first possession, it was clear—you weren’t here to play it safe. You were here to win.

From the moment the ball tipped, the game pulsed with intensity. This wasn’t just a final—it was a war of wills. A battle between two sides clawing for glory, but only one of them had already held three trophies this season. Only one of them had a shot at cleaning the slate. And only one of them had you.

You moved with purpose. First assist. Then a steal. Then a layup through contact that had the crowd roaring and your bench on their feet.

Your ankle? Forgotten.

Your doubt? Gone.

Every possession was crisp, calculated. The court shrank to just your teammates, your breath, the rhythm of the ball echoing against hardwood and crowd noise. The opposing team tried to double you. Didn’t matter. You split it. Hit Maya on the roll. Bucket.

They tried to force you to your weak side. Didn’t matter. Step-back. Three. The crowd exploded. You didn’t celebrate. You pointed to your chest, to the crest. One more. Eyes locked on your coach. Laser focus.

In the stands you allowed yourself one glance. And you found her. Alexia. Standing. Hands clasped near her mouth. Eyes wide. Watching you like you were a storm rolling through the court—and she was helpless to look away. She looked proud. Not possessive. Not broken.

Just… proud. And for a flicker of a second, your chest loosened. Because even if she hadn’t said the words yet—you knew she saw this version of you. The best version. And she loved it.

The game was close all the way into the fourth quarter. Bodies on the floor. Foul trouble. Timeout drama. You were exhausted—but not done.

With less than a minute left, tied score, the ball found your hands one more time.

You didn’t hesitate. Crossover. Step. Fadeaway. Net. Clean. And the stadium—detonated. The other team burned their last timeout. Your bench swarmed you. Maya shouted something you didn’t catch, but Liv was already grabbing your shoulders and screaming, “YOU’RE UNREAL!”

But you weren’t celebrating yet. Not until the final whistle. Twenty-three more seconds of defence. One more stop. You locked in. And when that final shot missed—When the buzzer went—When the scoreboard flashed your win— You dropped to your knees.

Four for four.

The dream.

The story.

History.

And when your teammates tackled you to the ground, screaming, crying, laughing— You let yourself feel it all.

Confetti rained down like a summer storm—gold and silver falling in flurries over the court, caught in your hair, clinging to your skin. Your teammates were everywhere—hugging, crying, collapsing in disbelief on the hardwood.

You were on top of the scorer’s table. Shirtless. Drenched in sweat and adrenaline. Your jersey in one hand, raised high above your head like a flag. The stadium was deafening, a wall of noise surrounding you, vibrating through your chest as you roared into it, face flushed with triumph, voice hoarse from the game.

“VAMOOOOOS!” you bellowed, chest heaving.

Your arms stretched wide, like you could catch the sound and throw it back. Your mouth cracked into a wild grin, the kind that only came when dreams met sweat and sacrifice and everything you bled for came to life.

You turned slowly, taking it all in—the sea of fans, the flags, the chaos. But your eyes stopped on one section. The family and friends section. Your parents were there, standing, hands over their mouths in disbelief, your dad clapping hard, your mum crying behind a camera lens. Erin was yelling, hoarse and proud. Ivy was on someone’s shoulders, both arms in the air, screaming your name like you were a superhero.

And then—her. Alexia. Not front row. Not waving like a fan. Just standing. Still. Focused. Her eyes locked with yours. And for a moment, everything slowed. You didn’t need to say anything. You could see it in her face—what she wanted to say. What she hadn’t said yet. Pride. Respect. Something deeper.

You pounded your fist to your chest, once, twice, then pointed at your family. Then you threw your jersey into the stands and dropped down into the waiting arms of your teammates—dragged into a dogpile of champagne and history. Four out of four.

Tonight, you were the one they’d never forget. The lights above the court felt brighter now—not stadium-bright, but spotlight bright. Like they knew who this moment was for. Security had relaxed, the crowd still roaring behind barriers, but the family and friends section had been opened. That sacred post-championship tradition—let the people who got you here step onto the floor you conquered.

You were still damp with champagne, a gold medal swinging around your neck, your voice nearly gone from shouting. Your heart? Still racing. You turned and there they were. Your mum pushed through first, her arms already opening before she’d even fully reached you.

“Oh my god,” she whispered as she pulled you in, her voice cracking, “you did it—you did it.”

You held her tighter than you had in years, your eyes stinging again—not from pain, not from pressure—but from everything this moment meant. “We did it,” you murmured back. “You got me here.”

Your dad was next, clapping your shoulder like he was afraid he’d break if he hugged you too hard. “That shot,” he said, eyes wet but proud, “you owned it. Like you were born for that moment.”

“I was,” you grinned. “You made sure of it.”

Then Erin appeared, already crying, already rolling her eyes. “You just had to go and make it impossible for me to ever be the favourite again, huh?”

You laughed, pulling her in for a one-armed hug. “You’re welcome.”

Then you heard it— “AUNTIE!” And suddenly you were on your knees, arms wide, catching Ivy as she launched herself at you, all tulle skirt and glitter face paint. “I KNEW you’d win,” she said, her small hands holding your cheeks like she was trying to memorise you.

You smiled, forehead pressed to hers. “You did?”

“Yep. I told mummy. You’re like… a superhero. But better. 'Cause you're real.”

Your throat caught. You kissed her forehead, swallowed the lump building there, and hugged her a little tighter. Behind them, your brother, sister-in-law, cousins—all there, all beaming, phones out, voices hoarse from screaming. This wasn’t just a victory. It was a legacy. Something they'd talk about forever.

And when you stood again, medal glinting under the lights, arms wrapped around your mum and Erin, Ivy holding your hand tightly—You looked out across the court and locked eyes with Alexia again. Still watching. Still waiting.

The celebrations had finally settled into a quiet hum. No more cameras in your face. No more champagne showers. No more speeches, interviews, or staged photos with trophies clutched to your chest. Just a cool Parisian night, your gold medal still warm against your collarbone, and your teammates—your people—sat with you on a stone wall that lined the river, facing the glowing majesty of the Eiffel Tower as it sparkled on the hour.

You’d taken a photo there earlier with Maya and Liv—feet dangling, smiles exhausted, but pure joy behind your eyes. After that, no one wanted to leave. So you sat there, trophy beside you, legs swinging over the edge, shoes muddy from a night that didn’t care.

And then, maybe because you were feeling bold… Or maybe because your chest still hadn’t settled—You pulled out your phone and texted Alexia.

If you’re still in Paris… come see me. Riverbank. Across from the tower.

You didn’t expect anything. She hadn’t texted post-game. Hadn’t come down to the court. Maybe that had meant everything, maybe it meant nothing. But part of you needed to give her the choice. One last time. You tucked your phone back in your pocket and didn’t tell the others.

Sometime later when you’d convinced yourself she wasn’t coming “[Your Name]!”

You froze.

Your head snapped toward the voice, heart leaping into your throat, and sure enough—There she was. Alexia. In jeans and sneakers, a long coat wrapped around her, hair still damp from a quick shower, cheeks pink from the breeze. And beside her, like some chaotic dream, were Mariona, Irene, and Jenni Hermoso, all bundled up and laughing like they’d just crashed someone else’s night.

You stood slowly as she reached you, your heart pounding. Mariona threw her arms out dramatically. “Did someone say Paris celebration? We brought snacks. And alcohol.”

Jana waved a flask and grinned. “You didn’t really think we’d let her come alone, did you?”

Alexia looked at you, something unreadable in her eyes. “You didn’t think I’d come, huh?”

You smiled, exhaling softly. “Honestly? No.”

She stepped closer, glancing briefly at your teammates, who were giving each other the look but staying silent—for now. Alexia nodded toward the space next to you. “You saved me a spot?”

You reached out and patted the stone wall. “Always.” And just like that, she climbed up beside you. No words. No pressure. Just the two of you, side by side, staring out at the city of lights. History behind you. Something else—maybe something new—still ahead.

The others were still laughing behind you—Liv and Maya teasing Jana about her tiny contraband flask, Mariona dramatically reciting poetry about the Eiffel Tower, and Irene recording it all for future blackmail.

You caught Alexia’s eye. She raised an eyebrow, a quiet, knowing smirk tugging at her lips. “Wanna walk?” you asked softly.

She nodded, hopping down from the wall without a word. You followed her down the cobbled path, your sneakers crunching lightly against loose gravel, the Seine beside you glimmering gold with the reflection of the tower lights. Neither of you spoke. You didn’t need to. The quiet between you wasn’t awkward for once—it was calm, gentle, a kind of peace that had been rare between you.

You walked shoulder to shoulder, the buzz of the evening still humming through your body, the medal in your pocket catching the occasional tap against your leg with every step. Alexia glanced sideways at you once or twice, like she was waiting to see if you’d say something first.

You didn’t. You were too busy noticing how soft she looked in this light. How her coat swayed around her legs. How close your hands were swinging as you walked, almost brushing.

The Eiffel Tower started to twinkle again—that five-minute magic moment every hour. Lights dancing across iron bones like the city was holding its breath. You both stopped. Turned toward it. Silent.

And then, Alexia spoke, voice low, like she was afraid if she said it louder, it might ruin the moment. “You’ve never looked happier than you did tonight.”

You blinked. “I was. I am.”

She nodded slowly, eyes on the tower now. “It suits you. That kind of joy. I don’t think I’ve ever let you feel it without… pulling it away.” That ache rose in your chest again—but before you could respond, she stepped in closer.

Her hand brushed yours—deliberately this time—and her fingers laced with yours like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You looked at her. She was already looking at you.

The light of the tower flickered in her eyes, and for the first time, there was no tension behind her gaze. No sharp edge. Just something soft. Something you hadn’t seen before. “Can I kiss you?” she asked quietly.

You nodded. Just once. And she did. Slow. Steady. Tender. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t heavy. It was romantic. Which—honestly—threw you off more than anything else ever had with her. You weren’t romantic. You’d never been romantic. Not with her. But this? This kiss, under the twinkling lights, in the city of love, after the biggest win of your career— It made your stomach flip in a way you didn’t know what to do with.

You pulled back gently, your breath caught somewhere in your throat, nervous laughter bubbling just beneath the surface. Alexia tilted her head. “What?”

You licked your lips, a little dazed. “That was… really nice.”

She smiled. “You sound surprised.”

“I am,” you admitted, cheeks warm. “I wasn’t expecting to feel like I’m in a movie.”

Alexia leaned in, pressing her forehead to yours, voice barely a whisper. “We’ve always been drama. Maybe it’s time we try a little romance.”

—

Paris was quieter now.

The celebrations were winding down, the riverbanks slowly clearing, and the city had retreated into that hush that only comes late at night—when the world feels too big to speak in full sentences. You didn’t plan to end up at Alexia’s hotel.

But when she asked softly—“Come back with me?”—you just nodded.

No hesitation. No expectations. Just the two of you chasing whatever this was a little longer.

The elevator ride was silent, except for the quiet buzz of the city still clinging to your skin. When she unlocked the door and you stepped inside, it wasn’t like all the other times. It wasn’t immediate. It wasn’t hungry.

You stood in the middle of her room, face to face, the glow of the Eiffel Tower still faint in the window behind you, and for a long moment—neither of you moved.

Then she reached for you. Slowly. Like she wasn’t just touching your body this time, but asking for something deeper.

Her lips found yours again, and it wasn’t rough or desperate. It was reverent. Like she was trying to memorise the shape of your mouth, the way your hands fit at her waist, the way you sighed when she leaned in fully.

Clothes fell away in soft motions. Her hoodie sliding off your shoulders. Your shirt caught in her fingers like she didn’t want to let go just yet. Every movement was slower. More careful. Intentional. When you reached the bed, it wasn’t rushed. It was quiet. Tender.

She kissed you like she was trying to say everything she hadn’t. And you kissed her back like you understood anyway. There was no teasing this time. No need to prove anything. No power play between skin and sheets.

Just love, in its most fragile, most fleeting form. When she moved over you, it wasn’t possessive—it was intimate. Her hands weren’t just touching your skin, they were holding pieces of you she hadn’t earned until now.

And when you finally broke, when your breath caught and your fingers gripped hers—she whispered your name like it meant something more. Maybe it always had.

Afterward, you lay tangled in the sheets, her arm draped over your stomach, her breathing slow and steady. No one said a word. Because the unspoken truth hummed louder than either of you dared to voice.

You were leaving. And she wasn’t stopping you. Not with words. Not with promises. This—whatever this was—felt like a goodbye.

A beautiful, aching one. And still, neither of you said it. You just held each other under the soft hum of Paris, pretending the sun wasn’t already on its way up.